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hannibals-favourite-meal · 8 months

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I was wondering if I can request a sam Winchester x fem reader smut and fluff, where maybe he's an alpha and he and Dean are out hunting or something and maybe they get ambushed but then are saved by omega reader, and Sam is head over heels for her from the beginning, but she is unsure cause of comments in her past saying that's she's weak or something and then maybe after a while he asks her out on a date and it goes well and they keep seeing each other and eventually smut

.⋆｡Something Happens And I’m Head Over Heels｡⋆.

Alpha!Sam Winchester x omega! plus size reader

When a mysterious hunter swoops in and saves the Winchesters at the last second, Sam falls in love at first sight but she’s been hurt by alphas like him before.

Warnings: smut, a/b/o, angst, monster death, canon typical violence, injuries, parental abuse/neglect (not just for the Winchesters), mention of parental death, consent checks, oral (m and f receiving), no penetration, confessions, sort of mutual pining, he falls HARD

WC: 6.1k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

The coppery smell of blood was now almost permanently etched into Sam’s mind. He had smelt blood straight from a wound and even blood that was weeks old but nothing had ever smelt like this before. The scent was so thick he could practically taste it. He gagged on the stale air silently, still cautious of how much noise he was making.

The walls of the abandoned warehouse were painted a rusty brown and when Sam looked closer, he immediately shut his eyes, trying to repress his nausea- it was dried blood, caked on so thick it looked like paint. His grip on the machete in his hands tightened until his knuckles were a deathly white.

Get in. Take out the vamps. Get out. He repeated to himself as he continued his journey into the heart of the nest.

From what he and Dean had predicted there were, at most, 6 vamps in the nest. And while normally that number would constitute calling in backup, Sam’s rut was only a few days away so he had the strength of three grown (and frustrated) men so they went in alone.

Sunlight leaked through the boarded up windows, providing the only illumination to guide his way. Vaguely, he could hear his brother’s footsteps from the other side of the otherwise silent building. Soon, the hall opened up before him, revealing a huge room absolutely full of bodies, both dead and undead.

His heart pounded in his ears as panic quickly overtook him. Their calculations were very very wrong- there were close to a dozen vampires littered around the room, each with at least three drained corpses around them. His hazel eyes went wide as he caught sight of Dean, only now entering the room on the other side.

He saw as Dean’s chest hitched, the situation dawning on him. They made eye contact and with an almost investable nod to each other, then slowly began to back out of the room. Even with Sam’s temporary strength, there was no possible way they could kill that many vamps safely.

His whole body was tense, both rearing for a fight and ready to run at a moment’s notice.

Clang!

The pipe appeared from thin air, practically materialising before him just as Sam put his foot down. The metal spun away from him before he realised what was happening and slammed into the hollow siding of the hallway.

Everything froze and Sam held his breath. “Looks like we got some fresh meat boys!” He cursed under his breath and spun around just quickly enough to see the vamps rising to their feet, eyes blazing with bloodlust.

The plastic handle of his machete suddenly seemed incredibly slippery as Sam readjusted his grip on the weapon. They couldn’t kill this many vamps at once and they certainly couldn’t outrun them but they definitely weren’t going down without a fight.

Debris crunched under his heel as Sam planted his feet, his pupils contracted to a pin drop and his chest rumbled with a deep growl. His scent turned sour with his fury. “Bring it.”

His blade whistled as it slashed through the air, easily biting into the neck of the first vamp. Its head separated cleanly but Sam’s follow through was too long and quickly, the second darted towards him, razor sharp teeth bared.

With a snarl, he planted a hand on its chest and shoved the monster back, giving him just enough room to plant the blade into its shoulder. It howled in pain but continued to charge forward, yellowing fangs glinting in the low light.

Sam’s shoulder jerked as he pulled the blade back out but before he could complete a second swing, another vamp threw itself towards his legs, quickly knocking him off balance. Fear prickled across his skin as his back slammed into the metal wall. There was a crunch and then pain shot up his right shoulder.

He tried to curse but all that escaped him was a feral growl that echoed through the building. A bulk of the nest now crowded the hallway, each pushing and shoving, trying to get at the hunter. Fangs sliced into his calf as more hands grabbed at him, ripping the blade from his hold.

Just as his desperate struggle to get free seemed fruitless, light filled the hallway and the dark figure of a woman was silhouetted against the afternoon sun. The vamps barely had time to react to the burn of the light before her arm cocked back and she threw a pipe into the middle of the crowd.

As soon as the thick metal hit the dusty ground, it set off an explosion, sending thick almost black liquid all over them. It sunk into their flesh, spreading through them like molten lava. There was a moment where everything froze and then a sound erupted from the vamps.

They screamed in pain as they clawed at their skin. Suddenly Sam was free but it was not his blade that struck down the suffering vamps.

She moved with more grace than he ever thought possible, her own machete almost dancing through the air as she effortlessly operated their heads from their bodies. Within seconds, the warehouse was silent once more, leaving behind only the smell of blood and the most delicious scent Sam had smelled in his life.

Without a word, the hunter wiped her blade clean with the shirt of one of the vamps and slid it back into the sheath strapped to her plump thigh. “You hurt?” But all he could focus on was the little smear of blood on her full cheek, oh how badly did he want to reach out and wipe it away with his thumb.

Her eyebrows scrunched and gave him a once over. “That’s a pretty gnarly bite you got there, can you walk?” She reached a tentative hand to him, quite obviously taking note of the husky scent of his rut, and it was all Sam could do not to snatch it up and press his nose to the pulse point on her wrist.

She easily helped him back to his feet, laying a steadying touch on his toned stomach when he began to sway. His heart flipped and the world shrunk to just her. “Sammy!”

Her head turned to look where his brother’s voice had come, exposing her scent gland to the alpha who couldn’t help but take in a deep breath, eager for another whiff of what he thought his heaven smelled like. Old books, campfire, home.

“Sammy, huh?” She teased, the beginnings of a smile tugging at her lips. His knees buckled. Yet before he could come up with a semi-articulate response, Dean barrelled around the corner, eyes wide and full of fear.

The biting scent of adrenaline came off of him in waves and the mysterious woman immediately cringed, her nose scrunching. Anger flared in Sam’s belly, his alpha screamed at him to pull her away from whatever was causing her such discomfort, even if it was his brother.

As soon as Dean saw Sam, his body sagged with relief. “Shit that was a close one.” He groaned but quickly, his tone changed when he caught sight of the plump woman standing next to his brother. “I see you found a friend, a very attractive one. Dean Winchester, and that is my gigantor baby brother.”

He easily slid up to her, his green eyes hungrily tracing her soft curves before settling on her face. Sam knew that move, he had seen it hundreds of times before but it was only now that he had a problem with it. “Y/N. You boys should know better to take on a whole nest alone.”

Dean actually looked sheepish at her scolding and Sam’s alpha preened. “Strong omega. Perfect mate.” He purred.

“Well, we thought there were less. How the fuck did you kill all of ‘em so quick?” He looked around at the bodies in amazement, giving the one closest to him a kick. The skin where his boot touched crumbled into ash.

“Pipe bomb filled with blessed dead man’s blood.” She replied like it was obvious.

“Blessed?” Sam croaked out. Y/N shivered at the sound of his voice but quickly suppressed it as she spoke again.

“Like how you would bless holy water.” Dean nodded in approval, the hand holding his machete going slack as he forced himself to relax with the danger gone. But Sam still felt incredibly wound up, especially as his brother approached her.

“That was badass, for an omega that is.” Sam didn’t miss the way she flinched, however minute it was.

“Yeah.” She smoothly took a step back from him, her body twisting beautifully as she moved towards the exit. Unconsciously, Sam began to follow. He needed to be close to her, to soothe the ache in his chest.

Dean gave a quizzical look to his brother but he was ignored as Sam limped behind her, his alpha slowly stealing control from him, rut now dangerously close.

“So do you wanna go get a drink with us to celebrate, I think we owe you a round.” But she waved him off as she walked to her slightly busted up truck. He watched the way her hips swayed, the dark material of her jeans perfectly hugging her ass in a way that made Sam’s mouth go dry.

“Bars aren’t my thing. Maybe I’ll catch you another time. Try not to get yourselves killed.” Her machete is thrown into the passenger seat with far more force than necessary, making the hollow siding reverberate as she climbed in after it.

The engine roared to life, quickly breaking Sam from his trance. But before he could even take one step towards the truck, she was gone, leaving behind only echoes of her scent.

——————

She couldn’t stop thinking about that alpha no matter how hard she tried to forget him, even though it had been weeks since the unfortunate encounter. There was just something about the way his big hazel eyes had looked up at her as she saved his life or the sound of his voice. But most of all, his scent was almost seared into her mind, a delicious mixture of gunpowder, pine forest and chocolate.

Never in her life had she smelt something as good as that and it was slowly killing her. Alphas were dangerous, alpha hunters doubly so. They were violent and aggressive and more pigheaded than she ever thought possible, and they hated omegas.

Sure, they liked fucking them but they refused to claim them. Omegas were just rut bunnies, a tool to get off so they could go back to killing monsters. And an omega hunting? She had been laughed out of more hunter bars and backups than she could count. So it was best to just forget him, she didn’t think she could bear it if he was like the others, if he was like his brother.

Y/N swallowed thickly, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. Even his name was pretty, Sam like some guardian angel or an ancient warrior. He was strong and tall and packed with muscle. Her omega constantly reminded her of what a perfect mate he was, how he could provide for her and her pups, how safe he made her feel.

With every mile she drove away, her soul burned, urging her to turn the truck around and drive straight back to him. But her willpower was stronger… for now at least.

But until that day came, she would do what she did best- hunt.

——————

“C’mon Sammy, you’ve been sulking for weeks. She was just an omega!” Sam glared at his brother over top of his beer, the fifth of the night. He couldn’t just forget her, not when he had never met anyone like her before, not when the very thought of her made his heart clench and butterflies fill his stomach.

It had been easy to learn all about her from Bobby and Rufus. They both sung her praises, describing her as immensely intelligent and well versed in all sorts of lore as well as being cunning enough to escape a den of werewolves with only a screwdriver and a half-empty lighter. With every story they told and little fact they divulged, Sam fell even deeper in love with her.

She was an enigma of the best kind.

“You’re being an asshole Dean, what exactly does her presentation have to do with her value as a hunter?”

“Jesus Sammy.” Dean scoffed. “What crawled up your ass and died?” Sam rolled his eyes and stood from the old booth.

“I’m going back to the motel, text me if you aren’t coming back tonight.” He walked out of the bar before he could hear Dean’s protests.

The biting winter air calmed his anger some but that simmering disappointment in his brother was still there. Y/N was not just an omega yet for some fucking reason, no one else agreed. It made his blood boil.

Stuffing his hands into his jacket, Sam began the short walk back to the motel. A part of him wondered if Dean was right, they had only met once and it was for barely ten minutes before she was off again. But so much more of him wondered why she was gone, why they had never seen her before or even heard of her. She was a great hunter so why did no one call her for backup.

With his head down and lost in his thoughts, the tall hunter didn’t notice the familiar truck parked in the spot by his shared room until he almost walked right into it.

The tip of his boots stopped right before the back tire as he gazed at the vehicle in amazement. She was here. His eyes darted along the row of rooms, searching for any indication of where she might be. His pulse sped up as he finally caught a whiff of her dizzying scent.

His heart jumped as he realised that it was coming from the room right next to his, a coincidence that he would be eternally grateful for. Warmth bloomed from his chest as he cautiously raised his hand and knocked on the ancient looking door.

There was a shuffling from the other side and then slowly, the door creaked open. Sam groaned softly as a fresh wave of her scent washed over him. It was raw and overpowering and immediately went to his cock.

