#ANYWAY i’m absolutely not the only one comfortable jumping much higher than this in this div so it’s chill | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

my-tin-can-mans · 3 years

Text

She Knows Part 2, (Wolffe x Reader)

OH BOY. First I'm sorry this took me so long I've been busy with college. But! this is the longest fic or anything really I've written so wow. Hopefully you enjoy.

Warnings: angst, mentions of Alcohol, mentions of cheating slight smut (minors do not interact or read).

Note: italics are flashbacks

“So, what do you usually do during leave?” the question threw you a little of guard. You’d been stationed with the 501st for four months now, four months since you’d broke it off with Wolffe after… everything. You had been the head medic in the 104th battalion, but quickly put in a request for a transfer after the humiliation Wolffe had put you through. The only position available was with the 501st, working under their head medic, Kix. It was a demotion sure, but honestly it took a lot of stress of your shoulders and well, anything to get away from the situation you were in.

Working with Kix almost 24/7 forced you two to grow close and form a close relationship. It was more of a brotherly/sisterly love than anything else, though others saw how well you two had worked together and insisted you would make a good couple, you both were comfortable where you were, which you were grateful for, it was nice to have a friend as kind and understanding as Kix.

Tomorrow the whole battalion would be stationed on Coruscant, the general had some jedi duties to attends to and the war was at a standstill for the moment, giving the men time to relax instead of being thrown under another general for a while.

You had been checking bacta supplies when Kix happened to spring this question on you. Freezing your hand in motion as you had begun to type up an order to restock while planet side. You’d never actually had a leave without Wolffe. Most of the time on leave was spent in that dark corner of 79’s, the other half in a hotel bed.

“Mesh’la, come on, up. I promised the men we’d meet them tonight for a round.”

“But I don’t wanna go Wolffe can’t we just stay here? The sheets are so soft and I don’t feel like wearing clothes.” You’d whined.

“I already told them we would be there, now come up before I drag you out of bed.”

“you wouldn’t,” you peeked your head out from under the covers, narrowing you eyes at him, he stood at the foot of the bed, wearing his blacks sans shirt. He himself had just untangled from you and the sheets. How he had the willpower to do so you had no clue. He dawned his famous predatory smirk on his face

“Are you questioning my word Mesh’la, because you know I always keep my word.” He took a step forward, his thighs now touching the mattress.

“of course not Wolffe,” you gave him a sweet smile, “but I bet I could change your mind.”

“oh?” he raised an eyebrow. “do tell.” He placed his hand on either side of your feet, leaning over the bed

“why don’t you come up here and find out.”

With one swift move Wolffe was on top of you now and you brought your hands to his face pulling him in and kissing him, it was rough and passionate, you really didn’t want to leave and you wanted him to know that, hoping he would see how desperate you were and decide to stay. But after a few moments he pulled back, looking down at you with that damn smirk again, “that was quite convincing.”

Before you could retort anything Wolffe had left from his position on top of you, yanking you up to your feet in the process, “but unfortunately like a said before, I am a man of my word and I already gave it to my brothers, sorry mesh’la but you’ll have to show me your negotiating skills another time, I promise ill make up for it.”

“To be honest Kix I’ve never really done much with my leave time, ya know? I just kinda destress and go out every once in a while.”

“Oh? Well do you have any plans for our first night off then? Me and a couple of the boys are gonna be at 79’s if you’d like to join.”

The mention of 79’s made your heart skip a beat. You hadn’t been back there since you’d found out about Wolffe. “I don’t know Kix,” you sighed, 79’s was a clone bar, and also a favorite hangout spot for the man you had been trying to forget about.

“oh come on, you think Jesse’s a horrible flirt now, just wait till you see him drunk, you’ll be laughing so hard your stomach will be sore in the morning.”

You snorted a laugh in response, Jesse and you were also pretty close, but he was notorious for always trying out stupid pick-up lines on you, he took every opportunity he could to flirt with you, even when he had gotten injured and you were stitching him up, “you look so pretty when your concentrated.” He had said.

But the issue at hand still itched in the back of your mind, what if Wolffe was there? Going back to your holopad, typing up the order you were previously working on to make yourself seem less concerned about your next question you asked him, “the 104th isn’t on leave right now are they?”

“no I don’t think so, why?” Kix had since turned around focusing on organizing medical supplies to help you order.

“Nothing, just, ya know making sure.” You’d told Kix about what happened between you and Wolffe. Just about every clone knew you two were dating, Wolffe always had to make it known you were his. So Obviously everyone was curious as to what had happened.

He turned and looked at you, realizing what you meant, “Oh Kriff, this is your first leave without him isn’t it?”

You nodded, too afraid, after months of finally getting yourself together you didn’t want to revert back to breaking down again.

“Hey listen, if you don’t want to be there I understand. But maybe it would help ya know? We’ll all be wasted you’ll totally forget about him I promise we’ll have a good time.”

It was very convincing, you’d seen the 501stparty and 79’s before, they went hard, unlike Wolffe who was usually more private and reserved. That didn’t mean you two still didn’t have fun in your own way on leave.

Much to your dismay you’d put on a dress and Wolffe had dragged you to 79’s anyways. The second you’d stepped into the place the music and dark lighting consumed you. It was loud tonight. The 501st was celebrating a successful occupy over a separatist world and you could tell. The blue armor was spread throughout the crowd, some at the bar hitting on the women already occupying it, and some on the dance floor.

You wished Wolffe danced more with you, you loved to dance but he only ever accompanied you once, and that was after a drinking competition with Thorne who was hard to beat. He didn’t even remember it in the morning.

Without a second glance to all the men, Wolffe grabbed your wrist and led you back to the booth he always sat at. Instead of the usual commanders, Sinker and Boost sat there awaiting their commanders arrival after being promised a drink with him. You slid into the booth and Wolffe sat right up against you.

He was broad so he took up most of the space, he always presented himself in such a way that he was always there, chest puffed out, shoulders broadened and head held high. When he got situated he spread his legs, taking up more space and knocked his with yours. The two of you practically sat in each other’s lap with how close you were to each other. he placed his hand on your thigh, resting just below the sundress you and reluctantly put on earlier.

It was a last resort to get him to stay in with you. It was his favorite. The first time he saw you in it he’d practically kneeled before you, although you were sure he was just trying to get a peak underneath.

Four shots were already at the table when you two had arrived and Sinker, who was sitting in front of you, had passed one your way while Wolffe grabbed his own downing it without even flinching.

As the night drove on, the men began to become tipsy and Wolffe’s hand grew higher and higher. It was when Boost was at the climax of telling you a story from before you had signed on with them that Wolffe finally breeched your center, rubbing his index finger over the already wet spot in your panties.

You jumped, not expecting him to be so bold as to touch you in front of his men. You turned to look at him but he was looking straight on at Boost, absolutely engrossed in the story he was telling. Without making eye contact he leaned over, giving you a small peck on your temple, while at the same time, he pushed you underwear over to the side and slipped a finger into you.

His face was flushed, from the alcohol or the devious act he was performing you couldn’t tell. It was probably a mix of both. Wolffe rarely showed PDA in public especially in front of him men. So you were practically in shock with what was happening right now.

You went to grab a sip of your drink while he slowly pumped his finger a few times before deciding to add another. You let out a chocking noise.

“Hey you okay?” Sinker seemed concerned at your reaction.

“Yeah, yeah just fine, drink must’ve gone down the wrong piper there” you tried to play it off.

He bought it just fine, resuming the conversation that had started up after Boost’s story. When you turned to look at Wolffe again he was wearing that shit eating grin he often dawned and maker you wanted to wipe it clean off.

When Sinker and Boost were distracted enough, Wolffe leaned into you, “come on now mesh’la, I did say I'd make it up to you, and as I recall we’ve already proved I’m a man of my words.”

“Well I guess a few drinks wouldn’t hurt.” You thought back to all the times you’d seen blue armor on the dance floor and envied the fact you hadn’t been there as well, “but I better get a couple of dances out of you guys”

Kix chuckled, “I can promise you, if you stop by for long enough those men will be fighting over who gets to dance with you next.”

You bellowed out a laugh at that. The thought of Jesse, tup and the rest fighting over you was quite the scenario. “Just comm me what time you boys are gonna be there at.”

He nodded his head in agreement, both of you chatting lightly about other topics as you finished the order.

****************************************************

The ship had landed a few hours ago, longing for a good night’s sleep you had left the barracks for the stay, packing up your necessities and checking into a hotel a few blocks out of the main traffic for some peace and quiet.

As you were getting ready for your night at 79’s Kix had sent you a comm message, letting you know they were on their way and would be arriving in 10 minutes. All you had left to do was dress yourself. You rummaged through the bag of clothes you had. It wasn’t much, mostly GAR issued scrubs and a few dresses. You heart stopped when you saw the dress though. The one that was always Wolffe’s favorite. You picked it out, holding it up so you could see the whole thing.

Kriff. This dress brought back so many memories. It almost hurt to look at it. if you were being completely honest with yourself though, you did look damn good in it. screw it you thought. Time to make better memories in it.

After you slipped the dress on you hailed an air taxi to 79’s once inside you scanned the bar, looking for the men who were going to take up your evening. You spotted them at the bar ordering drinks and from the looks of it Jesse was already on his shit and flirting with the bartender.

You walked up to them and their heads turned. Jesse let out a whistle, “Damn, look at you! If I didn’t know any better I'd say you were trying to entice me.”

Kix shook his head at that. Putting his face into his palm. Tup who happened to be standing beside Jesse elbowed him to which Jesse frowned at. “Could you not flirt with my favorite medic?” he turned to you, “you look nice by the way, but not in a creepy I want to get with you way like he meant.”

You let out a giggle. You were already having a great time and you hadn’t even been in the building for five minutes. You took a seat at the bar between Kix and Jesse, Tup to the other side of him.

As the night ticked by you happened to get pretty tipsy, never getting truly drunk for fear you couldn’t make it back to your hotel safely. The men held their alcohol well though and although they were drinking twice as much, they were probably the same level intoxicated as you were. You all stayed at the bar, cracking jokes and telling insane stories, often Jesse would flirt with you or the bartender but it wasn’t too much and you both welcomed the light heartedness attention he gave.

An hour in you heard a voice behind you, “Hope I didn’t miss too much.” You swiveled in the bar seat, turning around to be face to face with the captain of the 501st.

“Captain!” Kix exclaimed, “what took you so long?”

“Sorry boys had a few reports I needed to fill out before the night ended.”

“Well, were glad you here now.” You said.

You got up to give the captain a hug. Something you defiantly wouldn’t do sober, but the alcohol had given you a little confidence. Rex looked surprised by the affection but embraced you anyways. He leaned down and you put your chin over his shoulder patting him on the back staying like that for a second.

It was then that you wished you hadn’t hugged Rex, hadn’t drank as much to give you a confidence boost, and hadn’t stepped a foot in this maker forsaken bar again.

He sat there, in the seat he always sat in when he came here. Only this time he wasn’t with any of his troopers or the other commanders. This time he was with another girl. She was a purple Twi'lek and she was drop dead gorgeous. And the dress she was wearing, or lack thereof because of how tiny it was , made you look like you had just picked yours straight out of the garbage. And you couldn’t help but wonder.

Was that her?

“Kriff Wolffe, what the actual Kriff!” you screamed, you didn’t care about the other guests in the hotel, you were so mad you were practically seeing stars.

“I'm sorry mesh’la I'm sorry I'm so so sorry.”

“No. No! don’t you dare call me that right now. I can’t – I don’t even have words for you right now.”

“please, please let me explain,”

You whipped you head around to him, seeing a whole new layer of red. “Explain? What is there to explain Wolffe. You cheated on me then proceeded to not tell me while apparently everyone else knew and I found out through one of your brothers! Isn’t that enough of an explanation.”

You sat down on the bed, head in hands. He kneeled down in front of your feet. Placing his hands atop of your knees. “I'm sorry.” He whispered. You slapped his hands off you, the thought of him touching you after another woman practically revolted you.

“you already said that.”

“I know, and I mean it I am, it was a mistake, I- if I could take it back I would, Maker I- I hate myself for letting it happen.”

“you should hate yourself.”

“I do, I do. Please, tell me what I can do to make this better.”

For a man who was supposed to be well tactical he kept making all the wrong moves.

“Wolffe there is no making this better. What’s done is done and now it's time to move on.” you finally made your decision, after debating back and forth in the air cab on how to react.

“Yes of course let’s move on, it was in the past but I love you Mesh’la I want you that’s all.”

Kriff that’s not what you meant. “No Wolffe, I mean I’m moving on. from you. I- I can’t continue to be with someone who has done what you’ve done. It's- it's not fair to me.”

By this point tears were strolling down your face. You turned your head to wipe them, not wanting him to see how much he had broke you. “no, no please I- I love you please we can fix this we can work this out please just stay I- I need you.”

“I love you too Wolffe, but there is no fixing this. I loved you so much that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, I gave you everything thing, I gave you all of me and you took that and you stomped on it, you might as well of placed my heart in a dumpster and set it on fire.”

He put his head in your lap. A single tear rolling down his face. “please, please don’t go, I'm so sorry.”

“I know Wolffe. But I can’t accept your apology.”

Your head was pounding. He wasn’t supposed to be on Coruscant right now. Kix had said so himself. You pulled back from Rex. He placed his hands on your shoulders his face blocking the view of him. He smiled warmly but his expression quickly changed when he saw yours.

“you look like you’ve seen a ghost” he joked.

But you facial expression didn’t lighten, in fact it only got worse. With every waking second, every harsh beat of whatever hit song was playing over the speakers you drew yourself inwards more and more.

“hey hey what wrong?” Kix had left his seat at the bar quickly coming to your side. Him and Rex both dawned a look of concern.

“You said he wouldn’t be here.” You turned to Kix, channeling you emotions onto him.

He looked confused at first, but the realization hit him and he turned his head to look over Rex’s shoulder. Rex followed his line of vision and they both saw him. Sitting there in the booth, while the woman clung to him, practically in his lap.

She was kissing his neck, which honestly surprised you, Wolffe was never one for public displays of affection. Or maybe that was just with you. Because he seemed to be enjoying this.

Rex turned around to face you again, a look of panic and empathy on his face, “Kriff I'm so sorry I- he was on a solo mission with General Koon and they’re stationed here for the night so I told him I’d be here. I'm so sorry, it was an honest mistake.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d heard that from a man in this room.

You felt like the whole room was spinning, be that the alcohol or the nervousness and upset that came with seeing him again you weren’t sure. All the men you had come here with were suddenly surrounding you with sympathetic looks and it felt like someone had placed a spotlight on you and you just wanted it to go away.

This night was meant to help you forget him, be happy and have fun with your new assigned battalion. Kriff was the so much to ask for!

“hey hey come on now,” Jesse finally broke the silence, “forget about him! If I remember correctly I promised you a dance earlier?”

This made you finally break out of your trance. You needed a distraction, and had been waiting for someone to dance with all night.

“actually I would love to Jesse.”

“right this way then”

He held out his hand for you and took you to the dance floor. The song that was playing was loud and upbeat, you and Jesse moved together to the beat, it was fun and you really enjoyed it, when the beat of the song dropped everyone on the dance floor was jumping to it, you and Jesse did the same

When the song stopped, you were practically out of breath, you let out a laugh of relief, actually feeling a little better. You looked up are Jesse and he was smiling at you.

“Feeling better, huh?” he asked.

“A little, thank you.”

A few second later another song had come on. This time it was more slow, the partners on the dance floor started to grab each other.

Jesse grabbed your waist. “Come on huh? let’s give that son of a blaster something to look at, plus this might be the only time I get to be this close to you, despite my attempts” he smirked at you.

You nodded your head, letting out a giggle at his lame excuse to flirt with you again. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he pulled you in closer, your chest practically touching his. And finally you both started to sway to the beat.

A few seconds in Jesse started rubbing his thumbs on your hips, trying to calm your nerves, and it worked. Caught up in the music you started to lightly grind your hips into his, although it was soft guarded by his armor, he still took notice to it. smirking at you and grinding in time with you. His hands started to rise, growing closer and closer to under your breasts, but never reaching, knowing he would be crossing a line, and although Jesse was a flirt, his last intention was to make anyone uncomfortable.

He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck. You could feel his breathe on your skin, and his nose rubbing up and down. He placed a soft his on your shoulder and the next thing you knew you were being turned around. His hand were back on your waits, but his cheat was now pressed up against your back. He gave you a harsh grind into your ass and you gasped. His arms now wrapping around you, pulling you impossibly tight into him. His head resumed its spot into your neck.

“is this okay,” he whispered into your ear.

“yeah.” You breathed. He kissed you neck this time. but it was just one short one, it was slow, and hot, you closed your eyes. he placed them all the way up your neck, all the way up to your jaw. All the way close to your mouth, and he whispered again, is this okay.

You nodded your head, eyes still closed and you turned you head towards him a little encouraging him. And his lips met yours.

You hadn’t kissed very many people. Wolffe giving you the majority of your experience. and although they were clones, they felt completely different. When Wolffe used to kiss you he practically stole your breath, he put everything he had into kissing you, and it was almost always hot and it made your insides flip, no matter how many times he kissed you, you always felt dizzy and perfectly happy, like his kissed could cure any problemed you had. To say Jesse was a bad kisser would be a lie, it was a good kiss, but it almost made you feel the opposite, all you could think about was Wolffe.

And when the song ended and you opened your eyes you were facing him again. Him. And he was sitting there with his lounge practically down the woman’s throat. And it hurt, hurt to know that he didn’t even acknowledge you. Hadn’t even cared that the person he once begged to stay with was with someone else now. Even though you weren��t actually. It hurt that he used to kiss you like that and now he was kissing someone else like that.

you weren’t sure if it was the beginning of the next song, or if your head was going fuzzy, but all you could hear was ringing in your ears. Jesse had unwrapped his hands from around you and the moment he did you sprang towards the doors of 79’s.

you heard the faint sounds of Jesse, rex and Kix calling out for you but you couldn’t be bothered to hear what any of them had to say. You left the building and walked a few blocks. Finally coming across an empty alley. You pressed you back against the cool metal of the building you were beside and let out a breathe. The air was cool and crisp against your skin, but it felt good.

After all the time you spent forgetting about him you were practically back at square one. And it pissed you off. How dare he have this effect on you.

You let out a sigh, gathering your emotions. And when you finally felt calm enough you went to comm Kix, letting him know you’d be going back to your hotel for the rest of the night, but you were interrupted.

“Mesh’la.”

ending notes: soooo, im not sure if im gonna do another part on this or not, i have some ideas for other fics but im kinda cramped on time at the moment so we shall see.

Tags

@fandom-garbage @dionysuskid21

#commander wolffe #commander wolffe x reader #the wolfpack #wolffe x reader #tcw wolffe #clone trooper wolffe #wolffe x you #tcw #clone wars #starwars #starwars x reader #the clone wars fic #fan fic #my fic #star wars the clone wars #clone wars x reader #the clone wars #clone wars fic #cc 3636

232 notes · View notes

loversandantiheroes · 3 years

Note

Okay my whiskey fantasy. It’s a holiday, anniversary, I dunno. But he comes home. You’re in lingerie, teddy, the garter belt, the thigh high tights (I am having an absolute brain fart and can not remember the name), the high heels. you’re cooking him dinner in it. Somethin real texas for dinner. He wants to immediately fuck yiu, BUT NO he has to WAIT bc its dinner time and you worked hard. He’s waiting, and he’s watching you, you’re bending over at the stove, all that. Dinner is served, you —-

You lounge on the table to eat like a decadent and gorgeous pain in the ass, so he can see you’re whole body while he eats, forced to be patient. You’re being an absolute menace. He’s running his mouth the whole time OBVIOUSLY. Then he fucking wrecks you

No Candles Necessary

As I am a bonafide yeehonk foole (and I have the t-shirt to prove it), I could hardly resist this idea. Nonny, I hope like hell I did you proud.💗

Shameless Whiskey/F!Reader smut (18+ and yes that means you), 5.3k+ words (they just wouldn’t shut up), mildly beta’d and lightly edited.

Warnings: established relationship, unsafe food preparation practices, light foodplay (it only goes in appropriate places I swear), egregious dirty talk, improper use of a dining table, Switch!Whiskey returns, Switch!Reader by extension, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroating, PIV sex, unprotected sex (do as I say, not as I fictionalize), cream pie (bc I’m lazy quite frankly), actual pie (peach!), a little soft schmoop in between the smut just because I can.

