#for a girl who’s so loud with emotions like rage and spite | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whumperooni · 4 years

Text

for shame

Pairing(s): Natsuo Todoroki x Sister!Reader, Enji Todoroki x Daughter!Reader

Tags/Warnings: incest, feelings of shame and humiliation, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, breeding/pregnancy talk

Word count: 2k

A/N: This was brought on by a big brained nonny. I had a lot of fun daydreaming this/writing this ♡

It’s been a long day for Natsuo- a hard test, coffee spilled on his favorite jeans, his phone charger stolen, his essay given a poor grade; all of that added up to a long day for him.

A shit day if he’s being honest- one that he thinks can’t get much worse.

He’s proven wrong, of course, whenever he gets home and opens the front door only to be met by loud moans. His mind first jumps to “fucking Touya brought home another girl and is banging her on the couch again” and his nose wrinkles along with the thought, an aggravated huff leaves him.

It’s only when he hears the squeal of “Daddy! Daddy!” that he realizes that those loud cries sound very familiar.

Natsuo gulps, frozen in the middle of toeing off his shoes, and stares down the hallway with wide eyes.

There’s...there’s no way. You aren’t- he’s not- no. No. If you were going to fall into something so horrible and ruining it wouldn’t be with him, it would be with-

Natsuo slams the breaks on that thought before it can finish and shakes his head, desperately tells himself that he’s mistaken.

It’s not happening. It can’t be happening.

Another loud whine and Natsuo gulps, finds his feet taking him to the living room despite his mind screaming at him to just turn around and leave the house for another good three or four hours.

There’s a gasp and a whimper that sounds right before Natsuo peeks inside the living room and it’s something that Natsuo thinks is horrible simply because it sounds so hot.

Please don’t let this be what I think it is, Natsuo pleads to whatever gods may be listening to him. Please don’t let it really be happening. Please don’t let it be with him.

The gods don’t listen- that or they’re just being cruel, spiteful.

Natsuo peeks into the living room to find his sweet, beloved sister in their father’s lap- your hips arched into big hands, your small ones gripping onto broad shoulders as Enji Todoroki thrusts his cock into his daughter’s soaked little cunny.

All at once, Natsuo’s heart breaks, his temper boils, his fists clench, his face flushes with rage and horror and shame.

Rage because how could his father do this to his daughter, to Natsuo’s most treasured and adored sister. Rage because how could his sweet little sister let their father do this- how could you let him fuck your wet, wet pussy? How could you let yourself moan and mewl like a perfect little whore while Enji spears your cunt with a cock that should be much too big for anyone to take?

How could you do this with “daddy! daddy! daddy!” instead of your beloved Natsuo-nii?

Horror and shame rushes in after his rage and a sick, hot pulse of mortification has Natsuo slapping a hand to his mouth, has his guts twisting with the sudden impulse to throw up.

How could he think that?

...probably for the same reasons you could be in Enji's lap.

Natsuo swallows down his sickness and he curls in on himself as self-disgust hits him harder than one of his father’s punches. He’s horribly aware that he’s half-hard and he hates himself for that- hates how hot he finds it whenever you throw your head back with a loud whine whenever Enji brings you down and makes you take him fully, whenever Enji moves your hips in a stir and lets out a growl of, “So needy, little one. You take my cock so well.”

Blood rushes to Natsuo’s head- to both heads, actually. He goes from half-hard to achingly, fully hard as you whimper and try to move to ride Enji, as you whine out a soft little “daddy, please, more” whenever you’re forced to stay seated on his cock instead.

A choked noise claws its way up and out of Natsuo’s throat- he can’t believe you’re so needy; he can’t believe you can take such a big dick; he can’t believe that he’s so into the way his little sister begs so prettily to be fucked.

God, how many time have you done this? How many times have you fucked your father?

Natsuo’s heart pounds hard, but it pounds harder still whenever turquoise eyes flick up and meet his own.

He recoils in an instant- fear and shame and embarrassment racing through him- but he doesn’t run away even with his instincts screaming at him to bolt and hide and not come home for a long, long time. He’s frozen in place, unable to tear his eyes away from the way Enji grips your hips tighter and makes you shudder and arch your back.

He should run. He needs to run- who knows what Enji will do now that he’s been found out?

Natsuo’s fingers twitch along with his cock and he swallows hard, stares down his scowling father.

Rage is sneaking its way back into him- rage over being embarrassed and ashamed and fearful when it’s his father that’s gotten caught fucking his daughter, fucking Natsuo’s baby sister. Why should Natsuo run and cower when it’s Enji doing something so obscene?

Natsuo holds his ground despite his wide eyes and the jackhammer thumping of his heart.

Enji narrows his eyes and then he lifts his head- haughty with a look of authority, challenge as his eyes move from Natsuo and back to your pretty face.

“So impatient, little one,” Enji rumbles out. “You need to be fucked that badly?”

A whine from you and a nod. Natsuo can’t see your face, but he’s sure you have a trembling little pout, flushed cheeks and hazy eyes. You probably look so fucking good. God, he- he wants to see you all needy and pouting to be fucked. He shouldn’t want to see that. He absolutely should not want to see that. You’re his little sister- he can’t want this. He can’t.

Natsuo’s cock throbs in his sweatpants and he almost draws blood from digging his nails into his palms to keep from touching himself.

“Daddy, please! I wanna- I wanna be-”

You cut yourself off with another whine- hips trying to arch up and move along your daddy’s cock. There’s a low chuckle from Enji and Natsuo hates the smirk playing on his father’s face, the smug way he slowly slides you up his dick and forces you to take his slow, slow pace.

Enji stops when you’re half-way up his cock and Natsuo has to slap a hand over his mouth whenever Enji makes you lean forward, arch your hips. Natsuo can see how his father’s dick is parting your swollen, dripping lips with the new position- can see it even better when big hands grip your soft cheeks and spread you open even more.

It’s the hottest thing Natsuo has ever seen- lewd and disgusting and so filthy that he almost whimpers in need.

You probably feel so good inside.

He’s such a horrible older brother to want to know how slick and warm and honeyed your little cunny is.

Bile rises in his throat in contrast to how pre-cum spills in his boxers and Natsuo grips the door frame tight with his free hand whenever you let out a needy, sweet sob.

“D-Daddy, please! Please! I want- wanna be fucked! Daddy fill me! I need it!”

The smirk grows on Enji’s face and Natsuo’s fury roars among the dizzying swirl of emotions clouding his senses and judgement.

Why the hell are you begging Enji for that? He doesn’t deserve it- he doesn’t. If you’re going to do this with anyone in the family it should be the one who takes care of you the most, the one who has always been there for you.

Natsuo deserves to have you begging for his dick.

(God, he wants you begging for his dick- he wants to hear you cry out “nii-chan! please! please!” so fucking bad.)

“Shh, little one,” Enji says- voice almost soothing but not quite making it with a growl reverberating in the words. He kisses your cheek and he cants his hips up slowly to sheath himself in you once again- locking his eyes again with Natsuo as you whimper and mewl.

“Daddy is going to fuck you, little one,” Enji rumbles out- loud and so fucking pleased with himself. “I’m going to fuck you. Fill you. Give you what you need.”

You sob, the sound pitching close to a wail as you’re stretched open again. Natsuo’s vision is almost going spotted from everything now- he’s so overwhelmed and everything is so much and he is so fucking hard and all he can think now is fill you fill you fill you- i want to fill you as he watches Enji thrust languidly up into your needy pussy.

Enji kisses your cheek again and his eyes go half-shut as you tremble, as he watches his son struggle with his desires in the doorway.

“Daddy is going to fill you,” Enji continues- not looking away from Natsuo for one second. “Daddy is going to make you a momma, sweetheart. I’m going to give you a little one.”

You cry out a “please!” and Natsuo breaks.

He bolts from the doorway before he can process the action- runs to his bedroom and closes the door behind him, sinks to the floor and sticks a hand down his pants. A moan leaves him- loud and shameful, perverted as he frantically jerks off to the image of his little sister getting fucked by their father and the desire to know how you would feel on his cock, how horrible and wonderful it would be to cream your sweet little cunny and stuff you full with him instead of Enji.

Natsuo grates out a rough breath and he jerks as he starts to come- hips battering against his fist and the world rushing and roaring around him as he cries out your name.

He comes harder than he has all year and he falls to the floor after- panting and curling up into a little ball as shame tries to devour pleasure and greed, hunger, and want boil through his blood.

He wants you. He needs you. He’s so fucking awful but he needs you- needs your soft hands on him and your lips pressed to his, his cock filling your pussy and his seed spilling inside you, out and down your soft thighs.

Natsuo hears you cry out in the distance and he squeezes his eyes shut, hates himself as his dick throbs and envy washes over the mortification that should be taking over him.

He feels disgusting. Horrible. Hungry.

He wants to be the one fucking you and he hates that, but it’s not enough to stop him from reaching a hand down to jerk off to the thought. It’s not enough for him to replay the image of Enji spreading you apart over and over again in his mind. It’s not enough to keep him from moaning and rutting into his fist like some needy pervert. It’s not enough to keep him from coming to the thought of you begging for his cock.

It’s not enough to keep him from laying on the floor- a flushed cheek pressed to cool wood and his mind racing with a million schemes to get you into his bed.

...if you’re going to do it with Enji, then why not with Natsuo? Why not with your big brother?

If the number one hero can fuck his little girl, then why can’t Natsuo fuck his baby sister?

(It’s so wrong and he knows it. Is disgusted by it. By himself.

But, god, he wants it and after seeing you with Enji- with his father, your father- he knows that you probably want it just the same. He knows that you’d be happy to crawl into your nii-san’s lap like a good little girl and ride his dick like you ride daddy’s.

...if you’re okay with it, is it really that bad?)

Natsuo swallows hard and he squeezes his eyes shut, curls up tighter on the floor.

He’s a horrible big brother.

In the distance, you moan and mewl as your father fills you with his seed. Natsuo quietly, regretfully wishes that was him filling you instead and he sinks into a murky pit of pleasure and hopelessness, frustration and desire.

Natsuo had been wrong- his day actually managed to get a lot worse.

(Or maybe this is better?)

Natsuo grimaces and he forces himself to stand, wipes his dirtied hand on his sweatpants and heads to the bathroom so he can try to wash away his sins.

#natsuo todoroki x reader #natsuo x reader #enji todoroki x reader #endeavor x reader #tw incest #rooni's shit #todoroki degens #tw breeding kink

1K notes · View notes

rosiehufflepuff · 3 years

Text

☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓋𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒻𝓁𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇

☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️

DRACO X FEM READER !!

House : hufflepuff

Blood line : pure blood

Summary : you and draco has been friends for two years without anyone knowing however lately the secret is out , and people are shaming you about , you (a hufflepuff) is friends with the prince of the slytherin -draco Malfoy - which make him feel bad and ashamed leading to him push you away

Warning : it is little lengthy

Warning : self shame, angry! Draco, bullying, angst, TOO MUCH FLUFF, FLUFFY!DRACO

Year : fifth

Best friend ( maybe secret crush ) trope

——————————————————————————————

For two years we have been friends, two years you have been my safe place, two years , you both would meet in astronomy tower or the forbidden forest in the night , on the weekends , hidden from the preying eyes of the other people , not cause embarrassment or disgust in fact both of you and Draco loved that this was your thing , a secret , the time for you and him only , it felt like the world was empty and no human was other than you both together and all weight that was on your shoulders would left away , you would spend time together , talking , laughing , reading , or you writing and Draco painting silently enjoying the peace you both had till one day this imaginative world , this world that was owned by you both vanished in thin air ....

A gossiper student saw both of you, resulting of the next day the entire magic craft school, to know about the friendship and it wasn’t just knowing and being silent , no it was vicious and fast like a burning fire scattering through a woodland , that it pushed the Slytherin boy over the edge of anger and spite , resulting in him scanning every inch of the school, running around threatening the students till he found the one and only lavender brown , fueled by anger , seeing nothing but red , the boy corned her in some empty class, he shoved his wand in the Gryffindor neck , if he hated Gryffindor before , it was underestimated now as he despises them with every inch of his body .

To Draco , Gryffindor took the only opportunity for him to be in peace , to have control over his existence . They all were fortunate bustards , they were the heroes and painted him as the villain , he just wanted to be happy like them but they weren’t allowing it , to Draco they were the only genuine villains.

Nevertheless before the boy can do anything, Snape entered the class, seeing the scene in front of him, alarmed about the mix of anger, tensity and tears that crammed the room, the professor separated both of them by a spell of his wand , as he took the pale boy wand in his hand, shaming him for his doing and lack of control over his emotions with his gaze , ignoring the girl that crawled out of the class, as she thanks merlin for giving her another chance to live and probably now having the Slytherin house head as her favorite professor after this.

Of course this incident didn’t pass quietly, no, it reached Dumbledore , causing Draco to be called and putting Snape in the circumstance of defending the boy and only letting him go with losing 20 points from Slytherin and detention for two weeks , “of course albus would do that !! Any chance to push up his golden house “ draco mind filled with this belief as he raged out of the room, with heat filling his body to the Slytherin room ,all he wanted to be in his atmosphere immediately, away from all the preying gaze that he responded with glare directly making shy away in fear .

Throwing his body on the soft silky sheet of his bed , he couldn’t help but shove his head in hands , he knew!!!! he fully knew!!!!! , that the occurrence with the annoying Gryffindor girl will fuel the whole thing!! But he let his emotions out of control!!! He was so ashamed of his lack of control that he couldn't stop shaming himself till the sun rose up for the next day

His thoughts were correct ..... Merlin..... The following day, the whole school is either talking about the incident with the annoying girl or .... the second thing....... Which hurt him the most ... people were shaming y/n cause she was close to him? Draco was used to people believing terrible of him, .....truth......he wanted that to be his reputation but not that extreme ......... people were shaming her .... about how a Hufflepuff can be close with a nightmare like him .... and if she was a real Hufflepuff.........if she is going to be the first death eater from Hufflepuff.....

” Merlin... Doesn't this academy quiet ever......” draco couldn't help but whisper under his breath as he was done with this school.

Throwing himself in a seat of the slytherin ‘s eating table in the grand hall, hoping it would be quieter but Salazer........he was wrong

“ soooooooooo........ Malfoy!!!! what is with you and the badger girl “

Theo asked with smirk, earring him a sharp scowl from the pale boy, that brought shivers of fear that ran all over his body.

” first there is NOTHING , this school made a whole bloody mountain out of nothing!!!!!, next one more word about this on the table and I will hex anyone to the oblivious!”

the seriousness in Draco ’s words was exhibited , it was powerful that it shut the whole house members down, making everyone eat in silence, in the opposite side of the room, was the Hufflepuff table, he saw you, you have been friends for too long, of course he would be able to identify you so easily. His sharp cloudy grey eyes stopped on ur smiling figure, sensing outrage take over his body....... the words that was talked behind your back were something you never deserve it!!....... , to him .... you were like a flower and everyone tried to kill you from the roots and he was ready to do anything to protect you even stepping on his own heart ....

On your table things were quite different, everyone was cackling and chatting, no one bothered you or gossiped about you, cause as Hufflepuff, the morality of judging people without knowing them was odd, yes some questioned you and Draco friendship cause, well ...he is a git and you are wonderfully nice and cheerful ’so how did that happen? ’ to the rest of the house that was remarkable event

abruptly you felt strong gaze on you, as you notice who, you smiled and waved to the boy on the slytherin table, but his response gave you knot in your stomach, he frowned and got up from the table and walked away...’did I do something wrong ’ , that was weird reaction from the boy, he never behaved like that, sure he wasn't open, carefree and loud if he was he would be in Gryffindor but he was thoughtful with you, as he tried to act more with care as he didn't want to harm your feelings so this response stung a bit.

Then potions class came, you and Draco shared the class, he sat in front of you as he worked alone while you sat with your pal Luna Lovegood from ravenclaw, you finally had the opportunity to talk to your Slytherin friend and check on how is he doing .

so as soon as Snape turned to the board, you patted the boy shoulder to get this attention ” Draco...hi....” no response ” draco, are you okay? ” no response ” i fully know.. That you must be annoyed now but-” ” can we not talk now! I'm trying to concentrate on snape here ” he wasn't yelling but the sharp tone of his voice send you back down to your spot ” I'm sorry... ” even though, you know he must be mad, you couldn't help but get hurt, noticing the reaction on your face, Luna put her hand on yours as you both lock hands as giving you a smile assuring you that it is okay and she is here

she knew you and she knew Draco, it was fascinating to hear how you both are friends but yet she understood how Draco ’arse’ attitude was just a face for his household so she was happy that he got a friend like you in his life perhaps to free him but also she wasn't pleased about how he treated you now but all she can do was just to hold your hand to soothe your feelings .

But it wasn't only Luna who wasn't pleased no Draco himself, he heard the pain in your words and he was conscious of the Ice dripping in his tone, he hated how he couldn't control how feels, he trained all his life for that but he is failing that now ”wonderful malfoy , just incredible “

The potions class was done and you couldn’t be happier , you were out of this room finally Draco out of your sight ! ...you wanted to yell at him and be mad at him for hours, you wanted also to cry but no way in Merlin ’s bread you would cry for a boy , you always were tough emotionally and no way a icy tone will break you in tears “ we are not going to be this low now , hold it “ looking at yourself in the mirror of the girls bathroom , you took deep breathes as your walked yourself out, moving to your next chosen class which is magical music

this was your comforting class but now thanks to a current slytherin , you can’t put up with the music that plays but thanks to Helga kindness from her grave you have Luna with you a familiar face to look at when you crave to scream “ you look upset “ Luna calm voice cut your doze off , you sigh as you respond “ I’m Luna ..... and I shouldn’t be ... I understand his emotions but I’m furious... that he is dismissing mine !! Aren’t we friends !” “SHHHHH” Whispering louder than you aimed at , earned you undesirable scowlled looks , leading you to apologizing to the instructor and your class mates

“ well ..... why you don’t ask him ?? “ “ I want to......but it is hard finding Draco anywhere in Hogwart alone.........he always has people around.......” “ no he is ...” “ what ...wait ! ... what ? Really ??!”” “ SHHHHHHH” dismissing the glare from the male instructor , you and Luna continued the conversation “ Draco is a perfect , he can go out after the allowed hours as they quote to check on students “ “ yes I know this ..... “ “ but the point that is concealed that the Slytherin , use this privilege to spend time introverted in library .... I always saw him.......but...........I’m not his favorite person nonetheless yes ... that can be beneficial for you “

knowing what Luna meant, you nod slowly giving the girl big smile for her help “ Luna the words thank you , doesn’t explain how much I’m thankful for you “ both of you turned to the professor cause till now you both weren’t focusing with noticing how the teacher and class started to fed up on your missing notes, that was the best thing to do.

After finally the pain that you gave to your self and your fellow classmates with your messing notes in the music , you rushed to your dorm to change fast into more relaxed outfit that will suit the cold air that won’t only come from the late night but also from Draco himself , you changed to white shirt dress layered with V neck sage green sweater dress , skin colored stocking and beige combat boots , taking a deep breath to calm the anxiety that was slithering to your soul about meeting the slytherin after the incident, not knowing what his reaction will be as he sees you , you shoved this feelings in the very back of your soul , as you got out of the warm room, and faced by the coldness of the the schools hal, you fought the fear that tried to convince you back to your dorm , as you hurry to the library .

Reading a book in some quiet table alone in the very dark corner, that was your strategy for hiding from madam Irma prince, and somehow it worked as your presence went unnoticed by her or that is what you hoped so .

Soon the time passed soon it became the after hours , as you wait for the slytherin prince, somehow deeply inside , you wanted him to come and not come in same time ....

you didn’t know why but you felt uncomfortable about seeing him after the incident but the need to see him now and to converse with him about his attitude was a must for you.

glimpsing a white hair belonging to a faint dark body passing by, nearly like a ghost, you jumped up on your feet as you strode fast , trying to be calm as possible, you tug on the boy arm. Causing him to rotate, as he shoves his wand to your face with scowl before noticing you ”y/n!!!?! BLOODY HELL!! I almost hexed you!!! ” laying his wand away as his face softened a bit ” I'm sorry...but I need to talk to you.....” lifting up his eyebrow at you , questionably for a second before his Straight face appeared

“ we can’t talk anymore ...”

the words that you feared came scrambling hitting you like a train causing your mind to go blank for a sec before you speak again

“ what !!?? Why !!! We were fine till -“

“ yeah till! .... Till that gryffindor wrecked it ! And for that we can’t be friends anymore ... we can’t be seen together! ......Bloody Salazar, I need to report you to your perfect ! “

“ AND ALL OF THIS FOR WHAT !! CAUSE IM HUFFLEPUFF!! CAUSE YOU ARE SLYTHERIN !! CAUSE YOUR STATUE !! CAUSE THE PURE BLOOD SUPREMACY !! CAUSE SLYTHERIN IS THE ONLY HOUSE !! THAT IS ACCEPTED!!??”

Tears filled your sight, you didn’t care if whole hogwarts heard you , you were hurt , how did he toss you so easily after two years from being friends just cause his status , were you that cheap and meaningless to him? , were you just something for filling his unoccupied period ?.....didn’t he take you as friend or care about you? ...... Were people right about Draco and you are just naive...?

Your mind halts as your ears catch a heavy breathing sound , looking up to the boy in front of you resulting in your eyes growing enormous from the sight in front of you .....

You saw many emotions of draco , many than what most people think there are, but you never ever see him crying before , his gaze was wailing pain and hurt as his breaths was heavy in attempt to process his emotions ....

” you don't comprehend... I don't care about that... I deal with that day-to-day.... I'm the villain in the people eyes!! I was sorted in slytherin y/n... For Merlin sake!!! I'm a death eater in their eyes....no matter what !! ALL ’CAUSE THESE BLOODY BASTARD GRYFFINDORS... THAT WHAT WILL I ALWAYS BE... But you!!! You don't deserve that!! You don't deserve to be treated like that.....you are a good individual...”

” I don't mind draco!!!”

” BUT I DO!! .... You don't listen to what they say about you ......”

” who cares about what they mumble!! THEY ARE STRANGERS! ....Draco if you believe that I'm a good person......Then....You would know I would never mind about what people say and leave you for it !! I Care about my friend Draco here that I know!!!! anyone else no...hell with them to Godric’s fire!! ”

you went closer to draco, locking both of his hands in yours ” I would never quit on you, I will be here to support and...... draco you aren’t villain .... you are just a git that is all, but you are my best git and I’m here for you permanently “

you smiled looking at draco sobbing ’s eyes as you wiped his tears by one of your hands however not allowing his other hand to be out of your hand, squeezing it lightly as a way to confirm your message .

Peaceful moments passed by, with you both staying in your position, finally relaxing after some long day.

Till the slytherin decided to cut the silence

“ You fully understand that .... I wouldn’t ever report you to your perfect ..... “

“ yes I comprehend that, dear “

“ dear ? “

“Hey don’t get cheeky right now ... I just saw your fluffy side “

“ m’sorry, now shut it “

———————————————————————

MY FIRST EVER IMAGINE !! GO EASY ON ME !! I HOPE YOU ALL LOVE IT !!