Her eyes were bleary with exhaustion as she looked at the alpha on her doorstep. “Sam?” His chest rumbled with a pleased sound at the way she said his name. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m in the room next door.” His eyes wandered down the length of her curvy body which was now only covered by an oversized shirt and some fluffy socks. One of her hands nervously tugged on the hem of the shirt in an attempt to cover more of her naked thighs.

She shuffled her feet nervously as if contemplating something before she stepped to the side. “You can come in if you want.”

There was not an ounce of hesitation in Sam’s mind as he stepped into her room. His chest puffed out in pride at being allowed to enter the omega’s space. She followed behind him after locking the door but still kept her distance. She was obviously wary of him and for the life of him, Sam couldn’t understand why.

An awkward silence settled over the pair, neither one of them knowing how to begin the conversation. She avoided making eye contact as the slightly older hunter forced himself to stop looking at her thick thighs.

“Why-“ “I-“ They both spoke at the same time. Y/N laughed softly under her breath and Sam watched as she finally relaxed, taking a seat at the edge of her bed. His own smile began to grow and took the liberty of sitting opposite her on the arm of the couch.

The room was so small that their knees were barely inches away from each other but neither wanted to move any further away. “Bobby said you had asked about me.” She said bluntly if not a little bashfully. A blush spread across Sam’s face and suddenly he felt incredibly small.

“Yeah I did.” He admitted. “I was curious about you.”

She tilted her head in confusion. “Why?”

Taking a deep breath, he rested his elbows onto his knees, making himself as small as he could. “You just… captured me, I’ve never met a hunter like you before and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I wanted to know more.” She sat straight up as her eyes narrowed.

“You wanted to know how an omega could hunt.” She snarled.

“No! No, you being an omega has nothing to do with it. I asked Bobby because well, I couldn’t believe how clever you were. I mean come on, blessed blood? I don’t think anyone else has come up with that idea. You took out that whole nest by yourself!” He rushed to defend himself. He laid a large palm onto her knee as if that could drive his point home but all it really did was make his mind go blank except for the thought of just how soft her skin was.

Sam expected her to lurch from his touch but to his surprise, Y/N nudged her knee even closer to him, albeit slightly warily. “It wasn’t the whole nest.” She muttered shyly with her head tilted downwards, exposing her collar. Sam’s alpha grumbled happily at the submission but he swallowed the noise down, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

“Even if it wasn’t, we- I would have been dead without you and that’s why I wanted to find you, to learn about you because I wanted to thank you and maybe, get to know you a bit more.” The expression on her face grew more pensive as she looked into his eyes.

“You don’t care that I’m an omega?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that I don’t care about that, but that part has nothing to do with you hunting.” His fingers curled into her flesh, sending a fresh wave of her scent through the room. “You being an omega is far from a detriment in my eyes.” His voice dropped lower, becoming husky and laced with arousal.

Her thighs squeezed together, trapping his hand between her warm legs. Sam leaned forward even more, their foreheads almost touching. He watched as her gaze flicked to his lips. “You can’t mean that.” She whispered but it was directed at herself, as if she were trying to remind herself of something.

With his free hand, the alpha gently brushed his fingertips along her jaw before his palm settled against the soft swell of her cheek. “You’ll be like all the other alphas out there.” But still, she leaned closer, resting her forehead against his.

“I promise I’m not.” Her fingers tentatively worked their way into the buttons of his flannel and Sam’s heart skipped a beat. The silence that fell between them now was far from uncomfortable. Y/N took in a deep breath, swallowing down the alpha’s scent before she groaned quietly.

“You wouldn’t stop an omega from hunting?” Sam shook his head. “You wouldn’t force them to be subservient?”

“Never.” He vowed as his lips brushed against her cupid’s bow. Her chest hitched.

“What about claiming?” Sam’s hand skirted higher up her legs until the calloused tips of his fingers disappeared beneath her night shirt. Heat radiated from her core as slick soaked through her thin panties.

Sam was almost delirious with lust and apparently, Y/N was the same. Her pupils were blown wide, the blackness consuming the natural colour of her irises. “Hypothetically?” She nodded, knowing that this conversation was veering into far from hypothetical. “Only when they’re ready, and I will be fine if they never are.”

She smiled widely and just as she leaned forwards to kiss him, there came a pounding on the door. “Sam!! You in there?!” At the sound of Dean’s voice, she threw herself back as if she were a child getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Sam actually whined as his hands were ripped from her skin. “Yeah Dean.” He growled, quickly standing and shielding her half-naked body through the door was still firmly shut.

“Sheriffs just found another body, we gotta move.” Y/N sat up on the bed, her interest now focused on the case.

“Was it the pawn shop owner’s wife?” She piped up.

There was a pause and then, “Y/N? Damn Sammy, you need an extra 10 minutes? Cause we definitely have time if you do.”

“Dean.” Sam warned, but the omega’s soft touch upon his hand stopped him in his tracks.

Y/N’s eyes blazed with a fire he had never seen before as she lifted herself from the now crumpled bed sheets. Her gaze was hard and firmly set upon the door as if she could see right through it to the idiotic alpha outside. Sam watched as the omega melted away and was replaced by the hardened hunter.

“Go. I’ll catch up with you two later. I have something to take care of.” Sam’s heart dropped to his stomach and he opened his mouth to protest, to insist that she come with them. Not because he thought she needed any sort of protection but that he didn’t think he could bear to be away from her for even a second. But then her glare settled on him.

He tried to turn his wrist to capture her hand in his but she pulled back from him quickly. “You should stay here, where you’re safe.”

He would never admit to it, but Sam cowered, shrinking in upon himself as Y/N’s lip turned downwards. “Go.” She snarled and before he could even comprehend what her sudden change in demeanour meant, Sam was out the door and his alpha howled with shame.

She rejected him and he had no clue how to fix it.

——————

Somehow, through the incredibly awkward tension and the less-than-perfect hunt, all three of the young hunters now found themselves in Bobby’s living room, a heavy air between them.

Y/N nursed a beer and a slightly swollen cheek as well as the angriest look on her face. Even Dean cringed away from her line of sight like a little boy escaping a scolding. “Any of you wanna tell me exactly what happened out there?”

Bobby shoved an ice pack into her awaiting hand before leaning against the desk at the far end of the room. “Just bone-headed alphas getting in my way.” She snarled and took a pull of her drink, her scent now bitter like stale coffee.

“Y/N, now’s not the time.” Bobby sighed, his head dropping between his shoulders. The omega turned her glare to him but he did not falter away like the boys did. “Hunts are always gonna be tough but you gotta work with the cards you’re dealt with and trust your partners. And these boys are the best you could ask for, alphas or not.”

Her growl echoed through the room before she slammed her beer down and stormed off. A bedroom door slammed shut soon after, rocking the foundations of the house. “That girl.” Bobby muttered, shaking his head mournfully.

Sam looked up the stairs longingly, part of him wanting to follow after her but also knowing that doing so might only worsen the already rocky relationship between them.

“What is her deal anyway?” Dean sat forward on the couch, planting his elbows onto his knees. Bobby’s hand curled around his tumbler of whisky, knuckles turning pale.

“You boys weren’t the only ones to grow up under the thumb of an obsessed hunter but the only difference between you is, she had both parents. Both alphas, both life-long hunters, and both believed that omegas were beneath them in every way. She was bait.”

Sam and Dean sucked in a breath, they both knew what that meant. Omegas would be stripped of all weapons or protective symbols and then sent into bars that vampires frequented or told to go for a walk in the woods where werewolf dens were. Their scent was the sweetest and the most appetising. Most of the time, the omega would make it out with minimal injuries but there were some hunters out there who would let whatever monster they were tracking down have a little treat before killing them.

“She got smart, learned how to gank monsters using whatever she could find and yet her parents took all the credit. They got lazy, letting her do the hunt while they went to go drink or do whatever the fuck else besides trying to protect their daughter. And one day, when she was recovering from a witch’s curse, they decided to get the hunt done themselves. They were slow and stupid. Y/N found them two days later, completely ripped apart. She’s been hunting alone ever since.”

“Shit.” Dean leaned back on the couch, running a hand through his cropped hair. “I figured she was just bitter about an ex or something. I- Sam!” The youngest Winchester sprang to his feet and before anyone could stop him, he pounded up the stairs and threw open her bedroom door.

Y/N sat against the headboard, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving with barely controlled panic. Sam didn’t hesitate to yank her into his arms, forcing her face into the crook of his neck as he held her tightly. She thrashed against him, her warning snarls only ceasing when she finally inhaled his scent.

Tentatively, she placed her hands on his muscular back as Sam’s arms tightened around her shoulders, his head resting on top of her own. “You don’t need to worry anymore, omega. I’m right here.” Sam pressed his lips to the crown of her head, giving her a gentle kiss. “No one will ever hurt you again, not while I’m around.”

Her soft body slowly relaxed into him and the alpha could feel the weight being eased from her shoulders. “You can’t know that, it’s an impossible promise to make.”

Sam’s left hand slid up the soft curve of her arm, his fingertips gently brushing along her neck before settling on her jaw. He tilted her head up just enough so that she could meet his hazel eyes. His gaze flickered over her face, settling on her lips for a moment too long before finally looking longingly into her wide eyes.

“Because I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, happy and loved, no matter what.” Her breath hitched and for a moment, doubt crept into Sam’s mind. “Because you deserve so much more than what life has given you and I want to fix that.” He rushed to add on, hoping that she would not reject him once more.

But then, Y/N rocked forward and captured his lips in the best kiss of Sam’s life.

The world blurred around them as their lips danced together. Sam could taste the beer she had drunk but also something else- something that was just her. His hand fell to her neck making her moan loudly into his mouth as his thumb accidentally brushed against the raised skin of her scent gland.

His knees buckled as her scent suddenly filled through the room, emptying his mind of everything except her. Her nails dug into his back, the kiss quickly became something more.

“Wait wait wait.” Sam reluctantly ripped himself from her but she wasn’t letting go that easily. She pulled him back into another kiss which he was barely able to pull away from. “Wait babygirl. Are you sure you want to go any further?” His right hand, which she now realised was low on her back, the tips of his fingers brushed against the swell of her ass, pressed her further into his toned stomach.

Y/N whined trying to chase his lips but a warning growl from Sam had her obediently silent. “I need a clear answer, omega.” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Please, I want you, all of you.” She managed to get out through the heavy lump of arousal in her throat. Sam smirked, his alpha preening at her desperation and her acceptance that he was hers. Yet he still did not kiss her again. Part of him wished for her to beg, to scream and cry for him after her rejection.

His thumb pressed down onto her scent gland, immediately making her eyes grow hazy. “Then prove it.”

Her hands flew to his belt buckle, trembling almost violently as she struggled to open it and gain access to what she was craving. She growled in frustration, ripping the leather apart Y/N was finally able to pull his dark jeans down enough for his cock to spring free, unburdened by any boxers.

Sam could barely hold back a groan as she moaned loudly at the sight of him. Her eyes flicked to his but quickly returned to the long and thick cock just a hair’s breadth away. The old hardwood groaned with the impact of her knees as she dropped in front of him. “Omega-“ He tried to say but suddenly her mouth was on him.

A saltiness exploded on her tongue as Y/N licked up his tip, lapping at the pre-cum that was already gathered there. She mewled, eager for more of the alpha in her mouth. Her lips pulled tighter with each inch she swallowed down, her jaw already beginning to ache even though she had barely taken half of him down her throat.

Sam’s hands balled into fists, his knuckles paling with the force. He watched with bated breath as the omega’s eyes hardened and she forced down even more of his cock. “Babygirl- fuck- slow down.” Now he was the one begging but she refused to listen.

