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foreficfandom · 7 months

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POV: You Are Actually MUCH More Powerful Than Alastor (ch. 3 - "Taking Notes")

(Alastor x Reader, g/n, queerplatonic/sex and romance favorable, fan theories, God!Reader) (AO3)

As far as the wider population of hell was concerned, Alastor disappeared after the Extermination with his tail between his legs. Vox made sure his viewers didn’t forget it, showing the footage of Alastor’s prone body no less than eight times over the course of four days. By the time the hotel was newly renovated, the Radio Demon being back in hiding was old news.

Hell’s populace was cynical and jaded. They took the news in stride, aware that as far as anyone knew, Alastor was right around the corner, seconds away from a new murderous streak. But danger was always right around the corner. Distinctions between dangers mattered less if the outcomes were always a guarantee.

Alastor didn’t plan on laying low for long. The angelic energy still festering in his chest prompted great pain whenever he used his dark magic. It took several days for it to completely dissipate, and it left scars that occasionally twinged with phantom jolts. Akin to nerve damage after burns.

He didn’t let you see the wound in full. You had offered to speed up its healing, but he would rather defenestrate himself than show you his bare chest. However, he was quickly allowing himself more casual dress within your private presence, a remainder of typical ‘30’s societal norms. If a gentleman made a friend, he could remove his hat, gloves, and jacket. If it was a close friend or family, he could be shirtless if needed, when out of the public eye.

Like when you and he made plans to further plot in his room, and you had arrived to Alastor in his pants, shoes, a belt, and a white sleeveless undershirt - what would be called a tank top. He was using a flat iron, freshly heated from his fireplace, carefully pulling and pushing it upon a dampened shirt spread tightly across an ironing board. You could now appreciate his limber, bare arms and collarbone, which were lightly haired with a gradient coat, colored more darkly further towards his hands. He had only the slightest muscle bulk, mostly in his forearms, and only due to a deficit of body fat to cushion it.

“Couldn’t you just magic your wardrobe clean and pressed?” You teased, closing the door.

“Of course I could, my dear. But nothing beats a job done by your own hand!”

Cleverly spoken. After all, Alastor’s magic weren’t extensions of his own will, but of his jailers. You approached the opposite side of the ironing board, the slight steam of sizzling water reminiscent of a little sauna.

“So, Alastor. I’m sure you’ve agonized over every fine detail of your deal. You should know that there’s limited chance your creditor would see any more advantages to take.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Alastor said, continuing his ironing, “so I’m going to take this opportunity to play kitten. Let’s pretend that plonk Adam managed to lodge a real stinker into me, and despite my best efforts, it’s hindered my abilities pathetically! I couldn’t shatter a stemware if I tried!”

He placed his hand on his chest as if a fainting damsel, the hot iron held aloft. You noticed with amusement that his elk-down has replaced his armpit hair, leaving it smooth like a child’s.

“And so Alastor would take drastic measures to be powerful once more? Anybody lucky enough to know you would certainly expect the Radio Demon’d be desperate to get his arsenal back.”

“Precisely! I will swallow my pride and put on a great show. Soon enough, it’ll get their attention.”

You took a second to ponder. “Beings like them believe their indentured souls are largely grateful for their gifts, and not chomping at the bit to reverse it all. They’re arrogant like that. After all, you certainly owe a lot to their influence.”

Alastor looked like he was about to refute your words with his bitter resentment, but considered a second further and went back to his chores.

“Well, I suppose they haven’t been all cruel. As a mortal man, I knew I was protected by forces unseen. I believe I am still being protected.”

“In more ways than one. Do you have any clue how many illnesses you dodged while eating your victims? They even debated on whether to let the listeria permanently damage your large intestinal tract. They settled on just the temporary infection.”

“What’s listeria?”

“A bacterial parasite. Causes loose stool, vomiting, and fever, and can resolve itself after a couple of weeks. First discovered in the late 1920’s, but wouldn’t be in everyone’s medical books until World War II. You got it from the back-alley surgeon.”

“Is that what that was? I was throwing back Ostrex for days. I swear I had never been more ill.” Alastor shifted his shirt so that he could iron the left sleeve. The fabric sizzled anew. “Well, aside from when I watched Way Down East to see what the fuss was about. That wretched Porter Strong gives me strong retches, all right!” He cackled alongside a canned studio laugh track.

“How shall we advertise your weak state? You wouldn’t want to roam Hell’s streets like you used to.”

“That’s where I’m hoping you can come in. You, with your millennia of experience.” He gave you a sly eye, smiling as ever but you could see the pointed daggers.

You crossed your arms with an exhale. “Actually, I do have some ideas. Simply put, we fake a new competitor of yours, and let them run far more rampant than you’d normally allow.”

You knew men like Alastor. If he could allow it, the spotlight would never leave him.

Stimulating the opposite would be a tell-tale sign that the Radio Demon was indisposed.

Alastor narrowed his eyes, as if reading your mind. “And who would this new competitor be?”

“Me, of course. Like you’d trust anybody else to be in on it.”

Every Overlord was once an unassuming sinner soul. It would be an on-going process, but with careful pretense you could convincingly step into the shoes of Overlord.

Your avenue would have to be something that threatened Alastor’s specific audience, not just another jumpstart with a seat at the table. Dread Vox would be a good comparison. You’d just take a leaf from his book and aim for the media masses.

And as a content creator, you wouldn’t have to bother with physical territory, which decreased the risk of encountering physical confrontations. You didn’t want to play-act some street scuffle with an Alastor forcing himself to feign weakness. He probably couldn’t bring himself to play act meek in-person. It would be hard enough to have him remain out of the public eye - or rather, public ears.

“The longer I go uncontested by you, the more suspicious it’ll seem. Before long, your creditor will get the hint.”

Alastor gave a “Hmm” of consideration, finishing up his ironing. His smile was small, but unpained.

After a minute of silence, spent watching Alastor hang his laundry in careful sets and whisk away the ironing set with a snap of his fingers, he turned to you, lips curled ever upwards.

“Very well. We will cultivate the rise of a new Overlord. Together.”

—

The next day was a slow, but relaxing affair for the hotel. After finishing your administration duties, you enjoyed catching up with Niffty on gossip, before lounging in the parlor with Angel Dust, who had been carefully pampering himself since morning. He was fresh out of his perfumed bath, fur conditioned and silky, and asked for your help in applying a fresh manicure. An endeavor made harder considering that he had eight hands.

The television screen popped and sizzled as Alastor entered from the hall, apparently deciding to pay the two of you a visit.

“Aww damn it, Kelsey was just about to reveal her deep, dark secret,” Angel Dust whined. The television’s audio finally stabilized and revealed the cast utterly distraught over whatever the step-daughter had confessed to. “Could you maybe cool your anti-TV thing if you’re gonna crash my soap time?”

“Why, it’s hardly something I can control.” Alastor threw his hands and eyes upwards in disregard.

“You know, back in Alastor’s day, entire families sat to listen to the radio just like we do with television,” you smiled demurely at the two of them.

“Yeah, well, ‘back in his day,’” Angel mocked your tone, “they also brewed poisonous moonshine in toilets, ate banged-up cans of brown windsor soup every other day, and probably had more cases of TB than kids to die from it. I died in nineteen-fucking-forty, I know the low-down. Hell, I think nonna remembered the actual Civil War.”

Unlike Alastor, Angel Dust was a sinner who found little trouble adjusting to modern technology. Many of the sinner souls who died young embraced things like internet and electric cars, whether they died during the 20th century, or the 17th.

Cultures of the living found their way downstairs with little delay. Nobody was sure why, but some suspected it was because all technological progress can be considered sinful. You knew it was because earth and hell - and heaven, and purgatory, and all sapient souls - existed as one simultaneously. If Segways existed both physically and within mortal awareness, then so shall it be in hell. Certainly, Segways would not escape the mortal consciousness without great effort.

“Well, back in your day, housewives could only earn money in Tupperware pyramid schemes, children didn’t learn about evolution in school, and everyone was obsessed with Spam,” you teased.

You had told everyone you died mere years ago. True, there was a tangible generational gap between you, Angel Dust, and Alastor, all of you could feel it, but in your case it was much more … complicated.

Angel took your needling in stride. “Eh, at least we had toothpaste. I heard that Great Depression suckers only bothered with charcoal dust, like, once a week.”

At that, you smirked at Alastor, who you’ve teased about his unfortunately-yellow maw more than once. It would have been normal for his time, and the fact that he’d only ever had to pull two would actually be considered impressive.

But you were a being that greatly valued hygiene. Something to do with your heightened senses picking up on every stray molecule that builds on the body, but you privately joked that it was because ‘cleanliness is next to godliness’.

“Now, now, my dainty friend,” An approaching Alastor made a point to mimic Angel’s delicately elevated fingers, reminiscent of a wilting flower, “the future may look greener on the other side, but sometimes, olden days were the golden days. Why heck, one could claim that not much has progressed at all! Look out the window there, and tell me you don’t see the same rampant crime and barbarity, no matter the perpetrators from my century, or not! In fact,” Angel pulled a face as Alastor entered one of his long-winded rambles, always intending to (and unfortunately usually succeeding) in dominating the room, “I declare that mankind’s one constant has been its depravity. Always the same distasteful impulses.”

“And mankind’s moralities are never constant?” you offered.

“Oh please,” Angel said simultaneously as Alastor’s “Goodness, no!”

“Back when I was a kid, people thought left-handedness wasn’t Jesus-fearing. People sure don’t think so, now,” Angel continued.

“And whatever’s casting humans to hell evolves just as its victims do. When’s the last time you saw some pitiful gilly drop down here solely for premarital relations? ‘Twas the case just some fifty years ago.”

Angel snorted. “Yeah, if abstinence awarded you points, I’m waaaay off the mark. And, well, it don’t seem like it for certain, but for all I know, it’s still in heaven’s rulebook.”

“Hah, if only that was the case,” you threw a none-too-subtle look towards Alastor, who returned with a slow, absolutely withering glare.

Of course, Angel Dust noticed. “Whoa, Alastor man, you died a virgin? But you were probably, like, forty.”

“Oh hardly,” Alastor sardonically hissed through his teeth. You didn’t point out that he died a mere two years from the mark, not something you’d call ‘hardly’.

“Well, hey, if your abstinence wasn’t enough to get you upstairs, then that’d be free reign to let wild down here, wouldn’t it?” Angel Dust smiled. “You probably had lotsa old-timey fans when you first arrived. Wouldn’t be a shock if you have lotsa admirers today, too. Pick up a dame from the speakeasy for a nightcap over at your place? Or let some knockout daddy plow you in the bathroom?”

A vein popped in Alastor’s temple. You ducked over Angel’s half-painted hand to hide a grin. If it were anyone else, you would have felt sympathy for the teasing. But, in your opinion, any little blow to Alastor’s inflated ego was always warranted whenever one managed to get their hands on them.

“Can’t say I’ve ever bothered with any of … that , I’m afraid.”

Angel Dust looked incredulously at Alastor. “Never? Even in hell? Never done the vertical tango? The hankity-spankity?”

“Not every man is as covetous as you, my fellow.” Alastor leaned on his cane with both hands, his posture as rim-rod stiff as a telephone pole. You watched his torment in amusement.

“Huh. Goes to show you never know what’s goin’ on underneath it all,” Angel Dust nonchalantly concluded with a thump back onto the cushions. He returned to his bottle of varnish.

“I expect you to be prompt for supper this time!” Alastor exited the foyer but called over his shoulder. “I won’t be taking a still-wet manicure as an excuse again!”

He didn’t pause in his application. “Yeah, sheesh. Like what’s he gonna do? Send me to bed without food?”

You finished applying on Angel’s third hand, and moved to the fourth. “You want to make the rules, then you’ll have to be in charge of the cooking for once.”

“Not gonna happen! Don’t think I’ve stepped in front of a stove since I was a kid. Well, aside from the prop ones in a movie or two. Frilly apron and everything. Why’s he always the chef, anyways? Not like Charlie’s ever made a Thanksgiving turkey for us.”

“Ask him, not me.” Alastor didn’t make meals every day, so if the hotel’s residents didn’t expect a meal from him, then you were all due to fend for yourselves that evening. Most, like Vaggie and Husk, visited the cheap eateries in the neighborhood. Some defaulted to leftovers, or frozen pre-packaged meals (Niffty was especially fond of those). You and Charlie didn’t have to eat every day, though you kept up the facade of mortality. For the longest time, you were the only one brave enough to eat the leftovers from Alastor’s midnight stress-cooking.

“You know, I could see Charlie trying to cook for us, her poor suffering lambs.” Angel was finishing up the delicate white strips on each nail tip, done in one or two practiced strokes. You intentionally numbed your proficiency and took much longer to draw a passable line. “But she’s a princess, so maybe she has no idea how to cook anything. Probably for the best she hasn’t tried, then.”

A moment of silence, then Angel piped up once more. “Speaking o’ Charlie, she apparently got some hot letter in the mail this morning, and’s rushed out the door. Haven’t seen her since.”

“Oh? Have any idea why?”

“No idea. I was at the bar with a hair of the dog, and heard Charlie make a big fuss before rushin’ out. Took the letter with her. Sounded important, but couldn’t tell if it was a happy important, or a nasty important.”

You gave a ‘hmm’. “And what about the king? Have you seen him around?”

“Nope. Guy’s been gone since yesterday evening, but that’s nothing unusual these past days, is it? You ask me, something’s brewin’ with the bigwigs up top. The royals, I mean.”

The Goetia Royalty. A long-winded line of hell-borne beings, some of them older than hell itself. For the most part, they kept out of the public eye, intent on living their privileged life with as little interruptions as possible.

“I hope that Charlie doesn’t get handed more trouble,” you said. “She’s busy enough as it is.”

Angel just shrugged. “Hey, she wanted to start this whole redemption project to begin with. She can deal with it.” You knew he meant it as a compliment. “I mean, I don’t envy her pressure. More and more shit’s been pilin’ on her shoulders these months. And she’s not gonna be unloading any of the responsibilities if she can help it, that wouldn’t match up with her vision, would it? Princess Of Hell, finally doin’ something productive for a change. Prob’ for the best, since lightening her load’ll probably do in the spine of whatever sucker volunteers. All pressure’s heavy at the best of times.”

You sighed in sympathy. “Tell me about it. You never expect to be the cause of a black hole.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Did you get any hints where Charlie went off to?”

“No. If she’s not back until supper, Alastor’ll probably throw a fit. He loves her fawning whenever she sits down to his cooking.”

You made a mental note to text Vaggie if Charlie doesn’t make it back before sundown. Whatever trouble was brewing, it would likely affect your and Alastor’s plans. You couldn’t risk too many interlacing threads getting tangled.

—

“You could always start a ‘podcast’ series. I detest them less than most modern medias. I may even give yours a listen!”

“Podcasts may be a successful culture, but I fear it wouldn’t be aggressive enough,” you said to Alastor, both of you sat across one of the small tables dotting the hotel study, an open notebook and pen in front of you. “It’s gotta be something people obsess over. Something that earns a lot of money and eats up a lot of time. Something unrepentantly mainstream.”

“Oh, with your charisma, I’m sure you could be a trailblazer in making any media a mainstream mainstay,” Alastor alliterated. He took a sip from his mug of lightly-brewed coffee, more akin to a tea, to avoid over-exciting himself this late in the afternoon.

You sighed tired, crossing out ‘popstar’ and ‘idol musical group’. Too short-lived to make a successful Overlord career out of it. Alastor’s flattery had a ring of truth, you could theoretically manipulate any field you’d end up in, but you didn’t want to make this any harder than it needed to be.

He had finished up the last touches on his pulled pork recipe before leaving it to stew in the kitchen, and tracked you down out of curiosity. It was just the two of you in the study for now, but you kept one eye open in case someone else decided to pay a visit.

You hovered your pen over ‘celebrity surgeon’, just about to ask if Alastor could turn down the volume of the big band he was blaring obnoxiously, before you sensed two pairs of footsteps approach. The two of you turned to Husk and Vaggie strolling in.

“Oh joy, you’re here,” Husk groused sarcastically. It had not gone unnoticed that Alastor had spent the last few days wandering around the hotel more often than he usually did, rather than couching himself in the secluded corners.

“Now, is that any way to greet your friends?” With a crank, Alastor snapped his head to an unnatural 30°. Vaggie, who had grown a modicum more tolerant of the guy, didn’t take the opportunity to needle him, and proceeded to guide Husk to a specific bookshelf in the far corner. She traced her finger along the spines, then pulled out a small hardcover and held it out for Husk.

“Here. From Kuomintang To Kraft Mac: A Brief Timeline Of Events From 1950 - 1970 ”, Vaggie said, handing the book over. “We’re missing the next volume, but Charlie can order it.”

“It’s fine. Thanks.” Husk opened and browsed the first few pages. You could see Leviathan's symbol printed on the opening cover. One of the official hell-produced encyclopedias that detailed living events for the sake of its sinner residents.

Alastor didn’t hesitate to milk the opportunity. “Why, Husker, my good man! Are you feeling a scholarly bent? I wasn’t aware you knew which end to open a book from!”

“We were talking about hot sauces,” Vaggie allowed herself a small grin at Husk’ dramatic eyeroll. “I know you like using the tabasco pepper-based ones, but Husk was just telling me that he missed the sweeter, pulpy pastes from his time spent across the sea. I said that the world has slowly come around to spices from all over the world.”

“Back in my day, you were lucky to find a dusty bottle of Trappey’s at the mart. I’m surprised America embraced hot spice at all,” Husk added. He spared a glance at the rest of the encyclopedia collection, which boasted a recollection from prehistoric civilization to the rise of the internet. Some of the volumes were depressingly wrinkled and worn, and more than one was absent.

Alastor didn’t respond, instead rested his chin on the back of his hands, smiling peacefully at the space over Husk’s shoulder. You knew he was thinking of his mortal days, too, when most people made their own bottled sauces from a summer pepper harvest, acidifying mashed jalapeño and cayenne in vinegar and salt, sealing the repurposed cola bottle with cork and wax. It wasn’t until the ‘50’s when hot pepper sauces started appearing in most American recipe books, and it would take a further 30 years before international cuisines reached proper globalization.

It was nice to see Vaggie and Husk getting along. And perhaps the both of them were learning to tolerate Alastor a bit more.

Still, both of them eyed Alastor with a distasteful eye, which didn’t phase him in the slightest. Husk, in particular, would rather he spend as little time around the man as possible. Before Alastor forced him to work for the hotel, Husk almost never had contact with the man. You were sure he missed those days dearly.

The same sentiment wasn’t quite shared by Alastor, who didn’t hold Husk in high regard, but enjoyed his company well enough. And he’ll put up with Vaggie’s ire to a surprisingly high degree.

“Vaggie, do you know where Charlie is? I heard she left this morning, and it’s almost dinnertime,” you asked.

Vaggie’s expression turned slightly pensive, and she averted her eyes. “She’s … meeting with old friends. It’s complicated.”

“Royalty issues?” Husk asked.

“Sorta like that. She should be back soon,” Vaggie assured, but you didn’t miss the subtle glance she threw towards her phone, sitting in her skirt pocket.

“What kind of friends keep a busy woman for so long? It must be important ,” Alastor said, emphasizing the last word with an oily grin. Vaggie shot him a warning glance. She had far from forgotten the deal he had convinced Charlie to make.

“Like I said, it’s a royalty issue. Those types of friends aren’t ones you can risk losing. Aren’t you an Overlord? You should relate to the whole, ‘high-society’ sort of thing.”

“Oh, Vaggie dear,” Alastor flapped a hand dismissively, “I haven’t bothered with the ins-and-outs of hell’s Overlord dog-eat-dog kerfuffle in years! You see new faces come and go like the wind. I may enjoy the company of a select few that share a spot at the table, but not for power. For their conversation! For their fun! For keeping up with me on the dance floor, hah!”

“Like Overlord Rosie?” You asked, and he affirmed, “Precisely!”

“You know,” Husk was still scanning over the encyclopedia, speaking to the air as if on an aside, “I heard from a certain little spider that you’re still as lady-less as freshly fallen snow.”

Vaggie raised an eyebrow as Alastor’s smile turned downwards. “And your point?”

“Just sayin’. You got all your lady friends, what’s stopping you?” Husk met Alastor’s unamused glare with a little smirk.

“Well, it just so happens that my friends tend to be women. They bring the best out in me!”

It didn’t take a genius to understand Alastor’s personal preferences in friends. The lively and prevaricative Niffty, the gregarious and wayward Mimzy, the cordial and extroverted Rosie. This was in comparison to those that annoy him; the prickly Vaggie. The invasive Angel Dust. Charlie, herself, must have drawn Alastor’s affections by virtue of simply being jovial. He loved to see smiles and loved to hear them sing.

Not being a man would also score a couple points in the ‘friends’ column. And speak of the devil, Alastor piped up; “And men? Brutes, much of them, graceless.”

Vaggie pointed out that he was a man, which apparently was the expected set-up for his prepared joke, “I need no reminder! After all, I find myself shouldering the burden of being proper gentlemanly to compensate for those who aren’t! Ah, the days when men at least did things like start a conversation with a proper greeting, and ended with a proper ‘goodbye’. I do miss when evocation was a schooling curriculum. Husk! Recite!” He pointed his cane at Husk, who gave a long suffering groan.