Permatag: @missredherring @dovesnroses @astroboots @magpierhymes @alienprincesspoop @aasimarr @maythxthirstbxwithyou @recklesswit

Pedro Permatag: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa (sorry bab, more yeehonk) @corvueros @thirstworldproblemss @littleferal @krissology @frannyzooey @forallthstarsinthesky @princess76179 @keeper0fthestars @venusandromedadjarin

Cooking your boyfriend a birthday dinner in lingerie is probably not the best idea you've ever had. The man isn’t even home yet to witness the trouble you’ve gone to, still wrapping up a day’s work at HQ after closing out another mission. So you didn’t jump right into cooking in your frillies. No, you did the bulk of the work in sweats and a t-shirt, only stopping to change once you were down to the last stretch and the steaks had come off to rest. You've got sense enough at least to put on an apron, not wanting to risk getting hot grease on the delicate fabric or the vast amounts of bare skin the thing doesn't cover, and while you've already donned the garter belt and stockings you've left your heels up against the island counter so you can slip them on quickly when you hear the door. Still you can't quite help but feel less sexy and more silly as you stand there carving up a pair of garlic butter basted steaks while your forehead prickles with sweat and your ass, covered by neither the teddy or the apron, feels ice cold.

The things I do for love of a goddamn cowboy, you think with a shake of your head. Your whole plan is honestly on the high end of ridiculous. But then Jack is a ridiculous man, and he always seems to drag you headlong into absurdity with him. Some days it's his only saving grace - the boyish playfulness that tempers his arrogance into something charming rather than infuriating. It seems only right to be a little ridiculous for the occasion.

Once the carving’s done you give yourself a second to go over the spread and make sure everything's ready to go. It's early yet, but you're expecting to hear Jack's key in the front door any minute. He's made no mention of returning home early, of course, but he is every bit the sort that would try to surprise you on his birthday, and you’ve developed an uncanny ability to anticipate his moves ahead of time.

As it turns out, you have just enough time to slip on your heels before you hear the front door open and Jack calls out your name. You allow yourself a moment of satisfaction - you do love being right when it comes to this sort of thing - and slip into your heels.

“In here, baby,” you call back, stepping out to lean against the door frame.

“Somethin’ smells like heaven,” Jack says, rounding the corner into the dining room. He stops dead when he gets a look at you, mouth falling open in surprise. He’s hung his hat at the door, his hair already flopping over in a revolt against the slicked-back way he styles it in the morning, his suit jacket still on and buttoned. “Looks like it, too,” he finishes, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin. “I feel overdressed all of a sudden.”

You can’t help but answer that grin. “Happy birthday, cowboy,” you tell him, beckoning him over.

He all but rushes across the room to slide up against you, hands curling around your hips and playing with the tie to the apron. “Sure as hell is now,” he mutters. His palms slide down, cupping your ass to pull you in close. You bite back a hiss at the warmth, and he gives a low approving hum at the expanse of cool, bare skin. “Looks like I don’t even need to unwrap my present.”

“Patience,” you insist, pushing his shoulders back and grazing your lips over the tip of his nose as you evade the kiss he tries to pull you into. “No dessert until after dinner.”

“Dinner can wait-”

“No it cannot. I did not just spend the afternoon trying to keep hot butter off my tits so you could get impatient and let your supper get cold.” He traces a finger across your cleavage as you talk, tugging at the top of the apron to get a better look at the skin underneath. You feel the quip coming before he even opens his mouth, so you take the opportunity to give him a little push and show him just what he’s in for tonight. You bring up your hand, fingers curling under his wrist, turning his hand away and using it to pull him flush to you, the line of your thigh landing against the covered denim crotch of his jeans with just enough force to make him jolt.

“Be a good boy, Jack,” you say against his open, breathless mouth, “or you won’t get any dessert at all.”

Whiskey pouts, but his eyes have that dark glint that says he knows he’s in for trouble and he is just as pleased as punch about it. “You mean to torture a man on his birthday, honeybee?”

The smirk you give him makes his heartbeat kick up a little faster - you can feel the quickening of it in the pulse point against your fingertips. “Absolutely.” You stretch up enough for one brief, warm kiss and then step back, jerking your chin towards the dining table where there’s already two glasses of wine poured at the ready. “Sit. I’ll bring out dinner.”

He nods, tongue rolling slowly against his bottom lip. “Yes ma’am.”

His gaze is a heavy weight on your body as you walk away, raking down across so much exposed skin. You hear him groan at the sight, low and appreciative. He’s always been fond of seeing you wrapped up in lingerie, even more fond of tearing up the expensive scraps just to get you bare for him. You’d chided him about it the first time - the bodysuit he’d ripped clean in half from gusset to tit hadn’t been cheap, even though that little display had thrilled you far more than you’d ever want to admit - but he always replaced what he ruined without fail.

When you come back, divested of the apron with plates in hand, Whiskey is sitting just as instructed, elbow on the table, chin resting on his knuckles. He tracks every move you make, every sway of your hips, a playful smile hiding the effort of his restraint as you set his dinner in front of him. He barely spares the food a glance when you elect to forego your own chair and simply hop up onto the table, setting your plate near his and dragging over your glass of wine.

“You’ve outdone yourself, honeybee,” Whiskey rumbles, sliding a hand up your knee to your thigh, and he could not be talking less about the food.

You only smile, taking an unhurried sip. “Somehow I thought you’d prefer this to a new tie. How old are you now, anyway?” you tease.

“Sweet sixteen,” he says dryly, hiking an eyebrow while he squeezes your thigh for your cheek.

You chuckle. “Uh-huh, and I’m Mother Theresa.” You lean in, spearing a slice of steak on his plate with your fork and holding it out for him. “Now, I worked very hard on this, and I am going to be very disappointed if you try to skip dinner on me just ‘cause you can’t quit eyeballing your dessert. Open.”

He tips you a wink before dutifully opening his mouth, letting you feed him. The soft, indulgent moan that leaves him as his eyes slip closed is too subdued to be anything but real. “Honeybee that is gorgeous. My compliments to the chef.”

“The chef is glad to hear it.” You swipe your thumb over his lip, collecting the sheen of juice and garlicky butter and bringing it to your own mouth, delicately sucking it off. “Could’ve used a bit more rosemary.”

Whiskey shakes his head. “Mm-mm. This is perfection on a plate, baby. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

The smile that earns him is genuine, and you bend to give him a quick kiss. He presses it, just a little, a swipe of his tongue that you open for just enough to nip at before pulling away. “Eat.” You gesture meaningfully at his plate.

All told, there isn’t actually much on it. Steak, roasted new potatoes, and asparagus with hollandaise sauce. You’ve only served up maybe half of what you’d usually set in front of him for dinner, opting for more reserved portions. It’s a favor to you both - his patience wouldn’t last through a full meal without the need for physical restraints. There’s more in the kitchen, of course, and an actual pie for dessert if you happen to get that far. You’re both bound to be hungry again after.

Whiskey tucks in, fork in his left hand while his right stays comfortably curled around your thigh, slowly creeping higher and higher until he’s playing with the lacy top of your stocking. You give him a warning tilt of your head, your own fork poised halfway to your mouth. All you get in return is those plaintive, innocent puppy dog eyes of his, but his hand doesn’t advance further.

All in all you’re rather proud of his restraint, at least until one spear of asparagus manages to drip hollandaise down onto your cleavage. Suddenly that quietly repressed hunger cracks and he’s surging up towards you, mouth half-open and tongue peaking out, ready to clean you up.

But that won’t do. Not yet. Your reflexes might not be as good as his, but they’re nothing to balk at, either. You brace yourself back on one hand, leaning away and planting one of your high heels against his shoulder to shove him back into his seat. The look on his face is priceless; mouth agape and pupils blown.

Slowly you shake your head. “You know better, Jack.”

His eyes track up the inside of your thigh to the crotch of your bodysuit - or rather, the lack thereof - and the split strips of lace that don’t cover your mound, but frame it prettily for him. “Fuck, honeybee,” he mutters breathlessly.

Dinner and a show was always the plan. So you take your time, dipping your finger and swiping up the stripe of creamy yellow and holding it out to him. Whiskey stares you down as he takes the tip of your finger into his mouth and sucks dutifully, his tongue plush and soft and working against the pad of your finger the same way he worries it over your clit. A rush of heat rockets through you, leaving your belly warm and a sweet tingle tripping down your spine in its wake.

Biting your lip hard to rein in the impulse to just slide into his lap, you drag your finger out of his mouth. It’s what he wants; to make you break first, to make you lose at your own game. And where’s the fun in that?

“It is your birthday, so I’m going to cut you a little bit of slack, but if you can’t mind your manners and do as you’re fucking told, you’re gonna get a lot worse than a birthday spanking, pretty boy. Now, I told you: no dessert until you finish your dinner.” There’s precious little left on his plate; a few scraps of steak, a couple potatoes, one lone spear of asparagus. You stab this last with your fork and hold it out to him. “Last chance, baby. You open your mouth for me and be a good boy, and you can have me any way you want.”

Whiskey looks dazed; seething and starved and love-struck all at once. You don’t even need to look down to know he’s hard. But he hesitates just for a moment, whether it’s deliberate or accidental you’re not really sure - sometimes the man just really wants to be punished - but in that space you see his body jerk, hunching slightly as his abdominal muscles contract involuntarily. You follow the movement with your eyes and sure enough, there he is. Full mast and straining hard against thick denim.

Smiling sweetly, you wave the fork at him. “Your choice, Jack.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, and the roughshod timbre of his voice says it’d be a fine way to go.

Whiskey opens his mouth and takes what you give him.

You’re slow about it. Careful. Admonishing him when he tries to chew a little too quickly. Whiskey stares you down with eyes like coal seconds away from ignition. He holds your gaze while you slip another bite of food into his mouth, then lets his eyes slip down until they fix firmly on your half-exposed and already glistening cunt, and you know the moment you give him an inch he’s going to wreck the hell out of you for this.

When the last bite passes his lips he curls his hand around your ankle, squeezing. Always pushing his luck, this man of yours. You set his plate aside, glancing away like it’s no effort at all as he very methodically wipes his mouth with his napkin.

“Now can I have my dessert?” Impatience roughens the low gravel of his voice into something dangerously sharp.

You smile, leaning back on one hand. “There’s peach pie in the kitchen.”

He presses forward, left hand sliding big and warm up the inside of your thigh. The motion presses the leg you’ve used to pin him to his chair back until your knee is nearly flush with your chest, opening you up wider, the rush of air between your legs now shockingly cold against the wetness that had gathered there.

“Woman, the only pie I want a piece of is the one sitting right in front of me.”

The stretch along the back of your thigh burns, so you shift, hooking your leg over his shoulder instead. “I haven’t finished my dinner yet,” you protest cooly, reaching down to snag a strip of steak off your still half-full plate and popping it into your mouth.

Whiskey’s hands slip higher, and this time you don’t stop him, too busy sucking the buttery juices off your fingers. When the very very tips of his fingers brush the spread lace at the crux of your thighs he freezes, waiting for the rebuke, for fingers around his neck or your other heel to plant square in his chest. You consider it, sure; it’s certainly not a prospect without its merits. A man that enjoys being under your thumb is satisfying in a way that few things in life ever fully measure up to.

But honestly, you’ve worked hard enough tonight. Time to let him put in a little effort.

A tilt of your head and a curl of your foot against his shoulder is permission enough; slipping off the leash by way of a gesture, and the low smolder in his eyes blooms to a full burn. Whiskey stands to his full height, looming close enough for you to feel the heat bake off him as he shrugs off his jacket and unbuttons the cuffs on his dress shirt, rolling them up with a few quick turns of his wrists.

“Can’t let my girl go hungry now,” he hums in a voice like burnt molasses. “Lemme give you a hand there, honeybee.”

Smirking, Whiskey wraps an arm around you, brushing the tip of his nose against yours as you wriggle against solid heat of his body. His left hand wanders out of sight on the table as his lips meet yours, teasing your mouth open with the barest brush of his tongue, while his right hand trails warm and slow around your side and down and down to cup your mound.

It’s hard to believe you ever felt cold. You’re burning up now, skin flushed hot as his mouth grazes yours and breathes out: “Open up for me.”

And just like magic, you do. No input needed on your behalf; your mouth simply drops open and your legs shift wider in accommodation for him. There’s a clink of silverware and then he’s waving a fork at you, a strip of steak speared on the end. Whiskey’s eyes glitter as he pushes it into your waiting mouth. Each bite he feeds you is accompanied by a teasing dip of his fingers into your core, feeding you with his left hand while he touches you with his right. Your slickened folds part smooth and easy as he pushes his fingers inside you, a welcome but all too brief intrusion, before they trail up again to stroke at your clit. Again and again you rock your hips up, trying to encourage him to slip into you deeper, to give you a taste of the fullness and pressure of his cock, but every time his touch retreats.

You whine; a strange mix of frustration and pleasure. “Tease.”

“Takes one to know one,” he coos, the hand between your legs working faster. Heat builds quickly under his fingertips, a friction far more appetizing than anything else you’ve set on the table tonight. “You made the rules, honeybee. No dessert until after you finish supper. You do want your dessert, don’t you?”

He brings the next bite up, holds it tantalizingly close. You stretch out and he draws it back, and suddenly his fingers are rubbing a firm, determined circle on your clit. Your whole body jolts, gasping air with a pitiful little whine. There’s nothing but mischief on his face as he watches you, tongue sweeping against his bottom lip. He slows his fingers, brings the fork down again, closer this time. The food brushes your bottom lip before he pulls it away, fingers quickening again.

“Jesus,” you all but squeak. “Jack, don’t be mean.”

Whiskey gives you a considering hum, leaning forward to suck the sheen of butter off your bottom lip. “Oh darlin’ I would never,” he insists, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss that’s tender enough to be very nearly sincere if it weren’t for the fact that the motion of his hand never slows. A sweet, bright heat begins to build under his fingertips. “How could I be mean to my girl when she worked so hard for me, hm? I’m just paying that back in kind is all. You wanna come on my fingers, baby, you can do that all you like. I’ll make you come ‘til those pretty little legs can’t do much more than shimmy. You know I can. But you ain’t gettin’ nothin’ else until you clean your plate like a good girl.”

“H-ha-ah, fuck-how much more?”

He grins devilishly. “Just this last bite.”

“Oh you f-fucking jackass!”

Whiskey laughs. “Guilty as charged. Open up, baby, take what I got for you.”

He pushes the last bite past your lips and immediately delves his fingers into your warm and waiting cunt. The breath shudders out of you, fingers digging into the tablecloth as you try to hang onto enough composure to remember to chew and swallow. He’s slow for a moment, pumping and curling his fingers gently while he watches you eat. There’s a clink of silverware as he discards the fork and puts his arm around you, pressing his lips against your forehead.

“Good girl,” he murmurs sweetly.

Mouth empty now, you nudge your nose against his chin, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Jack-”

And then his grip becomes determined. The fingers inside you flex, the heel of his hand pressing hard against your clit and all you can do is cry out against the soft skin of his neck and hang on for dear life while he works you up and over the edge with shocking speed.

Trembling, you lock your legs around him as you come down, dragging his collar aside to bite lazily into the place where his neck and shoulder meet.

“Fuck,” he groans, hips rutting up against the back of his hand between your legs. “How do you want me, honeybee?”

That earns him a breathless laugh, goosebumps raising along his neck. “It’s your birthday, Jack. What do you want?”

Whiskey’s eyes drop to your mouth and he makes a considering sound, pulling back to suck you delicately off his fingers. “I think I want your mouth. And then I think I want to fuck you right here on this table until that divinely sweet little pussy wrings me fucking dry. Sound good to you, honeybee?”

“That can be arranged.” His eyelids flutter as you reach down to his zipper, not even bothering with his belt before you reach inside his jeans and the button fly of his boxers to tug his cock free, cupping your fingers to draw his balls out, too.

You move to stand and he shakes his head, caging you in. “No. Not on your knees, baby. On the table. I wanna see you all spread out for me. My pretty little present.”

He helps you. Sweeps your hair back as you lie flat on the dining table, scooting back to let your head hang just a bit. It’s not exactly comfortable. The edge of the table digs into your neck a bit, and the way the blood rushes to your head is not entirely pleasant either. But you watch Whiskey pace around you to take his place in front of your waiting mouth, cock bobbing and just barely beginning to leak for you, and you feel a gorgeous rush of heat at the sight.

Whiskey slides his palm up your stomach to cup one barely-covered breast. “Gorgeous,” he mutters, squeezing. “Absolutely beautiful.”

“Jack.”

“I know, darlin’, I know. But my God you’re a picture.” He cups your cheek, absently brushes the corner of your mouth with his thumb before sliding his hand back to give your head a little support. “Open up for me, angel.”

And once again, you open up for what he gives you. The angle makes it strange, the topography of Jack’s body less familiar as he slips into your mouth, your tongue dragging wet and slow over foreign terrain. The taste of him, hot skin and the tang of bitter salt, that you know well enough. You close your eyes at it, bring your hands up to his hips to tug him slowly forward and listen to the way he moans.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, breathless and a little awe-struck. “Jesus fucking Christ. You spoil me, baby. Sweet as fucking honey, my god.”

A light touch against your breast makes you shiver, goosebumps raising as it draws lightly over your skin. A single fingertip, sliding the lace of the bodysuit aside to bare your breasts to the chill of the room and the warmth of Whiskey’s hands.

He mutters sweet things as he begins to move; sweet, tender, unconscionably filthy things. All the things you do to him. Do for him. The rocking of his hips is gentle at first, feeding you his cock inch by cautious inch. When he hits the back of your throat he pulls back on reflex, but the light scrape of your teeth and the sudden tightness of your grip on the plush meat of his ass sends him forward again. The angle eases the motion, and you relax into the pressure as he pushes in and in and...oh.

You feel the resistance at the back of your throat give gently; strange, but not uncomfortable. Above you, Whiskey lets out a pained groan.

“Shit. Oh shit yes, honeybee. Take it. Ohhh s-shit. Take all of it. Every goddamn inch. Fuck.”

And then his hips are flush with your mouth, the soft skin of his balls pressed up against your nose. Panting, he wraps a hand around the stretched column of your throat, swearing breathlessly. He moves, a small, careful thrust, and you can feel the tremor that ripples through him at the feeling.

“Just a little more baby,” he mumbles, pulling back until just the head of his cock rests within the warmth of your mouth. You suckle at it, working it eagerly with your lips and tongue while you breathe raggedly through your nose. Your hips jut up into thin air on their own accord, just as eager for him as your mouth is.

“I got you, honeybee.” The hand at your neck slips down, skimming over skin and lace until he finds your clit. The first touch jolts you, your cry stifled on his cock as you shudder up against him. “Good girl. I got you, baby. Jack’s got you. Keep going. Just a little more. Just a little more and then I’ll fill you right on up. Fuck my sweet girl’s brains right out of her head. Prettiest fuckin’ thing I ever fuckin seen, baby, holy fuck.”

You moan something against him - pleasure, acquiescence, god only knows - but the sound of it is lost as his cock slides steadily back into your mouth. The pressure in your head is distracting, tears prickling your eyes when he pushes in deep, but the stroking of his fingers and the feel of him in your mouth, sliding hard and slick and effortlessly down your throat is far more consuming than the discomfort.

He rocks into you. Fucks into you. Moans and gasping praises falling thick and fast from his lips as he moves. You don’t need to feel the way his balls draw up tight to know how close he is, how tight he’s riding the line between what he wants to do and what his body wants to do. You’re lost in it all the same; his pleasure and the fraying thread of his restraint. Your own pleasure, building quick and low and locking down the muscles in your thighs until they tremble. You float in it, overwhelmed and dizzy, until, very suddenly, you break.

Whiskey curses, pulling back to listen to you cry out, to let you curl up and clutch at him as he pants above you, muttering broken, desperate please of: “yes god yes honeybee all of it, gimme all of it, every last bit.”

You’re a wreck in the aftermath; pliant and limp, face teary and slick with spit and precome. He draws you up, wiping your face with a clean napkin before pulling you into a kiss that steals away whatever remained of your breath. He gathers you up, turns you until you can wrap your still-tingling limbs around him. Nudges his hips against yours, his wet cock dragging against slick skin and fragile lace.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, trailing soft kisses over your face.

You have to clear your throat before you can respond, the sound of it harsh and ragged like an engine turning over. “Y-yeah. Yeah I’m good. Dizzy, but good.”

“You ain’t the only one, honeybee. Almost didn’t make it in time. Wanted to fill up that pretty mouth so bad. You just about did me in.”

He laughs and you join him, breathing ragged joy into each other’s lungs.

“Still want me to fuck you?” The question should be coarse, but somehow isn’t. Not with his sweat-slick forehead pressed to yours and his lips ghosting kisses against your mouth with every breath.

“So sweet,” you mutter, combing your hands through his hair.

“LIke hell,” he scoffs, holding you tight to his chest. “I ain’t and you know it.”

“You are to me,” you insist, pressing a kiss against the tip of his nose. He smiles, softens everywhere but that place that throbs with impatient heat against you. “Now fuck me, pretty boy.”