131 notes · View notes

blindingdutchy · 3 years

Text

lamentation | TWO

{peter parker x fem!reader AU}

based on All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven

SERIES MASTERLIST

word count: 3,495

warnings: depression, anxiety, mental illness! angst, fluff if you squint really hard

18+!!! minors stay away

Peter Parker was relentless, insufferable, and extremely annoying. It all started the morning after what you'd decided to call The Encounter, and it had been unending ever since. Nearly a week had passed since that fateful night, and you'd yet to see a day at school where Peter didn't try his hardest to get under your skin.

On Monday he sat next to you in Calculus, and no matter how blatantly you ignored him for the entire class, he continued to whisper facts about himself and stupid little jokes to you. You wished you could say you hadn't listened, but ever since that morning you'd been unable to forget that his favorite color was red, his Aunt packed him a lunch every day that he threw away because she couldn't cook, and his middle name was Benjamin. Why he thought you needed or even wanted to know such things you weren't sure, but even more befuddling was the fact that you couldn't un-learn them.

When Tuesday rolled around he stepped it up a notch, much to your dismay. He sat with you during Calculus and insisted on jogging with you during gym class, feigning that he was out of breath despite your slow pace and the fact that you were certain he could run for miles without getting winded. He told you more jokes then, too. One of which you begrudgingly found yourself exhaling a little harder over whenever it popped into your head; what did one stranger say to the other? Nothing. They didn't know each other.

Wednesday was the worst, because Peter made a scene. You came into calculus late and the teacher scolded you in front of the class, at which point you got flustered and tripped over your untied shoe laces. Your books spilled to the floor and you tumbled to your knees in front of everyone, and the whole class laughed. But Peter? Peter just had to be the hero, and your blood boiled at his actions.

He'd dramatically swept all his books off of his desk, feigning surprise at the loud clatter as if he hadn't done it intentionally. When the teacher scolded him, too, he just apologized and made a show of picking up each of his things one by one. "Why did you do that?" you'd hissed as you sat down, scowling at the brown-eyed boy who just blinked at you innocently.

"Do what?"

He'd ran with you in gym class again, and he'd even followed you to your locker afterwards. In all the years you'd known of Peter, you had never known him to be much of a talker. In fact, he seemed like a rather shy boy who didn't like to branch out much. With you, though, that was far from the case. Silence was a pipe dream with him around.

On Thursday he sat next to you in Calculus, ran with you in gym, walked you to your locker, and went so far as to sit with you at lunch. You'd put your earbuds in and blasted music as loud as you could without hurting yourself too much, but every time you looked up you could see he was still talking. Part of you wondered why he was being so relentless, but you didn't want to ask. If you asked he would think you cared, and you didn't. You didn't care at all, and the sooner he figured that out, the sooner he would leave you alone.

Or, at least you hoped so. As you walked into school on Friday morning, you groaned at the sight of Peter waiting patiently beside your locker. "What do you want, Parker?" you gritted out, glaring at him as you twisted the dial to enter your combination.

He grinned in spite of your glare, "I'm walking you to Calculus today, obviously. How was your night, (Y/N)? Do anything fun?"

"What part of I don't need friends did you not understand?" you demanded, giving him a stale look as you swung the metal door open with a clang. Peter blinked at you, clearly not used to you actually speaking back to him, and further uncomfortable with your hostility. What did he expect? Did he expect for you to suddenly be happy? To not be completely fucked up anymore just because he started talking to you?

He replaced his lazy smile and shrugged, retorting, "You know my secret and I know yours. That makes us friends."

You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to shout, yell, stomp your feet, and throw a tantrum fit for a child. Friends were not something you wanted or needed, and you certainly didn't want to be friends with Peter Parker. You didn't want to be friends with someone just because they were worried you'd spill their dirty little secret, or because they pitied the girl who wanted to die.

The black hole in your chest was worse than ever that day, and it sucked away all the fight you had in you. So, with a roll of your eyes, you stuffed your earbuds in your ears and tuned him out once more. Just like he had at lunch, Peter continued to ramble even though he knew you weren't listening, and you pretended you didn't see his lips moving at the speed of light.

For once, at the very least, he at least shut up in class. You were thankful for the break from his incessant chatter, the endless monologue you couldn't escape from when you were stuck in a desk while Mr. Tinley droned on and on. Calculus was far from interesting, but you found yourself beyond relieved to finally be able to pay any sort of attention to the lesson.

Friday was steadily continuing along the same path every other day had since The Encounter. Peter thankfully parted ways with you after Calculus, but quickly rejoined you two classes later in Gym. From Gym he was glued to your side through lunch until you escaped to your Spanish class, which you thankfully didn't share with him, but the solitude was short lived. Your last class of the day was one you also shared with Peter, and prior to that day he had remained seated with his friends.

That day, though, he plopped down in the seat beside you with a cheerful smile. "Ready for our new project?" he asked, skipping the greeting he knew you wouldn't return.

"Huh?" you asked, blinking at him in bewilderment. New project? Our? What was he talking about?

Peter beamed back at you, clearly pleased that you hadn't snapped at him for once. "Our new project! Didn't you see the list on the door? We're partners." he explained, and you stiffened.

It was too big of a coincidence to truly be happenstance. All week Peter had been pestering you, perpetually following you around and talking your ear off, and now he just happened to be assigned as your partner for the final Speech project? He did something. That was the only logical conclusion.

Your eyes narrowed as you stared at him with as much intensity as you could muster. "Peter, what did you do?" you growled.

Peter's eyes widened at your tone, and he shifted in his seat nervously with a sheepish smile. "What do you mean?" he questioned coyly, and you scowled at him fiercely. "I didn't do anything, (Y/N)."

"Bullshit." you snapped, "I find it hard to believe that we just happened to be assigned partners after how obsessively you've been harassing me all week."

He gaped at you, "Harassed? What?" he stammered, "(Y/N), let's calm down--I haven't... I haven't been harassing you. I just want you to know I really do want to be your friend."

You scoffed at his excuse, "Shut up, Peter. Just leave me alone! I don't want to be your friend, okay? My lips are sealed. I won't tell anyone your secret, just leave me alone!"

With one finally glare, you lurched out of your seat and stomped to one far away from the still aghast boy. As you settled into your new seat, ignoring the strange looks from your classmates who witnessed your outburst, you wrinkled your nose and picked at your nails angrily. As much as you were angry with Peter, you were also angry with yourself.

You were angry that he'd stopped you, and you'd let him. You were angry at the world for letting your sister die. You were angry at your sister for saving you when she should have saved herself. Most of all, though, you were angry with yourself for how you were acting. Even though she wasn't there, you could almost hear your sister scolding you for how you'd treated Peter.

She always was the levelheaded, rational sister. The good sister. The better sister. She would have been ashamed of how you'd been ignoring Peter, ranting to you, "He's just trying to be there for you, idiot. Stop being such a jerk and let him help you. You need to stop being so stubborn..."

You listened eagerly to Ms. Lovell's lesson and instruction for the new project. It wasn't because you were genuinely interested, because you weren't, but it was something to distract you. It was something to drown out the voice of your sister that was echoing through your skull, rattling you to your core as you tried to keep your emotions at bay.

This was the hardest part of losing your sister. She'd been so close to you, so important to you, it was impossible to not think of her in every moment of every day. It was impossible not to think of what she'd have done, instead of what you had done. It was impossible not to think of what she'd have thought of your actions, what she'd have said to you, of what she'd have wanted you to do.

She had been your voice of reason, your confidant, your role model. She'd always been so much better than you, someone you aspired to be like, and now that she was gone the comparisons were so much heavier on your head. Why couldn't it have been you instead of her? She would never have had such a hard time like you were.

For instance, she wouldn't have been so bitter. She wouldn't have been so filled with rage, hatred, or despair. She wouldn't have blamed anyone, not even herself, and she wouldn't have hated the people who had killed you. She always did love a good superhero, and even if you'd have died at the hands of the Avengers like she had, she would have found a reason to still have faith in them. She would have forgiven them.

This project was going to be a tough one, and not just because you were going to have to work with Peter Parker. "This is going to be a persuasive speech, guys, so you're able to pick your stance freely so long as it pertains to the Avengers. For example, you could persuade us that they're bad, if that's how you feel." Ms. Lovell explained, "Just be prepared to face debate from the class. Each group has to face five full minutes of argument from the class and be able to firmly debate their stance."

A project in which you'd have to argue your stance pertaining to the superheroes that had killed your sister, and you were working with Peter-Spiderman-Parker. Great, you thought to yourself, this was going to be a nightmare. There was no way the two of you would agree on what stance to persuade; you hated superheroes, and he was one, for God's sake.

You glanced over at Peter, only to catch him already staring at you. The pair of you quickly looked away from each other, but you noticed the way his cheeks flared red in embarrassment. How long had he been watching you? Was he dreading the project now as much as you were?

He probably didn't know how you felt about the Avengers. Not many people really cared enough to read about what had happened to your sister, and you weren't exactly in the right state of mind to be out protesting the many shortcomings of the superheroes. You wondered, though, how he would react when he found out.

Lying was an option, but there was no way you'd be able to debate in favor of the Avengers without breaking. Could you debate against them without losing it either, though? You weren't entirely sure. It was a sore subject and you were certainly not looking forward to having to dedicate your time to speaking about them.

Peter lingered by his seat after class was dismissed, staring at you awkwardly as he told his friends he would catch up with them later. You could see the strange, weary looks they shot you, but you chose to ignore them. Everyone looked at you a little funny ever since the incident, and you'd long ago grown accustomed to it. This time, though, you couldn't help but think they were looking at you strangely for a reason other than your sister.

You had two options. You could suck it up and talk to Peter right then, or you could continue to ignore him until you were forced to do the project. Catching his warm brown eyes as he timidly watched you, you sighed. It was now or never; maybe if you were nicer he'd back off a little with the obsessive tendencies.

"So," you drawled, approaching him shyly, "how are we gonna do this?"

This was what she would have wanted you to do; that's what you chanted in your head as you forced yourself to at least seem somewhat approachable. "Uh, we could--we could meet up tomorrow? You could come to my apartment." he stuttered, scratching his neck awkwardly and fiddling with his backpack.

He radiated nervous energy, and the black hole inside of you consumed it greedily. You twiddled your thumbs just as nervously as you replied, "Do you, um, do you mind coming to my house instead? My parents are--they're a little weird about me going out because of... yeah."

God, his stutter was rubbing off on you, and you cringed at the way you stumbled over your words like a fool. It had been such a long time since you'd invited anyone to your house, let alone talked to anyone besides your parents and your therapist, and it was stressing you out. The exhaustion of the day was wearing you down rapidly, and having to socialize was making it worse.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, of course!" he spluttered, "Uh, could I get your number? So I can, like, text you when I'm coming?"

You hoped he didn't notice how much your fingers were shaking as you took his phone, struggling to type in your number as you mistyped multiple times. Once you'd saved your contact into his phone, you sent yourself a text so that you'd have his number too. You didn't exactly answer unknown numbers anymore, though if you were honest, you often didn't answer people you knew either. That was what drove your friends away.

Peter shot you a shy smile as you handed his phone back, and he asked, "Do you want to get started tonight, maybe? I could call you."

Biting your cheek, you paled. Tonight? You were exhausted, and the thought of having to talk for any longer made you nauseous. "No offense, Peter, but I... I really just need a break. This week has been a lot." you mumbled, avoiding his eyes as you stared at your feet.

"Oh, yeah, totally." he acquiesced, "I'll, uh, I'll see you tomorrow."

You didn't reply, only giving him a tight lipped smile that probably looked more like a grimace as you quickly walked away. Once you were out of his sight, your entire body drooped and the numbness steadily washed over you. It had been the longest day, and you were once again grateful for the escape from the overwhelming emotions.

Ever since she died, it was as if all your emotions were on overdrive. There were the many constant ones, like the guilt, shame, and anguish over her death. Along with those were more fleeting ones, like anger, disgust, and fear. Peter, though, he brought about a whole slew of new and equally as intense feelings that drained you.

He made you feel things like anxiety, apprehension, and hope. There was anxiety both due to his wild behavior in regards to you, but also because you feared he might tell people what he'd seen. The apprehension was due to your suspicion he was only so interested because you knew his secret, and was just as fearful that you would tell. But the hope, the stupid anticipation, was the worst.

It was the worst because a stupid part of you hoped he was genuine. You wanted him to really want to be your friend with no ulterior motives because, no matter how much you denied it, you really did need a friend. You wanted a friend. You wanted to let someone in.

You weren't buying it, though, because you were certain you couldn't handle the heartbreak of being wrong about his intentions and discovering he really did only care about his secret. You weren't going to let him hurt you, and if you had to shut yourself off from the world and hurt yourself to prevent it, then so be it. It was easier that way.

Peter Parker: hey i know you said you didn't want to start tonight but that doesn't mean we can't get to know each other

Peter Parker: so if you want, lets play 20 questions! i'll start. what's your favorite movie?

The typing cursor blinked at you tauntingly as you laid on your bed, huddled under the blankets with your thumbs hovering over the keys. That stupid part of you that wanted to make your sister proud begged you to go along with it, to let him be a friend, but you were terrified. You were terrified of the way you actually opened the text and went to reply without hesitation, something you hadn't done since before the incident. You were terrified of the way you wanted to reply, but the only thing that gave you pause was the fact that you didn't have an answer.

Movies weren't something you'd given much thought to in awhile. You knew all of your sister's favorite movies by heart, but your favorite movie? It was as if your brain opened an empty drawer. You didn't know what your favorite movie was.

You: i don't know

Peter Parker: what do you mean you don't know

Peter Parker: do you not like movies?!

You: i just don't know okay

You: i can't remember the last time i watched a movie.

That was a lie. You very well could remember the last time you'd watched a movie, and that was because it was with her. The weekend before she'd died, your sister had dragged you to the theater to watch some cheesy romance film she'd been gushing about for weeks. It was awful, but it was so utterly her that you'd weirdly enjoyed it. You enjoyed it because it made her happy.

Peter Parker: that's crazy wow

Peter Parker: no offense sorry

Peter Parker: it's your turn to ask

You: what's your favorite movie

Peter Parker: star wars but you can't ask the same question!! try again

You: fine

You: what's your favorite food?

Was talking to boys always this hard? You couldn't remember the last time you'd had to get to know someone, but you didn't think it had ever been so nerve wracking. Was something wrong with you? Was everything destined to be this hard now that she was gone?

Peter Parker: anything from Delmar's

Peter Parker: best sandwiches in Queens

Peter Parker: since you got a double and you technically didn't answer my first question, i'm asking you the same but also what's your happiest memory

Everything was always going to be hard. Reading his response, your lungs deflated in your chest and the numbness gave way to the all too familiar sensation of despair. She'd always loved Delmar's, insisting on getting the same sandwich from there every single Friday after school, and it had been your thing.

Would there ever be anything that didn't remind you of her? Remind you of the hole punched in your life where she used to be? It was hard enough dealing with the empty space in your room where her bed used to be, the empty chair at the dinner table where she'd used to sit, all the empty spaces she'd used to fill up. But the little things--the little memories of things she'd used to love--those hurt so much more.

You: i have to go

You: i forgot i'm busy tomorrow so we can't start the project

You: i'm sorry

SERIES TAG-LIST {ask to be added}:

@msmimimerton

71 notes · View notes

quixotic-writer · 4 years

Text

Letting Loose

Song inspo: fuck away the pain/one night stand — divide the day

Summary: After breaking up with your boyfriend and kicking him out you begrudgingly head out for work at the bar. After talking it up with Q for a while, you decide tonight’s your night of fun and you invite him over, he gladly accepts and is willing to do anything to help relieve your tension.

Warning: Kinky smut ahead!!!

———————————————————

“Get the FUCK out of MY house.” I threw his suitcase of clothes out of the second story window and watched it fall onto the lawn with a loud thump that echoed through the whole neighborhood. I turn around to look at Devin and I glared at him. He smirked and walked towards me with open arms.

“C’mon baby, you know I didn’t mean it.” He places his lips on mine and I shove him off, reel back my hand, and give him a hearty open palm slap across his cheek. “Ow! What the hell!?”

“First off: don’t ‘baby’ me, i’m over the charms. Second: The HELL do you mean you didn’t mean it? Did you not think when you ‘accidentally’ slipped your dick into her? Huh, Devin?” He continues rubbing his cheek and I feel proud of myself knowing that’ll leave a nice mark for him to explain. “I am dead serious this time. Get out, stay out. I see you back here EVER again and i’m calling the cops.” I point to the door for him to leave the room. With a moment’s hesitation he finally leaves, I watch from the window as he picks up the suitcase and drag it all the way to his car like the sad sap he is. His guilt tripping won’t work on me this time, and i’m pretty sure he notices that because he finally turns around to look at me through the window with a scowl.

“You’re a needy bitch. No one will ever put up with you like I did!” He yells before stepping into his car. I didn’t say anything back, just slammed the window closed and turned my back. He wasn’t worth another breath out of me. I slump down onto the bed face down and scream into the pillow. I don’t understand how I forgave him for cheating on me last time, I should’ve known he would have done it again. I was so naïve and stupid.

I continue mentally beating myself up and seethe in my own rage. My skin feels like it’s boiling and I have a tension in my head that feels like there’s a stretched rubber band on the verge of snapping. I don’t know whether or not I want to murder someone, break something, or just find a stranger and fuck them out of spite of my now tarnished relationship.

“Fuck.” I said out loud as I realized I had work tonight down at the bar at 3, I look over at the clock on my nightstand that read 1:00 in red neon numbers. I really don’t want to go especially with the range of emotions I was experiencing, but I had already called out of work so many times this month. If I called out one more time my boss would either hate me or fire me, I really don’t need the second one happening especially because now i’ll be taking on the rent by myself. Even with Devin around, he only paid for the bare minimum so not too much would be changing except a few additional shifts down at the bar. The epiphany of his bullshit only made me even angrier.

I soaked in the tub for a bit to get cleaned up for work and ease my tension just a bit. I take in the scent of lavender and carnations, close my eyes, and gently float my hands through the sudsy waters. It helped a little, but I could feel my nerve endings firing off in annoyance still feeling ready to pounce at any moment. Anything happens at work tonight and I won’t hesitate to give someone a piece of my mind, i’m so not in the mood to be dealing with bullshit of any kind.

I drive over to work blasting some metal music to try and release some of my anger by screaming along. Once I step through the door, I can already get a sense of how this shift is gonna go. It wasn’t a negative energy, but it wasn’t a positive energy either. It was just gonna be the same old same old kind of shift where nothing really happens. Though it’d be boring, i’d rather have that over a high energy night.

“Girl, maybe it’s just me, but your RBF is looking extra intimidating today.” Trin says from behind the counter. I sigh and roll my eyes.

“I’m not rolling my eyes at you. It’s fucking Devin.” Her eyes light up and her eyebrows flick up.

“Please tell me...”

“Yup. I’m over it. This time for good, i’m tired of being his play thing.” She gives me a big hug and is jumping a little as she holds me.

“Finally! He looked like he was dipped in fryer grease anyway. Now you just need to get something else good, and you know that one regular we have is kinda cute. What’s his name again?” She taps me with her elbow a couple of times and I laugh it off. I know who exactly she’s talking about, but I try to avoid giving her the satisfaction of giving out his name as I continue washing glasses behind the counter. “Quinn! That’s his name!” So much for avoiding that.

“His name’s actually Brian, but Quinn suits him better. Yeah he’s cute but why would he want me? Also doesn’t it seem kind of bad to rebound like that immediately after throwing my ex out?” I wasn’t going to deny that Q was cute, but i’d just feel bad using him as a rebound.

“Well first off, I think you’re a smoking hot piece of work that was too god for your ex. Second, you don’t seem sad about losing him, just mad that he was a dick that wasted your time and energy. Why not live for yourself a little and let loose?” She shrugs and goes back to serving drinks and making small talk with customers. She’s kind of right, I didn’t miss Devin and I wasn’t sad about losing him, I was just sad that I willingly allowed myself to be played and manipulated. Her words lingered in my ears as I continued working.

The afternoon slowly bleeds into the evening, it’s Tuesday so all our patrons are taking things slow and easy. It was a perfect pace for me to work at. Not too much work and bullshit, but just enough stuff to do to keep my mind occupied. Trin eventually clocks out for the evening and in her place one of our newbies, Trey, clocks in. It was perfect because I made him do most of the work to get a handle of how the ropes work in the bar. Seniority had its perks. I gossip with a few bar goers as they tell me their stories of their shit office jobs or complain about the typical New York traffic.

“There’s my second favorite bartender!” I turn my head as a deep voice thick with an accent diverts my attention away from one of my customers. There was Q, sitting himself at the counter smiling like a goof ball to me.

“Second favorite is all I get Quinn?” I say with a twinge of sass in my voice. “Shot of Jameson i’m guessing for the big boy to start off his night?” I lean over the bar and I notice his eyes take a quick peek at my slightly exposed cleavage that spilled from my tank top.

“You know it! Besides, you know my buddy Sal will always be at the top as far as bartending goes.” I get his drink ready and slide it over to him. He raises the glass to me with a smirk before he downs it in a swift gulp. I unknowingly stare at him with a slight glimmer in my eyes and he quickly catches me. “Staring’s rude y’know, sweetheart. Could I just get a nice brew also, please?” He says sliding the shot glass back over to me.

“Could say the same for you, Quinn.” I retort back going to clean up some of the dishes and serve up other drink to the few others surrounding him at the bar. I pour him his drink and set it down in front of him with a slight sneer.

“Someone’s on edge today. Been coming here long enough to know when something’s up with you.” The ring band he wears on his middle finger taps against his glass as he awaits a response to his query. My emotions are showing a bit too much tonight and I loathe myself for it, I always held myself to a standard to keep my private life hidden and not allow it to affect my performance at work.

“That obvious?” I say feeling guilty that I may have unintentionally taken some anger out on him. He chuckles a bit and leans in closer, resting his elbows on the counter top in anticipation to see if i’ll play along any further. “I’ll spare you the woeful details of my pitiful heartbreak if I can even call it that. Long story short: Boyfriend cheated and I got his sorry ass out of there.” He has a shocked look on his face and seems as though maybe he shouldn’t have asked. I cackle at his reaction.

“And you still came to work? That’s harder than any shot of whiskey i’ve ever done.” He rakes his hands through his hair as he sits back to process the information. I stare at his arms and his tattoos and his thick fingers. And I, for a second, imagined what it felt like if he held me close with those arms, what they’d feel like gripping my waist. Maybe Trin was right, maybe I need to let loose and have some fun all for myself.

“You know, I may be mad, but i’m sure as hell happy i’m not with him anymore. I’ve been over him for a while to tell you the truth, love was long out the door. He was so restricting it was ridiculous. Can’t wear this, can’t go there, blah blah blah. Don’t know why I put up with it for as long as I did or why I stuck around knowing I didn’t even love him anymore.” I say recalling all the stupid rules Devin had for me. I couldn’t wear anything ‘too revealing’ because it’ll attract ‘negative attention’ and he’ll be ‘embarrassed.’ I couldn’t go to certain places without him, it was all so manipulative because he could do whatever he wanted. If it wasn’t the cheating, the stupid rules would have been the next thing to make me want to dismember him.