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Exactly! Did your teacher ever have you recite The Lady of Shallot , or at least See Spot Run ? Come, old fellow, give me hope that the art of spoken word hasn’t been completely lost.”

To your surprise, Husk rose to the bait with, “Tôi đéo quan tâm.”

It was a clever blow. Alastor was skilled, but he knew no second language fluently. His Louisiana Creole was dreadful. His pride taken a blow, Alastor’s grin twitched, but he pulled himself back together with a twirl of his cane.

“Ah, like a dock sailor. Impressively worldly. But as brutish as an ox.”

The chatter went on, but you focused on your notes. Alastor was exaggerating, plenty of modern people knew public speaking, especially the entertainers. Any television figure worth their salt made sure their audience could follow along not just with clarity, but with enjoyment. News anchors, game show hosts, social media vloggers, podcast narrators, video game streamers -

Streamers . Scheduled broadcasts of live commentary. Responding to the audience in real time. Recorded in a set location. Commonly arranged by genre content. Earning thousands of dollars every year. Even sponsorships were comparably as invasive as a bugle for Edgeworth Cigarettes from during the golden age of radio.

You wrote with vigor. Streaming would require an expensive set-up if you wanted to cultivate the proper attention. Studio lights, audio recording, multiple high-definition cameras and mounts, a backdrop, not to mention the software.

Your spacious hotel quarters would do, once you got proper acoustic foam wall panels. And luckily, Alastor’s presence in the hotel made for a very powerful modem, to his annoyance. The internet speed here is wild.

Would you focus on video games? Viral challenges? Conspiracy theories and social drama? Offer adult content? The most successful streamers usually have one main focus, although the more famous one got, the more they could branch without risking alienating their audience.

And once you establish your place within the internet world, you’d start to ask for more and more money from your adoring fans. Some wouldn’t be able to pay. So you’d offer a deal , instead. Plenty of people have committed to worse for the sake of their idols.

To become one of the top Overlords, you’d have to total a soul count in the five-hundreds, at the very least. Owning actual real estate would also help -shareholding a business or two, or maybe you’d develop a brand from the bottom up.

To grow from niche interest to mainstream name, you’ll make and distribute products. You’ll cultivate entertaining drama with other media personalities with the intent of going viral. You’d be on friendly terms with Alastor’s enemies, and make vague threats towards his friends.

Alastor turned from the others to see what you were so excited about. He couldn’t quite read your handwriting upside down, but he could tell that you had hit a revelation.

“Ah, but poor Charlie! I hope her ‘friends’ at least have the good manners to serve dinner, because she certainly won’t be arriving on time for ours! Come now, my good people, to the dining room! Husk, bring out the Austrian Riesling, it’ll pair nicely with the pork.”

“Why are we drinking good wine with barbecue?” you heard him grumble as Alastor managed to usher him and Vaggie out. You finished your notes with a flourish, stuffed your notebook away, and jogged after them.

#alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel headcanon #alastor headcanons

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mywebfoot · 7 months

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In Every Winter Night, Part 4 (Marry My Husband Fanfic)

Author's note: Don't read this in the office. Really. Don't. Part 4 of 4.

Ji Hyuk

In the car, Ji Won sat quietly in the passenger seat. The day was over, and they were crossing the long bridge south, headed home. The highway lights passed over her rhythmically, sweeping over briefly before going dark again. Ji Hyuk glanced over occasionally, drawn by the high line of her nose, and the exquisite shape of her lips.

He'd always thought she was beautiful, but as her confidence and assurance had grown she became regal - a queen of her own destiny, wrenching victory where others would lie defeated. He’d been attracted to her before, for her protective, nurturing side. But this, this fiercer side, was new. In recent weeks she had fundamentally changed, no, morphed, tearing her way out of old skin, to emerge like some sleek creature prone to laying quietly while hiding vicious fangs.

It made him weak in the knees.

He knew his feelings had left like, and love a long time ago, and was dangerously close to full on worship already.

Like this evening, at the all-team meeting. Ji Won had been killing it with her presentation, developing her proposed marketing strategy with layer after layer of data, anticipating objections and pushing back with iron-clad logic that showed she had already considered the pitfalls. He knew he sounded like an all-out nerd, admiring the genius of her analyses, but a part of him would always be the guy with the thick glasses and the cheap haircut.

And this was despite being turned on all day by the naughty idea she had planted in his mind.

Speaking of which, his heart had nearly stopped when, about 10 minutes into the presentation, she had paused. Then she had looked him in the eye, and said, “It’s quite warm in here, did someone turn up the thermostat? Give me a second while I take off this jacket.” His eyes had widened and words he could not say rushed through his mind, stomped screeching brakes and ended up a steaming 4-lane pileup in the middle of his brain. Which then proceeded to melt as her hands reached up to peel her jacket back and off. He couldn’t help it, his eyes went right to her breasts.

Or… where her breasts would have been if they had not been behind some kind of …band? Ji Hyuk knew little of women’s fashion, but whatever she was wearing under her white shirt, it had no straps. Instead, like a censorship smudge, the pale material slashed across her torso, redacting her body safely and snugly away from any prying eyes, including his. He looked back up at her laughing eyes.

He had nearly had a heart attack, and there she was laughing at him. He wanted to end the meeting right there and drag her off somewhere to smack her pert behind for the sheer torture she had put him through today. Speaking of which, he glanced over at her again, seated in his passenger seat, once again bundled in all the layers that winter dictated.

“Did you enjoy it, half-killing me today?”

Ji Hyuk glanced at her face, and saw the rueful smile. “Maybe a little.”

His eyes turned back to the road. “It seemed like a lot more than 'a little',” he teased.

He heard the rustle of her moving, and from the corner of his eye he saw her unbuttoning her coat.

“Too warm?”

“Yes.”

Something in her tone made him glance over.

Then he gasped. He white-knuckled the steering wheel and somehow steered them across two lanes to the safety of the rode shoulder. An offended horn blared past, the driver flipping them off. Their car came to a shuddering, jerky stop as his foot spasmed on the brake.

“Ji Won-sshi” was all he could say. His eyes were glued to the front of her shirt, where the chill air had made her nipples thrust into the placket of her silky shirt. The material clung, and he learnt that she had slightly up-tilted breasts, with a generous undercurve. She was perfect.

“Touch me. Please,” she whispered, “- I..” Her voice shook, but her eyes remained trained on his. “I need you to touch me. You promised me it would be this week and all I did was think about how it would feel if you would just put your hands here. All week, the slightest touch would make me hot, and I couldn’t stand it any more. So I wore the the tube-top today, just to have a thicker barrier than my bra. But just now I took it off and-” and then she moaned from the heat of his hand.

He had cupped her. It was a very public area, and he wanted to protect her from prying eyes, but he couldn’t deny her, not when she was pleading for his touch. With shaking fingers, his left hand covered the luscious curve of her right breast, gently petting her. Experimentally, he squeezed, wanting to know how her flesh would give under his fingers. The car filled with the sound of desperate gasps for air, his, hers.

Insistently, she arched her back, thrusting both breasts into the yellow street light slanting in from the windscreen. He could see the faint darker shadow of the tempting peak. With his index finger, he trailed an admiring touch over the insistent nubbin. Her body jerked, and the slight jiggle in her breasts broke him. His hand slid down to her waist, jerking her forward and burying his face between her breasts. He groaned and turned to mouth her.

When she felt the wet lave of his tongue Ji Won’s body spasmed. Hard licks flicked her nipple through the shirt, followed by the desperate scrape of his teeth over the soaked cloth. She thrust both hands into his hair and pulled him even closer. “More, Ji Hyuk-sshi,” she whimpered.

In the next second he was gone. She opened her eyes to protest. His face was grim and his hair stood up in tousled spikes. The fingers that until seconds ago had been loving her, gripped the steering wheel. He stared fixedly ahead as he fought to control his breathing.

“Ji Won-sshi,” he growled.

“Listen to me carefully. We have three and a half minutes before we reach home. For three and a half minutes, I will have to fight this damn erection and the urge to grab you. It will take everything I have.”

He spared her one searing glance, taking in the wet, almost translucent spot on her shirt. His jaw worked and he determinedly pulled his gaze back to the road.

“You, will now button up, and stay buttoned up. Do not move, by all that's holy, and do not make a sound or our first time will be on Seongsu Bridge, Seoul at, “ he glanced at the dashboard clock, “seven thirty-eight p.m.”

Ji Won

Ji Hyuk would be a desperate but thorough lover.

That was the only thought in her head as they tore into the basement car park, and drunken parked across two lots. He got out, slammed the door behind him, and marched around to her side. She was out before he could get to her, tugging her firmly buttoned coat into place. His eyes were dark, narrowed, and the frown across his wide brow would have been intimidating if she had not known that she was the cause.

His hands came up as if in surrender.

“Do not touch me in the lift, Ji Won-sshi. Please.” His voice came out low and strangled, but at least he could speak. She could not get a word out past the tightness in her throat. She just nodded once.

He pushed his hands as deep as they would go into his winter coat pockets and turned, leading the way to the lift lobby. His long, urgent strides made his coat flap behind him. He stabbed at the lift button, then he turned to watch her as she caught up. She prayed no one else would get into the lift. They would smell the sex in the air.

Finally, finally, the doors opened on his floor. Again he strode in front of her, leading the way and opening the apartment door for her to enter. The door clicked behind them and his hands came up to grasp her arms. Oddly, he didn’t pull her in, but instead leaned down to examine her face. One eyebrow lifted.

“Are you sure?” he rasped, the arousal in his voice still apparent. “We can still just play, as much as you want. Just count what I said earlier about us making love as the madness of the moment. I want you, with every fibre of my being. But only on your time. If you turn around and leave now, I will take a cold shower and deal with it. Do you hear me, Ji Won-sshi? It only makes sense for me when it makes sense for you.”

Ji Won reached up and pulled is hand away, one, then the other. They dropped to his sides.

Then she lifted her chin, kept her eyes on him, and slid her coat and jacket off her shoulders. It hit the floor. His eyes narrowed, his breath quickened, but still he waited.

With the tiniest tremor, she reached up and unbuttoned her shirt. One button. Two. And then the rest. The silken barrier whispered open. She watched him stare at her, and saw his eyes devour every inch of exposed skin. His gaze slid down, tracing her creamy cleavage, before it reached her taut belly button. She put one hand on his forearm, still in his coat, the bunching muscles underneath twisting at her touch. She slid her hand down, till she could twine her fingers with his.

She led him to his huge sofa, tugging him behind her. “Sit,” was all she said.

He sat, putting his head even with her breasts. They had not turned on the living room lights, so the only source of light came from the city laid out below them, a wintry blue outline on every surface of the room. Boldly, she slipped out of her shirt, and it slid down her shoulders, the material catching briefly on the tips before it sighed to the floor. He swore, and stared fixedly at her exposed breasts. Her nipples stood proudly, turgid and flushed, as they had been all day.

“Take me,” she breathed.

His hands immediately came up to span her waist. He tugged her near, and opened his mouth over her, but this time nothing was protecting her from the searing sensation of his slippery, sensous tongue on her. Their moans filled the air. Breathing became difficult and she whimpered and squirmed in his arms. The scratchy roughness of his coat brushed the skin of her uncovered back and arms, almost overwhelming her with the stimulation.

Her fingers dug into his wide shoulders, and she buried her nose into his hair, breathing in his spicy male scent, some beguiling mix of Yu Ji Hyuk and clean soap. She drove all her fingers through his silky hair, guiding him from left to right and then back again, as he tugged and loved her breasts. She couldn’t help it, and writhed and squirmed back and forth, unwittingly pulling her breast out of his mouth with a soft pop.

Now, the only thing holding her steady were his strong hands, spreading restlessly over waist and back, sliding over her skirt-covered behind to drag her body over his.

She wanted to straddle him, but her pencil skirt didn’t have much room. So she reached down and tugged it up. Ji Hyuk felt the motion and he leaned back to relish the incoming view. Her body was bisected by a tight band of black pencil skirt, with bare, glistening nakedness above, and a tempting wisp of lingerie below. The tiny, silky triangle of white lace protected her, for now. He swore, and whispered his desire for her, telling her in shocking details the things he wanted to do with her, in that low rough-edged voice. He was factual, specific and to the point, as was his style. She was scandalized, but his words made images form in her mind, of sweaty tangled bodies, of his muscled back as he thrust into her, of pure pleasure.

“Do you want all that, Ji Won-sshi?” he half-groaned the words. “Or tell me it’s too early and we’ll stop now.”

She shook her head desperately, pride schooled by her frantic need for this man. "More."

With a deep growl he wrapped her legs around his waist and stood up. One muscled arm wrapped around her waist, the other grabbed her behind.

He put his lips to her ear and rasped, “To the room then.”

Ji Hyuk

He wanted badly to make their first night special. But that was when he still could think.

Now, as he laid her out under him, he could only act. He shucked his jacket, frantic hands throwing everything to the floor with abandon. He toed off his shoes and fumbled and tugged his shirt over his head in the same motion. She just lay in bed, her lithe curves outlined by moon and city lights, wickedly half-dressed with her skirt around her waist and the little triangle of lace winking at him as she raised one knee. His pants and underwear were flung away and he joined her in bed.

He twisted his fingers around the tiny scrap of lace and tugged hard. It ripped and he was not sorry. Something feral had woken in him when they met again in 2013, and it would not be soothed. Their little seduction agreement had unleashed that underlying monstrous need for her. Their love play had merely whetted the beast’s appetite. She opened her legs with a gasp, he immediately sunk in and everything, everything became searing white heat.

Her fingers dug into his back, clutched his butt and she arched, half-crying as she came. The ridiculous speed of her orgasm surprised him, and his body went rigid. He groaned senseless, begging words into her ear, fighting for some shred of control as her inner muscles throbbed and pulsed around him. She writhed sensually under him milking him thoroughly.

He tried to last a little longer, tried to keep grinding his hips to maximize her pleasure, but just like her, he went down. The waves of lava heat burned through him and crashed over him, drowning him in the smell, shape and red spice of her. His hips jerked wild and uncoordinated, his chest and belly slid against hers and he came blindingly hard.

In every winter night, In every summer day, In the flights of spring, in the spirals of fall, You're in my minutes, in my meals, in my shoes, In the big, in the small, You're my everything, my all.

Author's note: Well. Ahem. I was trying to give them a beautiful first night to remember. But Yu Ji Hyuk happened. He gave me a tiny smirk and he whispered in her ear, and there went all my plans.

I really wanted to finish this before the finale, so please excuse typos and weird transitions.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

#marry my husband #fanfic #yu jihyuk #Kang jiwon #they've killed me #canon compliant #thank you ep16!

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merry-andrews · 2 months

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𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐂 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒

MIDWEST DETECTIVE. files of black and white newspaper clippings. long beige trench coats. lace curtains in cobwebbed attics. 1950s love songs through a.m. radio static. piebald deer. ominous billboards against a flat grey horizon. leather messenger bags and cups of black coffee. headlights through blizzards. hatchets propped against stacks of hickory wood. abandoned factories. the scent of ink. blood on snow.

UNIVERSITY VAMPIRE. white button-down shirts. the scent of ancient books in drafty tomb-like library stacks. wrought iron candelabras dripping wax. gaunt portraits of renaissance noblemen in folds of red fabric. steaming chalices of mulled wine. garlands of dried oranges. vitrolas playing classical symphonies. ravens perched on the snowy sills of arched windows. black peacoats. gold astrolabes. blood on parchment.

LIGHTHOUSE-KEEPER’S GHOST. heavy grey wool sweaters. fossilized trilobites & ammonites. splintering sheets of silver ice on inky black water. st. elmo’s fire. dusty sea glass bottles. fractal patterns of frost on window panes. boxes of matches and magazine clippings. curling tentacles & faded tattoos. dissonant player piano tunes. the smell of juniper. eerie yellow-green light through heavy fogs. circles of salt. blood on water. ( I love this one!! )

VILLAGE WEREWOLF. brown cobblestone cottages capped with snow. clawmarks through sycamore bark. baskets of yarn and knitted smoky grey cloaks. ram’s skulls mounted stable walls. straw dolls & fingerless gloves. clouds of hot breath hanging in freezing air. tapestries of black-haired beasts accented with crimson embroidery. gas lanterns. chanted children’s rhymes. the scent of fir trees and rich soil. blood on wool.

My muse: Homelander!

Tagged by dear @chaoticjoke I loooove youuu!!! <3

Tagging: @angelfacedarling @leagueofdccm @h-a-unted @nghtmarish @aerospectrum @vihrago @magicalberserk @dollhidden @omniterror @chaosfindsaway @justsurv1vor @myriadxofxmuses @stxrfallx and @eutz for his Mason!!! >:)

#tag game #<3

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ithebookhoarder · 2 years

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hello! if requests are open, could you write something about Benedict Bridgerton with a lover who is a poet/writer, in the same way as he is an artist? this is vague, but I trust you with the details! thank you! ❤

Benedict with a Poet/Writer for a S/O:

A/N: Thank you, I’m honestly so flattered. Hopefully I did this justice as this is my new favourite idea. I’m obsessed 💕 I just love this adorable artistic bisexual idiot.

Masterlist:

Benedict is very used to the artistic temperament given the circles he runs in both at Lord Granville’s parties and at the academy. He knows all too well the sudden urge to put instrument to paper, to capture whatever stroke of genius has suddenly popped into your head.

It’s why he always carries a spare pencil in his pocket at all times, and a notebook, for both of you to capture thoughts when out and about. It has amused Eloise on many occasions when you have suddenly reached into his coat pocket at some formal gathering, only to pluck out the book to jot down something or other - regardless of present company.

Speaking of company, Benedict would be more than happy to expand your joint circle of friends to include artists of all types. He loves being introduced to your fellow literary enthusiasts, and is all too keen to engage them in debates about the latest and greatest works of the English language.

Less keen on your endeavours are your poor household staff, who are all-too used to removing ink and paint from your clothes at this point.

Between you and Benedict you get through far too many shirts, skirts, and gloves - which is why you both much prefer to stick to simple garb at home, and even sans clothing if alone in your bedroom.

“It’s simply common sense,” he teases, reaching for the ties on the back of your dress.

You may or may not have also shown up to dinner once or twice with ink smudged on your cheek after leaning your head on your hand (Benedict swears he’s never seen anything half as adorable).

Expect him to indulge you in every way, whether it be buying you all the books your heart desires, or carving out a large portion of your household budget for ink, pencils, and paper.

Just as he is often shy to let others see whatever he is working on, he respects you may not be that comfortable letting him see whatever project you are working on.

He understands if you refuse, but he’ll still ask, or even try and sneak a peak when he thinks you aren't looking.

He never judges or mocks you and your ideas. If anything he thinks you’re better than Lord Byron, John Keats, and Shakespeare all rolled in to one - something he proudly declares at every opportunity, much to your embarrassment.

He is also the first to suggest publishing your work (which you are quick to point out is ironic, considering he hates whenever you try to get him to display his work in collections or exhibitions).

Benedict is also always willing to provide an ear for you, and has often enjoyed listening to you reading aloud as he sketches or paints at his easel. (He has also come up with a few lines of merit himself - which earned him a desperate kiss of gratitude after days of writer’s block.)

He loves watching when you when you’re writing, often curled up by the window with a steaming cup of tea nearby - the way your nose scrunches when you re-read a line, the way you mutter softly to yourself, the way you bite on the end of the pen before furiously crossing sections out - he loves it all.

He has pages of sketches dedicated to capturing you and your creative process.

Has often carried you to bed after finding you asleep, hunched over your work at your desk.

He’s also pretty good at knowing when you need to take a break.

"Darling, perhaps we should go for a walk." Benedict smiles as speaks, and you know it’s more of an order than a request. He has a habit of doing that when it comes to your welfare and taking care of you. Still, you’re grateful for the excuse to put down your pen for a minute and look at anything other than pages of ink scribbles before you - they didn't even look like words anymore, you're so tired.

You nod, holding your hand out to him in invitation - one he was only too eager to accept.

You don't know how Benedict had got so good at massaging, but you instantly melt into his touch every time he begins to rub and knead your aching fingers and joints.

"I know. I know,” you sigh. “I should've stopped earlier but-"

"-you had to finish or you would lose the words forever. I know," he teases.

He kisses your hand, a gesture you’re very familiar with at this point as you turn your palm to rest it against his cheek.

"Thank you, my love," you hum as he leans into your touch.

The kiss he presses to your hand says it all. "Anytime."

#benendict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x you #ithebookhoarder #masterlist #thesilentmage #Benedict Bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #Bridgerton #bridgerton books #bridgerton netflix #bridgerton season 2

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frogshunnedshadows · 2 months

Text

Put a second coat of paint on my Invisible Man gag t-shirt.

Hand-washed the mask, and then wrung it out. That was a mistake – now it's rather wrinkly and I feel like I want to iron it or steam it or something : /

Did a costume test & quickie photo for the classic 1933 suit and tie outfit. Looks ... OK? Would look a lot better if my mask was finished and fitted tightly, not with a bunch of stray strips of cloth dangling off all over. But the goggles-over-glasses work pretty well.