A flash of a grin is the only warning you get before he’s hooking his arms under your knees and pulling you to the edge of the table. “Yes ma’am,” he says obligingly, planting a hand between your breasts to push you back against the table as he lines himself up, sliding into you with one smooth, achingly deep stroke.

You moan, knees drawing up as his hips meet yours and he fills the space inside you that’s been aching for him all day. Whiskey lets out a groaning sigh, leaning into you like he wants to bury himself whole inside you. He hoists one of your legs up against his chest, nuzzles the inside of your knee while he tries to find his breath again. The length of him inside you is rigid as steel and blindingly hot, still so close to his own end that he has to wait, worrying his teeth over your skin, until the urge to just rut against you like an animal until he comes finally passes.

And when it does, when he opens his eyes at last, he looks down at you with a dazed, hungry smile. He presses a kiss to the tip of his finger and brings it down to your lips.

“Love you, honeybee.”

Heavy-lidded and so wonderfully full, you kiss his finger and arch your back. “Love you, too, cowboy.”

And that’s the last intelligent thing you manage to say. Finally - finally! - Whiskey fucks you, each pounding swing of his hips making the china rattle like nervous teeth. Your arms strike out, curling and flailing, trying to find something to grab onto as he fucks you. The heel of your hand strikes one of the wine glasses and sends it tumbling to the floor where it shatters. The breath leaves your body in tiny bursts with each impact; little monosyllabic cries punctuating each one.

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” Whiskey murmurs. He cups your breasts, thumbing the pebbled sharpness of your nipples before his hands slide lower, finding the deep notch of the bodysuit between them. “Wrapped up so pretty for me.”

The lace tears away like it’s nothing, a clean rip down the center. Oh well. He’ll buy you another.

Whiskey folds over you, pulling you down closer so he can get an arm under your back, his hand grasping the back of your neck and pulling you up to meet his mouth. He’s still wearing his tie, the drape of fabric laying cool against your chest. Blessedly he’s not wearing his usual belt buckle. Foresight or oversight you’re not quite sure, but you’re grateful all the same as he grinds into you, a press of cold metal and leather against your belly.

He’s not going to last long, but it hardly matters. You’re too worked up, two orgasms down already, cunt so swollen and sensitive it’s hardly an effort to get you there again. But the feeling of him inside you turns that bright burn into something lower, deeper. Something that makes your muscles lock and tremble, straining up against him and gasping into his mouth.

“Jaaaack,” you whine, arms locked around his neck.

“Yes, baby,” he groans, voice quivering with every thrust. “Fuck yes I’m right there too, c’mon. Come with me, honeybee, come with me.”

His rhythm falters, grinding deeper and deeper, and all that strained tension in your body snaps like a rubberband. You sob, grabbing fistfuls of his dress shirt, twisting and jerking as you come apart under him.

All Whiskey can do is growl as you bear down on him, gritting a litany of “yes, yes, fuck yes, god yes, that’s my girl that’s my girl that’s my fucking girl.” And then he’s gone, too, driving into you with a sudden jolt and crying out against the side of your neck as he comes.

You’re holding him too tight, clutching him to you as you both lie there, panting and shuddering, a spreading stain of red wine pooling next to your head.

“Jesus,” he whispers, tries to shift up to find your mouth, but even that amount of drag on his oversensitive cock is enough to make him hiss and jerk. “Fuck.”

“Mm-hm,” you agreed dumbly.

Whiskey lets out a growling hum, smoothing your hair. “You good, honeybee?”

You trail kisses up to his ear, still breathless. “What do you think?”

He wheezes a laugh. “I think I gotta replace a lot more than your frillies this time.” The laugh turns giddy, and Whiskey presses his forehead against your temple. “And I think I’m hungry.”

“Pie in the kitchen,” you mumble, too drowsy to do much more than nuzzle into the damp tangle of Whiskey’s hair.

“What kind?”

“Peach.”

He hums, smiling drowsily. “My favorite.”

You give a slow nod. “I know. Happy birthday, Jack.”

He kisses you, slow and sweet. “Best I ever had,” he murmurs.

#Anonymous #agent whiskey #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #citrus variations

546 notes · View notes

rosewater-chlxe · 3 years

Text

pumpkin | colby brock

✖ Summary: While taking a trip to Rosehill Cemetery for one Colby’s videos, you both become a little too distracted to realize the dangers surrounding you.

✖ genre ; fluff, comfort, the tiniest bit of angst

✖ warnings ; slight mention of smut, reader w/ anxiety, mention of rituals

✖ requested - yes | no

anon asked: Hi love ! I saw that you take requests for colby again and I sent a request a while back asking if you could write one where he and his gf wanted to film a video but they start to make out super randomly and have to film the whole video again and now I am wondering if you could write it ?

a/n: i’m so terribly sorry for the wait; i hope you like it my lovely!! stay hydrated, take care of yourself, n make sure to rest!! ily <3

✖ masterlist

The setting was quite bizarre for the feelings you felt so deeply and beautifully in your heart; you were completely, utterly mesmerized by the boy standing beside you. You walked in this dark, melancholic place with your fingers intertwined; both his and your hands interlocked. He carried a backpack of filming equipment, drinks, snacks, and band-aids; you carried a separate bag of blankets and pillows. Ghosts and ghouls were rumored to be in this grey, brooding place; even dangerous rituals have taken place here: Rosehill Cemetery.

“Where do you wanna film the intro? I was thinking next to the Mortuary,” Colby said, “If you’re still comfortable and down for this, that is.”

“Of course I am!! Maybe a little nervous, but there’s no turning back now,” You replied, feeling a cold chill go down your spine at the thought of anything going wrong.

“Then the Mortuary it is,” He said with a grin that contained a hint of rebellion and mischief in it.

As the violet-haired boy filmed the intro to his video, you admired his every feature and each mannerism. The way he talked while swaying his hands and hips; the dimples slightly showing through his cheeks, the motions of his jawline. The angelic, ethereal man that stood before you made you weak to your knees; it was hard to count every breath he took from your lungs.

You were so in awe that you couldn’t hear the pet names said to get your attention, until finally he said your name.

“Y/N? You alright?” He questioned with a slight smile, catching your wandering eyes.

“Perfect.” You replied with a soft smile as he looked you up and down.

You both ended up heading to the biggest honorary statue nearby, to not only take a thumbnail but also to explore more of the graveyard. As you quietly stumbled down the gravel path with Colby, hand in hand, he made witty comments to the camera whilst paying close attention to your surroundings. This if the first kind of video of Colby’s that you’ve joined; you’ve always been eager to do something like this, though you know it can get risky and dangerous. That’s exactly why he held it off for so long, he never wanted to put you in any kind of uncomfortable or tense situations. The dyed-haired boy leading you has always been the utmost respectful and kind human being you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

The amount of pure infatuation and love you held for him came without hesitance or thought; no number could label what you felt, no word could describe what happened in you when you simply glance at him. The electric blue butterflies swarming through your heart and the rosewater in your veins never faded, only growing more and more intense each waking second. Before him, it was as if your world could only be seen in light grey and shades of blue; now everything is built with much higher saturation.

You knew not of what may happen in the future, but you knew you seen him in every upcoming chapter.

“Excited?” Colby asked, grinning at you as he looked back at you.

“Very; and a little scared, not gonna lie,” you replied with a light, friendly laugh.

“It’ll all be fine, if anything were to happen you know we can just go home,” he reassured you with a sly wink.

You nodded with a giddy smile, trying your best to look away from him. He could always make you feel like you’re on top of the world even with the smallest of interactions - that absolute bastard. You rolled your eyes as you realized just how much you’ve truly fallen for him.

You skipped in front of him and stopped him from walking ahead, smirking at him while he looked at you questioningly and suspiciously.

“What’re you up to, rascal?” He asked, knowing of your mischievous tendencies in the past.

“Now why do you always assume the worst from me?” you laughed as you started to trace a fingertip along his jawline, then to his neck; you felt him swallow as if he felt nervous, though you knew it wasn’t nervousness making him eager. Soon enough your fingertip made it’s way down to his chest, then to the bottom half of his black button down shirt. You let out a light laugh as you teased, completely removing your hand from his torso entirely.

Colby scoffed and quickly ran his ring-clad fingers up to your throat, his hand then forming a light grip across your jaw.

“Wanna think about teasing me again, princess?” He asked with a now lower toned voice.

You sweetly smiled at his intimidating exterior and leaned in to kiss him, in which he happily obliged.

You felt his soft, light pink-tinted lips against your own and the rest of your face grew numb. Your body became weak, and your legs tightly squeeze together as you felt the grip on your throat roughen. His tongue darted against your bottom lip, making you let out a sweet, soft sound. Within a few seconds, your hands started wandering beneath his slightly unbuttoned shirt; though as soon as your hand drifted lower, Colby almost immediately pulled away.

You were snapped out of your lovesick state as his facial features grew concerned; the only thing you seen at the statue you were a few feet away from was the illumination of candlelight and light chanting.

“Down,” He whispered, gently grabbing your shoulder and taking you to crouch with him. He placed a finger over his mouth, creating a silent “sh,” sound as he watched what was happening.

“Colby,” you whispered, “What’re they doing? Who are they?” you began to panic.

“Sweetheart, it’s going to be okay, just make sure you stay with me and do as I say,” he calmly whispered while making the softest direct eye contact with you.

He knew you have always had the worst anxiety and one of his top priorities are making sure that anxiety is calmed; that you’re taken care of. He always tries his best to keep you comfortable in every setting, that became much more evident rather than subtle when you told him about your anxiety. He very much understood what you went through and knew that you could help each other through your anxiety issues. Situations like this was something he never wanted you to experience.

“Who’s there?” a man in black attire yelled from the statue, looking in your direction. The chanting stopped.

Colby had a look of shock across his face, then sudden terror as he seen something near the statue that you didn’t; as soon as he gasped, the next thing you knew was running the opposite direction with him.

“We gotta get the fuck out of here,” Colby loudly spoke right next to you as you ran; he made sure never to let go of your hand.

“What did you see?” you yelled in response, trying to keep up with him when it came down to every single breath.

Colby didn’t respond, but he glanced back to see six masked silhouettes in the far distance; they did not run, they walked in unison.

At this point of running for what felt like decades though it had only been an estimated 45 minutes, you could see what looked like the parking lot close ahead. You had tears in your eyes that just wouldn’t drop; your throat felt like it was closing more and more within each passing second.

You and Colby finally made it to his car and looked back for anyone near you. No one else was to be seen. You jumped in and slammed the door, Colby then locking the car and doing nothing less than booking it.

He quickly pulled out of the parking lot and started going far faster than he should have. You seen him glance towards you in concern, making sure you were safe. His fingertips tapped on the steering wheel due to anxiousness.

“Colby, breathe, you’ve got me,” you reassuringly said to him with a small smile, though your voice came out with cracks and whines.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, this was such a bad idea,” he said to you in response, placing his right hand on your thigh whilst he continued driving.

“I’ll be fine as soon as we get home, please just relax for me?” you asked sweetly.

He nodded, his muscles untensing and his jaw unclenching.

“What can I do to make this up to you, sweetheart?” he asked, feeling incredibly guilty for the situation he put you in.

“You have nothing to make up to me love, but if we’re being honest the footage wouldn’t have been used anyway,” you said causing both of you to let out a light laugh, “so we could film another video tonight instead. A more laid-back one? Perhaps making a Halloween cake?” you excitedly smiled.

“Anything for you, baby,” he sighed with relief, “but we have to watch horror movies tonight and I don’t make the rules, you gotta cuddle me,” Colby demanded.

“Most definitely, pumpkin,” you replied lovingly.

- fin.

1K notes · View notes

shewrites02 · 3 years

Text

Wounded |Shikamaru x Reader|

Summary: The reader is wounded while on a mission, This leads to a rift in their relationship

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: I'm new to putting Naruto fanfics on my Account. If you have an suggestions or requests I'm open to all of them. Thank you so much.

fuck! This was your ass when you got home, and you knew it. You pleaded to Lady Tsunade to send you on this mission, short of getting on your hands and knees you said and did anything in hopes of persuading her to say yes. Eventually she caved. Knowing very few things got you this emotional she couldn't bring herself to say no even if she had felt you weren't ready. Plus she knew even if she declined you would devise a scheme to end up there anyway, and she wasn't wrong. You had a plan a, b, and c just incase she was adamant in her refusal.

What you didn't have a plan for was explaining to Shikamaru what you were about to do. Go on a S ranked mission despite just clearing your Chunin examinations. When word finally did get back to him, he was furious! that same morning he marched into the Hokage's office and demanded answers.

"I understand you are angry, but I will not explain myself to the likes of you! You want an explanation you speak to your girlfriend!" She snapped at him.

He knew better than to argue further, to expose himself and allow himself to be vulnerable and open with his concerns even just in front of the Hokage. He also knew she was right, it wasn't really her he was angry at.

When the door swung open and slammed against the wall of yall's shared living space you knew who it was, and what was coming.

"Do you want to get yourself killed?!" Shikamaru belted out down the corridor of the small two bedroom apartment. When you did not respond he barged into the master bedroom forcing your attention.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" He continued "You must be invincible, death must not be a concern of yours. No your just that fucking strong despite needing three attempts to pass your Chunin exams."

His words stung, even brought tears to your eyes. You tried to remind yourself that they didn't come from a place of malice, but of concern. That did not stop them from hurting, it did not stop them from making you feel small, and weak.

"I need to do this!" You croaked stifling tears that threatened to fall. Your voice trying it's hardest to be strong.

"EVEN IF IT KILLS YOU?!" Shikamaru quickly rebutted.

you took a deep breath before calmly responding, as if to accept the words as they fell out of your mouth.

"Even if it kills me."

The way Shikamaru's eyes fell you could've sworn you'd thrown a kunai straight through his heart. He was gutted, almost to the extent of feeling betrayed.

"Even if that means leaving me here alone."

You could hear the tears trembling in his throat but not a single one fell. He simply turned and walked out the apartment. This was two days before you were supposed to leave, and was the last direct conversation you had with him before you're departure.

While on the journey Kakashi told you two things. One that he had promised Shikamaru that you'd return to the village even if it meant he did not and secondly that Shikamaru had asked him to give you note.

Inside was a detailed apology for suggesting that you were weak or incompetent. Shikamaru said he didn't want you leaving the village believing he had no faith in you or your abilities. Instead he outlined his fears for you. That you weren't ready physically or emotionally to tackle a mission such as this one, that the cost of this mission may have a higher price than you bargained for. Most importantly that you would never come back. He emphasized how much he loved you but was sure to let it be known how angry he was at you. Your complete disregard for his feelings and concern hurt him. He wrote of how unsure it was that he would be there when you returned. He wasn't sure if his methodical mind could forgive such reckless behavior.

That's all you could think of as you laid motionless on the cold forest floor, how correct Shikamaru was. The mission was a success but now you weren't even sure you'd be around to celebrate the victory that seemed to be worth your life just a week ago. In this moment your were heartbroken, distraught, most of all guilty.

The last memory the love of your life would have of you is you telling him that completing some personal vendetta was worth giving up spending the rest of yall's lives together. This was a risk you didn't have to take, a mission you weren't assigned to but you looked Shikamaru in his eyes and told him it was more important than him. And look at you now, fulfilling the very prophecy he feared you would. He would never forgive you for this.

The warm sensation of your blood coating the back of your hands, drew you out of your thoughts. The voices of Sakura and Kakashi were a faint whisper to you, despite the fact they were shouting at each other. You could make out Kakashi telling her to hurry and patch your wounds. He knew it would be a while before the medical core could make it all the way out here, and he wasn't sure you had that much time. He was hoping if Sakura could just stop the bleeding, he could carry you to the village himself. If she could only stabilize you he could do the rest.

"Kashi." You grunted out, twitching your fingers till they meet his hands. His panicked eyes looked over at you and softened some. He was trying hard not to let on how worried he truly was, but the usually stoic ninja, could not handle the thought of breaking his promise.

"Please... tell Shikamaru I'm sorry. Tell him he was right, he'll like that." A pained laugh fumbled from your lips, along with a weak smile.

"Tell him yourself."

You went to protest but felt every bit of chakra drain for your body. Kakashi and Sakura slowly began to fade until everything went black.

When you awoke the agonizingly bright lights along with the low hums of all the equipment were a clear indication of where exactly you are, The Leaf Village hospital.

"And she lives." Kakashi announced. A copy of make out tactics in hand, although his masks was up you felt he had a small smile plastered on his face. As you observed his clean, tidy appearance it was clear you had been here longer than it seemed.

"How long have I been here?"

"A week!" Lady Tsunade scolded her arms folded against her chest as she stormed in Sakura trailing behind her. "Just as I said You nearly got yourself killed out there!"

"But I didn't." You rebutted offering a meek smile. Despite Kakashi and Sakura's giggles Lady Tsunade was not amused.

While you scanned the crowded room, you couldn't help but notice Shikamaru was nowhere to be found. You knew he would be angry with you, but so angry he wouldn't even check up on you. Had you really spent a week in the hospital without a single visit from him? was it true you had survive this mission but your relationship had not? The eerie feeling was too strong to ignore, you couldn't even focus on Lady Tsunade chastising you.

"He's come by everyday!" Sakura interrupted pointing over to a bouquet of Jasmines and Roses, Ino no doubt picked for him.

"He.. didn't want to be here when you woke up." Kakashi confessed.

Sakura elbowed him, right in the middle of his ribs causing him to wince in pain. He nurtured his side shuffling his feet slowly away from her. Clearly he wasn't supposed to share that part. But you appreciated Kakashi's honesty, even if it did break your heart.

"I'll be walking you home." he continued throwing the backpack that you carried everywhere with you over your shoulder.

"Remember, you're on bed rest as soon as you make it home. If I even hear that you've be training so help me God!" Lady Tsunade narrowed her eyes to further emphasize her point. Message received loud and clear.

As you and Kakashi strolled through the village neither of you spoke. You were far to focused on what you might find when you returned home, while he just enjoyed the silence. He feared you might request his input with the situation you and Shikamaru had going on. He was sure all he would do is make you feel worse. The copy ninja was a man of few words, and none of them were inherently comforting.

Once yall approached the front door, you noticed the house completely dark, not even the shine of a table lamp. This was peculiar, your home was usually fully lit at this hour. Shikamaru would usually be home to eat lunch or at the very least find some peace away from his comrades to work out a strategy for a new mission he was assigned. No matter what the reason... he was always here and the house was always vibrant. This dark ominous empty home was not one you knew.

You tried to tell Kakashi that you were more than capable of carrying your bookbag in, but he insisted. You think he's just afraid if word gets back to the Fifth Hokage you exerted any type of unnecessary energy the blame would fall on him. But when the two of you walked across the threshold yall immediately stopped.

Shikamaru was home, sitting completely in the dark staring at the ceiling. The sound of the door opening not even making him move an inch.

"I'll, just leave this here." Kakashi mumbled, placing your bag beside you and walking out closing the door behind him.

Shikamaru still didn't move, not a glance your way, not a word spoken. Absolutely still and absolutely silent. You wanted to jump on him, kiss him all over, tell him just how wrong you were. Tell him that with what you thoughts were your last breaths the only person you wanted to talk to was him. But you didn't, your guilt weighed so heavy on your chest it felt as if you couldn't speak.

You walked over sitting on the couch next to him, your hand meet his cheek and Shikamaru flinched making you quickly draw your hand back. It was as if he had just realized you were even there. Your eyes quickly examined every contour and mark on your boyfriends face. His flushed cheeks, the slightly puffy eyes that gleamed with a sutble red tinge. Could it be that your stoic aloof boyfriend had been sitting here crying all day? The sight shattered your heart into a million pieces. How could you do this to him? How could you be so selfish?

You reached out for his hand grasping it firmly almost as if you didn't grab him now he would be gone forever. In spite of not even being able to look at you Shikamaru held your hand just as tight.

"Shikam-"

"Do you know how mad I am at you?" he interrupted. "Lady Tsunade had to put you in a medically induced coma for a week... A FUCKING WEEK Y/N!"

"I'm sorry you were right. you were right, baby you were right." You cried tears streaming your face. "I'm sorry."

You didn't wanna argue, you had no fight left in you. For God's sake you just wanted the man you loved to look you in your eyes. Tell you how much he missed you, that he was worried about you, and he's still in love with you. That he'll always be in love with you. But he was as cold as ever, he refused to cast his gaze upon you. instead his eyes continue to linger at the ceiling.

Shikamaru wanted to stay angry, as glad as he was to have you alive here with him he still wanted to punish you. He wanted you to hurt just like he did when he had to watch Kakashi carry you unconscious through the front gates, or when Lady Tsunade told him your injuries were to extensive to wake you up after surgery. or maybe when you looked him in his eyes and proclaimed how little your life was worth in comparison to a mission you weren't even officially assigned. Shikamaru wanted you to feel a fraction of what he has the past two weeks.

