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jpbjazz · 3 months

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LÉGENDES DU JAZZ

LENNY WHITE, SUR LES TRACES DE MILES DAVIS

Né le 19 décembre 1949 à New York, dans le Queens, Leonard "Lenny" White III avait commencé à s’intéresser à la musique dès son plus jeune âge. À Queens, White avec grandi aux côtés de grands musiciens comme Count Basie, Roy Haynes, Illinois Jacquet, Lester Young, Brook Benton et James Brown. De grandes vedettes du baseball comme Roy Campanella et Jackie Robinson vivaient également dans le quartier. Durant sa jeunesse, White avait été particulièrement influencé par des personnalités comme Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Jimi Hendrix, Malcolm X, Willie Mays, James Brown et Mohammed Ali.

Lorsque son père vivait à la maison, il emmenait aussi souvent Lenny assister à des concerts dans les clubs.

DÉBUTS DE CARRIÈRE

Batteur autodidacte gaucher, White avait amorcé sa carrière en jouant avec des groupes de New York, plus particulièrement dans le quartier de Queens, où il s’était produit dans des clubs comme l’Aphrodisiac, le Slugs et The Gold Lounge. C’est d’ailleurs au Gold Lounge que White avait fait ses débuts avec le saxophoniste Jackie McLean.

White avait commencé à jouer avec McLean à la la fin des années 1960. White avait tellement excellé dans le cadre de sa collaboration avec McLean qu’il avait attiré l’attention de Miles Davis qui l’avait invité à participer à l’album Bitches Brew en 1969. White raconte comment Davis l’avait contacté: ‘’Miles called and my mother picked up the phone. Miles’s voice was very quiet and I could hear my mother saying, ‘Who is this? What? You’d better speak up, or I’m going to hang up this phone!’ Well, I spoke to Miles and he told me to be at his home the next day for a rehearsal.’’

Commentant son passage dans le groupe de Davis, White avait expliqué: ‘’When Miles Davis asked me to do Bitches Brew, there was no music involved. I got into the studio and he said, ‘Think of this as a big pot of stew and I want you to be salt.’ What musical knowledge am I going to call upon to be salt – play a paradiddle? I was given a musical assignment and I had to fulfil it – I had to think about it. So what happens to me when I come to music is that I think about what should be created – what visual musical thing I can do.’’ White avait ajouté:

‘’Miles was a sage. He was a person that was extremely sensitive and he created this thing because of how sensitive he was. When people see Miles and go, ‘He’s like agghhh!’ and they listen to ‘Summertime’ and they think, ‘how could a guy play with that much soul and be so gruff?’ He was always great with me – he was always teaching. He asked me to come down to a Village [Vanguard] date, because he wanted me to listen to the music, as I was about to go on the road with him. Between sets we’d I’d listen to [pianist] Les McCann’s group and he’d say, ‘See that? Listen to that. No, that’s wrong’ – he was a teacher. I have only great memories. I can equate all the great feeling I got by listening to Miles Davis play and going to his house and listening to music with him.’’

L’album Bitches Brew avait été enregistré avec une formation tout-étoile composée de Dave Holland, Wayne Shorter, Chick Corea, Bennie Maupin et Jack DeJohnette. Évoquant l’enregistrement de l’album, White avait ajouté:

‘’It was very interesting. I was like a deer in the headlights – it was pretty amazing. To a certain degree I had it under control. We didn’t rehearse much material from the album – we only did the introduction to ‘Bitches Brew.’ We recorded the album in August and I went back to school. In October, I was in a deep sleep and in the middle of the night, I woke up and thought, ‘I’ve recorded with Miles Davis!’ That’s how long it took to hit me. I had done something that was documented and was going to be there for the rest of the world – I had played with Miles Davis.’’

Mais Davis avait toujours su ce qu’il voulait et était le seul maître à bord. Décrivant la détermination de Davis, White avait précisé:

‘’Miles was very hands-on over what he wanted. If you read the book [Listen to This: Miles Davis and Bitches Brew by Victor Svorinch], you’ll see that Miles was very hands-on. I don’t think Teo could have come up with what Miles wanted, but he was an aide in helping Miles translate what he heard into a coherent thing that people could hear and say, ‘Wow!’ If you think about it, there were thirteen musicians; a bass clarinet – Teo Macero wasn’t thinking about a bass clarinet. Teo Macero wasn’t thinking about electric keyboards – Miles had this in his head. I believe Miles had listened to the landscape at the time, which was rock ‘n’ roll and said, ‘I can play rock ‘n’ roll, but from a different perspective – this is what I think it should sound like.’ And that’s what we did, because nobody had heard that music before, and we didn’t know what it was when we creating it. And after we played it, we still didn’t know what it was!’’

Commentant l’originalité de Davis comme musicien, White avait ajouté:

‘’The genius of Miles Davis was to hear something that nobody else heard, and to surround himself with people, and get them to hear or conceive a new kind of music without knowing how to play it, but by just giving certain ideas to see what the artist comes up and how they form together to create this new puzzle. Nobody knew what it was; he didn’t know what it was {...}. They tried calling it fusion, but come on! It was diametrically opposed genres of music that smashed together. Jazz and rock – biff!

Le fait que White ait été peintre avait aussi contribué à le rapprocher de Davis. White avait précisé:

‘’I was a painter – that’s what I went to school for, so now it’s just a matter of me painting with notes as opposed to colours [Interestingly, Miles one said, ‘Music is a painting you can hear; a painting is music you can see.’]. I’ve been able to surround myself with people who are forward thinking – that don’t necessarily need something that’s regimented. Although when I played with Chick [Corea] and Return to Forever, that was somewhat regimented, because it was compositions from the perspective of form and certain things. So I had to learn how to discern that and make it work. There have been ups and downs, but what has happened is that, fortunately for me, I have gotten calls because of what I can do, and there are a lot of people who don’t read music – Buddy Rich, George Benson, Dennis Chambers – they all did pretty well without it.’’

White s’était également fait connaître pour avoir refusé d’aller jouer avec Jimi Hendrix. White expliquait:

‘’The deal was this – I was enamoured with Miles; he was my mentor. I didn’t just want to play with Miles Davis; I wanted to be Miles Davis. So when Miles asked me, I wanted the gig with him, not the gig with Hendrix. Now it seems stupid of me not to do it, but I was young, and the fact was that I was going to play with Miles. Lydia DeJohnette [Jack’s wife] was pregnant and Jack was going to stay home with her and I would take Jack’s place. Miles manager Jack Whittmore had called me and I was going to play at [the Massachusetts-based jazz club] Lennie’s on the Turnpike for at least a week, and then Miles got shot [In October 1969, Miles was sitting in a car with his lover Marguerite Eskridge (mother of his youngest son Erin) when a gunman fired five shots at the car; no one was hurt in the attack.’’

Décrivant l’enregistrement de l’album Bitches Brew comme un épisode marquant de sa carrière, White avait ajouté: ‘’Mahavishnu, Return to Forever, Weather Report, Tony Williams’ Lifetime and Head Hunters – somebody from each of those bands was represented on Bitches Brew, so there was music before Bitches Brew, and music after Bitches Brew. There was a very healthy competition between those bands and all of us got to be friends.’’

Le fait que Tony Williams ait joué dans le groupe de Davis à l’âge de seulement dix-sept ans avait également permis à White de tisser une relation très spéciale avec le groupe. Williams avait ajouté: ‘’It gave me a purpose. Being the age that I was and hearing that record and it was someone who was my age that done something I could look up to and respect with the mentor Miles Davis. That was very important to me, and right away, Tony Williams was my guy.’’

White avait été très ébranlé par le décès de Williams, qui était mort en 1997 à l’âge de seulement cinquante et un ans. White poursuivait: ‘’It was a shock, because the potential of what he could have created was vast, because of what he left. The legacy he left is so vast, so you never know what he could have continued to do and how much more his legacy could have been. But because of what he left, it’s still being explored, and that could last forever.’’

White avait de nouveau travaillé avec Williams dans le cadre de l’enregistrement de l’album Red Clay de Freddie Hubbard en 1970. En 1972, White avait enchaîné en se joignant au groupe Return to Forevever de Chick Corea. Il était aussi devenu membre du groupe Azteca la même année. Le groupe avait été fondé par le percussionniste de Carlos Santana, Coke Escovedo. Après la dissolution du groupe l’année suivante, White avait concentré ses activités sur Return to Forever. Durant cinq ans, White avait collaboré à plusieurs albums à succès du groupe dont No Mystery et Romantic Warrior. Lorsque le groupe s’était séparé en 1977, White avait signé un contrat avec les disques Nemperor avec qui il avait enregistré deux albums comme leader. Lorsqu’on avait demandé à Williams si le groupe Return to Forever s’était séparé parce qu’il y avait trop de musiciens vedette dans la formation (Chick Corea, Stanley Clarke, Al Di Meola, Airto Moreira, etc.), White avait rétorqué:

‘’You could say that. Whatever I say is just from my perspective. I’m not trying to say something that would fault somebody. Every artist has their trajectory they will try to adhere it. What they want to do is they should try to do and they should not let anybody shape that, because that’s destructive. I don’t fault anybody – that’s not the issue at all. I want everybody to understand that the reason why I started to play music was not to make money – never was. But when I started to make money, it became an issue!’’

En 1973, White avait même failli se joindre au groupe rock Journey. Il expliquait:

‘’What happened was that I was in San Francisco with Azteca – all the guys were from the Bay Area, and I was the only one not from there, so I would commute from New York to San Francisco and stay out there for six weeks. While I was out there, Chick Corea called me from Japan because the Return to Forever band with [percussionist] Airto [Morera] and [singer] Flora [Purim] and [woodwind player] Joe Farrell, Stanley [Clarke] and Chick was breaking up. Stanley and Chick were coming to San Francisco to play at the Keystone Korner [jazz club] and they asked me to play.’’

À l’époque, Corea était sur le point de former une version électrique du groupe Return to Forever et avait demandé à White s’il désirait en faire partie. White avait finalement décliné l’offre car il se était toujours membre du groupe Azteca. Un peu plus tard, Steve Gadd ayant quitté le groupe Return to Forever parce qu’il ne supportait plus les longues tournées, Williams avait finalement accepté l’offre de Corea. White poursuivait:

‘’Meanwhile, I was still out in San Francisco and a manager called me and said, ‘Listen, Neal Schon and [bassist] Ross Valory would like to jam with you – do you have time?’ We went to SIR [Studio Instrument Rentals whose facilities include a rehearsal studio] and we jammed. [keyboardist and vocalist] Gregg Rolie – who I knew from Santana – said, ‘Listen man, the guys really love the way you play. They’re starting a band and would like you to play in it.’ By this time, Chick had called me again, because Steve Gadd didn’t want to go on the road. He asked me again and this time I said yes. So I went back to do Return for Forever and the band that I was supposed to join became Journey.’’

En 1975, White avait enregistré un premier album comme leader intitulé ’’Venusian Summer’’ avec les guitaristes Al Di Meola et Larry Coryell. Évoquant la collaboration des deux guitaristes, White avait commenté: ‘’ It was interesting because Larry was kind of Al’s mentor, in terms of the electric guitar, but they had never played together on a record.’’

White avait enchaîné en 1977 avec un second album sous son nom intitulé Big City. L’année suivante, White avait poursuivi sur sa lancée avec un troisième opus intitulé Streamline. La même année, White avait également publié un ‘’Space opera’’ intitulé The Adventures of Astral Pirates qui était très inspiré par le film Star Wars. Évoquant ses multiples influences de l’époque, White avait précisé:

‘’I had recorded with Miles Davis – I started with the master. The music was on an upward trajectory and I wanted to continue that trajectory. I had worked with great conceptualists like Chick Corea, Wayne Shorter, Joe Zawinul, Herbie Hancock. I had a really good viewing of the different kinds of musics that I was playing. There was the energy of rock and roll; the sophistication of jazz and my respect for orchestral music.

So when I got the opportunity to do my own project, I included all the different things that were influencing me at the time. With Venusian Summer, I had been listening to Jimi Hendrix, Sly [Stone] and classical music too.’’

Après être passé chez les disques Elektra en 1978, White avait formé l’année suivante le groupe de fusion Twennynine (d’après son âge de l’époque), qui comprenait Skip Anderson aux claviers, Barry Johnson à la basse, Eddy Martinez à la guitare, et Carlo Vaughn et Jocelyn Smith au chant. Le groupe avait enregistré trois albums: Best of Friends (1979), Twennynine with Lenny White (1980) et Just Like Dreamin' (1981). Le groupe, qui interprétait une musique qui était très influencée par le jazz rock, le funk et le R & B, avait d’ailleurs fait une tournée avec Prince en 1980.

ÉVOLUTION RÉCENTE

En 1982, White avait fait une apparition sur l’album Touchstone de Chick Corea. La même année, White avait produit l’album de Chaka Khan LP Echoes of an Era. L’année suivante, White avait publié l’album Attitude. Il avait aussi co-produit l’album Joyride du groupe Pieces of a Dream.

À la fin des années 1980, White avait également fait partie des Jamaica Boys, un groupe qui comprenait Marcus Miller à la basse et Dinky Bingham au chant. Évoquant sa collaboration avec Miller, White avait commenté:

‘’I met Marcus when he was seventeen. There was a mentor to all of us by the name of Weldon Irvine, who had come from Hampton, Virginia and settled in Jamaica, Queens. He was a mentor to all the guys that wanted to play jazz and progressive music. He had a band that everyone was in and out of – Billy Cobham, George Cables, Marcus, Omar Hakim, Bernard, Donald Blackman – there were a lot of people. I gave Marcus his first recording date. He was always carrying his bass around and he came to the studio. I had this piece of music that needed a funky bass line and I said, ‘Go ahead and play,’ and he said, ‘Me?’ I said, ‘yes’ and he played [on the track ‘Egypt’]. Later on, Marcus, Bernard and I formed The Jamaica Boys.’’

White poursuivait: ‘’He made his mark. When Marcus was in my band, he came up to me and said, ‘Can I talk to you?’ I said, ‘Sure’, and he said, ‘Everything I play sounds like Jaco [Pastorius] to me – Jaco’s my guy. What should I do – I want to sound like myself?’ I said, ‘Keep continuing to sound like Jaco; keep playing like Jaco, because you think you sound like Jaco, but there are things that you do that are your own. You’re going to realise that the more you play.’ And he found a way to come out sounding like Marcus.’’

Décrivant sa collaboration avec Pastorius, White avait commenté:

‘’What happened was that [Columbia Records producer] Bobby Colomby – who I knew from Blood, Sweat and Tears – had discovered Jaco and he called me up and said, ‘Hey listen man, I got this great bass player and he wants you to do his album – are you interested in doing it? He’s using Herbie [Hancock] and Hubert Laws.’ I said, ‘sure’ and we went to the studio in New York and met him for the first time. We went into the studio and started recording. In between takes, we’d go outside and play basketball. I thought it was great what we were doing – it was cool, but I never thought it was going to be the ground-breaking album that it was. Jaco was a nova [a bright star] in terms of playing the bass, and while I was extremely impressed with what he did, I had played with Ron Carter and Stanley Clarke! Jaco had a new way of playing that was different from them. I thought it was great but never knew it was going to blow up to be so big.’’

Très apprécié des autres musiciens, White avait toujours refuser de blâmer ses camarades de jeu quand les choses ne tournaient pas comme il le voulait. Par exemple, lorsqu’on avait demandé à White de commenter les aspects plus négatifs de la personnalité de Pastorius, il avait tendance à se concentrer sur les côtés plus positifs. White expliquait: ‘’Jaco went through a few different stages and I saw him in all of them. I refuse to talk about his manic stages, because there is no purpose. My involvement with him was really great – you can hear it on the recordings. He loved his family and they were great. There was a really positive rivalry between Weather Report and Return to Forever that produced great music. I remember him being a consummate person, a great guy and a family man – that’s what I take.’’

Lorsque le groupe Return to Forever s’était reformé en 2008 avec Corea, Stanley Clarke et Al Di Meola, White était retourné avec la formation. L’année suivante, White avait participé à une tournée avec Corea et Clarke avec qui il avait enregistré un album live intitulé Forever qui s’était mérité un prix Grammy. En 2011, le groupe avait fait une nouvelle tournée, mais avec Frank Gambale à la guitare en remplacement de Di Meola, et avec Jean-Luc Ponty au violon. Décrivant son retour avec le groupe, White avait précisé:

‘’That project came about because of the demand. We got a reach from the audience, from the fans – they wanted to see that [band]; they missed it. We had left a mark and our fans had gotten older. They had kids and wanted to bring their kids to experience what they had experienced when we came on the scene. It was great because there was a lineage. When you discover some music; when you discover some art or a movie, you want to give somebody the same opportunity to be inspired in the way you were. It was fantastic; it was great. I would do it again but I wouldn’t want to play that same music again, because everyone has grown and I would love to see what we can do now. That would be an interesting scenario.’’

Maheureusement, la mort de Corea des suites d’un cancer en février 2021 avait empêché le projet d’aller plus loin.

Au cours de sa carrière, White a collaboré avec de grands noms du jazz comme Joe Henderson, Chick Corea, Woody Shaw, Al Di Meola, Jackie McLean, Geri Allen, Gato Barbieri, Gil Evans, Jaco Pastorius, Marcus Miller, Stanley Clarke, Miles Davis et Stan Getz. White avait également travaillé avec les super-groupes Echoes of an Era et Griffith Park.

Un peu comme Miles Davis, White avait l’habitude d’utiliser des musiciens particuliers selon les besoins des pièces qu’il devait interpréter. Il expliquait:

‘’I kind of got that from Miles Davis. Miles was really adept at choosing musicians that he could ask to do something and not tell them exactly what to do. They had a vision and he thought that they could bring something to the project that he might not have thought about – Herbie Hancock, Tony Williams, Ron Carter, Wayne Shorter – they were all visionary musicians and they might not do things that normal musicians would do. You can get someone who is very adept at reading charts but might not be the kind of musician you need to inspire something that hasn’t been heard or done before. I kind of use that perspective because a lot of the music that I might try to do is not bound by certain guidelines.’’

White enseigne présentement à l’Université de New York où il dirige son propre groupe en plus de faire des lectures sur l’album Bitches Brew intitulées “The Miles Davis Aesthetic.”

Résident de longue date de Teaneck, au New Jersey, White avait été mis en nomination cinq fois aux prix Grammy et l’a emporté à quatre reprises. Considéré comme un pionnier du jazz-fusion et du jazz funk, White avait tendance à se montrer plutôt nostalgique lorsqu’on lui demandait d’expliquer le déclin de ce genre musical. White avait déclaré:

‘’There are a lot of different theories and I wouldn’t go out on a limb and say, ‘this is the reason why,’ because I think there are a lot of different reasons why things happen. But that music was extremely strong. One of the things that will stay for me for the rest of my life is that Return to Forever released Romantic Warrior, and in Central Park there’s a skating rink which held concerts during the summer that held 7000 people. When Return to Forever played there, they broke down the fences and there were 12,000 people for that concert. We did not have a lead singer; we did not have a radio hit and yet 12,000 people came to see an instrumental band play music that was not played on the radio – it was very powerful music {...}. At the time, I was trying to be the best that I could be. That was a meritocracy. That movement was really strong because everybody within it was on-point. It had to be, to be able to have that thrust. There was an arc with that music and that direction and it was very powerful.’’

White avait ressenti durement la perte de certains de ses collaborateurs comme Corea, le guitariste Larry Coryell (mort en 2017) et le bassiste Victor Bailey (décédé en 2016). White expliquait:

‘’I had played an awful lot with Victor – Victor is on almost all my records. The three of us had gotten an offer to do a record for an audiophile company Chesky. We did a couple of records and there was a single microphone. There was no mixing – it was just like the time when you played and that’s what it was. We had a great time playing together {...}. Very much so, and because I saw Victor go through a debilitating disease [he had a genetic muscle-wasting disorder]. He was a great musician. I was with Victor up to his last days – it was heart-breaking to see a spirit like that silenced. He was a great spirit and that made him a fantastic musician. I had done a record that he wanted released and I started working to finish it, but I ran out of money to be able to do that. I still have that music and hope one day to put it out, because he was a special spirit.’’

Très déçu de son expérience avec les compagnies de disques, White avait déclaré après la parution de son album Anomaly en 2010:

‘’I’m still not happy because of what the original intention was. As I said earlier, I didn’t get into the music business to make money; I got into it because it was a form of expression – I got to express myself in bands and with artists that were ground-breaking. I wanted to perpetuate that feeling and that energy. I wanted to continue to do that on my own. Then there’s the fact that you want to make music that is inspirational, but in doing that, someone gives you an opportunity, and you have adhere to a certain quota to be able to continue that. So you have to make music that generates money for whatever company gives you the opportunity.

What happens is that you tend to somewhat compromise your original intention, because you have to abide by the status quo. Maybe at the beginning you just compromise enough, but as it goes on, your obligation comes back on you, and you may have to compromise a bit more. That attitude is counter-productive to art, because art creates an arc, and so now if you’re starting to manufacture your art, then maybe the arc turns and goes down – I believe that’s where we are. I believe that artists are not necessarily trying to inspire and create new things – they’re trying to be popular because music has become a commodity. In order to have that opportunity to create and put it in the market place, you have to abide by certain things. What has changed is that you do not have to do that. You can make your own music for yourself and put it out yourself. It’s just might not get felt the way it should – that’s the issue. You can get heard, but I don’t just want to get heard; I want to get felt, and that’s a big difference.’’