“Let me buy you a shot sweetheart.” He slides some money over the counter and I graciously accept, i’d love a little buzz to get through this shift. “Cheers to getting him out of your life. You didn’t deserve that shit. No one does.” Sympathy. That’s something I haven’t seen a guy display in a while towards me. He raises his glass to me with a soft look in his puppy dog eyes and it made my heart feel full. I smile and raise my shot glass before downing the liquid that burns my esophagus as it travels down.

The night carries on, Q and I continue hitting it off and chat the night away in the dreadfully slow bar. We both get bolder and bolder and a little more flirtatious as the time passes. When I look over to the clock overhead, I notice my time in the bar is close to its expiration and even closer to a sense of newfound freedom. I eye Q up and down and I hear Trin’s voice echoing in the back of my head: let loose a little.

“So, Quinn, I’d love to continue this conversation and hang with you more after my shift is over. Maybe go to my place?” We both know where an invitation like this could lead, I chew on my bottom lip a little hoping to he says the words I want so badly to hear tonight. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips and then I knew my wish was going to be granted.

“Thought you’d never ask sweetheart.” His fingers trace the rim of his empty glass and I feel my heart start to pound out of my chest. Every time he called me ‘sweetheart,’ it hit me in a whole new way. I go to clock out of work and wish an easy night to my coworkers before officially heading out. Q follows me out and we walk towards the parking lot.

“Shall I drive? I only had one shot and it has long worn off already.” I offer to Q. He hadn’t had much to drink, only a shot or two and a beer and I know he can handle his liquor pretty well, but i’d rather play it safe and be the designated driver for the evening.

“That would be much appreciated since i’m a little intoxicated, also because I have no clue where you live.” He jokes around. We both hop into my car and my music blasts through the speakers. It wasn’t just any music either, it was my Slipknot CD, the one I listen to when i’m especially mad. We both jump at the sudden cacophony of noise and I quickly bolt to turn down the volume. “That tells me exactly how pissed off you were earlier!” He chuckles and I cover my mouth in shame, speechless that the guy i’m trying to swoon just heard the hell that I listen to.

“This is the only thing I have in, I hope you don’t mind.” I can feel my face turning red.

“That’s fine, I don’t mind and i’d love to listen to something a little different for once.” I turn the volume back on and we start to head over to my house. The whole way there as we talked about nonsense, I could see Q out of the corner of my eye head banging to the music, and it eased my nerves in a weird way. Sharing music with someone is a deep form of intimacy to me, seeing someone enjoy what I play is something that fills me with no greater joy. As I catch occasional glances at him, the way the street lights illuminated his face and framed his features just made him seem even more attractive.

We pull into my driveway and I guide Q into my now quiet home. He seats himself on my couch and I mix up a glass of rum and coke for the two of us. I hand him his drink and take a seat right next to him. It was then where he really wanted to get into the nitty gritty of my recent relationship status update.

“So he had rules for what you could wear, where you could go, what you could do? Sounds like the jabberings of someone who’s insecure if you ask me.” He sips his drink. The amount of disgust Q has for the actions of my ex is so reassuring that i’m not crazy.

“Had I not been working tonight, I would have broken every single stupid rule he had for me. Especially the one about what I can wear, that one bugged me the most.” I had a whole outfit saved hidden away in the closet that I had kept secret. I had a sneaking feeling that things would have come to a messy end and bought it out of spite.

“I would kill to see you in it.” Seems as though he’s following in suit with my energy and he’s on the same page as I am. He looks me up and down and slides a hand on my thigh, I already feel my motor revving to go.

“Why leave it to the imagination when I could just give you a show?” His eyes flicker like a candle and I can feel his desires radiating off of his warm skin. I quickly hop up and disappear into my room. In my drawers I find my black lace lingerie that framed and clung to my body in the perfect ways sensing the outfit wouldn’t stay on for too long. Next in the closet I fish around for the wine red velvet halter crop top and the black pencil skirt I had stashed away. As the cherry on top on completed it all with the black platform heels I had.

I step down stairs and Q quietly takes in the view. I slowly walk closer towards him and stop as soon as i’m in front of him between his spread legs.

“Didn’t you know staring is rude, Quinn?” He’s clearly taken aback and I can see him struggling to keep it together. I straddle him and his hands feel over the curve of my ass and venture towards my hips where they rest. He stares in awe at the goods I have on display until he makes eye contact. Those chocolate brown eyes could tell a whole story, and I could never get tired of it. I bring our faces closer and lock our lips together in a deep kiss. “If we’re gonna be having fun tonight, we’re playing by my rules tonight.” I say in a dominating tone. It was my turn to have my way.

“If that’s what you want sweetheart, use me as you wish, call the shots tonight.” I devilishly smile as the sinful thoughts and ideas begin to pour into my head and I feel myself growing wet at the scenarios that play in my mind. Without another word, I take Q by his hand and drag him upstairs to the bedroom. I throw him on the bed and he throws his shirt off.

“So what are your limits Quinn? Ever been tied up? Blindfolded? Teased?” I say as my finger tips trace along his inner thighs, he groans a little at my touch.

“Kinky tonight aren’t we?” I remove my shirt and skirt to reveal the lingerie hidden underneath and go to grab some special items from deep within the closet. “I can handle anything you give me. But just in case, my safe-word is pumpernickel.” I stop in my tracks and try to stifle a laugh.

“Interesting word, but I will be sure to remember it. Now let’s get you out of those restricting pants.” I tug at his belt and remove his pants to reveal the tent that was hidden in his boxers. I rub him through the thing fabric and watch as he screws his eyes shut. “Oh you have no idea what you’re in for now Quinn. This hard already and i’ve barely even touched you.” I bring out the scarf I had and tie his wrists together and tie them up to the head board of the bed, leaving Q vulnerable and open. As a final piece, I place the blindfold over his eyes.

“I’m not allowed to see that smoking hot bod of yours? Now this is torture.” For a moment I look over his body, needy with lust filled desire and it’s eye candy to me. He restrains against the bondage around his wrists and his muscles flex for a moment and I feel myself pulsate at the sight. I lean in close to his ear, the fun begins now.

“Oh darling, there’s much more coming to you.” I crawl between his legs and rub over his sizable bulge and watch as his breath hitches and his body twitches at the sensation. “You tell me when you’re close no matter what, if you cum too soon you’ll be punished. Don’t be afraid to make as much noise as you want, i’d love to hear what dirty noises come out of you. Never be afraid of using your safe-word, I may be in control but your well being still matters to me. Got it?” He whimpers underneath my touch.

“Yes, please continue it feels so fucking good.” I smirk as his mouth falls open letting his steamy hot breath escape. I lay a few kisses above the band of his boxers before taking the waist band in my teeth and slowly pulling them down to free his dick that stands at full attention before me. I quickly grab the hitachi wand from my toys and turn it on, a low humming sound fills the room and Q tenses up below me. I tease him a little and trace it along his inner thighs and just around his cock, but never touching it. “Please do something. Anything. I’m so hard please.” I smile because hearing him beg is truly a spectacle and something I wish I could hear all the time. His wish is my command and I place the the wand just below the head of his cock and his back arches off the bed and his fists clench above his head grabbing at the scarf to brace himself for the overwhelming and heightened sensation of pleasure that washes over him.

“Oh shit. God. Please more that feels so good.” I start running it up and down his length and watch as his hips convulse aching for more friction. “I’m close, holy fuck i’m close.” He confesses between moans and I quickly remove the toy and his dick twitches in attempts to find friction to chase the high it craves. Q whines at the loss of pleasure and it’s music to my ears.

“Not just yet. I haven’t even stripped down yet.” I remove my bra and panties and sit on top of Q’s hard on. I grind my hips and feel as his cock rubs against the folds of my dripping wet pussy. “Mmm~” A low hum falls out of my mouth because I know i’m in for quite a ride. He feels so thick and hard outside of my body in this moment, I could only imagine what it’d feel like inside of me. “How bad do you wanna cum?” I say teasing him in a pouty voice and all he can do is let out unintelligible babbles. “That’s not an answer Quinn.” I lift myself up and his groans only get louder and his feet kick at the sheets on the bed at the once again lost friction.

“Please I wanna cum so bad, let me cum please.” I travel up his body until my navel hangs above his mouth, I can feel his steaming breath blowing on me and it only excites me more.

“Show me how bad.” I lower myself down and the moment he realizes what’s going on he quickly gets to work lapping up really fast at whatever his tongue could reach. “Fuck Q that feels so good.” I moan out to let him know he’s doing a good job. I lavish in the sensation of the wet warmth of his tongue plunging into me and circling around my clit, humming to add vibrations, hitting all my most sensitive spots. This man knew how to please a lady. I start grinding my hips to help him out a little as I feel my climax slowly beginning to approach. “I’m gonna cum Q keep fucking sucking on my clit like that.” Like a dog he quickly obeys and gives my wanted attention to my throbbing clit as he bites gently, sucks, and licks it I feel myself come undone and tremble through my high with a drawn out groan.

I decided he’s had enough torture and go to remove the blindfold. He quickly blinks his eyes a couple of times to adjust to the dimly lit room after having that sense taken away. I lean down and kiss his lips that are soaked in my juices, moaning as I taste the liquid ecstasy, tongues tangles together in desperation. He hums back and I pull away to trail kisses from his jawline, to his neck, down to his chest, lower and lower until i’m met with his hard on that is leaking with a need for attention. I lick up whatever pre-cum resided on the tip and look up as he watches breathlessly.

“What’s wrong Quinn, cat got your tongue?”

“Quite the opposite. Bitch got my dick.” My eyes go wide and there’s no stopping the ugly laugh that escapes my mouth. It totally ruined the sexy dominating attitude I had going this whole evening but it was comical and swift on his part.

“Shut up that was terrible.” I say, still giggling a little bit. He gives a cocky smile in return.

“Make me.” Those were words he was soon going to mistake. I plunge down and take his whole cock into my mouth with my nose bouncing against his stomach. “Oh fuck!” He yells out at the suddenness of me taking him in. It sure did get him to stop talking as he dissolved into nothing but a moaning mess which only made me wet all over again. With each bob I take, I feel his hips start to match rhythms and start pounding against my face reaching in deeper as his tip hits the back of my throat and I gag a little. “I’m so close please let me cum dammit!” He cries out as the thrusts of his hips begins to falter but never losing power and I feel his dick twitch in my mouth. Just to torture him a little more, I slide him out of my mouth and back away so he falls away from the high he was so close to. “Please no, not again.”

“Just a little longer darling, all good things come to those who wait.” I straddle him again, but this time I line him up with my entrance, teasing myself as I rub his tip along my folds a little. I sink down slowly and Q’s mouth falls open and his head falls back at the sensation of finally being inside of me. I decided to reward him a little and lean up and remove the scarf that bounds his wrists. “Since you’ve been so good.” I say with a smirk. I slowly start to bounce my hips and feel as he slides in and out of me, hitting all the right spots that make it feel as though electricity is shooting out of every pore. Q’s hands grip at my hips so hard that I think that it might bruise, but it felt good and I knew I had built him up for so long tonight already.

In desperation and relishing the taste of his freedom, he starts slamming hard up into me and I knew he was close but he wasn’t going to say. Just as soon as he thought he had his way again, I tripped that thought away by stopping my movements and using my weight to hold his hips down against the mattress.

“Were you not going to tell me you were getting close?” He tries to use his hands to move my hips, but I wasn’t going to budge. I can feel him twitching like crazy in me and judging by his face he looks as though he’s going to be seeing beyond the stars when he finally releases all i’ve made him pent up. “Beg for it.”

“Sweetheart please i’m so close, this is the third time. You feel so good around me and I just want to cum.” The way he said sweetheart in a sad needy tone just made my heart melt. I release the weight I had on him and a fire ignites behind his eyes. He grabs my waist to hold me in place as he desperately thrusts into me getting faster and faster. I cum for a second time without warning as Q continues pounding into me relentlessly with feverish intent. I feel so oversensitive and i’m hunched over, leaning on top of Q as I whine from the overstimulation. It all came to a quick close with a final hard thrust he releases what felt like endless hot spurts of cum into me with a loud continuous throaty groan.

Finally we both lay there breathless and exhausting from what felt like the best sex i’ve had in ages.

“I haven’t had sex like that in a while.” I tell him as I push the now knotted, sweat drenched hair away from my face.

“I don’t think i’ve had sex like that ever. I don’t usually play sub, something about you got me down on my knees. Wanted you to have your fun.” I felt proud of myself for taking on the role, it felt empowering and a lot more satisfying. I could get used to this. “Y’know, I hope this isn’t just a one night stand because i’d kinda like to take you to a movie.”

“I think i’d like that a lot Quinn.” I say smiling and looking into the mocha puppy dog eyes that had me hooked from the start. Just when I had thought i’d have no chance throwing myself back into the dating ring, the universe drops the most unexpected twists into the tale. My twist: my favorite regular at the bar.

#This was really self indulgent and really long!!#brian quinn #q #brian q quinn #brian quinn imagine #brian x reader #q x reader #smut #suki writes

194 notes · View notes

zodiyack · 4 years

Text

Protection For The Lost

Requested by anon: hello! would you consider writing lost and found but instead of them meeting and having this cute reunion he finds out that she has a abusive possessive boyfriend (some arranged dating) and that boyfriend tries to keep tommy away from her? with a happy end?

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x reader

Warnings: Swearing, angst, violence, mentions of abuse, small abuse(?), alcohol mention, cigarettes (the word “fag” is used for it once, but it’s British slang, not a slur!), kinda cheating??

Note: I’m sorry! I'm sorry if I strayed from the request a bit! I’m not sure if I went a bit overboard with any angst or violence or anything- feedback is appreciated! In other words, I hope you like it and now I’ll leave you to read the fic.

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy, @stydia-4-ever, @matth1w, @redspaceace, @jenepleurepasbaby, @simonsbluee

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

Everyone has a reason. A reason to live, a reason to fight, a reason to sing, a reason to do things in general. If it wasn’t a lover, it was a person of an equal, yet platonic love. Perhaps a relative, a friend, a best friend, it could really be anyone.

Most of the Shelby family already had theirs. Although John had Martha, who sadly passed, he grew to crush on a woman. A woman who, unfortunately for him, was only interested in pleasure. Arthur had Linda, their marriage happy and strong. Ada was...under suspicion to have a lover, but the point was that she had someone.

Sad, horrifying, terrible memories burned their way into Tommy’s memory. The war had an impact on him, an impact horrible and scary, but there was a sliver of light to those memories.

A woman. Or as Tommy called her, an angel sent from the heavens. As soon as he got home, he was determined to find the mystery woman who helped him, healed him, saved his life, and became his reason.

So shockingly to everyone, Tommy did have reason. She just hasn’t found her way back to him. Worries struck his heart each day, wonders of her health and if she was even alive. But determination and love were quick to ease his racing thoughts.

“I’ll find you, Angel. I’ll never give up. I promise.” Though he was aware that his vow to her was unheard, he still planned to stay true to it.

And that he did.

Each day he got up, went on a search for Y/n/n, and talked to his family about her appearance, hopefully giving enough information that they could spot her if she were to end up in the Garrison or betting shop, pretty much anywhere they were.

With each ask of her name, everyone said no. A couple people recommended asking nurses from France who just so happened to be in Birmingham currently, or to ask a hospital.

Tommy followed their advice and set off to the nearest hospital, only earning back a bit of information. But a bit was more than plenty to Tommy, at least in this situation.

Soon enough, he ended up far away from Birmingham, at the doorstep of a man named Henry Bennett. He didn’t know why but if it got Y/n one step closer into his arms, he was willing to do anything. Maybe it was her father? Or brother? Maybe a friend? He was so deep in thought that he didn’t notice the door swing open and an agitated looking man lean against the door frame.

The man, who Tommy assumed was Henry, cleared his throat. “What do you want?”

“To ask you some questions.”

The man chuckled mockingly, “about what?”

“Well, do you know anyone by the name of Y/n/n?” Tommy quirked a brow when the man froze and widened his eyes after hearing the name. He glared at Tommy and readjusted his position to a more intimating stance- failing miserably at scaring the raven haired Shelby.

“Yeah. What of her?”

John stepped up from behind Tommy, “mind if we come inside, eh?”

“Personally, I’d prefer you didn’t, but seeing as the conversation’s topic is of importance,” He moved backwards and kicked the door open harshly with his boot, “come on in.”

The three brothers stepped inside the house, looking around and taking in the place. It smelled strongly of alcohol and cigars. They sat down on the sofa and waited for the man to sit in the chair next to it.

“What’d you say your boys’ names were again?” He groaned as he sat down, moving a bit to get comfortable.

“We didn’t. However, I believe I know yours. Henry, is it? Henry Bennett?”

The man, now confirmed as Henry, nodded his head and lit a cigarette, putting the fag between his lips. “That’s me.” Henry breathed out the smoke before moving the stick back to his mouth, stopping only to ask a question. “How’d you know that though?”

“We have our sources. Now, back to Y/n/n?” Tommy was eager to learn more- whatever he could about the woman he was so whipped for. He would take anything he could get, let it be another address, name, number, meal, anything that could possibly be of any help to his search. “What do you know about her?”

“I could be askin’ you the same thing. Bloody Peaky Blinder goin’ after my girl.”

Arthur and John froze in place, like Henry did earlier, and slowly turned to Tommy. Their faces held confusion and slight worry, Tommy, much to their dismay, returning a similar look, mixed with a tint of jealousy. Arthur tried his go at the maker of their clueless emotions. “How-”

“You think I wouldn’t notice you lot? I don’t know your names, nor do I give two fucks, I don’t know if the rumors are true, again, I don’t really care, and my lack of knowledge for the two subjects do not matter to me.” He got up, walking to the fireplace and grabbing a shot glass from beside it, “plus, the hats really gave you away. I was warned ‘bout those.”

“Where are you from, Mr. Bennett?”

“Here in the United Kingdom actually. But I went to France after the war. And before you ask, no I did not fight in it. Frankly, I don’t care about that shit either.”

John chuckled quietly at Henry’s response, a chuckle of bitter amusement. Purely disgust of the man. Tommy shared the same feeling, whispering “coward” under his breath.

Arthur continued questioning Henry, “Then why did you go to France?”

“Same reason your glare-y friend here came to my home.” Arthur raised his left eyebrow. “Y/n.”

John and Arthur looked over to their brother, communicating with their eyes to wordlessly see if he was alright. His jaw was clenched and his fist tightened. He couldn’t have been- was Tommy too late? Y/n promised herself to him, why was Henry saying, or rather hinting, that they were an item? Had she forgotten about him? Had she lost hope?

“What’s going on? Between you two? Are you childhood friend’s or somethin’?”

“Actually, we’re lovers. Engaged, to be married in three months time. Why else would I go to see her in France? I had to ‘confess my undying love’ one way or another.”

Arthur, being the eldest of four, knew when someone was talking just to piss another person off, and this was definitely one of those times. Whether what he said was true or not, he was running his mouth to spite Tommy. “Okay, then wh-”

A door creaked open, causing Arthur to stop in the middle of his sentence, all four men going silent and waiting for the cause of the nose to reveal itself. Soft padded thumps sounded in the hall, stopping next to the entrance of the living room door, the door pushed open to reveal a woman with a blanket draped over the parts of her body that weren’t covered by her night-gown.

“Henry? You have guests?”

Tommy’s eyes shifted from the woman to Henry. He noticed how he tensed up and was quick to dismiss her. “Go, I’ll uh- I’ll be there in a moment.” He turned back to the ashtray next to him, putting out the cigarette. Henry waited a couple seconds before facing her again, “I said go. Get. Out. Now.”

She flinched slightly and backed up like she was the prey to his predator. Tommy swore he could see the fear flash through her eyes. She looked familiar...

The female still hadn’t left the room, cowering even farther into the corner, if that was possible, when Henry jumped up from his seat. “I said get in the fucking room!”

Arthur jumped up from the couch. “Hey! You don’t fuckin’ yell at her like that! I don’t give a fuck if she’s a relative, some woman you’re cheating on Y/n/n with, or really who she is at all. Don’t fucking yell at her!”

Tommy looked at her again, his eyes following hers as they widened with fear and shock. “You don’t get to tell me what to fucking do in my fucking house, got that, Peaky Blinder?”

“Henry-” Her hand reached out his arm in attempt to calm him, the attempt working to no avail as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer to him despite her small whimpers; “Henry, stop- you-you’re hurting me-”

“No! I’ve had enough from you too!” He pushed her to the ground. Probably one of his biggest mistakes, action wise, to commit in front of the Shelby boys. The blanket fell off her body, making the hidden marks and bruises visible to everyone in the room.

Her identity clicked into place. Tommy knew exactly who she was. “What the fuck have you done to her?!” He stomped over to Henry, connecting his fist with his jaw before he could respond. “You bastard!”

Henry spat out blood, coming back up with a punch of his own that hardly affected Tom. “Get the fuck out of my house.” He stepped in front of Y/n, blocking her from Tommy’s sight. “Now!”

As much as Tommy wanted to charge at Henry, tackle him to the ground and beat him until he was six feet under, he knew it wasn’t the time. John tugged on his arm, nodding towards the door.

“Let Y/n come with us-”

“No. You’ll stay the fuck away from my fiancé!”

Henry pulled a gun from the side of his pants, pointing it at the men as Tommy repeated himself. “Let-”

“I said no! Get out of my house before I blow your bloody brains out!”

Tommy ignored Henry’s rage, walking to the door with one last look in Y/n’s direction, “We’ll be back for you Y/n/n, I promise.”

“Tommy!? No, he’ll kill y-” the rest of her sentence was muffled, a hand covering her mouth, succeeding at blocking her words but failing to block out her loud cries accompanied by tears.

Tears that matched the ones falling from Tommy’s ocean eyes as he tried his hardest not to look behind him, in fear that he’d never be able to bring himself to leave.

. . .

Not even a full month had passed, and Tommy stayed true to both promises. He broke into Bennett’s house after learning his schedule. Y/n was forced to stay home and only leave the house with him, likely thanks to Tommy, but it was still a problem, especially if it was already a thing.

Why would she marry him? Why would she accept? Tommy wondered why Y/n was committing to that toxic relationship. The bruises on her once clear and stunning skin were burned into his brain like the war.

This was the war.

His war.

And he was going to win it again.

He quietly walked through the halls, inspecting each room with his gun in hand. Where cold she be? If there was ever a time in Tommy’s life when he prayed so hard he was about to cry, he was 100% sure this was that time.

A small creak came from under his foot, followed by a feminine sounding squeal. Rushed footsteps were heard from a door on his right, disappearing into silence. That silence was sliced with a sharp squeak of a bed, as if someone had jumped onto it or tried to push their way under it.

“Y/n/n?”

In the room, Y/n hid under Henry and her, unwillingly, shared bed. Her breath matched her heartbeat, uneven and faster than the horse races. Her nickname was spoken from a familiar voice, coming from the other side of the door. The nickname was never spoken again after the war. Henry disliked it and refused to call her by it, as well as told everyone they knew that she hated it.

The door handle twisted a couple times before the door pulled open. “Tommy? You came back?” He nodded. “I- Henry’s gonna murder you, ya know that?”

“...Why?”

“Pardon?”

Thomas looked away, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers. “Why do you stay with him?”