"Shikamaru... baby. Please, look at me." You begged him reaching for his face again. This time you forced his eyes to meet yours.

As angry as he was, when Shikamaru looked into your tear filled eyes he melted. After a week of watching you lay basically lifeless in a hospital bed, seeing that glimmer of life in your eyes nothing seemed to matter anymore.

"Baby, I'm so sorr-"

Shikamaru didn't let you finish your sentence, he crashed his lips into yours for a sloppy passionate kiss. He pulled you onto his lap never breaking away from you. His hands held your waist tight, you were sure he would leave marks, but the thought of letting you go was almost traumatizing for him. In his arms, he knew you were safe that you wouldn't run off again.

"I was so worried about you." He mumbled against yours lips, light gasp for air in-between his words. "I love you so much y/n... you can't die on me."

#naruto #shikamaru nara #shikamaru x reader #shikamaru #shikamaru x you #shikamaru x y/n #shikamaru fanart #shikamaru imagine #kakashi hakate #naruto art #naruto shippuden #fanfic

252 notes · View notes

shepard-ram · 3 years

Text

Antidote for the Lovesick [Antarctic Empire!Wilbur x Reader]

(Fluff, Not a request: Another one inspired by light anons asks- anyways I'm planning on working on my requests again after this. School will be out for the year soon so I will be writing more in a few weeks!)

----------

While the Royal family was well known by default, (and fairly well liked as far as monarchies go) none were as popular as the prince second in line for the throne. It seemed he made for the public eye, able to talk himself out of any situation. With the handful of poems and songs that made it to the people rumors and half-jokes that he must be part siren stired around him. There's no doubt that even without his crown he would have made himself an adored public figure.

It doesn't take much thought to see why prince Wilbur was a star in the empire's negotiations. The Emperor himself was a close second but he was often more fussed about internal affairs. The crown prince was intimidating and a genius when it came to battle, but all that confidence melted when it came to social interactions. Meanwhile the youngest prince... let's just say he hadn't developed the filter needed for the job.

So the poet prince sat at the table and charmed his way into countless treaties and alliances. Needless to say he got very friendly with many rulers and ambassadors alike. The more connections the better after all, but it was only a matter of time before the wrong person got a little too attached.

It was a simple meeting with some local nobles, and one enchantress. It could be It's own story. One starting with the prince's usual banter and a crush forming in its wake, but ending in a turned down confession and alot of shouting. By the time he retired to his bed a soon to be revealed curse was taking its hold.

That morning was filled with emotions and panic. At first he wanted to believe it was nothing more than a sore throat. However the more he tried to make any sound the more he was forced to accept what had happened. His voice was turned to a screech akin to a horse being stabbed. He desperately attempted to sing, only producing a sound that sounded as painful was it was to make. He wasn't just silenced, his voice was replaced with the one of dying demons.

His younger brother was the first he ran into. At first the youngest laughed, after all it was one hell of a noise, but he soon realized just how shaken the poet was. From there it was very quick, how the news spread to the rest of the family. The youngest still didn't stop trying to make fun of his brothers situation. But soon the royal doctors where at his bed chambers with whatever potions and medicines that they thought could ease the affliction.

As soon as they came they left without the barest hint of success. As much as the winged Emperor would've preferred to keep this a private matter it was clear they needed as much talent as possible. They needed more ideas and the skills to make a cure to the curse. So an invention spread to every city and almost every town. It was a simple one, explaining the princes condition and offering a hefty reward to anyone who could put an end to it.

This little piece of paper changed your life.

You were a rather young alchemist, specializing in all remedies natural and magical. The money stood out to you more than most. You weren't starving by any means, but no one in your little rural home town was exactly rolling in cash. Before you knew it you were packing up your things and getting the final "good bye"s and "good luck"s from your family and friends as you set off to the capital.

You weren't the first one to try, not at all. In fact you were one of last with the confidence to try. The thing is, you didn't have the herbs you planned to use.

"Why wouldn't you have them ready?!" You understood why the crown prince was on edge, things were looking more and more hopeless with each attempt. You stayed calm and explained it The best you could.

"The plants I need can be very precise with the conditions they need to grow in, and are often conned on the market. I trust my own abilities more than a salesman looking to make a quick buck." You knew your words reached the trio listening to the pitch, so you made your request. "All I need is the space to grow them and time, they'll take about two months at most. Maybe the royal garden?"

They shared a glance, but it seemed they already had the answer decided.

"How much space do you need?"

You quickly got to work, preparing the soil for the medicine and writing down some notes about the exact qualities of the future remedy. By sunset you were tidying up the servants quarters they had provided so you can stay close the growing ingredients.

On one of your first evenings you were tending to the young plants. That was until you heard a heavenly sound drifting from the other side of the garden. At first you just enjoyed the background music while finishing up your current occupation. As soon as you could you put your watering can down you stood up, very eager to track down the source of the wordless lullaby.

It was a painting, the clouds of bushes more than tall enough to hide the silent signer sitting in the middle of them. The grass while not gone completely was worn out, a clear sign the prince sat in the almost enclosed ring often. You stood in the opening of a leafy doorway. Watching in awe as he played a guitar, eye's closed with so much ease you'd believe it was creating the music by itself.

Eventually the music faded, and in a kick of humor you clapped. Startled he jumped to his feet, calming down a little when he saw that you didn't look at all hostile.

"Sorry for the surprise, my prince." You marked with a small bow. You didn't miss the little uncomfortable look that flashed across his face. "But I couldn't help but notice your song, it's absolutely amazing." You offered with a light voice. "I- I get the rumors now." You could tell you caught his interest with that. "Can you play some more for me, these plants grow faster and better with the company of music."

Rather or not that's just a myth you weren't entirely sure, but with a small smile he honored the request. He followed you out of his little hedge room and closer the area you were tending to. Sitting on a nearby bench watching you work on the newest attempt to reclaim his unnatural voice.

"How about I get to know my patient a little?" The music hiccuped in its players curiosity, silently prompting you to continue. "I ask you some questions, yes or no ones. It might be helpful when it comes to fine-tuning this" you gestured to the dirt that would soon be covered with fully grown medicinal plants. In return he gave his first answer, a nod.

Over the days you grew fond of the routine you fell into. Sometimes you would be asking questions, looking up from the garden to catch his answer. Sometimes you would be telling him stories from your home, about the many people who have come to you for remedies. Sometimes there would be no words, just the gorgeous calming sounds of his music. You could both feel how comfortable this was.

"Would you prefer if I called you only Wilbur?"

A happy nod.

Only Wilbur was very different from prince Wilbur. You've always thought of the prince as this fox, prideful and cunning and charming in untrustworthy ways. But only Wilbur wasn't on this higher devine level, he was a person. A person with passions and vulnerabilities. Only Wilbur melted ideas about himself you didn't even realize you harbored. You liked only Wilbur, that was certain.

You made a promise to both yourself and to him that day. You would lift the curse, you had to.

It had been 43 days, the herbs were ready. "Maybe music did make them grow faster" you entertained. It was the only day you were with the plants without Wilbur. He was in his bed chambers so you could focus on brewing.

You looked over your notes thousands of time over. When you took this job you knew it was going to be one of your most important ever, but now you weren't just curing a prince- you were curing a friend. You paused in setting up your equipment. The term friend felt, incorrect with how exactly you felt about Wilbur. You shoved down the thoughts and continued, now was not the time.

Was it hours, or was it a few minutes? You couldn't tell and you didn't care. In a glass bottle you held the product of your labor. Corked and wrapped in many clothes before being nestled in your bag just to be safe. You took a deep breath and set off for Wilburs room.

He hesitated taking the bottle from you, like he had grown attached to his own silence. When he did take the potion it was all still slow and methodical. As if taking the cork off wrong could ruin everything. It felt like your entire body was on stand-by, paused as he downed the entire container. With a small drink of water he waited for a minute.

Then with a little nod from you, he hummed. The simple notes never sounded so rich and deep, filled with over a month of built up thoughts and emotions. Two faces lit up hearing it.

"You- you really did it." Wilbur was so quiet. As if speaking too loudly could break the newly repaired sound.

Then laughter, and the rambling of words that didn't need to make sense. Because you could hear them.

Then a hug, one of so much more than gratitude. One accompanied with an over abundance of "Thank you"s.

"How could I ever make this up to you" He only now slowed down, only enough to take your input.

Looking over at a familiar instrument you gave that input to him, "Can you play some more for me, my prince." He chuckled, a sound that you already loved as he sat back down on the bed with his guitar.

You recognized the song. It backdroped your first siting of him. Only now did you finally hear it in its entirety. It was a love song. Lyrics sweet and sincere and raw all rolled up by the accompanying strumming. When the last cord drifted off he looked at you, eagerly awaiting your response.

"If I understood the rumors then, now I just might be a believer." How much of that was exaggeration, you honestly couldn't say.

"I'm assuming that's good."

"Trust me, it's more than good." Watching as put the instrument back. "You should probably go tell the others the good news. Especially so I can get my money" you added jokingly. With that you got one last hug and thank you before you both left the room.

As you were walking back to your room something hit you. The realization that this was over. You were going to your temporary room and packing up so you could leave. You never expected to bond with the prince this much, and in the moment you regretted it. If only a little. You swallowed the sudden mood shift and started packing.

"Hey where are you going!?" An already familiar excited voice rang out, running towards you.

"I'm getting ready to leave." You said, bluntly.

"Wait, really?" As if he didn't know you weren't moving in permanently. Without thinking he grabbed your arm like you trying to run away. "We're having a big feast tonight, to celebrate your achievement. You should probably be there."

"That sounds great." You could feel the wave of sadness fade off.

"I thought I always sound great." You chuckled.

"I really wish I could deny that."

"No you don't."

"Only because I wouldn't get my money if I could."

"Come on, that's not the only reason."

"Like it's any secret I care about you."

That put an end to his humor, "Here, let's get ready."

#shepard ram writes #mcyt x reader #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x you #dream smp x y/n #dream smp x you #dream smp x reader #c: wilbur #dsmp x reader #dsmp x y/n #dsmp x you #wilbur x reader #wilbur x y/n #wilbur x you

198 notes · View notes

ultraimaginez · 3 years

Text

My Love Is Not A Joke - [Mammon x Reader]

Fandom: Obey Me! Ship: Mammon x gn! reader Word Count: 1.9k Rating: T A/N: just thinkin about the amount of effort it would take to convince mammon you actually like him and you’re not just being an ass to him like everyone else made me feel a lot of thiiiings and then this was born lol.

Mammon lives in a liminal space between fear and a love so fierce it threatens to consume him. It’s a hell of his own making-- too cowardly to tell you how he really feels and too devoted to let you go.

And so you are forced to exist in this hellish space with him. Each time you try to get close he pushes you away, afraid he’ll be the butt of just another joke. Each time you try to give him space he pulls you back in, terrified you might leave him. It’s an exhausting game of tug of war between his ego and his heart and, frankly, you’re sick of being the god damn rope.

Eventually you reach your breaking point.

You are lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying another days worth of back and forths between you and a certain white haired demon boy. This has become as much a part of your night time routine as putting on pajamas or brushing your teeth. Every flush of his cheeks-- be it in anger or embarrassment or affection-- every dumb argument, or sweet sentiment, or stupid joke. They all play like a never ending feedback loop in your mind. But tonight a thought strikes you as you roll over to finally try and get some sleep-- as long as Mammon is engaged in this endless war against himself you’ll be stuck in it right along side him. He’s never going to give himself peace. He’ll fight until there’s nothing left of himself. So if the two of you are going to get out of this mess it comes down to you.

It’s a scary thought, the idea you might have to be vulnerable and make the first actual move. Scary enough that you try and let it go. Maybe you can just sleep on it and think about it more in the morning.

But now you can’t think of anything else. The thought begins to ruminate in your brain and there’s no way you can sleep at this point. You stay awake all night wondering if there’s any other solution. Any other way out of this mess. It turns out you also exist in the liminal space between fear and love. The idea of telling Mammon how you feel is paralyzing. And so you go to school the next day not having slept at all.

This pattern continues for nearly a week. Each night you stare at your ceiling going round and round in circles. And maybe Mammon can take this awful tug of war but you certainly can’t. You don’t have millennia to stay away pondering this shit. You’re a mortal and you’re being driven in-fucking-sane. So finally, on the seventh night of nearly no god damn sleep, you fling off your covers and irritably begin stomping down the hall.

You ignore Beel who is hip deep inside the refrigerator cleaning it out of whatever the hell is left inside. You passively wave to Levi when he sticks his head out of his room to ask you to play games and mumble some lame excuse. You’re on a mission to resolve this once and for all and nothing will stop you.

You make a beeline to your destination and once you reach Mammon’s door you begin to pound on it aggressively.

A familiar voice rings out from inside. “Jeez, cool it, Lucifer. I told you, I’m working on it. I’ll have all these late assignments done by tomorrow just gimme some time.”

“It’s me.”

There’s a pause and you can’t practically hear the gears turning in Mammon’s head as he registers who is speaking.

“Oh well why the hell didn’t ya just say so? Come in.”

You open the door to his room and find Mammon sprawled out in one of the arm chairs in the center of his room. His feet are propped up on the table and his leather jacket is flung over the couch opposite of him, leaving him in his normal jeans and black shirt. You can tell he’s been running his fingers through his white hair in frustration as it’s mused and messier than normal and his brows are knit in concentration as he looks down at his notebooks.

“Stupid Lucifer. Makin’ me do all this damn work in one night. It’s not fair.” He says, tossing the books onto the table as you shut the door behind you and approach him.

You have a rebuttal about how it’s not exactly ‘unfair’ since all of that work had been assigned weeks ago, but it dies on your lips when he looks up at you. You can feel you heart jump into your throat as your eyes meet, the normal façade of the student mode dropped here where he is comfortable and alone. People often attribute fastidiousness with appearance with Asmo, but Mammon is usually just as put together. Seeing him so relaxed is special, it’s something you know he reserves for only people close to him.

Your not sure how long you stand there at the edge of his chair looking down at him but it must be longer than normal because the sound of Mammon clearing his throat pulls your attention. “Eh? Do I have something on my face? You’re staring and it’s weirding me out.” His cheeks are pink and he looks absolutely anywhere but your face. “Anyway, what the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night? Couldn’t wait to see me until tomorrow, huh?”

Well.. It’s now or never. You’ve plucked up enough courage to make it this far so you might as well commit.

“Mammon, I like you. A lot. And I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable but I just... do. So. Yeah... Do with that what you will.”

If you weren’t borderline unhinged from the complete lack of sleep and frayed nerves and being so vulnerable, you would find the way his eyes quadrupled in size fucking hilarious.

“Wha? What do you mean? Is this some sort of dumb prank.” You can see him looking past you at the door. He’s searching for his brothers, searching for a camera, searching for the evidence that this is all some elaborate joke at his expense. You can already hear the derisive laughter he’s waiting for playing in his head. ‘Stupid, Mammon.’ ‘How could you think they would ever like you?’ ‘Got you good, huh?’ ‘Actually thought that they might like you? You’re even dumber than we thought-’

You cut off whatever string of insults he’s playing in his own hand by gently touching his face, cupping his cheek with your hand.

“It’s not a joke, Mammon. I like you. And I understand if you don’t feel the same way but... I need you to know that.”

It’s clear that the moment you touch his skin his internalized war rises into a crescendo. It breaks you open to see his eyes soften with a vulnerability you’ve never seen before, blue gold shimmering with an emotion you can’t quite place but sends your heart hammering harder than it ever has before... and then immediately they harden again. “Do you have a fever or something?! Jeez, leave it to a human to get sick right when I’m supposed to be doing something else. I don’t always have time to be-”

He begins to rise from the chair and it’s clear he wants to run, wants to hide, wants to lick his wounds before they can even form. You can tell he’s already written this off as another joke at his expense. If you let him get away from you right now you’ll lose that look you found in his eyes just moments ago for good.

You push down on his shoulders, seating him in the chair again, and then wordlessly climb on top of him, pinning him beneath your weight. Surely he could pick you up and yeet you across the entire god damn room if he wanted to, but the action seems to break the string of negative self talk long enough for you to actually speak to him.

“Mammon.” You grab his face between your hands and force him to look at you. His expression is wild-- scared and hopeful and completely unguarded. “I. Like. You. And it’s not some joke. If you don’t feel the same way just tell me. But if you do-”

You don’t get to finish the rest of the sentence.

Mammon kisses you like you are oxygen and he’s on the verge of drowning. One hand shoots up to the back of your neck, pulling you close, tangling his long tanned fingers in your hair. The other comes to rest on your thigh. It’s all you can do to twine your own fingers through his soft white hair and pull him closer as he rocks into your body. You feel tears begin to well in the corner of your eyes as a surge of emotion races through you. You’ve never felt so much for one person in all your life. It’s enough to make you feel like you’re being crushed under the weight of it all.

At some point you physically can’t keep kissing him because you’re afraid you might actually suffocate. You pull back to take in a breath but he continues to hold you close, keeping his hands in your hair, lips still only inches from your own. You look at him, his eyes are more gold than blue now and you feel like you might catch fire if you look at him too long. You let out a breathy “Oh...”

Apparently he’s decided you’ve had enough time to breath and he’s on you again, pulling you close and making desperate little noises every time you part lips even briefly. You wonder if maybe you can die from catching on fire internally because every part of you feels like it’s engulfed in flames.

Eventually you manage to part again, long enough to put a hand on his chest and keep him from chasing your lips. You’re breathing heavily, trying to suck in air but finding it hard to do so when Mammon is looking at you like he’s just waiting for the chance to devour you again.

“So..” your voice comes out an octave higher than normal and your face turns scarlet, clearing your throat so you can try to speak somewhat normal. “Uh.. I take it... we’re on the same page then? Y’know... about... stuff...?” You’re not exactly eloquent but Mammon just kissed you to the point of ceasing brain function so, really, who can blame you?

There’s a beat of silence, and then Mammon speaks, voice deeper, quieter, and more serious than you’ve ever heard it before. “Don’t leave, okay?”

You’re not really sure what he’s referring to. Leave this chair? Leave the Devildom? Leave him? But he’s raw and real and so fucking perfect staring up at you perfectly kissed like that and the answer comes to you without thinking.

“Never. I’m never leaving. I’m here for as long as you want me.”

Suddenly both of his arms are around your waist, drawing you close. Your face is pushed into his neck and his into yours. You breathe in the smell of his aftershave and shampoo and you’ve never felt more at home. Your hearts are pressed up against one another and you know you’ve never felt more right than in this moment.

The last thing you hear him whisper as you drift off to sleep for the first time in nearly a week is a whispered. “Always... I’m always going to want you, silly human.”

#obey me #obey me! shall we date?#obey me mammon #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon x mc #mammon x reader #mammon x oc #obey me imagine #obey me imagines #obey me fic #fic #0-2k

425 notes · View notes

loquaciousquark · 3 years

Text

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E116-119 (Dec. 15, 2020)

Hi! I missed the first three minutes or so and opened the stream to Brian giving an absolutely incoherent ...ad? for some jewel game? Six thousand jewels just for logging in? Some app in the app store and he’s literally been talking about this now for six minutes and I don’t know what he’s talking about. He finally wraps up, Laura brings the show to a close, and we’re all a little worse than we were before.

Ashley tries to get us back on track and Henry bays over her. Brian tries to ask the first question and breaks off into feigned sobs halfway through. This is chaos incarnate.

Tonight’s guests: Laura Bailey & Ashley Johnson.

How’s Yasha feeling right now about Molly? She and Jester both are desperately curious about whether there’s a spark of Molly left in Lucien that can be brought back. It’s not the same as when Yasha was controlled by Obann; this seems more like just the way this is now. They’d settle for even finding the good in him, like they did with Essek. Brian jokes that they can monitor his mental state if Matt’s Irish accent starts to slip a little bit.

Jester is a little wary about scrying on Lucien now since he’s able to see her back. She’s interested to try again now that Fjord’s given her the necklace.

Ashley has to run and grab a replacement set of headphones from Brian after hers get “crunchy.” It’s pretty cute seeing them run around and smooch on another screen. Brian teases that he doesn’t have any more questions for Jester since Caduceus has been doing all the healing lately. Laura tells us indignantly that she had Heal prepared for Caduceus in that last big fight, but Fjord got to Cad first. Brian explains how this is the same as all the good jokes he always lines up for Talks but never tells. Ashley’s crunchiness continues and we go briefly to a technical difficulties screen while Brian hops up to fix it.

Dani pips in to get this show back on track. Save us, Dani!