Même si White avait remporté quatre prix Grammy, il considérait toujours qu’il n’avait pas obtenu sa juste part de sa collaboration avec les compagnies de disques. Il poursuivait:

‘’If I was an actor, the equivalent would be an Oscar. If I had four Oscars I could name my price and could do work that I would feel good about. It’s not the case with music because it’s been devalued since Napster – people don’t want to pay for music anymore. Music had a value; people paid money to listen to it and to go and see and experience music – they don’t want to do that anymore because there has been the opportunity to get it for free. ‘Why pay for something you can get for free?’ We don’t say that about water.’’

Décrivant l’impact de la musique en ligne sur les musiciens, White avait ajouté:

‘’When the music business was losing a lot of money because people were not buying albums anymore, they got something called streaming. Now, the music business is making a whole bunch of money but not the artist. They have found a way to jack the artists and make money. You get a million streams and make $300. What has happened is that some artists have gotten pretty despondent because of these situations: ‘why am I working and making the time to make this music? No one’s going to hear it. If it’s streamed, I’m not going to make any money from it.’ Something has to change.’’

Lorsqu’on avait demandé à White s’il n’avait pas retiré un peu de fierté pour ce qu’il avait accompli, il avait répondu:

’’Yes, I actually do, but it’s all relative. I think if more people were educated about all these different musical stops on this journey, I think recognition would be informed. Basically, I’m not asking, because that would be begging – I don’t need that. I know who I am, I know what I have done; I just want the opportunity to talk about it. The more opportunities I can get to create art and put it in the market place [the better], because I honestly do feel that I can create some art that can change these conditions. I think I can make a positive statement in these conditions. Because I’ve done it before; I’ve been involved in bands where the energy of what we were creating was extremely positive, uplifting and it had an arc. So I spend my waking hours trying to recreate that positivity – that’s all I ask.’’

‘’Interview: Lenny White.’’ The Last Miles, 2024.

‘’Lenny White.’’ Wikipedia, 2024.

‘’Lenny White.’’ All About Jazz, 2024.

#jazz

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nanaminokanojo · 3 years

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[10:00 PM] Ryomen Sukuna

LOG 14 OF MY JUJUTSU KAISEN TIMESTAMP DRABBLES

collection masterlist

photo/fanart credits to @/Natsushio on Weibo

"Baby."

Sukuna knows you heard him. Still, you continued walking as if you didn't, going ahead of him about ten paces ahead, your posture and the overall attitude in your gait speaking volumes of your current mood. He easily kept up with you, placing an arm over your shoulder, but much to his surprise, you shrugged it off you and walked the remaining expanse of sidewalk towards your shared apartment. He just watched in annoyance as you walked into the lobby and got into the elevator before him.

"Trouble with your princess?" this nosy grandma, who lived at one of the units at the first floor, asked.

Sukuna just smiled awkwardly, bowing slightly as he passed her by on his way to the elevator. When he finally got into your unit, he found your coat lying on the hallway, picking it up only to see your jeans a few steps ahead then your shirt. He finally found you in the kitchen already wrapped in a robe which you didn't even bother tying up, agitatedly pouring yourself a glass of wine, the cerise liquid sloshing around the glass violently.

You were behaving rather out of character, making a mess out of your clothes when he knew just how much you hated it when he leaves his things scattered about. On top of that, you left the cutlery drawer open with the corkscrew you used on top of the counter, droplets of red wine littering the granite top. You just passed him by without saying anything, refusing to look at him on your way to your bedroom.

I see how it is, he thought, taking long strides to the direction you went. He eyed you sternly, having had enough of your attitude. "Y/N, what's going on?" he demanded.

You flinched visibly at the way he addressed you. He doesn't call you by your name unless he was dead serious about something. "It's nothing. Don't mind me."

"Woman, don't tell me it's nothing when –"

Before he could finish, you walked into the adjoining bathroom, turning on the tap to the tub to tune him out. You were evidently being passive-aggressive now, and he detested it when you did that.

"Just go back to your party. I'm sure everyone's wondering where you've gone," you told him, picking up your glass from the dresser top. "Especially Miss Hanako." You shot him a sardonic smile before taking a swig out of your wine, the way you said the woman’s name dripping with vitriol.

And then it hit him. You've been dishing out barb since you told him you wanted to leave the company party he was partly hosting for his department. You did so when the secretary to the president arrived and started chatting him up. He was now thinking your behavior thereafter had something to do with it. You were fine before that so it could only mean one thing.

He didn't know whether to laugh or what at the thought of it. When he decided to pursue you, he didn't have qualms about it even if you were a good six years younger than him. He knew how problematic it could get having an immature partner, but that's where you were different. You held yourself with such confidence, grace and equilibrium way beyond your age, you shared the same pragmatic mindset he had and you didn't seem to have a proclivity for drama like others your age. You hardly ever fought because of petty things and he loved that about you.

But then, you're still young and he didn't hold it against you that you're suddenly acting like a brat. If anything, he was happy about it because you were never ever jealous. It sometimes made him doubt how you felt about him when you yourself would be pointing at other chicks for him to look at while saying things like, "Baby, look at her ass. Damn, she's sexy." And now that the green-eyed monster is rearing its head to the surface, he couldn't say he didn't like it.

"What about her?" he asked cautiously, making you jump the hoops.

You sneered, the action very intimidating despite your angelic features. “Oh, I don’t know, Sukuna. You tell me. You seemed to be enjoying her company. Don’t stop at my expense.”

He leveled his expressions to you. “Well, she is something, isn’t she? Smart, too.”

“Yeah, you deserve each other,” you hissed, the anger flaring up in your eyes making him stir alive.

“But she’s married.”

“All the better!” Seeing through what he was doing, you turned towards the bathroom and slammed the door shut. He didn't hear you lock it so he followed suit.

"If you're jealous, just say so already!" he told you. He wanted to hear it out of your mouth.

"Why would I be jealous? She looks like a bad rip-off of 80s Brooke Shields!" you spat, confirming his thoughts. You climbed into the bathtub sulkily, eyes on the bubbly water.

Sukuna knew he shouldn't even be thrilled about the prospect of it. If you were jealous then that means you were kinda doubting him in terms of his loyalty to you, and he should not like that, but at the same time, you were also being possessive which you rarely do. He couldn't help it.

Loosening his tie, he began shedding his clothes off, stripping naked before you, revealing the tattooed expanse of his skin and his impressive musculature as he tossed one garment after the other.

"What are you doing?" you asked as he approached, the way you mumbled the words causing him to just sigh, feeing defeated at how endearing you looked hugging your knees to yourself. "I thought I told you to go back to your party."

He didn't say anything as he went into the tub, sitting opposite you, but it wasn't long before he was pulling you towards him, positioning you between his legs so your back was pressed against his hard chest. He then began planting hungry kisses on your neck, down to your shoulders, his large hands wandering all over your body, one already having found itself on your breasts while the other coaxed your head to turn towards him so he can kiss you, his movements urgent yet languid and gentle.

"I'm all yours," he breathed against your lips, grinning. "You know that, right?"

"I know." You shrugged, facing forward again. “I don’t like the way that witch was touching you though. And you were all smiles about it, too.” You smacked him on the thigh, eliciting that deep laughter you adored no matter how mad you were at him. “Don’t laugh! It’s not funny.”

“It kinda is.”

“If you even think for a second that anyone can have you, Ryomen Sukuna, you’re wrong.” You looked him in the eyes, your dark orbs boring into him while your hand touched the side of his face, your crimson-painted nails looking like claws against his cheek. “You’re mine.”

He wrapped his arm around you, kissing you on the temple before placing his chin on your shoulder. "Jealousy is ugly, baby," he whispered in your ear, "but I gotta say, you wear it so well."

-END-

Okay. Before I get another "untimely (and unsolicited, if I'm allowed to say) lecture" about the etymology of the word "Ryōmen (両面/りょう)" meaning "two-faced/two-sided" and not a surname or given name , let me say it now, I KNOW, but thanks anyway. Sukuna and I are neighbors, just 4 hours by train. Geez. However, I am using his whole name in literature form, so if I do switch it up and use it as a surname for him (cause heaven forbid, the Kamigami rain hell on me) it's all for fun and literary creativity. No need to get too pressed over it.

No more fighting on my comments to point this out @fushigummy @kenkinori XD

And I have nothing against the 1980s or Brooke Shields. *waves at her fans*

It's established. I love bathtub scenes although I detest the idea of stewing in my own filth. But yeah, look forward to more bathtub drabbles.

I say too many things. Bye.

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

Text

Septic

This was written as a request for anon, who asked:

I was wondering if I could request one with Dean. The reader's injury gets badly infected and she gets a high fever and they are stuck somewhere and can't go to the hospital (maybe a cabin during a snow storm or something else if you want?). Anyway her condition keeps getting worse and dean is doing everything he can to keep her alive? As for their relationship it's up to you, whether they're dating or hiding their feelings...?

I hope this is something along the lines of what you were thinking. I decided to go with a ‘hiding from Leviathans’ angle because that seemed the closest to canon compliant to me. Thanks in advance for reading; I would love any advice or critiques!!

Title: Septic

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2124

Summary: Unable to go to a hospital for fear of getting trapped by Leviathans, Dean tries his best to manage the reader’s worsening infection and fever.

Warnings: fever, illness, swearing, implied threat of death, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff (maybe? if you squint)

“Dude, I have a fever, I haven’t been decapitated. Can you stop pacing? Sam’ll be back in a couple days, I’ll take some Tylenol and sleep it off, we’ll be good as new in no time.”

He glared down at you where you laid on Rufus’s couch with flared nostrils. “You’re shivering under every goddamn blanket in this place and it’s been 3 days already. We’re going to a hospital.”

You rolled your eyes at him and tried to hide the way you snuggled deeper into the woolen bundle. “So dramatic. As if we wouldn’t get made walking in the door. And if you’re so worried about me, why don’t you make yourself useful and get me a hot water bottle and some tea?” You tried to give him your most casual smile in reassurance.

Dean appraised you with a hard set to his jaw and a twinge of concern at his eyebrows for a moment before relenting. “Fuck, fine. One more day and if the fever hasn’t broken, then we’re going.” It was only a few steps to the kitchen, and you heard him putting a pot of water on to boil. “You sure I can’t just do coffee? I don’t know how you drink this stuff.”

Like it always did, Dean’s aversion to tea made you laugh. “It’s literally just mint flavored water—you act like you haven’t drunk all kinds of potions and hangover cures.”

“The fact that I have drunk all kinds of potions and hangover cures should show you how gross it is.” He tossed a hot water bottle covered in worn waxed canvas on top of your blankets and you shimmied it under your feet while he got the tea together. After a moment, he set the tea (and a plastic bear full of honey, which made you smile to yourself) on the coffee table next to you. “Can we at least watch something else? These chicks are driving me fucking nuts.”

That made you laugh hard enough to shake loose the blanket corners tucked in under your chin. “You might be able to trick Bobby into thinking you don’t like the Real Housewives, but I’m not buying it for one second.”

He shot you some side eye but didn’t protest, patting your feet in a signal to raise them so he could sit with your legs in his lap. You didn’t remember past the first few minutes of the next episode.

“Hey, come on, you gotta drink something.”

You squinted up at Dean, feeling the sickly stickiness of dried and re-soaked sweat in Dean’s stolen sweatshirt where it bunched around your neck. “You want me to sleep, you want me to wake up, pick a lane, asshole,” you tried to joke, feeling each word like a stab in your, well, stab wound. It took more focus than it should’ve too hold onto Dean’s face where he perched on the coffee table right in front of you.

“You’ve been asleep for 16 hours, Rip Van Winkle. And you’re sweating like a whore in church, gotta rehydrate.”

“Thanks, Nurse Ratched,” you croaked, carefully keeping your face neutral around the throbbing ache in your side as you sat up and accepted the bowl of broth from Dean. When his hands were free, he put the back of his hand to your forehead in a very maternal way that might’ve made you giggle if you weren’t in so much pain.

Dean’s lips pressed into a tight line and he breathed a hard “fuck,” as he sat back. “Lemme see it.”

“If you wanted to get me naked, all you had to do was ask,” you tried to joke.

“No slick shit, I’m serious. The fever’s getting worse.” There wasn’t even a touch of playfulness in his tone, tight chord of anxiety clipping his words.

“It’s going to be pink and raw like every other set of infected stit—”

“Cooperate or don’t, but my bet is there’s no way you can slip out of getting pinned right now.”

“Who knew you were so kinky, Dean?”

He didn’t rise to the teasing at all, the just-this-side-of-friendly banter you normally had, and it made the nervous bile rise a few degrees in your throat. You eased back and slowly flipped down the blankets, immediately started shivering as you pulled up your damp layers to show him your stomach.

It was worse than you’d thought it would be even before he tenderly pulled back the tape to see the injury itself, the gauze a mottled tie-dye of blood and greenish pus. The stitches strained against swollen, angry tissue oozing at the corners, and you looked away to hold onto a little denial that you weren’t completely fucked. “Jesus Christ, kid,” Dean murmured. He reached behind him for a bottle of rubbing alcohol and you didn’t even try to argue, hissing and grabbing his wrist when he poured it over the wound. Dabbing off the worst of the external mess with the moisture, you watched as his mind raced.

You decided to try to grab the reins of the situation before he locked you both into a crazy plan. “Help me up, I want to take a shower. I feel disgusting.”

“Can you even stand?”

You rolled your eyes at him exasperatedly.

“Roll your fucking eyes at me all you want, you look like Marvin the Martian. Can’t believe I let your dumb ass talk me out of taking you to a hospital.”

“I’ve got a much better chance of beating a little infection than I do the combined force of however many Leviathans are looking for us and the full force of the federal government. Now get out of my way if you’re not going to help me up, I need a shower.”

He pushed back the coffee table and watched you stand up, grabbing your arm and waist when you immediately swayed. “Goddamn it, sit back down, I’m getting your shoes.”

“Dean. I am not going to a hospital. Especially not before Sam gets back. Not a negotiation. I just—you’re freaked out, I get it. I just need you to please let me call the play for once.”

His jaw muscles tightened into firm balls and you could see the flare of panic behind his gaze as he flicked between your eyes. Ultimately he didn’t say anything, just giving you a tight nod and offering a hand to guide you up and to the bathroom. When you’d gotten there, he hovered in the doorway as you started to peel off layers, hoping that your leaning on the sink didn’t look as obvious as it felt. “Think I can take it from here, chief,” you offered, hoping he’d take the hint.

“Not adding a head injury to this bullshit stew, sorry.”

“No way, psycho. You’re not watching me shower.”

His face screwed up in a scowl. “I’m not going to watch you shower, I’m just staying in here while you do in case you get dizzy again.”

“Dude—”

“Not a negotiation,” he growled, spinning your words back on you. You held each other’s stubborn gazes for a long beat before you gave in, getting in the tub and yanking the curtain closed with the rest of your clothes on, shucking the rest of them off and dropping them outside the tub behind the plasticized shield and curtain. You turned the water on and held onto the dial for support, hearing Dean’s movement in the bathroom as he sat down on the lidded toilet next to the shower. Laborious as it was, it felt a lot better getting clean. You’d started washing your hair when he started to talk.

“You know what you’re asking me to do, right?”

“Let me take a shower in peace?” You didn’t want to acknowledge the elephant in the room—what was the point?

“If you’re not septic yet you will be in a day or two.”

“By which time Sam will be back and you guys can strong arm some vet into giving me antibiotics like the mafiosos you fancy yourselves to be.”

“Don’t deflect.” It was quiet but firm, and you blinked away the way your vision was starting to fuzz out at the edges. Something about it finally got you to drop the joking, if only for a second.

“I know what I’m asking you to do.” You hoped he could hear the resolution in your voice.

Dean was silent for a long enough beat that you thought maybe he hadn’t heard you, but you heard the roughness in his voice when he finally replied. “Please don’t make me?”

The shower washed away a hot, stupid tear when it shot out of your eye like a kamikaze at his vulnerability. “I can’t be the reason you guys get caught.” You were clean now, but something about the confession-style quality of the shower curtain and the way it was letting both of you say what you really meant held you in the stream of water anyway.

“I’m not—it’s going to fuck me up forever, you know that, right?” It was almost a grunt, the way Dean’s voice strained as he pleaded with you.

“Long as you guys are alive.”

He didn’t respond.

After a long minute you felt your legs start to turn to jello. “You have something out there I can put on?”

You heard him clear his voice, sticky and coarse. “Gimme a second.”

A callused hand shot behind the shower curtain with a towel before Dean’s footsteps got quieter, and you tried your best to dry yourself off without stumbling. Not 15 seconds later, a bundle of clothes came in the same way. You smiled to yourself at your underwear and yoga pants with Dean’s t-shirt; he would’ve had to deliberately go into 2 different bags to get the clothes, no way it was an accidental grab. When you were dressed, you tugged the shower curtain back and didn’t argue when Dean wrapped his arm around your waist to ease you out of the tub, let him guide you back to the couch and fussily rearrange your blankets and pillows before he got out his first aid supplies.

You watched his face as he worked on cleaning the wound again, knowing he just needed to be doing something, that he couldn’t just sit still and hope it got better. You could give him that, sat stock still even when it stung like a bitch and didn’t even tease him when he made you swallow a handful of vitamins as though that would help. Another cup of soup eaten silently and two mugs of tea later, your eyelids were beginning to droop again.

“Tired?” he murmured, messing with the cover of the hot water bottle before ultimately getting up to refill it.

“A little, yeah. Will you, um, will you sit with me?”

Dean mercifully didn’t acknowledge the shake in your voice, nodding gently and sliding himself beneath you on the couch, tucking you under his arm and onto his chest, burrowing you both into the cushions. You reached your hand out of the blankets to place your palm over his heart, feeling the vibrating thrum of his pulse under your fingertips and cheek. His hand shifted so that he was smoothing the drying hair back from your temple, and after a few beats he bent his neck to kiss the crown of your head. The tenderness of it, the giving in to your request, pulled another tear out of your eye that fell straight into the cotton of Dean’ t-shirt underneath you.

He sounded like he’d just woken up, that sleepy-syrupy sandpaper of a long night on his vocal cords. “You know, right? If it was going to be anyone for me, it would’ve been you?”

The weight of it turned the blankets on top of you into a hug. You were nodding into him before you could speak, the tears turning your voice creaky-soft. “Same to you, dummy.” He chuckled once nostalgically at the ribbing, and you felt the rumble of it under you. “Thank you, Dean.”

You felt the tension of the hiccupped breath before Dean got it under control to answer. “I love you, kid.”

“Love you too.” It was the only thing to say, and neither of you had to answer or explain this undercurrent that had never been acknowledged so plainly before, no matter how rock solid it might’ve been for years. You laid there together for a long time, beating of Dean’s heart underneath you something constant to hold onto, warmth off his body better than any hot water bottle. The last thing you remembered before passing out was hearing Sam walk through the front door.

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

Tags: @sams-sass @vxnderlindes @deanwinchesterswitch @akshi8278 @itsjensenanddean @flannellover67 @weepingwillowphoenix @tj-drinks-tea @whatareyousearchingfordean @winchest09 @winchestergirl2 @samwisethegr8 @nurse-sarahrn @lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love @deanwanddamons @stressedoutkitten @winchestershiresauce @tatted-trina6 @percico-heronstairs @downanddirtydean @queenoftheunderdark @lyarr24 @wonder-cole @that-one-gay-girl @fairlyspnfanfic @treat-winchesterswith-kindness @mimaria420 @jensengirl83 @zooaliaa @superfanficnatural @deangirl93

And as always, if you want to be on my taglist, were on the taglist and changed your handle, or I lost track of it, please let me know!

#dean #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester angst #dean hurt/comfort #dean winchester hurt/comfort #dean angst #spn angst #spn hurt/comfort #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural #spn #supernatural angst #supernatural hurt/comfort #dean mutual pining #spn mutual pining

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badsext · 3 years

Note

Prompt: “I wish he’d teach me how to play mine.”

I found ⬆️ as a random tag related to I don’t know what, and it just made me blush with all the mental images of things OC could be requesting Rob teach them how to play.

Character: Anybody but Roland and Ivan, cuz they’d be too easy and where’s the fun in that. Also, I hate the theramin. And 80s fashions.

* This is not my gif and I could not locate the gif maker for proper credit*

How to Play: Rob x Fem!Reader

Thank you for the request. Your requests are the best! :)

Warnings ⚠️ Public Smut, Food, Puns, Fluff

——————————————————————————

Rob had a penchant for quirky restaurants. Over the past few weeks he had already taken you to an Asian fusion bistro with live performing aerialists and a farm to table establishment that encouraged diners to help with a few farm chores before being seated at their table. This place was tame by comparison, merely specializing in themed soups.

There was a lull in the conversation and Rob started giggling.

“What is it?” His laughter was contagious.

“Listen,” he said leaning in.

“What, I don’t-“

“That’s the sound of fifty people trying not to slurp their soup.”

You smiled, noisily consuming your noodles in defiance.

“Enjoying the ‘PHOMO?’”

“It’s pretty good. How’s yours? What did you order again?”