...Now I'm afraid the time for a lot of sewing is here...

#text post #wip #updates #invisible man #costumery #tomfoolery #etc

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starstruckunknown-princess · 2 years

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I’ll Warm You Up

Pairing: Eddie Munson x OC (Emily, no physical descriptions)

Warnings: Making out, mention of hypothermia

Word Count: 891

Summary: When the heat in her trailer goes out, Emily seeks out help from her metalhead neighbor, Eddie.

A/N: Fluffcember Day 16! This is a bit longer and I was so happy to finally get to my metalhead lover, Eddie! I just think he’s...so sexy...he can warm me up anytime, amirite? I hope you enjoy it!

Fluffcember Masterlist

Emily knocked on the door of her neighbor’s trailer, stamping her feet in the snow. She prayed that Eddie wasn’t in school today. Was it still winter break? She couldn’t remember.

Footsteps, then the door unlocked. Thank God, she thought. She’d been freezing since she woke up to find out that the heat in her trailer had gone out sometime in the night. For the better part of the day she’d tried to fix it herself since her waitressing job didn’t pay her enough to afford a repairman.

Eddie opened the door, and she was, as usual, temporarily entranced by his dark brown puppy eyes. He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his Iron Maiden t-shirt.

Before Emily could say anything, he asked, “Heat out again?”

“Yep. I tried fixing it the way you did last time but nothing.” her voice trembled as she shivered — her thin coat was not suitable for Indiana winter.

“Yeah, I know a guy who can fix your heat,” he said, stepping aside to let her in, “Come on in, I’ll call him.”

Emily crossed the threshold into Eddie’s trailer, rubbing her arms through her ineffective coat. Try as she might, she couldn’t help the shaking in her hands, her body’s attempt at generating its own warmth.

“Do you still have that box of tea I left here last time?” she asked through chattering teeth.

Eddie approached her from behind and laid his large, warm hands on her shoulders to move her forward, further into the warmth of the trailer. She resisted leaning back against him lest she burrow into his chest like Luke Skywalker in the tauntaun.

“Uhh, no, Wayne and I drank through the rest of it. I’ll get some coffee going, you head back into my room, get under the covers. I’ll be there in a moment.” Eddie said, passing her and going into the small kitchen where the stove and telephone were.

“Trying to get me into bed after I come to you for help?” Emily teased, “You utter rapscallion!”

“Em, your lips are turning blue and you can’t stop shivering. You need to warm up. My room is the hottest part of this shitheap,” he said, then poked his head out of the kitchen to look at her, “Pun unintended.” He winked and she smiled at him.

“Okay, okay,” she agreed, making her way down the hall and into Eddie’s room. She’d been in it before, but never on his bed. She usually sat on the floor with him while they listened to metal or, more and more, Emily’s new wave albums. He would play her songs he’d taught himself on his “sweetheart” and she would help him with his homework. Even though they were both twenty, Eddie just couldn’t seem to pass enough classes to graduate.

Emily ditched her shoes by the door and, reluctantly, shucked off her coat as well. She lifted the various blankets strewn about Eddie’s mattress and layered them as best she could before crawling underneath them, tucking them around her sitting position tightly. In the other room, she heard Eddie’s voice on the phone and a slight laugh before he hung up.

“My guy will be here in twenty,” he said as he entered the room with a mug of steaming coffee. He held it out to her and she took it in hands that were cold, but at least no longer shaking. “How are you doing, Em-sicle?”

“Thawing out,” she said, sipping the hot drink, “Thanks so much, Eddie, I owe you big time.”

“Think nothing of it, princess,” he said, sitting next to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. The nickname made her blush; she was far from a princess, but sometimes the way Eddie looked at her made her feel like one.

“Does that make you my knight in shining armor?” she joked, but felt Eddie sit up a little straighter. She turned her head to look at him and his plush lips were pulled back in a smile. Her eyes flickered back and forth between his dark eyes and his lips. If he pulled his hair out of his face and swapped the t-shirt for a chestplate, she knew he would look the part.

“Do you want me to be?” he teased.

With one of her thawed hands, she reached up and stroked his smooth cheek. Before she could register what she was doing, her hand slipped through his soft brown curls and pulled his face closer to hers so their lips were only a breath apart.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

His hand came up and he traced a finger down her cheek, the ring making her shiver slightly. He leaned forward, her name an exhale, before capturing her lips in a gentle yet searing kiss. She flicked her tongue along the seam of his lips, his moan dampening her panties. Bursting out of the layers of blankets, she flung one of her legs across his lap to straddle him.

“You know,” he breathed, his hands running up and down her chilled thighs, “This isn’t what I meant by warm up.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“Don’t you dare,” Eddie said, planting a hand on her upper back and flipping them over onto his bed so he was on top of her.

Fluffcember Masterlist

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson x oc #heat goes out #friends to lovers #fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things #st fanfic #stranger things fandom #stranger things fanfiction #writing challenge #fluffcember

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art-of-manliness · 8 days

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Iron Your Jeans, Pardner

YOU DO NOT IRON A CREASE IN YOUR JEANS! That’s been the golden rule of denim for years. Why? Simple. Jeans are casual. Workwear. Creases spell formality. Mixing the two? It’s like wearing a tuxedo to mow the lawn. But my old man, Tom McKay, ironed his jeans religiously. Well, he wore ironed jeans. My mom did the actual ironing. As a federal game warden, Dad’s work uniform was a pair of crisply ironed bootcut Wranglers, a pique polo, and cowboy boots. As a kid, I remember watching Mom iron a sharp crease into my dad’s jeans while she watched Touched by an Angel and thinking to myself, “What gives? Jeans aren’t business slacks!” Fast-forward to me in my 40s, and I’m flipping through old photos at my folks’ house. There’s Dad in his razor-sharp creased Wranglers, and damn if he doesn’t look like he means business. Tom McKay, meaning business in his ironed Wranglers, circa 1989. But I also started noticing ironed Wranglers in other places besides my old family photo albums. The troubadour George Strait rocks creased Wranglers like they’re dress pants (even wearing them with a tuxedo top). Cowboys in rural Oklahoma sport pressed denim like it’s their Sunday best. Turns out, there’s a whole subset of cowboys who swear by starched, ironed jeans. Their reasons? * Protection: They claim the starch acts like armor. (Debatable — science says it might weaken the fabric.) * Looks sharp: A crease in your Wranglers says, “I’m ready to bale some hay, but I could also take my gal to Cattleman’s Steakhouse right afterward.” Besides seeing them on 90s country music legends and cowpokes in Blanco, OK, I’ve also been seeing ironed Wranglers amongst the hip, young crowd. Bootcut Wranglers, ironed to perfection, are becoming a thing amongst fashion-forward cool dudes. Even the Wrancher — a polyester cowboy dress pant (another style staple of Tom McKay) — is gaining traction. And so, curiosity got the better of me. I took the plunge and ironed my Cowboy Cut Wranglers. Reader, it’s a solid look. At least, I think so. Here are a few looks I put together with my ironed jeans: Calling this first fit “The Tom McKay”— ironed bootcut Wranglers with a pique polo shirt and a thick leather belt. Pops was a Land’s End polo shirt man, but he had a few Lacoste polo shirts too. He mixed Southwestern desert vibes with 80’s tennis preppy. The man had style! Sporting my Grandpa Bill Hurst’s Western sport coat and bolo tie. Great for Sunday church services or when you’re solving a murder in a Cormac McCarthy novel. Repping my New Mexican heritage with the yellow Zia red sun t-shirt. Tucked-in, natch. Cowboy belt from Zilker. It’s funny how life works. Here I am, channeling my dad’s 40-year-old style. Cat’s in the cradle, indeed. A Few Thoughts On Ironing Jeans: * Stick to bootcut Wranglers. Ironing your jeans is a Western thing. Your straight-fit selvedge denim? Don’t iron them. Also, since you’re ironing your bootcut Wranglers, wear cowboy boots with them. * Iron them just like you would dress pants. See our extensive guide on how to iron pants. My mom recommended that you use a lot of steam to get that sharp crease in the jeans. I starched mine and liked the results. It might not be good for the fabric, but boy howdy does it provide a nice, crisp crease. * Dress high, medium, and low. Dress up your ironed jeans with a fancy Western shirt and sport coat, go Tom-McKay-business-casual with the pique polo, or take things down a notch with a tucked-in tee and a cool belt. Want to shake up your style? Give ironed Wranglers a shot. They mean business. Help support independent publishing. Make a donation to The Art of Manliness! Thanks for the support! http://dlvr.it/TD8nzK

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chocolate-teapots · 2 years

Text

The Mistake: Jeon Jungkook

●╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮●

You had sex with Jungkook.

So now you must suffer.

●╰╯╰╯╰╯╰╯╰╯╰╯╰╯●

Warnings: gosh where do I begin, swearing, sexual tension, tattooed JK, public makeout, jealousy, groping, duality, filthy talk like it should be illegal, domination, rough smut, JK pushes you into the wall, overstimulation, F receiving oral, fingering, fucking on every surface, crying, grinding, JK cums in his pants, couch sex, arrogant JK.

I was relieved at the idea of a Marvel movie marathon with all the guys in my apartment. But, as much as Scarlett Johansson in sexy tight costumes was a whole buffet for thought, my mind was eating somewhere else.

"Doth mother know you weareth her drapes?" he mocks along with Tony Stark, giggling and slapping his knees in amusement making popcorn go everywhere.

It was humiliating to think that Kook, wide-eyed and choking himself with obscene amounts of popcorn at one time could also be JK, the dangerous long-haired douche that made me press my legs together and hide my flush in the dark at even the memory of his touch. Why did I give in so easily?

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Bringing Jungkook as a plus one to my cousin's wedding sounded like a genius idea at the time. I've known him since the beginning of school so it was easy to have fun making fun of everyone and everything and he was a hot college guy so I didn't look completely boring and sad to judgy family members.

If only I realised it wasn't other people I had to worry about but us.

After a few slow dances, suggestive exchanges and a lot of free champagne we scammed our way through later, my back hit the cold wall of the grand hallway. Kook is no more as we give in to each other's lips, pressing me into the marble in a contagious mixture of moans and giggles. His white shirt is rolled up, exposing his veiny arms and fresh tattoos, and slightly unbuttoned. I could've busted on the spot.

"Taxi!"

He pulls me outside, making me stumble in the airy feeling his kisses gave me, the long tight dress and the heels I was wearing. We made it to the coat check before we gave in again. Jungkook's hand pressed into my lower back perfectly while his other held his blazer, smiling through the slower deeper kiss as the jacket man awkwardly and bitterly waits and watches.

Jungkook knew he was watching so he let him wait.

"Your coat miss," he politely interrupts but rather impolitely strips me with his narrowed eyes and bitter smirk.

"Thanks, buddy," Jungkook snatches it proudly before shaking his head "But, no chance."

The next thing I knew the fresh air was gone. He climbed on top of me in the back seat, kissing and groping and tongues gliding against each other. The windows started to steam, the laughter in between kisses died down and things started to get serious, so serious in fact we hadn't realised the taxi wasn't moving or the driver's presence until he cleared his throat.

Now, where would we go?

"Shit, Jimin's home and I'm not sure I can keep quiet," he breathed into my face, hair and necklace hanging down to chill my skin.

Who made him?

I reach down grinning, liquid courage doing me wonders at the moment. I gripped a slight hardness through his tight trousers watching his jaw clench beautifully in the dark.

"My roommate's in Spain."

"Drive!!!"

I look again at the kid spread out next to me, unblinking and giggling at the action. He often paused to impersonate the movements that he no doubt had memorised.

"Whoosh iron man!"

He never mentioned any of it after he left, in fact, I was certain he pretended as though it never even happened. Everything was fine.

Silly really that it hurt.

It hurt because I couldn't forget no matter how hard I tried and my best friend was making my heart race doing absolutely nothing.

Well, nothing like that.

Stumbling and giggling out of the car and having thrown way too much money at the driver, I try to unlock my front door with alcohol-shaken hands but Jungkook's roaming touch traps my front against the door, the evening chill not helping my shivers.

"Jungkook," I whine for him to stop, unable to use my keys and kind of cold.

He's massaging my hips, placing soft kisses and memorable noises against my neck. I didn't have time to think about what we were doing. Whatever it was I needed it.

"I can't wait to eat your pussy. I've been dreaming about how good you taste."

Fuck.

What was in that champagne?

I swallow the orgasm his words could conjure and mockingly laugh at him against the wood.

"Oh please. I know guys like you. You hate eating out if it's not at a restaurant."

He didn't laugh. Not one bit. He didn't like it.

Instead of the force I was bracing myself for and trying to encourage, he lets go stepping back to let me apprehensively open the door. At that point I didn't know if he was into it anymore, I thought maybe he was just gonna call it a night and I couldn't lie, the disappointment in that realisation was consuming me.

"You're gonna wish you didn't say that."

He waited until the lock clicked, pushing me against the door once more. I didn't have time to apologise for the mess in my place, turn on music, pour him a drink or even turn on the lights. My cheek pressed into the wood harder, gasping as his hand tightens around my neck and flushing at his nails dragging up the side of my thigh.

"I'm gonna lick you dry."

He pulls down my neckline, reaching for my chest and massaging. How could a person's touch be both electric and calming at the same time? I hit my forehead against the door slightly to muffle my noises.

"And, I won't stop when you're screaming either."

"Bwahhhhhh imagine being as strong as Hulk!" he nudges me and I jump out of the past before giving him a smile in agreement.

He gives me a look, knowing something is up but doesn't say anything and just burrows into his massive hoodie again and I happily go back to-

He rips off his shirt, shoes and trousers leaving him in just black underwear that did very little for coverage but a lot for my throbbing. I took him in in seconds but it was too much. His firm chest, his muscles, his wide shoulders, the swirl of tattoos. Drugged with that heat-of-the-moment passion, I forget how much my dress cost my broke ass as I go to throw it off.

"NO!"

I freeze, dress half off and in the middle of lifting it.

"You're gonna ruin it," he pouts cutely, folding the dress up neatly and placing it gently on top of a table.

I was astounded, pausing his reign of pussy-demolishing anticipation to get all OCD on me and lecture me about my laundry techniques all while he looked like that in his boxers. Abs glistening in no light, perfect proportions, smooth skin, tiny waist, thick thighs, heavy arms, messy curly hair, devilish smirk.

We don't make it very far at all.

The fluffy rug in the entrance was comfortable enough for my naked back as we fell onto it. He keeps his promises and my lips are left begging and cold against the air in my dark apartment as his kisses trail low.

That's all they were at first, kisses just sweetly tickling my clit and occasionally making my back arch. Not that it wasn't amazing but I was still in control. I moaned in comfortable contentment, bringing me to a nice orgasm in minutes that was just mind-blowing enough to make me forget for a minute and move on to something else.

He cleans up my little blast, tongue lingering a little too long at my entrance to be just stopping by. The slight overstimulation made me feel full despite being empty. I was confused, laughing uncomfortably as if I was laughing with him at some joke I wasn't in on.

"Jungkook don't I'm- sensitive," I chuckle through gasps, slightly over the edge and I dared to look down at him. I tried pulling him up, telling him to just fuck me already but no.

He didn't budge.

Do you know the feeling you get just before a rollercoaster starts where you immediately ask yourself what shit you've gotten yourself into?

The bar comes down, the announcement lazily declares the start of the ride and you suddenly want nothing more than to get off?

Yeah, this was it.

As I bravely looked down, risking it all for God knows what lay below, my stomach dropped in that rollercoaster way as I spotted his smirk, muscular back flexed, tongue very much grazing my clit still and hands gripping my thighs so hard I could already feel the bruising.

He groans onto me, mouth latching around my pussy and tongue flicking mercilessly in that one spot he mapped out from before.

"Fuck, Jungkook!"

He moans all the same, enjoying every single moment of me pulling his hair out of his scalp with my hands, pinning my hips down to stop my wriggling and the way I had come undone already.

It was like I was getting him off.

"Jungkook please!"

But what did I want?

"Yes?" he asks mockingly stopping his movements as I shrink in embarrassment, not enjoying the cold nothingness of the air without him "Did you say something?"

"N-no..."

"Thought so."

The carpet burn from wriggling and sore throat from screaming I gave myself by my third orgasm made me think he was done. I thought so even more as he pulls away, catching his breath and me catching mine as I lay limp against the floor. I could think. I couldn't do anything.

It was so good but all good things come to an end.

But clearly not.

For the fourth time, somehow with even more energy and aggression, he abuses my clit with his tongue again. I let out one loud whimper not stopping to wonder how no one has called the police yet.

"I can't," I whine over the incredibly loud slurping, trying to get away sweaty and dazed but his hands have me pinned and trapped.

But he had me all figured out by now. He knew the exact places that made me scream as if it was a diagram.

I didn't even have the energy to look down at him never mind to comprehend the mind-blowing sensation this fucking guy was causing. I was restless, trembling, aching and sweating. He was down on the ground getting absolutely nothing from me but cries and sinful moans yet he was in charge, not caring as two fingers enter me and still moaning as he relishes in the sensation.

"Ahhh Kook," I sob, hot tears rolling down my cheeks.

I should've been ashamed, storming off in embarrassment but I couldn't help it. His tongue did wonders, tickling, flat and licking and then kissing again. My hands reached further down until my nails dug into his shoulders in blind pleasure, making him splutter a thigh-buckling growl against me.

"So good!"

"Yeah?" he moaned, finger fucking me into tomorrow and adding just another for good measure.

"Fuck, Jungkook! You're the best!"

Unintentionally feeding his ego, I continued to sob and he watched every part with a delighted smirk. My eyes ached from rolling, lips torn apart from biting and my legs felt as though I had been weightlifting for 5 whole days straight.

"Louder baby. Let everyone know," his voice is clear, not a trace of alcohol in sight as he stares me out relentlessly quickening his pace. The taste was sobering him up, the anticipation of what was next bringing him back to reality.

I'm groaning, panting, whining and sobbing through the tightening in my stomach, waiting for that snap with curled toes and a completely arched back.

"Shit I'm- fuck!"

My thighs squeeze his head until he pushes them apart angrily. His attitude and aggression are all it takes to throw me over the edge, wet noises of sucking and fingering getting even wetter as I finish eventually drowning out my pants.

He licks his fingers, relishing all of me with the pride and arrogance I expected from him. He moans exaggeratedly on them, rolling his eyes mockingly as he grinned.

"You're... an... asshole."

It didn't end there.

I mumbled something about feeling guilty for not having anything left for him but I did try. Still shaking and with corpse-like floppiness, I reached down to him but couldn't no chance.

"Just relax and enjoy the ride," he kisses my lips sweetly, carrying me over to the couch and promising just one more round and accepting full leadership.

"What about you?"

"Y/N, trust me. Watching you is enough," he laughs breathlessly, still licking myself off his mouth as he takes off his underwear.

He wasn't lying. The white mess contrasting against the sleek black fabric on the ground was enough evidence and so was the huge raging red hard-on waiting to take me where no one has ever been taken before. Don't think I didn't miss him grinding against the ground and his hips stuttering as he finished.

The question is, did I really make Jeon Jungkook cum in his pants?

"Ready?" his nose is touching mine, hair tickling my forehead as he waits.

"Fucking ruin me."

That's all he needs, devouring me with eye contact as he fucks me raw from the beginning. This was different from him going down on me, breathtaking hearing his noises and words that made my eyes roll. The feeling was incredible, better than anything else I've ever experienced by about a million lightyears.

"Pussy so good."

He grunts with every powerful thrust, hitting that spot every single time and losing me to the idea that there's always room for more.

"All yours."

He flips me around, railing me into the cheap couch until I'm just a puddle, a stain that I would grimace at tomorrow. The sofa moves to the left with every thrust, dragging against the wood in a moan-worthy scratch every time until we almost hit the table.

"Kook," I gasp into the pillow I chose my bury my head in, hugging my head with my arms as he blows me away with his inhuman thrusts, spanking and massaging my ass through his reign over my body.

"Fuck, you're such a slut for me."

If this was life, I wanted it all.

He slaps again, taking the air out of me at the harshness of it. He was brutal but it was the hottest thing alive. It was like he knew what I wanted without the added humiliation of asking for it.

But he didn't like the sound of just skin and my faint presence. If I had something left to give he was going to take it and take it by force no doubt.

"Y/N..."

His hands twist my hair into a head-splitting rope, pulling my back to his warm protruding chest with little to no mercy. As if I could ever stop him and still I felt safe even as he groaned into my neck, hips snapping into me like we were the only people on earth.

"Where'd those pretty noises go huh?"

His hand reaches forward and down to find my whimpering clit again, rubbing impolitely into the puffed flesh. My knees buckled, head catching itself on my shoulder, relying completely on his tight grip and pounding to keep me from face planting the couch. Jungkook caresses my jaw until my hooded eyes gaze into his, on his shoulder.

"Am I not good enough huh?" he whines directly onto my open mouth, catching every single moan he dug out of me. He tips his own wicked groans into my mouth making me drip onto the sofa beneath us and he glides us into cumming together.