Ashley hadn’t thought about the aspect of Lucien controlling his friends’ minds, but finds it really creepy. It’s a cool game dynamic, and it’s a little different because they’re there willingly, but it’s really weird.

Jester thinks that “the tarot cards know all. She wants to buy into it real hard.” If it doesn’t make sense now, it will later. Laura has an Idiot’s Guide to Tarot Reading.

They’re super interested in why Aeor is like it is. Were they more advanced than us? Did they evolve along a different line? Ashley loves sci-fi and is all about this, especially since she wasn’t there for Happy Fun Ball time & hasn’t been able to get caught up on some of the things she missed in between, so she’s using this as an erstwhile replacement. She can already tell there are some things from this campaign that will bother her the way the unopened box did from C1. She and Laura both seethe at the camera about having to leave the spider behind.

Cosplay of the Week! Harland3r on instagram with a gorgeous winged Pike with a shield & mace. It’s an incredible photo and the wings look great.

Travis distracts Laura by dancing like a Trex offscreen. That seems right for this episode.

Jester’s encouragement of Yasha pursuing Beau was important in a lot of ways, not least because Ashley considered herself as uninterested in D&D romance as Travis & was a little unsure of activating a romance among her friends. However, it felt really natural within the game and it was really helpful to have Jester’s in-game encouragement. Yasha’s grown a lot and is in a much more positive place and is ready to find out what’s possible. Laura: “Jester from the get-go has seen Yasha as this wonderful soul from the beginning, and has seen how sad Yasha’s been through everything, and to see the difference that she exhibits when talking about Beau is drastic and wonderful. Jester’s joy in life is helping others find joy.”

Ashley points out it’s also so fun to “yes-and” with Laura because you’re like a little kid being dragged along by the hand - you don’t know where it’s going, but you know it’s going to be fun along the way.

Ashley does have a sense of “thank goodness Marisha isn’t jumping right into this” so she can coax herself into it, but when she tried to figure out the poem she had a lot of drafts that didn’t survive. She intentionally crafted the letter to give Beau an out if she didn’t feel the same way. There’s a lot going on with Lucien right now and there’s constantly a running thought in the back of her head about “maybe Beau is not into this.” Even the last couple episodes with Jester & Fjord have had Ashley finally understand shipping.

Brian brings us to the moment “almost as romantic as the pre-season finale of the Bachelorette.” Jester was “goo” afterwards. Early on in the campaign, Jester was very forward with her flirtations with Fjord & he shut her down. And then he kissed her underwater and immediately went and slept with Avantika, and Jester automatically shut herself down, because she thought she was misunderstanding & would only be hurt by those emotions. She deliberately focused on just being there with her friends, making everyone healthy and happy. These last few episodes where Fjord was flirting back felt like “my teenage heart again, my first kiss, the boy I like actually likes me back!” and she was able to open back up.

Yasha definitely has some instrument plans for those bones. She doesn’t know if she’s going to add to her harp or create a new one.

Ashley and Laura cheer about Travis stepping out his comfort zone. Laura thinks it was really good that he was doing it with her, his real-life wife, to see if he likes that sort of stuff in his D&D campaign. “It was just so sweet. It was just so sweet.” Brian says he’s actually a really romantic dude & Dani is so glad he asked before the kiss. Brian: “It’s going to be so sad when he breaks your heart and goes back to the corpse of Avantika.” Laura: “It’s fine, Jester will be long dead by then anyway.”

Jester does believe the four-year time trade was worth it, but that the city leaves “a mark on your brain,” especially as in-depth as she saw it. “Jester’s always been reticent to talk about her age because she’s aware she’s perceived in a juvenile way by a lot of people, and she’s insecure about that. She grew up by herself without a lot of social interactions and is experienced in a lot of ways now and naive in others; she’s very aware of human emotion around her, but chooses to see it in a certain way.” Losing the time makes her wonder if she needs to grow up & become an adult about certain things now. Laura: “I think actually she’s closer to Fjord’s age now. Actually, I’m not sure about his age. I don’t know how old he is - I’ve never even asked Travis!” Brian: “I think he’s definitely fifteen.” Laura: “Travis, how old is Fjord?” Travis, off-screen: “Sixty-five,” but he’s had the Mask of Many Faces up this whole time. Later, he adds that he’s in his early 30s.

Ashley has really enjoyed digging into Yasha’s more humorous side lately. It’s how she gets comfortable as a player, making it fun and light in a way that this year needs. “It’s also really funny to think that Yasha doesn’t know how Message works.”

Brian congratulates Laura & Ashley both on their game awards nominations. Brian vamps trying to get himself in as the presenter, but incidentally refers to Laura as his sister in the conversation and it’s super cute. “I would like to be the one to give the award to either my fiancee, or my sister!”

Fanart of the Week: @ethanmaldridge with an illustrated page from the Katzenprinz book. It’s just beautiful.

Jester’s polymorph gambit was terrifying, but the stakes got even higher when everyone else got stunned. She does lament choosing a bunny at the start. “Frickin’ Fjord’s armor!”

Yasha loves being polymorphed lately. She thinks it’s kinda funny, especially given her rigid upbringing with such defined roles.

Laura feels like Jester and Vex are weirdly two halves of herself. Brian: “You see the very bargainy, I’m gonna use my wit & smarts to negotiate situations. But at the same time, you’re very open to what people are thinking & feeling and navigating that. What you end up putting out (though it comes across as innocent and naive) is something pure because she truly believes it.” Laura thinks Yasha and Pike are the same way for Ashley, though Ashley feels a little closer to Yasha right now. Sometimes you just feel really exposed. Laura compares how much idealism she put into Jester to her character from Fruits Basket.

Since Yasha didn’t belong to either side in the war, she’s not hugely concerned by the fallout; she more wants to make sure her found family are okay and safe. Jester is the same way, Laura tells us. Jester doesn’t have any greater vision of the Empire & Dynasty interacting; she cares about the people, and it hasn’t been until the vision with the city that she kind of woke up and realized they have to really stop this now. It feels bigger than the Dynasty/Empire. Ashley: “It seems more of a thing for Beau and Caleb to care about.”

Really, up to now Jester was mostly concerned about getting Molly back, but now the stakes seem much higher. “We have to do this. We have to complete this, to beat them, to keep them from doing this.” Yasha is just going with the flow for now. There’s a lot coming at them and they are ready to find out what’s next.

And that’s that for tonight! Brian thanks the crew especially for working incredibly hard on switching everything to home-based streaming. He then gets stuck halfway spinning around in his chair and the last thing we hear is him idly wondering “What’s Fjord taste like?” which seems pretty on brand for tonight’s show. Is it Thursday yet?

#critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #talks machina spoilers #long post for ts

332 notes · View notes

nugnthopkns · 3 years

Text

dance me to the end of love (i)

word count: 4.3k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, potential spoilers for the west wing if you've never seen the show

series masterpost: here

a/n: hi!! i am so incredibly happy to finally be putting this fic out into the world. it means an awful lot to me and i can't wait to share the little world i've created :)) x

Magdalene is content with where she’s ended up.

Denver is wonderful. Her friends are there, her cat is there, and it’s the perfect place for a fresh start. She arrived in the city nearly six years ago – a wide-eyed University of Denver freshman and has stayed put ever since. Her hometown of Aspen holds a few too many bad memories, but is close enough that she can return if an emergency calls for it. So far she hasn’t left, too engrossed in finishing her degree and moving on. There’s a job offer lined up with the university’s library upon graduation that Magdalene is ecstatic about. It means she gets to stay right where she is – where she’s comfortable.

☼☼☼☼

The sun might be shining as she exits her apartment building, but it’s cold for March. Magdalene pulls the thick scarf her best friend Bette got her for Christmas higher up her face and walks as quickly as possible to campus. There’s a brief meeting to attend with her advisor before grabbing lunch with Bette, and then her plan is to spend the rest of the day holed up in the library working on her thesis. It’s due in two weeks, with the defence in just over a month, and Magdalene is incredibly nervous. Though she’d gone through submitting her undergraduate thesis two years ago, presenting her master’s research was going to be a lot harder. She’s heard through the grapevine that the committees are being tough this year and she doesn’t want to fail.

Dr. Williams is waiting for her in his office with a smile on his face. He’s a tall man, with thin facial features and wire glasses that box him perfectly into the intimidating professor stereotype. “Miss Stevenson, please sit,” he gestures to the chair across from him.

“Gerald,” she sighs, “You can call me Magdalene, I don’t mind. Besides, it makes you quite the hypocrite if you insist I call you by your first name but you won’t use mine.” There’s no malice in her voice, just a decent amount of teasing.

The older man scoffs but concedes. “I suppose you’re right. Well then Magdalene, tell me, how are your final edits coming along?”

Magdalene spends nearly twenty minutes detailing all the elements she has tweaked since their last meeting, from the title to the citation style. She’s out of breath by the time she’s done, rambling at an impressive speed, and takes a big gasp of air while the professor mulls over her words. Dr. Williams doesn’t say anything, causing Magdalene to shift anxiously in her seat. “Sir, is there something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Absolutely nothing,” he beams, “Everything is perfect. It’s a shame you don’t want to continue researching. You’d make a fabulous academic.”

The compliment makes Magdalene’s heart soar. It means a lot, especially coming from the person who has seen her cry over the oxford comma. “Thank you sir, but I belong in the practical realm. Someone has to file all the documents you obsessively scan.”

She leaves the building soon after, promising to stop by after she drops off the final draft in a few weeks. It’s a bit later than she expected and hopes Bette won’t be mad. There’s nothing the blonde hates more than poor time management, but Magdalene prays she’ll understand. It wasn’t that long ago and Bette was scheduling her own appointments with advisors on how to graduate. Barn Owl Book Company is located halfway between the school and her apartment, making it the perfect spot to meet. In addition to being a used book store, Barn Owl sports one of the best cafés in downtown Denver. Bette is perched delicately at her friend’s favourite seat, a bay window converted into a small nook, and typing furiously on her phone.

“Sorry I’m late,” Magdalene apologizes, “Williams talked a lot more than I expected him to.”

Bette looks up and smiles, shoving a cup in the other girl’s direction. “As always. How is he?”

Sliding into the booth, Magdalene fills her friend in on what’s been going on in their former professor’s life. Bette graduated with a minor in Classics, and it was Magdalene's major, but the former decided not to further her education and is instead doing full time charity work for the Colorado Avalanche. Her boyfriend Tyson is one of their star players, and the two of them are so smitten it makes Magdalene sick. Conversation quickly turns from school to life, which she’s grateful for.

“So,” Bette says, “Are you in for the trip this summer? I’ve got to confirm the reservation in a week or something.”

“I don’t know Bee, I'm going to be the new girl. Asking for time off like two months into the job would be rude.”

“Linny,” the blonde whines, “Please? I want you to come.”

Magdalene scowls. Bette knows just how much the nickname sours her mood but she chose to use it anyway. “Don’t call me that,” she snaps with quite a bite. “Can someone else take my spot if I decide not to go a little closer to the date?”

“Of course! Gravy said he’d fill an extra spot if one comes up so we don’t lose the deposit,” Bette blabs before trying to switch gears entirely. Magdalene cuts her off.

“Who’s Gravy?”

If her friend is exasperated by Magdalene’s lack of knowledge surrounding hockey, she doesn’t show it. Bette calmly explains that Gravy, who’s real name is Ryan, is a defenceman with the Avalanche and a good friend of Tyson’s. She also makes a point of mentioning that he’s single, to which Magdalene rolls her eyes. Bette has a masterplan for her life – which includes her best friend becoming romantically involved with an Avalanche player so the two of them can live the better half life together. As the best friend, Magdalene is constantly barraged with potential players who are looking to date. Once she went on a few dates with Mikko, but that ended fairly quickly when the two realized they were better as friends. Every time since she’s turned Bette down as gently as possible, not wanting to get involved with anyone. Her life is just starting, and Magdalene wants to be secure before settling down.

The conversation eventually shifts to what Magdalene plans to wear for both her thesis defence and graduation. Bette is fashion savvy, while Magdalene is decidedly not. Her everyday wardrobe consists of collared button-downs and sweater vests, which is supposedly never going to back a comeback, according to Bette at least. The blonde eventually wears Magdalene down, and secures a position as stylist for the graduation ceremony. There was an attempt at the thesis defence, but the other girl insists she needs to be as comfortable as possible on such a stressful occasion.

A glance to the clock on the opposite wall has Magdalene stretching her arms and giving an apologetic glance to her friend on the other side of the table. “I should go,” she says. “I’ve got to put in some serious work on my citations today, and you know Caligula doesn’t like it when I’m gone all day.”

Bette rolls her eyes, but there isn’t any frustration behind the gesture. “I swear to god Mags, your cat has more separation anxiety than I do. Speaking of, I’m supposed to pick Tyson up at the airport and I’m running behind.”

“Tell him I say hi,” Magdalene says as she wraps her arms around Bette for a quick hug.

The two girls part ways on the sidewalk, with Magdalene heading back to campus and Bette sliding into the sleek Audi she shares with her boyfriend. Headphones find their way into her ears, and Magdalene listens to a random comedy podcast. Once tucked safely inside the library she’ll put on her favourite lo-fi playlist and concentrate, but for now she just enjoys the funny anecdotes of stories past.

It’s quiet in the library for a Tuesday, though Magdalene isn’t complaining. Her favourite table, the one she swears up and down is the only reason she ever gets anything done, is open, and she all but sprints to place her bag on the worn leather chair. While setting up her work station a few of the librarians come over to offer their congratulations for her upcoming job. News certainly travels fast around here, Magdalene thinks, but accepts their generosity with a smile on her face. They leave her alone soon enough and the tedious work of double checking the formatting of every single citation in the sixty-five page paper begins.

Hours pass, and Magdalene stays working in the library until as late as she possibly can. Caligula is going to start to worry about the length of her absence soon and his anxiety response of knocking over plants is not a mess she feels like cleaning up. She packs up her laptop and walks the short distance home as fast as possible.

“Little boots, I’m home,” Magdalene parrots in a sing-song voice as she slips her jacket off her shoulders and onto the hanger. At the sound of his nickname, the small cat bounds into the entryway. “Hi darling, did you miss me?” Magdalene gets an obnoxiously loud purr in response that she takes it as a yes. She reaches down to pick up the tiny animal before continuing further into the apartment, scratching behind his ears as she does so. The two of them settle into the respectably sized couch, where they stay for the rest of the night watching reruns of The West Wing before Magdalene falls asleep.

☼☼☼☼

“You fucking did it!” Bette shrieks as she bounds towards her best friend. Magdalene braces herself for the oncoming assault, and manages to keep them both upright after Bette jumps into her arms.

Her thesis defence had just finished, and the committee found Magdalene a worthy candidate for the Master of Information Science qualification. The presentation itself was open to the public, so Bette and Tyson sat in the front row to support Magdalene, but were escorted out for the conversation that followed. The two girls had developed a code so the news could be shared in a subtle way, though Bette threw the original plan out the window as soon as she saw her friend give a sneaky thumbs up when the conference room door opened.

“Congrats Mags,” Tyson says sincerely, doing his best not to add to the growing spectacle, but Magdalene can tell he wants to give her a bone crushing hug.

“Thank you,” she smiles softly, “And thank you guys for coming. It means a lot.” As two of her closest friends, both Bette and Tyson know that her family situation is rocky at best, and having them act as her support system means more than she’ll ever be able to articulate.

The couple shares a knowing look before engulfing their friend in a hug. “We’re always going to be here for you,” Bette whispers, “No matter what.”

Magdalene’s smile is so genuine it crinkles her eyes as she wraps her arms around Bette and Tyson’s shoulders and leads them out the door and into the sunshine. The group continues to the parking lot, where they climb into Tyson’s car and drive off campus in the direction of Magdalene’s favourite restaurant. Though she had tried to convince her friends they didn’t need to celebrate, she failed, and Magdalene soon finds herself laughing hysterically over a plate of carbonara as Tyson tells a story about the shenanigans the team got up to on their last road trip.

There’s a game tonight, and Bette has somehow convinced her into attending. Magdalene knows she should go, expand her social horizons a little, but all she wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep for three weeks. Her one condition is that she can go home straight after the game without being guilted into following the group to whatever nightclub they’ll celebrate the win or drink away the loss in. Tyson has to get ready so he drops the two girls off at Magdalene's apartment complex. She’s in charge of getting Bette to the rink, and she’ll leave with her boyfriend after the game.

Once inside the confines of her home, Magdalene promptly lies on the floor. “Holy shit,” she sighs, “I did it. I fucking did it.”

“You did!” Bette says as she lies down beside her best friend. “I’m so fucking proud of you, and Tyson is too. Even if he won’t tackle you in public to prove it.”

The comment garners a laugh from Magdalene, which alerts Caligula to the presence of others in the apartment. He pads over the rug currently being occupied by two adults, and snuggles into the small space between them. Bette and Magdalene continue to lay there, petting the cat and looking back fondly on all the times Magdalene called her friend in tears because she didn’t think she could push herself any farther. Bette was always there to pick up the slack, editing whatever section Magdalene was working on or to bring over a hot meal. Her support earned her the top spot in the acknowledgements section of the thesis.

Ball Arena is already crawling with people when Magdalene pulls into the small lot for player’s and their families. Normally she parks with the general public, but Bette insists they watch this game from the better halves box, and these spaces are closer to that entrance.

“Stop dragging your feet,” the blonde chastises as Magdalene takes her time cutting the engine. “I want to get a glass of rosé before they sell out.”

Sighing, Magdalene follows her orders. “Don’t you have a special bar in the box?” she asks while locking the car.

“Yeah, but the other girls are absolute fiends. They’ll drink it all before we get there with no remorse.”

The girls climb the stairs to the better halves box, Bette chatting excitedly about the game, but Magdalene stops just before the entrance. She’s met most of the others on multiple occasions and has nothing to worry about, but she can’t help but feel anxious. Her life is so different than everyone else’s in the space, and it feels like cheating when she’s there because she isn’t romantically involved with anyone on the roster. Bette likes to joke that she’s her better half, but Magdalene knows it’s said just to calm her nerves.

“It’ll be fine,” Bette whispers while squeezing her hand, “And if you get too uncomfortable we can find some seats in the nosebleeds.”

Once inside Magdalene’s nerves dissipate. Most of the other wives and girlfriends pay her no mind, but the ones that are especially close to Bette congratulate her on passing her defence. It warms her heart a little, and the small group Magdalene finds herself in settles down to watch the game unfold.

It’s a fairly intense one between Colorado’s division rival St. Louis. Both teams are fighting for first place in the conference, and a win for the Avalanche would put them three points ahead of the Blues instead of one. Players from both sides are amped up, and more than once a scrum at the net has turned into a dog-pile. Colorado is outplaying the other team, but have still managed to find themselves a goal short heading into the final period. At the buzzer Tyson takes the face-off and is immediately shoved by a member of the opposite team. He goes down hard, and Bette squeezes Magdalene’s hand so tightly she fears it will lose blood flow. Silence falls over the arena as Tyson doesn’t immediately get up. The inside of lip finds its way between her teeth and Magdalene bites down hard, worried about her friend. She’s so focussed on Tyson that she doesn’t notice a fight breaking out.

“Holy shit, Gravy is going to town!”

The remark is made by someone Magdalene recognizes as Gabe Landeskog’s wife, and it makes her peel her eyes off of Bette’s worried features and scan the ice for some action. Sure enough, a very tall man is laying right hooks to someone who looks significantly smaller than him on the Avalanche blue line. The referees let the fight continue until Tyson drags himself off the ice and onto the bench before separating the men and throwing them in the penalty box. Magdalene can tell words are still being exchanged from both sides of the glass, but she’s more focussed on the fact Tyson doesn’t make his way to the dressing room – a good sign that allows Bette to drop her hand and let out a shaky breath.

Nothing of great importance happens until MacKinnon ties the game with seven minutes left. It happens while the Avalanche are short handed, and the goal seems to light a fire beneath the team. Magdalene may not know much about hockey, but she’s smart enough to notice the insane amount of energy all the players suddenly have. Time ticks by slowly and before she realizes it, the final face-off is taking place. Luckily it’s in the St. Louis zone and won by Colorado. The puck is tipped back to the same player who got in the fight for Tyson, Gravy, and he one times it right into the back of the net. The buzzer goes off not a second later, and the entire team piles on top of the player who just won them the game.

Bette and Magdalene join in the shrieks of the other partners, jumping from their seats in excitement. Eventually they make their way down to the hallway outside the locker room and lean against the brick while they wait for Tyson.

“You don’t have to stay,” Bette insists, “I can wait by myself.”

Magdalene shakes her head. “No way. I want to make sure he’s okay too. What good is a friend with a black eye?”