“I’ve got ‘Won Ton Desire.’”

“These names. I swear.”

Rob continued to peruse the menu. “Tomatotally Awesome? Chick Send Nood(le)s?”

“Yeah, some of these are really stew-pid.”

“Are you proud of yourself for that one?”

“This restaurant was your idea, remember?”

“If you’d told me where we were going, I might have reconsidered.”

“Take Our Broth Away is the hottest spot in town right now. There’s a waitlist a mile long. I had to pull some strings.”

“I’m gonna pull your strings!,” you quipped back.

“Ooh, Please elaborate.” Rob smirked, resting his chin in his hands.

The waitress came up to your table. “I just wanted to check on you two. Enjoying your soup? Can I get you anything else? For dessert we have a lovely cold strawberry and fresh mint gazpacho.”

“We’ll take it! Two spoons, please.”

The dessert, essentially a fruit smoothie in a bowl, was heavenly, the best part of the meal. Your spoons clinked as you scuffled over the elegant portion.

“I heard you play the spoons. It’s like an Irish folk music thing, right?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, passing the silver utensil between his lips and pulling it out clean. “Bet you think I wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I know you would. I’m counting on it,” you teased.

Rob collected another spoon and licked that one clean as well. Then he stood up, rolled up his sleeves and put one leg up on the chair. This was getting serious.

He threaded the instruments between the fingers in his right hand. He slapped them rhythmically against his jeans, his dominant hand alternating between cupping them and gently tapping them together. It was an oddly pleasant sound and he looked hot as hell doing it. This man could make anything look sexy.

Other couples started checking out the strange music coming from your table. He couldn’t resist improvising a few cheeky song lyrics. His singing voice was average, but his charm could make a herd of stampeding buffalo stop and swoon.

Rob signed a few autographs and posed for a couple of selfies. After a while the fans dispersed, returning to their tables. Alone again, you settled back into your secluded table against the wall. “Well, now. That was entertaining.”

“I aim to please.”

“Mm. I wish you’d show me how to play.” You brushed your skirt away from your leg and parted your knees just enough to give him the message.

“We’re not talking about music anymore are we?” Rob leaned in and stroked the length of your bare thigh. You shook your head coyly. He cradled your face in his hand. Nuzzling your cheek into his palm, you stared up at him, your eyes posing a challenge.

Rob quickly adjusted the tablecloth to give you a few more inches of coverage on the side facing out. Then he brushed his hand over the little strip of cotton which held your forbidden fruit.

“Is this what you want?, he whispered.

“Ah...ha.” You inhaled nervously.

He hooked his finger under the fabric and rubbed his knuckle against your clit.

You bit your lip to suppress any sound from escaping. You were normally not this sensitive, but just the possibility of getting caught electrofied your senses. Every clink of plates and distant muffled voice raised the intensity. It was masterful the way he remained so poised above the table and angled your bodies so it just looked like an intimate conversation to the casual observer.

“The waitress could come round the corner any second with the check,” he said, slipping a finger inside you. You gripped his shoulder to steady yourself. He used his thumb to roll your clit in a slow and steady circle.

“Ahh.” Your head tilted back. Rob gently guided it back. “Look at me. Focus on me,” he said.

He held you in his green eyed gaze, encouraging you.

He added another finger and together they curled and flexed inside you, his thumb bearing down, relentlessly manipulating your swollen aching clit. You sat there helpless, a dribbling mess. “Oh fuck,” you whispered as the flood endorphins erupted from your core. You shuddered and sighed, clinging to Rob for stability.

“So, how are we doing?” The waitress returned. She noticed the overwhelmed look on your face. “Oh, hon are you okay?” You didn’t know what to say. You hid your face with your hands.

“She is just a little overwhelmed and I haven’t even gotten to the big surprise yet.” Rob winked at you.

“Oh, well, I’ll give you some privacy.” She smiled, probably assuming you were flustered by some big romantic gesture. She left the check, then disappeared. Rob paid for the meal, tipping generously.

“Nice cover, but now you’ve got me wanting another surprise.” You went in for a kiss.

“Oh but there is another surprise,” he assured you. “Now, let’s go home, so we can do the weird stuff.” You laughed. “Wait, you forgot your key,” he added, jingling the thing a few inches from your face.

“That’s not my...Oh. Rob, what did you do?”

“I got a little place. I’ve decided to stick around for a while.”

You lunged at him and threw your arms around his neck. It was a surprise, one you had been hoping for. You held the key triumphantly. “This night just keeps getting better. Now, tell me more about the weird stuff…”

@salvador-daley @super-unpredictable98 @bubblyani @helena-way07 @chipster-21 @punknatch @zombiedixon89 @ringpopdust

#rob x reader #robert sheehan x reader #robert sheehan fanfic #fic request #robert sheehan smut #Robert Sheehan request #funny Robert Sheehan fic #Robert Sheehan imagine

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hopelesshawks · 3 years

Text

Love and Admiration Part 19- Goodnight Princess

18+ Bakugo x fem!pro hero reader

Summary: (Y/n) has known Bakugo since middle school, admired him since high school, and had a crush on him since the first time they met. Even now, a top pro hero in her own right, she can’t shake her school girl crush. Too bad Bakugo literally has no idea she exists. Well that’s not entirely true… He does know pro hero Mercury exists, but (y/l/n) (y/n)? Never heard of her.

Warnings for brief depiction of sexual harassment (not from Bakugo), unprotected sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), degradation, praise kink, dacryphilia (crying kink), overstimulation, and dirty talk

Masterlist Help Lulu <3

As you walk up to the AHA building you spot Aizawa talking to a man with his back to you in a black bomber jacket, a white hood pulled over the back, with a black baseball cap on. Curiosity drives your feet forward a little faster until you get close enough that recognition finally hits and causes you to slow down again. Even with his back to you you’d recognize Bakugo Katsuki anywhere. Part of you wants to turn around and run home, message Aizawa some half hearted excuse about getting tied up in a villain attack and no longer being able to help out. Before you can though Aizawa notices your arrival and waves you over. “Here’s who you’ll be working with,” you hear your former teacher tell Bakugo and just as it sinks in that Bakugo was also clueless as to who he’d been working with, he turns around to see and your heart skips a beat. Yes he looks unfairly attractive the way he always does but what really caught your attention is his outfit. Right there in the center of his white hoodie is a black Mercury symbol, the same symbol stamped somewhere on almost all your merch and the same one you’ve been using as your profile picture on social media since your debut. Bakugo follows your gaze down to the incriminating symbol, his cheeks going bright red. He mutters out an excuse about tossing bags in the car so he can turn away although you’re a little surprised when he extends his hand out to you expectantly. You consider the man in front of you who still won’t meet your gaze. Hurt still burns unpleasantly in your chest but you hand over your duffel bag and with little more than a sheepish glance and nod as acknowledgment, Bakugo moves to the trunk of the car to load it up. “You and Bakugo can handle this right? I saw the news call you a dynamic duo so,” Aizawa asks and you nod immediately. “Yea, we’ve got this. You got nothing to worry about,” you assure the older man. “Good. Get into town, get some rest, one of the local heroes will fill you in on the situation in the morning,” he explains. You nod your understanding and then go to join Bakugo in the car. Once you’re settled in, Bakugo starts up the engine and pulls off into the night.

The silence is awkward. You stare out the window as the cityscape slowly starts to thin out. Once Bakugo pulls the car out onto the highway it doesn’t take long before you’re leaving the city lights behind entirely. When the silence becomes too oppressive you pop open the glove box and root around until you find a USB port. You use your phone charger to plug in your phone, scroll through to one of your chiller playlists, and press play. Music floats through the speakers and you feel yourself relaxing although a quick glance at Bakugo reveals he doesn’t feel the same. He’d discarded his jacket in the backseat once he’d gotten in the car and, as usual, had pushed the long sleeves of the hoodie up to his elbows. As a result it’s easy to see the tense line of his shoulders and the popping veins in his forearms. His grip on the steering wheel is so tight his knuckles are almost white. You’ll be genuinely surprised if there aren’t permanent indentations of his fingers in the steering wheel by the time you two reach your destination. You’re tempted to just let him stew in whatever emotions he’s feeling at seeing you again for the first time since you’d hooked up, but then your eyes fall on where your hero name is written on the sleeve of his hoodie and you decide you’re feeling just generous enough to break the silence.

“You’re wearing the hoodie I got you.”

“Yea.”

“Why?”

Bakugo’s hands somehow tighten even more on the steering wheel before he bites out “Because I like it,” defensively. You roll your eyes and return your gaze to the window. No one can say you didn’t try. You’re about to give up and lament your fate to the groupchat when you hear Bakugo sigh next to you. “That’s not it. I mean I do like it but I didn’t think your dumb ass was gonna be here and it’s not the only reason,” Bakugo confesses. “Insulting me is not a strong start but what’s the other reason?” you ask. The pause is long before Bakugo speaks up again to admit, “I’ve missed you.” The incredulous look you give him almost makes him wince. “You’re the one who stopped messaging me you asshole!” “I know that!” “Then you don’t get to miss me!” “Well I don’t know what the fuck to tell you cause I do!” “Then why’d you ghost me?” “I panicked!”

Both of you go silent after that particular admission. This time it’s Bakugo who speaks up to break it. “Look I don’t date,” he sighs. “Who the fuck said I wanted to date you?” you ask defensively, your cheeks heating up the slightest bit. “Will you shut the fuck up? I’m trying to apologize.” “Apologize better.” “If you shut the fuck up I will.” “I don’t think apologies are supposed to include telling the other person to shut the fuck up.” “I’m trying here (y/l/n),” Bakugo growls and the almost desperate edge to his voice is enough to make you swallow your next retort, instead motioning for him to continue. “I don’t date and I don’t usually fuck people I enjoy having around. I already fucked up with you enough so I didn’t want to do it again. I panicked and that only made shit worse until I didn’t know how to fix it, ok? People care about me and I’m shit to them, that’s just how it goes. I’m sorry you got caught up in it,” he finally admits.

You weren’t expecting that level of honesty from him, nor were you expecting his answer to be so vulnerable. You turn to face him as much as you can within the confines of the seat of the car and take in his body language. Had he always been this insecure about his relationships with the people around him? Maybe if you hadn’t spent years cataloging his every move and expression from afar you would’ve missed it, but looking at him now he looks cracked open. You get the distinct impression that as small as his list of people he likes is, the list of people he’s allowed to see him like this is even smaller. “That’s not true,” you offer but that only makes Bakugo scoff. “It’s not!” you insist. “I don’t need your fucking pity,” he grumbles. “Jesus Christ you really are an idiot. Midoriya, Kirishima, and Denki all have plenty of other friends asshole. If what you said were true they would’ve dumped you a long time ago so cut the pity party bullshit and give me a real fucking apology so I can forgive you already,” you insist, and it reminds you a little of how he’d encouraged you during the reunion. The glance he shoots you is calculating, as if trying to assess how much you mean those words. “You’re going to forgive me?” he asks skeptically. “With an actual apology? Yea. I swear to god you’re the only one who still sees you as the same person you were when we first got to UA,” you reply with a roll of your eyes. “I’m sorry for ghosting you,” he grumbles out, cheeks slightly flushed as he does so. “Good. You’re forgiven. Now what songs should I play the rest of the drive?”

The ride gets a lot easier after that. You’ve missed Bakugo and it’s nice slipping back into the groove the two of you seem to have with each other. He talks shit about your song choices but you still catch him humming along or tapping the steering wheel to the beat a few times. He reveals he got around to finishing your favorite movie and so you guys spend a long time talking about that and your recommendations for other movies going forward. It’s comfortable and before you know it Bakugo is driving past the welcome sign for the tiny town the two of you will be working in. There’s only one hotel. It’s small and could probably use some updating but it’ll do just fine for the short duration of your trip. As the two of you grab your bags and start to head inside Bakugo asks “What are the odds the old man sprung for us to get our own rooms?” “Doubtful, you know the association is cheap as fuck. It has to be. You’re stuck with me,” you tease. “Guess that ain’t so bad,” Bakugo shrugs, which causes your heart to pound a little harder in your chest. “I’ll check us in if you wanna grab some shit from the vending machine,” Bakugo offers and you easily agree, the two of you heading in opposite directions to complete your tasks.

As you make your way over to the vending machine you catch the attention of a middle aged man, likely another guest, who follows you over that direction. “Well hello beautiful, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing around here?” he calls as he makes his way over. You roll your eyes but otherwise ignore him as you instead focus on selecting something from the machine in front of you. “C’mon hot stuff, don’t ignore me. I can tell you’re a big city chick, probably been around the block right? What’s one more?” he insists, sliding his body in front of you. “Do you mind? I’m trying to grab something,” you reply as levelly as possible. It’s moments like this where you hate the spotlight of heroism. You would love nothing more than to make the man blocking your way move but that would be unbecoming of a role model for future generations. “Aww don’t be like that doll, lighten up,” the man grins before having the audacity to move away from the vending machine just enough to smack your ass. You are livid, your hand immediately grasping hold of his wrist to stop him from touching you again. You whirl on him to tell him off but before you can he’s being wrenched out of your grip and violently tossed to the floor. Before you can even fully process what’s happened Bakugo stands like a wall between you, all fury and fire and brimstone. You haven’t seen him this angry in a very long time and even if the man who’d been hitting on you doesn’t know who Bakugo is, the glare and overall body language is still enough to have him cowering at Bakugo’s feet. “If you ever fucking touch her again, if you so much as fucking look at her, I will make you wish you were never fucking born,” Bakugo growls out and god maybe you do have a murder boner like Nejire said because you should not find any of this hot but you definitely do. The older man scrambles to his feet with a nod and runs off with barely a glimpse behind him and certainly not one in your direction, allowing you and Bakugo to heave a sigh of relief. “I know you had that handled but dude pissed me off,” Bakugo explains. His voice is still rough and anger-laden and you try to ignore the way it sends shivers down your spine. “Thanks Bakugo,” you reply, grateful both for his defense of you and his acknowledgment that you don’t need defending. “Katsuki,” he corrects you immediately. “What?” “You’re not mad at me anymore right?” “No?” “Then call me Katsuki,” he insists gruffly. You can only nod in response, afraid that if you open your mouth something embarrassing will come out of it like how incredibly fucking hot it was watching him defend you or how saying his first name right now is bringing back a few too many memories of when he’d first demanded you use his first name in the alley.

Bakugo leads you to your room as you try in vain to rein in your rampant thoughts. Even as you finally arrive all you can think about is the feeling of his lips on yours, the feeling of him filling you up, and what it was like to, for a moment, be the sole owner of his attention. He tosses his stuff on his bed and sits down as you move towards your own but your mind insists on picturing him fucking you relentlessly into it. “What’s up with your face dumbass?” Bakugo suddenly asks and the question makes you jump about a foot in the air, warmth filling your cheeks as you realize you’ve been caught mid-fantasy. “Nothing is up with my face!” you defend and you hope it’s the truth because you can feel how much wetness has pooled in your panties already. Bakugo rises up and stalks towards you and you can’t help but feel like prey, stepping backwards away from him until he’s got you crowded up against the wall. The similarity to that day in the alley is not lost on you and it only makes things worse. “What’s running through that head of yours princess?” he asks and the nickname is too much, a breathless curse slipping past your lips unbidden. You don’t have much time to be embarrassed by how obviously flustered you’re getting because one of Katsuki’s hands finds your waistband as if on instinct at the sound of you breathless. “If you don’t stop I won’t be able to hold back,” he admits and you can tell by the flush in his cheeks that he means it. “I thought you don’t sleep with people you like,” you reply with bated breath. “You’re the exception,” he growls out, pressing closer before seeming to think better of it and closing his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose as if trying desperately to control himself, before adding “if you want to be.” “God yes,” you reply and no sooner have the words left your mouth is he pressing a bruising kiss to your lips as if he’s been quietly suffocating and you’re the last bit of oxygen left.

Katsuki tugs you away from the wall and you go easily, allowing him to push you towards your mattress until you’re lying down on it and he can comfortably hover over you, his lips barely leaving yours the entire time. It doesn’t take long to get you both down to your underwear, the entire process a blur. “You’re such a fucking mess for me princess,” Bakugo practically purrs as he runs his fingers along the damp fabric of your panties. Your hips buck up into the attention eagerly as you nod your agreement at the statement. “Yea, it’s only for you,” you tell him breathlessly and it might’ve been embarrassing if not for the way it draws a deep, satisfied growl from Katsuki’s chest his mouth dropping to your neck and then your chest and working further and further down. “Think you deserve a better apology then I gave you in the car,” he says suddenly looking up the length of your body to find your eyes. “What do you mean?” you ask with what little breath you have in your lungs. “I’ve always been better at doing shit than talking. You thought that apology before was good just wait,” he grins up at you cockily and it already has your stomach doing somersaults even before his teeth find the waistband of your panties and start tugging them down your legs. The moan you release at the sight is completely unfettered as your already dripping wet pussy clenches desperately around nothing. Katsuki is nothing if not a tease so even once he’s done with your panties he doesn’t immediately head to the main course. He lavishes attention on your inner thighs, leaving countless hickeys in his wake but no matter how much you whine and squirm he shows no signs of moving his mouth to where you really want it. “Katsuki,” you finally whine desperately. “What is it princess?” he asks and you can feel him smirking against you, the bastard. “I don’t think apologies are supposed to be teasing like this,” you pant. “Oh really now? You got something to say about my apology princess?” Bakugo asks, the smirk sliding away. “I think you’re not much better at this kind of apology than spoken ones.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

“I didn’t realize my princess was such a whore. You want my mouth that bad? You want to cum that bad?” Katsuki asks and there’s an edge to his voice you’re pretty sure means trouble for you but you nod anyway. “Please Katsuki.” “Well if my princess wants to be a greedy fucking slut then so be it,” he agrees in that same lethal tone before diving in to devour you with an intense voracity you’re unprepared for. You moan loudly, hands grasping hard onto the blankets as he licks a hard swipe all the way from your twitching hole to your sensitive clit before pulling the nub into his mouth and sucking hard. He continues to lave attention on your sensitive clit even as he shoves two fingers into your dripping cunt and starts setting a brutal pace. Eventually he brings his free hand to take over for his mouth and stimulate your clit while he moves his tongue to join his fingers, stuffing you absolutely full. The attention is almost overwhelming and it isn’t long until you’re seeing stars, crying out Katsuki’s name. As you come down from your high you realize Katsuki is still pumping his fingers slowly in and out of you. “Katsu- ah!” you cut yourself off with a shout as he resumes massaging your swollen clit. “S-slow down,” you moan but if anything it only makes him move his fingers more aggressively. You grit your teeth, grasping the blankets even more tightly. “What’s wrong? Thought you wanted this,” he taunts as he pushes you into your second orgasm of the night.

Your entire body is tingling now, thoughts filled only with Katsuki, but he still hasn’t stopped and you’ve never been so overstimulated in your life. “Kas’ki ‘s too much,” you moan, eyes watering as he continues to relentlessly massage your almost painfully sensitive clit. “Don’t tell me my greedy little slut is done already. I still haven’t filled you up yet,” he teases you as he finally removes his finger only to line his dick up with your entrance instead. “Come on baby, I think you’ve got one more in you. Don’t you want to be good for me?” he asks and every inch of your body is saying that you should tap out but instead you find yourself nodding. “Use your words baby.” “Wanna be good for you,” you pant and the devilish grin you get in response has your heart practically in your throat. Slowly but surely Bakugo starts pushing into you. It’s so much, too much, stimulation but even as tears start to run down your cheeks you can’t bring yourself to tell him to stop. He curses under his breath as he finally bottoms out inside you, taking a moment to collect himself so it won’t be over too soon. As he starts moving he lavishes you with praise while all you can do is whine and whimper, alternating between barely intelligible expressions of how fucking good it all feels and broken cries of his name. “God you look so fucking beautiful like this. You know that? Fucking gorgeous,” he groans as his hips move faster and faster. You can tell when he’s close, his rhythm starting to get sloppier. “You ready to give me that third one baby? Can you do that for me?” he asks and you nod frantically, coasting along that razor thin edge between pleasure and pain. He leans down to kiss you then, swallowing each broken sound you make, as he rocks into you harder and harder until you’re both too strung out to do much more than pant and breathe into each other’s mouths. You topple over the ledge first but Katsuki isn’t far behind, your walls fluttering and clenching around him. You sob out his name one final time as praises pour from his lips about how perfect you were for him. “Knew you could do it for me princess. So good for me,” he sighs as he continues to paint your insides white.

When Bakugo is finally spent, he rolls over and practically collapses next to you. You both have to take a minute to recover, chests heaving as you try to catch your breath. Unsurprisingly, Bakugo recovers first so he carefully pulls back the covers before bringing them back up to drape over the two of you. “You good?” he asks, eyes scanning over your body as if trying to catalogue any damage he might’ve done. “More than good,” you sigh contentedly. “Good. C’mere,” he commands and you’re more than happy to oblige, allowing him to pull you against his chest. He carefully wipes the tears away from your cheeks before wrapping you more fully into his arms. “I take back what I said,” you mumble into his chest, exhaustion creeping in as the steady beat of his heart starts to lull you to sleep. “What are you on about now?” he asks, but the fondness in his tone belies the harshness of his words. “You’re fucking amazing at apologies,” you mumble. “Shut up and go to sleep dumbass,” he replies but you can practically hear the pleased smirk in his voice.