"No no you're- you're...can't...think."

He laughs kissing me as he reaches his high, breathing out my name and curse words as my eyes roll, thighs tremble, every hanging organ collapse and vision go entirely fucked. I fall forward but he catches me.

My 5th orgasm.

"-Yeah I think it must be 5 times."

"What?"

I snapped, jumping at the connection between my thoughts and the boys around me who could surely tell that my leggings were soaked through, skin flushed and pupils were blown in intense need.

Silence.

Taehyung was wide-eyed.

Hobi stopped eating.

"I just said I've seen the movie 5 times," Jimin mutters apprehensively.

Relief wasn't the word.

"Oh okay. Yeah. Me too," I mutter, going back into my dreamland of staring at the edge of the tv pretending I was in the moment again.

It didn't end there either.

Well, it did but it was just the next day.

The morning after...

When I was in the middle of drunkenly reassuring myself this meant nothing the next day and I hadn't, in fact, fucked my best friend but this insane talented fuckboy who happens to have the same name ruined it all.

Waking up to a groggy head, puffed and painful nether regions and nausea was one thing but the sight of my gorgeous best friend cuddled into my navel holding what was now a damp towel to my clit with one hand and the other tightly wrapped around my body was another thing.

"Jungkook," I groan in sensitivity, hangover-ness and in an attempt to wake him run my hands through the wild mop of black hair.

He refuses, groaning into my bare skin and now cuddling my lower body tightly with both arms.

"I'll pee on you," I warn groggily, not enjoying the panic of that actual possibility.

"Is that an offer?"

I snort feeling his smirk against me and pushing him away, he rolls over sheets just covering his dick. He stretches, body firm and golden in the sunlight. How could he look this good after that much alcohol and sex?

Shit. I fucked my best friend.

I crawled to the bathroom by rolling off the bed, whimpering at my aching everything and grimacing at the trail of wetness dripping down my bruised thighs.

"Shit."

As I peed, I noticed more marks all from his hands and a couple from his mouth not that he was so unscathed. His back was raw with scratches from my nails and I didn't miss him rubbing his jaw before I crawled out of bed.

I whimper again at the hot and painful sensation.

I fucked my best friend.

"If it helps, I'm really sorry," he calls guiltily from the other room.

"Yeah yeah, I'm not the one who has to explain to Hope tomorrow why I'm limping everywhere and crying when I pee."

"I'm the one who has to convince him I bought a cat...naked."

I don't know what I was thinking when I thought everything would just work out. It obviously did for him. He was relaxing into his 2nd marvel movie of the day quite nicely, not glancing at me once or hesitating before he spoke.

I saw no cogs spinning or hesitation in his usual flirty and giggly way with me. He still made dirty jokes, nudged me, hugged me platonically and I didn't feel his heart flutter when he did it.

I was nothing to him.

It's been four days and I was begging for more. I know, odd how JK literally fucked me dry and yet here I was absolutely dripping for him and having to live off breadcrumbs as I caught the lines in his lower stomach when he stretched or the tickle of his arm as it accidentally brushed against me.

I was just like his other bitches, desperate and devastated that he left so soon.

"I'm uh- more popcorn," I mutter getting up suddenly, overwhelmed and too warm to look at Chris Evans's heavenly butt cheeks again and pretend everything is okay for another million movies.

"Doesn't she have a full bowl...?"

My head was spinning, the kitchen crumbling down around me as I knew they watched my every movement. I tried to calm myself by making more popcorn but the writing was blurred and the packaging anxiety-inducingly bright. I just hoped no one would follow me.

At least guessing the cooking time would buy me more time to ease my rash, and calm the throbbing and the uncontrollable jolting my thighs did when I was sitting down.

Mainly, it allowed me to think about how stupid I had been to not realise sooner how much I wanted him.

And, not just in that way.

Jungkook was a great friend, a funny guy and was basically good at everything. I don't know why I expected barely anything memorable from him in my drunken logic. I had a lot to drink at that wedding but I could still think hard about what I was doing before I let him kiss me.

I thought it would be fine.

It wasn't.

"You okay?"

I wasn't.

Wait-

"Yeah," I automatically reply, not noticing him come in.

I'm blushing because I didn't expect him there. He scared me. That's all.

Why would I be blushing over him? It's just Jungkook.

Yeah, the Jungkook who stapled me to my rug and ate me out 4-

"Sorry," he mumbles, bumping into me from behind as he reaches for some glasses in the cupboard above me.

I hold in my gasp as his body presses my hips forward into the counter, claustrophobically trapping me in his presence without laying a hand on me once. Swallow it.

"It's fine."

"Is it?" he mumbles again against my skin, bringing me away from reality again as his hands rubbed against my hips just like before.

He pressed us both into the kitchen counter allowing me to feel every part of him teasing me through our clothes as his hand starts to wander.

"I thought it was 'so good' 'oh kook' 'you're the best!'" he moans teasingly, rolling his eyes and biting his lip to emphasize his little performance.

Though he sounded hot and arrogant by making fun of me for letting go so easily to him, it wasn't helping my own perception of myself. I flush redder than the popcorn bowl, genuinely humiliated.

"Shut up," I duck away from him trying to get away but he's got me.

He's got me. He's got me on top of the counter while still managing to tower over me, casting a dark shadow in the dimly lit kitchen. Jungkook grabs my legs, wrapping them around me as I refused to touch him, refused to look at him until he made me.

He was too beautiful.

"No need to be embarrassed pretty girl," he rubbed my leggings surely feeling the steam from underneath them that had gathered through 2 whole movies of dirty thoughts "Do you know how hard I get just thinking about the noises you made?"

His lips wander the surface of my neck and I just let him. Who was I kidding when I told myself it was easier to not have him?

"You think about it?" I ask genuinely, whimpering lowly almost not just because of the 6 guys behind the door sitting in silence watching a movie but at the possibility that I wasn't the only one losing my mind to pleasure here.

"All the time. You're driving me crazy," he looks down my frame, my heaving chest, the visible ache between my legs and the trembling. "For two movies I've been wondering what's been going on in that head of yours and why you were sitting so far away."

His hips drive into me and even through his thick grey tracksuit, I can feel what he wants.

"What are you doing?" I whisper, panicking as I watch him sink to his knees again despite how much I don't want to stop him.

Please.

"Right now I'm trying to taste you again, right here on this counter," Jungkook grumbles matter-of-factly as if he was just trying to tie my shoelaces. "I'm starving."

He wasn't. The staring contest between my clothed clit and his hungry eyes said otherwise. He was basically drooling, tongue poking out achingly slow to lick his lips as if he was remembering how it felt to lick me off of them.

"Someone might come in..." I whisper nervously but really I was running out of excuses, getting more and more used to the idea of a quickie in the kitchen the lower and lower he pulled down my leggings.

"Good, let's give them a show."

#bts imagines #bts smut #jungkook imagine #jjk smut #jungkook smut #park jimin #kim taehyung

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aemonds-sapphire · 3 years

Text

Caution: Slippery When Wet — Dabi x Reader (Smut)

Summary: Dabi just wanted to take a shower, and he didn’t care that you were in the way.

Warnings: NSFW. Orgasm denial. Overstimulation. Vaginal fingering. Quirkplay. Unprotected sex. Praise. Creampie.

Word count: 3.6k

A sudden loud bang snapped you out of your steam-induced daydream and had your heart skip a few beats in distress.

“What?!” you gnarled, eyes gazing through the foggy shower door only to be met with a pair of turquoise eyes.

Dabi.

“You done in there or what?”

Panic filled your entire body at once. “Get the fuck out!”

Any indication that you might be blessed with a peaceful shower session soon flew out the window as the young villain showed no intention of budging.

Thoughts on Dabi? You’d rather not have any. And not because you loathed him. Far from that Your body made sure that the most hostile emotion you had towards him was unquestionable sexual tension. Therefore, you really, really needed to train your mind not to fixate on him or the possibilities that might come from any interaction with him. In order to cope with this, you tried your best to mask your genuine feelings with resentment.

On the off chance your paths crossed while living together with the rest of the league, you always had your mind set on antagonizing him. You dreaded the possibility of anyone figuring out that — albeit buried deep within you —, you craved him.

“Not happening. I need a shower.”

Sliding the glass door, you peaked your head through the narrow slit only to be met with Dabi covered in... slime? From his dark hair all the way down to his boots.

“What is that awful smell?” you grimaced as the foul stench filled your nose.

“Collateral damage,” he said with a blank expression, eyes on yours. “You can thank Toga for that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Go wait outside. I’m almost done here.”

No answer.

“Out!” Yyou half-yelled, feeling heat creep through your cheeks, thoroughly glad that the fog glazing the shower door kept most of your body hidden from his gaze.

No answer yet again.

“Dabi!”

He shrugged and proceeded to remove his knee-length coat showing no concern that you were intensely staring at him, mouth agape in shock.

His filthy shirt went off next, revealing the uneven edges of his staple-covered skin across his upper chest. Your heart was racing at double speed and all your brain could conjure was that you most definitely should not allow your eyes to roam across his body like that. Dabi was too fucking hot — pun fully intended— for his own good, and suspected he knew that

That proved to be enough to snap you out of your trance. “Why are you taking your clothes off?!” Yyou blurted out, failing to realize how ridiculous that sounded given the context.

Dabi paused briefly as he was about to undo his belt. “Not showering with my clothes on... the fuck?” he remarked, arching a brow and glaring at you like you’d grown a third arm.

Panic hit you instantly. “Uh—Just wait!”

His slender fingers unbuckled the belt swiftly. “Doll, you’re wasting time. All that rambling and staring... could be done already.”

He was not wrong.

It suddenly dawned on you how easily he’d always manage to crawl under your skin. Whether he knew the effect he had on you or not, it remained unclear. But something inside you clung to the idea that, whatever it was that you felt for Dabi, it was somehow reciprocated.

Patches of suds began trailing down your temples and forehead, causing further distress.

“Just...” your voice trailed off, but sudden outrage burst from within you. “Don’t you have some decency?”

“No.”

He had managed to strip all of his clothes off until he was only left in his underwear, and he was about to—

“No! No fucking way!” you shrieked in dread, quickly having to wipe a few suds that were stinging your eyes. “Leave it—“

But before you could mouth further protests, you saw him yank his underwear down, which caused your eyes to reflexively close tightly.

A low chuckle was heard. “Calm down, princess. I won’t even look. Just wanna rinse off this slime.”

You were positively mortified from all this mess, and a large part of you cheered in pride as you managed to kept your feelings towards him out of the way.

For now, at least.

Immediately, you withdrew your head from the rack, and shoved the shower door shut, with one hand keeping it in place while the other reached out to grab a bottle from the corner shelf.

Dabi tugged at the door a few times before sighing. “Seriously? You gonna throw a... bottle of shampoo at me?” he drawled out, a slight hint of amusement taintIng his voice. “Terrifying. I can see why Shigaraki scouted you,” he added in blatant mockery.

The sudden confrontation had you wish some random hole in the ground would prop open and swallow you whole, effectively putting an end to this.

Your eyes flew open at once and you glared at the bottle in your hand that read: ‘Strawberry passion — let your senses be filled with bliss and calmness’. Now that was fucking ironic.

Another tug.

“Don’t make me burn this shit down.”

You scoffed. “You keep your eyes fucking shut, then. Not even a peak.”

“Sure, doll.”

Admitting defeat, you scooted to the corner of the stall, your back facing him as you heard the door slide open. You felt him brush past you, but managed to keep your composure. There was no point in stressing about this. Dabi was merely your... colleague? Coworker? Fellow... villain? It came with the territory, right?

You grasped the shower head and raised your arm to have warm water pour down on you. For a brief moment, you were able to ignore the man behind you, and just kept on rinsing as fat as you could to terminate this awkward situation.

Just a few more seconds...

But, of course, life seldom went as planned.

“Sharing is caring, doll,” his low voice rumbled, and you felt his breath fanning the nape of your neck, causing you to jolt.

The sudden proximity sent your brain into overdrive. Every single hair in your body stirred as goosebumps spread from the shiver running down your spine. Your breath caught in your throat when you felt his hand wrap around yours.

You tried to muster a few words, but the overwhelming sensation of having someone you felt so attracted to being so close to you, definitely proved to be a harder task than you’d imagined.

“Eyes shut...” you managed to mumble as a reminder, feeling the curtain of water shift to your back and ultimately leaving your body entirely.

Dabi let out a sigh of relief. “Fuck... this feels good.”

His choice of words had heat spread across you like wildfire. Unfortunately, the sudden loss of a heat source had your body quivering in an attempt to keep your temperature from dropping. You wrapped your arms across your chest out of reflex, but it did little to help.

That din’t go unnoticed by the young villain. “You cold?”

“Ju-just... hurry up...” you said between teetering teeth.

Silence fell between you two before you heard vague splashes of water. “I can warm you up.”

He was close to you once more. Too close. Close enough that you could feel his hot breath near your ear, and something else nudging at your backside.

Your head turned to glare at his half-hooded eyes. “No, thank you...”

His lips were dangerously close to yours, and from that angle you could see the way the metallic hoops on each side of his face strained but a little when he drew a faint grin.

“You sure you don’t want me to fuck you?”

That gave you a whiplash.

As soon a those words left his mouth, you gasped in confusion. “What?!”

But there was nothing to be confused about. It was a rhetorical question from him. You were suddenly aware that he knew. That he had been able to read your signs all along.

Dabi placed the shower head back in its holder, pressing his back fully against yours in the process.

That’s when you felt all of him.

From the hardened nipples to the cool edges of his staples, and all the way to his hard cock pressed against your ass. You shuddered under his touch, causing it to settle right in between your ass cheeks.

“Dabi...”

He bucked his hips lightly, his slippery cock gliding with ease as a deep growl ripped from him. Haziness swarmed your mind, and you pressed both hands on the cold tiles for support, welcoming the water that poured on you from the shower head.

“Say my name again...”

“Why...” you mewled back, swaying your hips sensually against him.

What the fuck...

This was probably a bad idea. You weren’t even sure how you allowed things escalate this quickly. Dabi could snap anyone in half if he felt like it; he could also incinerate anything just as easily. You supposed the dangers of meddling with someone this volatile added to the allure.

And he was aware of that fact.

He fed on it and used it to get you to surrender yourself to him.

“Say it,” he repeated his request, bringing both hands to grasp your hips.

Your eyes snapped open once he pressed a soft kiss on your neck.

“I hate you.”

You mentally slapped yourself for being so weak. Those words carried no weight whatsoever, and they only served to heave a taunting chuckle from him. Even though this entire situation had your face burning with heat, the rest of your body still struggled to keep your temperature up, causing you to shiver from time to time.

Dabi excelled at reading body language like no other. He took pride in being able to know someone’s true intention just from the way their body reacted to his presence. He was no stranger to the inner workings of women when it came to him; he knew precisely which strings to tug in order to get them to crave his touch.

You were no different.

In fact, you had completely and miserably failed at keeping your thirst for him at bay.

And with unprecedented expertise, Dabi had your body to bend to his will, granting you one of your deepest desires.

You felt his palms heat up against your skin.

“I... hate you...” your voice came out in a weak tremble.

Were you trying to convince him, or yourself?

His hands began sliding up your sides, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. You realized you were no longer quivering from loss of warmth; your shudders were stemmed from the way Dabi was slowly and carefully feeling you up. His heated hands moved to your breasts, and without any notice, he had both your nipples being rolled in between his fingers.

Instinctively, you bucked against him. “Fuck...”

Dabi let out a hiss in response. “Sure you hate me?”

He pinched your nipples lightly before grazing his staple-covered palms along the sensitive buds.

“Yes,” you blurted out firmly.

The metallic hoops spread across his palms teased you further.

But before your throbbing clit could welcome the new stimulus, he halted and the heat pooling on his fingertips quickly died down. “So you want me to stop.”

“No!” you protested as his hands abandoned your skin.

“Then what?” Dabi inquired, bringing one finger to trail down your spine, prompting your back to arch downwards and your ass to spring up invitingly. “All these mixed signals... tss.”

You managed to suppress a moan when you felt his slippery cock slide down to tease your entrance.

“Dabi...” you let out, trying to find a few words to say. “Eyes shut.”

He chuckled. “Doll... I have my cock pressed against your ass and leaking for you... does that even matter?”

Of course not. You weren’t even sure why you had said that... your mind was playing tricks on you.

Even so, you weren’t so lucky the second time around, and when he slapped your swollen clit with the tip, your mouth fell open in a strangled cry. You highly doubted the slick tiles would be able to support your body as he proceeded to place his cock in between your damp folds.

“Hold on tight, doll. I need to prep you for my cock first,” his voice dripped with lust. “Be a good girl and bend over.”

Your pussy clenched impulsively.

To say you were completely and ridiculously turned on was the understatement of the year. No amount of rationality would help you now. You were too far gone, and your desire for him clouded any shred of judgement in you.

There was no point in resisting him any longer.

You strongly held on to the shower faucet, in the hopes of it being enough to keep your knees from giving out on you from the overwhelming pleasure spreading across your clit.

He kept sliding his thick cock along your pussy lips coating it in your wetness. It was faintly embarrassing to think of how quickly you’d gotten soaked for him, but on the other hand, you couldn’t really blame yourself for it. Dabi was definitely a natural. You figured he had enough experience to get you all riled up in no time.

You felt him snake one arm around you as his hand travelled down to your pussy. In all honesty, you felt too empty. Even though you hadn’t seen his cock, you had felt it and you craved it more than his fingers at this point.

The palm of his hand brushed against your clit, earning an instant moan from him.

“Dabi... just... fuck me...” you panted in between groans as he teased you with the staples carved into his skin.

Those staples had long caught your attention, but you never thought in a million years that you’d find pleasure in having them brush against your most intimate parts.

His velvety voice came out in a low purr. “Patience... I need you soaked enough to take my cock.”

“I am!” you half-yelled, bucking your hips in an attempt to have his cock placed at your entrance.

The hand teasing your clit stopped abruptly. “Really? Lemme check, then,” just as soon as he whispered those words, he pulled back from you momentarily, pressed one hand on your lower back to have you at a desired angle, before shoving two long fingers inside your wet cunt.

It took all of you to hold back a guttural groan from echoing throughout the bathroom. You bit down on your lower lip, an you reckoned it wouldn’t take long to draw blood. He held you firmly in place with his free hand gripping your hip while he fucked you with his fingers.

“You’re not just soaked... you’re fucking drenched,” he said in bewilderment, curling his digits inside you. “Think you can take a third one?”

You felt another fingertip prodding at your entrance, but you could only nod. There was no way you were going to open your damn mouth. The implications of doing so were far too severe, and you dreaded the idea of anyone outside being able to hear you moan for Dabi.

His third finger struggled at first to join the others. “Tight... just part your legs, doll...”

Doing as he instructed, he finally managed to get the slender digit to slide all the way in, until he was buried in you knuckle-deep. You’d never felt this stretched out before, and the newfound sensation was enough to finally have you let go of your lip and have your mouth fall open in a sigh of pure bliss.

“Now that’s a good girl,” he praised you, while finger-fucking you at a steady rhythm. “You’re literally milking my fingers...”

From the way his voice was starting to emerge fully strained, you figured this was also taking a toll on him. Having your walls involuntarily clench around his moving fingers and hearing him occasionally growl from it, had your ego soar dangerously high. Your entire body was urging you to cum, and as despair overcame your senses, you hand one han settle between your legs to rub your needy clit.

Dabi suddenly stopped thrusting his fingers, and clicked his tongue. “Stop.”

Annoyance hit you hard from the loss of his stimulation. “Fuck!”

His hand grabbed yours. “Let me make you cum. Just me.”

As soon as your gripped the faucet again with both hands, Dabi jumpstarted his ministrations in order to help you reach your much desired high.

“Say my name.”

You truly didn’t want to do that. The fear of losing control and having your moans being heard, kept you from heeding his request once again.

But Dabi had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Both his index and middle fingers pressed against your clit, and you felt the fingertips starting to heat up. He was definitely using his quirk in order to help the heat in your lower belly to intensify. It was a neat trick coming from him, and it was most welcome as you felt the familiar coil of an upcoming orgasm build inside you with each passing second.

“Say. It.”

Obscene soppy sounds left your tight pussy as he showed no signs of faltering his pace. Your eyes fluttered shut and your mouth hung open as you tightened around him, preparing to let a peak of pleasure wash over your body.

“Fuck... fu-fuck... I...” you mumbled incoherently, not able to muster any comprehensible thoughts.

You were so close.

Your hips jolted into his hand, and just as you were about to cum, you felt sudden emptiness and were left clenching around nothing nothing.

“What the fuck?!” You cried out indignantly. “Why?!”

The high inside your suddenly plummeted back to the ground, leaving you on the verge of tears.

Dabi gave your ass cheek a light smack. “Told you to say my name.”

You turned your head to give him a death glare. “Fuck you!”

He pressed the tip of his cock at your entrance. “Besides, I want you milking my cock.”

With one hard thrust, he pushed himself halfway inside you, unable to hold back a satisfied growl. Right then you understood exactly why he insisted on preparing you for him. He was definitely thicker and bigger than average. The sudden discomfort had you clench tightly around him in reflex, preventing him from going balls deep at once.