“Tom...I don’t really have much of a choice. He’d hurt me if I left and it’d hurt my mum if I left. Either way, I can’t get out of this.” Tommy looked back to her, his eyes bulging. “You have to leave. He could be ba- mmpf!”

Tommy’s hands cupped her cheeks, making sure to be gentle with her weakened body. She didn’t finish her sentence or argue, instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

After they broke the kiss, Tommy pulled Y/n into his chest. “I thought I’d lost you forever.”

“I thought that too...” Y/n drawled, tears threatening to spill.

Tommy wiped away the watery threats and smiled lovingly at her, “run away with me.”

“What?”

“Right now. Let’s go back to Birmingham, you can live with my family and I, we can break the news to your mother whenever you’d like.”

“Tommy...” She thought for a few seconds, Tommy’s smile broke into a frown, his nerves mixing with anticipation. Y/n looked back up to meet his eyes, finally breaking on a decision. “Is there anything I need to grab before we go?”

416 notes · View notes

iamakiller · 4 years

Text

Daddy

Wordcount: 2000

Warnings: Pregnancy. Infidelity. Murder. Reference to past abuse.

Notes: Some men take to fatherhood quite naturally. Others … do not.

The wedding is elaborate, expensive, and populated entirely by the bride’s family and friends.

Perhaps this is why no-one mentions the haste with which it has been arranged, in spite of how decisive the couple’s most recent and definitely final breakup had been only a few months ago.

Nobody comments on the irony of the bride wearing white, either.

***

It is a novelty, at first.

The matching rings are fun, and it is rather nice having someone to complain to after a long day of dealing with the world and its stupidity.

Charlie calls her Wife, and she calls him Husband. Ironically, of course.

He likes the idea of the vows. Til death do us part is pleasantly macabre, and reassuringly final.

He’ll never be alone again.

***

The other business is nothing at all, to begin with.

He enjoys the way her magnificent curves have been augmented by the twist of fate that brought them back together so permanently. Her swollen breasts and rounded belly are a gift for him to enjoy. A fitting tribute to his virility. And her fertility, he supposes.

Look at what I have done to you, he thinks, each time he fucks her. See how you have grown by me.

And she grows.

***

One evening as they are laying on the couch, Nicole suddenly lets out a gasp, and grabs his hand. Before he knows quite what is happening, she has pressed it to her abdomen, right below her navel. Just as he’s about to ask her if she has gone mad … he feels it. A tiny movement from within her, pressing against his palm.

Her eyes are very bright as she gazes at him, the beaming smile on her face making her look like a Stepford version of herself. “Oh, Charlie,” she says, softly. “I’ve been feeling it for weeks, and now you can too! He’s kicking. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Kicking?

He?

Wonderful?

Charlie pulls his hand away, and turns his attention back to the TV.

***

Nicole starts leaving books on the topic of baby names and parenting scattered around the house.

Charlie shakes his head at her carelessness, and tidies them away.

He wastes an entire day of good writing time on painting the spare room pastel blue under her scrutiny. Another on assembling the crib that is now the centerpiece of the room.

Every time she returns home from an outing, she brings with her some item of clothing or toy, then insists on inflicting a painfully uninteresting show-and-tell on him.

She watches him carefully at these times, like she’s waiting for him to do something. But he doesn’t know what. So he does nothing.

Eventually she stops, and simply adds her purchases to the growing pile in the spare room.

It’s a relief, quite frankly.

***

Long gone are the days of the seductive young starlet he first met, with her penchant for slutty lingerie and bodycon minidresses.

Nicole’s underwear is sensible now. Frumpy, even. She wears a stretchy band of fabric to support her belly. She waddles like a penguin, and when she sits she looks a bit like a frog.

“NO,” she protests, when he reaches for her with intent. “Charlie, I’m too big. I don’t feel attractive at all.”

When he offers to fuck her in the dark, she becomes quite irate. “You don’t think I’m beautiful?” she rages, her dramatic exit from the bedroom greatly undermined by the ungainliness of her gait.

Charlie cannot understand her reaction. She may be less alluring now, but he still has needs.

What is he supposed to do?

***

One of his supporting cast is young, and extremely eager to please.

He asks her to stay behind one evening on the pretense of giving her some notes on her performance. He fucks her on the prop couch in the center of the rehearsal space, imagining that there is an entire audience watching them. Imagining that Nicole is watching.

Then he gives the girl some feedback on her lackluster performance, and she cries until he makes her stop.

It’s a shame, really, he thinks as he disposes of her. But these minor roles are relatively easy to recast, so no harm done.

When he gets home a couple of hours later than normal, Nicole is already sound asleep, facing away from his side of the bed.

He lays down next to her on top of the covers, and watches every minute on the illuminated display of the clock tick by slowly until dawn.

***

One morning, Nicole hands him a list of five names and tells him to fucking pick one for the stranger who roils so violently within her belly these days that it makes him feel quite sick to watch.

After some deliberation, he makes his choice.

Henry.

***

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

It’s the middle of the night. Charlie hadn’t realized he wasn’t the only one awake. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve never once tried to talk to Henry. How can you expect to bond with him if he doesn’t even know his Daddy’s voice?”

Bond?

Daddy?

He runs his fingers through his hair. “What do you want me to say?”

It’s a genuine question, but Nicole takes it as a personal affront. She lets out a hiss like an angry cat, then turns over and shifts around for an interminably long time before her breathing finally evens out and she begins to snore.

Very slowly, so as not to wake her, Charlie rolls over, and inches down the bed until his face is level with her middle. The skin ripples, letting him know that the inhabitant of his wife’s body is awake.

He chews on the inside of his lip, and clears his throat several times. “Hello, Henry,” he whispers, after a long pause. Almost immediately, a wave of embarrassment engulfs him, even though nobody else is watching. This is stupid.

But for a moment, he thinks he sees the outline of a little hand, pressing against the taut skin as though it’s reaching out to him ... and then it’s gone.

It must have been a trick of the light.

***

Henry Barber is born at 3:30 a.m. on a Tuesday.

He weighs nine pounds three ounces.

Nicole cries happy tears when they lay him on her still-swollen belly.

Charlie stares at the small, red-faced, screaming creature, and feels nothing.

***

Home is no longer a sanctuary.

The baby cries.

Nicole cries.

Charlie comes and goes as he pleases.

He is exhausted, and he is numb.

***

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“Out.”

“Out where?”

“Just out. Walking. Thinking.”

(He picked up a hooker in Brooklyn. Left part of her in Manhattan, and the rest of her in The Bronx.)

“You can’t keep doing this, Charlie. I need you. Henry needs you.”

“What do you need?”

“…”

“WHAT DO YOU NEED?”

***

Henry is a few days shy of being one month old when Nicole walks into Charlie’s study one night. He’s been trying to write – he has been on the verge of feeling inspired for days now – but the screen in front of him is thus far stubbornly blank, the blinking cursor taunting him. And then Nicole is there, looking like a ghost in her nightgown, face pale and blotchy, with dark circles under her eyes.

“I need you to take him,” she says, quietly. Her voice is eerily calm, where usually it is filled with too much emotion. “He is full. His diaper has been changed. You don’t need to do anything. Just … take him for a minute.”

Charlie nods.

“You have to support his head,” she reminds him, as she transfers Henry into his arms. Charlie wants to say I know, but in truth he doesn’t know anything. He hasn’t held him before; not even at the hospital.

Nicole backs slowly out of the room, and shuts the door behind her very quietly. Almost immediately, Charlie hears a strangled sob, and then the sound of their bedroom door slamming shut.

The loud noise makes Henry jump, and he starts to wail. Straight away, Charlie’s head begins to hurt.

As the crying goes on and on, Charlie is reminded of something his mother once told him. About how much he’d cried as a baby, just to inconvenience her. About how angry it had made his father.

Charlie doesn’t feel angry at all. Just worried. Henry’s face is bright red, and his little hands are balled up into fists. He is going to make himself sick if he carries on like this.

“What do you want?” Charlie asks him, even though he knows it is completely futile. The situation is hopeless. He is trapped in this apartment with a wife who won’t tell him what she needs, and a baby who can’t.

Perhaps it is just wishful thinking, but Charlie notices that the baby’s cries seem to grow a little quieter after he speaks. Does Henry want him to talk to him?

“Your crying is quite understandable,” Charlie tells him, in a conversational tone. “The world is a dreadful place, filled with terrible people. It is quite incomprehensible even to me, so I can’t begin to fathom how terrifying it must be for someone so small and so new.”

It isn’t his imagination. The crying is definitely getting fainter, and the indignant fists have started to uncurl. Fat tears glisten on Henry’s long, dark lashes, but he isn’t producing any more. Now, he just seems to be making a noise for the sake of it.

“You appear to have a penchant for the dramatic,” Charlie observes. “Perhaps we have more in common than our shared fondness for Nicole’s breasts.”

Henry sneezes, and stops crying completely.

“Good boy,” says Charlie.

When Nicole returns some time later and whisks him away without saying anything, Charlie’s arms feel strangely empty.

***

At four o’clock the next morning, Charlie closes his laptop. After the earlier interruption, the words had flowed better than they had in months.

He is on his way to bed when a little noise from down the hallway catches his attention, and he finds himself drawn into Henry’s room. When he peers down into the crib, he sees Henry gazing up at him, looking alarmingly awake given the lateness of the hour.

“You should be asleep,” Charlie points out.

In response, Henry lets out a little coo.

“You are right, of course,” Charlie agrees. “I should also be asleep.” He pulls up the chair that Nicole sometimes sits on when she is feeding the baby, and sinks down on it. “Perhaps I will keep you company for a while.”

When Henry begins to fuss a short while later, Charlie doesn’t hesitate before reaching over to pick him up. This time, he holds him against his chest, like he’s seen Nicole do. He rubs his back gently, marveling as he does so how his hand seems to cover most of the little boy. “There there,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

Just as he had earlier, Henry gradually quietens down, and eventually drifts off to sleep in Charlie’s arms.

Charlie stares at Henry’s peaceful face as he holds him, suddenly feeling quite sick with remorse at his behavior so far. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I have been quite remiss, haven’t I?” He strokes his son’s head, admiring how soft and fine his hair is. “I must confess I do not know what I am doing. But you seem rather determined to teach me, so I promise I shall endeavor to learn as quickly as possible.”

Henry stirs, and whimpers in his sleep. A shadow passes across his perfect little face. Charlie’s heart clenches, as though a fist has curled around it.

For as long as he can remember, there has been a scar on the back of Charlie’s head. He once asked his mother about it when he was young, and she told him he’d fallen down when he was a baby. He didn’t believe her even then.

Charlie chews on the inside of his lip, and thinks.

Nobody ever held him when he cried, so one day he just stopped. His terrible nightmares were caused by the ones who were meant to soothe them. He has no happy memories of his childhood.

But ... it doesn’t have to be that way for Henry. It won’t be. Charlie might not know how to be a father, but he knows how not to be one.

He squeezes his burning eyes tightly shut. His lips are trembling as he presses a gentle kiss to his son’s forehead. “It’s okay, Henry,” he whispers fiercely. “You are safe. Nothing’s going to harm you.”

Daddy’s here.

#charlie writes #family man charlie #tw: pregnancy #tw: infidelity #tw: murder #tw: reference to past abuse

42 notes · View notes

there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years

Text

Lost At Sea (But I Am Home) [Part 1]

Dean x Reader

Word Count: ~4600

Warnings: Smut (vanilla, but explicit) and Dean emotions.

A/N: This came from a request by MJ on the occasion of her birthday. It was supposed to be done, like, months ago, but there was much loss of sleep, tearing out of hair, rending of garments, wailing, etc. before it came together. I hope it’s worth the wait. I missed these two.

This is not a coda, exactly, and not a sequel, exactly, to Marked. It’s a fic of its own, but you might want to read that first. There will be two more parts to this.

Big thanks to @thoughtslikeaminefield @fangirlxwritesx67 @justcallmeasmodeus @mskathywriteswords @itmighthavebeenintentional @fookinghelljensensthighs and all the rest of the gay screaming crew for your brainstorming, reading, and inspiration help. Y’all are the best.

We show great loyalty to the hard times we've been through. We are filled with riches and wonders. Our love keeps the things it finds, and we dance like drunken sailors, lost at sea, out of our minds. You find shelter somewhere in me, I find great comfort in you. And I keep you safe from harm. You hold me in your arms. And I want to go home, but I am home.

“Riches and Wonders,” The Mountain Goats

Dean used to think that love might feel like safety.

When he pictured a relationship, a family, a partner, he used to picture apple pies and picket fences. Love, in his mind, was always tied to comfort, PB&J with the crusts cut off, security, and all the other things he knew he’d never have again. The person he is, the things he does… he wasn’t meant for that soft kind of love.

Dean’s gotten so used to hiding his softness behind sharp edges and impenetrable walls that sometimes he forgets it’s still there. The sort of woman he once thought he could love would be shredded to pieces before she could get close to it.

Then he met her.

When he tries to talk about it, tries to describe the way she makes him feel, he ends up stuttering and stumbling over the words, because it’s nothing like a quiet house on a suburban street. It’s not safety that he feels when he looks at her; it’s nothing so simple as that. She makes him feel about as safe as a fucking hurricane, except that when the wind is howling around them, when rain is falling and the churned-up waves are rising, Dean looks at her and knows, with absolute certainty, that in spite of the storm raging around them and within them and between them, they’re going to be okay.

So, yeah, Dean was wrong about love. He’s starting to realize that he was wrong about a lot of things.

Dean storms into the kitchen and almost rips off the cabinet door in his haste to get a glass, and he doesn’t notice Cas sitting at the table until he’s slamming the whiskey bottle down on the counter and going for the first gulp.

Cas just raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that,” Dean grumbles. He knocks back the rest of the glass and pours another before sitting down across from Cas, slumping in his chair and glaring down at the pitted surface of the table like it’s done him some personal wrong.

“You had an argument,” Cas says, gravelly and implacable.

“You listening in?”

“It wasn’t a conscious effort. More like an unfortunate inevitability.”

Dean winces. “Guess we were a little loud at the end there.”

“Yes.”

Cas doesn’t ask. He just sits there, drinking his tea. Dean really didn’t intend to spill his guts, but fuck, his thoughts are rattling around in his skull, too loud to hold in.

“When something’s wrong, you’re supposed to fix it,” Dean blurts out. “Right?”

“What sort of thing are we talking about here?”

“Just… she was pissy all day. Fuckin’ quiet, and trying to avoid me, and… fuck, I don’t know, I just kinda snapped eventually. Mighta lost it on her a bit. And she was having one of those days, I guess. Had a nightmare last night.”

“And… you apologized?”

“Well, yeah. She just wasn’t having it, said she needed space to sort through it on her own. ”

“And that bothers you.”

“Fuckin’... yeah. Because if she’s mad at me, I’m the one who’s gotta fix it, right? I’ve gotta take care of it, I’ve gotta make things right, and she just won’t fuckin’ let me. How the fuck am I supposed to make her feel better if she won’t let me?”

“Did you ask her that?”

“Well, yeah. She said it wasn’t anything I could fix, it was just… something she had to deal with. Went to work, wouldn’t let me drive her. The fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

Cas gives him a look like he’s being the densest motherfucker on the planet.

Dean scowls down at his glass and takes another sip, trying to sort through the tangle of his emotions. His insides are a mess, disorderly and beyond his control, and it’s infuriating.

“I wish I could fuckin’ do something,” he says softly, swallowing around the knot in his throat. “I want to just… take care of it for her. Make it better.”

“Even though she said you couldn’t,” Cas prods.

Dean shrugs helplessly. “If she’d just let me,” he says feebly, all too aware that he sounds petulant and whiny.

Cas rolls his eyes.

“Fuck off, Cas. She’s just… out there. Walkin’ around without me, and I don’t know what she’s thinking, and there’s nothing I can do.”

“What exactly are you afraid of?”

Dean bristles. He opens his mouth, closes it again, and then takes a sip of whiskey to cover his confusion.

“I just don’t like it,” he admits gruffly. “Not being able to do anything.”

“Did she say she’d be home later?”

“Yeah. After work.”

“You know that she loves you.”

“Fuckin’... yeah, Cas, Jesus.”

“You believe this is something you’ll work through?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, without hesitation, almost surprised by how much he believes it.

“You trust her. You know she can take care of herself.”

“Yes. What… what’s your point?”

“My point is that she is a grown woman, a remarkably capable and strong one at that, and there are going to be moments when she does not want you to fix her, or take care of her, or make things right for her. Clinging to the illusion of control is only going to make things worse.”

Dean feels like a fish, opening and closing his mouth stupidly. Part of him wants to get angry; it would be easier than dealing with the uncomfortable ache in his chest. He knuckles at his eyes and takes another drink.

“Fuck, Cas, don’t sugarcoat it or anything,” he mumbles. “Should never’ve introduced you guys.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but…” Cas shrugs.

Dean makes a face at him. There are a few minutes of comfortable silence as he listens to the ever-present background whisper of the air circulating through the bunker, like the lungs of some gigantic underground beast, and to the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat.

“I miss her,” he says hollowly.

Cas gives him a wry little half-smile. “I believe they call this personal growth.”

Dean scowls. “Don’t patronize.”

“You weren’t the one slamming the door behind you. You admitted you wanted her to stay. That’s new, for you. Growth.”

If Cas wasn’t so fucking right, Dean would probably hate him right now. As it is, he has all too many memories of walking out on Cas, or shoving him toward the door… it’s either cry or laugh, at this point, so Dean digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and huffs out a laugh.

“Shove it up your feathered ass. You gonna have a drink with me, or what?”

Years ago (probably before he was technically old enough to be meeting girls in bars) Dean met a girl — Sasha? Sandra? — in a bar. He doesn’t remember her name, but he remembers the freckles on her pale shoulders and the long corkscrew curls that framed her face when she lay down, like a tangled halo on the pillow.

After, as they caught their breath, Dean played with her hair, twisting one curl around his finger and releasing it again, fascinated by the way it bounced back into its spiral. He remembers putting his arms around her and telling her she was beautiful, and he remembers that she looked away, eyes suddenly shuttered.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, and started looking for her shirt. “You don’t have to pretend it means anything. That was fun.”

He learned quickly, from her and from others, what was expected of him. They wanted him to be confident, if not cocky; strong, but not too rough; kind, but not exactly sweet… they wanted him to be charming, and fun, and not much more than that. Above all, they wanted him to leave.

He learned. Leaving became second nature. Leaving was better than waiting around for the inevitable day that they would leave.

Women didn’t want tenderness or romance, at least not from him. Maybe they wanted those things from someone who might stick around, but Dean would never be that guy. Dean might be the thrilling story they told their friends the next day, a fondly scandalous memory, just dangerous enough to feel like an adventure: I can’t believe I did that.

He learned to take what he could get. He learned to separate the emotional from the physical. He learned to hold back, to tell stories without showing the scars they’d left, to share tiny slices of the truth without ever really revealing the messy whole. He learned to wall off his soft, vulnerable places. Nobody wanted to see those.

It was easy to put those walls up, even easier to hide behind them. Dean started to think he was safe there. He thought his carefully constructed fortress was stronger than any storm. Then she happened.

She keeps proving him wrong. Dean’s getting used to it.

She still hasn’t gotten home yet, by the time Dean bids a bleary-eyed goodnight to Cas. She had the late shift, and he knows that, but his stomach is jittering cold under the blanket of whiskey heat, and he doesn’t expect sleep to come easy.

He hears the echo of Cas’s voice as he tumbles into bed: you know that she loves you.

He falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

When he wakes up in the middle of the night, there’s wet heat and suction enveloping his cock, and he’s thrusting up into her mouth helplessly, rock-hard, gasping her name into the darkness before he’s fully conscious. Dean’s caught in the limbo between waking and sleeping, trying to separate reality from his dreams, but this feels too good to be a dream. Dean’s never dreamed anything this good.

She’s rubbing her thumb along the cut of his hipbone, stroking sweetly even as her tongue does something that should probably be illegal. He reaches down and grabs her hand, lacing their fingers together, and she lets out a low, pornographic moan, her throat vibrating around the head of his cock.

“C’mere,” Dean pleads, hoarse and sleep-slurred. She pulls off with an obscene slurping sound and crawls up his body. She must’ve taken off her jeans before she got in bed, but she’s still wearing her shirt and underwear, and Dean’s pretty sure he hears something rip as he wrestles with the fabric. If the harsh way she’s panting is any indication, she doesn’t care either.

“I’m sorry,” she says fiercely.

“Missed you,” he whispers. His voice sounds broken, pathetic, but it doesn’t matter; she’s here, warm and soft in his arms as they fumble in the darkness.

She’s finally naked, straddling him, and Dean reaches for her blindly, pulling her down for a kiss that’s more of a clash of teeth when they both misjudge the angle. Dean wraps an arm around her lower back and crushes her to his body, fisting the other hand in her hair, holding on for dear life as they exchange deep, bruising, biting kisses. She clings right back, fingers stroking his jaw and his neck like she’s trying to read the Braille of his skin and bones.

Dean’s breathless by the time she breaks the kiss to wriggle back and line up. His eyes have adjusted enough that he can see the faint silhouette of her body, charcoal against jet-black, but the important thing is the way she feels, like solid ground or safe harbor in a storm.

He thrusts up helplessly, stuttering out a nonsense string of vowel sounds as she takes him in all at once, slick and welcoming. Dean’s spine bows with the way it drags pleasure from every part of his body, wrenching and twisting through him, winding him tight. She leans in and rests her forehead against his, so close they’re breathing the same air. Dean digs his fingers into her hips and feels the way she flutters around him, smooth silky wet skin, living heat, pulsing like a heartbeat as his body answers with its own heavy thud of arousal.

“You came home,” he chokes out.

“Of course I did,” she says.

She rocks her hips and Dean surges up to meet her, grinding in deep, pulling her down against him. He’s closer to her than he’s ever been to another person, and it’s never close enough.

Home.

Dean considers himself a giver, when it comes to sex.

It’s always been a point of pride: no matter how casual it was, no matter how easy it was to walk out the door afterward, he put his partner first. Not like it was a fucking chore, anyway. He’s heard stories, heard the way women talked about other men, and it genuinely confuses him sometimes; those men have no idea what they’re missing.

It’s not often, in his line of work, that he gets to make people just feel good. He hasn’t brought anything positive into the lives of most people he’s met; he’s brought danger, and bloodshed, and nightmarish fucking violence. Those rare moments when Dean can bring someone pleasure, instead, have always felt like a gift.

He remembers the first time he figured it out, the way the girl (Jenny? Jessie?) sounded when he found the right spot, the face she made, the way she twitched around his fingers, and he remembers the awed, wonder-struck glow in his chest. He remembers thinking, I did that. It was satisfying in a way that had nothing to do with his own orgasm.

Getting off is great and all, but Dean’s never cared too much about comfort or pleasure. He takes a utilitarian approach to the basic needs of his own body, whether it’s sex, food, sleep, or whatever else. He’s always been fine with his hand, a burger, and four hours of shuteye on a crappy motel bed. He’s never asked for much more than that.

Watching someone else enjoy themselves, though? That’s worth taking his time, doing it right, appreciating every moan and every spasm of pleasure that flickers over her features. It’s not so much about what he wants. It’s about what he has to give.