“Goodnight Katsuki.”

“Goodnight Princess.”

A/N: Apologies are difficult for Bakugo. He’s a very actions speak louder than words kinda guy. Also as funny a trope as the whole “forced to share one bed at a hotel/motel cause there are no other rooms” trope is, it’s more meaningful to me if there are two beds and they still choose to share.

Taglist: @pixelwisp @oliviasslut @larkspyrr @heroacadema @kozukatsuki @captaincyberqueen @undead-nyx @ineedtofocusfr @i-heart-fictional-boys

#hopelessla #bakugo smau #bakugo x fem!reader #bakugo x y/n #bakugo katsuki #hopeless.thirst

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lacontroller1991 · 4 years

Text

Someone To You (Daryl Dixon x Reader)

Summary: Reader gets jealous of Daryl and Carol’s relationship, feeling like he is neglecting her for Carol, so she avoids him and he confronts her about it

Author’s Note: Can I talk about how much I can’t stand Carol in season 10. She was so selfish and for what? I mean I still love her, but season 10 Carol wasn't it. ALSO ANGSTY AS FUUUUCCC, also Daryl is a bit of a dick in this

Warning: Language

You didn’t know when you and Daryl had become a ‘thing’ so to speak, but you did know when you started to really notice his relationship with Carol. It was the first night at the prison when they were on watch together and you were walking the length of the gates for something to do when you heard Daryl say ‘I’ll go down first’ and Carol shouting back ‘even better’. You knew deep down that they were probably joking with each other, it still stung. You shook it off, knowing that Daryl had stated explicitly multiple times that he and Carol were just friends.

Then Lori died and Carol was missing. Daryl was a mess. You tried consoling him, ensuring him that she was fine, that she wasn’t dead, but he turned a cold shoulder, lighting a cigarette and releasing a shaky breath. You walked away from him, expecting him to call out to you, but he didn’t. Deep down you knew they were more than just friends.

When Carol showed up in Daryl’s arms extremely dirty and almost passed out, you stood there in shock as Daryl brushed passed you and placed her in her cell. What really got you questioning his loyalty was that he wouldn’t leave her bedside.

“Can I get you anything?” You asked softly as he shrugged his shoulders, not even glancing at you. Walking away, you saw Rick look at you with sorrow. Offering a small smile, you went down to get some food that you had cooked for everyone. Getting a bowl, you poured the stew and grabbed a spoon, heading back to Carol’s cell, hoping that Daryl would eat something.

“Here, you need to eat something babe,” you stated softly, handing him the bowl gently as he took it and stared at it before throwing it at the wall next to you, getting stew all over your clothes and hair.

“What they fuck Daryl? I’m just trying to help!” You exclaimed in frustration as he looked at you with that infamous Dixon temper.

“Yeah, we don’t need yer help. Get outta here,” he yelled as you stood still, taking in the ‘we’ more than anything else, “go!” Running out of the cell, you passed Maggie and Glenn who looked at you in shock before turning back to each other.

“I’ll go talk to her,” Maggie suggested as Glenn nodded his head. Running after you, Maggie exited the prison to see you sitting on the floor in sobs. Placing a hand on your shoulder, she took a seat next to you and rubbed circles into your back.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it sweetie,” she whispered as you sniffled, looking at her through bangs before wiping your tears away.

“What does she have that I don’t?” You asked as she sighed and looked at the clouds in the sky as if searching for an answer.

“He just needs space.”

“Well, he can have it. I’m done looking after him while all he does is mope in her cell,” you stated harshly, grabbing one of the metal pipes before heading down to the fences.

You avoided Daryl and Carol like the plague. You even went as far as sleeping in an empty cell, away from them, trying to collect your thoughts. It had been a week since Carol has been up and running around. She would offer you smiles but you would never return them, always getting food after everyone else so that you could avoid the pity talk and avoid them. You laid in your cell, backed in the furthest corner but you could still hear everything happening outside. Your ears immediately perked up at the mention of your name.

“’ave ya talked to her? She won’t talk to me,” Daryl commented as you heard Rick sigh, blocking the entrance to your cell that you were almost certain that Daryl didn’t know about.

“Look, you messed up. I would even go as far as saying that you fucked up,” Rick replied, and you could image what they looked like. Rick with his hands on his hips and Daryl leaning against the wall.

“’ow the fuck did I fuck up? Carol wasn’t ‘erself.”

“I don’t know, brother. But throwing a bowl of stew at (Y/n) when she was just trying to help isn’t the greatest thing in the world.”

“I did what?” The surprise in his voice shook you. How could he not know what he did? Wasn’t he explicitly clear that he didn’t want your help just days before.

“She was bringing you food, you threw it at her,” Rick stated as you leaned closer in without making a sound.

“Shit,” was all that Daryl said before his heavy footprints walked away, leaving Rick at the entrance to your new cell. You stared at him as he walked in, taking a seat on your bed next to you.

“You should talk to him,” he suggested as you shook your head.

“No, I’m done talking to him. I don’t want to be a second choice to anyone. If it were me or Carol, he would choose her every time. Guarantee it.”

“No he wouldn’t.”

“Yes he would, Rick. You saw him. All he did was sit there in her cell, holding her hand and spoon feeding her. It was a mistake joining the group,” you whispered, trying to push the tears down, “maybe if I had never joined the group then I wouldn’t have fallen in love with that jerk.”

“Don’t say that, you belong with us and you know it. You contribute just as much as anyone else does, we all appreciate you and want you here.”

“I don’t know. I should just leave. Take my chances.”

“I can’t stop you, but if you ever decide to come back, you are always welcomed.”

“Thanks Rick,” you offered him a smile as he pulled you in for a side hug.”

“Of course. Although can you take watch tonight?” He asked with a smile as you laughed and shoved his arm playfully.

“Yeah, I got it.”

The breeze from up in the guard tower blew your hair across your face. You leaned against the rail, not paying attention to the door opening and who was coming in.

“Don’t leave,” a gruff voice said, causing you to spin around to see Daryl standing there as awkward as ever with some flowers and food in his hand. Your heart skipped a beat, urging to go back to him and forgive him, but you ignored the feeling and turned away, going back to look out at the empty field.

“Not your decision.” He sighed, placing the flowers down and walking over to you, offering you the bowl of stew. Taking it from him, you copied him and threw it at the door.

“Guess I deserved that,” he commented as you shot him a glare.

“Ya think?” He moved to stand next to you.

“I know I fucked up. Please don’t leave, we need you here.”

“We? You gotta be kidding me.” You spat out as you avoided his stare.

“The hell is yer problem girl?” He asked, his temper flaring up as you looked at him in disbelief.

“My problem? My problem is you and Carol. You care for her more than you do me. You couldn’t even look at me when she was down, all you could do was just sit in her cell. My problem is you. And here you come, with flowers asking me not to leave. Because you guys need me here. Not you. The truth is,” you whispered out the last part, wiping the tears away, “I fucking love you Daryl. But you love her more than me, and it really shows. I want you to pick me, choose me, love me.”

“That’s what ya think?”

“It’s what I know.”

“Then yer an idiot,” he whispered, pulling you into him, kissing your lips with passion as you stood there, gradually returning the kiss before he pulled apart, “I care for her. But I love ya so much it ‘urts. If ya decide to leave, it will kill me. I need ya here. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep ya here. Hell, I’ll even stop talking to ‘er.”

“Don’t do that.”

“But I will.”

“I just want to be someone to you,” you whispered, hugging him, tightly wrapping your arms around his waist as he held you close to him.

“Yer my everythin’.”

Author's Note: AHDHEJWbfoewhfNEqoHFEP, think this might be my favorite fic I’ve ever written. In no way would I ever beg on my knees for a guy to choose me over another chick, but if it were Daryl Dixon I would make one helluv an exception.

Also Peep Grey’s reference

Also poor Rick, he has to deal with their shit when he just lost Lori. RIP

#daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #reader #reader insert #Female reader #the walking dead #the walking dead imagines #twd #rick grimes #Maggie greene #Glenn Rhee #Maggie Greene x glenn rhee #norman reedus

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mingoyeob-archive · 3 years

Note

omg hey, if not done yet, can we please have 51 + jk? also take your time for part 3, no need to rush and stress about it, you're an amazing writer and good work always takes time 💜

under the oak tree drabble game ⚔️🌳 to make up for my delayed release of part 3 of under the oak tree i’ve decided to do a drabble game!

omg thank you for being so kind 🥲 I wanna end under the oak tree in a good way so I've just been pushing it off until I come up with something thats not a complete disappointment?? but I'm hoping these drabbles give you guys more time to enjoy the characters! hope you like it :)

51. “I can’t help the fact that I’m so goddamn moody all the freaking time” | jjk x reader ft yoongi | word count: 2k

The castle was eerily quiet.

Most days it would be loud with the sound of footsteps and the banging of mugs hitting wood tables followed by the clanking of cutlery. However today, no one seemed to want to make a peep; they were as quiet as a mouse. Unlike everyone else who found the lack of noise peculiar, Yoongi enjoyed it - reveled in it, flourished in it even. Nothing made him happier than being able to sit and enjoy his daily morning, afternoon and evening naps and it made studying all the damn protection spells Jungkook wanted for the castle a hell of a lot easier. But there was one thing that threatened his new paradise, a looming cloud over his glorious fantasy, the grey cloud that he called Jeon Jungkook.

Now Jungkook was never one to be in an especially chipper mood, at least not around most people that is (you on the other hand, seemed to be a completely different story). Yoongi distinctly remembers seeing baby pictures of the lad when he was just a baby with a scowl etched permanently on his face under bushy dark brows. He often found it comical. Here was this lumbering idiot, with a silver spoon practically being shoved in his mouth, the glorious savior of the kingdom, but he was walking around as if his favorite horse had died (which it hadn’t, he checked). It was really starting to get on his nerves.

“Kid, you’ve gotta stop scaring the men. I swore I saw one of them shit themselves the other day.” Yoongi said from beside Jungkook. Currently they sat side by side in the great hall, feasting on bowls of hearty beef stew, the kind with giant chunks of meat and half haphazardly chopped vegetables covered in a thick and glorious gravy. Hmm my favorite Yoongi hummed to himself, eyes slipping shut as he drank up the delicious broth with a loud slurping sound. His spoon made a loud clanging sound against his bowl when he dropped it back down, wiping his mouth to shift his gaze back over to the scowling man to his left. “You know if I were you I would be jumping for joy. You’re filthy fucking rich, whats to be sad about huh?”

Jungkook didn’t even let out his usual grunt in response, opting to continue swirling his spoon around in his stew while glaring down at it as if it had wronged him in some way. But the sudden sound of one the knights from across the hall laughing had him snapping his head up to send a growl over to the group of men which had them instantly silencing themselves, ducking down to continue silently eating their food. Yoongi watched the exchange with amusement, “Yeah you definitely need to get laid.”

Jungkook raised his hand to swing at him to which Yoongi merely stopped with a spell, not even bothering to look at him while he took another spoonful of his food. He knew Jungkook would never try to purposefully hurt him if he knew Yoongi couldn’t protect himself, so this was just considered normal playful banter between the two men. “That’s enough, Yoongi.” He mumbled angrily, dropping his fist to bang against the table. The noise gained the attention of everyone in the dining hall, but none of them dared to turn their heads to look at the commotion, afraid the Duke would redirect his anger towards them. “I can’t help the fact that I’m so goddamn moody all the freaking time.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, you know, that's what tends to happen when you don’t get any for a while.” Yoongi sighed and leaned his hand against his hand, gazing pitifully at Jungkook. He noticed the slight twinge of confusion on Jungkooks face and decided to reiterate himself, “It’s called blue balls idiot.”

Jungkook nearly choked on his spit. Yoongi was never one to mince words and this time was no different, but still his blunt words caught him off guard. “Would you keep it down!” Jungkook seethed, whipping his head around to see if anyone had overheard the topic of their conversation. It’s not like he was scared of anyone mocking him (everyone knew better than that) but still, he didn’t need the whole castle knowing that him and his wife still hadn’t had sex yet since he’d been back.

Yes, you heard him correctly. Jungkook had been back for almost three months and you and him still hadn’t even so much as touched each other intimately. Sure they had a few passionate kisses and lust filled embraces here and there which had left your neck bruised with hickies, but outside of that, neither of you had even dared roaming a hand south of the border. He didn’t know why he hadn’t tried it, perhaps it was because he wanted to make sure you were ready this time, instead of forcing himself on you like last time. He wanted to be positive that you enjoyed yourself as much as he did, wanted to bring you to new heights that made you absolutely euphoric. But until you were comfortable with him enough to let him do so, he would stick to his hand and the dirty images that he had conjured up in his head.

“I know what blue balls are, Yoongi. But I’m perfectly fine with how mine and y/n’s relationship is going.” he mumbled, glaring at the sorcerer. “And I don’t need you meddling in my love life so why don’t you just go and frolic with that stable boy like you do and leave me be.”

Yoongi let out a noise of disagreement, throwing his hands up in annoyance, “How many times do I have to tell you, me and hoseok are not frolicking or whatever the hell you’re into-” Jungkooks foot kicked his leg under the table causing him to let out a hiss but nonetheless he continued, “You can’t keep waiting for her to make the first move. Y/n is a lady and a lady from Aster at that. Those chicks never make the first move.”

Jungkook grumbled and pushed his bowl away from him then sipped at his ale in contemplation. Perhaps Yoongi was right, maybe it was time for him to make the first move. “But how can I make sure she’s ready? What if I fuck up like last time?” he questioned, not bothering to hide the genuine concern in his voice.

The sorcerer just sighed, patting Jungkook on the shoulder, “Trust me, kid. If you fucked up, she wouldn’t still be here. And judging by the noises I heard last time, I’m pretty sure she enjoyed herself.” yoongi shuddered. No more late night walks through the hall he promised himself. “Just try to do something nice for her this time. Don’t just throw her around, take it easy. Try and lighten the mood, understand?”

Jungkook was quiet for a second, the gears turning in his head. When he finally seemed to come to a conclusion, he grunted and nodded his head. The corner of Yoongi's lips tilted up in a satisfied smile and he clapped the man on the shoulder, “Thatta boy!”

Immediately after dinner, Jungkook went to the kitchen to request the finest meats, cheeses and artfully crafted desserts they had along with the sweetest wine the chef could find. The kitchen staff were practically shaken in their boots when the Duke had first walked into the room, afraid they had done something to mess up his dinner. But when they saw how shy yet dedicated the man seemed to be (despite how much he had tried to hide it) they were more than happy to help him, promising him that they would do their best. Jungkook gave them a monotonous thanks and had practically run out the room, up the steps and to the bed chamber. He had a lot to do in a short amount of time.

“I am pooped!” You groaned, complaining to Seokjin about how much work you had done today while walking through the hard stone halls of the castle. You had spent most of today working in the library, learning and going over the finances with Seokjin so you could finally start taking on more of your ‘wifely duties’ and relieving him of some of the burden. “I’m still not sure how the conversion from pences to shillings works. Or is it shillings to pences? Ah, oh well.”

Seokjin merely rolled his eyes as he walked beside you, hands clasped behind his back in his usual gentlemanly fashion. “Yes my lady you did work very hard today. I do believe it is time for you to get a good night's rest so we can start again in the morning.” You whined at his words, stopping as you finally reached the door of your bed chambers. Seokjn just let out a small chuckle at your over the top theatrics, “Have a goodnight Y/n.”

You had returned his well wishes, sending him a beaming smile and wave as he walked back down the hallway. Once he was out of sight you turned back towards the door hand reaching out to grasp the knob. But before you got a chance to even touch the brass door handle, the mahogany swung open in front of you, your tall husband's looming figure instantly coming into sight. “Oh hello!” you greeted, surprised by the fact that he seemed to be waiting for your arrival.

Jungkook just stared at you, is he blushing? You asked yourself. The man didn’t say anything, just stepped out of the way and gestured for you to enter. You thought the whole exchange was weird and cautiously stepped around him, not expecting the sight that awaited you.

You let out a gasp, hand flying up to cover your mouth in shock as you surveyed the room. Almost every inch of the place was covered in the most beautiful and fragrant rose petals, the room lit up from the fireplace he had going across the room. Delicious food and desserts covered the tables so much of it that you had no idea how he expected you to finish it all. “Jungkook, what is all this?” you said, whipping around to look at him as he continued to stand by the entrance, stiff as a board.

He ducked his head, hands coming up to fidget as he nervously looked around the room. “Do you like it?” he asked, finally daring to meet your gaze. “I had Yoongi help me. He said you might like all this...or whatever.”

Your irises were practically lit up with admiration, eyes shining with pure undulated joy. You couldn’t believe he had done all of this for you. “Of course I like it! I mean- I love it! But what did I do to deserve this?”

Jungkook just furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, finally crossing the room to cradle your cheek and stare into your eyes affectionately. “What do you mean deserve this? I love you, y/n. I would give you the whole world if I could.”

His words had your eyes tearing up and you brought a hand up to gently hold the one he had placed on your cheek. Your head turned, placing a peck against the calloused skin of his palm as you returned his gaze, letting your eyes show just how thankful you were. “Jungkook...I love you too.” you whispered, watching as his face seemed to light up with your confession.

The rest of the night was spent dining on the luxurious food the kitchen had prepared, mouths full as you whispered sweet nothings to each other and spilled all of your darkest secrets and happiest moments. And despite the fact that the two of you still hadn’t managed to find your way to the bed or explored the rest of each other's bodies that had laid untouched by one another for quite some time, Jungkook couldn’t find himself to care. He was happy enough to be here at this moment, with you.

Blue balls be damned

#drabble game #jungkook drabble #bts drabble #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #bts x reader

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retrievablememories · 4 years

Text

baby of mine | johnny

title: baby of mine pairing: johnny x black!reader genre: angst, some fluff request: “Can I request a Johnny and his wife fighting because his ex came to them saying she’s pregnant because when she and Johnny were dating they had been trying for a baby and then they broke up. He met his black wife and got married a year later and now his ex is pregnant making his wife upset and feeling like a side chick instead of his wife. Thank you” word count: 3.5k warnings: mentions of infidelity, some racial microaggressions, mentions of racism, talk of conceiving a/n: did not have the heart to make my mans a cheater so i went with the 2nd plot point i suggested for this request lol, if you want something different let me know anon

As you’re cooking breakfast one morning, Johnny comes up to you and hugs you from the back, wrapping his arms around your torso. One of his hands settles on your stomach as he does so.

“Good morning, dear wife,” he mumbles, still a bit sleepy. He presses his cheek to yours. His skin is warm from being underneath the covers all night, and the strands of his soft hair tickle your face.

“Morning, baby.”

You think he’s gonna go sit at the table after he gets his usual morning hug, but he keeps clinging to you and subtly pressing his body against yours. Raising your eyebrows, you have to ask. “What are you up to, Johnny?”

“Nothin’ much,” he answers, “just wondering when you’re gonna let me put a baby in you.”

You turn to look at him, feigning shock. “God, it’s so early in the morning and you come to me with this. At least let me finish the food...” You laugh, embarrassed but also lowkey delighted at his comment.

“Oh, you love it though. You’ll love it even more when we actually start trying.”

“Well, it’s not like I don’t already.” You snort. “Stop being horny and go sit at the table, though. I don’t need you making me burn this food.” You try to shoo him with your free hand, though he only takes that hand so he can lay a kiss on the back of it.

“I always aim to please.” Johnny snickers, taking a piece of bacon off the plate on the counter.

You’ve only been married for a year at this point, but this kind of playful banter about having kids and building a family together is not unfamiliar to you. Johnny is definitely the type of man who’s always dreamed about having a family of his own, and he’s not secretive about it. With so much love to give, he’s more than eager to shower it on the people closest to him.

Jaehyun and his girlfriend have just had their first kid, which has only stoked Johnny’s enthusiasm, but you’re still waiting for a time when you feel truly ready to take that leap. After all, having kids is no easy matter, and the last thing you want to do is jump into it without a clue. Johnny is fine with waiting for however long you want, though there are undoubtedly some times when you wish you could be more responsive to it.

Still, you are ultimately happy with your marriage and are looking forward to the day when you can finally add a new member to the family.

There’s a knock on the door one evening, and you wonder who it must be. You weren’t expecting anyone today, and neither was Johnny—that you know of. You go to the door and peek through the peephole, and you’re even more confused at what you see.

When you open the door, a woman is standing there with a baby carrier and a diaper bag. It’s not just any woman, though—it’s Johnny’s ex-girlfriend, Jihyun. The one he dated before meeting and marrying you.

You both stare at each other in silence for a few moments. You’re so surprised by her presence at your doorstep and the baby carrier she has that you forget to ask what she’s here for—and she seems equally shocked to see you.

Finally, Jihyun appears to remember what she came for and asks, “H-hi, does John Suh live here?”

“Yes...why?”

“There are some things we need to talk about…” Her eyes drift to the baby carrier, and your whole world pauses.

“Things?”

As if on cue, Johnny comes up behind you with a concerned look on his face, recognizing the sound of his ex’s voice. He stops in his tracks a little ways from the entrance when he sees what she’s brought along with her. “Jihyun? What are you doing here?”

