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daenakills · 10 months

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His dark eyes.

Tom Riddle x reader, might delete.

Part 2

warning: obsession, angsty, mentions of death, tom being up for no good. tom being tom basically. short.

'The perfect couple' you were told by your classmates and even teachers when you walked down the halls.

Tom and you had started dating three months ago, three months ago when you declared your love to him and he with an expressionless face told you to date. At that moment, you were very happy, feeling like it was the best day of your life. You were sure many girls wished that they were you.

Before that, you looked at him from a distance, wondering why he stood out among the others. Little by little you realized that his presence invaded your senses, clouded your vision, and innumerable thoughts about him blocked your normal ideas.

The moment he said yes, you got really excited. He was beautiful, with those almost black eyes that looked at you intensely, with black hair that was styled in a very elegant way, and with an intelligence superior to the others.

You still remembered the first month of the relationship, those vacations he spent at Hogwarts since he didn't want to go back to that orphanage where he grew up. You convinced your parents to go on holiday to England alone, after all you went there every summer, and what better time to be with your boyfriend than on holiday.

In the afternoon you found a way to enter his room without some nosy coming, you sat on his bed while he was sitting studying some things. He had many papers on the desk, all neatly arranged by category. He hadn't even flinched at your presence, as if he was something routine. You got up from the bed and proceeded to approach him.

“What are you doing studying? It's the holidays, there are no subjects to study.” You put your hands on his shoulders.

“There is always something to study, wisdom is eternal.” he muttered, as if the words coming out of his mouth were normal for boys still going to Hogwarts. You tried to talk to him a few more times, and each time he found an excuse to answer you curtly but calmly.

You were like this all month, until he confronted you near the ladies' room.

“Look, I'll tell you a few things and I want you to listen carefully. I don't have time for you all the time.” Silence. Silence is what there was when he whispered those words to you.

You waited for that to be all, but he continued. “I don't want you there all the time, either. I thought it would be enough for me to say that I was your boyfriend and to talk to you. But no, it doesn't seem to be enough. This alliance suits us both. You, because you want to be with me and me, because it keeps the professor distracted, who thinks I don't feel anything. So, tell me once and for all if you want to continue.” You were paralysed, until you let your heart win, and you decided that yes, you were going to continue. “I'm surprised you don't cry. At least that's a change.” Yes, you too were surprised that you didn't cry. You had the feeling of crying the whole day, wondering how to hold back the tears and make the words come out.

Tom never specified which teacher thought he didn't feel anything, but after dating him for three months, you came to the conclusion that that professor, whoever they were, was right, Tom doesn't feel.

Now you walked with him through the halls, letting his henchmen (whom he called friends in front of the others, or well, they claimed to be his friends) were a few steps away from you. You didn't talk to Tom. The both of you exchanged the odd word from time to time, just to avoid suspicion.

You used to be unable to keep your feelings, but now you have your hiding place. Behind Tom's back, you had started dating Simon Buxton, from Gryffindor. At first, you avoided Simon since he was always giving you hints that he wanted to be with you.

You were afraid that Tom would find out and do something to you, which was not a surprise. Sometimes at night you would find Tom reading things that were not correct, things about sacrifices.

But after a while, you realized that Tom really wasn't interested in you or your life. So you started sneaking out with Simon, that's what you were headed for right now, you walked away from Tom telling him you were going to find your friends, he kissed you on the forehead and let you go. The other girls around made cute sounds, telling you that you were very lucky, you ignored them.

In a short time you arrived at your hiding place with Simon, that place where they saw each other when they didn't want to be seen, that is, always. You found him already waiting for you a few steps beyond his hiding place, without waiting for him, he pounced on you.

He started kissing you and touching every part of your robe, you tried to stop him, since they weren't in the hideout yet. Without you realizing it, someone else entered the scene. It was Abraxas Malfoy.

He saw you and Simon, and he only needed to see them to go out and report the event to Tom. You continued kissing with Simon, you didn't know what was waiting for you.

You made it to the room after all your classes, thank Merlin that Simon released you minutes after you told him to stop.

You started to open the door of the room when you realized that it was already open, you went in anyway, thinking that it had only been your mistake. Freaking out when you see Tom, standing up, staring at you in the middle of your room.

“Tom, what are you doing here? Or rather, how did you get in?” You knew the answer to that last question, what you wondered was why he was there.

He completely ignored your two questions, “Do you know what would have happened if it hadn't been Abraxas who saw Simon and you kissing? Total chaos, they'd be out there saying that the perfect couple isn't so perfect. Do you know how it makes me look?” So that's what it was about, how it makes him look.

“I'll be more careful next time.”

“You are funny.” He looked at you with a serious face, he didn't find a hint of humour in it. “It won't happen again because you won't see Simon any more, that disgusting blood traitor.”

“Don't call him that! Besides, if I'm careful, no one is going to find out and no one is going to ruin your oh so precious reputation.”

“It's not just that, darling.” You didn't know why, but that flattery felt full of poison. “You are mine” he came closer to you as he spoke, “You are mine from the moment you first looked at me. I remember your face when I told you that I would be your boyfriend. You looked so excited.” he'd say with fake preoccupation as he touched your face, and for some reason you couldn't bring yourself to remove it, “It doesn't deserve to see that.” His face changed from fake shock to looking completely serious, the more you looked at him, the emptier his black eyes looked.

“Simon pleases me, he listens to me and understands me. He does everything you don't. I think you should find another girl for this.” You said with teary eyes.

“I don't want another girl, I want you!” He grabbed your shoulders and slammed you against the door, a few steps behind you. “And I have you, and I won't let you go. Ever. Do you hear me? Ever.”

----

You ate your food while you listened to the other girls talk about how tragic the news about Simon were. He had been missing since the day Tom threatened you.

Since that, Tom has wanted to sneak into your room to bite your neck while you cry over Simon at night, taunting you with small whispers, “Are you still crying over the traitor? Mm, too bad, I think you should stop thinking about him, he's not coming back” as his hands encircle your entire body.

At that moment you realize that the professor was wrong, Tom does feel something, the problem it's that it isn't love.

#tom riddle x reader #angsty #tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #harry potter #voldemort #lord voldemort #albus percival wulfric brian dumbledore #abraxas malfoy #no use of y/n #original character

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lila-lou · 7 months

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✨It’s official✨

Summary: You and Soldier Boy attend the opening of the new Vought tower

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, Soldier boy being too rough

Word Count: 2000

A/N: This is basically what happened before "I'm yours"

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

You were currently standing in front of the large mirror in your apartment, looking at your reflection. Sighing, you ran your hand through your neatly curled hair as your mind continued to wander. To say you were nervous was a huge understatement. As you desperately tried to calm your nerves, you heard a loud rustling noise coming from the bathroom behind you. If you weren't too preoccupied with your fading nerves, you might have asked if Ben was okay. But he's superhuman, so what could happen to him? And even if something were to happen, how much could you do about?

“Fuck”, you whispered, stretching your arms out. "Get your shit together!", you said to yourself, touching your hot forehead.

Your bottom lip was bright red and swollen by now, since you couldn't stop biting it out of nervousness. No matter how hard you tried, your heart just wouldn't stop racing. In fact, if you didn't know better, you would have thought it was going to jump out of your chest at any moment.

“The fuck is your problem?”.