Dean’s never been a morning person, but he’s starting to understand the appeal. It’s just them, in the morning, before they’ve had time to pull on the invisible armor they wear when they have to face the rest of the world. It’s a nakedness he never thought he was capable of.

He wakes half-sprawled across her, one arm over her chest and a leg hooked over her thigh, like he was worried about her escaping from him in dreams. His face is tucked into the side of her neck. He inhales deep, immersed in the smell of her shampoo and her sweat and her skin.

He traces the soft lines of her body, running a feather-light touch from the round of her shoulder, across her collarbone, down the center of her chest and then back up to map the curve of the underside of her breast. He rubs his thumb back and forth over her nipple, feeling the skin start to respond to his touch just as she sighs and stirs, and then he trails his fingers down to brush the inside of her thighs, down and up, one and then the other.

It’s not like he’s trying to tease, he just can’t stop touching her. He could spend eternity running his fingers over her smooth skin, dips and curves and hollows and swells like an entire landscape under his hands. He maps it all, awed, until she’s breathless and squirming.

In the end she just grabs his wrist and shoves it down, showing him exactly what she wants. She holds him there, cupping her hand over his, rocking up, hot and slick under their entangled fingers.

Dean waits until she’s trembling, straining, close.

“On your side?” he whispers, and kisses her cheek. He doesn’t pull his fingers away, just rolls with her and fits himself against her back. She arches, raises one knee, and she lets out this desperate throaty moan when he has to move his hand for a second to adjust, but then he sinks in and he can feel her shudder down to her toes.

He’s been so focused on her that he didn’t realize how hard he is, but he’s dizzy with it, suddenly, like every drop of blood is rushing to his dick and throbbing, his nerve endings on fire with the searing slippery friction of her body opening up for his. Jesus, he’s so close it should be fucking embarrassing.

She’s whimpering on every breath, clenching and dripping around him as she grinds into her hand. Dean reaches forward and slides his fingers under hers again, and he can feel the way she squeezes, muscles pulsing in waves of silky heat. He rolls his hips and she arches her back, biting out an anguished sound.

They’re barely moving, rocking against each other gracelessly without the leverage for more, just a push-pull-shove-tug that builds into something powerful and unavoidable. Dean can feel it pounding through him with every shallow thrust and every little groan. He’s losing control, swamped by the sensations, barely holding on.

Dean focuses on the way she feels under his fingers, the rhythm, pressing and circling, working her just the way she likes.

“Not yet,” she gasps, practically writhing in his arms. “Want to feel you.”

“So fuckin’ close, just -”

She hisses, grabbing his wrist in a steely-strong grip like a handcuff and forcing his hand away as she snaps, “Dean, come for me.”

He can’t help himself. It hits him immediately, sucks him under, sweeps him up and whirls him around, until all that’s left is how fucking good it feels: her sweaty skin against his, her soaked cunt squeezing him over and over again as she comes, wringing it out of him, and her fingers bruisingly tight, a bright spark of not-quite-pain around his wrist, as pleasure twists in his gut and spirals out and carries him away.

He’s dimly aware of the way she’s shaking, the sound of her voice, but it takes a conscious effort to understand the ragged words: “So good, Dean. So fucking incredible, feeling you fall apart for me.”

They’re both trembling. She loosens her grip on his wrist and brings his hand to her mouth, kissing the center of his palm and then every fingertip in turn. The sweat between them starts to tickle as it cools.

She turns in his arms, pulling back to look at Dean with a sparkling smile and a curious, level gaze. He can see the gears working behind her eyes, cogs clicking into place, but he can’t for the life of him figure out what she’s seeing as she stares. Then it clears, and she’s just beaming at him, giving him the same open, tender expression he sees every morning when they wake up together. He can see it all over her face, how much she loves him.

Dean’s not sure what he did to deserve that smile, but he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to earn it.

He’s heard it so many times: take care of your brother.

It wasn’t just Sam, though. It was always very clear to Dean that being a man, being strong, meant protecting others. It meant making the hard choices, putting on a brave face, shouldering the weight so that others didn’t have to… no matter how he felt, no matter how hard it was sometimes, his job was to take care of the people he loved.

He remembers smiling, hugging his mom, trying to make her smile again: It’s okay, Mom. Dad still loves you. I love you, too.

He remembers putting a hand on his dad’s shoulder, looking into bloodshot eyes: It’s okay, Dad. I’m really glad you’re home.

He remembers setting his jaw, holding his head high: Shoot first, ask questions later. Watch out for Sammy. He remembers that curt, military nod he got in return: That’s my man.

So that’s what Dean did. He protected people. When he loved someone, he did whatever it took to keep them safe. It was the foundation on which he built his entire life; it was the cornerstone of every structure, every wall, everything that held him up and held him together and kept him from falling apart.

You’re going to be okay, Sammy. I’ve got this. I’m okay. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got it all under control.

Then she happened. He couldn’t keep her safe from himself. He failed.

He tried to push her away, after. He tried to rebuild all those walls, for her sake, but she just knocked them down again. She demolished everything, right down to his crumbling foundations, and she loved him not in spite of what she saw in the wreckage, but because of it.

Dean has always believed that he isn’t a man, isn’t strong, isn’t worth loving, if he can’t protect the people around him. She claims he’s wrong. He was skeptical, at first, but she keeps coming home to him; it’s hard to argue with that. They’re building something new together, and it feels solid.

“Get your fucking moose hands off me, Sam, I’m fine,” Dean snarls. “Motherfucker, you’d think I never needed stitches before. Stop fussing.”

Sam lets go of his arm with a huff, and Dean sits down on the bed a little harder than he meant to.

“Welcome home,” she says flatly from the doorway.

“Maybe you’ll have better luck with him, I give up,” Sam growls. He shoulders past her, closing the door behind himself.

“It’s really not a big -”

“Lie the fuck down, you moron,” she snaps, eyes blazing. “Bad enough you have to go and get yourself half-torn to pieces. If you make things even worse because you’re too fucking stubborn to deal with basic first aid, I swear to god -”

She’s got that face on, the one that means it’s pointless to argue.

“Okay. Okay, see? Lying down. Jesus.”

Dean settles back against his pillows, trying to hide his wince as the movement sets off shooting pains down his side. She stands next to the bed, looking down at him, and her jaw is set as she takes in the big gash across his ribs and the swollen punctures in his shoulder, visible through the shredded, blood-stained remains of his shirts.

“We’re gonna have to take care of that,” she says briskly, but her voice is shaking. Dean can see the fear in her eyes, and guilt twists in his ribcage.

“I can deal with it,” he protests automatically. “It’s not a big deal, I’m fine, you don’t have to -”

“Dean,” she interrupts. “Don’t. It’s me.”

I’m fine, it’s not a big deal, I don’t need you. It’s the first line of defense, has been for as long as Dean can remember. In all those years, she’s the first person who really bothered to break through. She makes it look easy, too, like a tornado going through a crooked old fence.

Dean feels off-kilter and flayed bare, suddenly. Now that he’s not bothering to keep up appearances, he just feels raw inside, like the monster clawed something deeper than his skin.

She bustles around for a moment, gathering up bandages and antiseptic, and Dean’s throat feels too tight. He missed her. He always misses her, and now instead of letting him hold her, kiss her, touch her, she has to patch him up… and part of him is so pathetically grateful that he doesn’t have to do it himself, even though he knows that he could. He can take care of himself. He should be the one taking care of her.

He just wants to hold her. He wants to reassure them both that he’s still breathing, that he’s home, that he’s safe.

She comes back with scissors. She gently moves the ruined flannel aside and then snips up the front of the t-shirt, biting her lip intently and then scowling as she pulls the fabric away from his skin to reveal the livid bruises that are already blossoming across his chest.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he tries. His voice cracks on the last word, and her eyes snap up to meet his gaze. She opens her mouth to argue, pauses, frowns, then closes it again.

She’s studying him. Dean feels a prickle of embarrassment, cheeks flushing under the weight of her stare.

“What is it?” she asks softly.

He wants to say, just come here, hold me. He can’t seem to force the words past his lips.

Dean raises his less-injured shoulder in the barest suggestion of a shrug. It hurts. He rolls his eyes at himself and clenches his jaw. He can’t quite look at her.

She watches for another second, and then she sighs, putting the scissors down on the nightstand.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Can you sit up? At least help me get that off you.”

She slides into bed carefully, doing her best not to jostle him, and Dean sits up, gritting his teeth against the pain. She helps him ease the remains of both shirts off his shoulders and then tosses them aside. Dean settles back, fitting himself under her outstretched arm, shifting slightly onto his good side so that he can rest his cheek on her chest. He has to squeeze his eyes shut tight to ignore the way they’re burning.

“I’m really glad you’re home,” she says, hoarse and fervent. She brings her free arm up to cup her hand to his cheek, and her thumb brushes back and forth in a soothing, mindless rhythm.

Dean wants to apologize, wants to reassure her, wants to thank her… he fucking hates scaring her.

He wants to promise that he’ll never scare her again, but that would be a lie. He wants to ask why she bothers, but they’ve had that conversation one too many times before; Dean’s starting to accept that there’s nothing he can do or say to convince her that she’d be better off without him. She’s stubborn that way.

“I love you,” she says softly. “I got caught up. I’m sorry.”

Jesus, Dean can barely breathe.

He wants to ask, What did I do to deserve you? He wants to ask, How do you always know?

“Just for a minute,” he whispers.

“As long as you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s choking on all the things he wants to say, variations on thank you and I’m sorry and I love you.

He listens to her heartbeat, feels the rise and fall of her chest under his cheek, takes in the smell of her shampoo, and he reminds himself that he’s home.

It’s nothing like the home he used to dream of; he lives in a bunker, no fucking picket fence in sight. He’s bleeding from a half-dozen places, and no matter what he might think in the brief stretches of peace between apocalypses, he’s never really safe.

In this quiet moment, she could be mistaken for the soft sort of woman he used to imagine falling in love with, but she’s so much more than that. This tornado of a woman is sharp and tough and smart enough to break through every wall of bullshit he hides behind, and it’s terrifying, being exposed like that, but Dean wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s not what he pictured, but this is home. This is love.

He doesn’t say anything. He has a feeling she’ll understand anyway; she always does.

Next part is here.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a note here!

@winchesterprincessbride @ultimatecin73 @mrswhozeewhatsis @mogaruke @babypieandwhiskey @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @fandom-princess-forevermore @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms @maddiepants @waywardbaby @covered-byroses @dean-winchesters-bacon @atc74 @onethirstyunicorn @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @wayward-and-worn @geekgirl1213 @notyourtypicalrose @myfanficlibrarium @calaofnoldor @indecisive20something @carryonmyswansong @sycochick @michellethetvaddict @jotink78 @boondoctorwho @cracksinthewalls @rockhoochie @katehuntington @67midnightwriter @akshi8278 @woodworthti666 @sandlee44 @flamencodiva @weepingwillowphoenix @shamelesslydean @ladywinchester1967 @magssteenkamp @vickyfarley @olivia-whorelow @vicmc624 @daddys-little-princess67 @stoneyggirl @dontshootmespence

#dean winchester fic #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #supernatural fanfiction #spn fic #supernatural smut

187 notes · View notes

sailorbellewrites · 4 years

Text

More Than You Can Chew

characters— taehyung x reader (aka kiddo) (ft. members of bts)

summary— taehyung has been (not so quietly) obsessed with the young rapper who eats glazed donuts at the corner table every saturday night for some time now. but everyone thinks dating her is biting off more than he can chew.

information— one shot. fluff. femme reader. character inspired by megan thee stallion, cardi b, and lil’ kim. longer than previous works. same universe as “no limit”, now titled the baking news au. there will be a second part to this titled jawbreaker, which will be released later this month.

warnings— strong language. mean & aggressive characters. casual mentions of sex and sexual behavior (but no smut because i’m shy). excessive mentions of the color pink. vague mentions of other celebrities and influencers. taehyung is an adorable tryhard.

more than you can chew—

On the outside looking in, Yoongi was kind of an asshole. He didn’t speak much and when he did, he never had anything nice to say. His face was void of most emotions, except for the sour expression that would develop when Hoseok laughed too loud in the backseat of your car. The happiest you had ever seen him was when the aforementioned male got too excited during a cypher and fell off the stage. Yoongi laughed hysterically for 30 minutes, much to Hoseok’s annoyance. He spent more time in the studio than he did with his fiancée, a fact that resulted in her calling off the wedding three times in the past year. He always wore black, even in the dead of summer. On the inside looking in, he was much worse. That’s why it’s all too easy to tell him “no” when he asks for a favor.

“Awww, come on Kiddo.”

“Fuck off.”

“I never ask you for shit—”

“So why ruin a good thing and start now?” Yoongi rolls his eyes at your words, body falling into the chair across from you. You eye his limp form slowly, appraising the black hoodie and ripped jeans combination he often gravitated to. He looked good, you had to admit. He always did. Yoongi had the bad boy aesthetic down pat, to the point where it came off as effortless. It wasn’t any wonder as to why girls threw themselves at him during club appearances. If you didn’t know what he was really like (and if he wasn’t dating your friend), you might have tried to bed him too. But you mostly envied Yoongi’s appearance, envied how easy he made dressing and rapping and just about everything look. You were always walking a fine line between putting forth too much effort and being called a try hard bitch or putting forth too little and being accused of looking for a handout. You sighed; being a woman in your industry was tough. “Where’s Hope?”

“DJ owes him money or something. He was pissed.” You shake your head, knowing just how intense an angry Hoseok could be. While you could only count on one hand the amount of times you’d seen him truly filled with rage, each new moment was much more scary than the last. The last time ended with him put in handcuffs, though you were able to talk the cop out of actually taking him to the station. “Not important. You need to do this thing for me.”

“No.”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

You snort at the cheesy line he deploys. “I’m telling your fiancée you said that.” Yoongi shrugs, as though he was not at all scared of his lover’s wrath. As much as he claimed to hate the drama of their relationship, he often did nothing to stop it. In fact, you would find him actively stoking the flames. You suspect he gets off on it. “You’re such a dickhead. You know you don’t deserve her, right?”

“Whatever. If you do this thing, I’ll buy you donuts everyday for a week.”

You slam your hands flat on the table in front of you, using the extra stability to lean yourself closer to him. “You buy me donuts everyday for a month, original glazed only, and you pay full price,” you bargain in a low voice. You are fully aware of how ridiculous you look, perched on the table like some low level gangster, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Shame was a feeling no longer within you.

Yoongi scoffs in disbelief, shaking his head before you even finish your proposal. “I have never paid full price here and I’m not gonna start now.”

You push yourself off of your table, throwing your hands up in the air. “Take it or leave it!”

“You don’t even know what I want you to do.”

“Take it or leave it!” You repeat even louder.

Yoongi curses under his breath, knowing he’s caught between a rock and a hard place. He shoots a quick glance behind him, instantly met with the wide expectant eyes of the bakery worker now playing cashier. Looking back at you, he sees you pretending to check your nails—long, pink, and sharp—as though you were bored by him. He scoffs again, wondering why he let his partner drag him into this situation before stating, “Okay, fine. Two donuts, everyday, for a month. Will you do it?”

You smirk, crossing your arms in victory as you lean back in your chair. “Sure. Now what am I doing for you?”

“Going on a date with your hero.”

Kim Taehyung has had a crush on you for some time now. It was no secret to anyone who frequented the small yellow bakery; he’d been smitten from the first day—or rather night—that you walked into Baking News. You looked like a model as you strut through the building, high waisted leather pants accentuating your curves and cleavage pushed up to ten in a lacy pink crop top. You ordered two original glazed donuts before he could even stutter out the pun filled greeting Seokjin had come up with, smirk settled on your lips as though you knew just how much you affected him. When he gave them to you half off because it was so close to closing, you called him your hero. He thought your voice sounded like honey. Taehyung was caught in a trance the rest of the night night, and quickly found himself being wrapped up in thoughts of you every time you walked through those glass doors.

He’s asked you out a few times. Movies, cafes, museums, and the park were all on the table for you to pick up at any time, but you never did. You had every excuse under the sun for why you couldn’t go out with him; you were always too tired, too busy, too unavailable. It made sense, in some ways. Rappers were like that. Or at least, that’s what he told himself to ease the sting of rejection. He held onto his hope that you would eventually say yes because, in truth, you had never given him a concrete “no”. Attached to every excuse of why you couldn’t go out with him was the promise of a “next time”. That “next time” is what kept him going, kept him giving you half priced glazed donuts even when it wasn’t closing time, kept his attraction to you alive.

Naturally, though, he got tired of waiting. Seeing Seokjin’s relationship flourish right before his eyes only made him want you more. He wished he could sit you on the counter and kiss you until he couldn’t breathe, wished he could bring you to the kitchen and “ice cakes” (if he was using Seokjin’s terminology). Taehyung was tired of being kept at arm's length. He couldn’t understand what he was missing; what you didn’t see in him. He knew you found him attractive. He heard you say it to Yoongi’s girlfriend before, hearing your “definitive ranking of the Baking News men” as he wiped down the table behind you. But attraction clearly wasn’t enough. Not for you, it seemed.

Luck was on Taehyung’s side one sunny Sunday morning in April, when Yoongi’s girlfriend rushed into the shop with an embarrassed look on her face. He had known the girl people affectionately called Boo for years, having gone to college with her and her sister, but they weren’t close. She was much more attached to Jungkook (in spite of her relationship with Yoongi), having spent lots of time outside of the bakery walls with the younger man. Thus, the beeline she made for Taehyung was strange; even stranger was the desperate plea she frantically whispered in his ear asking if he could give her two dozen glazed donuts and two cups of hot chocolate for free.

“You know I can’t do th—”

“Okay, but just lis—”

“Boo, my boss would kill m—

"I will lose the maid of honor at my wedding if you don’t do this for me!” She shouted out in clear cut frustration, only to slap her own hand over her mouth in shock. She looked around the bakery pitifully and, noting all of the eyes trained on her, lowered her voice. “Look, Yoongi and I got into it at the club last night—bad. He threw my wallet somewhere. We couldn’t find it. I’ll pay you back when I get all my new cards, I promise. You know I’m good for it. But if I don’t bring some kind of peace offering to her, she won’t be in the wedding.”

Taehyung’s eyes squinted in confusion. “I don’t get why you need donuts for this friend when you’re fighting with your boyfriend.”

“Well he’s my fiancé for starters.”

“Sure, sure,” Taehyung responded with an eye roll, motioning his hand for the woman in front of him to continue.

“And… I may have forgotten that I was her ride back home. She ended up walking by herself… in the rain.”

“Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you?” Taehyng chided, now understanding the source of her odd behavior. “I understand why your friend would want to quit your wedding. You’re an asshole.”

“I am not—listen, that's not the point. The point is… I need the donuts and the hot chocolate. That’s the only way I can start getting back on her good side. If I don’t, she’s never gonna talk to me again. She holds a grudge like you wouldn’t believe. She’s worse than Yoongi.”

Taehyung clicked his tongue, not exactly moved by her story, but knowing she wouldn’t take another “no” easily. “Why don’t you ask Jungkook? He won’t get fired, no matter how much he messes up. It’s too high of a risk for me.”

“I would, but she says you’re the only one who makes the hot chocolate right. Something about always putting caramel or cinnamon in there and that Jungkook doesn’t know how to do it. It has to be you.” Taehyung’s throat dried up at her words, understanding that this friend wasn’t just some random girl with a donut obsession; this friend was you.

Taehyung liked working the cafe side of the bakery more than the others. He didn’t hate icing cakes or kneading dough, but he thoroughly enjoyed the interaction that came from making the quick drinks and packaging small desserts. He could also keep his eye on you more easily when working the counter. That’s how he learned that you loved warm, sweet drinks, particularly when you were having a bad day. However, you found the bakery’s hot chocolate missing something; so Taehyung started experimenting with adding extra flavors to your order. When you told him that you liked the vanilla/cinnamon combination the best, he always made sure to add those for you, regardless of if you asked for it specifically or not. He didn’t do this for anyone else though; didn’t care to see anyone else smile the way you did when you lifted the cup to your lips and took a sip. So it had to be you that Yoongi’s girlfriend was talking about, because you were the only person who got special hot chocolate.

“Okay,” Taehyung said, voice confident, “I’ll get the things ready for you now. Should take about five minutes.”

“Wait… really?” The woman asked, a big smile spreading on her face. “Oh my god, I’m so relieved. You are saving my weddin—no, you are saving my life! I’ll pay you back in like a week, tops. I promise! I’ll even pay extra.”

“You don’t have to pay me back,” Taehyung said quickly, throwing his hands up. “I’ll cover it. Money is not that important. It would be like 15 thousand at most. You don’t need to stress over 15 thousand.”

“Oh,” she responded with a pout, voice deflating. “Well… I can’t do nothing… that would be using you. I’m not Yoongi; I don’t use people. What can I give you to pay you back if not money?”

Taehyung shrugs, unsure of what the woman in front of him could possibly give him before it dawns on him. “A date.”

“A date? With me?”

He scoffs. “With your friend. Get her to agree to go out with me just once and we’re more than even.” For a moment, Boo looks as though she is going to say no. Taehyung knew it would be a hard sell for you, not only accepting your friend’s apology, but then agreeing to go on a date to pay for that apology. But he can see her resolve strengthen and she gives him a firm nod.

That’s how Taehyung ends up sitting across from you on a chilly Tuesday night, watching you fiddle with the tangled up wires of your earbuds and phone charger. Your studio was small, but brighter than Taehyung anticipated. The walls were white, lit up by pink fairy lights that had small polaroid photos pinned between each bulb. The love seat and rolling desk chair you were currently sitting in were a pale grey color, but held bright pink and yellow throw pillows. On your desk were two white computer monitors, a set of studio monitors, a pink MIDI controller, a black control surface, and a set of rose gold over ear headphones with the word ‘kiddo’ engraved on each side. The whole space was, for lack of a better term, girly. Far girlier than you had ever presented yourself to Taehyung; but, as you told him, the design was on purpose.

“They’re so dark all the time,” you murmur, followed by a short ‘ah’ as you finally get all the cords untangled and manage to plug in your phone. You turn in your chair to face him, annoyed expression on your face as you continue, “every single one of them have these ugly black walls and stupid pictures of naked girls all over the place. I swear, half of them are hard every time they record. It’s suffocating and awkward. When I finally got the money to get my own studio, I had to make sure the space prioritized my comfort. You know?”

“I do,” Taehyung whispers back in awe. He decides he loves listening to you talk. Your voice was already the sweetest that he had ever heard, but your way with words was even better. The way you put words together always garnered a reaction from him, even if you weren’t trying. It wasn’t any wonder why you became a rapper. “How do the guys in your crew feel when they record here?”

“Hope doesn’t mind it, but everyone else thinks it’s excessive. I get it. It doesn’t fit the whole Kiddo image.”

“Why do they call you Kiddo, anyway? That’s nothing like your real name.” Taehyung asks, placing his elbows on his knees and holding his own face in his hands as he waits patiently for your answer.