She pulled back slightly, just enough that the fat head of his cock rested on the back of her tongue and then she pressed forwards again, now able to brush the tip of her nose against the groomed thatch of hair on the base of his pelvis. Sam threw his head back and moaned loudly, his cock already throbbing with the edge of ecstasy.

“Omega stop.” Her movements ceased but he was still deep down her throat. Her eyes were wide with a questioning gaze, the colour of her irises completely swallowed up by her pupils. The room was thick with their scent, and had he been in the right mind, Sam would wonder if the two men downstairs could smell them.

Delicately, he cupped her hollowed out cheeks and dragged her from his cock. She whined in protest as she was ripped away from him and Sam couldn’t help but chuckle. “So good for me, so perfect. Can I take care of you now?” He cooed, rubbing his thumbs across the apple of her cheeks.

Her eyelids fluttered and she nodded enthusiastically.

She went limp in his arms as Sam pulled her to his feet, letting him guide her soft body back onto the creaky mattress easily. She bounced once, her tits jumping towards her chin with the movement though they were still confined by her bra.

Sam’s plaid slipped over his head quickly, followed by his undershirt, leaving him completely bare to the omega who was still fully dressed. Her thick thighs pressed together under the weight of his gaze, needing any sort of friction against her core or she felt she would go mad.

His touch was hot, even through the thick denim of her jeans, as he slowly crawled up the length of her body, absentmindedly kissing the little flashes of skin where her shirt had risen on her stomach, her wrists, her collarbone until he finally reached her lips once more.

He gripped a plump thigh in one hand, the other holding his huge body above her as they lazily kissed. His hips settled against hers, immediately fanning the flames of desire between the two. She wiggled beneath him, fingers desperately pulling at the buttons of her own flannel, bumping into his hard chest with each unsuccessful attempt.

Sam let his hand drift from her thigh to the button of her jeans, popping it open with a calm ease that made her omega preen. Long fingers slid into her pants, immediately finding her panties completely soaked through with slick. As soon as his rough fingertips brushed against her covered clit, Y/N threw her head back and howled, her hips canting up to chase his touch.

With her neck now exposed, his lips found their way to her hot skin, nipping and sucking as his fingers pushed her panties to the side. Nails dug into the strong muscles of his back as he gently traced the length of her. “So wet for me. I’ll make you feel so good, omega.”

Before she could even take a breath, her pants were ripped down her legs along with her panties and discarded across the room. Sam’s eyes were fixated on the apex of her thighs, hungrily licking his lips at the sight of her laid out before him.

Without any warning, he dove in as if he could no longer stop himself. Pleasure shot up her spine in a way she had never before experienced. Sam nosed at her clit, groaning happily as more slick poured from her. He tried to be gentle at first, to ease his way into her but as soon as she clenched tightly around his tongue, Sam knew that there was no going back, that he would do this every day, multiple times a day if it were up to him, for the rest of their lives.

“Sam!” She cried, her hips bucking from the bed, making the old bed springs scream in protest with the sudden movement. Sam growled into her cunt, the vibrations sending a mind-numbing spark through her body, and grabbed her wide hips to keep her pinned down. Now unable to escape his mouth, Y/N was forced to feel every stroke of his tongue and each flick of his large nose against her clit. It was overwhelming, overpowering and tortuous in all the best ways.

The edges of her mind were beginning to go fuzzy just as small black dots grew in her vision. She grabbed at his hands, their fingers intertwined as she held them to her covered chest, desperate for more of the alpha’s touch like she could never get enough of him. Sam’s head bobbed with each furious thrust of his tongue, lapping up everything she was giving him. Her chest heaved as she struggled to breathe. Her body strung tight with her impending release but still it did not cum.

She lifted her head from the pillows and opened her mouth to beg the alpha to cum but instead, she saw how he was nestled between her thighs, his own body tightly pressed to the bed sheets as his lean hips rolled down. He was humping the bed, furiously so, all because of her taste.

The omega shattered in his arms, her orgasm washing over her like nothing before. She was silent only for a moment, too washed out in pleasure to make a sound but then, she screamed. Her cum coated his tongue and Sam couldn’t stop his own orgasm from slamming into him- her sounds, her taste, her warmth, it was all too much for him and the alpha spilled himself onto the moth-eaten duvet cover.

“Alpha.” She sobbed, her soft arms reaching out to him. “Wan your knot!” Part of Sam winced at her tears but his alpha was howling in pride at leaving the omega a desperate puddle of lust and need for him. He wrapped her up in a comforting embrace, twisting both their bodies so that she could lay mostly on top of him.

“Shhh omega. You will get it, but not today.” She stiffened in his hold but he was quick to reassure her.

“I want to earn it, your trust and your mark.” He smiled and kissed her softly, cupping her jaw in one massive hand. “Let me work for it, please.”

Her shy smile knocked the breath from his lungs, her eyes shining with the beginnings of love. “Yeah okay.” Sam relaxed back into the bed, deliriously happy as Y/N laid her head on his bare chest, hand over the heart that beat only for her.

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lorebeth · 8 months

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Hello I have a request that's been on my mind for a while. What if Blade had a child that's currently a preteen and they've never met him and when Blade discovered his child was on the Loufu living under the care of adoptive parents after their birth mother passed away, he decided to test their skill in battle and he was not disappointed but he was surprised by his child's fighting style and the fact that they collapsed as soon as the fight was over because this was the first time they were in a fight like that along with them having a somewhat weak constitution. (If you're not comfortable with writing this that's completely understandable and I wish you a good day or night)

I want to sob I wrote like 1k and it was GONE. My dumb ass didn't save it I swear I'm sobbing vigorously

BUT THANK YOU SO MUCHHH I TRIED REALLY HARD AND IT IS AN X READER. You're the first to ever request so you're like my favourite person right now ilysm PFHSJDB

SORRY IT'S SO LATE

Even with all your mentoring sessions and fighting competitions aboard the Luofu, nothing could have ever prepared you for your fight with him.

A tall, muscular man with a dead stare and an unimpressed, almost annoyed facial expression.

As your sword clashed against his, you couldn't help but wonder how you even got in this situation. Weren't you on the way home from shopping for your mother? Well whatever reason you were out for was immediately forgotten as a cluster of swings were thrown in your direction.

You ducked and blocked as many blows as you could, though you felt cold metal pierce your upper arm and you swallowed down a screech of pain.

You felt your shirt get heavier as blood was dripping down your arm slowly. Is this how you'd die? In the hands of a criminal?

The man stood still. Raising his sword and dragging his fingers across it, creating an almost beautiful ombre of yellow and orange across the bloodstained weapon. A sinister sunset.

As he brought it back to his body, the entire atmosphere around him changed. Blood was pounding in your ears, you swear you could have seen his mouth moving? Is he talking to you?

"Savour it for me."

The man jumped in the air, blocking the moonlight and his sword glistened red, everything was red. Why is everything red?

No. This is not the day you die. You needed to get back to your parents. You had to. Using your own sword you steadied yourself and felt the wind raising your sword for you. You felt lightweight and controlled your breathing, doing exactly what your mentor had advised you before battle.

"Raise your sword and let the wind guide you! "

Opening your eyes, you saw the fastly descending man gawk at you. His expression bewildered and his sword shaking slightly.

Before he could slice you open, you felt yourself swing a massive wave of energy towards the man, erasing his attack and sending him backwards. He landed on his feet and you could see blood dripping from his face.

The only bad part about using this skill however, something that your mentor warned you about was that it would be nearly impossible to keep awake after using it if your body is not prepared. You felt your eyes closing, trying to stabilise yourself by piercing the ground underneath you with your sword, you felt yourself crumble and fall into the bittersweet unconsciousness of your mind.

The last thing you saw were black shoes.

You woke up startled, everything was spinning and you felt nauseous. Staring around at your surroundings, you could remember you're in your Mentors house. So many questions and so many noises that made your head hurt.

As you slowly started getting up, your Mentor came in. Extremely annoyed.

"You're finally awake, Child." he sighed.

"Sir! What happened? My head is pounding." you blew out the candle next to your bed and shielded your eyes from the piercing light.

"Ahem." a new voice. You immediately jostled up and almost threw up from the dizziness.

It was the man. His long hair framing his face and his arms bandaged, his piercing eyes caught your own and you nearly shat yourself. What is he doing here?

"Sir! What's he doing here? It's illegal to harbour a fugitive, you of all people should know that..." you felt yourself become weak and sickly again. You couldn't concentrate on your sentences properly.

"Do not question me and my reasons, Child. I should have you clean the walls again for your silly accusation!" that shut you up, alongside the painful migraine that seemingly wouldn't go away.

"My apologies, sir..." you blinked up at the strange man again. You knew his name from the wanted posters across the Luofu- Blade. It suited him.

"This 'Fugitive' saved your life. You should be grateful, Y/N L/N." your mentor proclaimed. Yeah real grateful after he nearly killed you and kicked your ass.

You nodded, not wanting to upset your Mentor and clean the walls again.

The man stood still and was tense. Come to think of it, when your Mentor said your name, his eyes widened and his breathing changed. Something's up.

"Sorry Sir, but do I know you?" you asked Blade, not wanting to upset him by using his name.

"..."

"No." he turned around and walked away.

You and your Mentor shared a glance of confusion.

As you made your way home, you couldn't shake the feeling that the entire interaction was so odd. Especially after the stories you've heard about Blade. Cutthroat, cruel, dangerous. Despite these factors he saved you, well after trying to murder you first.

You just couldn't shake the feeling that you'd meet again and very soon. And surprisingly, you weren't opposed to that idea.

As you made your way inside, a man appeared from behind a wall with a hurt expression on his face. How could he have not known? He knew that the love of his life died and she would be no more. That made him an emotionless and cruel monster, but how could he have not known about you? You were his child for fucks sake. He sees you from your window, happy and talking to your parents. That could have been him. But a part of him is glad that you didn't grow up with him, he knows the life you would have had wouldn't have been as prosperous and kind as this. He would have cheated you out of a childhood.

He'll keep an eye on you though. Of course he will, you're the last memory of your mother.

"Y/N, huh? " and with that thought, he made his way into the shadows, your laughs echoing into the endless night behind him.

#blade honkai #blade hsr #honkai blade #hsr blade #blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai #honkai star rail #x reader #child!reader

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jor-elthatendswell · 1 year

Text

It's a well worn topic at this point but the imminent release of The Marvels has me thinking about how militaristic the Marvel Cinematic Universe is, with Monica Rambeau aka Photon, a habour patrol member in the comics, reimagined as a captain in the US Air Force.

She follows Hawkeye, who was changed from an argumentative former circus performer with a heart of gold (a character so staunchly against lethal force he once revoked his own wife's Avengers membership because she sort of, maybe, subconsciously allowed a villain to fall to his death) into a hard-nosed black ops assassin.

Sam Wilson/ Falcon made his celluloid debut as an army man with twin submachine guns attached to his wrists. It’s a far cry from his print counterpart’s introduction as a social worker by day who uses his skill at falconry to protect his neighbourhood.

If we allow the argument that modern cinema goers are accustomed to a sprinkling of realism to make their superheroes palatable (and it’s a strange argument really- why should realism be a desirable quality in summer blockbuster escapism?) then what actually constitutes “realism”.

Sure, a man who learnt uncanny skill with a bow and arrow growing up with a travelling show couldn’t possibly hold his own alongside Hulk or Thor in the real world (and, yes, there isn’t a Hulk or Thor in the real world; as I say, this is a strange argument), but if he learned those exact same skills in some kind of military context then that somehow passes the bar for realism? The sinister upshot is that these children’s heroes become more warlike just as, globally, they reach more children than ever before.