Her expression when she sees him is hard to read, though a nervous energy radiates from her. Her nervousness seems to transfer to you, and the back of your neck prickles with sweat. “John...um, hi, I just needed to talk to you--” Her words break off as she struggles to think of what to say. “I’m sorry to spring this on you like this, but we have to talk about our child.”

You and Johnny both speak at the same time.

“What?”

“Our child?”

You’re completely frozen now, and Johnny slides in beside you, opening the door wider. “Jihyun, this isn’t funny. Don’t come here with this shit—”

“I-it’s not a joke.” She reaches in the diaper bag hastily and pulls out a manila envelope. “I thought you’d ask about this, so I got a paternity test.”

Johnny takes the folder from her and opens it to look at the papers inside, but he’s clearly not pleased. “You thought? I’m sure.” You already knew that Jihyun had cheated on him; it was something he told you near the start of your relationship. They were trying to start a family around the time he found out, which made the blow all the more painful for him.

Back then, you didn’t give much thought to the idea that they actually might’ve been successful. They never contacted each other again after breaking up, and you reasoned that she would have reached out if she was ever pregnant.

Apparently, life is never that simple or easy.

You’re still unsure how to respond to any of this. Even if you wanted to react, you’re still too shocked to do anything but stand there and wait for Johnny’s response.

Unfortunately, his reaction doesn’t make you feel any more reassured. He’s quiet for a while as he looks at the papers, and he seems to age 5 years in just that timespan. He presses his lips together into a thin line, his forehead creasing.

Finally, he hands the papers to you and looks at Jihyun. You almost drop them in your rush to read what they say, but the answer is incredibly clear. A baby girl named Youngmi, with a 99.9% DNA match. “We do need to talk.”

The atmosphere in the living room is tense and awkward. You and Johnny sit on the couch while Jihyun sits on the other sofa in front of you, the baby carrier beside her. It’s been covered the entire time, and you still don’t have a clue what the baby looks like. The rational part of you figures she must be sleeping, although there is the undeniably petty part that suspects there is no baby and this is all a setup.

“How did you even find me?” Johnny asks, not very thrilled at Jihyun now knowing his new address.

“A mutual friend told me.” She doesn’t expand on who gave the information, which makes you raise your eyebrows. “They told me you’d gotten married, too. But they never mentioned that your wife was…?” Jihyun looks at you curiously, and you feel put on the spot like an object. It’s the elephant in the room that never fails to make itself known—why did you marry a black woman?

“Was what?”

“Jihyun, don’t do this. You’re already walking a thin line. I didn’t let you come in here for this.” Johnny already knows that it isn’t hard for you to reach your breaking point, and he hopes this won’t go completely left before he gets answers. He still needs to figure out what the hell is going on.

You throw in for good measure, “You aren’t going to come in my house and disrespect me. Check yourself.”

Jihyun is taken aback at being reprimanded by both of you and turns a little pale at being called out for her rudeness. “U-um, of course, sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

If you didn’t mean it you wouldn't have said it, you think to yourself, still stewing with anger.

“Explain all of this,” Johnny says. His tone makes it clear that it’s not a request.

Jihyun takes a moment to get herself together and starts speaking again. “Well, you know how our relationship ended. I found out I was pregnant soon after that, but…” Her hands fidget in her lap. “I didn’t want to say anything because I thought...you were really angry back then, Johnny. I thought you’d hate me even more than you already did. Or wouldn’t accept the baby anymore.”

Johnny’s shoulders slump a little. “You didn’t think I would want my own child?” He is clearly hurt by the idea of this.

“I don’t think I have the right to blame you for being angry. I was wrong. But I didn’t want to make things worse. I really believed it would just be better to start all over and raise the baby myself.” Her eyes stay glued to the floor as she says, “I...wasn’t entirely sure if it was yours, either, so I decided not to tell you.”

Johnny’s body tenses at the mention of her transgression, though he doesn’t speak. He merely sits and waits for her to continue talking.

“I thought I could do it all on my own, and it would be fine. The other guy...he left soon after I told him. Then the baby got here, and...none of it’s been easy, but I really have been struggling these past few months.” Jihyun looks up at him now, a pleading expression on her face. “I would rather not have to ask you for child support, but...I need some help, Johnny. And I’m truly sorry I kept this from you.”

Johnny puts his head in his hands and runs his fingers through his hair, looking distressed and overwhelmed by all of this being unloaded on him at once. “This has come practically out of nowhere, Jihyun.”

She appears to take offense to that particular statement; maybe she thinks he’s referring to the baby that way. “I don’t know if I’d call it out of nowhere. We both knew the possibilities when we were trying for a child.”

“You can’t be serious,” you blurt out, laughing out loud although it’s not really funny. You’re more astounded than amused at the irony and ridiculousness of her saying that. Jihyun glances at you unhappily, though she doesn’t meet your glare for very long.

Johnny is equally bristled by her words, and you can feel him tensing up more beside you. “And you could’ve thought about that before fucking another man and then hiding my own child from me—”

The conversation is interrupted by Youngmi, who has apparently woken up and is now whining for attention. You can see her little feet kicking against the cover of the carrier. Jihyun hurriedly turns the carrier around to put the cover down and pull the child out. She looks to be around 9 months.

Youngmi is quickly quieted by being fed her bottle. Her eyes are big with curiosity as she looks around the room—at Jihyun, Johnny, and you. Johnny’s anger at his ex becomes subdued after seeing the baby, and his mouth drops open a little in surprise.

Johnny finds himself unable to take his eyes away from Youngmi after Jihyun takes her out of the carrier, and he leans forward a bit to get a closer look. He’s secretly itching to get closer, though he isn’t quite sure how to bring that up after cursing his ex out. Fortunately for him, she already knows what he wants. After the baby is done drinking, she carefully offers, “Do...you want to hold her?”

You watch to see what Johnny will do. You know he very well won’t refuse his own child, and you don’t expect him to, but you also don’t know how you should feel. He glances at you somewhat apologetically, sensing your unhappiness, but nods and holds his arms out for Youngmi. Jihyun settles the baby in his arms when he does.

Youngmi doesn’t start crying in the presence of an unfamiliar person like most babies do; maybe she somehow knows he’s her father. You almost want to laugh again at that, feeling like you’re going to lose your mind.

Johnny looks down at his daughter’s face as she drools and clenches and unclenches her small fists. She’s smiling as she looks up at him, though you don’t know if that’s because she’s happy at just being fed.

Something in Johnny’s heart immediately softens, and he feels himself drawn to her. Even without the paternity results, he can certainly tell that she has his same bow-shaped lips.

In any other circumstance you would’ve felt moved by this interaction, but now you only experience the creeping dread of being replaced. Not by the baby, but by Jihyun. What if she’s suddenly at your house all the time after they decide to co-parent? That can’t happen. You can’t tolerate having this woman up in your house on a regular basis, but letting Johnny spend a bunch of time at her place is completely out of the question. You know he hasn’t wanted anything to do with her since they broke up, but you can’t get rid of the fear of what could happen if Johnny gets close to her again.

You try to convince yourself there is no way he’d ever consider going back to her after she betrayed him. Your doubts are killing you, though. Jihyun has already given him the one thing he’s always wanted most, and you suddenly feel very abandoned and empty. Almost like their relationship never ended and you’re simply trespassing.

“She’s very pretty,” Johnny says, smiling down at the little girl.

Your heart is being torn to shreds. “Sorry, I—uh, forgot something.” Without looking for their reactions, you get up from the couch and go up to the bedroom you share with Johnny. There, you sink to the floor and stay there for what feels like hours, your forehead against the carpet as you struggle to gather your thoughts.

You don’t know how much time actually passes, and you know Johnny must be wondering what you’re doing, but he eventually comes up after you. By then, you’ve gathered yourself somewhat—at least physically—and are sitting on the bed.

Johnny stands in the doorway, looking hesitant, tired, concerned, and maybe even a little happy, all at once. He opens his mouth and then closes it back shut, searching for the right words. “I didn’t think...she never said anything…”

You still feel like you’re being pierced straight through. There’s no denying that you still love Johnny, but you don’t know where things can go from here. The only tiny bright spot you can find is that at least he didn’t cheat on you. A laugh of sick irony bursts out of you, and Johnny seems concerned about whether you’re having a mental breakdown.

He steps into the room, sitting beside you on the bed. You’re not sure if you want to be next to him right now—or if you want to accept the hand that’s reaching for your shoulder—so you stand up and walk aimlessly to the dresser. “Are they still downstairs?”

“No, I told her we can work out all the details soon...but that now wouldn’t be a good time to stay.”

Work out the details? Which means more contact. But that was going to happen anyway. Here come more thoughts of him at her place, her at yours, a little family that doesn’t include you—

“But how are you going to get in contact with each other?”

“...I gave her my number.” Johnny is hesitant, like he thinks this maybe isn’t the right answer. Or at least not the one you want to hear. “There wasn’t much else I could do…and I doubt you want her coming back up here anytime soon.”

You don’t think very deeply about the repercussions of what you say next; you’re too consumed by your panicked thoughts. “Maybe we should separate.”

Johnny stands up now too, his eyes almost comically big. “Separate?”

You throw your hands up. “You were with her long before me, and now you have a baby with her. Surprise! What’s stopping me from being the lonely sidechick in this scenario? A stupid ring?”

Johnny looks wounded at that, and you wonder how much more pain will be inflicted on both of you before the day is over. “Our marriage is more than a ‘stupid ring’ or a slip of paper. You told me you loved that ring.”

“I did, and I do, but what does any of it matter anymore?”

“Aren’t you being overdramatic?! Do you truly think I’d leave you over this?” Johnny can feel himself getting more upset, though he tries not to shout. “It’s not like I can’t co-parent with her or something. I’m not going to leave you so I can raise my child.”

“And have you both together all the time. Yeah, that sounds like a wonderful setup.”

“You seem to be forgetting that I barely want to be around her myself! Either way, Youngmi is my child Y/N, I can’t just give up on her and I don’t intend to.”

You dig your heels in, feeling like you’ve made your case and can’t turn back now, even if there is logic to what he’s saying. “Would you even still want to have children with me? You have the baby you’ve always wanted. And your ex seems like the type who wouldn’t be too thrilled if her child had some half-black siblings running around.”

“That’s terrible, Y/N. Just because I have one child doesn’t mean I can’t have more. You sound more like you don’t want to have kids with me anymore.”

“Don’t tell me that!” you shout. “I want everything with you, but you don’t see how people look at me. You’re not the one who has to deal with people thinking you’re unworthy to be with me or that I did you a favor by marrying you. No, that’s what people think of me, all the time, whether they say it or not. It’s in the things they do and how they interact with me.”

Johnny wants to speak, but he doesn’t know what to say to you. It’s not like he’s been completely unaware of your struggles, but he hasn’t heard you articulate it out loud like this before. It makes him feel like a bit of a failure that he couldn’t prevent any of it from happening.

“I just want us to be happy together, with our own family, and—and...I want people to stop looking at me like I’m some damn freak, and…” You pause for a moment to catch your breath, though you find that you can’t as tears begin welling up in your eyes.

Johnny comes closer to you when he sees the tears appearing. He hesitates to touch you, thinking you might reject him again, but when you don’t move away he takes your arms.

“Y/N, please trust me. We are going to stay together, and we’re gonna have the life we both want. I need both you and my child, and I promise we can make this work.”

“Do you think we got married too soon?” you ask him quietly. You haven’t pushed him away this time, but you’re hesitant to respond to his embrace. “Should we have done this at all?”

Johnny puts his forehead to yours, squeezing you tighter as if he could wring the pain out of you. “Don’t doubt this, please. I don’t regret any of this, not for a second.”

“I don’t regret marrying you, either, but I’m just...exhausted. I don’t know how any of this is supposed to work anymore.” A few tears slip out as you say this. You wipe them away as they come, but it isn’t enough to stop the flow. Johnny uses his thumb to wipe them away. His fingers are warm against your skin, like that morning a few days ago.

“Honestly, Y/N, I don’t know either. But we can figure this out.”

You want so much to believe him.

That night when you go to bed, your head is filled with thoughts—so many that it’s hard to get to sleep. You stare at the closed window with the night sky peeking slightly through the blinds, and you try to imagine a future with both of your families in it.

It doesn’t make you happy, but you don’t know what else to do to keep your marriage from falling apart.

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enigma-im · 4 years

Text

A Kiss To Build a Dream On

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Monster Boss x F!Worker Warnings: Blood mention, Violence, fluff, confusion of intention, gang boss, ladies go crazy for a sharp dressed man, cursing, sex, teleporting to avoid explaining

word Count: 7885

Tender isn’t a word anyone would use to describe the boss, but for her he can’t be anything but.

--------------------------------------

I roughly slam the door, grumbling to myself as I stomp towards the backrooms of the office. My fists stay firmly clenched at my sides as fire burns from within my chest. The bruises ache along my face, my cheek and eye throbbing with every beat of my heart. I shoulder check workers at I storm to my bunk at the end of the hall, not even bothering to deal with anyone's teasing today.

The door is in sight, the sweet relief of solitude isn’t enough to stifle the anger. Knowing I'm going in there to lick my wounds like some child or weakling. When I reach the peaceful silence of my own room I begin angrily wrestling off my clothes, tossing the lightly blood-splattered garments to the corner. Grabbing some clothes off the floor I march into the bathroom. Throwing on some baggy pants and a tank top, I look in the mirror.

For the first time this day, my anger steps aside. The sight of my swelling eye and split cheek is shocking. I've been hit before, it's not really new, but it's never been so startling. My cheek wound has bled enough to dribble down to my collar. The line of blood ends where my shirt was, no doubt the clothing is sporting a lovely red spot. I guess that's what happens when someone plays cheap with a jewelry covered punch. The rage boils once more till I spit in the sink.

I can't bring myself to look any longer. Rushing out into the main room I grumble once more. A tantrum in the making, I throw my fists around, I bare my teeth towards the floor, I kick at anything decorating the ground. Clothes get pushed around the room, thunking against the wall. A suitcase gets launched under the bed and a wall is hit for good measures.

As I seethe to myself I catch movement out the corner of my eye. I go stalk still, turning slowly to the poor soul who decided it would be a good time to check-in. A well dress man is inspecting a wrecked shirt, the same shirt I wore minutes before. He admires the bloodstain near the neckline, thumbing the spot with a lax face.

"Sir," I play my best pleasant voice," now is not a good time." it all comes out terse and strained but it's the best I can do. Boss hums, still looking at my shirt. It takes a few seconds before he bothers looking my way. His dark complexation almost shadows the flex of his brow when he catches sight of my beaten self. His quickly flexing jaw is just barely noticeable in the darkness of the corner.

"So it would seem," he answers smoothly. He tosses the shirt to the side without care, adjusting his hat before he steps further into the room. His intrusion is unwelcome, to say the least, and him stepping closer boils my blood even more.

"Sir," I growl," It's really not a good time." typical boss continues to ignore me, succeeding like he always does when we talk in making me grind my teeth to dust. He hums in answer again, walking till he is a few feet in front of me. His hands are clasped behind his back, his brow low as he regards me.

"I will ask this once," he starts," what happened?"

I sneer, immediately answering," Nothing, everything is fine." he responds with a tilt of his head, watching me with an almost amused look. We stare each other down, stubbornness helping me with this battle. The boss has a tendency in sticking his nose in other people's business. Which is fine for everyone else, a good trait to have a boss who takes care of his people, but it’s not fine for me. I don't want his constant attention, sticking around to rub my nose in it. He never has to say anything, his judging look is enough to knock me down a peg.

As I stew in my thoughts he reaches out and grabs my jaw. His fingers dig into my skin, demanding absolute cooperation. I know better than to move, stiffening as I fight the urge to jerk away from his scrutiny. He leans down close, looking over the cuts, tilting my head this way and that.

"Rings or knuckles," he asks casually.

My jaw pops," Rings."

He hums," Howley boys or street wolves?"

I scoff," pixie chicks." he nods, dropping my jaw in favor of using his phone. The device appears in a blink, acting like it was always there. He clicks away at the phone lazily for a short moment before poofing it away as quickly as it appeared. Without a word, he grabs my shoulder and walks me into the bathroom. Too curious, I let him guide me to sit on the toilet. I sit and watch him work near the sink, opening the medicine cabinet.

"What are you doing," I ask, tilting forward to get a better look. Before I can get a look around the mirror he shuts it.

"You have no bandages," he scoffs. The tone sounds scolding like I'm some child being talked down by a parent. I quickly catch on to what's happening, I don't much care for it.

I stand," no, get out. I'd like to be alone now to tend to my ego and I don't need you here to yell about how dumb I am." before I could walk around him towards the beds he grabs me once more and twists me back to the bathroom.

"No, sit," he shoves me towards the toilet," I am tending to you now." my anger rolls in again like the second coming of a storm. I don't need his pity or favor, I can take care of myself.

"What does it matter? It's not like you care," I pout, stewing in rumbling fury. I don't bother to stand again, knowing his great power that rivals many. He is a supervillain in his own right, a blight on society but a hero to some. I can't see him as a bad person but I know the lengths he has gone to to be where he is. You gotta crack a few eggs, you know?

I don't notice him staring down at me, too busy glaring at the wall to notice. It's not till he grabs my jaw again do I bother to pay him any mind. When our eyes meet I am startled by his depth. His face demands attention at this moment, locking me in his stare. My feelings dissipate till only alarm is left. Reprimand feels like my likely outcome. No one talks to the boss this way. He is known for his kindness as well as his ire and ire is the side I'm most likely to meet.

The boss watches me, his eyes darting between my own as his jaw clicks. I can't lie and say I'm not worried at this moment, because I am. You never know what little things will set someone off, just like I don't know what level of pain I will be receiving. Perhaps a good talking to about respect, he likes to go on and on about that. Maybe an addition to my weekly chores, that's a fair punishment. I can't think straight with his breath ghosting over my face.

It's when I'm at my wit's end does he move, pulling my face towards his. He gently presses his lips to mine, closing his eyes as he does. I stare blankly at him, stock still under his soft lips. He doesn't pry for more, leaning back shortly after in favor of looking at me. I still look straight, startled by the outcome I could have never expected. He chuckles, smiling as he shakes his head. At the cute sound, I look to him, trying my best to gauge the situation better.

"wha-," he shuts my mouth before I can ask.

"You are to remain silent while I tend to you," he states firmly. I simply nod, still too shocked to really have the energy to do anything but listen. He watches me a moment more before standing and fiddling with the sink.

The boss does as he says, tending to my wounds like a close friend. He is delicate in his touches, warning me before any intentional pain. It's weird, no other way to say it. I have no idea what's happening besides the obvious. He is cleaning up my busted face, but I don't know why.

Once he is satisfied with his chore he straightens up and walks me out of the bathroom. I stop in the middle of the room, looking up to him for guidance. He quirks a brow, just barely smiling to himself.

"If I knew a silly little kiss would stifle your anger I would have done it sooner," he chuckles. I fluster at the comment, looking away for the first time since the kiss. As I chew on my cheek, trying to sort through the tangle of thoughts and feelings, he turns me towards him. His hold is sweet, gentle, unlike before. He pets at my cheek, lightly grazing the cut with his thumb. Before I can react he is gone.

I stare dumbfounded into the room, confused above anything else. I try to sort through the event, trying to find the angle he is working. So many things go through my head till absolutely nothing makes sense.

Though one thing is for sure. This warm feeling in my chest won't go away.

The boss doesn't act differently when I see him around the facility. He is his prim and proper self, still bullying the underlings into working to their best and intimidating visitors. Though its been mere days, I feel like more is to be expected. With every passing minute, hour, day, I expect something to happen. As time goes on the feeling grows till every sighting of him makes me tense with expectation. Was this his plan? To make me tense at every turn till I'm forced to confront him less I go crazy? Or was it to keep me on my toes, perhaps I've been too lax around here and he knows the best way to keep me stressed.

Either way, it's working.

I work the cameras one night, lounging in an old rickety chair as I watch the cameras around the building. This chore is the simplest but the most tedious. No one wants watcher duty, it's an all-night endeavor. Nothing happens and god forbid you get caught slacking off when higher-ups walk by. The punishments are easily dished out around here. So staying alert and awake is for the best.

As the night goes on I can feel myself falling off, drifting in and out of rest. It gets so bad that I fall asleep dreaming I'm still working. I try to pinch myself awake, walk around a bit, but nothing works. I damn near fall off my seat when a loud clinking noise wakes me. As I startle the seat tries to roll too far back but is stopped by a sturdy hand. I snap my head up and around, disoriented above anything else. Looking to my right my eyes immediately meet all too familiar ones.

"I wasn't sleeping," I quickly shout at the boss," I was watching the cameras." I stare wide-eyed at him, hearting pumping quickly from the startling wake-up.

The boss snorts," I'm sure you were."

"yes, I was," I clear my throat," what are you doing down here?" he watches me a moment longer, his arm still clasping the back of my chair. With an amused huff, he grabs something off the table, hiding it in his fist. He holds it over my lap, waiting on me. I reach out, curious, palm awaiting.

"a gift," he answers as he drops shiny pieces into my hand. Three rings lay in my palm, all gold with obnoxiously large gems in the middle. I look at them confused, lifting one to investigate.

"what are," I look up towards the boss, the words dying off my lip. He is gone. Looking around the room for another second before I look down at the rings. The single one I'm holding looks well worn, some of the metal corroding away. The gem is annoyingly bright green with dirty specks. On closer look, I can see dried blood in the corners and grooves. The ring actually looks familiar, looking at it makes my cheek ache.