You hum as you think of it, mirroring his pose in your chair and Taehyung didn’t think you could get any cuter than you were now. You were a far cry from the barely there outfits he often saw you wear in the bakery before (or occasionally after) performances, wearing a pink sweater dress that was two sizes too big if the way it swallowed you up was any indication. He just wanted to hold you in his arms, but he wasn’t sure you were there yet. It had only been two hours that he had been in the studio in which you insisted the date take place and you had kept your physical affection to a minimum. At most, you poked his shoulder and cheek when teasing him about the puns he had to say when taking orders at work. However, the conversation flowed so naturally and you hadn’t asked him to leave yet; he was sure the night would end with you feeling something more for him than before.

“You know the movie Kill Bill? The main character’s real name is Beatrix Kiddo.”

“You named yourself after a movie assassin?”

“Oh no. That would be so generic and cliche. Suga actually picked out the name. When I first started out, I was going by something completely different. But I covered this song called "Chill Bill" that got a lot of attention a couple years ago and someone commented that I… I think they said I killed or murdered the beat like Kiddo or something. I can’t really remember the exact thing too well. Anyway, Suga thought that it would be a good voice tag and then the tag became a nickname and… well here we are. I’m Kiddo now.”

“Can I listen to the song that inspired the name?”

You sit up abruptly. “Hell no. That song is awful. I’m so much better now.”

“You can’t invite me to your studio and not let me listen to your music. Be a better date,” he teases, causing you to release a small giggle. “You have to let me listen to something at least. What are you working on?”

You shake your head with a small smirk, turning back to face your desk. Your hand grips the mouse and you click around on one of the screens as you move to pull up your latest song. However, you still question him, asking, “Are you sure you want to listen? It’s kind of raunchy.”

“I can handle it.”

“My lyrics aren’t for the faint of heart, Taehyung.”

“Give it to me,” he requests excitedly and you instantly press play. He lets out a loud laugh as soon as he hears the lyrics, instantly understanding their intent even though they are in English. Your warning was more than necessary, as you spit out graphic depictions of sexual acts in a cocky tone of voice. The dichotomy of your current appearance with the words coming out of the speakers only makes him laugh harder, as his brain fails to connect the two personas together.

You stop the song, turning to face him with a shocked look on your face. “Are you really laughing at my music? Seriously?”

“No, no!” He chokes out, waving his hands in the air to show his innocence as his laughter winds down into sporadic giggles. “It’s not like that. I don’t think it’s bad. I’m just surprised by it.” He can tell from the look on your face that you don’t believe him. And Taehyung isn’t sure what comes over him in that moment, but he suddenly finds himself rocking forward to cradle your face in both of his hands as though he was handling fine china. You tense in his grasp, but make no moves to pull away as he whispers, “Don’t look at me like that. I wouldn’t lie to you. The song is good. You just look so much… softer than that song right now. It caught me off guard; but I would never laugh at you. I like you too much to do that.”

His sincerity has you reeling. Although he stopped speaking, he doesn’t let you go. Instead, his eyes study your face like you’re a piece of artwork, committing every new detail he finds to memory as though he’s worried that he’ll never see you again. His eyes finally settle on your lips, becoming lidded as you are able to guess what he wants.

“Are you going to kiss me?” You question quietly.

“I want to. Are you going to let me?”

“Yes.” He gives you two slow blinks before he bends his head down to slot his lips against yours.

It’s soft at first, the gentle pressure of his lips coaxing your own open as though he’s still asking for permission. When you angle your head up to move your lips against his better, he lets out a small whimper that sends a shiver up your spine. It continues on like this for a few seconds before he slips tongue inside of your mouth. All hell breaks loose within you then, as you wrap your arms around his neck to get closer to him. This act causes him to finally release your face, hands dropping to your waist. The kiss gets deep, tongues wrestling with each other as he fights against you to take the lead. When the struggle continues for longer than he would like, his hands firmly grip your waist and pull you forward off of your chair until you're straddling his thighs. He wins the battle when he pulls your hips down at the same time that he grinds his hips up. The friction is more intense than you were prepared for, only then remembering the only barrier between your center and his jeans was a thong you had slipped on in haste. He repeats the action once more before pulling away with a big gasp for breath. You rest your forehead against his as you take in deep breaths of your own. You make note of his expression—satisfaction.

“So is this date as bad as you imagined it being?” He whispers against your lips, fingers running up and down your back gently as he breathing finally calms.

You pout at his question. “Why would you ask that?”

“You avoided it for so long.”

“I… I was… I don’t know,” you stutter out, unsure of how to respond to the call out. It’s hard to think when the room is so hot, when he’s still so close to you, when his crotch is still pressed firmly against your own. “I just didn’t… wanna make things awkward?”

“Are things awkward now?”

“Not really. No.”

“So what do you think?”

“About what?”

“About dating me.”

“You ask a lot of questions, Kim Taehyung. It’s been one date.”

“I just know what I want,” he responds seriously, voice dropping an octave as he makes eye contact with you and holds your stare. “I like you. I like you more now than I did before. I want you. Do you want me too?”

“I… yeah. I guess I like you too. We can… Let’s see where this goes.”

“Here.”

You jump up to your feet at the sound of a familiar deep voice. Looking up, you’re met with the sight of a pink cardboard cup wrapped up in pale, ring clad fingers. “You came,” you note, reaching for the cup as you get your first real look at Taehyung that night. He easily lets you have it, hand slipping behind your neck to pull you into for a quick hug. He releases you with a kiss to your temple, a lazy smile sitting on his face that you admittedly find more attractive than you should. You often found yourself wishing that he wasn’t so outwardly handsome; dealing with an attractive partner always causes issues.

“You thought I wouldn’t?” He questions. You shrug. Taehyung was easily the most attentive person you ever dealt with. You woke up to emoji filled good morning texts every morning and didn’t hit your bed without a sweet phone call wishing you a good night. He commented on every picture you posted to Instagram, was five minutes early to every date, and sent food to your studio when he knew you were too busy to eat something real. You would have felt suffocated by his intensity if not for the lackadaisical way he went about being with you: most dates ending on his old couch, watching mind numbing TV shows as he cradled you in his arms to talk about nothing. He made you feel precious and that worried you. You were left wondering how he would treat you when he finally realized you weren’t worth your weight in gold.

“What’s this?”

“Hot chocolate.”

“Why?”

“Boo told me you were stressing.”

“Does this have cinnamon and vanilla in it?”

He rolls his eyes at you in a mock display of annoyance. “Doesn’t it always?”

“My hero,” you coo gently at him, voice upping in pitch as though you were speaking to a child. He doesn’t mind your patronizing tone, responding with a megawatt smile that would make even the most stoic person happy. You take a small sip, letting out a small breath some of the tension you were feeling begins to melt away.

“What were you doing back here?” Taehyung asks, concern pulling at the edges of his words, despite how casual he attempted to sound. He was never good at hiding his emotions when it came to you. You liked that. He never left you guessing at where you stood with him.

“Hiding,” you answer honestly, not ashamed of your actions. You had been crouched behind the club for at least twenty minutes, going over your lyrics and the performance blocking in your head again and again. Rehearsals hadn’t gone well, with Hoseok’s nerves shot due to the knowledge that his favorite producer would be in the building and Yoongi still pissed about some argument he had gotten into with his girlfriend. You also weren’t at your best, anxious about having Taehyung in the audience. He had seen videos of you performing before, but he had never been in the audience. You didn’t know what he would think of the environment and the people that it attracted. He claimed he didn’t scare easy, but everybody did.

“Hiding from what?”

“Just people. You know how I feel about people.”

“You must be glad I’m not just people then, huh?” He joked, hand sneaking over to yours and lacing your fingers together. You let out a non-committal hum that has him tightening his grip in faux warning. “Stop pretending that you don’t like me.”

“What time is it?”

He looks at his watch. “11:34.”

“I’m on in like 40 minutes,” you told him, moving forward to pull him to the front of the club. He lets you lead him, submitting to you more easily than most men would in his situation. Whereas many of the men who found themselves lucky enough to get close to you tried to wear you like an accessory, molding you against their form to make them appear more interesting than they were, Taehyung found solace staying in the background. It was nice.

“There you are!” Hoseok yells as you approach, his voice far higher in pitch than what was normal even for him. He stands in the center of your crew, wearing a distressed look on his face as he scolds you with the same intensity of an overworked stay-at-home mom. “We go up soon. Where have you been?”

“Hiding.”

“Not the fucking time for hiding dumbass,” he snaps at you, making Yoongi laugh.

The palm of your hand disconnects from Taehyung’s and lands on Hoseok’s chest with a loud thwap before you can blink. The following five hits are more deliberate though, punctuating your words as you shout, “Don’t call me a dumbass!” Hoseok lets out rough grunts at the hits, responding with a harsh shove that sends you flying back into Taehyung. You let out a snarky laugh.

It had taken Taehyung some time to get used to this aspect of your relationship with your friends. They all treated you as though you were one of the guys, pushing and shoving you around with glee in spite of the fact that some of them were much bigger than you. You always matched their energy though, whether physically or verbally. You never backed down, which is why they seemed to respect you. Still, it was hard for Taehyung to watch you roughhouse with them. He was afraid there would be a day it would go too far, although you were adamant that you could always handle yourself.

“Alright now, children, let’s calm down,” Yoongi said in a condescending tone. “We have to work soon, no fighting on stage.”

“Are you ready?” Hoseok asks, ignoring Yoongi’s words.

“Are you ready?” You parrot back, much to his clear annoyance. “I’m not the one who forgot my lyrics today. Are you ready?”

“Let’s just go inside,” Yoongi groaned out, making his way towards the entrance of the club in a way that demanded everyone else follow suit.

A VIP section of tables is where you lead Taehyung, sitting him down in a seat next to Yoongi’s girlfriend. “You should be able to see us really well from here,” you note, playing with the rings that adorn his fingers. “Nobody should mess with you either. If they do, tell her,” you instruct, nodding your head towards your friend currently having her own private discussion with Yoongi, “because she’s worse than me.”

“I heard that!” The girl in question yells back. You roll your eyes and press your lips quickly against Taehyung’s own before you make your way to the stage. “Oh fuck, who invited them?” The woman sitting next to him mutters angrily, pointedly staring at three men who walk into the section and take a seat at a table adjacent to where Taehyung is seated. He doesn’t recognize them, though it’s clear from the way others in the section tense up that they aren’t welcome guests. He makes a decision to ignore them, focusing his attention on the stage where a DJ continues to play popular hip hop songs from abroad.

Suddenly, the lights on the stage brighten up and the music comes to a stop. The DJ begins hyping up the crowd for the upcoming performance and Taehyung is stunned at the amount of excitement people show when your name is mentioned. It multiplies ten fold when a spotlight finally highlights your place on the stage and the performance begins. He’s mesmerized. You handle yourself well. You seem to know exactly when to draw attention to yourself and when to step back and let the others shine. It’s clearly calculated, but you make it look easy. It’s hard for all eyes not to be on you, though. You’re the only woman on stage and the hot pink crop top you’ve chosen to wear makes you stick out amongst the rest of your crew dressed in all black. When you happily dance around Hoseok as a distraction to make the man stutter out his lyrics, Taehyung can’t help but laugh.

“She’s good, right?” A voice asks, forcing Taehyung’s attention away from you. Next to him stands a large man, muscled arms crossed at his chest and covered in black tattoos. He holds an unimpressed gaze as he stares at the stage, as though he’s seen it all before. “He freaks out everytime she pulls that little stunt. He’s so whipped for her. She needs to just fuck the poor bastard already.”

“Excuse me?” Taehyung asks at the same time that Yoongi’s girlfriend shouts, “Why are you over here?”

“Calm down, Boo,” the man states with a light chuckle, eyes still on the stage. “Just here to support my girl.” The man then turns his gaze to Taehyung, “But I guess she’s your girl now, right? I see you all over her Instagram and Twitter. You must be really giving it to her good. She never posts about who she’s fucking.” Taehyung tenses at the man’s words, but does not offer up a response. The man looks back towards the stage with an amused laugh. “Didn’t think she would fuck pretty boys though. Her type is a little more… tough.”

He knows he’s being tested. It has happened more than once. As much as the guys you hung around pretended that they didn’t care about your dating life, they were actually extremely protective over you. There were endless threats whispered into his ear when he found himself in your studio during actual recording sessions. It never bothered him, though. He found it a bit heartwarming that men who would push you down to get the last piece of chicken would also fight for you so easily. But this was different. The man standing beside Taehyung eyes you like a predator stalking prey. It makes Taehyung’s skin crawl.

The performance ends with a bang, the energy in the room still electric as you make your way off the stage. The pride painted on your face as you are stopped by various people in the crowd warms Taehyung’s heart. It’s the happiest that he has ever seen you. You and the guys practically bounce back into the section, still riding the high of a successful performance. However, your happy steps slow to a crawl when you realize who is standing next to him. Of course the one person you didn’t want to see would find his way over to Taehyung. You could see the agitation in Taehyung’s face as the two exchanged words.

Sensing your apprehension, Hoseok throws his arm around your neck happily, leaning most of his body weight on you. “I can punch him if you want,” Hoseok offers lazily, as though it would be all too easy. It would, but you knew that the aftermath wouldn’t be pretty. “If your pretty boy won’t do it, I mean. It’s been a while since we’ve been in a real fight.”

You shudder slightly under his hold as you remember exactly what happened the last time you got into a fight. Hoseok was still banned from two clubs over that incident. “Calm down, Hope. I don’t wanna get kicked out of another club.”

“No fun,” he whispers in your ear. “Are you gonna go in there and save him?” You release an annoyed scoff at the idea because it’s nowhere near your job to rescue a grown man. “I wonder what they’re talking about,” Hoseok muses. “If I had to guess? Probably your weird bathroom sex kin—oof!” You cut him off with an elbow to the ribs, sighing in relief as he removes himself from you. “Go get your boyfriend before he’s not your boyfriend anymore, asshole.”

“Fine.” You make an effort to straighten your back and set your shoulders back before you start the short journey to where Taehyung is seated next to your ex. You slip your arm through Taehyung’s when you make your way there, only mildly surprised by how quickly he tangles his long fingers through your own and pulls you closer. You ex smirks at the interaction, pleased by the effect he had. “Hey,” you say much more confidently than you feel.

“Well if it isn’t our favorite girl,” your ex barks out happily, throwing you a wink. You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Me and your friend here were just talking about you.” Taehyung quietly grunts at the word ‘friend’ beside you, but neither of you make a move to correct the person standing in front of you. You knew responding to the minor dig would only further feed his ego. “We both had a lot to say.”

“Only nice things, I hope?” You ask, your question pointed more at Taehyung. The boy offers you a reassuring smile in return causing you to let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You could only imagine the things that had been said, both true and untrue.

“I was telling your new friend here all of the things we used to do together. He couldn’t believe how wild you used to be. I’m so surprised by how much you’re holding back on him, love. That’s so unlike you.”

“Don’t call me love,” you respond almost robotically. It had become an automatic response to his continued usage of the pet name in recent months. In actuality it had been years since you were with the heavily tattooed man, but Taehyung had no way of knowing that. Past relationships were one of the few topics both of you agreed to stay away from. It would only cause more problems.

“Don’t exaggerate for my benefit,” Taehyung suddenly speaks up, eyeing the man thoughtfully.

“Hmm?” The man hums out.

“Lying is only gonna make you look like more of an asshole.”

“You wish I was lyi—” Before the man can finish his retort, you hear your name being screamed out over the thumping bass of the music. Turning your head, you see a red faced Hoseok running towards you.

Concern is etched on his features as he rushes out, “We gotta go.” He keeps shifting from left to right like he’s ready to escape from the confines of the roped off section at the drop of a dime. “Yoongi threw a couple bottles and the managers are not happy.”

“He threw a whole bottle?” Taehyung asks in shock at the same time as you shout, “He threw more than one? Again? Fuck me! Why?” Your ex laughs loudly at the news, himself having been a part of a few bottle throwings when he was with you.

“The same reason they always get us kicked out of places,” Hoseok explains with a frustrated eye roll. “You think at this point he would stop inviting exes to shows. Let the rejects stay where they are, right?” Taehyung snorts at Hoseok’s pointed insult towards your ex. You give him a grateful smile for the diss. “Anyways, we gotta leave before they ask for their money back. This gig is paying for my new equipment.”

“Noted.” You tug Taehyung up out of his seat quickly, before turning to your ex one last time. “We gotta go. It was not nice seeing you. Die.” Then the three of you quickly make you way out of the club before things can get even more tense.

The couple is still arguing outside when you exit the venue, Yoongi’s hand firmly wrapped around your best friend’s wrist as she screams at him to let her go. Yoongi’s knuckles are bleeding and you wonder if he cut himself on the glass or punched a wall again. You know better than to ask at this moment. Trying to stop them was a recipe for a disaster. “Fuck this. I’m going home,” Hoseok says frustratedly. He turns to you, forcing a hopeful expression as he asks,“See ya tomorrow?”

“Yup. Don’t be late.” Hoseok nods at you twice and winks at Taehyung before he crosses the street and disappears into the night.

“Does this always happen?” Taehyung asks suddenly, eyes still on the couple as Yoongi starts to yell back about who actually crossed the line. Taehyung knew that they fought, but he never understood the extent of it. Seeing it in person was a completely different ball game.

“Every single time we go to a club,” you say with a shrug, dropping the hold you have on his hand. “Perks of dating a rapper, I guess. Relationships don’t do well in this environment.” Taehyung’s eyes snap to you at the implication of his words.

“But Yoongi and his girl have been together for years right? It can’t be all bad.”

“And they fight all the time. She breaks up with him constantly. I mean, she’s been my friend for longer than she’s known him and it’s still hard for her to handle all of,” you stop, waving your hand around the wannabe rap boys dressed in baggy clothes, the club, and the drunk girls stumbling down the block before continuing, “all of this. And it only gets worse the more popular you get. No one really wants to deal with this.”

“I do,” he says, not even taking the time to consider your words. “I think I could handle it.”

You eye him carefully, cocking your head to the side as you formulate a response. The truth of your lifestyle was a bitter pill to swallow. Love was often the first casualty of Hip Hop, whether rappers liked to admit it or not. You weren’t sure if your words would ruin the good thing you had going with him. “Taehyung, you saw my ex. All that animosity between us comes from him being insanely jealous of the people around me. He couldn’t handle it.”

“I’m better than your ex.”

“Okay, but it’s not just jealousy that comes with this. Do you really think you could handle guys constantly hitting on me? Slapping my ass on stage? Calling me a whore in diss tracks? Trying to spike my drinks or give me drugs?”

Taehyung moves to wrap his arms around your waist, pressing the front of your body against his own. He sways gently with you in his arms, pressing soft kisses to your forehead as he thinks. Finally he settles on, “For you, I could handle all of that and more.” He pulls away from you slightly to stare into your eyes deeply, before leaning into to press a kiss against your lips. He pulls back once more to whisper against your lips, “I just want to be with you. I don’t care about the rest.”

“Hmm… you really are my hero.”

authors note— there will be a continuation of this couple’s story called jawbreaker released later this month. jawbreaker was originally meant to be a part of more than you can chew, but it ballooned past what i imagined and i need more time to finish. hope you enjoyed this and will read jawbreaker when it’s released.

#taehyung scenarios #v scenarios #bts scenarios #kim taehyung #another long one #kim taehyung scenarios #taehyung fluff #v fluff #sailor belle writes #au: baking news

59 notes · View notes

radioactive-butterfly · 3 years

Photo

There was Spike, on another day of duty, doing the very same things he used to do, every single day. Routine. Repetition. Manlabor. Hard, stiffened joints supported Spike's workforce on yet another "cattle task". He was sick of that, but he had no other choice. He had to make a living, and that shitty job was the only thing he had at the moment to do. A boring-ass, repetitive, stupid job; but an honest job, nonetheless. Spike was so filled up with anger and frustration that he couldn't muster to look at the passer-bys. He had a pretty normal life: normal grades, normal high school, normal college, normal career choice. Yet there he was, a victim of circumstantial unemployment rates and civil unrest due to the new automation wave from the joint effort inbetween the now Unified Eastern Bloc, led by Russia, China, Japan and Malaysia. Thailand was also starring in the automatons algorithms. It was a disaster for the West, that felt shortly after Britannia's downfall.

Yet, Spike cared none about this shit. All he cared was that the United States remained Unified, and still reigned free (or as free as liberty can be) in the Americas. Spike couldn't complain much about his life, especially compared to those low-life latinxs, who lived mostly in those dirty and gruesome favelas, menacing communities that could mean the end of your life in the blink of an eye, would you dare to not behave properly in the strict rules that they themselves create for them. Such an outlaw place was, of course, nowhere near where Spike lived and worked: downtown valley, East Coast, on the West Side of the Greenwich meridian, near LA. A richie’s place.

Spike’d had a somewhat of discriminatory preconceived notions of the latinxs folks, associating them with crime, robbery and smugness. This sickening repetitive job had this kind of advantage: Spike could let his mind fly high, because the shit wage that was paid was more than enough to keep a relatively decent lifestyle.

Pretending not to notice, but still taking a glance at the new passerby, Spike took notice of a distinct dark-skinned person walking near where Spike was cleaning his spot.

"You're not from here, white boy" said the dark-skinned person. Spike kept his cool, in spite of a single teardrop of sweat befalling on the back of his head. It wasn't routine for Spike to have a gun pointed at his head; regardless, Spike was used to having his life on the line.

"Bold of you to think I'm white" retorted Spike, on a surge of audacity.

After stopping to take a deep breath and blinking heavily,

the dark-skinned person replied:

"You're a jackass, but you at least got a vein of comedy in you, so I'll concede to you the honor to know the name of the one who'll kill you: Elektra."

"I don't intend to die right now, m'lady" retorted Spike in a surge of adrenaline.

By letting go of his stable gravity center, letting loose of the hang of his legs, Spike quickly dropped into the floor while at the same time striking his elbow against Elektra's elbow. The impact of such a blunt made them shoot the gun in an unconscious reaction. Spike, though, a war-veteran, was well accustomed to gunshots and kept his adrenaline-rush cool whilst at the same time keeping the adequate and precise amount of tension and bloodflow in his members, so he could be ready for any action in that moment of life-risk-gambling.

With a quick Tiger Palm strike on Elektra's gun, he struck it away from their grasp. He felt an unusual tenderness when their hands swiftly, briefly, though intensely, touched.

Using his mop to swipe even further Elektra's gun, he prepared for a fight to the death against that uncanny, unusual, yet somewhat of a hot dark-skinned person. The reason behind their death threat to him was unknown, yet he had no time to think about trivial motives now. He had a fight for his life to fight, and Elektra was an opponent of respect: it wasn't anyone who managed to make Spike drop an ice-cold sweat of nervousness.

In a sound-blasting fast kick, Elektra managed to go to knockout Spike. Had he not spent a gruesome, yet valuable short-intense-season-training with the Brigadiers, he would have fainted to that blow. Moreover, his agile reflexes granted him the privilege to see Elektra's strong leg just above his head, quickly stroking his also spiky hair and blowing his hat off. Spike had no other choice but to let his soldier side kick in and to get ready for a serious battle.

However... Spike's air missed from his lungs in a rapid gasp when he saw that Elektra wore a chest armor, instead of just a normal shirt. Why the fuck do they had such a piece of armor in the place of a normal cloth?