Increasing the realism of superhero stories only serves to make them problematic. DC Comics' Batman, who is the frequently subjected to “realistic” treatments, is the prime example. If, in real life, a billionaire tooled himself up with the best weapons and body armour money can buy and began dispensing violent “justice” with no accountability, then of course that wouldn’t be a good thing. If they wore a costume with pointy ears and started calling themselves “Batman” then of course we would question their sanity. But Batman isn’t real; it’s a story. Nobody thinks The Muppet Show advocates animal cruelty. Quite the opposite, if anything. ("Not unless they're watching it", as Waldolf once heckled) Yet if a filmmaker decides they’re going to make a “grounded and realistic” remake where Fozzy is played by a real live bear wearing a pork pie hat and spotty necktie, then that's a whole other story. Suspend your disbelief and superheroes are less like the police or army and more akin to volunteers and activists, doing what they can with what they have to improve the lives of those around them. Their actions take the form of crime fighting only because that’s what makes for exciting colourful adventure stories for children.

In the MCU, even Marvel’s poster boy, Spider-Man (another champion of non-lethal solutions, known for his compassion even to his enemies and who possesses an enduring appeal to young children) is given a literal sheen of the military-industrial complex in the form of “Stark Tech” armour, replete with military grade strike drones. Tony Stark even thought to equip his 15 year old protégé-cum-child soldier with an “Instant Kill Mode”. In a moment played for laughs in Spider-Man: Homecoming, Spider-Man rejects his on-board AI's attempt to activate this feature but seems untroubled that such an option exists and, indeed, come Avengers: Infinity War, he voluntarily deploys it. It’s not clear if Spidey actually does kill any of his alien adversaries, but it seems reasonable to assume that one doesn’t say “Activate Instant Kill Mode” without the intention of ending lives. Fans are expected to smile or applaud as Spider-Man says these words, recognising the call-back to Homecoming, rather than find it a gross misrepresentation of Marvel’s most beloved character or an alarming depiction of a children’s favourite.

The MCU Avengers as a whole are a US government “initiative “. The reluctant superheroes need to be cajoled into putting their differences aside for the greater good by army top brass Nick Fury. In a tweak from the source material, the ‘H' in Fury's organisation, SHIELD, stands for ‘Homeland’, making SHIELD as explicitly American venture as opposed to it being ostensibly intergovernmental in the comics.

There is a comic book precedent for this military take on Earth's Mightiest Heroes in the form of The Ultimates, a 2002 series by the British team of writer Mark Millar and artist Bryan Hitch. The Ultimates ,however, was satire. Millar was an unreformed lefty of the old school – someone who has boasted of voting Brexit for left-wing reasons, someone who once appeared on Russia Today as a guest of George Galloway. The Ultimates took swings at the gung ho jingoism of post 9/11 America. Captain America's “Surrender!!?? You think this letter on my head stands for France?“ is not supposed to be a badass one-liner, but rather a parody of the kind of things US media outlets were saying as Jacques Chirac proved less keen than Tony Blair to follow George Bush in bringing gunboat diplomacy to the Middle East. As Millar commentated at the time:

“The Ultimates is completely different because it's a character-driven piece and (something only a few people have noticed) my attempt as a left-wing writer to tell stories about an essentially right-wing concept and cast. It's very much the Anti-Authority, if you will. Captain America and so on are fully-paid members of the US military machine and this means a very different book and approach from a gang of slightly arrogrant, left-wing, superhuman utopians like The Authority ".

Wildstorm Comics' The Authority, which both Millar and Hitch worked on (although not together), was a precursor to Ultimates, featuring a team of similarly “any means necessary” heroes, albeit with a left-wing bent. The Ultimates does have something of The Authority’s utopian streak; Nick Fury and Tony Stark genuinely want to make the world a better place for everyone. It’s very idealistic – what if the head of the military and the biggest tech billionaire actually had the people’s best interests at heart? – and arguably closer to true superhero ethos (basically “with great power there must also come great responsibility “) than those characters more pragmatic MCU equivalents.

Yet, as Millar's one time writing partner Grant Morrison (who actually ghost-wrote at least one issue of The Authority under Miller’s name) observed in Morrison’s major nonfiction work, Supergods, the likes of The Authority, The Ultimates and, by extension, the MCU represent a “capitulation” to the view “that it was really only force and violence that got things done and not patient diplomacy, and that only soldiers and very rich people had the world figured out”. If the MCU is realistic, then it’s a sad indictment of the real world where the heroes are the ones with the best tech, the best guns and no compunction about using them.

Regardless of intent, The Ultimates left a door at Marvel’s “House of Ideas” just enough ajar to allow a malign notion to creep in: “These soldier superheroes are pretty cool. What If they were like that all the time? Wouldn’t they be more popular then”?

Certainly the navy SEAL aesthetic Bryan Hitch brought to the costumes (replacing the colourful tights and capes with pouches, straps and body armour) was soon adopted by superhero tv and film productions even pre-MCU. In fact, Hawkeye's journey from carny to commando mirrors the changes in superhero attire. Most famously, Superman's appearance with the red “overpants” derives from that of circus strongmen, but seeing any photography of early to mid 20th century carnival and circus performers makes it clear the early superhero creators had them in mind when they first put pencil to paper.

In an interview (found in Marvel Spotlight: Captain America, published in 2009) Hitch related how he showed an initial Ultimates drawing of Captain America with a machine gun to Grant Morrison, which Morrison then “described as the most obscene Captain America image [they’d] ever seen”. (NB: Morrison has since adopted gender neutral pronouns). Perhaps Morrison said this with glee, in on the joke with their friends, but in the years since, Cap with a gun became a common sight, even in family-friendly movies (where it was divorced from the irony of The Ultimates).

By a 2015 interview, Morrison lamented the fact that “the Avengers work for the government, and it's been like that since Mark [Millar] did The Ultimates” and said they were “bored with the idea that the best superheroes can represent is some aggressive version of the military. [...] They're supposed to be champions of the oppressed, they help ordinary people, they make things better for people. They don't prop up our grotesque, doddering culture of war and aggression”.

That same year Morrison introduced a new comic book superteam in the pages of The Multiversity. Pointedly the text likens this group, named “Justice Incarnate”, to a “cosmic neighbourhood watch” rather than any formal military or law-enforcement institution.

Millar himself reunited with his Authority collaborator Frank Quitely to create the comic Jupiter’s Legacy, which comes across in part as an apology for The Ultimates and all it begat. It concludes with the protagonists, Chloe Sampson and Eddie "Hutch" Hutchence taking up superhero mantles and promising not to make the moral compromises of their predecessors:

“No more bowing to authority and insitutions. No more deference to people in power”.

“There's a dignity in public service we mistook for old-fashioned, and a humility in having a secret identity, living among the people we protect.“

The Avengers, Marvel’s breakthrough billion dollar box office 2012 movie, by contrast, concludes with Iron Man dropping a nuclear bomb on the “Chitari”, an invading alien army and it seems likely this influenced Morrison’s comments on modern superhero stories.

In Supergods, Morrison

describes their childhood dread of nuclear weapons. The child of “ban the bomb” activists, the “gruesome hand-drawn images of how the world might look after a spirited thermonuclear missile exchange” which illustrated their parents anti-nuclear literature struck terror into the young Morrison. Therefore they seized upon superheroes as being an idea powerful enough to counteract – and overcome – the idea of the bomb.

“It’s not that I needed Superman to be “real,” I just needed him to be more real than the Idea of the Bomb that ravaged my dreams”.

Within the narrative of the movie, Iron Man takes the only option available to him to save New York. Destroying thousands of alien lives to save thousands of human ones. But The Avengers isn’t a documentary; the scriptwriters could have written a satisfying denouement which didn’t involve mass murder. They could at least have included some words of regret by the heroes over what it took to win, acknowledging that killing is not the ideal solution. Instead the Avengers trade banter and eat shawarma, collective conscious clear.

There is a moment in another Grant Morrison work, Final Crisis, which always brings the MCU to mind. In Final Crisis #3, drawn by JG Jones, (published in 2008, the same year the MCU began) “evil gods” from a higher plain of existence have been reincarnated on Earth. In order for the Justice League to counter this threat, a “draft for Superheroes” is implemented. Green Arrow (a Batman-a-like character who was subsequently reinvented to embody the countercultural sentiment of the late 1960s and has since served as the social conscious of the superhero set) responds to receiving his draft notice thusly:

“If anybody falls for this authoritarian, militaristic crap, it’ll prove I’m absolutely right about absolutely everything!... “

Cue the next page, where the drafted heroes have gathered en mass (including Green Arrow, impotently shaking his fist.)

Such an assemblage of characters in usually a triumphant moment in a summer "event" story, but here is framed as a sign that evil already has it’s hooks into reality. This world has fallen to the darkness and the superheroes who inhabit it are too morally compromised to realise it.

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cbk1000 · 1 year

Text

Fandom Creator's Self-Rec Game!

Choose five favourites from your own creations (and tell me why, if you like!), then pass on to at least five other people. I'd love to hear what you're proudest of.

Tagged by @the-pen-pot and actually I think @anonymintea also tagged me a while back? I vaguely remember seeing that in my activity and kind of recoiling at the idea of trying to rec my own stuff. lmfao But I have time to sit down and do it now and I am being so brave. I am just going to rec Merlin fics for this post, since that's what I've been working on and thinking about for the last four years or so, and those fics are the ones that are fresh in my mind. (Honourable mention goes to my Originals series, though, because I spent so much time on that sumabitch.)

All right, five favourites...know that this is excruciating for me and feels very cringe, because I am not normal. lmao

And Down the River's Dim Expanse (Merthur, 13k)

In which Arthur is a water spirit who tries to drown Merlin. Merlin is not impressed.

(This one feels like it kind of just disappeared into the morass of words I've vomited up on the topic of BBC Merlin. I don't think it's got nearly as much attention as any of my other fics, but I'm fond of it because I love fairytales and folklore and specifically anything to do with any kind of creature that lives in the water and especially if said creature tries to drown people. I'd love to do something like this again and have several ideas for fairytales to adopt (i.e. twist completely out of shape).

The Book of Merthur (Merthur, 600k+)

'It was awkward business to ignore a man sitting the length of one knee from you, especially when he had such voluminous ears, and though Arthur made a valiant attempt at it, he had soon to abandon this in favour of grousing at Merlin for a myriad of grievous transgressions, the most pressing of which was his manner of sitting far too close, as if they were mates. This shortcoming was to become a theme when they laid down after passing round a hard cheese and some bread, Merlin in Arthur’s cloak, and Arthur in nothing at all, because his was the greater constitution; and whilst Arthur was working himself into the choicest bit of ground, with the least stones, Merlin suddenly rolled over, mummified within the cloak Arthur’s thoughtfulness had provided, and put his nose into Arthur’s neck.'

The 'yes homo' we all deserved, righting the heterosexual wrongs of canon.

(My thus far 646,363-word essay on the issues I have with canon. I'm eight chapters from the end and already feeling that post-huge-project depression even though I have several ideas for what I want to do next. I really love writing historical fiction and have incorporated that into fics before, but this fic has shown me that I really really love writing fantasy heavily inspired by history: it's the same amount of research, with the added bonus that I can do whatever the hell I want. Also, as mentioned in my first rec, I really love fairytales and folklore, and this gives me the chance to incorporate them in a way that straight up historical fiction doesn't allow. Basically, this fic has allowed me to shove my boner for Arthurian legend and medieval history down people's throats at the same time. Ain't free gay fanfiction where I can do what I like great?)