The other girl laughs at her friend’s stubbornness but doesn’t shoo her away. Once Magdalene has made a decision it’s hard to get her to sway from it, and Bette knows better than to push. Besides, who is she to deny her friend a bit more social interaction? Magdalene has spent the past six years practically holed up in the library and deserves to stand in a crowded hallway.

The friends chat idly while they wait, with Magdalene sharing some of the most ridiculous questions she got asked in her defence interview that morning. She’s mid story when Tyson exits the dressing flanked by a man dressed sharply in all black.

“Hey guys,” Tyson greets, dipping his head to place a kiss to Bette’s cheek before doing an elaborately goofy handshake with Magdalene.

“Good game baby,” Bette compliments sweetly. She then turns her attention to the boy standing awkwardly on the fringes. “You too Graves.”

He smiles shyly, muttering out a small thanks. It’s then he seems to notice the final member of the group, and offers his hand in greeting. “Hi, I’m Ryan.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Magdalene.”

She puts two and two together on the walk to her car. The Ryan Magdalene just met is the same who will take her spot on the trip, fought someone in Tyson’s defence, and scored the game winning goal. Though they’ve only said a few words, she likes him. He seems genuine, and those people are the rarest to find.

☼☼☼☼

Magdalene is walking across a graduation stage for the final time in two days. However, she can’t find anyone to take the third ticket. The University of Denver has a stupid rule where all graduates must have three guests attend the ceremony. Bette and Tyson are obviously occupying two of Magdalene’s seats, but she’s having trouble filling the third.

“I can ask Tys if one of the guys is free,” Bette shrugs. The two girls are sitting in the window of Barn Owl drinking iced lattes and discussing what Magdalene should wear to the ceremony.

“It’s okay,” Magdalene says, “I don’t want to bother anyone. Maybe I’ll just ask June.”

Her friend’s eye roll so far back into her head Magdalene isn’t sure they won’t stay there. “You can’t ask your boss to watch you graduate Mags! Besides, Gravy owes Tyson a favour and was already looking for something to do. I’m sure he won’t mind wasting a few hours as long as he gets drinks out of it.”

There isn’t a better option, so even though she barely knows the guy, Magdalene agrees. “Make sure he gets this?" she sighs, handing her friend an envelope with a single ticket in it. "I have to go. Caligula should be done at the vet soon.”

“Say hello to little boots for me,” Bette giggles as she waves goodbye.

Hours later, tucked into her couch with a glass of wine in one hand and Caligula playing with the fingers on the other, Magdalene realizes she invited a complete stranger to her graduation and how that could be a terrible idea. Sure, Ryan sounds like a great guy from the way Bette and Tyson talk about him, but he’s only ever spoken three words to her. Since that game she’s gone out with the team a few times, but the man with the piercing stare is yet to make an appearance. Magdalene considers that perhaps he’s more like her than his profession gives him credit for, and she feels a twinge of guilt about being worried he’d cause a scene at the ceremony.

There isn’t any more time for her to fret over the third and final guest on the list. At the last minute Bette decides there’s nothing in Magdalene’s closet that’s suitable for her to wear, so a trip to a local second-hand store ensues. While it’s nice that her friend has taken their carbon footprints into consideration, Magdalene wishes it didn’t have to happen an hour and a half before the ceremony is supposed to start.

“We have to be there in twenty minutes Bette,” she frets, tapping her foot nervously against the tile flooring.

If they can’t find whatever it is Bette’s looking for, Magdalene will have to walk across the stage in denim cutoffs and a faded t-shirt with Neil Young’s face on it, which is something she’s hoping to avoid at all costs.

“Have no fear, Mags,” she says with a knowing glint in her eye, “For I have found it.” Bette holds up a hanger that is holding a beautiful long sleeve dress adorned with a whimsical floral print.

Magdalene can’t help the gasp that escapes from her. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes, “But let’s hope it fits.”

The dress does in fact fit, and the workers are kind enough to let her wear it out of the store. Bette drives at a speed that might not be the safest to travel at in downtown Denver, but she gets to the school with minutes to spare. She shoos her friends out of the car so she can go pick up Tyson and Ryan, and Magdalene checks in with little hassle. The pool of graduates is fairly small, so she chats with a few classmates while they wait for the call to put their gowns on. Time passes quicker than expected, and soon Magdalene is being directed to her seat. She zones out while the dean gives a congratulatory speech and they go through the first few names. At one point she looks backwards into the crowd to find Bette, Tyson, and Ryan all giving her a thumbs up. The nerves she didn’t even know she had settle.

A faculty member signals for Magdalene’s row to stand up, and she smoothes her dress before dutifully following the person in front of her. Giddiness bubbles in her stomach at the thought of being done school forever. A hand from the stage crew give a cue, and Magdalene appears on the stage as her accomplishment is broadcast through the microphone.

“Magdalene Stevenson is being awarded a Masters in Information Science in Archival Studies and Records Management.” It feels so good to finally be finished that she lets a tear slip as she shakes the hand of the staff member handing her the package with her diploma in it.

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur, and before Magdalene knows it her friends are approaching to congratulate her. Bette and Tyson wrap her in a tight hug, murmuring praise in her ears. Ryan stands awkwardly to the side before Bette drags him into the celebration. The four of them stand in the courtyard where the ceremony was for much longer than needed. Bette is crying enough to refill Sloan Lake if there is ever a drought and is yet to let go of Magdalene’s figure.

It’s only when the event staff ask them to leave so they can tear down the stage does Magdalene turn to leave campus for the last time as a student. She’ll be back in a few weeks as an employee, but deep down she knows this is the last time she’ll ever feel such a deep connection to the place.

“Victory is mine, victory is mine! Great day in the morning people, victory is mine!” Magdalene yells, quoting Josh Lyman as she skips down the path towards Bette’s car.

Both Bette and Tyson are confused at the sudden outburst, not knowing what she’s talking about, but Ryan responds without missing a beat. “Should I bring you all the muffins and bagels in the land?” His response doesn’t clear anything up, but it elicits a giant smile from Magdalene, who laughs and nods in confirmation.

Sitting in the back of Bette’s Audi, on the way to a graduation party she’s supposed to know nothing about, Magdalene decides that she wants to get to know Ryan Graves better. From what she’s garnered from Bette and Tyson he’s a class act, standing up for friends and giving good advice. He likes The West Wing and showed up to a stranger’s graduation, so how bad can he be?

☼☼☼☼

additional notes: see what magdalene's graduation dress looks like here // the quote from the west wing is from 1.02 if you were curious!

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy (add yourself to the taglist!)

#ryan graves imagine #ryan graves x oc #ryan graves fic #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #cwrites #dmtteol

113 notes · View notes

moronic-validity · 3 years

Text

The Vincent Sinclair’s Boot x Reader Fic

okay so a few notes!

1) Reader is a trans guy (like your’s truly)

2) This is smut for the sake of smut, plain and simple.

3) I finished this at 2:30am and I have to be at work at 8.

This Contains: dubcon/coerced consent, drugs, bdsm, dom vincent, a boot kink, typos, almost murder, masturbation, and car problems! Everything under the cut is 18+!!!

As the temperature gauge crept higher and higher, [y/n] had to kick himself. He had been told to check his oil periodically through the road trip, but more than that, he had always been told to keep an extra thing of 5-20 in his car. Both pieces of advice went in one ear and out the other.

Which left him here, in the middle of nowhere Louisiana, 30 miles shy of Baton Rouge.

The immediate reaction was to get out of his car and scream. Sure, it was near midnight, but there wasn’t anyone nearby, so what was the worst thing that could happen. The flash of headlights on him and his car answered his question.

Great. Fantastic. Cool.

“Hey, sorry about the yelling,” he called out in the general direction of the headlights. “Any chance you have some 5-20, I’ll be right out of here if you do!”

No response. [y/n] sighed and sat on the hood of his car and watched the car. It was the middle of the night and it was still hotter than hell and humid to match. Without giving it much thought, he pulled his t shirt over his head and sat it on the hood next to him. What did it matter, he had a binder on anyway. Not like anything was showing.

The mystery driver flashed his brights at [y/n], then threw it in reverse and went back to where he came from.

Well that’s fantastic. I’m in the middle of nowhere and someone knows I’m stranded here. Perfect.

Without giving any more thought to it, he got back into his car and went to sleep, his t shirt thrown over his eyes.

The sun didn’t wake him up, the tapping on his window did.

[y/n] scrambled into an acceptable position and pulled his still damp t shirt on. Once his eyes adjusted to the light, he was able to see the man standing near his window. The man wasn’t intimidating or anything, but the situation was odd and [y/n] was immediately warry.

“Sorry ‘bout that, didn mean to startle ya or nothin,” The man with the green hat said with a small laugh, “it just looked like ya might need some help, most people don like sleepin in their car this time a year.”

[y/n] squinted at the guy. It wasn’t due to the accent or the look of him, the sun just happened to be right in his eyes. The perfect start to another fantastic day.

“Uh yeah, I’ve definitely had better days. Any chance you know where to get a quart or two of oil?” He asked, ending it with a still tired yawn.

“I could give ya a lift into town, ‘m sure Bo will help you out at the station,” The green hatted man offered helpfully.

“Actually, that’d be wonderful, thank you…” [y/n] realized that he just accepted a ride from a man who’s name he didn’t even know. His mother would be so proud.

“Lester, Lester Sinclair,” Lester said with an extended hand.

“[y/n], [y/n] [l/n]” He took the other’s hand and gave a firm shake. [y/n] was acutely aware of the tacky reddish-brown smudge that was now on his hand.

The ride into town was quite, aside from the rumble of Lester’s truck and the sound of tires throwing rock.

“So where’re you headed?” Lester asked, glancing over at [y/n].

“Ah, no direction, wanted to go up, down, coast to coast. Want to see a little bit of everything, I guess,” [y/n] picked at the skin around his index finger, “I’ve only broken down once, so I figure I’m doing okay.”

“Welcome to Ambrose, I know it probably isn where ya wanted t’ go, but there are worse places.” Lester said cheerfully.

The ride went back to being quiet.

“Oh shit,” Lester whined, more to himself than anything else, as he threw the car in park and jumped out, “ya wouldn’ mind givin me a hand flipping the hubs, would ya?”

What the hell does that even mean? {y/n] thought to himself as he hopped out of the car to help Lester with the task anyway. Help was a bit of a strong word for what [y/n] did, it was more get in the way and offer moral support. Lester appreciated the gesture and the company. Most people jumped out of the car and fled into town by this point.

The two got back into the truck and drove right on into Ambrose and parked in front of the service station.

“Now, you wait here, Bo ‘ll be ‘round soon,” Lester dropped [y/n] off with a wave then drove off to wherever he worked. It occurred to [y/n] that he never thought to ask.

It also occurred to [y/n] that he’d have to walk back to his car or hope that someone in town would be willing to give him a ride. Just one more thing. He sighed and sat with his back against the wall of the station.

At least there’s shade. It’s already starting to feel like the devil’s armpit, but at least there is shade.

Time passed, could’ve been hours, could’ve been minutes.

No, it was definitely hours.

Around the point [y/n] was sure that this Bo guy would have to pry him off the cement with a spatula, Bo happened to come down the road and up to the door of the station, near where he was sitting. Bo stood within arm’s distance as [y/n] pushed himself up off the sidewalk.

“I take it you’re Bo? [Y/n] [l/n], Lester said you might have some oil?” [y/n] offered the man he assumed to be Bo his hand. Bo flashed [y/n] a smile that seemed to try to hard to be charming.

“Well, I’d introduce myself but you already know who I am,” Bo chuckled. He was in a suit and tie, didn’t seem like he was dressed for his line of work. “ Let’s see if we can’t get you back on the road, hm?” He hummed to himself as he unlocked the door to let the two men into the store.

There was no AC, and that was the first problem [y/n] had with the station. The second problem was that there appeared to be no oil. Anywhere.

What type of station doesn’t carry oil. Oil. OIL. Walmart carries oil, DG carries oil. Why does this man not have oil.

“Uh….Hey Bo, any chance you have some oil in the garage that you’re willing to part with?” [y/n] asked, while squatting and looking at another shelf devoid of oil.

“I’m sure I could check,” Bo said, his voice drifting further away. [y/n] kept looking.

“So I’ve got some bad news, I don’t have any oil down here;” ,” Bo said as he re-entered the store, wiping his hands down on a grease rag, “Good news though, I got my restock shipment in yesterday and just haven’t gotten around to bringing it down from the house. I’m more than willing to let you wait here while I go up to to get what you need, but you look like you need something to drink.”

[y/n] thought it over. This would mark the second time in less than 24 hours that he went somewhere with a random stranger, but at least this time he knew the guy’s name.

Well, the south is known for its hospitality, so I might as well go and get something to drink.

“I’d really appreciate something to drink and thank you so much for the help,” [y/n] said, suddenly aware that his mouth felt like it was full of glue.

The pair were about halfway to the house, when [y/n] finally felt the need to ask about the suit.

“Okay so, I know it’s absolutely none of my business, but why are you wearing a suit? Isn’t it a bit hot for that?” Bo stopped moving at [y/n]’s question and seemed to consider a few possible answers before he nodded to himself and kept walking.

“Well, it’s not the heat that gets you, it’s the humidity,” he chuckled to himself, “and uh,” he paused to clear his throat, “My mom passed on, was at her service.”

“Bo, I am so sorry. If you don’t mind, I’ll be sure to pay my respects before I leave town,” [y/n] couldn’t help but feel intense sympathy for Bo.

He left his mom’s funeral to help me get some oil so I can get back on the road. Holy shit.

They walked in silence for the rest of the day, [y/n] was unsure how to comfort this stranger, so he just followed the other man’s lead. Silence.

Bo unlocked the door when they got up on the step and lead [y/n] into the house.

“Washroom is down the hall if you need it, the door should be open,” Bo motioned towards the washroom, “Make yourself at home.”

With that, Bo was in the kitchen, pouring two glasses of sweet tea. [y/n] decided to take Bo up on his offer of a washroom. Once the door was shut, he fought with his binder for a minute, before finally getting it off his chest, letting it hang loosely around his neck. At this point, it just felt good to take a few deep breaths. After a few minutes passed, [y/n] pulled his binder back into place, swore he’d keep it off until he hit the next rest stop, then went back out into the house and met Bo in the kitchen.

Bo handed [y/n] the glass of sweet tea, condensation already beading on the sides. Nice and cold and incredibly sweet, it even tasted southern. And a bit salty. [y/n] had never had homemade sweet tea before, so he assumed that maybe that just happened sometimes with the tea when it cooled.

The room started to sway.

“Hey, [y/n] maybe you should sit down, looks like the heat is getting to you,” Bo said, worry in his voice, but a smile on his lips, “maybe you ought to lay down for a bit.”

Not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all.

That was weird, he tried to say it out loud, but his mouth didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Bo helped [y/n] to sit on the couch and as his vision started to darken, [y/n] swore he saw another person enter the room.

When [y/n] came to, he realized a few things in short order. It was much darker, he was not on the couch, and he was restrained to the metal table he way laying on. Ever the optimist, he was thankful for the fact that he still had his clothes on and also for the fact it was much cooler wherever he was.

A tall man with long dark hair entered his line of sight. [y/n] had a few ideas of things to yell at him, but instead, took a different approach.

“So, either I’ve been asleep for a really long time, or you’re not Bo,” [y/n] said, turning his head to get a better look at the man. The man’s shoulders shook, like he was laughing without the noise.

Okay so he can’t talk. Noted.

The man turned around to face the table and made sure his hands were in clear view as he signed, “Vincent.”

The motions were smooth and [y/n] caught it near immediately.

“Vincent is a nice name,” he mused, giving Vincent a charming smile of his own, “I’m [y/n]. Now, I do have a few questions, mainly, why am I tied up?”

Vincent turned his back on [y/n] and went back to preparing the paralytic, deciding to make it a bit stronger so the man on the table wouldn’t have to be awake for the worst of it. When he turned around and [y/n] saw the needle, the reality of the situation began to sink in and things snapped into focus.

“Hey Vincent, I don’t know what’s in that needle, but I promise you don’t have to do whatever it is you’re about to do,” [y/n] tried to keep his voice level as he squirmed and fought against the restraints, “I know we don’t know each other, but I swear you don’t need to do this.”

Vincent watched him writhe on the table and considered his options.

“Please, can we talk this out, please,” [y/n] continued to beg, tears forming in the corners of his eyes and bruises already forming at both his wrists and his ankles from the jerking around. Desperation in one hell of a drug, because in no other situation could [y/n] see himself saying, “I’ll do anything to convince you.”

Vincent set the syringe back down and walked up to the head of the table and gripped [y/n]’s jaw and turned his head to make sure he saw when he signed “Are you sure?” he drew it out to emphasize the importance of the question.

Was [y/n] sure? No. No he wasn’t, but he wasn’t in a place that allowed many options. Behind door one? Death! Behind door two? A questionable fate that could very well still end in death!

Yeah, I’ll go with door number two, please.

[y/n] nodded, Vincent’s hand still not leaving his jaw.

Vincent considered the situation for a moment. He considered the number of girls that Bo had brought to him after he had had his way with them at the station. Girls had never really been Vincent’s speed. There were plenty of attractive guys who had come through, but mostly they were either already dead or just spit curses at him. [y/n] was different. No threats, no insults, he was shockingly calm, all things considered. Vincent stroked up and down the side of [y/n]’s face, bringing his hand into the smaller man’s hair and pulling, eliciting a soft whimper.

“I want you to show me,” Vincent signed before undoing the restraints at [y/n]’s ankles. As for his hands? His hands were going to stay bound, but a change of position was still needed. Vincent kept eye contact with [y/n] as he undid his wrists.

[y/n] sat up on the table, moving slowly as to not startle Vincent. The last thing he wanted was to scare the guy who probably had a half dozen ways to kill him in arms reach. His wrists ached and were bleeding in some places. He rubbed at his sore joints before Vincent snapped his fingers, pointed directly at him, then down at the floor near his boot clad feet.

[y/n] had the opportunity to make a run for it, but instead knelt at Vincent’s feet. Vincent put his hand out and without thinking, [y/n] rested the side of his face against it. Vincent’s face burned beneath his mask, that was not what he needed the man to do. He pulled his hand away and gently slapped at the kneeling man’s face, not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough for him to know that that was not the desired action. The kneeling man was a quick learner and when Vincent put his hand out again, he reluctantly placed his wrists in the larger man’s hands.

[y/n] was not thrilled at this situation, but he was also a simple man, and for all the terror in the situation, Vincent was a large man with shockingly soft hands that were big enough to envelop both of his wrists, who had complete control over the situation. Should he be getting wet due to the situation? Absolutely not, but in the one psychology class he took in high school, it was mentioned that fear and arousal were close together in the brain.

Vincent saw the bruising and blood on the smaller man’s wrists and was careful when he rebound them. Sure, he was planning on killing the guy, but his plans had changed. He threaded a rope and carefully suspended his wrists so that his wrists would remain above his head.

[y/n]’s first thought was that Vincent wanted head. Most guys he had met enjoyed getting head, so it did make sense. He carefully pressed his cheek against the man’s crotch and nuzzled against it, then looked up and into Vincent’s eyes for any sign. Instead, Vincent just lifted his knee and pushed [y/n] off of him like he was a disobedient dog.

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind as to what he wanted, if not a blow job. He was further confused when Vincent lifted his boot clad foot and pressed it into the smaller man’s pelvic bone, hard.

Oh.

The pressure of it was enough to lift him up just a little bit more and it had him wetter than he thought he could be in a situation like this. He pressed down onto the shoe and began to grind against it, shamelessly chasing the friction it created.

Vincent groaned. His cock twitched as he watched the man’s lewd display. He didn’t want [y/n] to touch him, not yet. There was still the chance that could go horribly wrong, what Vincent wanted was to see exactly how desperate the man was. Vincent began to palm himself, stroking through the fabric of his pants while he watched.

The answer was very. [y/n] was very desperate. [y/n] was desperate not to die and now, now he was also desperate to cum. He pressed himself harder against the toe of Vincent’s boot and rutted against it, groaning loudly when it pressed up against that bundle of nerves. He began to fall into a rhythm that hit every sensitive spot he could reach.

Vincent’s hand was now in his pants as he stroked himself to the same rhythm [y/n] was fucking himself to. God, Vincent thought to himself, this man was making an absolute whore of himself. It might not be a bad idea to keep him around. Could make work slightly less taxing. Then the bound man made a sound that snapped Vincent out of his thoughts and almost made him cream his pants.

He was getting so close, he had thrown himself so into chasing his high that he almost forgot that the circumstances that brought him to this were less than desirable. He pressed began to rotate his hips so that bundle of nerves caught significantly more pressure and more friction. He let out a loud, needy whine.

“Please Vincent, please tell me I can cum, I’ve been such a good boy, please God, Vincent,” the words came tumbling out of his mouth, he was babbling and begging for a different release now. Vincent bucked into his own hand, listening to the whines and pleas.