What is the boss doing with the pixie chick's ring?

I want to corner him, question his intentions with bringing the 'gifts'. It's unheard of for the boss to take souvenirs, he isn't a bragging kind of man. It's also strange for him to bring them to someone as a present. The message is clear, he hurt them for me. A man like him doesn't just give out something like this without earning it to begin with. He got those rings not with theft but other illegal means. I understand that much, what I don't get is why.

I try to hunt him down but he is always around the corner before I can get to him. Each time I swear I can see a little smile, teasing me with this weird little game of chase. Every night I go to bed without answers is like losing a battle I never wanted to have.

It's one night that the unanswered questions pick at me till my last strand of patience is frayed. I storm out of bed, throwing on a hoodie before I enter the public spaces of the compound. This late I have a guess where the boss is residing, well two guesses.

I try his quarters first, knocking first as I don't have a death wish. With no answer, I don't try to push my luck and head to his office. When I round the private hallway I see the light on, coming out from under the farthest door. I pull some last-second courage and storm down. I grab the handle and with a last confident breath, I open.

The scene before me freezes as all details sort in my brain. Two people in the room, one is obvious, the boss. The other is a worn man, bruised and beaten in a chair. I can't look away from the man as a strange fog covers his neck. A nasty gash in the center of the fog's attention, seeming to pour into the wound. The gash looks to be pulled in every direction, blood drenching the man's shirt. I know if his mouth wasn't gagged he would be screaming loud enough for the entire building to hear.

"What do you need," The boss steals my attention. I look from the tied-up man to the annoyance of the week. He doesn't look angry like I would assume, having heard horrid tales of others falling into this same mistake. I don't trust the casualness of him cleaning his hands with a dirty towel.

"Sorry, sir," I bow my head," I will meet with you when you aren't entertaining company." I offer the joke in hopes of lessening the ire he may release later. The boss snorts with a smile, shaking his head as he tosses the towel aside. Not waiting for an answer I slide back into the hall, closing the door quietly behind me.

Well, that went well enough.

In the morning I force myself to submit to this strangeness that has corrupted the boss and I's interactions. I've known of the man since I was in my mid-teens, I've worked for him since my early 20s. There is no way I truly know how the man acts in his day to day life. I know he is an ornery kind of man, though a little mischievous, and that’s the most I know of him. Perhaps this is normal. It's best not to harp on these things that are out of my control.

It takes a considerable amount of effort to ignore his presence in any room I enter. The cat and mouse game seems to have switched with me running from him. I feel like a coward, though it is a reasonable choice to just drop it. I never run from anyone, least of all some cocky villain type.

I go about my nightly routine in the bathroom, spitting into the sink before suckling water from my palm. Walking into the main room I pause looking at the well-dressed man in my room.

"Evening, sir," I say confused. At my introduction, he turns, keeping his arms clasped behind his back. He regards me with a small smirk, mostly keeping his feelings to himself.

"You wished to speak with me," he shrugs," here I am."

I nod," yea, it's not too important now, I sorted it out myself." it’s a lie, I have nothing figured out. His instances of manipulation have named him as conniving. I don't want to be the centerpiece in such affairs.

"hm," he clicks his tongue," shame. Leaving me so curious now, how could I depart with such a tempting question resting on the edge of my mind." his smirk forms into a Cheshire grin that brings thoughts into focus. It seems I've already captured his attention, perhaps have had it all along.

"No, no, it's not anything you would need to bother with," I try to wave him off. He doesn't budge, instead, taking a few steps closer. I step equally back. He huffs in amusement, pushing onward till I'm forced to stop against a bed. He crowds me, yet keeping a platonic distance.

"I'm insulted you assume that any of your worries would be below my standings, I wish to make your life easier whenever I can," he purrs, breaking the platonic distance," Did you like your gift?" my body tenses in alarm, feelings waring as I try to remain passive.

"T-the rings," I ask.

He nods," I don't think the Pixie Chicks will be missing them, they offered them so freely." I wish to scoff at him, nearly amused at his suggestion that they would offer him anything such as their jewelry.

"They didn't seem willing to part with them before," I somehow manage to tease back. His smile grows, tilting his head as he regards me.

"Not at first," he leans toward my cheek," but after a short visit they were more than willing."

I get fuzzy the closer he gets, feeling his hot breath brush over my face. It's hard to decide the right course of action. Push him away and deal with whatever reaction he deems appropriate, or let him be and see where this is going. The second choice is hard, his nearness muddles my ideas and actions. How could I be swayed by some man nearing my personal space? His kiss beforehand was quick and unintimidating, there was no build-up. Now it feels like an anvil swaying precariously on a snapping rope.

"Why are you here," I find myself asking. I fight the urge to raise my hand to his chest and push him away, not truly knowing if I would push him away. He leans in closer, crowding me nearly on the bed. I fall back onto a hand, holding myself propped up less I wish to lay on the sheets. His grin stretches wider.

"Well, you asked for me," he answers in a deep rumble. The change in tone is startling, fogging my brain more. It's hard to think, nothing is connecting in my brain. I want to push him, but I can't. I want to crawl away, but I can't. I want to pull him closer, but…

"I mean," I swallow," what are you doing in my room?"

"because you feel safest here," he answers.

"Why should it matter if I feel safe," I watch him. He straightens slightly, looking down at me with a lax stare.

"You ask too many questions," he mumbles before pushing forward and kissing me. I gasp, falling back onto both hands. The kiss breaks for just a moment before he is falling onto his hands, framing me as he crowds me on the bed. I'm not sure what to do now, having little to no experience in this. I'm not flirty or sexy, I can't bother with things such as making out or relationships. Though now I wish I knew just a little bit.

The boss grabs me by the hips and shifts me up the bed, crawling over me as I fall to my back. He straddles a thigh, his hands coming up to frame my head. I watch him stare down at me, his mouth lightly parts with a dazed look. Before I can bother with words he takes my lips for his once more. It's surprisingly passionate, to that I'm stunned. I expected demanding from a man like him, not affectionate. I timidly return the kiss, not knowing what to do but knowing I want to do it. Before I can get into it he lifts away, though not far.

He watches me a moment, gauging my reaction. His eyes are squinted, seeming to wait for a response, a response I don't provide. I look up at him, nearly panting in this strange rush of emotions and touch.

"What are you feeling," he asks skeptically.

I lick my lips," flustered." he hums, still trying to piece together something.

"flustered is good," he nods to himself, falling back to my mouth. I startle once more, still utterly confused at the turn of the night. Yet, I can't make myself stop it. I reach up and fist his tailored jacket, not knowing if I should tug him closer. The need to touch him is strong but the anxiety of everything else lingers.

The boss stuns me more as he grabs my hand holding his clothes and slings it around his shoulder. Quickly I take hold of the shirt from this angle, indirectly pulling him closer. My other hand shyly joins the first, cupping the back of his head in a timid touch.

"Doing good," he purrs, licking at my lips as he slowly settles himself on his forearms. He expertly parts my lips, telling me to let him in. I open, clenching a fistful of hair when he invades my mouth. When I tug on the bit of hair he moans, the sound felt in my mouth, felt on my tongue. The already eager kiss ramps in excitement when his hands start to trail down my body. He simply slides his hands under my shirt, holding my waist with a warm grip. His thumbs pet at my skin but stay otherwise still.

The moment seems to stretch on for hours, my discretions melting away into heart fluttering enjoyment. He doesn't push, keeping the mood just semi-erotic. I appreciate it though I'm utterly confused. What does he think he can gain from this? Surely a man like him doesn't just kiss random staff members without having some secret motive. I'm just a grunt, nothing more and nothing less. I surely hope he doesn't think he could manipulate me into sleeping with him. No, that won't do at all.

"Sir," I mumble against his lips as I try to pull away. He trails after my mouth, only pausing mid-action.

"yes," he asks. I shift back away from him, getting a better look at his closed eyes and wet parted lips.

"We should stop," I fluster. I drop my arms from around him, using them to push myself up and away. He squints his eyes open enough to watch me lounge against the wall, feet still partially under him. Looking between my eyes he sighs, dropping his head shortly after.

"Alright," he huffs," It is late, I will be on my way now." he shifts back onto his knees, rubbing at his face before righting his hat and clothes. Next, he stands up off the bed and passes me a final glance, ready to blink away.

"wait," I surprise myself by saying," can you answer one question?"

He tilts his head," besides that question?"

"yes," I deadpan," besides that one."

He smirks, clasping his hands behind his back," alright, I think I can allow one more question." I want to snort, amused but annoyed by his words. I keep quiet.

"are you," I start, worried to continue," are you going to use me?" I look at every twitch of his face with an eagle-like focus. Every nuance is jotted down as I watch him. He simply smiles, his face projecting amused affection. He then steps forward, leaning over the bed to cup my face.

"No," he answers shortly. He strokes my cheek with his thumb, watching himself do so. With a final sigh, he blinks away, no evidence of him ever being here besides my wet lips and fluttering heart.

"damn," I fall to my side," there goes my night."

The next couple of days are a whirlwind of strange. The game of chase is completely let go in favor of a game of chicken. His attentions have gone from nothing to constant. When we are ever around each other -which is way more common as of late- he attempts to touch me in some way. Though his posture and face stay casual, if not bored, he still cups my hips and trails his fingers over my spine like he is anything but bored.

Some nights he pays a visit, kissing me senseless till he decides I'm thoroughly flustered. He tries to edge me on, even taking to teasing to further some agenda I can't even bother to figure out. Though he said he wouldn't use me I feel like a toy. He comes to me with minimal conversation and shoves his tongue down my throat. The small conversations are filled with double meanings and unsaid words. He is hinting to something and I can't figure out what. I feel like a source of entertainment, picked at till he gains whatever he needed. The stress is getting to me, I've had enough.

I wait patiently in my room, leg bouncing against the bed as I cross my arms. I'm going to confront him tonight, I'm going to get some answers. This little game has to stop less I want my heart to fall victim to some scheming. Time draws on and on till its far pass the time he visits. I reluctantly settle into bed, dread, and stress muddling my brain.

The next night I wait patiently again, knowing he doesn't go for two nights in a row. I wait and wait, looking to the clock more than necessary. It’s when its well past midnight that I call it a night. Dread and stress fade out as worry takes its place.

The day after I set out to catch sight of the boss. I search high and low, keeping to the commons places in hopes of a casual encounter. I see no hide or hair of him. As I march around the facility, doing chores, that I hear about everyone avoiding the boss. It seems the man in charge has had a bit of a temper since this morning, shutting out everyone as he sits in his office.

The idea of visiting his office is appealing, knowing it to be the best time to get answers if he is mad. Anger brings out the truth. Surely I can go visit him and ask a question or two, not risking my life in the process. Though I think lowly of his intention I think he truly has no intention of maiming me.

With that decided I casually head upstairs towards his office. I make it to the familiar hallway, feeling the instinctual dread of being there. No one wants to be in this hallway, knowing who is working just at the end. Though I come here from my own free volition it's still a habit to fear this part of the building.

I walk to the door at the end, already hearing voices halfway down. As I get closer I can hear yelling. I listen intently, hearing stomping footsteps and a thing or two being knocked over. It’s when I hear a loud thud do I pick up the pace. I stop near the door, anxiety drenching my body as curiosity keeps me up. The sound of meaty thumps can be heard before a whimper.

"You are a piece of shit," a quick thunk follows," scum of the fucking earth, and that's something coming from me." I can hear the boss talking- more like yelling- behind the door. It sounds like he is entertaining again.

"boss," someone answers weakly," I'm sorry." a deep clink comes shortly after the man's words.

"Sorry doesn't earn my trust back," the boss snarls," Sorry doesn't fucking get Bradshaw off my fucking back!" the meaty claps come shortly after, repeating in alarming frequency. I step to the door, my body repealing against the idea of opening it and interrupting the important meeting.

I know who the boss is, always have. He does some shady stuff with some shady people, I being one of them. I get what's going on in there, a lesson is being learned. It's something that is understood by all who work here, don't cross the boss. Though it seems the poor idiot in there hasn't learned that though.

I don’t hear anything for a good while. It's to be assumed that business has been taken care of. Either way, I stay put, leaning closer to the door when I hear another softer voice. I try to make out some words, being more nosy this moment than I have my entire life. The softer voice only speaks for a brief moment, followed by the Boss with another set of short words.

As I focus on the door I don't hear steps walking up behind me. Only when someone grabs my shoulders do I jump. I jerk in this person's hold, stiffening as their fingers dig into my skin. I twist to look over at them, seeing a large man with a gruff-looking face. He offers no words, instead, reaching in front of me to grab the door handle.

The gruff man guides me into the room, holding firmly onto my shoulders. I look to the room, immediately finding a man collapsed on the floor covered in swelling bruises and deep cuts. He is mostly unrecognizable, his face beaten to a pulp. If I am to assume correctly, then he is dead.

"Clean this up before he stains the floor," the boss grunts as he wipes his hands with a dirty rag.

The gruff man behind me speaks," and what would you like me to do with her?" as he asks the boss snaps around, meeting my eyes quickly. He looks to me confused, twisting completely around as he drops the rag to the table.

"I'd like you to fucking let her go," the boss growls to the man," I am the only one allowed to deal with her." the clear hostility means nothing to the man behind me. He lets go and casually shuffles to the man on the floor, hefting him over his shoulders with ease. I watch the boss look to the two, following them with his eyes till the door shuts behind me. Once the door clicks does he look to me once again.

"Hello, doll," his ire drops to the familiar ease he adopts when around me. He leans back against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. His barely buttoned shirt wrinkles, his cuffed sleeves looking strange so far up his arms. I've never seen him so underdressed, though most would still consider his outfit formal.

"Hello," I answer guarded. I don't expect a warm welcome like this when I've been caught snooping.

"What brings you to my humble abode," he tilts his head with a small smile. It's strange to see such a night and day to his previous anger. He was screaming and beating a man into the floor. Now he is his typical charming self in a matter of seconds. I don't buy it.

"I haven't seen you in a couple days," I say, crossing my arms in the process. He gives me a once over, his smile peeling further over his cheeks.

"Miss me or something," he teases.

I scoff," or something." he chuckles, walking away from his desk to walk the room.

"Or something," he looks at the messy floor," what would that something be?" I follow him with my eyes as he skirts around me, keeping a distance. I don't bother turning around when he walks behind my back, taking the second to compose my thoughts and feelings. As of late, he has been popular in making my heart flutter like a caged bird.

"You haven't been around," I shrug," I was curious." he scoffs, seeming to understand my roundabout way of saying I've missed him. Which I guess is true, but I'd argue I want answers more than his company. Though both wouldn't be too bad.

He comes into my peripheral," I've been busy, I hope I haven't left you in need of anything in my absents."

"no," I turn away blushing," I haven't been…in need or anything. Just conflicted on some things." he hums, staying just in the corner of my eye. I can feel his eyes wandering over my body, trying to pick at every tick and twitch.

"would your confliction be related to the question you asked me the other night," he asks. I almost turn to him then, wanting to see his face, needing to see his reaction. I don't though, staring at his desk straight ahead.

"Perhaps," I answer. He huffs, his steps coming closer till I feel his heat against my back.

"do you think lowly of me," he says near my ear," do you believe I am truly a villain incapable of pure intent?"

"sometimes," I nearly whisper. I feel his sigh fan over my back. He steps closer, his front nearly touching me.

"Do you truly believe I would betray you," he asks. The question startles me, only for the reason that there is blood staining the floor beside us. "Would you betray me," he whispers against my ear. The threat feels looming as I look to the crime scene. Would I betray him if given the chance, the answer feels almost obvious.

"I don't," I huff," I don't think I could if I tried."

The boss hums approvingly, circling his arms around my hips to pull me flush to his front. His chin rests upon my shoulder, his head leaning against mine. The smell of his cologne is nearly suffocating in its intoxication. I awkwardly grab his arms, resting my hands on him.

"I don't think I could betray you if I tried," he answers similarly," you seem to have grown on me." I squeeze at his arm.

"Honestly," I ask skeptically," you truly mean me no harm, emotional or otherwise?" though he has answered this it still doesn't sit in my head, proof being demanded after every answer.

He turns and presses a shallow kiss to my neck," I could never hurt you, doll, I only wish to adore you." I turn to him, wishing above all else to believe him. He leans ever so close, his tempting kiss just in my reach.

"Prove it," I bait.

"gladly," he answers.

Quickly he has my lips captured, demanding more than ever before. His tongue takes no time delving into my mouth, circling my tongue in a sweet caress. I would have fallen if it weren't for his strong hold on my hips, instead, I keep myself propped up by him. When minimal thought comes back do I twist in his hold and tug him closer by his collar. I need his affection, crave it above all else. Thrusting my tongue into his mouth I take back some control I've lacked in these few days. He startles this time, groaning with a chuckle as I fist his hair.

"doll," he laughs into the kiss," I thought I was proving my affections here."

"then catch up," I tease, taking his mouth for mine once more. He growls, a sound I haven't really heard from him before, and lifts me. I yelp, holding tightly to his shoulders as my pelvis meets his lower stomach. His smile spread across his face as he squeezes my thighs.

"Sorry, doll, but I'm the boss here," he nips at my lips, lapping at them shortly after. His normally sweet kisses are oh so more divine now as fire is brought into the mix. My insides nearly throb with a need I've rarely ever felt before. I want him- oh god do I want him.

As we attack each other I hear a quick whoosh by my ears, my hair quickly flicking in the wind. I open my eyes enough to see out the corners that we aren't in the same room. I dislodge from him, looking around the bedroom we have teleported to.

"your room," I ask, having never been here before.

"Yes," he watches me," Is that a problem?"

I look to him with a cheeky smile," no." I continue where we left off, suckling his tongue. He walks us somewhere, the destination not particularly important in my mind. What feels more important is the insistent throbbing in my crotch. I find myself bucking into him, grinding myself into his firm stomach.

The boss rips his mouth from mine as I fall backward. I clench at his shirt, gasping when something springy shapes to my back. I drop my hands back, feeling soft sheets below me. I look up to him, quirking a brow. He shrugs, falling over me in a familiar position. Though this time he angles himself in a way I can finally feel his hardon poking me. I groan at the feeling, wanting to grab him right now.

Everything seemingly melds together, one moment I'm in his office, and next, I'm in his room. One second I have a shirt on and next, I'm laying in only my underwear. Him being left in only his hat and pants. The boss admires me for a second, the rush of erotic sensations nearly paused. His look is fierce, fire pouring from his gaze, but it still has room for affection and true admiration.

"so damn beautiful," he pets at my chest. He fondles my boob, thumbing my nipple with an all too excited gleam in his eye. "I could wreck you so easily," he ponders aloud. I reach up to his bare chest, running my fingers from his sternum down to his pants.

"I thought you wanted to adore me," I smirk, tugging him closer by his belt. He falls to his hands, cradling my head in his arms.

"Doll, I want to do everything to you," he purrs, attacking my neck with love bites. I hum, slowly flicking off his belt and reaching into his pants. He stiffens, grunting as I grab him.

"big words from a big man," I tease, stroking his cock.

He shutters," you don't know big yet, doll. Now be a good girl and let your boss go."

I let him go, slowly sliding my hand out of his pants," yes, sir."

The boss lets out a shaky breath, dropping his head to my shoulder for a moment. My nails glide over his stomach towards his chest and back down. I allow him a second, though that's all he needs.

He sits up, pushing off his pants but keeping his boxers. I admire the tent, feeling oh so powerful at the moment. I did that, I am the one who turned him on. That thought alone makes me feel ten feet tall.

I hardly notice when his hand trails up my thigh till he hooks a finger over my underwear. He tugs them down, grinning to himself as my mound is revealed. He tosses the clothing away without a care, quickly reaching out to thumb at my lips. The subtle soft feeling of his touch is nearly enough to make me groan in anticipation. I want him to touch me, I need him to touch me. He does as I silently plead, sliding a finger between my folds. He swipes up toward my clit, massaging so smoothly.

"So wet," he purrs," so wet for me." I don't bother with words as he delves his fingers lower, poking at my entrance with great amusement. I engulf his fingers as he pushes them in, slowly pumping them in and out with a curled retreat. My legs spread further apart on their own as I relish in the lazy strokes.

"Sir," I sigh. He looks up to me, his gaze is all too alluring. My teeth grind as I fight back the urge to buck towards him. God, I need him. His head tilts so slightly as he sighs, his fingers retreat shortly after. He crawls back above me, cleaning off his fingers with his tongue as he does.

"Why must you pull me in so easily," he asks as he discards his last remaining clothing," I want nothing more than to feast upon you but your hungry looks demand more." I reach up and cup his face then adjusting his hat that he kept upon his head. His cock pokes at my crotch, gently sliding at my lips as he lightly jerks his hips.

I pap his cheek," get over it, I've been hungry all week because of you."

He scoffs," all you had to do was ask."

"like I could get the chance to with your tongue down my throat at every turn," I answer. He laughs, looking down between us to grab at himself.

"I think you could have found a way to ask if you truly wanted to," he answers absently as he pushes his tip forward. I suck in a choked breath, tense against the sudden entry. The stretch of just his tip is already fulfilling to someone so starved this past month. He bucks shallowly forward, inching himself in slowly. He soon hilts, looking back up at me with a relieved face.