“Stop... fuck... stop being so fucking tight....” Dabi growled, stilling inside you. “Relax, doll...”

Your took a few deep breaths as your pussy adjusted to his unexpected size. He placed his hands on your hips, brushing his thumbs in circles across your flushed skin. It was most likely Dabi’s own way of offering comfort.

You weren’t sure how many seconds passed, but you were genuinely grateful he was waiting for you to finally loosen up and allowed his cock to finally slide all the way in.

A sudden gasp emerged from within you as his fingers gripped your hips vigorously, guiding you along his length. He started out slowly, but his self-restraint wasn’t enough to keep him from thrusting faster and deeper into you. The pace he set resembled that of someone on the edge of losing their sanity.

“You really wanna make me cum fast with that tight pussy of yours...”

His words were like fuel to the fire that once more threatened to get out of control soon enough. Your hands desperately grasped the faucet as pleasure overwhelmed you. A few more thrusts had your thighs starting to quiver.

Dabi had his fingers on your clit once again, determined to deliver all the pleasure he could possibly provide.

“Dabi... Dabi!”

His hips faltered for a split second. “Fuck... such a good and tight girl...”

You could hardly breathe once he set a new rhythm, which nearly had your face getting pressed against your hands from the brutal force.

“Dabi...” you mewled, feeling droplets of water mix with your own saliva as strings of spit hung from the corners of your mouth. You were officially drooling for this man.

In no time, your vision started to tunnel as you were thrown into the pinnacle of sheer bliss. Your mind went blank for a brief moment, with his name coming out in broken moans. The ecstatic orgasm had your pussy ripple and squeeze around his cock mercilessly as you kept rocking your hips against his desperate to ride out your high for as long as possible.

“Fuck this...” you heard him mumble at one point, his groans overcame your own. “Fuck!”

His own release was nearing, that much was certain. He was pounding into you hard and fast, jackhammering into you like his life depended on it, driving the breath from your lungs.

You had long descended from your orgasm, but you were still left to deal with the overstimulation from his cock sliding in and out of you relentlessly.

Tears soon prickled the corners of your eyes. “Oh my... god... enough.... Dabi...”

He responded by rubbing your clit harder in unison with his thrusts.

“Fuuuuuuck!”

His long drawn out groan let you know he had finally reached his peak. Your own knees began to tremble from having to hold your body in that position for so long, but he made sure you weren’t going anywhere. With a few pumps of his hips in a broken rhythm, you felt hot sprays of cum shoot inside your pussy.

He slapped your ass cheek once he was done, enjoying the sight of your pussy still tightly wrapped around him.

“What a pretty pussy....”

Your heart was still racing and your breath coming out uneven.

In one swift motion, he fully slid from inside you, and you immediately felt his cum drip as your walls contracted. “Let’s get you all cleaned up. Then we can take a proper shower.”

You were fairly certain you might regret what just happened later on, but for now, you chose to brush that aside.

Dabi wasn’t someone easy to read.

He most definitely wasn’t someone easy to get.

For the time being, you’d relish on the fact that you had made him cum. Probably not something curriculum worthy, but it was good for you and your ego.

Masterlist

#dabi x reader #dabi #dabi smut #dabi x y/n #mha dabi #bnha dabi #dabi x you #dabi imagine #dabi headcanons #todoroki touya #touya #mha smut #bnha smut #my hero academia smut #dabi scenarios

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years

Text

Side Effects | Bruce Banner x reader

summary: you never know what might be in the beakers at another chemist's station. you never know which of your colleagues might come along just in the knick of time to become the only antidote to your affliction.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: smut! (dub con due to sex pollen), semi-public sex (because technically someone could have walked by but unlikely), guilt/hesitance, kinda pining??, fingering, creampie,

a/n: yes, this is an accurate depiction of emergency shower protocol in a chemical lab and yes it is every lab technician's worst nightmare. thankfully the other stuff is not an accurate depiction of any known chemical, lol.

You wiped your forehead with a tired sigh, staring down at the calculations in front of you before using your pen to scribble over them before tearing out the page and throwing it away.

“You still do that by hand?” Bruce interjected, making you look up at where he was leaning in the doorway to the lab, watching you work.

“Oh, Dr. Banner!” you greeted with a smile, wondering if it was too ecstatic. You weren’t so good at the ‘playing it cool’ thing like he seemed to be.

“We have all those fancy screens and digital whiteboards, you know,” he explained as he stepped in and looked around at your work. “Not to mention the computer can do that stuff for you.”

“I know,” you scoffed, “but I always feel better doing it myself, on real paper. Not that I’m having any luck at the moment…”

"Here, I'll give them a quick look while you take a break," he offered, glancing at the numbers from over your shoulder. "You just get up and stretch your legs for a minute, doc."

You always thought it was sort of silly for him to call you that when he was a doctor as well, but you didn't complain.

Regardless, you were about to tell him that it was fine and you didn't need a break, but he was leaning in closer to take your seat and the proximity was so intimidating that you hopped up and went along with it anyways. He sat down and pondered your calculations while you circled the lab, taking a moment to appreciate how nice it felt to stand up and move around after sitting for so long.

"Your handwriting is…" Bruce trailed off, adjusting his glasses.

"Feminine and graceful?" you finished sarcastically.

"Sure," he chuckled.

"Yeah, just like me—" you started to quip, but mid-sentence you (ironically) stumbled and tripped, using a nearby table to catch yourself— but you accidentally grabbed onto a beaker, which tipped over and smashed onto the ground. The liquid inside spilled onto the floor just before you did, and you winced as you fell into the puddle of the unknown substance.

“Shit!” you hissed as you scrambled to get up, looking down at your clothes and seeing they were covered in the fluid, which was beginning to evaporate, or steam, or something. Remembering lab safety protocols, you instantly began to strip, closing your eyes and wishing Bruce hadn’t come in just before this. As you shirked your lab coat, shirt, and skirt, you walked to the emergency shower, pulling the lever and gasping when the chilly stream of water poured down on you. Bruce looked at you with wide eyes before being kind enough to turn around as you shivered and removed your bra and underwear, now completely naked and weakly scrubbing yourself with your hands in hopes that none of the chemical had gotten onto your skin.

“What is it?” he asked nervously, turning his head back enough that you could hear him over the flow of water, but hopefully not so much that he could see anything important.

“I don’t know,” you answered, “it’s not mine. It’s something Dr. Sutherland was working on…”

“Is it… are you in pain at all?” he asked, even more concerned, and you tried to decide if you could feel any effects.

“N-no…” you answered hesitantly. You felt hot, and strange, and you were covered in rolling chills, but you figured that was just the situation you were in— naked in a tepid shower in front of your coworker who just so happened to be incredibly sexy.

“I should call poison control,” Bruce offered as he reached for his cell phone.

“No, I’m fine,” you denied as the water flow slowed down and you wiped your face, confident that you looked like a complete mess— but at least you saved yourself from whatever was in that beaker, right?

“Here,” Bruce offered an emergency blanket to you after pulling it off a nearby shelf, and it was not at all absorbent but it helped with the draft as you stepped away from the shower which was still leaking the last few drops of water onto the drain on the floor.

“Thank you,” you nodded nervously, shivering and dripping and looking back at him with no idea what to say at all.

“Do you feel alright? I should check you for burns,” he suggested. “I— I won’t look…”

“Please,” you sighed, pulling the blanket a bit to expose your chest and stomach. He brushed his hand over the skin there, making you instantly whine as heat burned just under your skin, clouding your mind and making you crave even more.

"Did that hurt?" he asked anxiously, pulling away, but you stepped closer.

"No it's… it's good, it's so good."

He furrowed his brow as he looked down at you, putting the back of his hand to your forehead. "You're burning up, doc, you must be running a fever of 105."

"Touch me more, please," you whimpered. It was like you were in a dream, everything foggy and distant, and the only time that anything made sense was when he touched you. Or maybe it was that his touch sent you further into delirium; you couldn't be sure.

He gasped when he looked at your quivering legs only to find slick arousal running down the inside of them, threatening to drip onto the floor.

"Oh," he sighed.

"Please," you begged mindlessly, "Dr. Banner, I n-need you…"

"No, you need medical attention."

You whined and grabbed as his shirt, humming at the feeling of his warm skin just beneath. If the forearms that he often left exposed in rolled-up sleeves were anything to go buy, his chest was probably toned and tanned, lightly dusted with dark hair… you were all but drooling at the thought. "Please, Bruce… just help me," you pleaded, looking up into his eyes which were swirling with conflict.

"I can't," he shook his head. "I'd be taking advantage."

He must have seen the heartbreak of rejection make you wince, because he tried to soothe you with his hands resting on your arms— even just that contact making you suppress a moan.

"I've wanted this for so long," he explained, "and you— you haven't. You're unwell, you need to go to a hospital."

You sobbed a little at the idea of being taken away from him and examined by strangers, when you knew the solution was right in front of you. "No, no Bruce they'll touch me! Nobody can touch me but you, I only want you."

He scoffed, but you heard the weakness in it and you needed him to give in soon before you melted from your own hear. "You're deranged— delirious," he reiterated.

"It'll feel so good, please Bruce, I'll be so good for you— anything you want, I'll do it, I'm yours."

"Stop talking like that," he winced. "I can't… I can't."

"I need to feel you inside me, Dr. Banner, I need it more than anything. It's just gonna get worse… please, help me. I want you. I trust you."

"You'll hate me in the morning," he asserted. "God, this is so wrong…"

But much to your relief, he reached down and hesitantly slid his thick middle finger through your folds, gasping gently as he felt how wet you were. "I should t-take you somewhere private."

"No, need you now— right here," you pleaded, trying to chase his touch with your hips.

"But if someone came by—" he began to fret, glancing at the door; but his attention was turned back to you by your hands weaving into his hair.

"Nobody else stays this late, god, Bruce please I just need you so bad—"

He cut you off with a sudden kiss, which was enough on its own to make warmth bloom in your gut, but then he started to move his finger again and you shuddered with a moan that was muffled by his lips.

"Maybe I can make you come like this," he offered as he pulled back just enough to whisper to you, "would that help you? It'll take the edge off."

You bucked and moaned against his fingers, just those subtle touches driving you wild. "N-no, it has to be inside! You have to fuck me, I need your cock."

He breathed through his teeth, like he was almost considering it, but then looked away. "I can't," he shook his head.

"Can't or won't?"

He frowned. "Won't. I'll get you off with my fingers, otherwise it would be… too selfish."

"Bruce, I'm literally begging you for it," you sighed, the irritated tone that you'd intended lost in the moans he elicited by rubbing your swollen clit.

"I know," he winced, "I know and it's killing me that I can't give you what you're asking for… I swear if it wasn't like this…" he trailed off as you looked up at him with your bottom lip between your teeth.

"What would it be like?" you asked lowly. "Tell me how you would fuck me."

For all his shyness before, there was a brief switch in his demeanor as he leaned in, breath hot against your neck as he whispered, two fingers sliding into your channel at the exact moment that he spoke.

"So fucking hard."

You whimpered, knees wobbling a bit as you tried to ride his fingers— but he wasn't pushing back, wasn't giving you enough force to balance against when you sought more friction. "P-please, Bruce— I know you want to, please, please baby I need it so bad…"

"I know," he breathed, free hand cradling your face as his thumb stroked your cheek, and it was so needlessly compassionate, so effortlessly soothing that your heart had no choice but to clench at his tenderness. Other parts of you clenched as well, in much more literal ways, but the heart thing was more important.

You gingerly reached forward and palmed his cock through his pants, moaning when you felt how hard it was. "You're desperate, too," you informed him with a little smile. "It hurts, doesn't it? It aches."

"Yes," he answered tensely.

"I'm hurting too. I'm aching, for you. Please, Bruce, help me."

As he pulled back and examined your face, he chewed his lip and contemplated. He couldn't stand to see you in pain, but he couldn't comprehend what he had to do to help you. Well, okay, that's not totally accurate because he had actually "comprehended" the idea of making love to you plenty of times. But that was just a fantasy, a very misguided one that he only indulged in in his weakest moments. And in those fantasies, shockingly enough, you were always completed lucid and of sound mind and body. He sadly could not say that for you at the moment, and of course he couldn't because of course when you were sober and healthy, you didn't see him that way.

Bruce prided himself on his logic, his integrity, his patience. Suddenly, those qualities were falling prey to a much deeper, carnal instinct that saw this not as a predicament but as an opportunity. Logic states, after all, that it would be wasteful to have everything he wanted thrown into his lap and to let it go to waste.

"Fuck," he groaned as he kissed you again, fucking you faster with his fingers. You moaned and went for his belt, barely managing to open it with your hands shaking so much; part of you had considered just trying to rip the leather off of him, and with the force of your need it seemed almost plausible.

Finally getting his trousers opened just enough to reach inside, you purred as you reached in and navigated past his boxers to wrap your fingers around his hard cock. It was so thick and smooth and hot and you almost wanted to drop to your knees and take it in your throat right then, but you had better plans.

He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, grinning against you at the way you whined, before wrapping his arms around you and quickly instructing you to jump.

It was infuriating, how easily he caught you when you wrapped your body around him. Infuriating and so painfully sexy.

He never broke the kiss as he walked the two of you to your lab table, sliding the papers aside and onto the floor to set you on it. You started on his aggravatingly-small shirt buttons while he pushed his trousers and boxers down the rest of the way, and god his cock was right there between your legs, so close but very much too far away for your liking.

You didn't have the time or energy to get his shirt off, settling for just running your hands over the exposed skin instead. He grinned and watched the path your hands made, hissing slightly when they wrapped around his shaft— for a second you swore you could feel it throb.

"Don't make me wait anymore," you whispered your plea, sighing a little when he nodded.

"Okay baby," he agreed.

"Been waiting so long," you whined.

"Me too," he nodded, and with a little push, his cock slid all the way into you and filles you to the brim. Even when you were completely drenched, the girth of him was so wide that it stung, that it tore you open, but you loved it. Your head fell back and just from him being inside you, you came. The substance had you so needy and sensitive that that was all it took. It wasn't enough yet, of course. You knew you needed more. But God, he felt so good you could hardly breathe.

"Baby," you heard Bruce gasp, his fingers digging into your hips. Your chest twisted when he laughed a little, breathless and just teetering on the line between complimentary and mocking. "Did you just come?"

You considered playing dumb, but nodded instead.

His smile was apparent when he pressed his lips just below your ear to suck on the delicate skin there, his teeth trailing up to nibble your earlobe lightly. You hoped he would leave a mark, you hoped he would leave lots of marks that you could remember this by for weeks to come.

"Couldn't help yourself, huh?" he asked breathlessly, whispering so quietly you could barely hear it over the beating of your own pulse which echoed in your ears.

"You feel so good," you justified, "so fucking good, Bruce."

"You too," he sighed as he finally pulled back and slid into you again, the friction making your back arch instantly. "Even better than I imagined."

You smiled and wrapped your legs around his hips, forcing him to push deeper with each thrust. When he pushed you to your limits it felt like you might just fall apart right there, but it was so worth it.

As if that wasn't enough, he reached down and circled a thumb over your overstimulated clit, grinning down at you at the sight of you writhing and bucking wildly in his arms.

"Fuck!" you cried as you tightened your hands on his shoulders into fists hard enough to risk tearing through his shirt.

"Too much?"

"More," you pleaded instead, crying out when he gave you exactly what you wanted with fast, rough thrusts into your drenched walls. "Yes," you sobbed, "yes, fuck— m'gonna come, Bruce, gonna come again."

"Go ahead," he encouraged, voice so much rougher than normal, "show me how good it feels, baby."

It felt like his words were the thin that pushed you over the edge, as if your body somehow both understood and obeyed his command. You could feel a renewed wave of slick leak out from you, enough that you could hear the wetness in each slap of his hips against yours. His name was somewhere in the litany of curses and praises that spilled from your lips, your mind too clouded with hazy pleasure to keep track of what you were actually saying.

"Just like that," he groaned, "doing so good, fuck, say my name just like that every time I make you come."

An easy enough stricture to follow, especially when it seemed like he was all you could think about. He looked so different with his clothes half-shorn and his eyes dark with lust. He hadn't taken his glasses or labcoat off and you weren't sure which of those you were happier about.

His lips and hands were all over you; you couldn't even keep track of everywhere he was touching you, that's how overwhelming it was. "God, you're so fucking perfect," he groaned against your skin, finding a hardened nipple as his tongue explored you and wrapping his lips around it. "You are so goddamn sexy, you know that? I love seeing you with your legs spread for me like a needy little whore. I love hearing you moan and knowing I'm the one making you feel this good."

He took a moment to look at you and soak in your shocked reaction to his words before leaning in to continue.

"I love feeling you come for me," he purred in your ear.

"Then you're gonna really like what I'm about to do," you shivered.

"Yeah? You can gimme another one already?" he smiled. "Such a good girl…"

You really couldn't help it, it felt like everything he did only enhanced your pleasure— his words, his hands all over you, not to even mention his cock inside you. As much as the hedonistic corner of your brain was happy to let this go on forever, the ramifications of constant orgasms were finally catching up with you as you wondered how much more of this you could take.

"F-fuck, are you close?" you asked weakly. "Want you to come for me, Bruce, please."

"I-I'll pull out," he suggested, although the way he looked down at his length sinking into you and pulling back out, covered in your abundant arousal, didn't exactly indicate that he was willing and able to actually make good on his offer.

"No!" you yelped, pulling him closer by his unbuttoned shirt. "It needs to be inside, Bruce, please come inside me."

"Fuck," he hissed through his teeth.

"Please, Bruce, please, promise you'll come inside."

"I will," he sighed, "fuck, I will baby, I promise I'm gonna fill you up so good, you're gonna have my come so fucking deep inside you…"

"Yes!" you moaned, completely unabashed as the unknown substance had apparently absolved you of any shame whatsoever. "Yes, I want it, Bruce, I want your come."

The moment you felt his seed start to paint your walls, you felt relief begin to wash over you. Your mind and body relaxed, the overwhelming heat under your skin subsiding into a comforting warmth, the desperation that had burned in your gut satiated at last.

And that left you staring up at him in realization of what you had done, just as he looked back at you with the same.

"God, I'm so sorry—" he shuddered, moving to pull away. Instinctively your legs wrapped around his hips again, holding him close.

"N-no, wait," you groaned, "it's okay. Don't go."

"You don't hate me," he said, the exhaustion in his tone making it hard to tell if it was a question or a statement.

"Never," you sighed with a weak smile, sitting up to clutch his face and kiss him again. "God, Bruce, now I'm just wondering what took us so long."

"Our lab safety is just too good, clearly," he smiled as he kissed you again, pulling back a little too soon to examine your face where he held it in his hands. "Are you okay? You should still probably go to a doctor…"

"I'm already with a doctor," you smirked, "and his treatment was very effective."

"Yeah, that was…" he trailed off, wide eyes as if he were reminiscing about what had only just transpired.

"Sorry for being so… desperate," you cringed. "I didn't mean to… um… impose…"

He just laughed and kissed your forehead, making you feel your cheeks warm a bit; ironic that with everything that had just happened, this was what made you blush. "A beautiful, amazing woman that I've been dreaming about for months begs me to take her in the laboratory… really inconvenient."

"I mean, cleaning up these papers and the broken glass is gonna be pretty tedious, along with the incident report," you frowned.

"I'll help you with it," he offered.

"Tomorrow," you decided. "Right now, I'm taking you to my place."

"Is that so?" he asked with a bemused smirk.

"Yep. We both are in serious need of a shower, and then I wanna go again," you grinned wickedly.

"I thought you said you weren't feeling the effects of the chemical anymore," he recalled, voice tinted with concern.

"I'm not," you reassured, "I'm just feeling the effects of you."

#bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x you #bruce banner smut #bruce banner x y/n

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aneenasevla · 2 years

Text

Heavy Bakery - Chapter 22

MasterList / Kanami’s Profile /Previous Chapter

Chapter 22 - A Reason

The sun was setting, the gymnasium now empty, and the two of them sat down. She was panting, clouds of steam coming out of her body, and he was a little less, but was smiling out of breath more than anything else.

His bandaged arm was hurting a little. She didn't really go easy on him, which made him a lot more pleased than usual. If she was a guy with the same strength, it wouldn't have hurt as much… Maybe because her fists were smaller, the pressure was higher. Or maybe because she had hit a spot on him that was still recovering. But he didn't care, he'd managed to get her to let go, to show who she was when she took things seriously.

He stands up, stretching “Okay, rest is over. Let's continue.”

She widens her eyes, turning her head to him.

“I… oh my God, what are you guys made of? Iron?” she whined, still trying to normalize her breathing “I won't take it anymore.”

“You can handle it” he extends his hand to her “if you could handle dropping five, you can handle me off.”

“Yeah, but you're actually a monster,” she exclaims, accepting his hand. He pulled her without any effort and she got up “look at this, you pull me like I'm half a loaf of bread.”

“Two Loaves"

“Still, damn it, it's not enough!” she raises her voice.

He for some reason was flattered.

“Thanks.”

“That was not a compliment!” She grunts, stretching her arm “That's enough for today. I won't yield anything if I stretch myself beyond the limit.”