Fools by Heavenly Compulsion (Merthur, ?k)

In which Arthur is gay and besotted, Merlin is bisexual and oblivious, and they have to get their shit together through WhatsApp.

(I have no idea how many words this technically is, because it's comprised entirely of screenshots of fake social media posts. I've read a few social media fics and enjoyed them and got a whole bug up my ass wanting to try it. I thought it would be an interesting challenge because it would take away so many things that a writer can usually rely on to tell a story, and for me specifically it would completely cut me off from any kind of descriptive writing. So basically I cut off all my limbs except like one arm and decided to see how I got on with that. And it HAS been really interesting to try and shape a narrative through texts and Instagram and twitter posts and still try and convey emotions and distinct personalities with such limitations on what I can actually show. It's also a lot of fun putting the posts together, although you can definitely fall down a deep rabbit hole of trying to pick just the right photo.)

Whereat the Two Sword on the Field of Death a Deathless Love (Merthur, 131k)

In a land of myth and a time of magic, the destiny of a great kingdom rests on the shoulders of a young boy. But not quite in the way you think. 'The Once and Future King'/Merlin mashup; now with 50% more gay.

(This was the first Merlin fic I ever wrote, and an homage to one of my favourite books. It was also me trying to get the show rewrite monkey off my back and distinctly failing at that, since I went on to write one that is over 600,000 words and still not complete. It's also proof that I am 100% capable of rewriting the show in under 150k, I just chose to inflict over 600,000 words on anyone insane enough to sit down and read a 600k gay porn version of BBC Merlin.)

And Time and the World Are Ever in Flight (Merthur, 39k)

In which Arthur returns to the 21st century, learns about Google, and finally realises his dream of running away to a farm with Merlin.

(Listen, the finale damaged me, I'm still damaged, and I tried to undo it with nearly 40k of tea and baby sheep. A.K.A. the one where Arthur returns and they run a sheep farm in Ireland together and finally figure out they're gay for each other and neither of them is alone ever again.)

Tagging @aemelia (you will have to rec all of yours lmao) @kirythestitchwitch @thetourguidebarbie and anyone else who wants to do this and has multiple fics.

#fic #writing #the-pen-pot #anonymintea #thetourguidebarbie #kirythestitchwitch #aemelia

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peoplesprincessgeorge · 4 months

Text

F1 drivers favourite philosopher

(if they cared to philosophize)

charles - kirkegaard - twink4twink, catholic guilt4protestant guilt. the way he believes in ferrari is giving leap of faith.

fernando - nietzsche - obvious pick, the man believes in power and making yourself and being better than others.

alex - Buddha - no other choice, the man is a buddhist and i believe Buddha is a philosopher as much as a prophet so.

george - de beauvoir - i'm not saying this man is a feminist icon, however, i am saying he would deeply relate to making yourself into what the world needs and expects from you. "one isn't born a mercedes nmr 1 driver, but rather becomes one."

pierre - camus - aside from the song about suicide on his playlist, he get's that the world is absurd, and being at alpine is truly being sisyphus trying to be happy.

yuki - diogenes - the meaning of life being pleasure and pissing people off? yeah, yuki gets it.

carlos - aristotles - being unnecessarily detailed and stickler for rules? need i say more. (also i think i should be on top because i'm the best)

logan - smith - old school freedom, easy and straightforward, everything adds up with smith.

kevin - hegel - i don't understand either of them but there is a lot of chaos going on, maybe greatness if it could be translated in a way that makes sense for anyone else.

zhou - confucius - love and respect for china and the way of things.

lewis - sartre - we are so free it's a burden. keeps telling poor kids they could do anything they want if they just believed in themselves.

nico - kant - everything will be ok if you find and believe in your inner morale u know? also german.

bottas - rousseau - i can see bottas being a believer in humans being good, and nature being where we should be. the noble savage gives very finnish man vibes.

oscar - descartes - gotta cover the basics before you can progress. oscar sure thinks and sure is. also think he would really vibe with his interpretation of free will.

lando - machiavelli - the struggles of being a nepo baby is hard. but also he would like his humoristic and direct approach while tackling the most fundamental questions.

esteban - arendt - he loves superheroes, he would really like the concept of the banality of evil (and the implications that bad guys just need to be beat up)

lance - locke - as nepo baby he would appreciate the idea of the liberal constitutional democracy being fair, as a result of his relationship with his father he would believe in the idea of the tabula rasa.

max - hobbes - max intimately understands and respects the need for a hard, central authority figure. he also understands the underlying violence of human nature.

checo - augustine - checo is a catholic, that is all.

daniel - socrates - going around annoying people and being funny and never shutting up? it's a match.

#this is probably interesting only to me #truly uncovering new niches on this website #the grid as #post #i could honestly write essays on this

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lolabangtan · 2 years

Text

04 | itching

President Kim comes down with a cold, and since it’s kind of your fault, you feel responsible for him. While you make sure he’s resting properly at home, Jimin leaves you in charge of the office.

index • previous • next

Word count: 6k

Warnings: be prepared to fucking MELT.

# fluff, awkward parent meeting, hurt/comfort, sick chapter, nursing sick!Tae, kinda rough nursing tho, feverish dreams, he endures the worst chicken soup ever, you can feel a certain je ne sais quoi in the air 😏, it’s like they’re being driven by some mystery force but still cringe at their own vulnerability, Jimin is very mysterious and kind of a dick.

Another shrieking, dry, mind-wrecking cough echoes across the office.

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you take the last sip of your coffee. When you put it back on the desk, perhaps a bit too harshly, it sounds as if you almost broke it into pieces. Luckily, the mug remains in one.

Then some loud sniffling.

With a groan, you get up and quickly walk down to the nearest break room just to get some warm water and come back.

You knock on the door. “Mr Kim? May I come in?”

“Yeah…”

Goodness, he looks miserable: puffy nose, swollen face, droopy eyelids, and a toilet paper roll that only could look unsuspicious in this specific situation.

Yes, your boss has come down with a cold, and he’s making it everybody’s problem.

But it’s your fault, or so you think – maybe Kim Taehyung would be all right If you had not forced him to walk you down to your bus stop and share an umbrella. It’s been a week since then, but who knows? He could have some sort of, uh, delayed constitution. And, as an additional benefit, you would’ve never started to feel so awkward around him. Which is way worse than a fucking, unimportant cold. You have to go to work on your period! Why are men such weak creatures?

“You’ve been coughing and sniffling all morning,” you say, crossing your arms. “Hadn’t you better go home?”

But Taehyung shakes his head, adamant and so fucking cute— “No, I… I can work. It’ll go aw—”

The loudest, most vociferous sneeze makes the windows tremble, cutting him off as he rushes to grab some toilet paper. You’ll pretend you didn’t see the shiny string of snot before he wipes his nose with an embarrassed blush.

“Just go home, sir.”

“I gotta finish reading these reports,” he murmurs. “It’d be unfair to waste someone’s time by ignoring their hard work… right?”

You look at him with a grimace of half-pity, half-disgust, pondering the idea of just kicking him out of the building and sending him home; he can’t work like this. What he needs is to rest, heal his cold, and come back even stronger. It’s a waste of time and energy for everyone else to drag a day of work just because he feels guilty for leaving.

“Okay, I’ll come back later to get the reports,” you say with an annoyed tone.

“Thank you…”

Even the way he speaks, weakly, dragging the words and losing focus, shows how tired and sick Kim Taehyung is. His pale skin, usually a healthy bronze, and reddened nose only confirm this.

But you get to the door and leave; there might be another way to do this. Obviously, you get what the president means, as you also hate to leave when there are loads of work left, but you’re also rational enough to understand that it usually backfires.

After that, the first part of the morning flies by; you make coffees – for yourself mostly – review documents, prepare meetings, discuss with some of your colleagues about your favourite series, and answer the phone. You can’t deny that you don’t really dislike the job, although you miss being in charge, especially when one of your bosses demonstrates their clear ineffectiveness in management. But nobody’s perfect, unfortunately.

Also, you are concerned about way too many things right now, starting with Kim Namjoon’s visit the other day.

Who’s to say you’ll have the same luck next time and won’t come back along with Seokjin? Then you will have completely screwed up – because maybe Namjoon is wise enough not to comment on the fact that the one sitting in your chair is not Jeon Miyeon, but Seokjin would never hide his surprise at seeing you here.

Understandable, of course, since you are ‘on the other side of the ocean’.

But why didn’t Kim Namjoon say anything? Did he do it, perhaps, to protect Miyeon? Maybe he figured out that your role here is to cover for her while she’s away and he kept it to himself.

Obviously, if you ever dropped by a dear one’s office expecting to see someone and found a completely different person— you don’t know how you would have reacted. By calling the police, most probably. This time you got the right end of the stick.

Although, again, aren’t you doing all of this actually to help her? It would be bad enough if, in addition to having to pretend to go on holiday and being forced away from your business, you now had to deal with a latent danger of imprisonment. Not unlikely, for now. You have to remain vigilant.

At the first opportunity, you escape to the bathroom and take out your phone to call Miyeon. It takes her a while to pick up, but you finally hear her voice.

“Yes?”

“Hi, darling,” you greet her.

“Hello! How’s my little criminal doing? Too much paperwork—? Oh, I forgot; you actually like that.”

“Very funny,” you say, rolling your eyes even though she can’t see you. “Uh, everything’s good, uh, but I was wondering… Has your father called recently?”

“Hm, he hasn’t— why? Is he okay?”

“Yeah! Just wanted to check…” You go silent for a second, and that’s all Miyeon needs to know to figure out something is off. “Well, I’m just a bit concerned about Kim Namjoon’s visit. My bet is that he’s covering for you, but you never know… I guess it’s just this whole thing making me anxious—”

Miyeon cuts you off. “Why would he be covering for me? Isn’t he Kim’s cousin?”

“I think he just doesn’t want to get your father in trouble.”

“Oh.” She sounds disappointed by your lie, and you fight a silly grin. “Yeah, that makes sense. Namjoon looks up to him a lot… So, Kim Taehyung isn’t acting weird since then, is he?”

“Nope. Totally normal. Just being his cute self.”

Damn it, it slipped off your tongue.

“Cute, huh?”

“Well, I mean, not—”

“Last time we talked he was a jerk and a dick.”

“Don’t you have a mud bath session to go to or something?” you bark. “Leave me alone.” Miyeon chirps a goodbye, and you hang up, regretting the call instantly. At least now you can be anxious about something else.

Maybe Miyeon thinks you have feelings for your boss? That would be totally wrong, but she is capable of believing something like that.

Well, whatever, you have other things in mind at the moment— like finding a way to send Kim Taehyung home, you think as another sneeze makes the walls tremble.

You could tell Park Jimin and try to persuade him to get off work.

Convinced, you get up from your desk, making sure there is not too much commotion in the office, and head for the lobby. From there it’s not long before you reach the wing where Park Jimin’s office is located; you greet his secretary and knock on the door.

“Come in.”

You walk in and close it behind you.

The room is dark, barely lit through the drawn blinds. There is a lamp lit in the corner, and the computer screen glows in the gloom, illuminating Mr Park’s face. His dark eyes are fixed on you, expressionless, eerie.

“Can I help you, Ms Shin?” he asks, and his voice takes you by surprise.

“Uh, yes…” At his gesture, you enter the room, leaving the door behind you. “I came to tell you that President Kim has got sick, and to ask if there is a way to get him to go home.”

“Have you tried… asking him if he wants to go home?”

For a moment, you forget your faux position in this room, the fact that you’re technically just a secretary, and frown; cheeky and snobby because of course, you’ve already contemplated that idea. Does he think you’re an idiot? He must do. Otherwise, he’s a fool and wants to come to blows with you, you know, pick up a fight.