You suddenly heard Ben’s voice right next to your ear, making you jump. “Your heartbeat is louder than my fucking razor”, he murmured after resting his chin on your shoulder and wrapping both arms around your waist. So far, Ben was still busy getting ready for tonight, but your racing heart distracted him. He looked at you in the mirror and watched as your shoulders slowly sank and you began to relax a little in his arms.

“Stop it”, he admonished you with a low growl and roughly pulled your bottom lip out of your teeth with his thumb. “You have no idea, how much I would love to rip that tight dress off your body instead of subjecting you to those lewd looks tonight”.

His lips traveled from your ear, down your neck, to your bare shoulder. “I’m beyond psyched, Ben”. Your voice was barely louder than a breath as you placed your hands on his arms that were wrapped around you.

“Well, I can fucking tell. But why?”, he rolled his eyes, forgetting the reflection of the two of you in the mirror that you’re still standing in front of. "I´ve seen that!", you grumbled, to which he responded with a shit-eating grin and a shrug. You whined, letting your head fall against your boyfriend and closing your eyes.

Ben was by no means a man of big words and even less of big feelings, but when it came to you, he did his best to act like a normal person. “What’s wrong?”, he sighed and hugged your waist even tighter. “What if I´ll embarrass you? What if the media tears me apart? This world is new territory for me... I don't know how to answer when I'm interviewed... No idea how to look beautiful and skinny in pictures... My-”.

Ben interrupted you by turning you around in his arms and loosening his grip so you could easily look up at him. His beard was a little shorter than usual and the contours were even more tidily. Your eyes traveled from his neatly styled hair to his simple black suit. Of course, he had decided against the tie you bought and instead just unbuttoned his white shirt a little. He had to change into his supe suit later that night, but for the opening he had to wear a more formal outfit.

“Look at me”, he ordered, but you did the opposite and looked at the floor between you, making him roll his eyes again. “I said look at me”, he grabbed your jaw in his large hand and roughly pushed your face up so that you had to look at him. Ben didn't mean to be rough, at least not all the time, but he vastly underestimated his strength. Especially when it came to touching you. This often resulted in you waking up with bruises after long, intense nights. You didn't mind, in fact you liked being manhandled, but in moments when he should be comforting you, reassuring you and just being gentle with you, it was completely inappropriate. "You're hurting me!", you hissed, hitting his strong chest lightly with your small fist, which only hurt you.

Ben pressed his lips together and released your chin. “That wasn’t my intention”, he grumbled. It was the closest thing to an apology you´ll get, that's for sure.

“(y/n), you look fucking hot. Stunning. You will be the most beautiful woman of the evening. You understand me?”. He tilted his head and smiled slightly. “You’re Soldier Boy’s girlfriend. No one will dare say anything negative about you because they know they’ll be dead if they do”. Ben pressed his lips to yours before pinching your ass with one hand. “Now go put your heels on”, he grinned against your lips.

Less than thirty minutes later, your driver pulled up in front of the new Vought Tower.

You were amazed when you caught a glimpse of it. This time the architects had outdone themselves. “That’s me”, Ben whispered proudly in your ear, pointing his index finger at the 16-foot-tall statue in the middle of the turning hammer in front of the main entrance. “Hard to miss”, you smiled, squeezing his hand tightly as you saw all the paparazzi and reporters already gathered on the red carpet leading to the main entrance.

The car parked at the beginning of the carpet where everyone else was already waiting.

“Finally!”, Butcher grumbled as Hughie and Annie looked expectantly at your car. “You think (y/n) will be with him?”, Hughie leaned towards his girlfriend and furrowed his eyebrows doubtfully. "Huh...I hope not", Annie replied slightly worried. Since the car's windows were tinted, the two could only speculate.

“You´ll handle this perfectly fucking fine”, Ben whispered in your ear before placing a long kiss on your temple. He knew how difficult this appearance was for you. The two of you had been together for months, albeit indefinitely, but today was your first public appearance. Rumors had been circulating for weeks that Soldier Boy was spoken for, but Ben had not publicly commented on the matter. After the Crimson Countess thing, he wanted to take things a little slower with you, especially since you were just human and inexperienced. He didn't want to put a target on your back until he was sure that you were somehow able to withstand the pressure and danger.

A few seconds later, the driver opened your door. Ben got out first, and amid the flashes of paparazzi and screams of fans, he wore his typical emotionless look. He still loved to be idolized. However, when Ben held out his hand for you, which you gladly took to gracefully step out of the car, a murmur went through the crowd.

You could hear fans and reporters starting to whisper, which made your heart pound and your nerves rise again. Ben sighed when he heard your increased heartbeat again. His hand let go of yours and before you could even look at him questioningly, he wrapped his arm around your waist. His grip was firm and assertive because he knew it always relaxed you a little. “I got you”, he murmured before giving you a quick kiss on the top of your head.

By now it was clear to everyone present that Soldier Boy was indeed no longer single. With you in his arm, Ben walked towards the entrance. Unlike you, he enjoyed the attention to the fullest. While you were blinded by the flashes of many cameras, reporters and fans kept shouting questions at you. You tried your best to give everyone an apologetic smile as you passed. Without him and his protective grip on your body, you would have collapsed long ago.

It wasn't until the two of you reached the entrance that you stopped to answer questions. Well, Ben was answering questions, you just stood there and smiled. In the meantime, the rest of the team came and fed the reporters with answers and smiles.

“Soldier Boy, who is your beautiful companion tonight?”. A blonde reporter has now caught your attention. With slightly red cheeks, you looked up at your boyfriend, who was still holding you tightly in his arm. “This is (y/n). My woman”, he answered firmly without making a face.

"Oh congratulations. (y/n), would you like to show the world a demonstration of your powers?". Her voice was almost a little disappointed when there was finally official confirmation that Soldier Boy was off the market. You cleared your throat to answer, but before you could say your first word, Ben interrupted you. “No, she doesn’t”, he said short and strict, squeezing your waist to show you to keep walking. “Sorry”, you mumbled quietly and look down as Ben pushes you firmly through the large front door.

“Don’t fucking apologize”, he growled.

As you stood in the elevator, you took a deep breath before looking at Ben, who was bracing himself on the handle with both hands behind his back and met your gaze. “You didn’t do anything wrong, doll. I just don't want to show you this vulnerable. Nobody has to know that you're not a supe… yet", he smiled slightly. Ben was worried about you. 24/7 and you knew it. He showed you sometimes. Mostly by being massively possessive, not leaving your side and almost always putting an arm around you as soon as you leave the house, but unfortunately telling you about his feelings for you was definitely not his thing. “Thank you”, you returned his smile softly.

“You can show your gratitude later tonight”, he grinned and winked at you.

About an hour later you found yourself on Ben's lap. He held your body close to him and wrapped his right arm around your waist as he spoke to the President of the United States of America. He didn't care what others thought of him, especially since he always got his way anyway.

"That's a fucking smart plan", Ben raised his other hand in appreciation before raising it to his mouth to take a long drag on his joint. "Perfect. So it's settled", the President nodded to him before getting up to look after Annie and Maggie.

“That really necessary?”, you whispered, pointing at the two of you. Your sitting position was actually a bit uncomfortable given the situation and the important people around you. “I told you I was going to show you off. Stop complaining”, he blew the smoke out of his mouth.