"I couldn't ask when I didn't know the true intentions," I mumble as my attention is solely drawn to his filling cock. My leg hikes over his hip, pulling him closer. He drops a hand to that thigh, bouncing his hips in slow short drives.

"Well," he kisses at my cheek," do you know my intention now?" I turn to him, meeting his eyes in such a vulnerable moment. Everything I feel is lain bare, the tenderness I feel towards him shining brightly. I cup his cheek, his short bucks ceasing.

"That really depends on after," I nearly whisper. He doesn't answer, instead, pressing a deep kiss to my lips. As he claims me his hips drawback before snapping forward in a breathtaking thrust. He starts a demanding pace, taking and giving in equal parts. His cock hits deep, stoking a fire that I felt was already an inferno. I fall away from his lips, whimpering against him as he plows into me. Our hips clap as the bed squeaks. I now know what it feels like to be on the other side of the wall, not to hear but to be part of the ruckus.

The boss forces pleasure from me with every buck of his hips. I whimper and grind into him, not being able to stay still as my insides crescendo. I barely notice how silent he is, me making enough noise for the both of us. He watches me steadily fall apart, in complete rapture at my noises. A hand sneaks between us, running through my curls before resting upon my engorged clit. I seethe at the gentle prod, crying out as he starts small circles. As I shout for him does he make a sound, a gentle gasp as his lips part.

I feel burned, hot, and demanding at this moment. My insides flutter with its oncoming orgasm. I yell and scream, reaching out to pull him closer as I have no better idea. I suddenly sit on the cusp of true pleasure, my body stiffening as just a breeze could push me over. I reach for him, pulling him in for a wet kiss. He allows it, briefly, pulling away as I fall.

The boss watches me, his face contorting in near pain. His hips stutter as my insides clench him tightly. I can barely keep focus enough to watch him as I arch and writhe below. My screams stutter out till I'm left silent, panting as he continues my orgasm with his unstoppable thrusts.

"Please," I beg. Begging for him to stop, begging for him to keep going. I somehow keep focus enough to watch him, watch him sigh and grunt till his hips slap to mine with one final buck. He drops his head to my shoulder, panting against my ear as he rolls his hips. I can feel his heat, feel his cum paint my insides. I am unable to do anything but hug him close and catch my breath

It takes longer than I thought possible to come back to myself. I'm still left panting under him, only able to listen to his own ragged breathing. I pet at his sweaty back, running the ends of my nails over his shoulder. We just hold one another, lost in the bliss.

"you steal my heart, doll," he mumbles in my hair," how could I ever part from you when you sing so beautifully for me?" I chuckle, not being able to form words just yet. The boss turns us on our sides, cradling me to his chest so tenderly. He pets at my hair, burying his nose against my temple. "I fear I have stronger feelings than first intended," he whispers," I will not leave you for more than a second at a time, my heart couldn't take more than that."

"do you always get this poetic after sex," I ask. He scoffs, reaching down to grab my thigh. He pulls my leg over his hip once more, petting up towards my ass. He gives me a quick slap, jiggling my rear as he does. I yelp, squeezing him when I do. He grunts, baring his teeth. He chuckles shortly after

"only for you, love," he answers," only for you."

I sigh, sliding my hand between us to pet at his chest. I want to give those words back, as I mean them just as truly as he does. The words sit on the end of my tongue, ready to be broadcasted to the world. It takes me a moment to gain courage, still resting securely in his arms.

"I love you," I barely get out. He holds me closer, nuzzling my head.

"I love you, too," he answers in kind. I try to fight off the smile spreading across my face but it's damn near impossible. I smile to myself and close my eyes.

--------------------

my intention never go as planned. i was struggling to write and i saw a cute post on villain with a soft spot for his lover. so i write a small tid bit, the part where he tends to her wounds. IT WASN’T SUPPOSE TO BE 7K WORDS! like how? i stayed up till 2am writing this. i’m just a sap, through and through.

Check out my Archive | Masterlist | Main Blog

#monster boyfriend #gangster boss #mob boss #the boss #exophilia #fluff #Enigma-IM #a kiss to build a dream on #armstrong

267 notes · View notes

440mxs-wife · 4 years

Text

Cookies and Milk

Pairing: Sam x Reader. Other characters: Dean Winchester, Jody Mills

Word Count: 5060+

Warnings: None really, except here there be fluff

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You were on a supply run in town to restock the bunker's refrigerator and pantry, one of your jobs while the boys were on a hunt. The list for this run wasn't as long as usual, but you still had quite a bit to buy. On your list were the items to make meatloaf, spaghetti, beef stew, chili, and your famous lasagna.

As you were nearing the frozen food section and the end of your list, your phone buzzed in your pocket with a text message from Dean. They were on their way home, and had stopped at a gas station for fuel and snacks. He wanted to let you know about when to expect him and Sam home.

DW: Hey, sweetheart. We stopped for gas and stuff, but we're still about five hours from home. Wanted to let you know.

You: I'm in town now, on a supply run. How did it go?

DW: I'll tell you more when we get back.

You: Okay, Dean. Drive careful, see you guys when you get home. Over and out.

Dean's last text message had you a little concerned, but there was no sense in worrying about it now. The best you could do was be there for the boys to support them, whatever they might need. Something you'd been doing for quite some time now, it seemed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You've been bunking with the Winchesters for the past six years now, but you've known them much longer than that. Ever since Bobby sent them to help you on that wendigo hunt, you've been the best of friends.

Over the years, you had drifted in and out of each others' lives, meeting up on a hunt or taking a break at Bobby's house. It wasn't until Bobby passed away that you moved into your own room in the bunker and semi-retired from hunting. You knew hunting was important work, it was just that you felt you could be more useful in a support capacity.

The bunker's gym helped you keep in shape and maintain your fighting skills. For the most part, though, you were in charge of the bunker. Your duties mostly included supply runs, chief cook and bottle washer, research and medical service. You also fielded calls for information from other hunters, given the expansive Men of Letters' library.

You and Dean shared a love of classic rock music, action movies and baked goods. Whenever Dean needed a bit of cheering up, you knew just how to do it. Usually, a freshly-baked pie was all it took to put him on the road to recovery. Didn't matter what flavor, though you knew apple, cherry and pecan were among his favorites.

Sam was different. To you, he was the "quieter Winchester". With his warm hazel eyes, thick chestnut hair and long arms perfect for providing comfort when you needed it. The two of you bonded over books, whether for research or for fun. You didn't always see eye-to-eye on music, but he didn't mind watching a chick-flick with you every now and then.

He was particularly sensitive to other peoples' emotions, quick to offer comfort at the first sign of distress. On the other hand, accepting comfort from those closest to him wasn't always easy for Sam. He had a tendency to want to process things on his own, away from prying eyes and concerned hearts.

With Sam, if you needed to talk, you could count on him to listen and not dismiss your feelings. You could be yourself with him, even let your inner "nerd self" shine through. As time passed, your feelings had developed to where you saw Sam as more than your best friend. You knew you had to keep those thoughts about him to yourself, though. The last thing you ever wanted was to risk a longtime friendship over what you were sure was one-sided affection.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

While you were putting away the groceries at home, your thoughts drifted back to your feelings about Sam. You wished there was some way to show him how much you cared, how you were there for him if he needed someone.

You remembered that one way you showed Dean that you cared was with a homemade pie. You wondered if something like that would work in the same way for Sam. So instead of pie, you decided to make Sam a batch of cookies. It would be your way of telling him that someone was thinking about him, like the pie did for Dean.

With a plan of action and a renewed sense of purpose, you rummaged through the cupboards and found that you had everything you needed for some oatmeal chocolate and peanut butter chip cookies. You hurried to put away the rest of the groceries so you could get started on the baking.

You got right to work mixing the butter, sugar, eggs and the other ingredients. You also made sure to sample a few of the chocolate and peanut butter chips. Got to check the quality level, you thought with a smile.

After you finished cleaning up from your baking endeavors, you still had a couple of hours before Dean said they would be home. You reached for your book that was left on the coffee table and you picked up reading where you left off. Next thing you knew, a hand was caressing your cheek, so you opened your eyes to see Dean smiling down at you.

"We're home, sweetheart," he said softly.

You yawned and stretched in your chair. "Welcome home, Winchesters," you replied sleepily. You pulled yourself into an upright position and looked around the room. "Where's Sam?" you asked.

Dean dropped his gaze. "He headed off to go take a shower," Dean answered. "This was a rough one, honey. I'm just glad it's over, though. It's so good to be home," he explained.

"I'm glad you're home too, Dean. Wanna tell me what happened?" you asked gently.

He took a seat on the couch next to your chair. "It was a lot of little things that added up to one giant mess. Nothing went according to plan, even more 'off book' than usual," Dean explained. "We both almost got clawed, but we managed to fight them off. Now they can't hurt anyone else," he remarked.

You stood up from your chair and held out your hand. "Walk with me, Dean, I have a surprise for you in the kitchen. I may or may not have made you an apple pie yesterday. You know, unless you're not interested...." you teased, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Dean jumped up from the couch as if sitting on a spring, taking your hand as he reached his feet. "Really?" he asked excitedly. You nodded, and he gave you a peck on the cheek. "Bestest best friend ever," he grinned and rushed off in the direction of the kitchen.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Later that night after a dinner of pizza and Dean having a third slice of pie, you went to your room to read to help you fall asleep. Dean's exhaustion started to take its toll on him, so he showered and after wishing you goodnight, he went to bed. Sam hadn't come out for dinner, but there was enough leftover pizza that you weren't worried about him going hungry.

As the night wore on, you started to hear talking from the direction of Sam's room. You put your book down, put on your slippers and carefully opened your door. You roamed the hallways, trying to find the source of the noise. It was at its loudest when you were standing in front of Sam's door.

You peeked into his room to see him in the middle of a nightmare, tossing and turning. A sheen of perspiration had formed on his brow. Your heart broke for him a little to see him in such turmoil when he should be at rest.

After getting a cool, wet washcloth for him, you carefully sat on the edge of his bed. You gently placed the washcloth on his forehead and reached to take his hand in both of yours. He jumped at the unexpected contact and his eyes flew open. His head swiveled frantically from side to side, taking in his surroundings and trying to figure out what was going on.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, Sam. I'm here, you're safe now. It was just a nightmare, it wasn't real," you soothed. His breathing slowly returned to normal and he started to come back around.

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry if I did," Sam rasped.

"No, I was awake, reading when I heard you in here, having your nightmare. Do you want to talk about it?" you asked gently.

"Not right now," he answered with a shiver.

You placed a hand on his shoulder and was surprised to discover that it was so wet. His clothes were soaked in sweat, as were his sheets. "Hey, let's get you into some dry clothes, you'll catch cold if you don't," you remarked. "I'll take the sheets off and put them in the laundry room to be washed tomorrow. While I'm doing that, you change," you ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," he grinned.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After he had changed into some dry clothes, Sam wandered into the kitchen for a late snack, since he hadn't come out for dinner. He knew you and Dean had pizza for dinner, so he headed for the fridge to get some of the leftovers.

He stopped when he saw the note on the table with his name on it, next to a plate of cookies and an empty glass. Sam didn't remember you making any cookies before they left for the hunt. He loved it when you made cookies. If he had seen them, he definitely would've taken some with him.

Sam looked around to see if you were near the kitchen and were going to join him, but didn't see you anywhere. He chuckled at your instructions that he was to eat all of the cookies by dunking them in the tall glass of milk. Then he was supposed to drink all of the milk, even though it would have cookie crumbs in it. Well, if she insists, he thought with a grin. Sam poured himself a glass of milk, then sat down to attack the plate of cookies.

Per your instructions, he dunked the first cookie, letting it soak up some of the milk like a sponge. The first bite was heavenly, as it seemed to melt in his mouth. A groan of appreciation escaped his lips, not only for the taste, but for your efforts in making the cookies in the first place.

As the cookies disappeared one by one, Sam thought about how you helped him out of his nightmare tonight. You woke him up out of it, and took care of him by making sure he changed into some dry clothes. You also set up his sheets to be washed in the morning. That last hunt really took it out of him, with so much not going according to plan.

Sam welcomed any opportunity he could to confide in you about how he was feeling or just to feel your arms around him. He longed to hear your kind words and let them wash over him in your soft, soothing voice as it fell from those pouty, kissable lips. And your eyes always held such understanding. No matter what secrets he shared with you, he never saw any judgment in their depths.

Before Sam knew it he was out of cookies, so he followed your last instruction and drank all the milk. He smiled to himself because he had to admit that he felt a bit better than when he first walked into the kitchen. He took his dirty dishes to the sink, rinsed out the glass, then he headed back to his room to sleep. The only part that would've made it better is for you to have also been in the kitchen, spending time with him and talking.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, you wandered into the kitchen to start making breakfast, still wearing your pajamas. Coffee was the first order of business, because Dean was very grumpy without it. You went to the sink to fill the pot with water for making coffee. You noticed that the plate and glass you left out for Sam had been rinsed and were waiting to be washed. A small smile crept across your face, knowing that your mission had been accomplished.

Dean stumbled into the kitchen shortly after you pressed the 'start' button on the coffee pot. He took a seat at the table and grumbled as he rested his head on top of the table. "Good morning, Dean," you giggled.

He lifted his head and stared at you through half-lidded eyes. "Is coffee ready yet?" he rasped.

"Not yet, but I'll make sure you get some as soon as it is," you chuckled. You squeezed Dean's shoulder as you walked by him on your way back to the stove.

You heard someone clearing his throat and looked up to see Sam standing in the doorway. "Good morning, Sam," you said with a smile. "I hope it didn't take you too long to get back to sleep last night," you remarked.

"Good morning to you. No, I came in here after I changed clothes and had some cookies and milk that a certain someone left for me," Sam replied as he returned your smile.

You couldn't help but grin as you kept your head down and continued to prepare breakfast. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Sam," you said.

"Uh huh, yeah right," he smirked. "I thought for sure you were going to come in here to join me, but you didn't," Sam pouted.

"Oh. I thought you might want that time to yourself, so I went back to my room. Sorry," you replied.

He stepped behind you to grab three coffee cups from the cabinet, then turned to glance over your shoulder. Sam was so close that you swore you could feel his breath on your neck as you flipped the pancakes.

"Something I can help you with, Sam?" you asked. As you turned to make eye contact with the man behind you, he was so close that your lips meshed against his ever so gently. Your cheeks immediately felt blazing hot and you closed your eyes tightly to regain your composure.

Sam jumped back in surprise, then touched his lips where yours had most recently been. He took a hesitant step towards you as you flipped the last of the pancakes. You put them on the platter and turned off the griddle. You brought the steaming stack of flapjacks over to the table, then awkwardly excused yourself from the room.

Dean stared after you as you bolted from the kitchen. "What's wrong with her?" he asked.

A grin slowly spread across Sam's face as it dawned on him what had just occurred. He realized how perfect it felt to have your lips pressed against his, even if only for the briefest of moments. Sam also became aware of how much he wanted to do that again, but for longer and with even more contact. "I don't know, Dean," he said slowly.

"Dude, you okay?" Dean asked, cutting into Sam's daydream.

"Perfect, Dean. Just perfect. Can you please pass the bacon?" Sam answered.

"You know this is real bacon, right?" Dean said as he eyed his brother.

"Yeah, I know. It's okay, I'll burn the calories off tomorrow on my run," he assured Dean.

"Getting weird around here," Dean muttered.

Back in your room, you sat on the edge, head in your hands. What the hell was I thinking, kissing Sam? you asked yourself. Not like you hadn't thought or dreamed about it a thousand or more times. But with how he jumped back like he was burned, that was indication enough that he considered it a mistake.

Now it's going to get weird around here and that's my fault, you thought bitterly. You had to admit to yourself that his lips felt nice, and that you would like to do it for real and often. However, you decided your best course of action for at least today was to hole up in your room for a date with Netflix.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A couple of days after the "Kitchen Incident", as you thought of it, you decided to quit hiding out in your room. Whatever fallout was going to happen, you wanted to meet it head-on, then move forward, whatever that looked like.

Sam and Dean still went on cases, some that lasted a few days or even a week, while you stayed behind to run research. Life had seemingly returned to somewhat normal, or as normal as the hunting life gets.

Every once in a while, a plate of cookies and an empty glass for milk appeared on the kitchen table. Next to the glass would be a tented piece of paper marked, "For Sam". The usual instructions were written on the inside. He had to eat all of the cookies by dunking them in the milk, then drink all of the milk. Sometimes there would be a quote from a movie that you had watched together, or some silly knock-knock joke.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

About a month had passed and Sam and Dean were on their way home from a demon hunt in Montana. They had stopped in Sioux Falls to rest up at Jody's house and hang out with her and the girls before heading home. You asked Sam and Dean to say hi to everyone for you, and that you wished you were there.

Dean asked if you were going to do any baking, to which you laughed and asked him what kind of pie he wanted you to make. "Well, sweetheart, as long as you're offering, would you make a pecan pie for me?" he asked.

"I can do that. Um....how was the hunt?" you wondered.

Dean knew what you were really asking, but played along anyway. "It was fine, just demons being demons, causing their usual trouble. Sammy got knocked around a little though," Dean answered. "For the most part, he's okay. Sprained his wrist and has a bump on his head," he explained.

"What?!? Is he okay? Does he have a concussion, are you sure his wrist is only sprained?" you rambled.

"Shh, shh, relax. He's going to be fine. Here, talk to him," Dean said as he threw his phone to his brother, who threw him an epic bitch face in return.

"Hello? Sam, are you there?" you inquired nervously.

"I'm here. Don't listen to anything Dean says, I'm fine. How're you doin'?" Sam asked.

"Just trying to keep busy while I wait for you guys to come home. I must have done around seven loads of laundry in the last couple of days, though," you giggled. "You and Dean had at least three loads apiece!" you teased.

Sam smiled and chuckled in return. "I'm sure sorry about that, honey. I'll try not to let the clothes pile up so much next time," he promised.

Jody looked at Dean, with her mouthing the word, "Honey?" Dean just shrugged.

"Oh, it's all right, Sam. I was only kidding. I've got plenty around here to keep me busy and out of trouble," you remarked. "I miss you guys, but I know you don't get much chance to visit with Jody and her girls. So, don't be in a hurry to get home, and I'll see you when you get back," you replied softly.

"It's all up to Dean when he wants to leave, but I'll tell him you said that," Sam said. "Until then, take care of yourself and don't work too hard, okay?" he asked.

"I won't. Bye, Sam," you answered shyly. You heard a click and the call was disconnected.

Sam threw the phone back to his brother, a smile on his face. He got up from the couch and went into the kitchen for a bottle of water. Jody's and Dean's eyes followed Sam as he left the room. Once he was out of earshot, Jody and Dean were sharing their thoughts about Sam's phone conversation with you.

"Is there something going on between those two?" Jody asked. "Because it sure seems that way to me," she finished.

"Yeah, you should see them at home. They'll be sitting at the table researching or doing something on their laptops. I'll look up and see one of them staring at the other, then looking away. It's kind of cute, though," Dean replied.

"I can imagine. So, you'll have a pecan pie waiting for you when you get home, that'll be nice," Jody remarked.

"Yeah, and Sammy will probably have a plate of cookies waiting for him on the table," Dean answered.

"Wait. Mr. Eat-A-Salad-With-Every-Meal eats cookies?!?" Jody exclaimed.

"Oh, yeah, but only the ones she makes for him. It started after we got back from that werewolf hunt that went so bad," Dean explained with a grin. "At first, it was how she let Sammy know that he could talk to her about it or anything else if he wanted to. However, I think it's evolved into something more than that at this point," Dean said.

"Hmm. Maybe now it's her way of showing Sam how she feels. She might be too afraid to say it out loud," Jody suggested.

Neither Dean nor Jody had heard Sam come in from the kitchen. He heard the tail end of their conversation, the part about the reason you'd been leaving a plate of cookies out for him. "Hold on a minute. That's why she's been making me cookies?" Sam asked, taking a seat on the couch.

Jody and Dean looked at each other, debating on what to say next. Dean finally rolled his eyes and spoke first. "Come on, Sam, add it up," he started. "I've seen the two of you making goo-goo heart eyes at each other when you think the other's not looking. Then there's that phone conversation between you today," Dean smirked.

"What about our phone conversation?" Sam demanded.

"Nothing, just that if you smiled any wider while you were talking to her, your face would've split in half. And somehow, I don't think this is a recent thing for her," Jody chimed in.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Sam wondered.

"Well, remember the last time we all got together with Donna and Doug, about six months ago?" Jody asked and Sam nodded. "I noticed how her eyes seemed to follow you as soon as you entered the room. Then she looked away when you smiled at her and had caught her staring. How her face fell when you started talking and laughing with another woman," Jody finished quietly.

"H-how was she looking at me, Jody?" Sam asked, even though he pretty much knew the answer.

"Like a woman in love," she replied gently.

Sam turned to look at his brother. "Really?" he asked, his voice higher than usual.

Dean nodded. "So, the question really becomes, how do you feel about her, Sam?"

"I think I need some air," Sam said as he got up and walked out to Jody's back deck.

Once outside, he tilted his head up to see the endless array of stars shining in the night sky. Get it together, man, he told himself. This is your best friend you're talking about. You've known her for years. Do you really want to lose that if she doesn't feel the same? he silently asked.