You arch an eyebrow and let out a scoff. “Of course? But he refuses.”

“I see…” Jimin says, looking away. “Well, Ms Shin, then there’s nothing you can do about it. Bear with the sneezes as best as you can—”

“He’s just going to get worse.”

“Uh?”

“If Mr Kim stays and overworks himself, not only will the quality of his work deteriorate, but his health will worsen as well. It’s counterproductive,” you continue.

Park Jimin stares at you for a solid five seconds, completely silent and eery-looking.

“Are you always this… logical?” he suddenly asks.

His body is completely turned towards you now, giving you all his attention. You feel like until now, Park Jimin was just messing with you like a twisted sort of Cheshire cat, a mere amusement, but finally, he’s willing to mind your words.

“When there’s a need for it.”

A silence settles between the two of you, so you decide to thank him, albeit reluctantly, for his time and leave. His secretary bids you farewell with a sympathetic look, promising to buy you a coffee later. The rest of the walk back to your desk feels absurd, humiliating, and tedious, and you have this feeling that you’ve got nothing from it.

You have a missed call on your landline to Taehyung’s office. You look at the number and head for the door to let him know.

“Mr Kim—”

He’s already walking out when you stop before bumping into him. “Yes?”

“Where are you going?” you blurt out, stepping back so that the man can get out. He looks as sick as he did this morning. “Is everything all right? I don’t recall any meetings scheduled for—”

“My brother just called me and told me off for coming to work sick,” Taehyung explains with a stuffy nose.

You watch him put on his elegant coat; there was no need for him to explain why he was going home, actually. You’re just his secretary, you only need to know whether he’s going to need his car or write a memo to remember to get some medicines for him.

It’s peculiar, and kind of funny, how he can be the coldest and warmest person at the same time. Always so sharp and dashing, looking at everyone with a harsh eye, keeping quiet, maybe even not bothering to waste his breath. A thick shell protecting him from the outer world. But then he sometimes looks at you, and he speaks so softly, almost like a murmur, and his round cheeks frame his smile in a way that makes your heart skip a beat, and it feels like you’re looking at the most delicate creature the world has ever made.

“Ms Shin?”

You snap out of your thoughts. “Uh— yes, sir?”

“Thank you for worrying about me,” Taehyung says then, and you swear, he looks candid. “I mean— I know it’s kind of your job… Uh, just forget about it. I’ll be going now, I already sent for the car.”

“Don’t mention it,” you decide to reply with a smile just as tender and fix the shoulder of his coat.

The blush on his cheeks is most likely due to his cold, you think – there’s no reason why Kim Taehyung should be timid and demure in front of you. In fact, you don’t think he’s the kind of man to act like that, even if sometimes it feels like he is. He’s aloof, not coy, you think— he’s indifferent, not shy.

“Oh, I don’t want to keep you.” You step away to let him walk past you, and you say on his way out: “Get plenty of rest… and get well soon.”

You then watch him leave and head to the hall. There he meets Park Jimin. They push the button to get the lift when Jimin suddenly beckons you to come, and so you do, frowning in confusion.

“Yes?”

“I’ll be taking President Kim home, so… can I leave you in charge of the office while I get back?”

Oh, easy-peasy.

“Yes, of course,” you accept.

“Good, that’s a weight off my shoulders,” he thanks you. “Well, we better get going – Mrs Kim is going to force-feed you chicken soup when she gets back, and I don’t wanna be there when it happens.” You chuckle at his words, amused by the mental image of a burrito-wrapped Taehyung being fed against his will, and he sneers at his brother. “Have a good day.”

“See you on Monday!”

In charge of the office, huh? What could they possibly mean by that? Do you get to sit on the Big Girl chair and boss everyone around? Do you get to stick your nose into every single project and improve it with your outstanding mind? Oh, you have so many ideas—

Turns out that being in charge of the office just meant having to solve everyone’s problems.

Luckily, you love a good problem.

Your phone has been ringing non-stop from lunch to the very second the last person got up to go home; it’s nice to have your input so respected and valued. It’s good to be useful.

As always, you’re one of the last to leave the office. You say goodbye to the janitor and the secretaries at the entrance, swipe your badge and leave to head to the bus stop. It doesn’t take you longer than twenty minutes to get home, during which you also answer messages and work calls.

“Well, I do think President Kim should be the first to know,” you reply, closing the fridge door with your butt and opening a soda can. “Yeah, yeah, I totally get it— I know, I’m in— Jesus, just listen! I am in charge, but I do not have at all the authority to change from one project manager to another. You must get to Mr Kim, or your department chief— uh, yeah, I can call him, and so can you—”

After the beep, you look at the locked phone screen, totally shocked that she dared hang up on you.

“Bitch.”

You throw your phone on the bed and slump into the mattress right afterwards, eyes glued to the ceiling; that’s a problem – a problem that needs to be solved. Why are you feeling so wary of calling Kim Taehyung?

In a jiffy, you’re back on your feet and messing with the kitchenware, taking this and that, turning on the electric hob, pouring some water into a pot, and calling it a day.

You look at your soup with the eyes of a proud cook.

Yes, this will totally cover it. If you drop by his place with a bowl of bone broth, the perfect remedy for colds, it won’t look like you’re just coming to make him work. Besides, Taehyung was really ill, and you’re a bit worried; he won’t die, of course, but there’s a heavyweight in your chest that fills you with silly concern, making your belly flutter whenever you think about him.

Once you’re done, you grab your coat and go to your car, holding the warm plastic container in your hands, eyeing it with care. You’re not much of a cook yourself, so you wouldn’t want to trip and drop it, and have to make it all over again.

You hail a taxi once you stand on the street and tell the driver what the address is.

After about fifteen minutes, the taxi drives into the heart of the Hannam district and drops you at the door of a huge complex of luxury flats.

You pay under his curious gaze and thank him for the ride before heading inside; a friend of yours used to live here, but then she married and moved to her husband’s apartment. Maybe you could drop by and say hello, but Rose Apple wouldn’t like that, knowing how skittish she is about her privacy. At least the guard remembers your face, or so you find out when he nods at your ID as he lets you in.

After a few minutes, you manage to locate the Kim residence, wondering if Kim Taehyung actually lives with his family.

The loud ringing of the intercom makes you cringe.

“Hello?”

The camera turns around as it focuses on your face, and it fucking creeps you out.

“Uh, hello, this is—”

“O Y/N, isn’t it?” What? Who is this woman and how did she recognise you? “Don’t, I know this young lady— sorry, that was our housekeeper. I’ll open the gates, do come in!”

Without even telling what for? Jesus.

“Hm, thank you, madam.”

You walk into the pristine entrance hall and get on the lift, and soon enough, you’re stepping out into the living room; it’s modern and elegant, magazine-like, like your childhood home used to be. Clinical, lifeless, spotless, dignified.

An old woman, whom you quickly recognise as the housekeeper, greets you by the lift.

“Good evening, Miss O—”

“Please, just Y/N,” you rush to request with a shy gesture.

She nods. “Of course, Y/N-ssi— Mrs Kim would like to thank you for your visit and invite you to tea in the garden.”

“I’m, uh…” You take a look around as you follow her down the ample, radiant corridor. “I’m actually here to see Kim Taehyung? I brought him bone broth, a family recipe—” you murmur but quieten down as you notice the housekeeper’s confused look. “But, of course, I’d love to have some tea first.”

You’re led to a peaceful, traditional garden with a pond and a stone path. There’s a woman sitting quietly with a cup of tea in her hand, and she looks up at you as soon as you walk out into the garden.

“Oh, such a lovely surprise!” she says. “I wasn’t expecting you to visit, Ms O.”

“Actually—”

“How is your grandmother? Chairman O said you’d be out on holiday, for rest and relaxation and all that… How was Busan? It was Busan you went to, wasn’t it? – oh, please, take a seat— you see, I have a few relatives there, but it never is quite the right moment to pay them a visit.” Your phone suddenly rings in your purse, and you excuse yourself to take a look. “Is it work? Should I leave you alone?”

You shake your head with a polite smile. “Oh, it’s just—” The text is from your co-worker insisting that you make a choice. “Nothing important,” you say then, putting it back in. “I actually came to see—”

“Moooooom!”

A burrito-wrapped Kim Taehyung suddenly walks out into the garden, instantly shivering when the cold air sneaks into his pyjamas. His face is puffy, as well as his eyes and nose, and there’s a soft blush on his cheeks as he sniffles.

Then his eyes fall on you, and his entire demeanour changes.

Taehyung immediately looks away from you with one last sniff as he takes off the cover and folds it. “Mother, my health has improved significantly. I will be returning to the office shortly.”

“Aren’t you going to say hello? We have a visitor.”

“Ah, yes,” he murmurs. His hopes that you were a hallucination are broken. “Y/N-ssi, what are you… doing here?”

Mrs Kim merely rolls her eyes and beckons the housekeeper. The tea party soon is dismantled, and they both leave the two of you alone in the cold. You look away, suddenly taken over by an odd sense of embarrassment; you feel silly all of a sudden. You could have just sent him an email, there was no need for you to come all the way to his house.

“I brought you soup.”

He looks at you with a confused face, so you hand out the warm plastic bag to him; the plastic bowl is still hot on his palms, but Taehyung is still processing.

“I…” There it is, his customary blank face, but this time— the blush intensifies. “Thank you.”

You tilt your head. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Uh, yes, I think I’ll be back tomorrow,” Taehyung replies softly.

Silence takes over the two of you, and you take a look around, hugging your arms to fight the cold. He notices and yelps, “Sorry, I— should we go inside? You must be freezing out here. Uh— I’ll give this to Mrs Go.”

Shouldn’t he be concerned about his health first, though…? Rather than worrying about whether you feel cold, you think as you follow him into the house.

It makes you chuckle, somehow.

Taehyung leaves the bag on the kitchen counter and meets you in the ample living room; he catches you taking a look at some pictures, some even dating back to when he was a child. In one, he appears with another boy you think is Jimin, playing in the snow with folded arms and a grim face. Some with his parents, his younger siblings or friends, and some others where he does not appear. Decades of family history. And suddenly, you come across the image of Mr and Mrs Kim posing with your parents, and it makes your heart shrink.

“Y/N-ssi?”

You move away from the row of pictures and stand up. “Sorry, I was just looking.”

There are no comments from him, though; Taehyung is too busy staring at you in silence. You look away and suddenly remember why you’re actually here, so you shove your hand into your purse and take out the papers.

“Sir—? Actually, I came to see you about something else… I’m really sorry to bother you when you’re sick, but Mr Park left me in charge—”

“What?”

You shrug. “Uh, Park Jimin said I was in charge until you recovered, so Mr Lee called me and asked if it was possible—”

“I can’t believe it!” he grunts and takes out his phone. “He should’ve stayed since he was the one who insisted that I go home,” Taehyung continues, typing aggressively.

“I asked him to,” you cut him off with a guilty feeling in your chest. He stops typing and looks down at your hand on top of his. “You wouldn’t listen to me, so I asked Mr Park to persuade you to go home and rest. I don’t mind being in charge – I like it.”

Taehyung stifles a grin at the sound of you saying that you like being in charge, almost forgetting that his brother is a smartass and took advantage of the situation. Then you realise you’re still grasping his hand, and you jerk it away from him, mumbling an apology. You don’t know if his blush is due to the cold or something else.

“Tell him to email me, that’s not something—”

“Taetae! I’m leaving!”

The door opens, and Mrs Kim walks into the room as she puts on a pair of gloves.