The evening dragged on and your feet started to hurt from standing in heels that were way too high. “I’m going to sit down for a few minutes”, you told your boyfriend after a while, who nodded briefly and released you from his arm. His eyes followed you until Butcher ran into him along with the Vice President and the Mayor to start a conversation about their plans.

"So, you're Soldier Boy's newest toy?", A-Train sank onto the bench next to you as you adjusted your heels.

“A-Train”, you remarked, somewhat unimpressed.

You only knew him by hearing and hadn't met him in person until now. “Reggie is fine”, he waved off, grinning.

One thing led to another and you didn't realize until much too late how well you and A-Train actually got along. He was a funny guy and made you laugh a lot. However, when you finally looked up, your eyes immediately met Ben's. A shiver ran down your spine when you saw his cold expression. You knew this look and didn't like it at all.

“Uh-oh”, you whispered and your breath hitched.

———————————————

-> I`m yours (Part 2) 18+ only!

#jensen ackles #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy #soldier boy x y/n #the boys #spnfamily #spn #jensen x you #jensen x reader

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darylas · 24 days

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Chapter 3 - Ghost of a Chance

John "Bucky" Egan x singer!fem!reader first ♫ previous ♫ next ao3

You go on a double date to distract yourself from thoughts of Bucky, a task made more difficult when he is sitting in the same pub.

4.2k words

Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Non-consensual use of drugs, Attempted sexual assault, Mild violence

Disclaimer: Most of the characters mentioned are based on the dramatic portrayal featured in the Masters of the Air limited series, not the actual historical figures they represent.

A/N: Please read the warnings! MAJOR tone shift coming in from the north. I promise next chapter will be lighter!

“So, how long have you been in merry old England?”

“Less than a month, though it doesn’t feel that way,” you answered, swiping your thumb across the condensation that had formed quickly on your glass in the humidity of the pub. You were sat across from Lieutenant Tom Foyle, a pilot in the 351st. His dark hair was styled neatly with pomade, his handsome face clean-shaven. Next to you sat Millicent “Millie” Vance, another Red Cross girl who had somehow roped you into being one-fourth of a double date.

“Oh? Does it feel longer or shorter?” Tom asked. He seemed genuinely interested in your answer, as he had with everything you’d said that evening. He had kind, curious green eyes that made you feel like the only person in the room.

You looked down at your glass, half empty. “Both. Neither. To be completely honest I’m not quite sure. The work gets so repetitive that time seems to stand still some days, but other times it feels as though the clock is ticking faster than a runaway train. I suppose there’s nothing like war to make time feel rather short.” You gave Tom a reassuring smile, ending your little monologue before it grew any more depressing and soured the whole evening. “Sorry,” you said, holding up your glass. “It appears that gin makes me a tad melancholy.”

The blond pilot sitting across from Millie spoke up. “That’s funny, it makes me giddy. Of course, that could just be our present company.” He leaned forward, addressing Millie. “I told Tom that you had to be the prettiest girl this side of the ocean.”

Millie grinned and replied, “Glad we’re not on the other side of the ocean, then,” causing the pilot, Dan, to let out a surprised wheeze of laughter.

While Dan continued his boisterous flirting, saying something about Millie having wit as well as looks, Tom leaned toward you, filling your nostrils with the pleasant scent of his aftershave. He smirked and said in a low voice, “I believe his exact words to me were, ‘What a dish!’.”

You chuckled softly, pleasantly surprised that you were actually enjoying yourself. “I suppose we can’t all be Humphrey Bogart.”

“Sure, we can.” Tom cocked his head slightly to the side and spoke with Bogart’s deep and gravelly voice. “We’ll always have Paris.”

You laughed as he sat back in his chair with a smile. “You saw Casablanca?” you asked him.

“Yep, right before flying over. I’d go see movies whenever I could.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “Used to think I could be an actor. Wouldn’t that be something? Seeing yourself on the big screen?” He certainly had the looks for it.

“Maybe after the war, you could pursue an acting career. I’m sure Hollywood would snatch you right up.” Tom smiled bashfully at the compliment. “I actually wanted to be in movies myself when I was younger. Particularly musicals. I’m not much of a dancer but hell, neither is Bing Crosby, and he gets away with it.” You took another sip of gin, inwardly wincing. It was stronger than the drinks you normally favored, but Dan had ordered a round for the table. You had never liked when a man ordered food or drink for a woman, but you didn’t want to embarrass Millie by declining.

“I’d see your films over Bing’s any day,” responded Tom, who managed to combine flirtation and authenticity with such ease that you were beginning to feel skeptical. You couldn’t help but glance toward the back of the pub, where Major Egan had been sitting with some of the other men for the past hour. You were surprised to find him looking right back at you. He gave you a small smile and a subtle nod. No wink, no devilish grin. Curious. Reflexively, you smiled back, then looked away.

Much to your annoyance, John Egan had begun to appear in your thoughts almost regularly and uninvited. Ever since that night at the club, he had gotten under your skin like a persistent itch. An egotistical, irritating, handsome, intriguing itch. You kept these thoughts to yourself, as you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his asinine attempt to insult you into a conversation almost worked. By the same token, you were still wary of him, knowing his track record with women.

You knew, not so deep down, that you had agreed to come on this double date to distract yourself and perhaps meet someone else to occupy your thoughts. Someone like Tom, who picked up his glass and said, “To our Tinseltown dreams, then.”

You clinked your glass with his and said, “To Bing Crosby and his two left feet.”

Millie spoke up. “You know, our Red Cross canary here sings an old Bing song just beautifully. The one from that short with Mary Kornman. Anyone who’s ever made coffee and doughnuts with this one in the morning has heard her sing it.”

You shrugged one shoulder. “Anything to distract me from throwing that blasted doughnut machine out the window. I swear, my poor old Zippo is more reliable than that thing.”

“I thought you said your lighter doesn’t work anymore,” said Millie.

“Exactly,” you replied, to the laughter of your companions.

Tom, with laughter still in his voice, looked at you and said, “I’d sure love to hear you sing it sometime. After all, when some bigshot movie producer calls to ask me about your talents, I want to give him an accurate description.”

Dan scoffed. “Why would a movie producer call you about her?”

Tom lightly smacked his friend on the shoulder. “Why would anyone call you about anything?”

Dan’s blond mustache twitched as he smirked. “You’re hilarious. Anybody ever tell you what a gasser you are?”

There was a brief pause, during which your traitorous eyes suddenly flicked back to that table in the back of the pub. Major Egan was not looking at you this time, his attention currently fixed on his friend Lieutenant Curtis Biddick while he seemed to be mimicking various boxing forms. Egan laughed and hollered with the rest of the men at the table. He looked younger when he laughed, less like a commanding officer and more like a carefree young man. You assumed he shouldered a great many cares, and that the weight of them would only increase as the war continued. The humidity of the pub had caused a few curls to come loose over his forehead, the fire behind him giving his skin a warm glow.

“I’m sure the pianist knows it,” said Millie, breaking you out of what you could only describe as a trance before the Major caught you staring.

“Knows what?” you asked, praying to high heaven you weren’t blushing.

“The song! You could sing it here!”

“Oh, Millie, please. Most of these boys hear far too much of my caterwauling back at base. They come here to get away from that. Besides, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m in the middle of a date.” You gestured between yourself and Tom.

Tom smiled. “As much as I’m enjoying said date, I think the one thing it’s missing is a beautiful song sung by a beautiful lady. And I think all the guys in here would agree with me.”