He couldn't help but to keep his eyes on them, whilst also noticing that they had a collar. What was the meaning of such a piece of garment, carefully placed on their neck?

By carefully managing his breath and his composture, Spike could notice that Elektra groaned while throwing their strikes. The groans that Elektra let out were uncanny, and somewhat feminine. This caught Spike's attention.

Elektra's aura was also beyond warmness — it had an intrinsic hotness that, probably coming from their sweat, inebriated Spike in the heat of the battle.

The battle raged on, and they were intense in their lashing out of their fierceness. None of them intended to go back home that day, probably sick and tired of blindly following others’ orders, or simply not giving a fuck about anything else but the heat, the melting heat of the moment of such a dynamic exchange between two persons with nothing else to lose anymore.

Spike struck the first hit, and to his yet another surprise, Elektra couldn't help but to let go an unexpected feminine groan when struck on their back. This raised Spike's suspiciousness bar, and this also made his breathing get more intense as the two of them danced the dance of Death itself: their life on the line, in an unusual barter of sensations and blows: anything for the sensation of feeling alive, maybe for Spike.

Elektra threw another one of their deadly kicks, much to Spike's surprise, and yet again his military training permitted him to survive that deadly blow: he dodged with a catseye's reflex instinct.

He gained the upper hand, cornering Elektra against the wall.

Elektra resisted fiercely, defending themselves with a martial posture. Spike projected his hips forward to gain space and dominate Elektra, who was cornered up with their back against the wall. Their heavy breathing’s scent could almost reach Spike, had he not projected his head backwards for safety against their deadly punches.

Spike had Elektra cornered. He could end the battle in an instant. But, once again, their necklace stood out from his perspective, and he quickly understood that Elektra was a woman. She also immediately realized Spike's perceptiveness, and her eye showed the almost imperceptive glance of lust, tinted with the melting heat of the exchange between the two warriors. Spike realized what was supposed to be Elektra's top secret, and she perceived Spike's realization. The stakes of the battle between the two raised above the normality of a life and death battle.

Spike let loose of his ferocity for a brief instant, with a self-dominating smile. He displayed an over-confident attitude, which maybe was intended, to make Elektra more comfortable and less hateful towards him.

Using one of his infamous tricks, he let from his sleeve a button and played with it with his fingers, whilst keeping his stare at Elektra's feline eyes. The intent behind this attitude from Spike was clear: he showed that he would rather massage her nipples instead of beat her.

Elektra didn't take such audacious move lightly; she took it to the heart. Yet, nonetheless, a part of her displayed willingness to engage in a more intimate contact with Spike. Such part was shown for but an instant in her facial expression.

Spike was taken with infatuation from her menacing look. Was it just infatuation, though? Was it the height of the flame of a burning yet ephemeral passion? He let down his guard for a nanosecond, a piece of time that was abruptly taken by Elektra, who lashed forward towards Spike.

Elektra jolted towards Spike, as he enjoyed more and more the exchange between him and her.

Whilst Elektra was displaying a primarily frustrated stance towards Spike, he was thrilled and excited with this sensual and misterious person that came out of the blue to kill him. Spike was used to putting his head on the line, though this time was totally different: he developed emotions AND feelings towards the person he was fighting against. This had never happened before, since Spike was like a lone wolf, untethered by the nefarious grasp of love... until now.

One more kick from her muscular legs and Spike could not not think about the remote, yet not impossible, possibility of getting between those legs in a different activity than a fight.

Now it was Elektra who threw a Tiger Palm against Spike, who dodged miraculously to his right, saving his skull from being crushed mercilessly against her wrath.

Their eyes crossed and Spike felt the air on his lungs and belly freeze against Elektra's heat. Spike was usually regarded as being hot and athletic, but what the heck was wrong with that girl? She kept striking him furiously and he kept enjoying it more and more. Spike was treading the thin line between life and death and he cared none about that, only about getting more of that feeling of being alive; that joyful experience shouldn't ever end on a draw. Who would penetrate the counterpart's defense first?

Spike wouldn't say it out loud, but perhaps he wished to be penetrated by her, only by her, and only that first time. Maybe this allowance from him boasted her self-confidence to the point that, this time, she was the one to corner Spike with a martial uppercut that caught him by surpise.

On a transient moment, Spike noticed against the sunlight the casting of shadow on Elektra's collar, and then suddenly everything became clear to him. They were both equal. They were the same: warriors destined to engage against each other until one of them died: either a small death or the grand death.

Spike jolted his mop forward, aiming for Elektra's mouth.

She dodges and he lungs his body forward, trying to conceal his hardness from the battle.

Nonetheless, Elektra perceives Spike's erection, and she herself becomes filled with a craving for more.

Spike himself, in spite of being erect towards Elektra's body, keeps his upper head cool, without, though, not displaying a pleasure in his expression towards Elektra. They both knew about each other's intimacy to a deep level, and they both were enjoying this exchange to the fullest.

Without a second moment to think about it and to give in to her desire, Elektra quickly reorders her blood flow from her hip area to the knees on a deadly strike against Spike, who uses the mop's counterweight to help him avoid the lethal blow on his crotch.

She lunges forward and penetrates Spike's ぜたいぼおぎょ, almost rendering him useless if not for his mop, who stuck firmly against her forearm.

She grabs his mop, and he suddenly realises she was also hard from this exchange. She wanted him to come near her, perhaps not to strike her down, but to kiss her softly. By the force she grabbed Spike's mop, he realized she wasn't overkill on this exchange, and she was helding back to not erase his beautiful yet shameful existence from the face of the Earth. Yet, she couldn't not get excited about this fight, and so couldn't Spike not be astonished by her presence of Spirit.

On an instant of lust, she grabs with both hands Spike's wood and pulls him towards her. Spike gasps at this unprecedented move, and butterflies swarm his stomach. What the fuck was happening to this veteran's training?!

She Scorpion Kicks him, and he notice that her well-developed glutes hold her butt firmly even when stretched. Spike couldn't not desire this woman with everything he had.

Her fierce and callused palm destroy Spike's mop, and he noticed how well-developed and fierce she can be. Elektra is rampant against Spike, and he's enjoying it somehow.

He uses the counterweighted part of the mop against his muscular body to swiftly go for her cheek, but Elektra prevents this foolish attack by dodging it majestically.

Spike's whole body stiffens at this point. He displays no sign of mercy, tensioning all his muscles and all his tonus Crane Stance power, concentrating his life against Elektra's might.

Elektra turns away her look, probably intimidated by Spike's fierceness.

Spike uses this opportunity to carefully almost strike Elektra, abd she lets out a high pitched gasp that also makes her blush in embarassment.

Spike couldn't resist any longer. Had he continued the fight against Elektra, he would probably give in to his animalistic desires and would lose his nectar against that woman. Spike used the gambit of the beginning of their fight in his favor now, running from her and her deadly presence.

Elektra does what he wanted, after all. She goes after him. Spike wanted to be held, not in a fight, but against her arms, tenderly. This probably wasn't the wisest move of his part, but at least he got to take a look at her armor... and her loaded gun.

"Stop or I'll sh-shoot!!!"

Though Spike didn't stop. He was too far beyond that now. At this point, all he knew was to run away from that powerful woman. He jumped what could as well be a bottomless cliff, way too far away from the deadly claws of Elektra.

And she herself didn't give a damn anymore about her duty. Fuck that. She went after him, to at least get his number, or better: to get between his legs.

#korean novel #japanese novel #novel

2 notes · View notes

theyungrose · 4 years

Text

Be Good ( Roman Reigns X OC)

Chapter 3

Spite.

I had reverted to tearing our pictures down from the walls, my sanity reduced to screams in the dead of night. I cursed his name to the heavens and back, wished the worst of events, and yet I still didn’t feel any better.

I was broken.

Never in my life had I felt such pain, 24 hours in a day. I woke up in the morning and felt nothing in my soul, no happiness, no purpose, no love. I moved through the day lifelessly; of course he hadn’t thought anything of telling our close friends and his family that we were breaking our engagement, leaving me to answer all the questions they only ever save for the girlfriend.

Yes, I was okay.

(No I wasn’t.)

It was mutual, we just kinda fell apart I guess.

(Really?)

And then they say “Well I bet he misses you just as much as you miss him right now.”

I sincerely doubt that.

Anger. Rage.

Questions.

How could he do this to me?

To us?

What, you court me for nearly a year and a half; not counting the two years we were friends. I met your mother, your father who never meets “any of the girls you bring around”; his words not mine. We traveled everywhere together, we bought each other things we hadn’t even bought for ourselves first. When my brother died, when you got sick, when there was no one else in the world for us to count on, you told me we had each other. Always. For what? For you to wake up one day, turn on your side and decide you don’t want to be with me anymore? That it just wasn’t going to work?

For a month your child lived inside my stomach.

Does that not matter to you?

Emptiness.

What was I to do with my life now? The past two years were the best of my life, and now I was expected just move along as if they never existed. As if we never existed.

That’s enough to drive any woman mad.

I had to get away.

The cold Denver air greeted me warmly as I stepped through the sliding doors of the airport into its little snow flurries. It was nostalgic for a second, until a loud car horn ripped me from my thoughts. Stepping out from her gray minivan was my childhood friend, Lauren. You could tell she didn’t like the cold from the way she kept the driver’s door open and stayed close to it, clutching her hoodie tight around her arms.

Oh yeah and she said this.

“Girl get in this car I’m losing heat ‘cuz of you!”

I snickered rushing over to her ride with my suitcases rolling loudly behind me.

“Daydreaming and shit.... aye aye aye what’s all this?”

Lauren motioned to my stuff with a certain... well stank, look on her face.

“I ain’t say you could stay with me.”

I was getting too cold to respond to her, and being that I was putting the bags in the trunk by myself, I chose to ignore her for the time being.

“Relax creature I bought myself a hotel for the night, that’s where you’re driving me first before you drag me to that barn you live in.”

Lauren scoffed and slammed the trunk closed, nearly cutting off my fingers in the process.

“Whatever hoe, I ain’t miss ya ass anyways.”

The ride through the city was much calmer; we talked as actual friends do about her life down here, old memories, bullies who got fat, shy girls who have babies, and all the other drama I’d missed out on. Thankfully, she didn’t seem too interested of why I had suddenly left my dream and sunny Florida weather to come back to Denver, but I had a feeling somehow she already knew.

“Aaliyah... you sure this is your hotel girl?”

“What you mean?”

“It’s $50 valet parking child! The Marriott don’t got them prices.”

I laughed motioning for her to pull into the grandeur driveway where a valet man was waiting.

“Do you need help bringing your stuff in?”

“No I think I’m fine it’s only two suitcases.”

The valet went to speak but Lauren poked my arm roughly to get my attention first.

“Girl for $50 you better tell that man to bring in your bags on his head.”

“Lauren stop being extra. I don’t need him to help me, just bring the car around to the street so you don’t have to pay the $55 sitting fee.”

*******

Lauren’s family greeted me with hugs, hospitality, and a beautifully home-cooked dinner; and when everyone went up to their rooms to sleep, Lauren blessed me with a much needed guilty indulgence.

If you never forget how to ride a bicycle, then you never forget how to smoke weed either.

“Are you freezing yet?”

I watched her through the large puff of smoke I exhaled, giggling to herself near the corner. I snickered too and shook my head, motioning for her to take the blunt from me. Our hands sparked electricity when they touched and we both laughed so loud someone upstairs turned on their light.

“Oh, my mom and my sister said you’re really pretty.”

My cheeks were flushed red as I leaned my head back against the fence. The weed had me lost in the galaxy of stars above me, so far yet they seemed so close. It felt like my eyes were stars themselves.

“Awwe, tell her I said thank you... and thank your whole family for being so nice to me. Oh and tell them they cooking is the bomb...”

Lauren was almost red herself with laughter as she passed the blunt back to me. It was so nice to know that she had a pretty smile, I never saw her smile once when we were kids. Always... serious.

“You know... I wasn’t going to say anything but... I really expected you to ask bro.”

Lauren looked up from her phone completely clueless. A face of total innocence and hopeless oblivion.

“Ask you what?”

“About why I came to visit you... you know all of a sudden? I was with my fiancee and we broke off our engagement last week and I thought you would ask me about it.. but I guess you didn’t know.”

“No I knew.”

I scoffed shaking my head as I crushed the dead paper into the grass.

“And you didn’t ask?”

Lauren shook her head as she stood up and walked towards the cooler sitting a few feet away from us.

“It’s not my business to ask. I knew about your break up with Roman Reigns, I watch y’all wrestle together on Monday Night Raw; that’s the only reason my mom let a stranger come up in here because I told her you were famous.”

She sat down beside me on the grass and placed a water bottle between my feet.

“But despite all that, what happened between you and your man is none of my business to ask. For all I care you came up here because you suddenly missed my face.”

I looked at her completely shocked. Dumbfounded. Amazed at this woman that was so conscious and compassionate of someone else’s struggles and privacy, it was so well-mannered it almost felt misplaced. So foregone from the values of this current society.

“Well do you want to know? Like what happened? For the first time I actually don’t mind telling it.”

“I only want to hear what matters.”

“Okay and which one is that, if I’m okay or if he took all his money with him?”

“Nope. What I want to know, is what are you going to do now?”

For a moment I kept my eyes trained on her shoulder; not thinking, just frozen in existence. Tears fell from my eyes unintentionally, but still I couldn’t speak.

To answer that question would force me to swallow the harsh truth that this was reality; one I still hadn’t come to terms with.

“You don’t know do you?”

Without answering I just shook my head, and as her arms began to spread I fell weightlessly into her chest. A fit of emotion overtook me as I sobbed and trembled in her embrace, pain pierced my heart like needles yet somehow I felt comforted. It was the first time I hadn’t cried by myself in weeks.

“It’s okay Aaliyah... it’s okay. I’m here for you love.”

“He just left me.... left me like I was nothing. I feel so ugly. I feel worthless, like trash. I just want to know what I did wrong Lauren... what did I do that was so wrong, so terrible that one day he woke up and didn’t want me anymore? Where did all that love go? When did he stop loving me? Why did he stop loving me?”

Lauren’s arms held me a little tighter, and slowly she began to rock back and forth, like a mother would soothe the cries of her baby.

“...What’s wrong with me?”

I felt warm supple skin touch my forehead and rest there for a while before they were replaced with her cheek. Never did I feel so comforted in the arms of another woman, she was so warm and soft.

“There’s nothing wrong with you friend. People fall apart sometimes is the reality of it really... we never know the reason for half the things people do. I can’t imagine the pain you’re in, but Aaliyah I promise this won’t beat you. You’re stronger than this. This is just another storm.”

I sighed, hiding my face further into her chest.

“Can I stay here the-”

“You can stay here for as long as you need to sweet pea. You’ll have a home here until your wings are no longer broken... and you’re ready to fly.”

Through my tears I found a small smile, finally returning her embrace as I wrapped my arms around her waist. Again she kissed the top of my forehead gently and sighed.

“Now let’s roll up another one.”

Lauren Riley

#joe anoa'i #joeanoa'ifanfiction #romanreigns #roman reigns fanfiction #romanreignsfanfic #wwe #wwenews #joeanoa'i x OC romanreigns x OC

8 notes · View notes

romana73 · 5 years

Text

REYLO FANFIC: YIN AND YAN. CHAPTER IV

WRITER: Romana73 TIME: One year after Star Wars. Episode VIII. The Last Jedi THEME AND FANDOM: Star Wars RATING: Explicit TITLE: Yin and Yan CATEGORIES: M/F COUPLES: Kylo Ren/Ben Solo and Rey CHARACTERS: Rey, Kylo Ren / Ben Solo, Anakin Skywalker (nominated), BB - 8, Knights of Ren, Chewbacca, Darth Vader (nominated), Finn, General Hux, Han Solo (nominated), Leia Organa, Luke Skywalker, Poe Dameron, Rose Tico, boys from Canto Bright, Snoke (nominated), various Resistance and First Order fighters WARNINGS: The characters, the world and the stories of Star Wars AREN’T MINE AND DON’T BELONG TO ME, but they are created and owned by George Lucas, Lucasfilm, Disney, J.J. Abrams and Rian Johnson and the actors who play the Star Wars characters and their stories. I’M NOT IN ANY WAY LINKED TO THESE PEOPLE AND CINEMATOGRAPHIC HOUSES. I DON’T KNOW NO ONE OF THEM and I’M IN NO WAY IN CONTACT WITH THEM WARNINGS 2: violence, also at the language level. The starting idea of this story derives from a leaks I read last year and which struck my imagination CHAPTER I can be found HERE: https://romana73.tumblr.com/post/189784450126/reylo-fanfiction-yin-e-yan CHAPTER II can be found HERE: https://romana73.tumblr.com/post/189959876431/reylo-fanfic-yin-and-yan-part-2

CHAPTER III can be found HERE: https://romana73.tumblr.com/post/190301208881/reylo-fanfic-yin-and-yan-3-part

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

CHAPTER IV

- Why do you think I let myself be captured? - Kylo asked casually.

Standing in front of Rey, Kylo folded his lips in a fleeting amused smile. Rey stared at him, raising an eyebrow. -Oh well, maybe I just wanted to meet you in person ... to see you and touch you live ... I was tired of remote connections - he continued in a light tone. Rey darkened, glaring at him with a glance. Excruciating pain in head he had caused her with his constant attempts to force their connection was still alive. Kylo seemed to read her mind. He frowned, taking on a stern expression. -I warned you not to resist when things like that happen. You could have died! - He finished, thundering. Rey was startled in spite of herself, hearing his voice rumbling in room almost to shake walls. She looked around to see if boy's tone had attracted anyone, but nobody appeared. Rey turned against him, like a tiger whose foot was trodden. -You used me, betrayed me, tried to manipulate me, why on earth would I have to reopen the connection? I repeat what I said to you under torture: I won’t give you anything! - Rey growled at him. Kylo blinked in surprise, opening his mouth in amazement. His surprise lasted a blink, then his face hardened. Kylo took a slow step towards Rey. She held her breath, stiffening, but refused to let emotion leak. -I don't remember doing anything like that. I thought you were going to be on my side. You were trusting me, we were on same wavelength, instead you abandoned me! You turned against me, you attacked me like a coward! - He growled, trying to dominate her. - I turned against you? - Rey repeated, hissing and clenching her eyes and fists

- I'm not your dog!- She snapped indignantly. -I'm not even a murderess! You demanded I turn away while you massacred innocent people, my friends and even your mother! - Rey looked him in eyes, challenging him. Kylo swallowed heavily, without breaking eyes contact. - Now you're even killing children ... you suck me! - She screamed. He turned his face to one side, as if Rey had slapped him. Supreme Leader stared back at her, folding his mouth in a bitter smile. -Once again you think you know everything ... I thought I taught you to investigate thoroughly before sentencing ... - -It’s Knights of Ren who carry out murders and, if I'm not mistaken, they only obey you ... - Rey replied in a biting tone. -Um, yes ... well, let's talk later, do you want? Now we have to go - Kylo said absently, looking quickly at a black leather strap that he wore on his right wrist and Rey noticed only at that moment. She frowned. He had a bad feeling about that strange bracelet. -You are so impulsive ... you think always later ... - Kylo observed.

Rey took a step back, as the feeling of danger grew stronger. Bringing a hand behind her back, the young woman slowly drew her lightsaber, lighting it, while keeping her eyes fixed on him. Kylo absently looked at weapon Rey held in her hand. Supreme Leader smiled, taking on an air between bored and benevolent. Suddenly, handcuffs around Kylo's wrists fell to his feet, with a dull thud that made a shiver run down Rey's spine. She felt freezing, looking at Kylo's free hands. Moving fast, he kicked cuffs away from him and Rey, then, he grabbed her wrist. Rey felt as if he was squeezing her wrist and instinctively dropped lightsaber. Kylo picked up weapon, tucking it into his belt, while spinning Rey on himself, imprisoning her with one arm. Rey tried to free himself in any way. - Ah! - She screamed, feeling a pain in her arm. Kylo's grip felt like steel. -You're hurting yourself. You can't even use Force here - he advised her quietly as he looked around. Rey saw him raise one hand and draw handcuffs to him. Her eyes widened, she sensed his intentions and started fighting again. Kylo didn’t loosen his grip. Following her body movements, Supreme Leader surrounded Rey with other arm, hardly managing to block her wrists in anti-Force handcuffs. -You didn't thought I was present while Luke was building this cell. I know his tricks and, then, I can get by even without Force - Kylo whispered in Rey's ear, smiling and blocking her against him. She could feel her back press against Supreme Leader's wide chest, but she refused to linger on that fact.

-I can do better without Force, because I have lived longer than you, without even knowing I have it! - Rey replied firmly. Kylo grimaced, shrugging. -True ... - he murmured absently.

Suddenly, a deafening explosion caused wall behind them to collapse. Rey jumped, closing her eyes, while Kylo turned his face, quietly contemplating collapsed wall, while a broad and rudimentary opening was formed in its place. Sweating coldly, Rey watched a handful of Stormtroopers rush in and go up prison stairs, while a man dressed in black, wearing a helmet made from a blast furnace plate stopped beside Kylo Ren. Shivering, with a grimace of disgust, Rey noticed newcomer was carrying a huge cannon on his arm, modified almost beyond belief and concussion grenades on his chest. -Cardo - Kylo addressed him, with a dark and serious expression. - On time - - Thanks, Ren. I only carried out your orders - other replied dryly. Rey sensed change in Kylo Ren. From moment wall had collapsed, Kylo seemed to have raised another, impenetrable, wall inside him, but she had no time to think about it. Gunshots, screams and excited voices ripped Rey from his thoughts. Battle raged on floor above them. Rey's mind worked fast. Two men had talked about orders and schedules, but for two days, Kylo had been their prisoner, how he... memory of strange bracelet she had noticed on boy's wrist came back to Rey's mind. A transmitter, that's what it was, how stupid! Rey closed her eyes, blaming herself. “It isn’t your fault. I remind you, for a while, you have been out of game... " Kylo's voice reached her head loud and clear, as if he had spoken, instead he was communicating telepathically. - Did you find what you were looking for? - Cardo asked Kylo Ren - In part- he replied, nodding towards Rey. -I think it will be longer than expected. Call soldiers back, I don't want to ... - - REYYY! REY! - Finn's anxious voice interrupted Kylo’s words. The trio turned their eyes to access stairs. Rey held her breath. With wide eyes, she watched Finn fly down stairs, turning to shoot two Stormtroopers on his heels, before looking at Rey. The boy looked in pure horror at his handcuffed friend, held locked by an arm of Supreme Leader. -Leave her alone!- Finn screamed, frowning, his flashing black pupils, pointing blaster he held in his hand towards Kylo Ren. Supreme Leader remained in hush, staring calmly at ex former Stromtrooper. -Call the men. Let's go - Kylo ordered, turning his head towards Cardo.

He brought a transmitter in front of his mouth, ordering handful of soldiers to return. Kylo turned his back on Finn, starting to move towards breach in wall Cardo had previously opened, dragging Rey with him. She stumbled over her feet, but just holding her tight, Kylo prevented her from falling. -Stop! - Finn yelled again, arming his blaster - Finn! Rey! - Poe's voice came to Rey's ear.