Tears were starting to form in [y/n]’s eyes again, he was trying so hard to be good for Vincent, trying so hard to be his good boy. Sure, less than an hour ago, he wanted nothing more than to be as far from him as possible, but God, he was so close to cumming and he just needed Vincent to tell him he had been good. Hadn’t he been good enough to deserve release?

Vincent pressed his crotch against [y/n]’s face and continued to jack himself off. He didn’t want the man’s mouth, but he wanted the proximity. He was so close to his own release. So so close, all he needed was-

“Oh GOD, sir please, I’ve been so good for you, please sir. Tell me I’ve been a good boy for you, tell me I’m your good boy, please sir; oh my God, please, please,” [y/n] continued to babble, now crying for release against Vincent’s aching cock.

Yeah, that just about did it for him. Vincent’s orgasm took him hard and left a sizable stain that leaked into the front of his pants and against the begging man’s face. Vincent closed his eyes, lost in his own release. When things snapped back into focus, he realized the other man was still whining pitifully, still having not came.

Vincent had to admit, he was impressed at the man’s willpower, it was oddly attractive to him that the man refused to grant himself pleasure without permission. This could actually work out wonderfully, Vincent thought to himself.

He took the rope in his free hand and yanked on it hard enough to knock the [y/n] off balance. He looked up at Vincent as he tried to regain balance. Vincent let go of the rope and let him drop onto his knees, but his eyes were still locked on his masked face.

Vincent thought about it for a moment before signing “I want you to cum.”

That was all [y/n] needed to hear before going back to rutting against the shoe, quickly going over the edge and coating the toe of the boot in his fluids. He braced himself against Vincent’s leg, mumbling thank yous as he came back down. Vincent allowed this to go on for a short while, before cutting the rope and pressing [y/n]’s face down to the still wet boot.

Vincent used one hand to yank [y/n]’s hair to make the blissed out man look up at him, with the other hand, he calmly signed “Clean it up.”

#slasher fucker #vincent's boots #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent x reader #house of wax #nsft #I haven't written a fanfic in years #fanfic #theo writes #theo's thoughts #teddy talks #bo sinclair #lester sinclair #sinclair brothers

68 notes · View notes

germvity · 3 years

Text

rises the moon

leon s kennedy x reader // 3 // hell's comfort

"come sit down, jill. we'll explain." leon gestures to the cot as you rest your head on his bicep. "sure." jill shrugs, following the two of you in, and settling down on the other end of the makeshift bed. when leon sits with his back against the wall, you curl up into his side, still uncertain of jill's company as the blonde speaks to her about what he's gathered so far.

genre: angst with comfort, fluff <3

tags: leon being a sweetie/protective, he wants to help, jill still may be ooc im sorry :(, big bully david >:(, there will be bullying in this chap, the entity (tm), leon literally being a big puppy, cuddles!, biggie slow burn. the entity literally just vibing. handcuffs 🥵, fighting

warnings: bullying + violence, fighting, crying, angst

---

jill had left to think already, leaving the two of you alone. both she and leon wanted to help you, but you don't know how they could when it was you (and leon) against the world here. "c'mon, you must be hungry." leon smiles, offering you his hand when he gets up. "not really.." you mumble, avoiding his soft gaze. "really? you haven't eaten since... well i'm not sure but you haven't eaten yet! let's keep your strength up." leon says, taking your smaller hand in his and leading you in the direction of the campsite. "wait! i don't wanna go there..!" you cry, jerking backwards to your shack, pulling leon with you. "okay, okay." leon grabs your arms to give them soothing rubs as he hushes you incase anyone hears your panic. "you wait in the shack, and i'll go get us some food, yeah?" the officer smiles but you refuse to let him go so easily. "can't we wait a little longer..?" you pout and leon sighs. "no, i'm making it my duty to take care of you, and that includes making sure you eat." he says, letting go of you to take your hands. "i'll keep you safe. i promise." you can't help but give in, following leon towards the campsite reluctantly.

you tense at the sight of the others, but they didn't see you or leon, too busy wrapped up in conversations. "come on whilst they're unaware." leon whispers, leading you to the fake kitchen area the entity had set up. a pot of oatmeal bubbled, and you grimaced at the sight and smell of it. "hmm.. there has to be something around here..." leon hums to himself, letting go of you to search around. "leon.." you whine at the sound of footsteps, grabbing his arm to hide behind him. "what?" he whispers back, turning to the door where claudette stood.

leon's stomach sank as she stared at you. she opened her mouth to say something but leon cut her off. "please, don't tell the others. we're just getting some food and we'll leave." he raises his hand as if claudette was a feral animal, trying to show that neither of you were a threat. claudette hesitates, glancing over her shoulder at the campsite before looking back at the two of you. "david!" she called, and leon cursed under his breath. "i'm sorry..." she whispers before leaving. "what?!" the brit yells, his eyes darkening at the sight of you and leon. "well, well.. look who's in our camp." he spits, crossing his arms. your breathing picks up and you grasp leon's sleeve tightly. "david." leon straightens up his posture, pulling you fully behind him. "what ya got there, rookie?" david taunts, jumping to try and get to you but leon moves with him, hiding you affectively. "leave them alone, king." leon demands, voice harsh.

the fighter laughs loudly, and your stability crumbles at the sight of the whole camp staring at you. "leon.." you whisper, voice wavering. "where've you two been anyway? off fucking somewhere i presume." david sneers, trying to take another lunge at leon, but the officer is quicker, still trying to keep you away from your harasser. "leon..!" you whimper again but it falls on deaf ears as leon argues with david. "you're wrong actually. unlike you i actually care for the people around me. that's why i'm a much better person than you." leon shoots back, and david snaps, swinging for the blonde.

leon ducks, pushing you out the way as he tackles david. the fight escalates as the camp gathers round, some cheering on leon whilst the majority egged on david. "leon!" you yelp, shrinking back with cowardice despite your burning desire to help him. you gasp as arms tighten around your waist, pulling you away from the fight. "leon!" you wail again, catching the blonde's attention as he punches david. "y/n!" leon yells, going to scramble after you but is stopped by david grabbing his ankle and pulling him back for more.

twisting around, leon's boot found david face as he kicks the other man away, turning back around to scramble to get you, but you were already gone. "shit." leon hisses, not seeing how jill was running off in your direction. david's nose poured with blood as he groans, getting up to swing at leon. catching his wrist, the blonde quickly detains the fighter, handcuffing him before stumbling off into the tree line to try and find you.

you whimper as jake sets you down on a fallen tree, letting him ruffle your hair. "you alright?" he asks softly, and you shake your head no. "uhh..." jake glances back at the campsite through the trees. "hold it, asshole!" a female voice snaps, and jill emerges through the brush. "jill!" you yelp, getting up to latch onto your new friend. "cool, i was just leaving." jake shrugs, trudging back to the camp. "are you alright." jill asks as she glares at jake. "leon... where's leon?" you whimper as jill sits you back down. "don't worry about him, are you alright?" jill asks, cupping your face with her hands, wiping away any tears with her thumbs. "y/n! jill! thank god." leon gasps as he hurries to you. "are you alright?" leon asks desperately as he searches you for wounds. "they seem fine, just a bit shaken." jill answers for you. you cling to leon tightly, crying against his neck as he scoops you into his arms. "it's alright. i'm okay. i'm sorry that went down, i should of had you wait in your shack." leon sighs, holding you tight. "i'm gonna go check on everyone, try and keep the peace." jill stands, ruffling leon's hair before leaving. "thanks." leon calls after her and the woman only salutes over her shoulder as she walks away.

"leon.." you whisper, voice hoarse. "i'm here." the blonde assures you, pulling away to wipe your tears. "i'm sorry he did this to you.." you frown, cupping leon's bruised face as shakes his head. "don't apologise for that asshole." leon says sternly. "it wouldn't of happened if i wasn't there! i'm sorry." you whimper, pressing your forehead against leon's for comfort as he sighs. "none of this is your fault. i'm gonna fix all of this, alright?" leon whispers, pulling your head away from him as he looks at you. you look unsure, but nod. you trust him fully and he knows it. he also knows that you both have the same idea, and leon can't help but sneak a glance at your lips as you grow a little closer to him. "leon..?" you mumble, and he smiles, pulling you a closer and closer.

"my sincerest apologies for interrupting, but i have some news." a shadowy voice interrupts and the two of you jump, leon pulling you into his chest protectively. "who's there?" he demands, searching for the voice. "i'm here." the entity purrs, deep voice rumbling in your ears. "no one is in trouble. it was quite amusing to watch your performance but mr. kennedy..." the god trails off as leon looks up at the dark sky. "i'm sorry to say that your handcuffs are being confiscated until i know you wont do this again." it says, dangling leon's cuffs above his head with a sharp claw. "i won't. i was forced to." leon reminds the entity that he started nothing, and you can practically hear the entity thinking. "i suppose so, but it is still unacceptable." the entity says, voice ever so calm. "what, and bullying your teammates isn't?!" leon snaps, standing to try and snatch his handcuffs back. "mr. kennedy..." the voice warns as it raises his handcuffs higher. "you're a monster. an absolute joke. when i figure out how to kill you, i swear-"

"mr. kennedy." the entity silences him with a firm snap and leon falls into silence. you glance at him nervously as more claws descend, grasping leon out of your hold and hauling him up like he weighed nothing.. "might i remind you that nothing can kill me. i am a god. i am your god. your pathetic little threat won't go unnoticed but for now i'm feeling generous as you are new, and most newcomers feel the same way." the entity's voice sends chills down your spine as you stare at leon anxiously. "i will grant you your handcuffs after fifteen successful trials. then you shall receive them. until then, i shall bid you farewell." the entity suddenly drops the blonde who lands on his back with a pained grunt.

"asshole.." leon hisses as the entity takes it's leave. "leon! are you alright." you rush to pamper the blonde as he sits up. "i'm fine, don't worry." leon flushes red, getting up and offering you his hand. "come on, lets get some rest, hm?" he smiles, and you take his hand to follow him into the woods.

#leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #dbd leon #dbd #dbd x reader #dead by daylight #dead by daylight resident evil #germvity writing

72 notes · View notes

chansbiigfeet · 3 years

Note

I have a request! This may seem a weird one~

But I want a Minho (skz) x Reader (f) smut where after having the most romantic plus + adventures and having the time of their life cause it’s their honey moon! I want the feel of the song of “late night movie” by ha hyunsang! It’s has a positive and heart fluttering vibe~ the type of heart flutters you get when your s/o is really happy- (idk about the lyrics though!) so basically a storyline based on the feeling of that song~ (sorry if it’s weird ~ sorry)

This wasn’t weird at all and sorry for taking so long with this I wanted to listen to the song a lot to get the vibe and not make the story super shitty (New York shitty) anyways I hope you enjoy.😉

“Ahhhh, the view is so pretty!” You sighed as you let out a sigh plopping your suitcase down on the hotel room bed. “Definitely not as pretty as you,” Minho, your newly wed husband, said as he wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your neck softly.

You and your husband have just arrived in your honey moon destination, New York (we all know why) to be exact. The wedding was beautiful, and afterwards, the sex was inevitably amazing as well. You were finally his and that made him happy, and in return, he was yours.

You chuckled at his statement, “Are you hungry?” you questioned?

“Not really, I was thinking we could go on a walk before eating? Unless, of course, you’re hungry darling?”

“I’m not too hungry, let’s walk to a restaurant, yeah?”

And so you two were off. Set off in the Big Apple to find any sort of restaurant.

After around an hour of walking and exploring, you found a restaurant, it seemed fairly nice and decently inexpensive. Perfect for the two of you.

As you sat down and ordered your food, Minho seemed a bit more touchy than usual. He would put his hand on your thigh, grab your hand as you had it on the table, play with your hair, and so on. You weren’t too caught off guard by it all, it was your honeymoon of course. That was until one of your old friends saw you.

“Oh my goodness! Y/n! I haven’t seen you in so long,” he said.

“Oh hi!” You responded, “It’s been so long.” You got up to give him a hug, Minho clearly not liking it.

“Yeah, what have you been up to lately?” Your old friend asked.

Minho was fed up with the conversation after you asked your friend to sit down to chat. He had his own plans.

His hand brushed your thigh, as he had been doing all night, except this time it was higher. You didn’t mind though, thinking he was doing the same thing. That was until he stuck his hand between your thighs. You jumped, and looked at him. All he did was smirk and gesture to your friend.

He sat there for 20 minutes rubbing your clit in front of your high school companion until they decided to leave. Finally leaving the two of you alone.

“Let’s go back to the hotel, darling.” He whispered in your ear, trailing down your neck just slightly.

You paid the bill and practically ran back to the hotel. As you made it to your room, the unexpected happened. Minho became soft. He was especially gentle tonight and you could only assume it was because of the fact it was your honeymoon. He pushed against the door, as lovingly as it could get, and held your waist.

His hands roamed all over your body as he kissed your lips passionately. He graciously lifted you up from from your spot on the hotel door and placed you on the bed. His hand made it to the hem of your t-shirt, “Are you ready?” Minho asked.

“Yes,” you chucked, “I’ve been waiting all night, you slowpoke.” He smiled in response and lifted off your shirt letting out a sigh of amazement as he saw your body. “God, I can’t believe how lucky I got to marry someone as absolutely stunning as you.” He praised.

You covered your face with you hands in embarrassment, “I can’t believe you said that.” You laughed, “feels great being told that I’m this beautiful by THE Minho, but that was such a cheesy line.” You hit his chest softly sitting up slightly to kiss him. “And I love you for all the cheesy lines.”

You flipped him over, you now on his lap as he lay against the black wooden stained headboard. You kiss him softly, his hands press against your waist as you start to grind on his pelvis. “Hey!” He pulls away from the kiss, “Who says you’re in charge?” He states jokingly as he flips you guys back over to the original position of his necklace dangling over you.

He sits up for a moment to remove his own clothing, leaving his boxers on and kisses down your neck. He takes everything extremely, agonizingly slow. But, it was sweet. Every moment of it was sweet. This wasn’t what usual sex with Minho was like. It was normally fast, as he was clearly impatient, and he loved the speed and hearing you yell his name along with a few curses.

He eventually got down to your buttoned up jeans and looked up at you, asking for the final permission of the night, you nodded. His eagerness got the better of him, and he pulled your panties and pants down in a rush. “Holy shit, I can’t wait to make love to you.” He groaned. You laughed in response, causing him to blush and chuckle along as well.

He crawled back up to your lips, kissing them softly, romantically. It was a long kiss but as he was kissing you his hand slid down to your throbbing core and started rubbing small circles on your small bundle of nerves. You moaned into the kiss, causing his hard cock to somehow, grow even harder. He pulled away for just a second to take off your bra and toy with your nipples for a second before removing his boxers and freeing his cock.

He pulled out a condom from his bag muttering something about not wanting to impregnate you just yet, and rolled it on. He moved his cock along your folds collecting your fluids before pushing inside you. Your back arched even at the feeling of him in you. The feeling of being so full. He leaned down to kiss your neck, leaving a few hickeys as he waiting for you to give him the okay to move. Once you did his hips rocked slowly into you. His abdomen grazing your clit just enough for it to feel good. His pace picked up and your legs wrapped around his waist.

This was his favorite when you wrapped around him. He loved being this close to you. His hand reached for yours, to hold as he kissed you and rolled into you. He always held your hand during sex, even if it was really rough, he wanted to let you know he didn’t mean the degrading words or the filthy comments. He loved you. This was your favorite. His hand was so comforting to you, the gesture held so much meaning.

His hips picked up speed and yours started to buck up into yours, “I’m close,” you moaned, earning a groan from him in response. He was always really vocal during sex, moaning left and right, groaning, talking, you name it. Even tonight he couldn’t stop praising the way you felt, looked, smelled, everything. His thrusts became sloppier, slightly harsher, as his hand moved from yours and reached down to your clit. This was the sure didn’t that he was close. A few thrusts later he was groaning in ecstasy. The feeling of him filling the condor inside you sending you over the edge.

Both of you spent the next few minutes panting. Him staying inside of you for a short amount of time before pulling out and removing the condom. He grabbed a wet towel from the bathroom and took it over to you, wiping the sweat from your forehead, letting you recover.

“I love you so much, I’m not even trying to be romantic right now. You’re genuinely the love of my life and I’m so happy I married you.” Minho spoke as he kissed you again, “I’m gonna go run us a bath?” You nodded, kissing him again. “I can help.” You said. He immediately shook his head, insisting that you stay in bed and he do it.

And this happened nearly every night for the remainder of the trip. Every moment of sex was as wholesome as the encounter could get. Except that one time where you both got extremely horny in the middle of a restaurant and had a pretty rough quickie in the bathroom. But he made sure to make up for that.

The remainder of the trip was spent having sex, and running all over New York together, making you realize, just how much you truly were lucky to find the one.

_________________________

I think I said this earlier, but sorry for taking ages to write this, I’ve explained everything already so many times, but I hope you enjoyed!

Masterlist

#kpop angst #kpop fluff #kpop smut #stray kids #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids smut #stray kids x y/n #kpop scenarios #stray kids fanfic #lee know angst #lee know smut #lee know fluff #lee know #minho fluff #minho angst #minho smut

106 notes · View notes

solarwonux · 3 years

Text

1. “We have to be quiet.”

67. “You should wear that more often.”

literary agent!jin x f!reader

genre: slice of life, fluff

w.c: 2.3k

warnings: a little suggestive, nudity, lots of fluff

note: writing this made me soft lolol. I love this couple so much, they’re absolutely adorable tbh lolol. Anyway, let me know your thoughts. Enjoy.xx

MASTERLIST || PROMPTS

“Come back to mine.” Seokjin flashes you an award winning smile, sending your heart into a frenzy. It fights against the beat of the pop song quietly playing through his car speakers, while he drives through the empty streets, not a car in sight, your hand gripped tightly in his.

“But your roommates.” You whisper even though you don’t have to as there was no one around except for you and Seokjin. Yet, every time either of you mentioned your roommates your voices would dial down, fade into a whisper like an unspoken rule. Afraid that saying their names out loud would somehow summon them.

“It’s almost four in the morning.” Seokjin stops at a red light, bringing your palm up to his lips, lingering there for a few seconds before setting it down to his lap. “They’re likely sleeping as we speak.” He states, flooring the gas once the light turns green. The impact makes your body hit his leather seat with a light ‘thud’.

You groan, Seokjin laughs before easing up, slowing down. He liked to do that; catch you off guard. He showered himself in your reactions only to tease you until you kissed him to shut him up.

“Please, I leave for my business trip tomorrow night and I want to spend all the time that I can with you before I leave.” Briefly, he takes his eyes off the road, fluttering his eyelashes, winding them into flight.

You cave, because you also do and he knew that you would have no matter what. “Fine, but you’re only going to be gone for two days.” You roll your eyes, a pretty, soft smile decorating your face. The smile Seokjin first fell in love with five years ago. It’s amazing the two of you have been sneaking around for three of those five years and never once been caught. It’s stupid but he prides himself in keeping up with appearances.

“But it’s my first one without you.” Seokjin grimaces, pulling into the parking lot in front of his apartment building, setting his car on park and turning the engine off. The penthouse he shared with three of his friends was dark and you let out a sigh of relief.

He was right. There wasn’t a soul awake in that house.

You shake your head, letting go of his hand and unbuckling your seat belt. Cringing when it hits the car window. Seokjin sends you a glare, his poor precious car that he saved up for years would break if he left it in your hands. You mumble a low apology before leaning over the middle console and planting a soft kiss against his plump lips to seal the deal.

Seokjin beams, kissing you once more, “let’s go, I don’t think I can stay awake any longer.” He says and opens his car door, jogging over to your side. You wait, knowing that if you were to take initiative in opening your own door he would throw a mini tantrum, stating: “babe I know you’re an independent woman and don’t need me but let me feed my ego every once in a while.” So you let him.

He janks the door open, the impulse threatening to knock him off his feet. His body was tired, so was yours. But neither of you had been able to sleep after knowing that there were barely twenty four hours left until Seokjin left for his first business trip without you.

You were promoted to Chief Editor at the publishing company. No longer a literary agent or sharing an office with your boyfriend as you were now a floor higher. It had really sent the two of you off the rails for a few days. He was light years proud of you, but he missed having you around.

Seokjin offers his hand, leaning nonchalantly against the car door, his eyes drooping, heavy with sleep. He looked adorable, “thanks Jin.” You take his hand and he lazily pulls you out of the car, his arm circling around your waist.

“Anything for you, my queen.” He mumbles, leaning in and leaving a chaste kiss against your forehead. “Now let's go, remember we have to be quiet.” He winks, placing his index finger above his lips, his hand traveling around your waist to your hand, lacing his fingers in between the spaces of yours.