“I don’t think they would-”

“What, you want me to take a poll?” asked Millie, teasingly. “Dan, sweetie, would you mind?”

Alright, maybe she wasn’t teasing. Dan stood up and shouted, “Gentlemen! Who wants to hear our 100th canary sing us a song?” His question was answered with a chorus of affirmative shouts and whistles from around the pub.

Tom looked at you and grinned. “Sounds like you better head over there.”

You grinned back and let out a resigned huff of breath before standing up. “I suppose orders are orders, Lieutenant.”

═════ ♫ ═════

Bucky heard your laughter from across the pub. His eyes immediately turned towards you as the sound reached him, his instincts taking over before his thoughts could catch up. He’d seen you walk in with one of the pilots in the 351st, decked out and chatting with Millie Vance. You were smiling at that pilot now; not the plastered-on, rehearsed, all-American smile he had grown used to seeing at Thorpe Abbotts. This was the real thing, and it was beautiful. What would he give to be the reason for that smile? To be the one to make you laugh like that?

He would fly through a thousand miles of flak.

Bucky rubbed a hand over his face. He might just be the most pathetic man in the entire fucking world.

He couldn’t remember the last time he was so keen on someone. You had to be some sort of siren, luring him out to sea with your alluring voice, only to drag him down, down, down, to the depths of the ocean. He was surprised to find he didn’t mind. With a barely concealed smirk, he realized that being eaten alive by you would not be a terrible way to die.

You had glanced his way once or twice, no doubt feeling his eyes on you. He had tried to look away, to focus on the stories told around the table, but he simply couldn’t help himself. His gaze kept falling back on you. He had never seen you without your Red Cross uniform, and the dress you were wearing had clearly been custom-designed to drive him crazy.

Bucky was grateful for Curt’s loud voice and enthusiasm as he talked about boxing. The distraction was a welcome one, though he supposed that you were the true distraction in this case and not the other way around.

“I can’t believe Buck didn’t come,” said Curt, finishing off his whiskey. “He knows exactly what I’m talkin’ about. The high guard stance ain’t shit in the ring. It’s all about-”

“Gentlemen!” called a voice from across the pub. “Who wants to hear our 100th canary sing us a song?” The place was filled with the sound of whoops and hollers from nearly every table. Bucky watched you grin at your date–Foyle–and stand up before walking to the piano.

Curt didn’t miss a beat before saying, “Uh oh. Look out boys, you might see Bucky cry. The music really gets to’m.”

“Yeah, the music’s lookin’ like a solid sender in that dress,” said Hambone, earning a round of laughter from the table.

Bucky smiled good-naturedly, used to the ribbing at this point. “Alright, alright, laugh it up. Since when is a guy not allowed to appreciate a beautiful dame, huh?”

"Bucky, you've been eyeing her all night," Jack interjected. "You stare at her more than Douglass stares at that photo of Betty Grable he keeps in his pocket." Another round of laughs. Bucky took a long sip of whiskey as Curt patted him on the back with a grin.

He watched you lean down to speak softly to the pianist before standing up straight and clearing your throat. “Don’t you boys hear enough of me as it is? I don’t know what’s gotten into you; well, I suppose I have some idea,” you said, tapping your nail against someone’s glass to make a plinking sound. The crowd laughed, many raising their drinks. “I’m going to sing an old song, but I asked my new friend Alan here to keep it short. I have a drink of my own I’d like to get back to.”

Next to him, Curt laughed before leaning over and saying, “She might be too much of a firecracker for your sorry ass.” Bucky elbowed him in the arm, making him laugh harder. As the pianist started playing a slow, pleasant melody, Curt leaned in again and said, “Or…she just might be perfect for your sorry ass.” Bucky furrowed his brow and turned his head to look at his friend, who smirked and shrugged. “What? I get sappy when I drink.” Bucky didn’t have time to reply before you began to sing.

I need your love so badly

I love you, oh, so madly

But I don't stand a

Ghost of a chance with you

You sauntered between the tables as you sang, the patrons smiling up at you. Bucky preferred when you sang slower songs like this one, the drawn-out notes more sensuous and poignant. As you came within ten feet of his table, you stopped moving. Your eyes met his and lingered for a moment as you continued your song. He was spellbound.

I thought at last I'd found you

But other loves surround you

And I don't stand a

Ghost of a chance with you

You walked back to the piano, leaning elegantly against it as you finished the last line of the song. Applause rang throughout the pub and you nodded graciously before shouting, “How about my new friend, our amazing pianist, Mr. Alan Bennett?” The applause and shouts continued as you said “Thank you; enjoy your evening,” then headed back to your seat.

When Bucky saw you smile once again, genuinely, at Foyle, the spell was broken. No, he hadn’t been on the receiving end of that smile yet, but your shared moment just now gave him a glimpse of hope. You had looked at him differently then, not with contempt or that devastating neutrality from before, but with something else.

Christ, he really was pathetic, knowing that look would be all he thought about for the rest of the night. He deserved the boys’ ragging, as well as another glass of whiskey.

═════ ♫ ═════

You listened to Millie tell an amusing story about an old neighbor back home as you finished your drink. Even though you weren’t currently talking, you noticed Tom stealing frequent glances at you. You smiled encouragingly at him before fanning yourself with a napkin, the heat in the pub somehow having gotten worse.

As Millie continued her story, your thoughts drifted to Major Egan. When your eyes met his grey ones during the song, you were struck by the tenderness and reverence in his gaze. He hadn’t looked at you like a prize, like an object to be used until he grew bored of it. You had held that gaze for longer than you intended; it didn’t change, but you felt like you did.

For that brief moment, no more than five seconds, you were no longer in the pub, but somewhere else entirely. You weren’t sure exactly where you were during this momentary lapse of reality, but you knew you had gotten there through his eyes. You had always heard of getting lost in someone’s eyes, but in that moment, you didn’t feel lost. Instead, you felt as though you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Perhaps you had been too quick to judge him.

Perhaps you should get to know him better.

Perhaps it had just been a man watching a woman while she sang.

All of these confusing thoughts were beginning to give you a headache.

In fact, the noise of the pub seemed to grow louder by the second, and the lights seemed to get brighter. You squinted.

“Honey, are you alright?” asked Millie. You hadn’t realized she’d stopped talking. You gave her a reassuring smile.

“Yes, yes I’m fine. I think the crowded room is getting to me. I might need to step outside for a moment; get some fresh air.” You scooted your chair away from the table.

Both men stood as you did so. Tom pushed in his chair and came around to your side of the table, looking concerned. “Can I accompany you outside? I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“Of course. I’d appreciate it, actually.” You looked at Millie. “We’ll be right back.”

As you stood up, you lost your balance and braced your hands on the table, causing the legs to make a loud noise as they shifted. You flushed with embarrassment as multiple patrons looked in your direction, some sniggering to each other. Millie put a delicate hand on your arm. “Are you sure you’re alright? I think we need to head back.”

You waved her off. “No, no, I’m fine. I’m fine. I just stood up too fast. A few minutes of fresh air and I’ll be good as new. Don’t you dare move; this is your one night out. I’m fine.”

Millie continued to look at you with skepticism and concern, but Tom offered you his arm and you took it, walking toward the front of the pub with slow, deliberate steps.