Looking at the other side of the argument, Sam asked himself what would happen if you did feel the same, and how he would know. He loved the late-night conversations you had when neither of you could sleep. The warm towel you placed outside the shower for him after a cold morning run. Your laughter at his usually lame-ass jokes. Even that heartbroken look on your face as he flirted with another woman at the bar was enough to indicate how you felt.

The more Sam thought about it, the more he marveled at how he didn't see it sooner. It was all in front of him this whole time, the little things you do to show you care. Comforting him after he'd had a nightmare, buying his favorite veggies for snacks.....making cookies. You were in love with him.

Sam was suddenly desperate to have you in his arms at this very moment. As the two of you gazed at the stars, he knew your eyes would sparkle with amazement. Then you'd turn your focus on him and give him one of your heart-stopping smiles.

At that point, Sam knew he'd be a goner. He wouldn't be able to resist capturing your lips in a searing kiss, if your mouth moved even a fraction of an inch in his direction. That last thought was what sealed it in his mind. He was in love with you. If even half of what Jody and Dean said was true, then he didn't want to waste any more time before telling you how he felt.

He walked back through the house and into the living room, where he'd left Jody and Dean. When Sam entered the room, they stopped their conversation, because to them, it looked like he had something to say. "Hey Dean? Um....Could we...." he fumbled.

"Yeah, we can leave for home in the morning, Sam," Dean replied with an understanding smile.

"Thanks," Sam sighed with relief.

"Go get 'er, Sam," Jody remarked in support, bringing a smile to Sam's face.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You had just pulled Dean's pecan pie from the oven and set it on the counter to cool. With any luck, it would be cooled off enough and ready to eat when he got home. There were also a few dozen snickerdoodle cookies you had made for Sam, resting on the wire cooling racks. You took out a plate from the cupboard and a tall glass. You placed about six cookies on the plate and set the glass next to the plate.

Taking out a blank sheet of paper, you folded it and tore it in half. On one half, you folded it into a tent and wrote "For Dean", then placed it next to the pecan pie. For the other half, you folded it the same, and wrote "For Sam" on the outside, then turned to write something on the inside.

Several minutes ticked by and you hadn't written anything. You couldn't think of a movie quote or line from Shakespeare to adequately express how you were feeling at the moment. You thought about your last conversation, the one where you heard he'd been hurt. Sam said it wasn't serious, but it was enough to cause you concern.

You decided you didn't want to hold back anymore when it came to your feelings about Sam. A hunter's life isn't always known to be a long one, and you were done wasting time. A smile broke out over your face as you resolved your writer's block. You wrote the three words that you felt best fit the situation, then left the note next to the cookies.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam convinced Dean to drop him off at the bunker so he had some time alone to talk with you. Dean said he would use the time to go back to town for a pizza or something. Sam first went to the kitchen, because he smelled the evidence of your baking endeavors. He saw the plate of cookies and bit into one as he read the note. As soon as he read the three words, he ran out of the kitchen.

A knock at your door startled you enough to make you drop the book you were reading. You took a deep breath then turned the doorknob. As soon as the door was open, Sam's hands were on you, cradling your face as he smashed his lips to yours. The urgency of his kiss made you gasp in surprise, creating an opening for Sam's tongue to slip inside. As you returned the favor, you could taste the cinnamon and sugar of the cookie he ate before he knocked on your door.

You broke the kiss when you needed to catch your breath. "Wow, Sam," you whispered. "That's some 'welcome home' you've got there," you chuckled.

"Couldn't help it, I had to see you, baby," he murmured. His right hand slid behind your head, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. "Then I found the cookies and the note you'd left in the kitchen," he explained. Sam dove in for another kiss, but this one was slow and tantalizing, full of everything he was feeling at the moment. He pulled back from the kiss and guided you so you were both sitting on the edge of your bed.

Your hands slid up his chest and clasped behind Sam's neck. "I couldn't think of anything clever to put in the note this time. The more I thought about you, the less I wanted to hide how I felt about you. So I wrote the three words I believed would best fit the situation, and figured I'd explain once you read the note," you replied.

Sam grinned. "It said, 'Come find me', and how could I do anything else? I've thought about you so much these past couple of days. I don't want to hide how I feel about you, either. I love you," he declared, dipping his head lower to capture your lips with his own.

"Oh, Sam," you whispered. "I've felt this way for such a long time, but didn't know how to tell you. So, I baked," you both laughed. "I love you too," you replied softly.

You were about to pull Sam in for another kiss when you heard the bunker door slide open, which meant Dean was home. The two of you looked at each other and laughed, Sam's forehead leaned against yours. He gave you one last peck on the lips before he got up from the bed, his hand held out for you to take. You took his hand in yours and intertwined your fingers as you walked out to see what Dean brought for dinner.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

@janicho88 @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @swiftlymoniquesblog @lyarr24 @miss-nerd95 @distefano123 @hobby27 @deanwanddamons @jessica-noel94 @wayward-mikaelson @jawritter @gabrielslittleangel @jensengirl83 @deangirl93 @ellewritesfix05 @supernatural-jackles @idreamofplaid @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @winchesterprincessbride

#sam winchester #sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #spn imagines #supernatural #spn

75 notes · View notes

jjpogue · 4 years

Text

TRUCE pt.2 — jj.m

Pairing: jj maybank x kook! reader

Summary: bored, you pay jj a visit a visit on a whim. He’s not the only pogue you end up seeing.

Length: 1.4k

Warnings: canon typical swearing, slow burn, romantic tension

A/N: the amount of love this series has gotten already is really encouraging and while the series is still early on and slowly building I hope you guys like this part!

Midsummers came and went and things seemed to be normal once again. Your incident with a particular handsome pogue was just that- an incident. A fluke. A one-time out of the ordinary experience. But you couldn’t help but to wish it wasn’t.

Since that day you had noticed Sarah at her home less and her father turning you away more often: ‘Sorry kiddo, she’s not here’. You were exasperated, each time you tried to reach out to her she seemed to be conveniently missing. Maybe she was avoiding you on purpose? Or maybe you were just making up an excise to feel sorry for yourself. It was probably just a coincidence.

You walked along the coastline of figure 8. Mansion after mansion the whole way down. You came upon your own house, just as gaudy as the rest with custom trimmed topiary and a fountain in the backyard. Your mother was an interior designer and figured herself a landscaper as well, so your house looked like HGTV threw up all over it.

You swung through the kitchen with its white marble countertops and inspiration blackboard and came out to the driveway through the front door. You had wanted to get your license as soon as you turned 16. To have a grasp at real freedom as any kid’s dream, wasn’t it? So you did your part to earn your card and were gifted a brand new Lexus by your parents. Swinging the key ring around your finger, you slipped into the comfortable front seat. It was plush leather and still had that new-car-smell clinging on.

It wasn’t hard to figure out where the infamous Maybank homestead was located. A few awkward conversations with some locals on The Cut later you were cruising down the road, your eyes looking back to your GPS map every so often to keep you on track. This wasn’t something you had thought about too hard, coming here. But you had nothing to do and nothing to lose.

Pulling off onto the side of the road, you stepped out of your car and walked the last few feet to the dirt driveway and dilapidated house JJ called home. The paint was chipped and flaking and the floorboards of the porch creaked as you approached the front door. Maybe this was going to be a bad idea after all, you weren’t sure now.

Ignoring your second thoughts, you took the plunge and knocked on the door. Nothing.

You furrowed your brows and knocked again, a little firmer this time, a little louder, and this time seemed to work. An older man, JJ’s father assumed, opened the door and looked down at you with a harsh, weathered gaze. A gaze that told you he’d seen many things in his life and you weren’t one of them.

“Wrong residence.” Was all he muttered in his gravely tone before going to shut the door. You jumped forward and put your hand on the door, “Sir, wait!”

He paused and raised a brow at you, looking more impatient by the second. “I- I’m here to see your son. Is he home?”

He leaned back and appraised you before turning his head and yelling, “Hey! There’s some rich bitch at the door! The fuck are you up to boy!?” He sent you one last nasty look before slamming the door in your face.

You stewed a few seconds in your own stunned silence before the door creaked back open and JJ was peering at you. His expression was a mix of so many things it was impossible to gleam even one. “(y/n)? What are you doing here? How did you even find me?”

“I asked around. It wasn’t hard.” You looked up to JJ nervously, wringing your hands together, “Look this was a bad idea I should leave-”

“No.” JJ grabbed your wrist in his hand before you could take so much as one step. He looked back inside his home for a second before fully joking you on the porch. His hair was unruly and sticking out all which ways, but somehow it looked good on him. He was wearing a T-shirt he’d cut the sleeves off on, board shorts, a bandana sticking out one of the pockets.

“Don’t regret coming, sweetheart.” Your brows raised a the nickname but it went unspoken. JJ still held your wrist and pulled you off the porch and out into the yard. He admired the water in front of the pair of you before looking back at you. His blue eyes as clear as crystalline waters. “I bet you’ve been thinking about me.”

You scoffed at his shit-eating grin. “You wish! Actually, I’m just really bored.”

“Nothing exciting to do in your mansion?”

“Believe it or not I’m not as spoiled as you think I am.” You crossed your arms.

JJ gesture to your Lexus parked not far away.

“Okay- well, that was special. Doesn’t count!”

The pogue shook his head with a smile, “There’s a party happening at the boneyard if you’re interested.”

“Pass. I don’t feel like being your white knight again.”

“Fair. How about-”

“Hey JJ!!”

You both whipped your heads around to see none other than John B in his beat-up van. He had his himself leaning out the window, “Who’s your friend!?”

JJ grinned and waved at John B, walking up to the window of the van. “Dude, I met this hot kook girl at the party.” You scowled and hit his shoulder.

“I’m not a piece of meat, douchebag.”

JJ smirked at you and leaned over you, wrapping one finely muscled arm around you dramatically. “Okay, so I met this cool chick who saved my ass from some kooks at the party.”

John B looked between the pair of you and smiled, “Wanna hang?”

“Really? I thought you guys all hated my kind.” You raised a brow, pulling JJ’s arm off of you; no matter tempting it may have been to let it stay right where it was.

“Hey, if you helped out my best friend then you’re alright in my book. Hop in.”

JJ pulled the side door open and walked right in, sliding into the passenger seat with John B. You hesitated but followed suit, picking out a seat behind them. You pulled the door shut after and felt the van purr back to life, pulling back onto the road.

The wind slipped through your hair and the sound of the pogue’s in the front talking was a buzz in the back of your head. The van was big but cozy and surprisingly comfortable for being a fixer-upper to your standards. There were stickers and labeled stuck randomly across all the walls and the ceiling. Pillows, blankets and cushions all placed to create plenty of seating and places to relax.

The hula girls bobbled on the dash and you could smell the salt of the sea and the sweat after a session surfing, the image of John B and JJ riding the waves in your mind. Washboard abs and glistening tanned skin. That devilishly handsome smile turne-

“(y/n)? Hey, earth to (y/n).” You blinked and turned your head to see JJ’s blue eyes.

“What? Sorry.” You mumbled, feeling silly for having spaced out.

“We’re going out on our boat. You still feel up to it? It’s alright if you don’t wanna.” John B offered and you were surprised by how civil he was. He looked at you and you didn’t see any malice, any hatred, in his eyes.

“Oh- yeah, uhm, sure.” You floundered, utterly caught off guard by these boys. You were completely out of your element all of a sudden and it had smacked you in the face.

The three of you got out of the van and walked through another yard, John B’s you presumed, and out to the connected dock. A little boat with ‘HMS POGUE’ painted in thick, blocky white letters on the side was resting there.

The boys were quick to hop aboard and get the vessel ready and you simply, watched, standing awkwardly on the dock. Truthfully, you didn’t know the first thing about boats. And despite living in the outer banks you could count on one hand the times you’d been on a ship smaller than a ferry.

“I’m not too heavy right?” Images of the boat sinking under your weight were conjured in your brain and you shuddered. The boys only paused before laughing at you.

JJ reached his hand out to you from the edge of the boat, “You’re alright (y/n), do you trust me?”

MASTERLIST

Part 1 — Part 3?

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#obx #outer banks #jj maybank x reader #obx x reader #jj x reader #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #jj imagine #obx fanfic #jj maybank #outer banks imagine #rudy pankow #rudy pankow x reader

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beautifultypewriter · 4 years

Text

Goodbye Earl ~ Esme Shelby

Requested: No

Warnings: Death, murder, poison, disposal of a body, abusive husband (nothing graphic), injured reader, language

Word Count: 1,964

Pairing: Esme Shelby x platonic!fem!reader

Summary: Based on Goodbye Earl by The Chicks. Esme and Reader decide that something must be done about Reader’s abusive husband.

A/N: This is quite possibly the best song ever and I love Esme to death. I wish she was my best friend. Also I got the idea for this at like 2am, so maybe not my best decision, but it’s happening anyway. This is meant to be done in a more lighthearted way as the song is, so hopefully that all comes through.

You sat up in your hospital bed, trying to keep your right eye open (the left was swollen shut), but the exhaustion was catching up with you. There was a commotion in the hallway, and you could hear some yelling as a tray hit the floor. Looking towards the door, you sighed when you saw your best friend pushing the door open. She stopped when she saw you, the anger previously on her face melting away as she rushed to your bedside. You sucked in a breath as you looked away from her. She was having none of it though. She gently pressed her hand to your cheek and turned your head. Esme sighed as she looked over your swollen eye and cut lip. There was a bruise forming on your temple and you were sure she saw it. The fire returned to her eyes as she scowled, “Y/N, you don’t have to put up with this.” She tapped your cheek, trying to get you to look at her, “He has no right to treat you like his own personal punching bag.”

You shook your head, “I shouldn’t have made him mad.”

Esme stared into your eyes, her frown deepening, “Stop making excuses for him. You know he doesn’t deserve it.” You nodded as your attention turned to your lap once again. She was right. She always was. Esme sighed as she sat next to you on the bed, slinging her arm over your shoulder and pulling you close, “I can talk to John.”

You pulled away from her, “So some peaky boys can rough him up and then he’ll take out his anger on me? No thank you.” Your eyes slipped shut as you tried to focus your breathing. Moving your hands, you grabbed the hospital sheet in your fist, counting down from ten in your head. Esme shook her head, leaning close to you again, her forehead pressing against your temple. Your hand moved up to your face, your index finger running slowly over your busted lip.

Esme turned her head, so that she was looking towards the wall, “Something must be done.” Your eyes opened as you tilted your head. Yes. Something must be done. You turned to face Esme just as her eyes landed on you again. There was a twinkle in her eye that you were sure was mirrored in your own and you managed a small smile in response to hers. She lifted her hand, pressing her closed fist against her lips and holding her pinkie out. You nodded to each other as you moved your own hand forward, your pinkie locking with hers.

You had been released from the hospital that afternoon and although you had returned to an empty house, you knew it wasn’t going to stay that way for long. You had played the good wife and started cooking dinner. You had even made his favorite. Parsnip and celery root stew. Your tongue poked out to run along your bottom lip, catching on the cut. Esme had yet to arrive and you were starting to get worried. If she didn’t make it here before him then your plan was never going to work.

The kitchen door was thrown open, startling you to the point where you almost dropped the entire pot of stew. Spinning on your heels, you lifted your spoon high in the air. Esme stared at you and then the spoon and then you again. You sighed, lowering the spoon again, “Where have you been?” You rushed over to close the door as she moved into the kitchen, pulling something from her pocket as she moved towards the stove. You stepped up next to her, “He’ll be home any minute now.” Esme waved you off as she held up whatever she had pulled from her pocket. You squinted, “Well what is it?”

Esme placed the plant in your hand, “Belladonna root.” She moved over to the cupboard and pulled your mortar and pestle out. She turned back to you, “Crush it up and put it in his stew.” Her hip jutted out as she placed her hand and stared at the root in your hand, “He won’t hit you again.”

You twirled the plant between your fingers, “You’re sure?” Looking up at her, you smiled when you saw her smirk. She nodded as she passed you the mortar. You took it and quickly crushed the root. Esme stood over your shoulder, watching as you spooned a good amount of stew into a bowl. Then you grabbed her hand as you picked up the mortar. The two of you exchanged small smiles as you poured the crushed root into the stew. Esme squeezed your hand as she picked up a spoon and stirred the soup, the belladonna getting mixed in with the parsnip and celery. She smiled over at you as she tossed the spoon back to the counter, the clink of it echoing in the otherwise quiet room. You nodded once before flashing her your own smile.

Then the front door slammed open and the two of you stared at each other with wide eyes. Loud footsteps echoed down the hall and you could hear your husband grumbling to himself as he moved towards the kitchen. You looked to the hall then back to her, your heart rate picking up as you thought of where she could hide. You pulled your hand from Esme’s, instead laying them on her shoulders and steering her towards the small kitchen closet. She should be able to fit. Esme threw the door open before she squeezed herself in. Right before you shut the door, she reached out and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. You nodded to her, closed the door, and spun around just as your husband stepped into the room.

He looked you up and down, sniffing as he did so, “Decided to finally come home then?” He moved over to the table, not waiting for any kind of response from you. He sat in the chair, his back to you and the closet, “Well, you gonna bring me my food?” Your eyes slid over to the bowl of stew with a special ingredient and you nodded. Oh yeah, you’d bring him his food.

Stepping over to the counter, you spooned some more stew into another bowl, “I made your favorite.” Your husband sniffed again as he reached for the whisky you had set on the table earlier. He poured himself a generous amount as you moved over to the table, both bowls in your hands. You placed his bowl down first before you moved over to your own chair. You ate slowly, keeping your eyes on your husband. He had downed his entire glass of whisky in one go before picking up his spoon and digging into the stew. He ate quickly, slurping as he scooped more spoonfuls of stew without pause. You scrunched your nose as you watched him, smiling if he ever glanced over at you.

The closet door opened slowly, and Esme peeked her head out. She looked over your husband before her eyes moved to you. She smiled and gave you a thumbs up. You nodded to her and she slipped back into the closet, pulling the door closed quietly.

Your attention turned back to your husband as his spoon clattered against his half-eaten bowl of stew. You feigned concern as he swayed in his seat. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Aren’t you hungry?” You picked up your own spoon, taking a bite of your dinner. Your husband blinked rapidly, as if he were trying to clear his vision, and you could see sweat dripping down his face.

He looked around the room, still swaying, “What’s…” he blinked, his hand pressing against his forehead, “what’s happening?” His eyes settled on you and you smirked.

“I made it special for you.” You rested your elbows on the table, lacing your fingers together and placing your chin atop them. You tilted your head, your smirk widening. Your husband’s body started jerking and then he hit the floor with a thud. Leaning over to the side, you stared at him on the floor, his eyes wide open and his chest still.

Esme pushed open the closet door once more, this time she stepped out and came to stand next to you. The two of you stood side by side, staring down at your husband. You nudged him with your foot and he barely moved. Esme leaned down and pressed her fingers to his neck. You waited with bated breath, your fingers gripping the skirt of your dress. Then she turned to you and smiled, shaking her head. You smiled back at her.

The two of you had had some difficulty wrapping his body in the sheet, but you had managed. Esme was able to nick a cart from Charlie’s yard and the two of you were able to haul your husband up onto it. It was the middle of the night, so the streets were empty as the two of you pushed the cart under the cover of darkness.

You made it to the cut in record time. Taking a deep breath, you moved over to grab his shoulders while Esme grabbed his feet. She looked up at you, “One, two, three.” The two of you lifted the body, shuffling to the side, holding him up maybe an inch from the ground. Esme slipped and you lost your grip on the sheet, dropping him in the dirt. Esme dropped her end with a shake of her head, “Let’s push him.” You nodded to her and both of you stepped to one side of him and started shoving him forward. You found it difficult to find purchase in the mud, but you managed to stay on your feet. Esme groaned, “This fucker is heavy.” You laughed as you pushed harder. Esme chuckled along with you, “Almost there.” And you were. He was on the edge now and one more good push would send him over into the water.

There was a splash as he hit the water, sinking down to the bottom. You straightened up just as Esme wrapped her arm around your shoulders. You leaned your head against hers as you stared into the water, “So long, Earl.” You gave a half-hearted salute as Esme laughed and pulled you closer. Your arms wrapped around her waist as you smiled. You pulled Esme away, “Let’s get out of here.” You laughed as you hugged her tightly, moving back the way the two of you had come, stumbling over each other’s feet.

The next morning, you were sat with Esme at her kitchen table, both of you enjoying a cup of tea. You hadn’t said anything about the previous night, but whenever you caught each other’s eye, you’d smile. John stepped into the kitchen, kissing Esme’s head before he turned his attention to you. His eyes lingered on your bruised eye, “Heard about your husband, Y/N.” You nodded and he returned it with a nod of his own, “Just say the word and we’ll have a chat with ‘im.” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, clearly indicating his brothers, though they weren’t there.

You nodded again, “Thanks for the offer, John, but,” you and Esme shared a look, smiles growing on your faces, “I don’t think I’ll be having any more problems with him.” You looked up at the Shelby man as Esme hid her laughter in her teacup. He looked between the pair of you before he shook his head, mumbling something about how he didn’t want to know before he slipped out the back door. As soon as he was gone, you and Esme knocked your hands together, still sipping your tea.

#esme shelby x reader #esme lee x reader #esme shelby imagine #esme lee imagine #peaky blinders imagine

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