“I see my son is in good hands,” the woman says. “Honestly, Taetae pretends to be carefree and easy, but he’s hardworking – sometimes even too much.”

“Mom, she’s not here to take care of me, don’t—”

“You better do everything Y/N-ssi does, huh?” his mother continues. “Since she was kind enough to drop by and bring her family broth. That’s a privilege, Taehyungie.”

You nod with a soft smile and bid her goodbye in the entrance hall as the housekeeper helps her into her sturdy winter coat. Taehyung murmurs a ‘goodbye’ next to you and turns around as soon as the door is shut closed.

“Taetae, huh?”

He gasps. “It’s a— it’s my nickname from when I was a child. Nobody calls me that anymore.”

“Really? That’s a shame,” you retort. “I think it’s cute.”

The silence in the room feels heavy on your shoulders as you look at each other. Taehyung is actually mortified at the mere idea that you might feel forced not only to stay but also to take care of your useless boss. The last thing he wants is to be a nuisance to you, he thinks as a coughing fit takes over him.

“You’re still too weak, Taehyung-ssi,” you say, putting your hand on his shoulder. “You’d better get back into bed.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, you can go home—”

But you take him by the shoulders with a big smile and exclaim, “It’s the least I could do for my boss. Now, go to bed! I’ll figure out how to heat up the broth, all right?”

Honestly, it’s not like you have anything else to do – you don’t really have a life outside your jobs, neither of them. They’ve taken away the good one, the one that makes you rich and privileged, so what else are you supposed to do? Go home and binge-watch a series just to get depressed on your uncomfy little bed while you devour a musty bag of crisps—? Not today.

As you watch Taehyung head back to his bedroom with the blanket folded around his arm and an unsure step, you finally relax; you would have never imagined that Mrs Kim would recognise you, but then again, it’s quite normal for any mother with a child of marriageable age to have complete control over the opposite gender population of his shared demographic. Your own grandmother knows the face of every single bachelor on the continent.

The microwave beeps, and you take the steaming bowl from inside.

You were lucky that things didn’t go wrong. Mrs Kim could very well have mentioned your real identity, or Kim Taehyung could have talked about work. That’s a weight off your chest, you guess.

“Fuck—!”

In a hurry, you leave the burning bowl on the worktop before it burns your fingers. You blow on them and turn on the cold water until the burning subsides, and then take the bowl away with a cloth. Now, where could be Kim Taehyung’s room? You didn’t think about that.

You’re too embarrassed to ask any of the staff, so you just wander around the house while the broth cools down.

After three restrooms, a pantry, and a cloakroom, you finally knock on a door and hear a weak ‘come in’. “It’s me,” you say, pressed against the door. “I— I can’t open by myself, could you—?”

Finally, the door opens.

“Sorry.”

Seeing you smile with the steamy bowl in your hands, Taehyung steps aside and lets you in. While you settle on a neat desk near his bed, he follows you closely and stands awkwardly by your side, waiting for you to say anything. He feels guilty enough that you’re wasting your free time taking care of him for some odd sense of responsibility of yours, and now he’s starting to feel guilty for enjoying your martyr-like company.

“Are you sure you don’t mind staying with me?”

You look up at him while setting the tray on the bedside table. “Uh, do you want me to leave?”

“No!” he rushes to say, and your stomach flutters. “No, I mean— I just don’t want you to feel forced to stay and look after your silly boss.”

You let out a chuckle.

“Believe me, sir, I wouldn’t be here if I—”

“Taehyung.” His voice makes you stop, almost making you drop the spoon as well. “Please, call me Taehyung, just Taehyung. If you don’t mind, of course,” he rushes to add at the sight of your wide-eyed bashfulness.

As soon as you’ve come around again, you nod slowly, murmuring that of course, you don’t mind calling him by his name. He can call you by yours as well, with a bit less formality if he wants. That’s all you say as you finish fixing the not-so-delicious-looking broth on the tray for him to put on his lap.

“Isn’t this awkward? For you, I mean,” Taehyung mumbles out of the blue.

You watch him get into bed. “What is?”

“I don’t know, seeing your boss in his pyjamas, seeing him stuffy, snotty. Don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate it. It’s just that I can’t stop thinking about you being forced to just because my mother thought—”

“If you don’t feel comfortable with me here, just tell me,” you say. “But I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, and—” Maybe you’re just insisting too much on skirting the shore with indifferent formalities. Maybe that’s what’s making Kim Taehyung think he’s forcing you. So, you take a sit on the chair next to him and lean into him. “I’m very happy to look after you… Taehyung.”

He just stares at you, and you feel like an idiot for even speaking.

The thing is, you don’t notice the way Taehyung grips the edge of the blanket while his stomach flutters like crazy. You don’t notice him, but he feels the same kind of embarrassment towards himself for getting excited about such a silly thing.

But, then again, you’re very happy to take care of him, aren’t you? Didn’t you just say that?

“Smells good,” he blurts out, desperate to change the subject. “T-the broth, I mean— did you make it yourself?”

“It’s a family recipe,” you say.

Taehyung chuckles softly, almost tenderly, and then watches you raise the spoon on your way to feed him. His brain freezes immediately, arms fidgeting without a clue what to do – until you crack up a laugh.

“Come on, be a good boy and suck it up,” you insist.

He obediently sticks out his tongue and opens his mouth, and you have to fight the urge to rub your thighs together. As a result, you shove the spoon into his mouth.

“Fuck, sorry!” Taehyung keeps coughing with a grimace. “I’m sorry, Taehyung, really! Are you—”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he murmurs, still frowning in disgust.

You let out a relieved sigh and put the bowl aside to inspect the spilt broth on his pyjama shirt; the greasy liquid has stained its neck, advancing through the fabric. You click your tongue and grab the cloth to wipe it, but this only spreads the stain. You’re starting to panic when you feel him shake, and when you look up, you realise he’s laughing.

“I thought I’d hurt you,” you groan as you throw the cloth on the table. “Since you were making faces…”

“I’m okay.”

“Is it hot?”

His eyes soften. “A bit.”

You get up, but only to move the armchair closer to his bed. You blow on the next spoonful before feeding him the spoon this time. There is no need to comment on the fact that his arms work perfectly and that you’ve been spoon-feeding him by instinct.

“Thank you,” he murmurs before taking it into his mouth and swallowing.

Taehyung grimaces again when the strong, bitter flavour kicks his tastebuds but rushes to soften his face.

“Don’t pretend it’s good,” you tell him off with a genuinely amused chuckle, drawing away the spoon, “I know it’s disgusting. It’s supposed to be bad.”

With this new info, he finds it easier to finish the broth.

You chat about trifles for a while longer, telling him what’s been going on in the office while he’s been away, and discussing the big project that’s been on everyone’s mind lately. The launch is barely a week away and there is still a lot to do; especially now that everyone is coming to you for answers and guidance. Luckily, that is your major asset.

“You look sleepy,” you whisper. Taehyung is barely able to keep his eyes half-open. “Get some sleep, I’ll clear this up.”

You get up and start stacking the bowl with the chopsticks and the herd of empty glasses he has accumulated on the bedside table throughout the day. With it in your arms, you quietly leave his bedroom, meeting the housekeeper, who kindly takes it to the kitchen. Now, bored and with nothing to do – because watching Taehyung sleep seems to cross a line – you wander around the house.

The entrance door closes suddenly.

“Y/N-ssi?”

Park Jimin is standing in the middle of the living room as he walks in, dusting the hoarfrost off the sleeves of his thick coat. He’s just as surprised to see you there.

“You really are a stickler.” Jimin is the first to speak. “Did you come to talk about the project? I’ve already discussed it with—”

“I came to see how President Kim was doing.”

“Oh, I see…” he murmurs, still grinning. “How did you find him?”

“Better than this morning. He’s eaten and taken some medicine, and now he’s asleep. I was just stretching my legs,” you say, looking down at your feet. It does feel like you’ve run a marathon.

“Are you after his money?”

You turn around, quiet, as he takes off his scarf and crosses the room, giving you a side-eyed glance.

But the idea is so far-fetched that it doesn’t even offend you. “I actually prefer to make my own money, sir,” you reply.

“I know you’re not,” Jimin suddenly says as he stops right in front of you. For some reason, you don’t feel the need to fight him on this – since you’re pretty positive you don’t need any man’s cash. “Sorry if I upset you, I was just pulling your leg.”

“You care about him,” you say with a soft smile.

“He’s my brother.”

Jimin then looks at you in silence, and he tries to say something else, you can tell he does before the housekeeper bursts into the living room, wanting to know who has just arrived. Surprisingly, her body goes stiff as soon as Park Jimin enters her visual field, and the woman bows her head with little enthusiasm or even respect.

“Miss—”

“I’d better go now that Mr Park has arrived to look after Taehyung, I guess,” you blurt out, crossing your arms.

“Oh, I’m not here to stay,” Jimin says, glancing at the housekeeper. “Don’t worry, madam. I just popped in to drop off some snacks for Tae. I know Mrs Kim doesn’t like him to—”

“Mrs Kim knows how to take care of her son, sir.”

Jimin sighs and lowers his voice, “You don’t mind staying a bit longer, do you? I don’t like leaving Taehyung alone with her.” You nod at his words and take the plastic bag he hands you before wrapping his scarf back around his neck. “Thank you, Y/N-ssi.”

You watch Mrs Go carefully on Park Jimin’s way out; you notice her contracted, almost contemptuous face, and how she does not relax until the man disappears through the door.

By the time Taehyung is back in the waking world, his bedroom is awash in the amber light of dusk. Everything is utterly silent, even the city seen through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Then he notices a pressure on his left arm, and he finds you asleep over him, your body rising and falling quietly.

You’re a hard worker, he can totally give you that. Maybe he allowed you to overwork yourself.

You are a very peculiar woman, he is sure of that; diligent and intelligent, but also secretly sweet. Although he is somewhat embarrassed to talk about himself like this, his surroundings have always taught him that most people, especially attractive women, would approach him to take advantage of him, his money, or his position. But you, on the contrary— you’re too straightforward, too abrasive to be one of those people, aren’t you?

Maybe he went out of his mind thinking that you like him.

Ah, silly, silly Taehyung, soft-hearted Kim Taehyung, like his aunt used to say. Some things never change, no matter how hard he tries to become colder. He was a silly boy, and now he’s a silly man.

His hand moves on its own when a strand of your hair slides down your cheek, brushing it behind your ear with his thumb. Your skin feels warm.

You’re his secretary, for God’s sake. He can’t be that stupid – he can’t stoop that low.

Don’t hesitate to like, reblog, and leave some feedback if you liked it! It’s always good and encouraging to know what you think <3

#sub!taehyung #taehyung fanfic #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #sub!bts #bts fanfiction #sub taehyung #taehyung fan fiction #taehyung ceo au #taehyung office au #taehyung s2l

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positivelybeastly · 8 months

Note

Sometimes I feel like beast gets treated more harshly for some things than other characters are for almost identical actions. The time travel stuff especially, but the collective actions of the Illuminati as well

Heh. You know, it's funny, I was literally just grabbing a cap of some Stuart Immonen art from All-New X-Men #2, of a really pretty X-Jet, and, because I'm a glutton for punishment, I clicked the comments. Do you wanna read them? No? Too bad, I had to read them, so now, so do you.

"Hank is so self-absorbed it's incredible. No wonder the Watcher thinks he's garbage."

"Also, i think Beast should be lobotomized for his crimes against children and the space/time continuum."

"That said: f**k you, Hank. You are so weak and arrogant that you would risk destroying your oldest and dearest friends because you can't handle Scott helping mutants? You risk destroying the timeline and destroying your friends' relationships and their very minds and spirits."

Like . . . fuck, man.