Suddenly, you were outside the pub, still holding on tight to Tom’s arm. You breathed in the night air, hoping it would clear your head. It didn’t.

“Feel any better?” asked Tom.

You looked at him and were alarmed to see that you were no longer outside the front entrance, but alone with him around the side of the building. You couldn’t remember how you got there, but Tom’s arm was still in your grasp. You continued to cling to it, as your dizziness had gotten worse and you were afraid you might fall flat on your face if you let go.

“No, I….don’t,” you answered, having difficulty forming the words. This sudden ailment was clearly something that needed more than fresh air to fix, and you knew it was time to call it a night. Could you really be this drunk? Yes, the gin had been stronger than what you normally drank, but you only had one glass.

Tom looked at you with concern. “I’m so sorry. Are you feeling well enough for the trip back? It would probably be safer to book you a room for the night.” He stroked the back of your hand with his thumb.

“I think I’d like to…to go back to base and get in bed.”

“Is that an invitation?” he asked softly, brushing the backs of his fingers down your bare arm.

“Nnnn…no.” The pain in your head was worsening, your mind telling you that you needed to leave. Now.

Tom spoke your name, his voice still soft. “I think that you and I go together so well. You’re incredibly witty, charming, and so lovely.” You felt him stroke the side of your face. You went to push his hand away, but it was gone when you lifted your hand to your face. “I’m curious to see if our compatibility goes beyond the conversational level, aren’t you?”

When you looked at him again, your head spinning with the effort, his handsome face still held the same charm and sincerity from before.

“Tom, I want to leave. Right now!” You wrenched yourself free from his grasp and turned toward the street. Your movements had been too sudden and you stumbled forward, haphazardly throwing your hands out to avoid falling on your face. You closed your eyes and braced for the feeling of asphalt on your palms, but it never came. When you opened your eyes, you saw the dark olive drab of a military uniform and felt strong arms around you. Of course Tom had easily caught you. You prepared to scream for help—

“The hell is going on out here?”

The person who’d caught you hadn’t been Tom. It was that major. He stood with you still limp in his arms, Millie close behind him looking panicked.

He looked at you, then at Tom, then back at you, his expression quickly morphing from confusion to alarm. You must have been quite a sight.

With urgency in his voice, he spoke your name. “Are you alright? What’s the matter?”

You stood up, another wave of dizziness crashing over you as Millie rushed to help you. “I think I’m…quite unwell, Mister…sorry, Major…” You looked at him quizzically, his name escaping you. Why couldn’t you think of his name? His face had been in your thoughts constantly over the past few days.

The man reluctantly removed his arms from around you and allowed Millie to support you. “It’s Bucky. But you still only call me Major Egan, remember?” He looked terribly worried, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to address it. Your only concern right now was getting away from Tom and into bed. You were so tired. When you didn’t respond to him, stumbling once more into Millie, his expression changed again to one of fury. He turned toward Tom, who had begun inching his way out of sight.

Bucky moved fast enough to exacerbate your dizziness, grabbing Tom by the lapels of his jacket and shoving him against the wall. “You put somethin’ in her drink? Did you do this to her?” The quiet, menacing calm of his voice was a stark contrast to his violent actions.

Tom had the good sense to look frightened for a moment, before flashing his handsome smile at the seething major. “I was just offering to escort her back to base,” he said. “Clearly the poor thing can’t take her liquor. I didn’t do a damn thing to her drink.”

“Like hell you didn’t,” replied Bucky, before he let go of Tom’s jacket and punched him in the face. Hard. Millie shrieked.

Tom fell to the ground in a graceless heap, his nose bleeding and misshapen. Putting a hand up to his nose, he yelled, “What the hell was-”

“You need to get the fuck out of here right now or your nose won’t be the only thing I break tonight.” Bucky’s fist was clenched, blood on the knuckles. Tom scrambled away and was soon out of sight.

Bucky turned back toward you and Millie. “She needs to see a doctor,” he said to your friend.

Millie let out a sigh and replied with a tired voice. “No, she doesn’t; not right now anyway.”

Bucky gestured furiously at you. “Look at her!” You frowned and looked away.

Millie spoke with a cold gravity you had never heard from her before. “I see her, Bucky, and unfortunately, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen something like this. I know how to help, and I’m taking her back to base. Her symptoms should be gone tomorrow, but she needs rest.”

Bucky said nothing for several seconds, then pinched the bridge of his nose. He said quickly, “Alright. Fine. But if anything, anything, seems off, you take her straight to Smokey, understand?”

“I understand. I’ll take her tomorrow, just to make sure everything’s okay.” Millie began leading you toward the front of the building and the street, with Bucky following close behind. Eventually you were back in front of the pub.

Bucky looked at you, began to reach toward you, then put his hand in his pocket. “Let me take you home. Or would a room here be better?”

You stiffened.

“Excuse me?” you said, your head pounding.

Bucky looked taken aback at your sudden tone. “I just wondered if it would be better for you to get a room here for the night so you can rest.”

Son of a bitch.

You pointed a finger at his chest, missing and poking his shoulder. “You. Is this what you wanted?”

Bucky furrowed his brow and shook his head. “What are you talking about? You think I wanted this to happen?”

“I saw you. I saw you looking at us…looking at mm..me. Was this part of your plan?”

Millie, who had her arm looped through yours, put a hand on your shoulder and said, “Honey, I know you’re confused, it’s not your f-”

“Did you think that you would play the knight in shining armor and that...that I would fall into your arms, overcome with- with gratitude? You thought I would g..go to bed with you?” Bucky shook his head vehemently and opened his mouth to speak, but you kept going. “I knew it. I knew that a dance would never just be a dance with you. I knew it.” You swayed, but Millie tightened her hold on you and you stayed upright. “I knew it,” you said to her.

She rubbed your back soothingly. “Okay, honey. Let’s get you in bed, alright?” She turned to Bucky and spoke so quietly you couldn’t hear her over the noise of the music inside. You watched as Bucky nodded, his lips pressed tightly together. He looked back at you, nothing but concern in his eyes. But that’s how Tom had looked.

Fighting the pain at the front of your skull and the increasing urge to vomit in the nearest waste bin, you let go of Millie’s arm and took a wobbly step toward him. He removed his hands from his pockets, ready to catch you again, but you stayed upright. You said to him in a low voice, “I think you’re despicable.” The major said nothing, still watching you with the same worried look on his face. Inside the pub, you heard the pianist start playing “Blue Skies”, followed by at least two shouts of Bucky’s name. “Sounds like you’re missing your ‘signature song,’ Major. Please, don’t let me keep you.”

With that, you allowed Millie to once again wind her arm through yours and lead you away from the pub, hopefully on a path toward your bed. She sighed. “Don’t worry, I told him you didn’t mean a word you said.” You frowned at her, confused. “I’m so sorry; if I had any idea that Tom was such a…” She sighed again. “Never mind. It does no good to apologize to you now when you won’t remember it. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

As you made your way back to your barracks, fighting sleep the whole way, all you could think of was a slow song and two grey eyes staring into yours.

#guys i wasn't kidding about the tone shift but I promise things will get better!#john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #john bucky egan #john egan #mota #masters of the air #mota fic #callum turner #reader insert #fanfiction #Spotify

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thepaintpirate · 8 months

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Red lips - Portgas D. Ace x Fem!Singer!Reader

Summary: On his first special incognito task with only the most seasoned Whitebeard pirates, Ace discovers a diamond amongst a sea of stones... he can't quite take his eyes off of her.