That phrase she said pulled something deep into his memory, with a certain long-haired guy he almost called father, and he then nodded, inadvertently pulling the corner of his mouth up.

“You're right” Ohma takes a step back and raises his hand, placing it on top of her head, in a pat “you did well. Keep wanting to hit me for real.”

“Hnf…” Kana snorts, but not doing anything to move his hand “I don't like it when you act condescending towards me. But it's the most affection I get, so I accept it.”

He raises an eyebrow “and do you want more than that?” He couldn't control the corners of his mouth. His body was faulting him once again.

“And who doesn't?” she smiles a little, joking “But it's ok, it's not like I asked-”

She stops in the act when she notices him approaching. Getting too close. She stiffens but her eyes widen as two arms come around her, pulling her together, squeezing her against his chest. She lets out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and her body relaxed, even more so at hearing the thumps… the loud thumps of his heart.

Kanami couldn't react more than that, as his arms released her slowly, and she realized how flushed she was after she felt the cold air, for the lack of heat from that immense body. He was looking at her, and she couldn't look back.

“Better?” he asks, his tone impossibly calm.

Holy shit… if it keeps going she wouldn’t take responsibility for herself…

“Y-yes,” she says, her voice coming out low and a little weak, “I-I wasn't expecting this, that's all.”

“… Me neither” she hears him saying softly. She was about to say something when she saw a figure walking through the door. Ohma noticed too.

“Aahhhh, so this is the Nunya” they hear a voice, and two silver dots glow in the dark “well I suspected something was wrong.”

He leans closer into the light, short blond hair and military boots and pants were the things that appear first, then a pair of broad, toned shoulders topped by a sleeveless shirt and black sports coat.

“Raian” Ohma says in a sigh “What are you doing here?”

“You make an appointment with me and cancel it at the last minute, I got worried, you know?” he puts his hands in his pockets, his voice had a hateful tone “But when I come to see what was going on, you’re here with the Bakery Auntie.”

“The name is Kanami” she answers, frowning, “Not Auntie.”

“Whatever” he waves with his hand “tell me, Ohma, is there something going on that I'm not aware of?”

“No” he straightens up “she's a fighter too.”

“Ahhhh, you see? I didn't know that” he approaches, looking at Kanami “I thought you were just a laborer, carrying flour every day, and such... But this…” he points a finger at the two “explains a lot…”

Kanami looks at him. Unlike what she'd seen before in the Bakery, he now had a very weird aura, and the way he looked at her, she felt a shiver down her spine, and it wasn't because of his eyes.

She knew the meaning of "bloodlust", and in a way, that's what he had. Killer intent. Her body tensed, as in an adrenaline rush.

One arm gets in front, between Kana and him, alerting the baker. When she sees it, it was Ohma, who was staring at the killer.

“Stop” he says, in a warning tone “She didn't do anything.”

“Oh yeah?” he looks at the other “Did you forget who your friends are, Tokita?”

"No, and neither should you." Ohma squinted.

“Me? I'm just making sure” they both looked like they were going to kiss there, they were so eye-to-eye “Tell me, and don't lie to me, I know you better than anyone, motherfucker.”

“Move away first, your breath stinks.”

Raian ignored it, stifling a laugh. But the laughter still came out diabolical.

“She was the one you’ve been busy with?”

“Yeah”

“Did you decide to lighten the weight?”

“That too.”

“Because?”

“I’m injured from last Tuesday, and besides, she almost got fucked because of me, or better, because of you, you should be helping her learn to defend herself too.”

“As if I give a shit, asshole” he spits “Everyone dies because of me, one way or another, am I going to worry about the bakery auntie?”

“She already said her name is Kanami.”

“Screw this!” He walks away, in the end “Speaking of which, don't think you'll escape from me when you heal yourself completely, I'll break your face again.”

“I want to see you try, kid.” He smiles a little, the air quickly changing in tone to a lighter one. What the hell happened?!

“Ah... by the way…” he turns around “Karla won't like to know that you've seen her like this, even if you’re innocently training… If I were you, I’d be cautious.”

Ohma's eyes widen, tensing up. Kanami raises an eyebrow.

“I do not…!”

“Heh” he turns to Ohma “So I found your weak point…” the smile came out devilish “relax, my cousin won't know if I don't tell…” spoke with a singing voice “bye, Kanami.”

He leaves. Ohma looked like he was going after him.

“Hey…” she asks “what happened…?”

"That crusty bastard…" he practically growls. She wasn't understanding at all, but the mention of Karla made her tense.

“What is he talking about, Ohma? He doesn't… we don't have anything, what's going on?”

He seemed to cool off, but not in a relaxed way, but a sad one. She felt the shiver down her spine again, sensing. That was no good...

“Yeah... there's nothing” he runs his hand over his head “I'll go after him, will you close the gym?”

“I... ah…” she really didn't understand, and she didn't like the mention of the “fiancée”, even more so when... when...

She even wondered if something was really going on between them.

Ohma doesn't wait for an answer from her, he starts walking outside.

“Wait!” Kanami holds his wrist. He stops, looking at her.

“What's it?” His voice wasn't dry. She swallowed hard.

“No… don't go after him. He was just teasing you” she tried to say “he said that to piss you off, if you go, then it will really confirm to him that something is really going on... between us.”

He opens his eyes, turning fully to her. She looks at his face, and her eyes widen at how red his cheeks were.

"Oh…" she lets go of his hand. He stands still, averting her eyes.

“He really…” he starts, “he really knows me better than anyone… well, with the exception of Yamashitakazuo…”

“Really?” She blushes, holding one arm, feeling her whole body get hot and freeze at the same time, wanting to shiver.

“Yeah, I do” he was very tense too.

“It's been… how long did you do?” she didn't want to believe it, it wasn't possible.

"Uh…" he couldn't answer.

A dead silence settled around the two of them, making everything more tense. She then switches the weight between her sides. She still couldn't believe it. That… I mean… how did that happen? By the way, when did things start going downhill so fast? How did it happen? Besides, what did she do to deserve this?

She forced herself to breathe properly, trying to calm down.

One thing was her and only her, she could control herself, hide her feelings and stuff. Another thing was when he was corresponding and was actually starting to show. She looked at him, he had his eyes downcast, almost in a sad face.

“You… eh… sorry” he sighs, trying to find the words “I didn't mean to scare you…”

He was turning to leave when she took his hand again.

“I've never in my life…”, she starts “I've been so happy and so scared at the same time. Ohma…” looks him in the eye, “you know… if we start with that, there's no going back.”

He looks at her seriously.

“I Know.”

“And that… from what I can see… we're going to have to keep fighting. Every day, without rest. Do you take the risk?”

He looks at her, and then a smile forms on his lips.

“Risk? I don't need a reason to fight…” he approaches her “any reason at all is a bonus.”

She swallows, her eyes starting to fill with water.

“And… do you think I'm a reason?”

“Yea… You've become a reason”, and he brings his mouth closer to hers.

…

Kanami, among all the unusual things that were happening there, didn't really expect him to be the one to take the first step. He lets go of her lips, staring at her, and she stares back. She comes a little closer, and touches his chest, through his shirt.

“Can… may I…?” she fulfills the promise she had made to him, asking to come closer.

He responds by pulling her to him, lifting her by the torso, and she wastes no time, hugs him on the shoulders and pulls him in for a kiss. She didn't care how light she looked to him, didn't care where they were, or who might see them, or what the hell was going to happen from then on… happiness was making up for everything.

She opens his mouth with hers, tugging her hand at his head to keep it in place, her tongue invading. He was uncertain, cautious, she could feel it. But she wanted to show him that she wanted him, that she would give herself right there if he wanted to.

She had simply said “fuck you” to the world, and the dangers around this gesture.

He pulls his mouth away from hers, and she realizes she needs to breathe. She gasped, looking at him, he was doing the same. She didn't know what kind of expression she was putting on, but then she smiled. He imitated her.

Her senses came back to her, and she pulled her torso back a little, still leaning on his shoulders. They still stare at each other when she says:

“Eh… I think it’ll be good… we close the gym… do you want… stop by my house? I… dinner is on me.” Her brain was not functioning very well too.

He then closes his mouth, looking at her. The corners of his mouth twitch and turn up, and he closes his eyes, leaning his face against her shoulder, letting go a laugh. She can't help it and laughs too, hugging him, her hand in his hair. Despite being thick and oily, it would be a lot softer if he took more care… but for her, at the moment it was perfect.

“I really am a guy with very simple tastes, right?”, he says, his face buried in the crook of her shoulder. He ended up liking it. The texture, the smell…

“Yeah…” she laughs a little, feeling a little ticklish with his breath “But you know… I always liked big, simple guys like you…”

“Lucky me, then?” he laughs softly.

“I think so…” she laughs alongside him.

Next Chapter Here

#kengan ashura #kengan omega #kenganverse #ohma tokita #tokita ohma #heavybakery #kengan oc #raian kure #kure raian #fanfiction #now kiss #first kiss

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shreddedparchment · 4 years

Text

A Wife For Thor Pt.01

10/12/2020

Arrivals and Departures

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader Word Count: 6,990

Warnings: language, talks of death, angst, talks of sex,

A/N: This is seriously...I mean, I don’t even know where this came from. Credits to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor because Roo gave me the idea and I kinda ran with it. Like omg, y’all. Blame Roo. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo Dialogue from Thor Ragnarok has been used in the beginning of this story.

Please do not REPOST my stories anywhere. Reblogs are most welcome!

He stands with his arms crossed in what appears to be a small sitting room with a large window that opens to the sublime sight of the black space beyond. Sterling silver, radiant red, and brilliant blue stars twinkle into infinity.

This is a sight that Thor had seen many times before and yet, for the first time in an age, he felt hopeful for the future.

His fight had ended. With Ragnarok, his journey had reached an end. Not the end, but certainly that of a chapter I which his battles might rest.

He imagines that this might be how his father felt when he had taken charge of the nine realms.

However violent that takeover might have been, his father had lied about many things—his sister for one—it had been the beginning of a quieter reign. A new formative time for his father. He may not have been a perfect man, but he’d grown wiser in many ways. Still not the best father, but his father, nonetheless.

Thor can almost picture his life on Earth, a time of peace. A time to rebuild. He will be able to give his people a good life there and he’s certain that his friends will appreciate having him closer. Friends from work they may be, but friends.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to go back to Earth?” Loki asks, standing beside him with his hands held gently at his front.

Thor looks at him, waiting a moment to allow him to finish speaking.

“Yes, of course.” Thor assures him. “The people of Earth love me. I’m very popular.”

Loki takes a breath, looking out the window as he quickly accepts his brother’s reasoning while simultaneously realizing he must word this differently to get his point across.

“Let me rephrase that.” Loki begins, “Do you really think it’s a good idea to bring me back to Earth?”

Thor knows that Loki has a point. His history with Earth is…not perfect. To say the least.

“Probably not, to be honest.” He admits, noting Loki’s apprehension.

Loki smiles, a little knowing.

“I wouldn’t worry, brother.” Thor tells him, both turning back to the void outside. “I feel like everything’s going to work out fine.”

The moment seems endless, the two of them waiting as if the something should or might happen after Thor’s optimistic sentiments.

Then the moment passes and Loki sighs.

“Right, well, I’ll start rounding up the people who will be of the most use once we arrive.”

Thor gives his brother one parting smile but doesn’t watch him leave.