It really is all just Bendis' fault. He made Hank do something so mind-numbingly stupid, and it was presented slap bang in people's faces, and LITERALLY NO-ONE stopped to question if it was even in-character for him to do this.

It wasn't, by the way.

Be warned, disturbingly hot, smart, and urbane Hank McCoy incoming.

OH HEY.

LOOK.

IT'S ALMOST LIKE HANK'S FUCKING SMART OR SOMETHING.

I JUST.

GET.

SO.

FUCKING.

ANGRY.

THE MAN IS FUCKING SMART. And then Bendis just has him do something so mind-numbingly stupid, and no-one even blinks an eye at whether or not it even made sense for him to do it.

And do you know what makes me fucking laugh? Is that other writers were actively mocking the plotlines as they were going on, but because so many comics readers are as dumb as fucking rocks, they didn't even realise.

Oh yeah, it IS almost as if people in the Marvel Universe regularly fuck the timestream without taking it for dinner or applying lube, I almost fucking forgot! But because Bendis decides that there are ramifications this time, suddenly Hank is the destroyer of all of space time.

Which of the three is it? Was this something that was always meant to happen, or not? If this is something that can happen when you meddle with space-time, why did Hank do it? Why? Is? Bendis-Hank? So? Fucking? DUMB???

And you know what, I need to bring this up, because LITERALLY FUCKING NO-ONE ELSE IN THE FANDOM EVER WILL

This was not a decision he made in his right mind? He was dying? His brain is seizing? He's having heart palpitations, in agonising pain, his mentor is dead and one of his oldest friends was the one who killed him, and he's in such a depressive spiral that he doesn't even want to tell the people around him that he's dying because he doesn't want to worry them.

But no, this is a decision that we're never, ever, ever going to let Hank live down. In fact, this decision is SO AWFUL THAT

Fucking blow me.

I know that I'm, like, seemingly the one X-Men fan that actually reads fucking comic books rather than going off panels I see posted on Twitter (this slight is aimed mostly at Reddit, not here, don't worry), but, like . . . god, I'm just so fucking furious that I had to sit, and watch a targeted character assassination, in real time, of my favourite character, and the fandom just fucking lapped it up.

Even now, the era from the end of Avengers vs. X-Men to Krakoa is called the Lost Era in mutant history. There are SO MANY THINGS that have been completely forgotten.

Hey, remember when Emma Frost did this?

Oh yeah, what consequences did she face for this?

Nothing?

The amount of shit that sticks to Hank makes me fucking sick. Everyone gets a pass for what they did, except for Hank.

The New Avengers/Illuminati stuff is the one that gets my goat, because do you know how Hank spent that time?

Buckle the fuck in.

Hank lacks the constitution for hard decisions.

Hank believes in the power of good men to change the world with ideals.

Hank will take the coward's way out, every time. The way that saves lives.

Hank will spend the time to talk, every time.

"We should help if we can. How could we not?"

Oh hey, Bruce Banner, I think everyone kinda forgot you were in this Illuminati too and you get a free pass!

Interesting.

Hmmmmm.

That last one REALLY makes me laugh because it really does just kinda read to me as Hickman pointing out that Hank's actions in All-New X-Men make no fucking sense.

And Hank has to just.

Sit there.

And take it.

And every.

Single.

Time.

Someone tries to put him back on the path to being who he is meant to be, some.

Fucking.

Jack-off.

Ruins it again.

Shit sticks to Hank like it doesn't stick to anyone else.

I'm fucking sick of it.

I ain't even touching the Percy stuff. That's just - phwaoooooah. Not to mention, I'm out of images.

Just sucks, man.

Just sucks.

#Anonymous #outofmuffins

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missmisdemeanor · 1 year

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Happy DFF Lana! I'm going to go for a horny question bc my brain is fried, what's John's favourite way to fuck Dean? Position, hard/slow, little idiosyncrasies... tell me the gross 👀

so this got away from me a little. smut under the cut.

It’s– God, almost four in the morning and neither of them have slept. John’s insomnia is an old beast, its teeth worn down from gnawing at him over the course of two decades. Dean’s is a brand new animal, and it’s teething. It bites red rings under his eldest son’s eyes, visible as Dean sits at the motel desk cleaning another gun. He’s given up any pretense of going to sleep, just like last night and the night before. Three nights prior, they’d finished the last of their store of sleeping pills.

John watches him from the unmade bed. They only get one-bed rooms these days, with Sam gone. John watches him, like he has for years. And it’s a dance. Dean sways subtly, arm pulling back. He puts the gun down. John follows arm with eyes in a fluid motion. “Dean,” he calls, lips loose around the syllable.

“Go to sleep,” Dean rasps. Every word is forced through the front of his throat.

“You know I can’t.”

John’s lips turn up. Dean is particularly beautiful in the low light, in the early hours, with red-ringed eyes and subtly shaking limbs. Like John, he’s scuffed from their years of violent life, like a rock endlessly tumbling down a jagged mountain, gathering chips and scratches along the way. His shattered edges soften under lamplight, under a haze of sleeplessness. Fog fills his voice and his body echoes a sort of delicateness it hasn’t truly held since he carried Sam out of the fire.

“Yeah,” Dean chuckles. Dry. There’s a sink in the bathroom, but he hasn’t had a sip of water in twelve hours, easy. Just one beer and a couple cigarettes. “I know.”

“Come here,” John says. Gentle, always gentle. Dean doesn’t fight like Sam does–or rather did. And John’s instruction is a plea far more than a command. He remembers Dean younger, standing with hands on John’s knee, seated. Dad, are you okay? Teenaged, a broader palm on John’s shoulder. Hey. Let’s all relax, alright? To Dean, the face of a put-together father has always been made of glass.

He sees the man John is, so John doesn't try to hide it.

Dean sighs. Wordlessly, he stands on weak bowlegs. His feet are silent on the motel’s brown wall-to-wall carpet, and he sits next to John in bed.

“There you are,” John smiles. Dean doesn’t brush it off, not with a laugh or by moving away.

This is routine– one two three, one two three. John sits up and his fingers dance along Dean’s jaw, across the coarse stubble he hasn’t bothered shaving. Dean’s hands pull John’s shirt off, almost like a parent helping a child change clothes. It’s not hungry, not insistent. Not yet.

John coaxes Dean from his cotton tee in turn, runs rough hands up Dean’s scarred sides. It’s redundant at this point to call him beautiful. Maybe the words leach out of John’s admiring eyes.

Jeans and boxers too are discarded, and Dean’s legs are almost as hairy as John’s these days. Dean has John’s blunt jaw and his soft stomach. He has his mother’s eyes.

Dean’s legs come over John’s and press their cocks together. The hair on Dean’s is lighter, and it curves the opposite way if you really pay attention. Which John does. He’s made a mental study of Dean so meticulous and for so many years it could constitute a doctorate. His hand reaches out first, hairy-knuckled and gnarled as a storm-worn oak. It wraps around them both, stroking slow, breathing life into soft, tired bodies.

Dean’s hand wraps on top of John’s, softer palms from youth but certainly not easy living. Slow, ever-tighter. They groan in unison, breathing heavily. When John looks up into Dean’s eyes, they’re half-lidded, his pupils blown wider than they were even with the room so dim. His cock’s hardening in John’s hand, the tip turning a stunning shade of pink-red. John’s cock fills half from pleasure and half from watching Dean, the way his stomach folds as he gets comfortable and his hips start rocking. His palm’s getting sweaty against the back of John’s hand.

John’s the first to break the relative silence. “Fuck…I could come like this.”

Dean grunts. A swarm of red bees descends on his summer-peach cheeks. They flit invisibly fast wings against his neck, up to his ears. “Don’t,” his voice buzzes, low. He leans into John’s shoulder and rests his warm chin there.

John’s hand stills. “Holding out for something better?”

Dean shakes his head. His hair’s getting shaggy. John likes to put his fingers in it, and he doesn’t hold back from doing so now. “Yeah.” He breathes out in a stream, like blowing out a birthday candle. “Fuck me.”

They never say make love. They don’t kiss particularly often either. Dean doesn’t ham up his fuck me though, it’s gruff and sincere. John presses cracked lips to Dean’s oily hairline, that much is okay. “Of course.”

Dean situates himself like he has for months of late nights, stomach flat to the sheets. John takes the lube off the nightstand. They’d left it on top of the motel’s stationery the day they got there. A week ago, maybe. Stomach-to-back is their favourite position, and John doesn’t know how much of that is about avoiding each other’s eyes.

In any case, he’s dutiful. He owes that to Dean, who stuck around, who still hasn’t turned on him even though he doesn’t sleep anymore. Sam’s the one ghost they can’t hunt down. John squirts lube onto his fingers and presses them to Dean’s rim, pushes in with little preamble. The slide’s easy. Practised.

Dean grunts, he lifts his hips off the mattress slightly. John curls two fingers inside him, spreading them apart slightly. He presses where he knows Dean likes it, and Dean moans into the sheets ever-so-quietly. John doesn’t miss details though. For once, he’s grateful to be hypervigilant.

“Come on,” Dean complains, and it makes John laugh.

“Alright, calm down. I got you.”

Fucking Dean is a feeling like nothing else in the world. His tight rim chokes John’s cock as he pushes in, and he’s so soft and warm inside. Dean likes it wet, and the lube squelches as John starts thrusting into him. Pure bliss.

He's pressed to Dean’s back, coarse chest hair against the thin hair between Dean’s shoulder blades. It tugs as John moves, it hurts a little. “Oh, Dean…”

“Mm…” Dean ruts into the mattress and back up against John, up and down. John licks the side of his neck, tastes the cold sweat of his insomnia against the hot skin of arousal. He sinks his teeth into Dean’s shoulder, a claim.

Dean responds so sweetly to being touched. He’s good, so good. John pants in his ear and indulges himself, slow and deep. “Baby,” John groans, holding strong hips.

John likes being right here, feeling every one of Dean’s muscles activate as he writhes, searching desperately for more pleasure. He likes the feeling of Dean’s low, curved back, the way his round stomach fits right in that dip like they were made to slot together.

Clothes on the floor, diagonal on the bed. John leans forward to smell Dean’s breath as he exhales and it’s gross, sour and still lingering with cigarette smoke.

“Love you,” John sighs, and Dean mumbles it back into the sheets. They’ve been saying it a lot more lately.

John picks up the pace, still with long, deep thrusts. He wants to feel the slide from base to tip. Dean moans openly, face full of fabric, arching his hips up for more. On another day, John might’ve teased him. Slut, good boy. You just love Daddy’s cock, don’t you?

Not tonight.

Dean’s body goes so lax under John’s he could be falling asleep. He isn’t, with the way those raw-throated noises carry on. “Touch me,” Dean asks, low and husky, and John could never say no.

He reaches a hand underneath to stroke Dean’s cock, appreciatively humming at how hard and wet with precome it is. He’s made the sheets wet too. Messy boy. “Mine,” John groans, canting his hips without finesse. “Close…”

“Mhh,” Dean tilts his head up to breathe properly as John squeezes his cock, thumbs at the tip, fucks deep into his wet asshole.

John comes hard, his abdomen tensing against Dean’s back. The tingling warmth spreads through all of his limbs. He stays still there as he finishes Dean off, which takes another minute of jerking him off and biting at his neck.

Dean’s especially beautiful when he comes, to the point where John likes Dean’s orgasms more than his own. His whole body shakes and he gasps, and John feels the spurts of wet come between his hand and the bed.

When he pulls out, Dean’s half asleep already. They’re not going to talk about it.

They never do.

#lana's box #dadfucker friday #deanjohn smut #it's kind of angsty sorryyy

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