Tw: language, sexual implications and violence

(In Ace's POV for a reason, sorry ●^●)

The tie looped around his hand, knotting it uncomfortably causing Ace to huff in annoyance. If he'd known this event was Black-tie he would've said no to coming along. But the trust and responsibility given to him to carry out this task alongside his crewmates was too much to turn away from. For the thrill as well, being masked in the crowds of unsuspecting enemies, that was certainly something the hot-headed young pirate couldn't say no to.

As he fumbled around to untie the black fabric, an effort to try again, a gloved hand snatched his up and began to do it for him. Ace grinned, meeting the eyes of his fellow commander. "Thanks Izou", he chimed out, letting the other go about his work neatly and precisely. It left Ace with a second to admire the work of his comrade, talented in make-up and styling enough to pass as a woman for the evening. They had to be incognito after all. "You look lovely by the way. If I met you at a bar like this, I'd buy you a drink".

Izou chuffed a laugh. "I'd take the drink and leave you at the bar if you did".

The two of them joked for a moment more, Izou finished tying and then began to fix up any other errors Ace had made.

The door to the bathroom of the hotel room they were in clicked open revealing Marco - or rather Marco who now didn't look like Marco. His hair was styled, dyed with a temporary brown colour too. Signature glasses that Ace had seen him wear were swapped for tinted shades that made him look even more suave than his suit was already presenting.

"Wow, you actually look nice when you're cleaned up" Izou commented.

Marco frowned, rubbing his face. "You saying I don't look nice or clean normally?"

Both lower ranking commanders laughed together and Marco ignored them with a grunt. He fiddled with the keys in his pocket, tossing them at Ace. "Yeah yeah, enough of that. We ready to go?"

In the lobby they met up with three others: Vista, Thatch and Whitey, whom they'd borrowed in order to complete the misson. Each were dressed up in fancy clothes, decorated just enough and far from their normal looks to pass as regulars in this setting.

Together they grouped, whispering in hushed breathes.

Whitey went first. "So about our roles... refresh me".

"Whitey you'll act as the partner to Vista, both of you will be pretending to be average high life citizens going about the casino and bar areas. Eaves drop as much as you can, socialise and get info and tell us if we need to hear anything urgently" Marco explained.

He turned and gestured to Izou. "Myself and Izou are posing as a rich married pair of socialites that fund our targets, members of the underground. We'll be in the lounge and getting information from them in you need us".

He took a deep breath before looking between Thatch and Ace with concern. "Ace, it's your first mission with us like this so naturally your task is just to wander around as our back up next to Thatch. Only act if we tell you to, otherwise just hang tight".

Thatch patted his shoulder happily. "Nah don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him".

No one was reassured by that but left, feeling the weight of their individual goals on their shoulders. As they walked away, Thatch leaned over and whispered to Ace. "Wanna go see how many drinks we get before we leave here? Assuming we'll have to exit quickly, meaning those lovely drinks will be free..."

With a beer glass in hand, half empty, Ace sat back down on his bar stool. He'd sat for so long that the leather cushion under him was no longer cold and uncomfortable. Next to him, Thatch leaned on the counter a little too close, flirting with the cute bartender.

In the hour or so they'd been parted, Ace hadn't seen anyone he knew. What kept him company was lingering stares from married women walking by him, hugging onto their oblivious husbands arms, and Thatch with his nearly six drink count.

The layout of the lounge and bar area was clean and symmetrical, highlighting a stage front and center with draped velvet curtains and spotlights. Round tables were in the pit, hosting nobles or some other type of balloon headed posh people. Above them were overhanging ledges like you'd find in a theatre where more people moved and looked over with each passing minute.

So far, none of the acts had been good.

Ace caught the ending on a really crappy comedy act when he first sat down, the guy left with his tail between his legs as men booed him off and behind the cover of curtains. After him was some dancers, as expected of such a high end place, but none of them caught his eye. Sure they looked nice but the appeal was more in their nice outfits that hid their lack of skills.

When the dancers cleared the stage, Ace thought it might be over now and he could go wander around innhis boredom. But when a glittering flash from the main spotlight came down and lit a ring in the center of the stage, Ace couldn't move. A microphone rose from a hole in the floor and hummed gently as they turned it on. He looked around, gaging the reactions of the others in the crowds. They looked delighted with anticipation as if this was the thing they'd been waiting for with held breath.

A click clack of what could only be heels sounded with an echo, the room was so quiet now in respect for whoever was about to appear. It got closer and closer to emerging from the fabric, that was when Ace recognised Marco and Izou moving to sit down with in a group. They took their seats in the middle, right below the stage, and Ace noticed Marco looked passive. He wouldn't worry until they made a signal.

Finally she appeared.

It was like a haze had clouded his gaze, then the heady smoke lifted and suddenly it was as if everything was as clear as crystal. The most clarity he'd ever had in his whole life.

She was tall, like a glass of champagne, and she seemed to glow too. Her dress was beautiful, cut with a slit to the middle thigh white the colar hang from shoulder to shoulder them dipped in the middle. Her hair was long, shiny and silky as it reflected light. But what made her so so noticeable was her face, more importantly her eyes. In only a second of scanning the crowd with no intentions of paying anyone special attention, she landed her gaze right on him. Like he was the only man in the world, she was the only woman. If it were true, even then it would be a blessing for her to even consider his presence.

Then she looked away, focusing on nothing much as she addressed the crowds. "How are we this evening?" Her voice was sultry but sweet too, yet it suited her Ace thought. His heart was beating loudly in his chest and he was sure Thatch could even hear it in his drunken stupor.

The crowds rumbled back and she laughed softly. Oh he wished she'd laugh for him, at him even... he didn't care as along as it was her.

"I see new faces in the crowd tonight..." she briefly looked at him, dared to smile with those wine red lips of hers, "so I'll give you curtesy of knowing my name, (Y/n) (L/n), but for the sake of remembering me you can just call me Red".

The group on Marco's table seemed particularly animated, on of the Dons' that Ace recognised as a target leaned in a spoke something to him that made him nod.

Before he could even react, music started to sound in his ears. Then her voice, a soft and growing hum and she mouthed along the sounds. Soon enough she was singing, better than anyone he'd heard before and he wondered why a voice like hers with a face just as beautiful to match wasn't a world known star. If Boa Hancock was supposed to be the most beautiful woman in the world then he was sure that they hadn't seen (Y/n) who was tucked away in the shadows of the Dons'.

The time that passed as hard to keep track of because he only focused on her alone. Each song and she'd meet his gaze briefly, but just enough so that her eyes could burn him and set his heart on fire all over again. Surely it was on purpose.

Finally the songs ended and the crowd, now tripled, burst into applause as flowers were thrown onto stage for her. He felt a wild and unnatural jealousy in himself, if he had a flower he would've given it to his but he couldn't and so he felt annoyed by those men desperate for her attention.

She took a hand offered to her and came down from the stage just in front of Marco's table. Her hand in the hand on one of the Dons'. If the lingering relaxation from her voice and smile hadn't stuck to him he'd probably have stormed over.