Thor doesn’t know exactly what has changed in him, what makes him so confident in this decision, but he knows it’s the best decision he could have made. And if he’s honest, though he’d never admit it out loud, the possibility of finally being on the same planet as Jane…well, he’d be a fool not to consider the possibilities.

~~~~~~~~~~

Something feels different today.

As you wake, turning onto your side to stare across the small room at the blinking line on the blank word document on your computer screen, you can’t quite put your finger on what is making you nervous.

Your stomach is rolling, making you queasy, despite the fact that you have no reason to be anxious.

Yesterday was like the day before and today will be just like yesterday. Nothing in your life ever changes, and that’s become so much of who you are that whenever you have even a doctor’s appointment your heart begins to race in dreaded anticipation.

With trembling hands you clutch your blanket, trying to find a reason behind this mood. Your breath quickens as your heart panics, your mind scrambling to make sense of these emotions but nothing comes to mind.

So, you get out of bed. You get dressed choosing a simple knee length black dress that fits loose enough to keep you comfortable throughout the day. Then you head into the kitchen and start the coffee pot.

Halfway through the brew you shut the machine off and rush to dump out its contents into the sink.

“Fuck.”

You sigh, realizing you should really invest in decaf coffee for morning just like this.

“Tea. Tea is better.” You rationalize and pull your kettle off the warmer and fill it in the sink.

You replace it in its dock then turn your back to it, hands gripping the edge of the counter as you lean against it.

Your fingers stroke the smooth and unvarnished wooden countertop, suddenly going rigid around the lip as your heart goes frantic again.

The island counter directly in front of you is made of the same unvarnished wood, a slightly mismatched chair on the other side, tucked in beside the open shelving that holds your pots and pans. Along the center of the island sits a small vase with nearly completely withered flowers.

You’re filled with relief as your hands are given new task and you hurry forward and take the clear glass vase, toss the flowers—which crumble as they hit yesterday’s empty cereal box—dump the water in the sink and quickly refill it.

Setting the vase aside, you pull open a drawer and pluck from an array of contents a small packet of flower food, a pair of small pruners, a long piece of twine, and head out the back door to your modest backyard.

There isn’t much in it, and it’s unfenced. A large tree at the back-left corner provides shade and pecans. In the center of the yard sits a set of antique iron work garden furniture. Twisted and shaped into what reminds you of lace. Two smaller chairs and one long bench with curved backs.

You’ve been of a mind to buy cushions for them, but you haven’t found an excuse to justify the expense.

In between the garden set sits an outdoor coffee table made of wood and painted white. It’s fading and will need a new coat soon but again the expense can wait. At least until you sell another story.

Apart from this set and a small wooden shed beside the pecan tree, your yard is mostly overgrown grass and carefully cultivated flowers lining the length of your narrow back porch.

You smile, noticing the length of your grass, grateful for another something to keep you busy today. Something to keep your mind off this mysterious and anxious premonition of something to come.

Quickly you move to a large blooming bush at the end of your porch and cut from it several bunches of pink and blue garden phlox.

You admire the shade of the blue flowers. The color reminds you a pair of blue eyes you’d once seen on a woman who’d come to your school as a child.

She’d been beautiful and kind, but she hadn’t picked you. Still, you’d never forgotten the color of her eyes.

The pink is pastel at the edges of its petals and vibrant magenta at the center.

As you head back in, the kettle only barely beginning to steam, you quickly arrange the bunches you’ve picked and wrap them up with the twine. You set the bushel aside and with the vase pulled close, you tear the packet of flower food with your teeth and pour it in.

Replacing the flowers, you give the kettle one more look before you race back into your bedroom to pick out a more appropriate outfit for cutting the grass.

You decide on a pair of jeans and a plain yellow t-shirt. Pulling them on, you pause with your shirt hooked around your arms as your eyes find your laptop screen, annoyingly black still.

With a groan you pull your shirt on and from the kitchen you hear the whistle.

Breakfast is simple. A store-bought muffin and a cup of breakfast tea do the trick and while you’re still chewing your last bite you head out to cut your grass.

It doesn’t take you too long and you lament the last bit as you cut it, the machine vibrating violently in your nervous grip.

No matter how much you try to distract yourself, this feeling of something terrible coming will not go away and you’re about to go out of your mind when a shout from your back door pulls your mind from it.

Standing there is an older man with an unconventionally handsome face. His lips are thin, cheekbones prominent, brown eyes sunken, and his nose long and defined. His dark hair slicked and parted, neatly kept to match his crisp navy suit.

“Aren’t you a little overdressed?” You shout at him as the whirr of the machine dies into silence.

The man moves towards you, a smile brightening his face.

“I was just at a meeting.” He explains.

“Do you ever stop working?” You wonder, pushing the lawn mower towards the shed as he follows.

“Only when I’m on vacation.” He tells you, amusement in his voice but subdued and you only hear it because you’ve known him for years.

“You don’t take vacations.” You sputter, almost laughing.

“Precisely.” He agrees.

He waits for you to shut the door and when you turn, he greets you with open arms.

“How have you been?” He asks, holding the hug for longer than you’re used to which only adds to the anxiety you’ve been feeling all morning.

What’s going on?!

“Hey, you okay?” You ask him, ignoring his question in favor of satisfying your curiosity.

He doesn’t answer but holds the hug a moment longer before pulling back to look at you.

“We have to talk.” He tells you, making your heart pound.

“Okay. You want some breakfast?” You offer, and swallow hard as your fear mounts.

“Sure.” He says and follows you inside.

You make him a full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, breakfast sausage, and buttered toast with a cup of coffee. Just because you can’t stand the idea of being hyped up on caffeine today doesn’t mean David won’t.

He digs right in while you stand on the other side of the island, sipping on your second cup of tea in hopes that it will ease your frayed nerves.

For a few minutes he gobbles down your food but when you shift on your feet for the fourth time, he clears his throat, takes a drink of his coffee, then puts his fork down.

“It’s not exactly bad news.” He assures you, easing you a little but something tells you that you still won’t like it.

“Just tell me, David.”

“As your lawyer,” He begins, sitting back in your old wobbly chair. “It’s my duty to inform you when there are developments with your family’s estate.”

“Right.” You agree, remembering the day he’d found you when you’d turned eighteen to tell you that you weren’t exactly as poor as you’d thought.

You’re not really rich either. You have a little money that your parents set aside for you. Old money that you hadn’t really touched. You use it mostly for bills when you can’t sell a story fast enough and most of your wealth is in this cottage. A family home that you’d had no idea was yours until David brought you here.

Finally, a home, after living in that school all those years.

“Well, I think it might be time to reveal a little more of that estate’s history.”

“Why?” You put down the floral porcelain cup and wrap your arms around yourself, afraid of what he’ll say.

How did you know that something was coming? What kind of sixth sense do you have?!

“After all this time, why would it matter?” You sigh, moving to pull out the second chair to his right on the shorter end of the island.

“Don’t panic.” He tells you, reaching over to place his hand over yours. “Let’s keep our heads. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“You say that, but why do I feel like that’s not exactly true?” You sigh.

He blinks, gathering his thoughts before he nods.

“I think I’ll tell you all at once. Like ripping a band-aid. Might be the easiest for you.” He realizes.

You don’t disagree.

“Your family comes from a very small people in Europe. Their origins are hard to trace but we know that they travelled between France, Norway, Denmark, Romania, Belgium, Sweden, Austria, Greece, and even spent a large amount of time in hiding in the United Kingdom.”

“I get it, they were nomads.” You sigh, your mood taking a turn from the anticipation of clarity.

“Yes. Nomads.” David agrees, patting your hand in an attempt to calm you. “I only mention it because there are many questions as to where they had originated from. No one seems to know. Unfortunately, I don’t think that question will ever be answered as all records before their stint in France have been lost.

“What we do know is that your ancestors, your bloodline are royalty.” David says, as easily as if he were telling you your age. “Even though the titles have long since been lost, you are technically—though you have no country to rule over—a princess.”

Slowly his words sink in and your face begins to relax. You look down at his hand over yours and without warning you laugh once. Then again, and again, until you’re leaning on your chair, head thrown back as your whole body shakes with it.

“What is so funny?” David asks, unamused but he goes back to eating.

“This is a joke, right? You’re pulling my leg.” You gasp, breath shallow.

“Not one little bit.” He shakes his head. “If we knew what country your ancestors came from, you would very much be in some palace or castle, reigning over your people. Your parents, were they alive, would have been King and Queen.

“You may not think it possible, but that is your legacy, Y/N. You are of royal blood.” David insists which sobers you a little, but you think it’s so silly that this is what you’d been so scared of.

This is what you’d been dreading?

“Okay. Fine. I believe you. But what does it matter? You said that if I still had a country then I would be princess, but clearly, I don’t. So, I’m not. What’s the point of telling me this when it makes absolutely no difference to my life?

“I don’t feel any different and it’s not like that makes me any richer? I’m still sitting on a decently sized fortune to assure that I don’t want for anything at least until my forties. What could this possibly change that you felt it necessary to tell me?”

David wipes his mouth with his napkin, finishing up the last bit of his coffee before he gets up and with his dirty plates moves towards the sink.

“Leave it, David. I’ll clean up later.” You watch him, sitting up a little straighter as that anxious feeling begins to grow again with his extended silence.

He washes the plate and as he does, your nerves begin to fray again. You anxiously pick at a small splinter in your island, waiting for him to speak.

He turns towards you as he finished washing his plate, then meets your eyes.

“You weren’t just revealing my heritage, were you?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I felt I needed to reveal your heritage because someone has reached out with the hopes of setting up a meeting with you.”

“Why would anyone wanna meet with me simply because they know of my lineage?” You wonder, slouched, hands moved to your lap to rest limply as you stare at David, fear increasing with every moment that passes.

“May I ask you a personal question?” He says, moving to stand closer as he dries his hand on your dishtowel.

“David, you know everything about me.” You sigh.

“Why haven’t you ever had a boyfriend? Or girlfriend? I’m not sure I’ve ever asked if you-?”

“To be honest, I don’t know either.” You shrug. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Not even as a child?” He wonders.

“I was too busy wishing for parents as a kid.” You clarify. “I didn’t have time for crushes or any of that stuff.”

“Are you opposed to a relationship?” David asks, dropping the towel then moving around to sit back down in his seat.

“Opposed?” You ask, shaking your head. “Not exactly opposed. I’ve just never known anyone worth caring about like that. I’m mainly here at home. I do go into town when I need to get my packages but there isn’t anyone there that…I don’t draw attention like that.”

“You’re a pretty girl.” David tells you, reaching over to tug on your sleeve. “When you aren’t sweaty and covered in grass clippings.”

You scoff, shaking your head.

“It’s not something I really worry about.” You admit.

“Would you ever want to get married?” David asks, and your heart is suddenly pounding.

The idea of being someone’s wife had crossed your mind once or twice. Mostly when you’d been jotting down ideas or plotlines for your books. In the end, because you didn’t think you had enough insight, you’d opted to remove all romance. You write mysteries.

“I don’t know that I’d be any good at it.” You confess. “I’m not…I can’t exactly picture myself being someone’s wife.”

“Why not?”

“Because I…I don’t even know what I’d be like in a relationship, sharing space and time, much less sharing an entire life?” You shake your head. “I’m not saying that I haven’t thought about it but it’s only ever been in passing.”

David goes silent, tapping his index finger against the island.

“David, please. You know I can’t take the suspense.” You plead.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” He nods then reminds himself, “Band-aid.”

You take a deep breath and turn to face him a little more in your seat.

“Well, you are aware of our planet’s newest inhabitants?”

“Th-The Asgardians in Norway?”

“Yes.” David nods. “Well, as a sign of good faith, to ensure that they will abide by Earth’s laws and to assuage any ideas from panicked world leaders that they might try and overtake the planet and make it their own, they have decided that marriage to someone from Earth might be the best way to do that.

“The Asgardian known as Brunnhilde has reached out to all families of royal blood and asked to meet with any eligible women, preferably—as she so tactfully put it—maidens.” He explains. “Which I take it you are?”

You swallow hard, your lungs rubbed of oxygen and yet you somehow manage to quietly acknowledge, “Yes. I’m a virgin.”

How can you not be after spending your whole life unconcerned with romance?

“You don’t have to do it, Y/N.” David suddenly says; however, you can see the ‘but’ in his eyes. “But if you don’t and the Asgardian king cannot choose from the women he does meet, you will probably be hunted down and forced to meet with him anyway.

“All world leaders are in agreement that this is the correct and only way to ensure the safety of the planet. They will not give up until every woman meeting the Asgardian’s requirements have been given the chance to meet with Thor.”

“Thor?!” You gasp, rising to your feet as hundreds if not thousands of images flash through your mind of the Thunder God and the Avengers fighting side by side.

“Yes.” David affirms, rising to his feet with you. “With the death of his father, he is now King of Asgard.”

Of course, Thor is going to be King. You already knew this. It’s common sense.

For some reason though, the confirmation made out loud, vocally…how the fuck are you supposed to marry Thor? An Avenger? That’s not…this cannot be real life!

“David,” You begin, apprehensive.

“I know. I know it is a lot to ask but as I said, I don’t believe we have much of a choice. He might very well not pick you.” David adds, rushing to comfort you and point out how unlikely you’d be the one Thor chooses to wed. “There are plenty of other women that he’s already met with. Women that are more suited to life in a palace than you are. The Hungarian princess is so eager to be Queen of Asgard that she’s been sending the other women bribes to try and convince them to refuse.

“It won’t make a difference, since they cannot refuse should Thor choose them.” David admits.

“A-all I have to do is meet with him?” You stutter, heart in your throat.

“Just a quick one-hour meeting. He’ll ask you questions. Get to know a bit about you. See if you are suited for life as Asgardian queen and then it’s over.” David assures you.

“I’m…There are lots of other women better for it, right?”

“Loads of them.” David promises.

New fears begin to take hold in your heart and mind.

It conjures up the last time you’d seen Thor, strutting from a massive spaceship docked over the ocean by New Asgard. He’d risen from its depths all wide shoulders and biceps. Heavy steps thudding as he’d stopped at the end of the massive ramp, waving at the cameras as his people had filed out behind him.

His hair cropped short as opposed to the long tresses he’d had when he’d last been on Earth, one eye missing with a sleek black and gold metal patch over it the absence.

You’ve never been threatened by him before. He’s a hero. But the prospect of being his wife and having wifely duties...

Your mind flies into panic as it shifts that large body over you, crawling towards you with his hands prying your legs open. The years of sexual experience radiating off of this fantasy Thor and all of his bulging muscles.

You almost want to throw up at the prospect of having to consummate a marriage. You haven’t exactly been eager to be with anyone since you haven’t met anyone special, but you’d at least imagined something more intimate. More personal.

“David I-they won’t choose me though, right?” You reach out for him because your legs are suddenly weak.

He takes hold of your arms and helps you stand still.

“They won’t.” He tells you, sounding convinced. “There are better candidates. Women with actual titles.”

He’s right. Of course, he’s right. He has to be right.

“It’s just a quick meeting.” He promises. “Then it’ll all be over, and you can come back to your cottage and live just as you have been, with no one to bother you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Leaving your little place is difficult. After spending years without a home to call your own, now that you have your cottage, tearing yourself away from it is like pulling splinters.

You like your little yard. You like your flowers. You love your bed and its white sheets, little pink and yellow flowers printed on the soft fabric.

You’d made it more feminine. You’d brought flowers back and frills and lace. You’d made it everything you thought a cottage at the edge of a wood should look like and as time had gone by you’d brought in more personal touches.

After several years, your home is finally completely you.

This place, this massive Asgardian structure is less gold and more wood, stone, and iron. Silver steel polished so bright it gleams even in moonlight. This place is not you. It’s him. It’s Thor. His home.

Right now, with the day almost over, the palace takes on a warmer tone. The wooden structures and gray stone pillars are bathed in orange light, giving the place a pleasant glow and despite yourself, you can almost picture Thor meandering through these Nordic halls, a long crimson robe around his thick form.

It isn’t an unpleasant image now that you’ve given yourself some time to get used to the idea of him.

When you arrived you were greeted and seated in a large round room, the lower quarter of the sturdy walls made of ornate stone brick, the rest of the wall beautiful dark oak. The floor is also stone, massive carpets underneath several pieces of obviously Norse inspired furniture.

Well actually, the Norse was probably derived from Asgardian styles. There’s a difference in them that you can see but don’t understand. The coffee table in front of you has ornately carved legs, golden embellishments, and a black coat of paint.

The sofa you’re sitting on is mostly wood, painted gold, with plush and soft satin covered cushions in wine red.

There are two other tables around the room, a collection of books on one and an array of fruits, foods, and drinks on the other. There are several different statues and stands. Lamps that look as if they should have flames instead of the electric bulbs they now hold.

Small touches of modern design filter through the room complimenting the more traditional décor.

“Hello there.” Says a lilting voice.

You recognize it and turn to find Loki, slipping through a narrow opening in the large set of doors you’d been escorted through almost half an hour ago.

He’s dressed in a black suit with a plain white t-shirt underneath dressing the look down.

“H-Hi.” You stammer, surprised by his appearance.

You stand, knowing well that he may not be King but for Asgard, Loki is still a prince.

“No, please. Do not get up on my account.” He gestures at your seat and you settle back in as he crosses to the table with all the books. “I forgot some papers in here, I only came to retrieve them. Do not mind me.”

You avert your eyes, afraid to see something you shouldn’t and sit just as stiffly as before, hands fisting the royal purple dress you’d chosen to wear. It’s simple, quarter sleeves, high neckline with a small V at the center. Just above your knees in length, it rises as you grip it.

“Nervous to meet my brother?” Loki asks, stopping by the doors as he eyes your tight grip.

“This whole situation is a little stressful.” You admit. “I’m…I live in a small house in the middle of nowhere. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“Ah, you’re the one with the lost lineage.” Loki realizes, moving closer with interest. “A hidden princess. You could have refused to come, you know?”

“I would have been forced eventually.” You point out. “There are a lot of people who want this marriage thing to happen.”

“True.” Loki agrees, “My fault, I’m afraid. I make them nervous.”

“You did very nearly destroy New York.” You point out, remembering the carnage reported that day. The aftermath had taken forever to clean up.

“I did.” Loki agrees. “Do you fear me?”

“No.” You admit. “If you weren’t safe, Thor wouldn’t have brought you back here.”

“He could just be too trusting.”

“Maybe.” You agree. “But with the fate of his entire people tied to the successful acclimation of Asgard and Earth, if you were really a threat, I think he’d have cut you out before coming back.”

Loki’s lips slowly curl up into a smile before breaking apart into a toothy grin.

“What is your name again?” He asks, a sparkle of something in his eyes.

“Y/N.” You tell him. “Why?”

“No reason. This has been very illuminating, Y/N. It was lovely to meet you.” Loki says then with a quick bow of his head, he leaves you to your solitude.

Confused, you sit there completely at a loss for what just happened.

Had you taken too many liberties with Loki? What had that smile meant? You’d been made aware that Loki was also involved in recruiting women of royal blood into marriage meetings for Thor, but you hadn’t expected him to know you by the description of where you live.

Maybe because it’s so unlike anyone else’s?

You sit there stewing for another twenty minutes, wondering if maybe you’re being stood up when the large doors open once again.

You shoot up onto your feet, so damn nervous your body reacts without your permission. Through the door this time comes the man of the hour. The massive Thunder God dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a plain gray t-shirt crosses over to the table with food and pours himself a stein of what looks like beer from a sloshing brown pitcher.

“Estrid, is this from the new batch of ale?” He booms loud enough that he can be heard even outside of the room as he takes a quick sniff of the liquid.

His voice is so deep.

Licking your lips, you watch him drink the entire stein without taking a breath or waiting for an answer, and then refill it before grabbing it and taking an apple with his other hand.

He turns, holding the fruit up to his mouth and freezes with it pressed to his lips as he meets your eyes, realizing he isn’t alone.

You’re not exactly sure what to say or what to do, completely taken aback by this strange and sudden exposure to candid Thor. Both of you unprepared to see each other despite the fact that you’ve literally been waiting nearly an hour for him.

His confusion mounts as he lowers the apple, looking around as if expecting an explanation or to see if he’s in the correct room.

“What time is it?” He suddenly asks, meeting your gaze again.

“N-Nearly six.” You tell him, and his one good eye goes slightly wide.

“Oh!” His lips curl up into an easy smile. “I did not think it was that late.”

His smile makes you feel a little more at ease, but you’re still on edge.

“You’re my meeting.” He tells you, as if you don’t already know that. “Y/N? Y/L/N, right?”

“Yes.” You nod, then before you can stop yourself… “You’re late.”

Thor blinks. Startled it seems or maybe just surprised, but then he smiles again. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, you can be as late as you’d like. This is your meeting. Sorry. I didn’t…I don’t know why I said that.” You rush to say.

“No, no.” Thor turns to put down his stein of beer and the apple replaced in its bowl. “You’re right. I am late. We were supposed to meet at five, weren’t we?”

When he turns back to you, you nod.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you have much you could be doing.” Thor says, moving towards you and gesturing at the spot you’d been in before sitting down at the other end of the sofa.

“No.” You confess. “Not really. I’m actually one of the only people that probably doesn’t have much to do. Well, I mean, I could be writing. Or cleaning house.”

“They tell me that you had no knowledge about your lineage before Brunnhilde reached out to your lawyer?”

You nod. “It’s not really important. Or…no. That’s not the right-what I mean to say is that it isn’t significant to my life.”

“Don’t you want to know who your family is?” Thor wonders.

“I know who my family is. I had a mom. And a dad. Both died just after I was born. That’s my family.” You explain. “Apart from getting to meet you, the news that my family was once royalty doesn’t change it in any way. I’m still just as insignificant today as I was before.”

Thor narrows his brow, watching you for a long torturous moment as he considers what you’d just said.

“Tell me about yourself.” He suddenly says, turning to lean back against the arm, his own thrown over the back, right leg bent up onto the sofa.

“There isn’t much to tell.” You admit. “I was born, my parents died in an accident. I was taken to a school for orphans where I grew up and aged out. On the day I had to leave, Mr. Valis found me and gave me my inheritance which is a good amount of money and a small house. I’ve been living there ever since.”

“You didn’t take any additional schooling?” Thor asks, relaxing. “All the other young women I’ve met have made it a point to tell me about the universities and colleges they’ve attended.”

“I took a few correspondence classes.” You tell him, “But I’ve only ever wanted to write, and I didn’t feel that I needed a higher education to do it. I mean, it would probably look better on my resume, but my writing should speak for itself.”

You can’t really tell what he’s thinking with the way he’s watching you, his hand playing with a thread on the back of the sofa.

You take it as a good sign that many of the other women have a degree of some sort. They must want someone respectable with a good education, right?

“How do you feel about political marriages?” He asks, and you’re stunned for a moment.

“Um…”

“Be honest, please.”

“I guess I don’t like the idea?” You admit. “Being forced to marry someone you don’t love because duty demands it? Feels archaic. If you love someone, whether they fit into whatever political standards are being demanded or not should not be a reason to get married.”

Thor sits up, shifting a little closer as he leans towards you.

“If you were asked to go along with a political marriage in every way but the heart, could you?” He wonders, much more interested than before.

“What do you mean?” You ask, confused.

“Well, let’s say for example, you and I were to marry. We’d be expected to have children. You’d be bound to do your duties as Queen of Asgard, but you would not be required to love me. Would you be able to fulfill these requirements?”

“You don’t want to do this, do you?” You realize, seeing the eagerness in his eyes. His shoulders slump. “If you don’t want to get married, why don’t you just say something?”

“I must do what I can to ensure the future of my people.” Thor says, sighing deeply.

“I’m guessing there’s someone else you do love that you can’t marry?”

“Not that I can’t but won’t. She isn’t ready for marriage and I don’t feel right making that kind of demand from her when she clearly has other things she’d like to be doing with her life. And…yes, maybe a little bit can’t. A royal marriage would make the most sense. I need a Queen.” Thor says.

You can’t find the words to tell him how fucked up this all is so instead you sit in silence.

“I know this is not ideal. I’ve tried to find other ways of assuring Earth of my commitment to this planet but nothing I’ve suggested is good enough.”

He needs a Queen. This gives you solace. No one is less of a queen than you are.

“I’m sorry.” You finally tell him. “It’s not fair. But I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone who checks all those boxes for you. I hear the Hungarian princess is pretty eager.”

Thor ignores you, stroking his beard as he watches you. “What do you want from a marriage? Let us say it’s many years from now and you have found someone you love beyond all reason. You two decide to get married. What does that look like?”

You’re a little surprised by the question but you humor him and take a moment to really think about it.

The man you picture has no face. There is no one you care enough about to imagine. So…because he’s the only option, you take Thor’s face and give your imaginary husband a face.

“We’d be partners.” You tell him. “Open about everything important. We would respect each other’s individualities. If something is troubling me, I would like to know that I could turn to him and if he had something on his mind, I’d hope that he could turn to me too.

“We’d be honest about even the unpleasant aspects of our life together. If we disagreed, we would talk about it openly. We wouldn’t hide from each other. We’d spend as much time as we could together and always make time for each other.”

You picture Thor sitting at your island in your comfy cottage. He’s so massive that he’d take up so much space. You’d have to squeeze past him, and he’d turn to wrap his arms around your waist as you pass.

He’d trap you there, not letting you move.