You roll your eyes and slam the car door making him jump. A knowing glare sent your way making you laugh.

“Babe.” He whines.

“We’re outside and they’re fourteen stories up, asleep. Even if the car door were to wake them up they have no way of knowing it’s us. Don’t worry.” You pat his chest and walk past him pulling him along. “Plus I can be quiet when I need to.” You look over your shoulder sending him a kiss. He shakes his head, pretending to grab it mid air and then placing it above his heart, with a lovesick look on his face.

“So cheesy.” You say, a sigh of protest leaving his lips.

“Only for you.”

Sneaking into Seokjin’s apartment prompted it to be harder than expected.

For starter’s the second Seokjin and you walked into the dark apartment, he bumped into the coat rack near the front door, knocking it over. It hit the floor with a loud clatter, leaving you frozen, your pulse pounding against your ears.

Even in the dark you could see Seokjin’s wide eyes. Panic streaked past them replacing the galaxies he kept hidden behind them. The sweat was pooling against your brow when the hallway light turned on. “The kitchen,” Seokjin’s yell is coated in a whisper. His arms signaling to the kitchen in a haste. “They won’t see you if you go into the kitchen.”

You nod, jumping over the coat rack and running into the kitchen. Squatting down behind the counter for extra precaution. A laugh stifles behind your closed lips, the adrenaline rush waking you up. This is why you and Seokjin still snuck around, not that you needed to. You were more than positive that everyone has known about your relationship for years. The two of you weren’t necessarily careful, but it was still fun.

“I thought you were sleeping.” Namjoon says. His voice drenched in sleep, arms crossed in front of him looking down at his roommate confused.

Seokjin stood up, bringing the coat rack with him and leaned against it. “Couldn’t sleep, pre-business trip jitters so I went out for a drive.” He shrugs.

Namjoon raises his eyebrows suspiciously. Surely he was tired as hell and didn’t want to deal with yours and Seokjin’s antics tonight. He knew you were here, your choked laugh had given you away while he made his way into the living room. But for the sake of going back to the bed that was calling out to him. So, he pretended not to know. He’s been pretending for nearly three years. Another night wouldn’t hurt.

“Alright well good night,” He squints, bringing up his wrist and taps his apple watch, 4:30am, it reads. “Or good morning, do you still need me to drive you to the airport tomorrow night?” He scratches the back of his neck and lets out a tired sigh.

“Yeah, that would be great, thanks man. And sorry for waking you up. I think your clumsiness is rubbing off on me.” Seokjin drags the coat hanger, the legs screeching against the wooden floor making all three of you cringe at the noise. He sets it against the wall, fixing the coats to buy time.

Namjoon shakes his head and yawns, stretching his arms above his head. “Whatever.” He says and turns around making his way to the comfort of his room once again.

Seokjin closes the door to his room quietly. Letting out a sigh of relief thanking all his angel’s that the only one that woke up was Namjoon and not Hoseok. The ladder would’ve made him sit down on the couch and talk about his troubles. Or if he was in one of his moods - not the bad ones - he would’ve given him a run down on how his day went in full detail.

“So much for being quiet Jin.” You scoff.

Seokjin turns around and walks to you bringing you in into a tight hug, “It’s not my fault I forgot the stupid coat rack was there.” He mumbles against your hair, running a soothing hand down your back.

“It’s your place, how do you forget the way things are set up.” You pull back, tilting your head to look up at him. Maybe it was because you were close to letting the sleep take over your body but he looked more radiant underneath the dim light of his room and somehow taller than earlier. It definitely had to be your sleep deprived delusions. There was no way the man before you could’ve grown another two inches in the last three hours.

“I’m too tired to argue with you so yes baby, my beautiful lover you are right.” He nuzzles his head into your neck, tickling your skin in the process. A tiny laugh falls out of your lips. It sounds like music to Seokjin’s ears. “Do you want to change?” He stands up straight, his brows furrowed in concern, while he takes in your stuffy work attire.

“Yes, I feel I’ve been wearing these slacks for five days straight.” You huff pulling on the legs of your pants, revealing your lavender painted toenails, wiggling them against his carpeted floor.

At around eight Jin had clocked out and snuck his way into your office asking if you wanted him to take you home. A promise to stop at your favorite burger joint failing to finish escaping his mouth when you had cut him off and told him that you had to finish the re-edits of the novel you were assigned too. Your department was heavily understaffed which meant your work was doubled, biding you to stay late after hours to be able to make all your deadlines. It worried Jin to see you so overworked, but as much as it tired you out. You loved it so he never once complained to the company.

Plus the two of you had appearances to keep up. Can’t have everyone knowing that he was head over heels for you and vice versa.

But at around one he started to worry after not hearing from you for nearly two hours. He called you and that’s when he found out you were still at the office. Without a form of hesitation he put on his shirt and walked out the front door, keys in hand. Telling you he would be there in fifteen minutes. Which is how the two of you ended up driving around town for the last two hours sharing fries and caramel sundae from the fast food restaurant down the street of the company. Of course a couple make out sessions here and there after he parked the car at an abandoned Toy’s R’s Us. (The ‘r’ unlit so it read Toy’s Us instead, which for some reason sent the two of you in an uncontrollable fit of laughter.)

Now you were here, in his room, still wearing your work clothes, shoulders dropping as finally the wave of exhaustion that had been plaguing your boyfriend for a good hour hit you.

Seokjin untangles his limbs from you and walks to his closet. “They look good on you. I had half a mind to walk into your office this morning and get a good feel.”

“A good feel of what?” You cock your head. Nimble fingers moving up to unbutton your blouse. The annoying Chiffon material scraping against your soft skin.

“Your ass.” He states throwing you the matching shirt of one of his pajamas. “Do you want the pants?” He turns around holding the striped material in his hands, swallowing thickly as he watches you remove your clothes, leaving you naked in the middle of his room. The only thing protecting you from his prying, hunger filled eyes were the flower patterned panties you kept on.

“No, they're uncomfortable.” You bend down picking up the pajama shirt and unbutton the first few buttons. Oblivious to the way Seokjin was looking at you right now, burning his heated gaze into your body, loving the way it seemed to glow, shimmer, underneath the moonlight casting through his wide bedroom windows. In about two hours it would disappear for the night so he made sure he imprinted the image into the part of his brain that belonged to you.

“You should wear that more often.” He throws the pants over his shoulders and stalks over to you.

“I’m not really wearing anything.”

“Exactly.” He smirks.

You roll your eyes and shrug on his shirt, leaving the first few buttons undone. You walk to the right of the bed - the one nearest to the window and the wall - and pull back his navy blue comforter. “Let’s go to sleep, I’m too tired to do anything.” You lay down.

Seokjin agrees, as much as he would like to just hold you close and make love to you until the sun rises. His eyes were closing in on him and he was sure the second he felt the heat of your body and your warmth wrap around him, he’d fall asleep.

It’s not like it hasn’t happened before.

“I agree, there’s always tomorrow...Well I mean today but in eight hours.” He reassures, laying down on his side and bringing the comforter up to his chin. He wraps his arm around your waist, resting his head against your chest, humming as the comfort overtakes him.

You rake your fingers through his hair, placing your cheek against the crown of it. “I love you, Jin, you make me so happy.” You whisper, closing your eyes.

Seokjin smiles, bringing you closer, kissing the sliver of skin against his shirt. “I love you angel, you make my life worth living.”

In seconds the silence and stillness of the night takes over. Your bodies relaxing, tangled up in a mess of limbs, finally welcoming sleep.

70 notes · View notes

drabbles-mc · 3 years

Text

With Me

Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Request by Anon: I absolutely loved the new Nestor fics!! Can i request “(She/he/they) don’t belong with (her/him/them)!” “Than who do(es) (she/he/they) belong with?” “…..with me.” with him????

Warnings: light angst (with a happy ending), language, Nestor being ~jealous and protective~

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Sorry my blog has been kinda dead lately. Been struggling with some work stuff and it’s given me a bit of writer’s block. I’m hoping to get back to it. Just know that if you sent me a request I am totally planning on writing for it, it just might not happen quickly. And I’m hoping to update my multi-chaps soon as well. Thanks for all your patience. Enjoy this lil Nestor one-shot! xo

General Mayans/Nestor Taglist: @mayans-sauce @thesandbeneathmytoes @paintballkid711 @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @queenbeered @sillygoose6969 @sesamepancakes @yourwonkywriter @chibsytelford @gemini0410 @multiyfandomgirl40 @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @plentyoffandoms @georgiaaintnopeach @twistnet @garbinge @amandinesblogofstuff @bucky-iss-bae @the-radical-venus

You were sitting on the barstool next to Nestor’s, both of you commiserating over how exhausting your weeks had been. Work was very different for the two of you, obviously, but you were both drained nonetheless.

The bar you went to was a quiet one. It was mostly business men and women doing the same thing the two of you were—blowing off steam after a long week. People didn’t pay the two of you much mind, which suited you just fine. You and Nestor had a habit of getting lost in your own little bubble anyway.

You were about to jump into your next work story when your phone started going off in your pocket. You glanced over at Nestor as if to ask if it was alright to answer. He nodded and you lifted the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” you paused, smiling, “Hey, baby. Nothing, I’m at the bar with Nestor. Do you wanna st—” you stopped, expression falling, “Oh, okay. No, I get it. I’ll talk to you later. Yea, you too. Bye.”

You hung up with a heavy sigh. Nestor sat silently for a moment before asking, “All good?”

You nodded, rolling your eyes, “Yea. Cancelled again.”

Even though he knew the answer, he still asked, “Dante?”

“Mhm,” you shook your head slightly, wondering why you were still at all surprised.

Nestor bit back the snide comments swirling around in his brain. He had never been a fan of Dante, and he let you know that. Nestor wasn’t ever rude to him, but they weren’t friends either. You knew that it didn’t help that your boyfriend was intimidated by Nestor, even if he never admitted it.

“That mean you have time for another drink?” he tried to lighten the mood.

You laughed, “Means I have time for a few more,” you immediately flagged down the bartender to order another round for both of you.

A few quickly turned into…more than that for you. Nestor tried to get you to slow down but he knew that it was a losing battle at that point. The best he could do for you was to take your keys, so he did. He knew that after an already shitty week, this was the final straw, but he still hated to see you so drained and frustrated and still trying to pretend that you were alright.

“Fuck him,” you blurted out as Nestor helped you stumble-walk to his car.

He chuckled, “I know.”

He let you rant the whole drive to your apartment about how fed up you were with your boyfriend. He wondered if you’d remember it all in the morning and finally, maybe, break up with him. Nestor knew he was biased, but you deserved better. He told you that constantly, but you always waved him off, saying it wasn’t that bad.

“Your relationship should be better than just not bad, Y/N,” trying to talk sense to you in the state that you were in was futile, but he still had to try.

“You’re so sweet, Nestor,” you cooed tiredly from the passenger seat.

He didn’t respond, not wanting to feed into words you wouldn’t remember in the morning. He glanced over at you a couple minutes later and saw that you’d fallen asleep. There was no stopping the smile that spread across his face at the sight of you.

Before he knew it, he was parking in front of your apartment building. As much as he didn’t want to wake you, he knew he had to. He got out and walked over to your side of the car, nudging you awake. You groaned in protest, but allowed him to help you out of the vehicle.

He was thankful that you only lived on the second floor of your building. With a sigh, he knocked on the door. He’d already let your roommate know that he was bringing you home. She opened the door, clearly exhausted and bundled up in her bathrobe.

“Sorry,” he offered up as he crossed the threshold into the apartment.

She shook her head, “Don’t be. Thanks for getting her home safely.”

He helped you to your room, gently lowering you onto the bed. You had no desire to change into pajamas and it wasn’t a battle that Nestor was going to pick. He pulled the blanket up over you, letting out a quiet sigh as he lightly rested his hand on your shoulder for a moment.

Not wanting to linger for too long, he turned and walked back towards your bedroom door. He heard you mumble out a quiet thank you, and he smiled to himself as he shut the door behind him.

Your roommate was still in the living room, an expectant look on her face, “Can I ask what happened to her?”

Nestor sighed and shrugged, “Shit with Dante.”

She shook her head, “Of course.”

“They have a lot of issues lately?”

She shot him a curious look, “No more than usual, I guess. Why?”

“He’s a waste of her fucking time.”

She bit back a laugh, knowing that Nestor was extra protective of you. She had a pretty good idea of why, too, “No, really, tell me how you really feel,” she smiled.

“Come on, you see it too, right? He doesn’t deserve her. She doesn’t belong with him.”

She fought back the urge to smile, “Who does she belong with, then?”

“With me,” the words came out before he could stop them. His eyes went wide, instantly realizing what he had said. Before he could try to take it back, though, she held up her hand to stop him.

“You ever gonna say anything to her about that?”

He shook his head, “What’s the point?”

She shrugged, “You might be more convincing than you think. That’s all.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line, “Mhm,” he sighed, “Anyway. Sorry for barging in so late.”

She chuckled, “Don’t worry about it.”

“I can take her to get her car tomorrow.”

She nodded, “Sounds good. Have a good night.”

“You too,” he walked out of the apartment, shutting the door quietly behind him.

He was mentally kicking himself the whole drive home. Why he wasn’t able to catch himself before he said anything was beyond him—he was usually better than that. He just hoped that your roommate wouldn’t say anything to you about it.

You woke up the next morning with a groan, and a throbbing sensation in your head. You had a vague set of memories from the night before, but it was hard to think about it through the hangover. You slowly forced yourself to sit upright, gently rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You checked your phone and saw that you had multiple missed texts from your boyfriend, and that was when it all really came rushing back. You let out a heavy sigh, making the conscious choice to ignore him for the time being. You weren’t done being upset with him.

You slowly made your way to the kitchen for coffee and aspirin. You heard your roommate chuckling from the living room and shook your head, “Don’t.”

She laughed, “What are you talking about? I didn’t say anything.”

You sighed as you poured coffee into your mug, “You don’t have to. I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

You threw back a few aspirin before turning to look at your friend, “You’re going to say that he is more stress than he’s worth, and that I should’ve left him about ten cancelled dates ago.”

She nodded, “And the number will keep getting higher the longer you put it off.”

You shook your head slightly, “I know it’s shitty, Julia. I’m not an idiot.”

“I never said that you were. But you know that if the roles were reversed you would be telling me the same thing.”

You let out a dry laugh, “Since when do I ever take my own advice?”

“Maybe you should start,” she paused for a moment, “Nestor said he’d take you to go get your car, by the way.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, “My car. Didn’t even think about that.”

She shrugged, “Call him. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to come and whisk you away.”

You chuckled as you got your phone out to text him, “You make it sound so extravagant.”

“He’s a good guy, you know,” she sipped on her coffee.

You looked over at her, “Don’t.”

“What? I’m just…stating a fact.”

You took another swig of your coffee and walked away without another word on the matter, desperate to take a shower and put some more comfortable clothes on. You couldn’t remember the last time you fell asleep in your work clothes like that.

By the time you were done showering and getting ready, Nestor was already outside your apartment building. You said goodbye to your roommate, trying to make it was quick as possible before she could say anything else. On a couple other occasions, before Dante, she had made comments about you and Nestor. She laid off of it once you got a boyfriend, though, so you were wondering what made her pick the habit back up again.

You collapsed into the passenger seat of Nestor’s car with a sigh. He looked over at you, smiling, “Looks like you had a rough one last night.”

“Thank you so much for bringing me home. I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head, “Don’t be. Glad I could help,” he paused, “You talk to him at all?”

You sighed, “No. I don’t even want to at this point. He’s just gonna apologize and say it won’t happen again. But it will.”

“Why are you wasting your time with him, then?” he kept his tone fairly neutral considering how much the situation bothered him.

You shrugged, “Sometimes I’m not even sure, honestly. Sunk cost, maybe? I don’t know. Breakups are always so messy.”

“I can deliver the message for you,” there was a lightness to his tone but you knew that he definitely would.

“Ha, that would be a sight for sure,” you laughed, shaking your head.

The rest of the ride passed with silence between the two of you, the only noise coming from the music playing quietly from the car radio. Every now and then you’d look over at Nestor, thinking about what your roommate had said. With concentrated effort you were able to push the thoughts from your mind.

“I’m just saying,” he said out of nowhere as he pulled into the parking lot of the bar, “you deserve someone who, at minimum, fucking shows up for you.”

You smiled at him, “I appreciate it, Nestor,” you unbuckled and stepped out of the car, walking around to his side as he got out, “And I appreciate you always looking out for me. I’ve got it handled, though.”

He stood in front of you as you leaned back against the side of his car, toying idly with the keys in between your fingers. There was a small smirk on his face as he took in the sight of you, still thinking you looked beautiful hungover in your sweats, fresh out of the shower.

He shrugged, “I know I can’t tell you what to do. But you deserve more than being disappointed all the time,” he sighed, “You know I think Dante’s an asshole. But I’d be willing to look past that if he was at least good to you, but he’s not. You talk about sunk cost but why keep wasting your fucking time if he’s not even making you happy?”

You couldn’t meet his eyes, “Because it’s better than being alone.”

“He’s still making you feel that way anyway, though!”

“I know!” you snapped. You took an unsteady breath, knowing that this blowout was a long time coming. You just wished that it didn’t have to happen right in that moment, “You’re right, okay? And yea I know better than to just be with someone for the sake of being with someone but…I don’t fucking know, Nes,” you shook your head, “Sometimes I just think that it’s easier this way. I know what to expect, even if the expectations aren’t exactly good. Leaving and having to tear down all those walls again with someone new? That’s fucking exhausting and I don’t want to keep doing that over and over again.”

“So you’re just gonna stay with him and be miserable forever?”

“Forever,” you scoffed, “C’mon, don’t be dramatic.”

“Well that’s the alternative, right? You either leave him, or you stay with him forever.”

“Why is this such a fucking issue for you all of a sudden?”

“Because you were on the brink of a fucking bender last night because of him. I hate that someone out there is making you feel that way when they’re supposed to be the one making you happy.”

“It’s not your job to worry about me and keep me in check,” your eyes were glued to the tips of your shoes.

“Yea, it is,” he stepped in, gently cupping your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him, “because I care about you.”

A wave of heat washed over your entire body and you couldn’t force yourself to move, or talk. All you could do was look into his eyes and try not to let your knees buckle underneath you. You and Nestor had hugged and touched a million times but not like this, never like this. He made you feel small and safe all at once.

“I just want you to be happy,” his voice was soft.

“I know,” you finally forced the words out, barely audible.

He traced his thumb across your cheek, “I could make you so happy, Y/N.”

You didn’t know why you felt like you were about to cry, but you did. You tried to take a deep breath to calm your nerves as you rested your hands over his. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, “I know.”

“Will you let me do that?”

“Nes…”

“You know I’m right. You said it yourself,” he let out a soft chuckle as his hands slid down so they were resting on your shoulders.

You smiled up at him, realizing how close he had gotten, closing what little distance was between the two of you and nearly pinning you against the side of the car. You ran your hands over your face, a smirk fighting its way onto your face despite the myriad of emotions coursing through you, “You’re not gonna let this go, huh?”

He smiled, shaking his head, “No.”

You laughed, but your expression quickly sobered as you looked him in the eye, “I can’t lose you, Nestor.”

“You won’t,” there was no hesitation in his response, “I promise. You just, you gotta give me a chance.” You took a deep breath, leaning forward so your forehead rested against his chest. You shut your eyes, reveling in the way his arms instantly wrapped around you. He gave you a light squeeze, “You deserve to be happy.”

You pulled back from him just enough so that you could look at his face. He had one of the softest smiles you’d ever seen, and you couldn’t help but to smile in return when you saw it. You rested your hands on his chest, “We’re really gonna do this?”

“Only if you want to.”

You nodded, “I do.”

He smiled, “Then yea, we’re really doing this,” he pulled you tight against his chest with a laugh, “Can I break the news to Dante?”

You laughed, shaking your head, “Absolutely not. I get to do that part.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, “Fine. I guess that’s fair.”

The two of you stood there like that for a few moments, processing the weight of everything that had just happened. You could feel the steady beat of his heart through his shirt, and despite the chaos of the situation that you were in, you found yourself feeling calm, reassured.

“Thank you,” you finally broke the silence, “for, you know, for not giving up on me.”

He squeezed you tight for a moment, “I’ve got you, always.”

It was refreshing to be able to believe what you were being told. You let out a sigh of relief, knowing that he meant it, knowing that your days of questioning things and being filled with disappointment and uncertainty were over. He felt like a breath of fresh air, like you were coming home after being away for far too long.

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #nestor oceteva #nestor oceteva x reader #nestor oceteva x you #nestor oceteva imagine #my writing #fanfiction #nestor oceteva request #drabblesmc

204 notes · View notes