The group talked between themselves and she blended in with them like any polite woman would... but she looked uncomfortable. Not enough for anyone to see it. But it was enough for a man who'd studied her eyes for goodness knows how long to notice the subtle change in them. And her hand was rubbing her arm, closed in nature and reserved. She looked like she wanted to escape from there. All she had to do was look at him, it was all it would take he thought. And she did, turning her head ever so slightly in his direction with wide gorgeous eyes.

He left Thatch at the bar and the tipsy man had no time to respond to Ace's exit, only a sshort gasp. Ace weaved through the crowd, bumping into people and excusing himself until finally he was closer to her. She looked startled to see him at her side so quickly, beck and called like a loyal dog. The other looked just as surprised. Marco looked peeved. And Ace realised how unprepared he was.

"I uhh" he couldn't speak at all.

The Don glared at him in authority, (Y/n) looked helpless for him and even slightly apologetic. "The hell ya think you're doing kid, what'dya want?" The Don asked.

Marco cut in for him to save embarrassment. "Apologies, he's an assistant of mine he means no harm".

The Don chuffed. "Makes sense..."

Ace stood awkwardly, unsure if he should leave. Marco spoke for him instead. It looked like the first commander wanted him gone and so he compromised. "If you don't object perhaps he could escort Miss Red back to her apartments. Then we could continue our conversation..."

Izou smiled in agreement, appearing only slightly nervous by the sudden change in plans.

The Don smirked sluggishly. "Why not, I'd prefer we move to a quieter booth to talk business" he looked down at (Y/n), a look Ace was entirely pissed off by. He looked at her like she was a possession. "Go along Red. We'll meet early tomorrow, I need you by my side to meet some clients".

She nodded sheepishly, so contrast to the woman she was on stage. Ace hated it. He hated all on his. He slipped her arm onto his and turned away gently guiding her out of the lounge. The rage under his skin boiled away as he left the proximity of that scumbag and was now virtually alone with her. Now his anger was replaced with butterflies in his stomach.

"Thankyou" she muttered, looking up into his eyes. Her words were so buttery smooth he though was going to melt right then and there.

"Um uh, you're welcome. I- my name is-".

Oh shit. He completely forgot his cover name. "It's uh... Deuce?"

He'd have to apologise to Deuce later for stealing his name, it was the first thing that came to mind.

She laughed and now all of his worries and embarrassment were gone. "Deuce? That's unique, suits you well".

He laughed too as they walked, cautions not to hold her too close and only at a conservative distance. "I thought you sounded great up there by the way... you probably get that a lot".

She hummed. "I do, but not genuinely. People are more interested in seeing if they can get away with looking down my dress" she giggled at him, making him blush. He didn't want anyone to do that to her, he just wanted her to be comfortable. And she clearly wasn't as comfortable with the Don as she masked herself as.

"People shouldn't treat you like that, it's wrong" he said, too boldly.

She sighed as the made it to the buildings steps, leading down towards the cobble street. "Ah yes, well I'm used to it. I can't stop them from it, they're too important to the Don and he wouldn't want me offending them".

Ace couldn't accept that as an answer. "Yeah well then he's an asshole. If he can't treat you right like tou deserve to be then he should be ashamed. If I were him I'd never let any man look at you like that-"

"Like how you looked at me earlier?"

Ace paused in the middle of the street. The moon was on him from above and he suddenly felt like he was under a microscope. So she had seen him before...

His face felt hot as he stared down at her. With those implications he felt the need to justify himself or to apologise, he'd never meant to be like those men. Yet he had been, just as eager for her attention as anyone else. "I didn't mean to, I'm sorry-"

She touched his face softly, bring it down to look at her. Those eyes of hers again, like sinking pits of sand. He was drowning and he didn't feel like fighting it. "If it's you, I don't mind".

Those drums in his heart again were just as violent as the butterflies swarming his gut. Yet once again he wasn't allowed to stop and take in the moment before she cut him off. "Let's keep moving, I have to get to my apartments".

They walked in a consuming silence back along the promenade to the doors of the building she was living in. It was as fancy as the place from before, beaming gold light to make the walls glow softly. "This is your place then?" He asked innocently.

She beamed at him. "My room in on the tenth floor, would you... walk me to my door?"

He couldn't say no.

They took the elevator and the static of the moving room as well as the music was making him loopy. Alone with this woman, so enchanting and wonderful. He wanted to turn around and just press the button back to the ground floor, sweep her off her feet and convince her to run away back to the Moby with him. She wouldn't have to see the Don or those men ever again and she could sing for her pleasure only, sing for him even if she wanted to. Whatever it took to make her happy.

Room 1002. She slipped her keys into the door but didn't turn the lock just yet. She gazed up at him again with that honey coated look. "Thankyou, for everything. It was nice meeting you Deuce".

Now he'd have to say goodbye but he wasn't sure if he could. He didn't want to. "Bye (Y/n)".

They stood in stifling silence, warm with the heat of their two bodies. He wanted to make that fantasy a reality and just carry her way but what if she didn't want that? What if she didn't want him?

His body gravitated closer to her and her to him, way too close for a simple goodbye. She initiated the kiss first by pressing her warm lips onto his, sticking with the gloss of whatever makeup she had on them. Yes, this was definitely not a goodbye just yet.

He leaned further in and put and arm around her waist, another on the back of her neck and they continued to kiss. He deepened it, her mouth opening to oblige him. It felt so unreal but the click of her door opening woke him up, she didn't pull away but rather instead she opened the door and the moved in.

Her heels clacked on the wooden floor of the hallway as Ace continued to force his tongue into her mouth. She tasted too good, better than anything else. She seems as eager as himthough and it spurred him on, built up his ego brick by brick. He was better than those men. She wanted him not them and he was better for her, that was the best part of it. They continue to kiss and move clumsily until he had her against as wall, he noticed by peeking that they were just by a kitchenette.

The lights were still off and as he pulled away to breath every few moments he missed the light that illuminated her face. The moon's rays would have to do instead, either way she still looked heavenly. Face flush and rosy, lips swollen and smudged but still so pretty. He felt proud that he too would have the stain of the wine colour on his own face.

Suddenly her neck looked all too appetising, looking at her for permission he sway her shining eyes seem to agree with him. She giggled as he lowered his face into the crook of her neck, she arched it up for him, and inhaled the smell of her perfume. Floral, spicy and fruity. He licked along her skin, even if he could taste it there she still tasted wonderful. He kissed her on a blue vein, sucking softy as he could and running his hands up and down her side one of her hands was on his neck and the other was behind her on the wall to support her. He moaned her name into her skin as he peppered it. "(Y/n), (Y/n)..."

Her breathing was as erratic as him but she sounded so beautiful. "Oh- Ace, Ace..."

Yes, he knew then that he only ever wanted his name leaving her mouth. No one else's. His hands kept running up her side, wanted to hold the hand behind her again. But it felt solid like plastic or metal, was she holding something? And he could have sworn he had given her his face name-

It happened way too quickly. A commander such as himself should've known something was up but dazed, drunk on her and the old booze he hadn't noticed until now. The pain in his side was the only thing that made him realise what had just happened, as well as the feeling of hot liquid gushing from the wound.

The buried her knife, presumably hidden in the back of her dress before, deep into his side. But he was a Logia so how??

Then he noticed the cold feeling on a metal ring on his skin by his neck, he hadn't felt the weakness from the seastone until she had already plunged the sharp blade into him. All while looking at him, lips plump, red and messy. Smiling. "Silly boy..."