The pilot stopped beside his friend, also drawing his weapon and pointing it at Kylo's back. Young target sighed, continuing to walk. Behind them rhythmic footsteps of the returning Stormtroopers were heard. Soldiers passed Kylo, Rey and Cardo, pouring into hole in the wall. - Teacher! Teacher! - Two infant voices joined those of Finn and Poe. Rey stopped instantly. Struggling to free herself, she managed to turn to the children. -Milo, Cleena! Get out of here! Be safe! - Rey yelled, agitated.

Without letting go her, Kylo saw two children staring at him. One was small, blond, with blue eyes open and curious. Kylo narrowed his mouth feeling a big Force power, but also serenity and calm emanated from boy. He was struck by girl eyes, whom Rey had called Cleena. Force also flowed powerful in her. Biting her lower lip, girl stared at him from bottom up, with a dangerous light in her dark brown eyes. Curly and long hair of a reddish brown fell on her shoulders like a fiery mane. She couldn’t have been more than ten years old, but she seemed already pervaded by a deep anger. A fury Supreme Leader recognized had only one goal. Him.

Cardo raised his cannon arm, aiming it at group in front of them. - If you want, I'll sweep them away ... - he said, turning to Kylo. -Yuo damn killer! - Rey roared, fighting against Kylo's grip in an attempt to assault Cardo. Taken by surprise, Ren's Knight stepped back, whistling with admiration towards Rey. - You captured a proud tiger ...- he observed, watching Kylo struggle to keep hold of Rey. -Rey! Get away from him! - Finn yelled, trying to aim. He gave up nervously. Kylo Ren didn’t loosen his grip on Rey, making it impossible to shoot him without hitting her. Suddenly, an idea hit Finn's mind. Rey had once explained to him Jedi healed wounds. Dark Side adepts lost, however, this ability when they succumbed to evil. So maybe ... he could hit Kylo by hurting Rey? Leia was sure to help cure her and he was a great shooter. He could hit her without causing her serious harm. Kylo turned to him, as if he had read his mind. -Really? Would you have courage to do it? I’m amazed at you, FN-2187. Do you hate me so much? - Kylo forced Rey to straighten up and, holding her against him, with his hands under his chin, placed himself with her in front of Finn, challenging him with his eyes and a malicious smile. -Come on, shoot! I'll stop your bullet before it hits us and I'll turn it against you! - Kylo urged him. Rey shook her head. -Finn, no. Please. You would die unnecessarily ... - Rey murmured, as a tear ran down her face. Finn looked his friend in eyes, while Milo, Cleena and Poe stared at him waiting for a sign would reveal their friend's intentions, causing them to act accordingly. Kylo chuckled bitterly. -You don't know what he was going to do to you ... - he whispered in Rey's ear. - Bastard! You know very well that I ... I ... - Finn growled, still pointing the blaster at Kylo. -Stop! - A sweet but firm voice shook everyone in the room, as if waking them from a dream, dissipating tension in room. Cardo also seemed impressed. His arm also lowered, without him noticing. Leia appeared in room, as the sunniest of apparitions. Rey sensed a change in Kylo. Young man swallowed empty. -Let go Rey- Leia ordered, putting her hands on Cleena's shoulders and staring her son in eyes, with a resolute expression. -You lost, General Organa. Accept defeat and my magnanimous gesture - Kylo replied becoming, if possible, even darker. -I'll let you live- he added, looking away from woman in spite of himself.

Rey watched scene silently, sweating cold, confused. At that moment, Kylo looked like a boiling volcano. That was first time mother and son met after he killed Han Solo. Rey felt like she was skewered by a thousand daggers. One more cruel and painful than other, but emotion didn’t belong to her, but to Kylo Ren. Supreme Leader seemed to be pierced by a thousand lightsabers and each hit a deep wound. Rey staggered. -Enough! - She heard herself say, as if her voice didn't belong to her. Everyone stopped, staring at her. Rey turned his head, looking up at Kylo. -Let them go and I'll come with you - Rey proposed slowly. -No, Rey! - Finn and Poe snapped in unison -Rey ... no need ... - Leia's voice and expression softened. Kylo shrugged. -Unlike what you think, I don't like blackmailing people and I don't like being made fun of ... - Kylo replied, staring in Rey’s eyes. -I'm not setting you a trap - Rey defended herself. - Okay, then... - Kylo let go of Rey.

She wobbled in surprise at act. Supreme Leader moved a hand and Rey's wrists were free of anti-Force handcuffs. -Please, let's go - Kylo moved a hand, indicating to walk in front of him. Rey felt her eyes fill with tears as she contemplated her friends for last time. -Leia ... - she whispered, bringing a hand to her chest. Woman smiled, nodding. General Organa's eyes moved to his son's face, studying him openly. Kylo returned, watching her sideways, then he bent to pick up handcuffs, while Rey passed in front of him. Kylo put a hand on girl's back, guiding her to exit. -Teacher! - Cleena shouted, moving to chase Rey.

A small, chubby hand closed around the girl's wrist, holding her back. Cleena turned around, surprised to find was Milo who blocked her. Boy looked at his friend with a smile, then turned to Leia and nodded.

———————————————————————————————————–

Rey felt empty and disoriented as she walked with her back straight and her chin up in front of Kylo, wiping away every minute tears burned her eyes. Ever since they left Resistance base, young Supreme Leader hadn't spoken, standing behind her, still holding one hand on her back. Nodding, Kylo had ordered Cardo to walk in front of Rey, closing off any escape routes for her. But Rey didn’t want to escape. They had been walking in forest for two hours and, although trained, Rey was exhausted. Multitude of emotions felt that day had exhausted her. From moment they captured Kylo, she had suspected something strange, but would never have thought of ending up in trap. The line stopped. Rey saw soldiers pass them and run forward. Cardo turned to Kylo. - The Finalizer isn’t far away, with your permission Ren, I would go and prepare everything for departure ... - he announced. Kylo nodded. Cardo moved away and Rey was alone with Kylo. - If you believe I will submit to you, then you have not understood anything ... - without turning around, Rey warned Kylo with his teeth gritted. A disturbance in Force drew both attention. Rey didn't have time to focus. Coming from behind, Kylo locked her wrists again with anti-Force handcuffs, also harnessing her perception. Ignoring her bad looks and grimaces of annoyance, he lifted Rey in his arms, following last stretch separated them from his ship on foot. Not far away, two powerful shadows followed them.

#adam driver #ben solo #daisy ridley #fanfic #fanfiction #kylo ren #my fanfiction #rey #reylo #star wars #star wars fanfiction

20 notes · View notes

mystic-scripture · 4 years

Note

All the Angst and all the Dirty for Spendy pls

Sure, Sara make me horny and sad why don’t you.

For the Angst:

9. Have they made each other cry?

When they finally talk about Emily and what going to JJ did to Wendy’s head (see preview below), it makes them both cry, whenever one of them fails to see an emotional drag on the other causes issues. They are both very intellectually minded, so talking about feelings is hard for them. So when they do finally manage to break down each other’s walls, it is pretty emotional.

10. Write a ~300 word argument scene for them.

Wendy’s hands shook as she took the bottles out of the pocket of her bathrobe. Spencer’s eyes widened, his lips forming words he didn’t have the voice to say. She licked her lips before she spoke, trying to keep herself grounded.

“What are these doing in my apartment?” She was afraid of the answer, but she needed to know. “And is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“Avoi- I haven’t been avoiding you.” He ran his hand through his hair, averting his gaze from hers. “I just forgot they were in there, if you recall I had a bit to drink last night.”

“Oh, oh I recall, you were escorted here because my place was closer.” Her hand clenched so hard, she could hear the glass of the bottles grinding together. “But seeing as you pride yourself on your Eidetic Memory, I doubt that’s true, so answer… the damn...question.”

It was Spencer’s turn to lick his lip, his stance going rigid as she stared him down. “I-I was going to have JJ help me flush it. I’ve been having thoughts...and I didn’t want to put you through that again. I wasn’t going to use, but-”

“You’ve thought about it and your answer was to go to JJ?!” She groaned,dropping the bottles to pull at her hair. “And not me? When I was the one to help you stop in the first place, you thought going to another woman was okay?”

“I-I didn’t want to worry you,” His eyes pleaded hers to understand, searching for a way to talk his way out of this fight. “I know things have been hard for you since Emil-”

“How would you know how hard things have been for me? I’ve barely even seen you at work let alone here.” She shoved at his chest. “You’ve barely even touched me since the hospital and you have the gall to tell me how I feel?”

“Wait, are you mad at me for not being here?” His hands steadied her before she could pull too far away. “For giving you your space when I knew you needed time to figure things out? I thought you were the one pulling away from me.”

“God for a second just think with this,” she snapped her hand away, jabbing a finger at his chest. “And get out of that stupid, big brain of yours! How could I possibly have been pulling away from you? My body language, speech patterns, even the way I’ve looked at you the past few weeks has been screaming for you to notice me!”

“But you didn’t, and you’ve been adding insult to injury by seeing her.” Wendy gulped down the venom forming in her words. “And you will never understand what that did to me.”

11. What causes them to fight?

They get into little debates about things all the time, but all out fights? Honestly, Wendy lashes out when she gets insecure, usually about JJ or other girls. Reid tends to into fits of ‘I’m angry because I care’ rage toward her about taking care of herself. They also get pretty pissed at each other when one of them decides to be reckless on the job.

12. Do they have differing political opinions?

No, Wendy does her best to avoid it while keeping informed, but every now and again, Reid will go on a factoid tirade which usually ends up stressing Wendy the hell out. She knows they are necessary, but as long as she didn’t have to partake in them, they were a far away necessity.

13. Name something they would never do for the other person.

For? Not much, there’s a lot they would do for each other. Heck, Wendy has nearly died from Anthrax for/with him, and he took a bullet to the knee for her. Of course this causes them to get made at each other for being stupid, but they are very much an “I jump, you jump” couple.

14. What would be a dealbreaker?

Lies. Wendy has had to deal with so many lies in their job and in her life, she can’t stand it. And Spencer, well we saw what happened when JJ lied to him given how close they were.

15. What are traits they dislike in one another?

It kills Wendy that he is such a technophobe, like technology is her life, and it’s what got her into the FBI to begin with. Also, she is a bit of a neat freak, so when he scatters things about when they are working together she gets a little punchy.

With Spencer, he can’t understand how stubborn she is in spite of any facts he throws at her. It doesn’t matter how many books or articles he’s read on the subject, once her opinion is made, there isn’t much that can change it. Also, he doesn’t understand how she can be so tidy, his brain works too fast to clean as he goes, but she is so freaking meticulous? Sometimes it scares him.

16. If they broke up, what would be their opinions of each other?

While it would be hella awkward having to revert to their friendship, they are friends and coworkers first. They will always have tremendous respect and want the best for each other.

For the Dirty:

25. What moves do they know work on the other?

As soon as Spencer does anything to her neck or earlobe Wendy is done, and he knows it. Also whenever he pulls on her hair to guide her somewhere. Wendy meanwhile, takes great pride in knowing his need to be in control, and will give little noises or attempts at dominance just get him a little more riled up.

26. What are their favorite parts about physical affection/sex?

Honestly? The dichotomy of it all, the sweetness of everything they do in spite of how rough they go about it. And Spencer makes damn well sure that Wendy comes at least once, a lot of times before him. Wendy likes to watch him come undone, stroking his face and maintaining hella eye contact.

27. Do they have any kinks/fetishes that they share?

Spencer is totally a Dom, and Wendy is happy to be his sub. Choking, hand binding, and shibari are shared kinks. Also, Wendy in JUST one of his dress shirts or cardigans drives him nuts, and for her, there is something about the muscles in his back that just does it for her.

28. Write a ~300 fantasy one of them has about the other.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Wendy gasped, pulling him by his tie for a hungry, lingering kiss. “Literally any of them could walk in on us Or worse, hear us.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to be quiet.” He murmured, spinning them to pin her against the door of the Jet’s bathroom.

He smirked as she let out a small gasp, but nodded. His hand took her wrists in his as he ravaged her neck, kissing and licking his way down the opening of her dress shirt. She trembled, biting her lip to keep the moans from coming out too loud, glaring at him. She knew he was doing this on purpose, that he wanted to see just how far he could go and keep her quiet. Her wrists struggled against his grip, her hips dipping towards him when he pulled away.

Chuckling lightly, he let her go, hands going to the zipper of her skirt. Her hands roamed, his sides, dipping to his belt that she made quick work of. Opening the zipper, she dipped a small hand to palm him, releasing a surprised growl from Spencer. Her pink lips formed a satisfied smirk and she bit her bottom lip.

“And you were worried about me...” She teased, using her other hand to wrap around his neck to pull him into another kiss, biting his lip harshly. “You sure you can manage it, Doctor?”

Her mocking him, mixed with what her hand was doing almost undid him there, but he grabbed her hips, pushing her into the door with an audible bang. Her eyes opened, and a startled noise formed in her throat, but he quickly shut her up, kissing her roughly, and using the opportunity to gain entrance with his tongue. His hands moved to cup the back of her thighs and she hopped out of the pool of fabric that was her skirt to wrap around him.

Soon, his pants and boxers followed, and her underwear was twisted aside. He adjusted slightly, making it so that he pillowed her head with one hand, and held onto her with another. Wendy took the hint and placed hands above her head, pushing against him and bracing herself on the door. Looking into his eyes, he taunted her, teasing her entrance.

“Keep talking,” He ordered, backing away when she tried to meet him. “We’ll just see who can manage it.”

29. What are each of their signature foreplay moves?

Spencer takes his time roaming her body with kisses, and keeping her pinned, the inability to touch him drives Wendy crazy. Wendy will bite his lip, or tongue during heated kisses and go to pull away all innocent like.

30. Write a short exchange of dirty talk between them. (kind of not really, just Wendy being a brat)

“Comeon Dr. Reid, what’s the matter? Afraid you can’t handle it?

“You have no idea what I can handle, Little Girl.”

31. What do they love to do after sex?

Aside from a second or third round? Snuggles, just laying there in the afterglow until one or both of them falls asleep. Wendy traces patterns on his chest while he threads his fingers through her hair.

32. Do they enjoy morning or night sex?

Uhm...Yes. Most mornings end up getting interrupted with their job though.

Send me a ship and numbers!

Wendy Tag: @abbyarcxnes @perfectlystiles @raging-violets (sara asked, no need to tag her) @foxesandmagic @anotherunreadblog @curious-kittens-ocs @darknightfrombeyond (Missed you or want to be added? HMU!)

#wendy asks #spendy asks #good lord I'm bad at smut #spendy smut #Fic: Prolific #fd: criminal minds #Wendy Durant #asks answered

6 notes · View notes

pineaberry · 5 years

Text

Fictober: #31

SWTOR

STARRING: Darth Malgus (RETURN OF THE BURNT POTATO!)

This one goes out to @doomhamster and @fluffynexu. I still owe you the rest of this fic, but I hope this will tide you over until I get to it! Also @sunsetofdoom. She’s always down for pron!

_______________________

Existence was a cruel, sadistic thing with a twisted sense of humor.

His entire life Malgus had fought for power and control heedless of the consequences. He knew what lay at the core of every sentient being: chaos. Deep down, they were all of them savages and the strongest would rule the weak. War was the perfect model for his philosophy. It was the logical conclusion of everything the Sith represented. To emerge victorious was to hold the chains of fate itself.

Friendships, family... love… he burned them all in the altar of war and cauterized his weaknesses to form a protective callous. After decades in the bloodied forge, he thought himself untouchable. Like the Vitiate of old he saw the rot spreading in the dark halls of the council chambers and vowed to raise a new Empire up from the maggots.

Illum had seemed like child’s play. Unlike Lord Scourge, Darth Marr’s new pet Wrath was young, eager to please, and so helpful it bordered on the naive. His first impression was that she was not worth recruiting. She was a symptom of a greater sickness: the Sith’s waning strength made manifest. He dismissed her as a feeble-minded slip of a girl, prone to manipulation. She had no place in his new Empire save to be used and discarded.

It had been a serious miscalculation on his part.

One of many.

Over the years he had many long hours to contemplate his failure and it all began with that single error. He mistook her smile and amenable nature to be the signs of an idiot. He saw her give her opponents a chance to surrender and thought her soft. He found her wanting and then put her from his mind.

He was too busy claiming his throne; too busy preparing to rule the galaxy to see the warning signs. He ignored her as his allies were decimated; cut down by wheat. Darth Serevin’s death weighed on his mind. While he had believed the wrath to be a flickering shadow, she in turn executed him for his betrayal and kept Talsa-ko’s decapitated head as a trophy. Something about that encounter had ignited the Wrath’s rage and they had paid the price.

He failed to see her splintering his barricades one by one and leaving only corpses behind. He failed to see the Wrath’s wrath.

The irony of it made his lips twist in a self-deprecating smile.

Blinded by his own visions of a throne well within his grasp, he did not act until she stood before him. She had been a strange contradiction of vivid hues and blackened aura. In the end, his own hubris became his undoing. Wasn’t that always the way?

In his defeat, Malgus found a better understanding of what it meant to be in chains. He was not given the dignity of an honorable death. No, he was taken back to Dromund Kaas and dragged into the bowels of the citadel where the council’s butchers awaited.

He learned his lesson there in the darkness amidst a new definition of pain. But even locked away from the stars he could not escape her. The inquisitors spoke in hushed whispers of a Wrath that came thundering down on Makeb and crushed the Hutt and Republic alike. In between his torments, he heard of Rishi and Yavin and Revan. He heard of Marr’s close partnership with her and of Vowrawn’s unlikely ‘friendship’. He heard of an Imperial always dogging her step and her habit of gifting him the severed hands of Sith and diplomats alike that failed to respect his personal space. A blatantly obvious sign that the man was her lover.

He listened and felt the caustic burn of envy.

Perhaps, if he had not been so quick to dismiss her, she might have joined him. Illum would have gone a thousand different ways if he’d had Vowrawn’s silver tongue or Marr’s charisma. It became all the more galling with the fall of Zakuul.

They were more alike than he gave her credit. In a few short years she built her own army and her own loyalists taken from the disillusioned masses. Even the fallen emperor Arcann broke under her grip and came to her on his knees to pledge his allegiance. The throne was as good as hers the moment she reached for it.

It had taken her less than a decade to do what Malgus had planned for a lifetime. It was as though she’d taken a quick glance at his work and then decided she could do it better.

Even her defeat broke differently than his. She still commanded a formidable power. Mere Sith no longer, she was referred to as The Commander and she bowed to no mortal being.

They met again on Ossus, both of them fulfilling the same mission. The difference being, it was her choice to be there. When he stepped out of his living coffin, he expected her mockery and disdain.

Malgus had been completely unprepared for her bright smile and pleasant words. She was as neon hued as ever and greeted him like an old friend instead of a foe she hadn’t quite killed off.

At first he believed she was taking a page out of Vowrawn’s book and hiding her hatred. But the more time he spent with her the more he realized she was genuinely pleased to see him. It occurred to him that the nastiness on Illum had never been personal to her. It was as though she had forgotten all about it.

When Ossus was completed, she praised him and once more left him without a dignified response. Her reasoning was beyond his understanding. What did she hope to achieve?

His thoughts were interrupted when his implants activated. Malgus winced in discomfort. It was time for maintenance on his hardware and he was being summoned.

His body moved of its own accord and he was too weary to fight the programmed obedience. He’d always despised the image of a slave being brutalized and now it seemed he was destined to die in captivity.

Vowrawn had been the first one to ‘visit’ him in his cell. The Pureblood had gleefully noted how they had hunted down his power base as he used medical instruments to forcefully remove Malgus’ cybernetic augments. It was Vowrawn who took away his motor skills and repurposed him with new parts. It was Vowrawn who fashioned his cage and locked him away in a body that no longer listened to him.

It was Vowrawn who made a point to remind him just how low he had fallen with every touch that lingered far too long in between bursts of sheer agony. Vowrawn who reduced him to a cheap whore be it out of spite or boredom.

Marr visited exactly once. Malgus remembered hanging from the ceiling, surrounded by medical tubes as restraints were welded into his skin. Marr’s unreadable mask cloaked his expression, but Malgus could feel the loathing and disgust radiating from him. For a brief moment, Malgus believed Marr would end his existence but the man was never one for mercy. Instead, he ordered the nearest guard to summon Cytharat to the council chambers and was gone without a second glance.

He didn’t know how long he lived in that special type of hell. He was kept alive to serve as an example, as a lesson, as a tool for intimidation.

“This is what happens to traitors.”

“Don’t end up like Malgus.”

“This is your fate if your hubris costs me my victory.”

The days and faces all blurred together. Only his firm grasp of the Force kept him from going insane.

The door automatically closed and locked behind him as he stood defiant as he glared at the medical bed. He had grown to detest the scent of kolto and the cold touch of metal on his skin. Discomfort laced with fear radiated from his form. There was nothing he could do to avoid it; no feasible way to escape his fate.

Acina was the first to realize his potential. Or perhaps Zakuul had simply decimated enough Sith that she was desperate enough to use him. Whatever the reason, it was she who rebuild his limbs and turned him into a weapon. She was not one for finesse and enjoyed letting the droids work on him until he was reduced to screaming in agony.

As his robes and armor fell away, he bore the marks of her handiwork etched crudely into her skin. The pain focused him, it kept his senses keen. Every step, every motion, every breath, felt as though it were cutting into him. To live was a war, and one he constantly won. He had to believe it was so or else he would be driven mad by it.

The last of his armor was cast off and he spared a glance to his captor. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that the commander had taken possession of his obedience codes, after all, she had some of the best slicers in the galaxy under her employ. After their confrontation on Illum, it was understandable that she wished to inflict her own version of punishment. Funny, he hadn’t thought it was her style to be vindictive.

Calm blue eyes stared back at him with an unreadable expression that was unnerving. Cruelty or malice he could understand, but this passive response was beyond him. He broke eye-contact and lay down on medical bed as ordered. It was better than a metal table, but it did little to put him at ease. The sound of his respirator seemed too-loud in his ears as he waited for pain or humiliation or some sickening combination of the two.

Instead he felt a gentle touch on his arm and a pinprick before something warm flowed through his veins. Confusion clouded his thoughts as he felt the constant pain melt away into a blissful numbness.

“That’s better isn’t it? No need to be scared,” she smirked and he eyed her warily as she set aside the injector. Her small hand rested over his chest and it felt like a searing mark against his skin. His throat emitted a sound that was a cross between a snarl and an enraged growl.

“Scared, me? You lack the capacity to inspire such an emotion,” he snarled..

He didn’t need her coddling. He was not a child nor a fool to believe her comfort was genuine.

Tremas didn’t so much as flinch as her touch continued to rest over his sternum. Medical droids scanned his body and displayed readings he could quite make out from his vantage point. Tremas lips curled into a scowl as the results displeased her.

He wanted to say something scathing or acrid to her but the retort died in his throat as he felt her delicate fingers touch his inner thighs and firmly push his legs apart. Adrenaline surged through him but he was not allowed neither flight nor fight as his programming kept him restrained. He stared at the ceiling cursing the respirator that echoed his quickening breath in a deafening rasp.

“Now just breathe. There’s structural damage and this might sting a bit...”

________________________