“We’d make breakfast together. Cramped up in my little kitchen, it would turn into play.” You smile. “We’d lounge around the house, reading and listening to music. In the evenings we’d move out to the backyard and watch the sun set then watch the stars until I’d fall asleep on his shoulder.”

As if you’re caught doing something you shouldn’t be, you startle yourself out of your daydream and feel your neck heat up.

You’d crossed from rational marriage into sentimental and you’re a little shocked at the detail in which your mind has gone.

You’re also a little startled by the pleasant feeling that picturing Thor in those situations has given you.

For someone who has never had a crush, you’re startled by the butterflies it gives you.

“But I’ve never been into anyone like that before.” You tell him, looking away from his intense gaze. “So, even if that’s what I picture, it’s not like it’s ever gonna happen.”

“It might.” Thor says, sounding as if he might be trying to comfort you.

“It won’t.” You assure him. “I hope your girl changes her mind.”

There’s a bitter ache in your chest as you say it, and you’re certain it’s only there because of the little fantasy you just allowed yourself to have. You should have picture someone else.

“I hope they relax on the royal blood thing and let you marry someone you love instead.” You hope.

“You say that as if you already know that I won’t pick you.” Thor observes.

You smile wide, laughing even as you bite your lip. “Well, I’m nothing like the girls you’ve met with. I don’t have endless amounts of money. I don’t have a prestigious education or extensive family. I don’t know anything about being royalty. The others have been doing it their entire lives. I’m the least likely candidate. I don’t fit the requirements, except for the bloodline thing.

“I only agreed to meet with you because I knew that the likelihood of you picking me was almost non-existent.”

“Ouch.” Thor says.

“No!” You rush to say. “You’re very…I mean, you’re kind from what I can tell and honorable. You’ve saved Earth a couple times and you’re a little self-centered but only in a superficial way that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a good man.

“I honestly don’t know why your girl won’t marry you but I’m not right for this.” You nod. “I wouldn’t make a good Queen for you.”

Thor nods slowly, thinking for a minute before he straightens up and turns to rise, slapping his hands on his knees before he moves back towards the table of fruit and beer.

“You’re probably right.” He agrees, and for some reason, you’re disappointed.

Not so much that he isn’t picking you, but rather that he sees you aren’t enough. You’re lacking in some way. Which you already knew but…knowing he thinks that makes you feel a little lousy despite that being something you wanted.

“I suppose I’ll just have to pick someone more suitable. Someone who knows better about ruling a people. All the same, thank you for coming.” Thor says, dismissing you.

He picks up his stein again and turns to look at you as you rise.

“It was a pleasure to meet you.”

You nod, “Likewise.”

After a moment of hesitation, you give him a wave and move for the doors, trembling hands reaching out to yank the doors open and make your escape.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been weeks since you met with Thor and you’ve completely forgotten the whole thing. Life has gone back to normal and even though you now know that you’re from royal stock, nothing, as you expected, has changed.

The only plus that has risen from this whole situation is that you can now picture marriage a little better, however inexperienced and cliché it might be, you can make something up now.

Your little fling with the idea of Thor had given you fuel to slip a little romance into your writing and your fingers are flying across the keyboard of your laptop as you type up a new and promising mystery about a set of lovers and the body they discover in the attic of their new home.

You hate to be interrupted during a writing session, but you must have forgotten that about yourself because your phone starts to ring.

Normally you mute it before you even sit down to write.

With a growl you reach over and take a quick look at the number.

David flashes on your screen and quickly you swipe to answer.

“Hey, can I call you back in like an hour? I’m in the middle of a chapter and I’m on a roll.” You plead, fingers still flying across the keys.

“Y/N, Thor chose you.” David’s voice says and your fingers freeze.

There’s a pounding in your chest and your head is full of white fuzz. Your legs are numb, and your stomach is swirling with both flutters and nausea.

You can’t have heard that right.

“What?” You ask, voice shaky.

“Thor. He chose you. I just got off the phone with Brunnhilde and she wanted to let me know so that I could call you and let you know that she’ll be by tomorrow to pick you up.”

This can’t be happening.

“She said to pack only what you absolutely need. Everything else will be provided for you.”

“David…I…I can refuse, right? I don’t have to marry him.” You plead desperately.

“Y/N…” David sighs. “You agreed to this before you went to see him. I’m afraid the time to back out has come and gone.”

“But I can just not do it.” You argue. “They can’t force me to do it.”

“The government will seize your assets if you refuse.” David explains. “They want this done. I’m sorry, Y/N. There’s no backing out of this now.”

“But…But he loves someone else.” You tell him and even though your mind knows that this should be the last thing to concern you, it should not be the first reason you can think of why marrying Thor is a bad idea, it is.

As your eyes focus on the little blinking line of your word doc, your heart gives a painful ache knowing that your husband will be loving someone else.

#thor x reader #king!thor x reader #royal au #arranged marriage au #thor odinson x reader #thor x reader fanfiction #thor x reader fanfic #thor x reader fic #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #king!thor x reader fanfiction #a wife for thor #a wife for thor pt01

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c-e-d-dreamer · 3 years

Text

I would just like to formally apologize that this is what I’m posting for the last day of @nessianweek Sometimes my brain just produces really angsty ideas and I can’t stop it. TW for miscarriage. It’s all under the read more cut for this reason.

Nesta knew that fae pregnancies were rare, that they were precarious. That it was always seen as a great blessing from the Cauldron when a fae child was born. Even in the human world, it was one of those worst kept secrets. Common but taboo. Something that ladies and maids-in-wait whispered about. Everyone knew someone it had happened to. Everyone knew you waited to tell anyone.

What Nesta didn't know is that there would be so much blood. Deep crimson pools that soak through her dress, darkening the navy blue fabric to a sickening shade. And it just keeps coming. Nesta is sure she's been in the bathroom for hours at this point. She doesn't look. She'd made the mistake of looking when she'd first locked herself in here, and the sight had her stomach tumbling, bile creeping up her throat and coating the back of her tongue with that acidic taste. So she just squeezes her eyes shut as another shudder rakes through her body.

The pain is the other thing she didn't know. Her periods since becoming fae had been bad, but this is excruciating. It's like twin fists buried into her lower abdomen, twisting and squeezing in their iron grip, the pain radiating all the way down the backs of her thighs. She wraps her arms more tightly around herself, folding in half and pressing her chest to her knees in a desperate attempt to ease the sharp pain. The choked sound that pushes past her lips as another round of cramping hits her sounds too loud in the quiet bathroom.

She tries to breathe through it when a loud insistent knocking draws her attention, a frantic cry of her name through the wood. Nesta's eyes snap to the door. He's not supposed to be here. The one blessing of this whole ordeal was that he was in Illyria, that he was far away. He can't see her like this, and she can't see his face when he finds out what's happened, the way she knows it will fall. She knows he wants a big family. He always talks about it. Talks about wanting to give what he never got as a child.

"Nesta!"

His voice is booming, drenched in worry, in fear. But Nesta can't find it in herself to say anything. She stays silent even as the doorknob rattles, as he curses on the other side of the door.

There's a grunt and the sound of splintering wood, and then Cassian is bursting into the bathroom, sword drawn and siphons flaring ruby red like he expects to find an unknown threat. His eyes dart around the room before settling on Nesta. In no time, he has his sword sheathed back along his spine and is at her side.

He takes in the blood and starts checking her for injuries, gentle hands taking hold of her arms and sweeping along her legs. Nesta watches as his expression changes from pinched worry to confusion to grim realization. When his eyes finally meet hers, that warm hazel that's usually so bright marred instead by sadness and pain, Nesta shatters.

A loud sobs tears its way through Nesta's throat, Cassian becoming a watery blur in her vision as tears flood past her eyes. Strong arms wrap around her, pulling her close. She can feel his hand in her hair, the other rubbing soothing patterns up and down her spine. Nesta lets it all out, crying against his chest until her lungs hurt, until her chest heaves with every breath.

"I'm sorry," Nesta whispers, another shudder shaking through her.

Cassian pulls back, running a thumb under each of her eyes. He leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a second, and Nesta closes her eyes as the sensation, letting out a shaky exhale.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Cassian says, voice so quiet and gentle.

Cassian stands up and starts to run a bath. The sweet scents of the oils he adds mix with the steam and waft toward Nesta, and she tries to take a deep breath in. When he's satisfied with the bath, Cassian helps Nesta to her feet, careful fingers helping to peel off her dress. With a guiding hand at the small of her back, Nesta climbs into the tub, sinking into the water and letting out a small sigh as the heat sloshes and licks at her limbs. Cassian stays close, kneeling beside the tub and resting his arms on the rim.

"Do you want me to call for Madja?"

Nesta shakes her head. She presses her hands to her stomach, where the smallest of bumps had just started showing, but it makes her chest ache, deep and painful, so she pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around her legs. They stay like that for a while, the only sound in the bathroom the quiet lapping of the water. After a while, Cassian stands, pressing a kiss into her hair before vanishing through the bathroom door. When he returns, it's with a cup of tea that he presses gently into Nesta's hands. Her fingers squeeze around the heated ceramic, the slight burn against her skin a welcome reprieve.

Nesta's not sure how long she sits there for, but soon gentle hands are coaxing her out of the tub. She lets Cassian dry her off and lead her into their bedroom. He pulls a shirt over her head, and she blinks down at it, surprised to find it's one of his rather than her usual nightgowns. He guides her over to their bed, and when they're both under the blankets, Cassian pulls her close, his wings curling securely around her.

Nesta tries to focus on the weight of his arms around her, on the warmth and safety she usually feels wrapped up like this, but all she can feel is the guilt. It scrapes its talons along her bones and sinks its poison into her mind and heart. Nesta can once again feel that familiar pressure behind her eyes, fresh tears prickling against her lashes.

"I'm so sorry," Nesta whispers, biting back a sob.

Cassian pulls back slightly so he can see her face, his expression a mask of confusion. "What are you apologizing for?"

"You were so happy."

"Nesta—"

"And I know you want a big family."

"Sweetheart," Cassian implores, reaching between them to cup Nesta's face, tears lining his own eyes. "I don't care about that. I care about you."

Nesta's own hand reaches up, gripping Cassian's where it rests on her cheek like a lifeline. His thumbs sweep under her eyes, catching the tears that have escaped.

"We'll try again," Nesta promises.

Cassian's eyes cloud over at that, his whole expression pained. Nesta hates it.

"We don't have to," he tells her.

"We'll try again," Nesta says again, more firmly.

Cassian looks like he wants to argue more, but instead he sighs softly. "When you're ready. And only then."

Cassian tugs her close again, tucking her head under his chin. Nesta goes easily, folding into him and breathing in his scent until her nerves finally settle. She lets out one last, shaky exhale and closes her eyes, ready for sleep to take her away.

#my fic #acotar #nessianweek2021 #nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #to the tune of let's get loud #let's get sad let's get saaaaaadddd #I truly am so sorry #time to hit post and then run away and hide

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kiki-shortsnout · 3 years

Note

Do you angsty Loki/Tony/Stephen HC? Like during and after battle?

‘On a scale of one to ten, where is he?’

‘In terms of being angry? Oh, he’s definitely in the triple digits,’ Stephen answered, lifting Tony’s chin so he could see the gash on his forehead better.

Tony clenched his hands on the bathtub, hearing his fingertips squeak on the plastic as he gripped it, throbbing shards of agony streaking up his arm.

‘Hey, don’t do that,’ Stephen whispered in a low voice, reaching out to clasp Tony’s wrist. He tugged gently until Tony relinquished his grip, settling the hand into Tony’s lap, careful not to aggravate the bruised, damaged fingers.

Tony bounced his feet on the floor, curling his toes on the bathroom mat, focusing his gaze on it as if that could somehow settle his frantic thoughts. ‘It wasn’t me being stupid,’ he seethed, the venom coated words seeping out from his clenched teeth.

Stephen chose not to answer, the intricate lattice of his mandalas appearing around his wrists. He gestured down to the sterile needle and thread he’d left on a tray beside the bathtub, the inanimate objects floating into the air towards Stephen’s hands.

‘Where are you on the scale?’ Tony asked, trying to blink away the blood dripping into his eye as he watched Stephen thread the needle, his hands unusually steady from the help of his magic.

‘Double digits,’ Stephen’s voice was curt as he lifted the needle up to Tony’s face. Some of the furious anger making the muscles tight in his face bled out as Tony flinched. Grinding his teeth together, he tried to hold himself still as he fought against the panic creeping up on him, desperate not to make Stephen angrier than he was.

His gaze focused on the Cloak floating beside the bathroom cabinet, ready to pass Stephen anything else he needed. He hated this, hated that both his lovers were furious with him, that the happy memories of the time spent in the Sanctum bathroom were now becoming tainted with his bad decision. This was a place where he shared early morning showers with them both, indulging in soapy giggling as they washed each other, steam fogging the glass from their intimate times. Even this tub he was sat on served as a treasured memory, a place for hot baths and whispering affections, lingering hugs after battles, reassurance as the warm water soothed the aches and pains away.

‘Why not get magic to sew me up?’ Tony asked, chuckling to try and break the tension, wincing at the pain in his ribs.

‘Because my hands are more precise,’ Stephen muttered, distracted.

He knew better than this, he really did. Pepper had chewed him out enough over the years about it. It had been one of the pivotal reasons they’d ended their relationship years ago, her citing his reckless behavior, his no sense of self-preservation. Even Rhodey had spent countless hours over the years screaming at him about it. Tony couldn’t help it, there was something ingrained in him after all his years of being Iron Man.

In the heat of battle his entire world had condensed down to one thing.

Loki.

His lover had been distracted, not seeing the blast of energy hurtling towards his back. Tony had. He had seen Loki’s broad, defenseless back, had already seen the civilians who had succumbed to the villain’s weapon, people they couldn’t bring back. In that split second, Tony had seen someone he cared about, someone he loved in danger.

And he had acted.

‘You really should go to the hospital for all of this,’ Stephen said, finishing his stitches. He stood up and took a step back to examine his handy work.

‘No! No-’

‘I know, no hospitals,’ Stephen appeased, seeing the grip terror had upon Tony at the mere mention of the word. He hated hospitals, needles, he was only just tolerating Stephen’s care because he trusted the man.

Trust Tony had probably shattered with his impulsive decision.

‘Let’s take a look at the rest of you, arms up please,’ Stephen ordered, tugging at the edge of Tony’s t-shirt.

Without thinking about it, he did as he was told, anxious to at least have one of them not mad at him. He was able to bite back the scream of pain as he lifted his arms, but his grasp over his body wasn’t as strong, his vision blurring around the edges as he pitched forward. Stephen leapt into action to catch him, and the panicked yelp of his name allowed Tony to shove aside the unconsciousness threatening, concentrating on the here and now.

Keep it together.

‘Are you alright? Sorry, I’m still in doctor mode…I forgot I can…just stay still, I’ve got you,’ Stephen whispered. Tony felt a ripple of magic and then his t-shirt was gone, cold waves of air licking at his skin. Stephen’s touch was gentle as he probed the enormous blackening bruises on Tony’s side, but he couldn’t help the wounded yelp escaping as Stephen brushed against something painful, the noise amplified by the bathroom walls.

They both heard something crash to the floor outside, and Tony saw a flash of green magic illuminate the space under the bathroom door before footsteps stomped away.

‘None of your ribs are broken, or fractured, but it’s going to be very painful for the next few days. I’ve got something that can help ease the pain,’ Stephen murmured, his eyes narrowing as he examined Tony’s fingers.

Despite trusting Stephen, he flinched away, holding his arm close to his body, afraid to let Stephen near it. He’d had so many injuries to his left hand over the years that it was now sensitive, a vulnerable part of himself that he didn’t like others touching.

‘Tony, sweetheart, it’s alright, you can trust me. Let me see it, please,’ Stephen begged, and Tony couldn’t work out why he was upset, why he had anything to be upset about.

Am I going to lose them over this?

Pepper had already ended their relationship with him because of this, and he hadn’t learnt, couldn’t control his impulses. If anything, he cared about these two stubborn assholes more, couldn’t bear to think about them leaving because of the same reason.

I’m sorry.

‘No breaks here either, a torn ligament possibly and a few stretched tendons, I’ll wrap it up later, don’t use it for a few days.’

Stephen stretched his hand out to the Cloak, taking the adhesive gauze pad it was holding. He gave Tony another once over before bending down on his knees, brushing back Tony’s bangs so he could apply the pad, sealing the wound.

He caught Stephen’s wrists as his lover went to move away, clutching them as hard as he could, even as his fingers pulsated with pain.

‘I’m sorry,’ Tony blurted, closing his eyes against his angry tears. ‘I saw he was in danger and I…I just-’

‘Look at me, Tony.’ Stephen brought his hands to Tony’s face, encouraging his damaged hand back down. ‘For a split second there, I thought I’d lost you,’ Stephen murmured, hand cradling Tony’s jaw, the tremor back in his grip now his magic was gone. ‘You were just lying on the ground, not moving. We heard your body hit the floor, heard the…’ Stephen couldn’t finish his sentence, closing his eyes as he swallowed thickly.

He surged forward, seizing Tony in a hug, cradling the back of his head as he held him close to his body, quivering with his pent up fear, his anger at Tony, his relief.

‘Jesus, Tony. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life.’

‘I’m sorry, I just…I saw him and-’

‘I know, sweetheart, I know. I would’ve done the same, for either of you,’ Stephen swore, stretching back so he could rest their foreheads together, inhaling shakily. ‘I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.’

‘Me neither, but I know I’d always do everything in my power to save you both, even if that means flinging myself in front of some intergalactic laser beam from some wannabe villain,’ Tony joked, his own tears falling as he saw tears squeeze out from Stephen’s clenched eyelids.

They clutched each other, reassuring themselves that the other was alive and well, that despite Tony’s damaged and bruised state, they were both alive to fight another day.

‘Go talk to him. I can hear him pacing from here,’ Stephen murmured, leaning down to peck Tony’s lips with his own, careful of his split lip.

‘Alright.’ Tony got off the edge of the bathtub as he took a deep breath. He knew he had to face Loki, had to say sorry somehow, but suddenly the bathroom floor was looking like a great place to sleep on.

‘Tony?’ Stephen’s voice sounded like it was far away, and Tony tried to reach out for him, his arms feeling like they were wading through treacle. ‘Hold on, I’m going to put you in bed-’

‘No! I’ll never hear the end of it if he thinks I’m bedridden. Let me explain to him I’m fine and then we can go from there.’ Tony gritted his teeth as he hobbled out of the bathroom. He could do this, he’d defended the Earth against all sorts of threats, had been stabbed by Thanos and still managed to stand, he could make it to Loki.

The Sanctum hallway wavered for a moment, splashes of ruby from the rugs blurring together with the dark wood into a dizzying kaleidoscope of color and pain that Tony was victim to. A hand on his back centered him, forcing the world to stop spinning.

‘I thought I had to talk to Loki, alone?’ Tony questioned.

‘And last time I checked I was with you both? I might be mad at you too, but I’m not going to let you struggle all the way there,’ Stephen promised him.

Loki was pacing beside the oddly shaped window of the Sanctum, his arms clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable as he stamped.

‘Actually, the funhouse corridor is looking like a better option,’ Tony whispered, taking a step back into Stephen’s body.

‘I’m glad to see that you are in fact alive, despite my earlier conclusion,’ Loki snapped, coming to a standstill, his back to Tony.

‘Loki…I’m-’

‘Sorry? Sorry for putting yourself in danger? For not trusting me to watch myself in battle?

For making me think I’d lost you!’ Loki shouted, whirling on his heel and glaring at Tony. He could see blood staining Loki’s leather, knew it was his, could remember the terror on Loki’s face as he carried him away from battle, the way he frantically called his name.

Anthony! Please, Norns! I cannot…Stephen! Help me!

The words ricocheted around in his mind, Loki’s despair, his overwhelming fear of a few hours ago still potent in his memory. He met Loki’s gaze and any humor, any of his usual cocky brashness evaporated under the sheer fury radiating from Loki’s posture.

‘It was foolish of me to put my trust in you,’ Loki spat, his hands tightened into fists at his side, furious streaks of red straining his pale cheekbones.

Despite his shame, the pain coursing through his body like glass shards pumping through his veins, Tony took a challenging step forward, holding his ground even when he couldn’t quite see Loki clearly.

‘What did you want me to do? Stand there and let it happen?’

‘I expected you to trust me!’ Loki hissed.

‘And I do trust you! But in that moment, all I could see was that you were in danger! Someone I loved was in danger and I acted. I’m not sorry Loki, I’d do it again, a thousand times over if it would keep you safe!’

Loki’s frustration exploded from him in a blast of green energy. It washed over Tony and Stephen leaving them unaffected, but the glass cases of the artifacts shattered, flinging glass on the floor.

‘I did not ask you to sacrifice yourself like that for me. How do you think that would make me feel, how it would make Stephen feel if we lost you in such a way, you infuriating mortal!’

Tony tried to take another step forward, his brain trying to come up with a counterargument even as the world was pitching sideways, nausea scrabbling up his throat. It was all too much, the pain, the implications, and while he never backed away from a fight, Tony found that he couldn’t do it anymore.

‘Listen, I know you want to shout at me some more, hell you can punch me later if you want, and I know you’re trying to teach me a lesson right now, but could you please heal me? Can’t you take your anger out on me some other way?’ Tony begged as he crashed to one knee, sweat dripping off his body as he fell forward onto his uninjured hand.

‘What happened? I thought you said you could heal him! I knew I should’ve taken him to the healers at New Asgard!’ Loki shouted, suddenly beside Tony. He was rolled over onto his back, both of them looming over him with pale, waxen faces.

‘He needs rest Loki, he’s exhausted.’

‘Then why is he not in a bed!’ Loki demanded.

‘Because I’m sorry,’ Tony croaked, trying to rub his head against Loki’s leg, his limbs trembling as his body began to succumb to his exhaustion. Stephen lifted him, handing him over to Loki as he went to talk to the Cloak, barking instructions at it. Drained of any sort of fight, Tony went lax in the arms holding him, the jostling of Loki’s chest against his as he walked creating enough pain to keep him conscious, and he was ashamed of the guttural whine that escaped his mouth.

‘Put him down carefully and don’t aggravate him any further. You can shout at him later,’ Stephen instructed Loki, ready to chase the Asgardian out if he needed to.

Tony just wanted to sleep, wanted to burrow down into Stephen’s mattress and blankets and pass out, just so he could escape the pain and their wrath for a few hours. Cracking open his eye, he watched Stephen shut the blinds to his room, searching through his draws for something.

Loki made an intricate gesture with his fingers, and a ceramic pot fell out of thin air and into his palm. Opening the lid, a pungent smell pierced the air, a woodsy mint tang, almost like eucalyptus. Tony sucked in a sharp inhale through his teeth as Loki smeared the white salve over his ribs, his gaze flicking up in a tormented expression as Tony struggled to hold himself still.

‘You really thought… Anthony…you really believe I would punish you in such a way, that I would not heal you if I were able?’ Loki asked, fingers feather-light over his skin.

‘You’re really mad at me,’ Tony gasped, tossing his head back against the pillow at the flash of heat settling into his skin.

‘Loki’s magic doesn’t work in that way, he’s not a healer,’ Stephen explained, carefully settling on the bed on Tony’s other side, running his fingers through Tony’s hair.

‘No matter my anger, I would not punish you in such a way. Do you not think it pains me to see you like this, to know I did not do enough to prevent it, to be reminded of just how fragile you are!’ Loki angrily muttered. ‘Give me your hand.’

Just as he had with Stephen, Tony initially refused, wrapping his free arm around his elbow, hiding his hand away from them both.

‘Anthony…’ Loki gasped.

‘Loki, sweetheart, Tony’s had a lot of serious injuries to that hand, still suffers from some of the mental trauma. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you.’

‘Anthony, beloved, you can trust me. Listen to me, focus on your ribs, you must be able to feel the clutches of agony loosening their hold on you.’

Tony could, his breathing was easier, but he still held his arm close, his fear mingling with the old horrors of previous betrayals.

‘Tony?’ Stephen questioned.

‘Don’t leave,’ Tony whispered, ‘I’m sorry for what I did, for being who I am, but-’

Loki silenced him with a fierce kiss, holding Tony’s face in his hands, waiting until their gazes locked.

‘Nothing is worth your life, especially not mine,’ Loki told him viciously. ‘I am honored by the depths of your love for me, touched that you find me worthy, but I am more resilient than you, stronger because of my heritage. There is not much in this universe that can harm me, but there is so much that can harm you,’ Loki told him, his eyes going filmy wet.

‘I can’t lose you, Lokes, can’t lose either of you.’ Tony stretched forward to kiss him again, tentatively offering his hand for treatment.

Loki took it, his touch tender as he applied the salve. Tony didn’t watch as he worked, nuzzling his face into Stephen’s chest, breathing him in, inhaling the lingering scent of battle and sweat.

‘Ah, took you long enough. Tony, I need you to sit up for a second, come on.’ He reached a hand beneath Tony’s head, encouraging him to sit up, supporting his weight. The Cloak dropped something into Stephen’s hand, draping itself over Tony’s legs, its collar fluttering at the bruises on Tony’s chest. ‘Open up, sweetheart.’

Tony did as he was asked, grimacing against the bitter pills placed on his tongue, fighting the urge to spit them out, glaring up at Stephen.

‘They’ll put you to sleep but they’ll help, I promise,’ Stephen swore, holding a glass of water to his lips.

‘Sorry,’ he croaked again once he finished drinking, scrunching his eyes up as Stephen lay him back down.

‘No, I am sorry for being angry, for fighting with you while you were injured, for making you believe that I would allow you to suffer in such a way. I wish I were a healer, that I did not have to watch you endure this alone.’

Tony flexed the fingers of his injured hand, laughing a little in relief as the pain receded to a dull ache. ‘Come lay down with me, I think I need sleep,’ he requested. He usually grumbled at how soft Stephen’s mattress was, preferring a firmer mattress, but right now it felt heavenly. He wriggled down further into the blankets, sighing loudly as both his lovers flanked him.

‘Sorry again,’ he whispered, holding back his tears as he felt twin kisses on his forehead.

‘Sleep beloved, we will watch over you,’ Loki told him, the edge of his finger stroking over the bridge of Tony’s nose.

‘We’ll tell you off when you wake up, douchebag,’ Stephen added, snaking an arm cautiously over Tony’s shoulders.

Despite the feeling of his battered body, Tony found himself falling asleep quickly, the sounds of his partners whispering, the soothing strokes to his body and the medication all sending him into a dreamless sleep.

#frostironstrange #Loki #Tony Stark #Stephen Strange #writing prompt #Ask #answered asks

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