She took the knife out and he fell back in pain on onto the floor, leaning against the wall, behind him. He couldn't even speak, too stunned. How hadn't he even realised, but more importantly... "Why? Yah, shit, what the hell was that for?"

(Y/n) smiled at him, that same lovely smile from before. "Just the Don's orders, sorry Ace. He knew you and your little friends would be here".

The bloody knife in her hand was tossed to the side out of reach and she bent over him like an adult might do to mock a child. "You were sweet and all but, you doubt my loyalty" she tilted her head. "Try not to bleed put and die all over the apartment, I'd feel bad for the cleaners".

And with that she left swiftly, not even bothering to close the door as her heels clicked away from hi. Exactly as they had when she first arrived.

He went from dizzy to downright sick, holding his side as it leaked in pain. Some time passed and during it he didn't even think at all. Only remembering her, those eyes and her face. He didn't even hear Izou and Thatch arrive in a panic or lift him up, carrying him out and away yelling something about "Marco, Ace got stabbed!"

Resting up was easy because it didn't require any thought or energy on his part. Eat, sleep, bathroom break, eat, sleep and so on.

Days passed and he didn't hear the whole story but he knew it all went sideways, hence the knife wound. Marco looked twice as stressed as usual, Izou looked perpetually sick and Thatch looked like a kicked puppy as he visited Ace three times a day with large meals. He guessed he felt bad for being drunk, supposed to be back up.

Finally Ace mustered the energy to ask. "So what even happened?"

Thatch spluttered and rubbed his head. He looked tired. "The Don knew. Nearly amused Marco and Izou. Marco stayed and fought then sent Izou to get Vista and Whitey to fight too. Izou came and got me, I hadn't left the bar, then we went to search for you. And we found you, well..."

"Stabbed" Ace finished, quickly joking to not make his friend feel bad. It hurt his side to laugh. "What happened to (Y/n)?" He couldn't stop himself from asking.

Thatch looked sad, for him, and disappointed. "Ace why do you care? She stabbed you, she works for the Don".

But for some reason, even in the haze on the blurry recover days... Ace couldn't find it in him to be mad. You were genuine when you talked about your life with the Don, you were genuine when you spoke about him. He knew it, knew your eyes too because they were all he could see in the darkness behind his eyelids at night.

The only thing you had lied about was your loyalty. He did doubt it, because you weren't happy there but you still lied and told him you were loyal. It wasn't because you wanted to be, had to be something else he told himself. Not when you looked at him like he looked at you. You weren't bad, just... trapped. You had to, and he forgave you.

He smiled, falling back onto his pillow and looking at the ceiling. "Because I can't get her off my mind..."

Muhhahahah plot twist sorry. Anyway this was cringe, and rushed, so oops. If you want a pt.2 I can do that yeah.

#one piece #one piece headcanons #one piece x reader #portgas d ace #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you

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mangoshorthand · 2 years

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No Hard Feelings- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Ch1

SUMMARY: You're Five's latest assassination target, but things don't go to plan and now he wants you as his fuckbuddy. Funny how what we want and what we need are rarely in line. (Aged up Five because things get smutty...obviously.) Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five- Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve

In this opening chapter, you’re a nice, normal girl having a nice normal evening. What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter One: Nothing Personal You’re about to turn in for the night. Today was long and tomorrow promises to be no better. You know you’re lucky to have your position, only six years into a real career, but it doesn’t make it any easier to be constantly talked over. Your co-worker, Charlie, was particularly infuriating today, sneering at your idea and then pitching the exact same thing with a few words changed. Of course, he got claps on the back from all the old farts in the meeting room. Fuckers. No matter how much your HR department talks about equality, you know it’s just a bullshit boys’ club.

You rub your hand across your eyes and forehead. Your feet ache from wearing heels all day. Dressed to the nines just to be treated like furniture. You'd kicked them off as soon as you came in the door; shedding your nice, conservative dress with relief. You’d thrown on a pair of sweatpants and, after slinging your bra over the bedroom door, covered your top half with an old camisole. Maybe a little tattered, but comfortably so.

You intended to go for a run tonight but, fuck that: you’ve earned a bit of self-indulgence. After turning on an old sitcom, you get up from the couch and cross to the freezer. It's time for a pint of ice cream. You know it’s going to be easier to imagine seeing Charlie’s bitch-ass face tomorrow morning with the cool carton in your hand. Are you binge eating? Yes. Do you care? No.

You close the freezer door only to reveal a gun held inches from your temple. You drop the ice cream, hearing its frozen-solid thump on the floor. Your wide, terrified eyes meet the intruder's and you collapse to your knees, legs having totally given way.

“Cookie dough, huh?” says the man who will soon send a bullet into your brain, splattering gore onto your fridge-freezer. “I’m more of a Cherry Garcia guy myself.”

You look up at him, trembling. Somehow you know this isn't a robbery.

He’s young. Younger than you; maybe twenty. His posture is casual, as if he's standing in line at a McDonalds rather than about to shoot you execution-style. He's relaxed, his head tilted backwards slightly. He’s dressed impeccably in a well-fitting but otherwise nondescript black three-piece suit. His hair is swept neatly to one side and a wry, cocky smile fills his face even as he clicks off the safety. His jawbone could cut glass.

“Please,” you whimper, feeling your heart beat frantically in your throat. For all the world, you think it’s trying to thump out your lifetime’s worth of beats until this man stops it prematurely, “why?”

“It’s nothing personal,” he says. His smile doesn’t falter...but then your eyes meet his green ones, beseeching. Something flickers in his; something human.

You don’t know why you do it- it’s not a conscious choice. Feeling as if your bladder and bowels are about to let go, you fall forward with your eyes still locked on his, trying to hold onto that piece of pity, that piece of mercy as you hold his gaze. Desperately, you wrap your arms about his waist, hands coming to rest somewhere between his thighs and buttocks, your nose pressed into his lower stomach.

Clearly, whatever he expected from this encounter, it wasn’t this. As the TV plays the familiar sitcom theme tune, his cool demeanor cracks. The smile runs off his face like water down a drain. You hear his hand contract around the gun as he presses the barrel into your temple. It’s a horrible metallic sound and you hear it in all its minute detail: just like your heart, your brain is also making the most of the time it has left, stretching the seconds like taffy; every micro-perception coming upon you in vivid detail. You don’t know why, but you know that your only hope is to maintain this eye contact. You’ll do whatever it takes to get out of this. Anything to save your life.

His expression hardens. You clutch him and your vision blurs as silent tears come.

“Please…don’t”

At some point in the countless, interminable seconds you stare into his face, you become conscious of where your mouth is. As you breathe raggedly, your lips graze the material covering his groin. You know he’s noticed too. His posture changes uncomfortably and the gun slackens slightly.

He inhales sharply through his nose as he looks down at you, eyes ablaze. With anger? Disdain? Maybe. You can feel him hardening rapidly beneath his pants. He shifts again and something presses gently into your chin. You feel your face flush yet you dare not move.

He breaks eye contact and a thrill of fear rushes through you. The one thing tethering him to you and it’s gone. You’re living your last moments now. His neck arches, Adam’s apple standing out in harsh relief as he looks up, eyes on the ceiling, breathing hard. He stays that way for a second or two, trying to compose himself. You want to beg him, to bargain, to tell him you’ll do whatever he wants… but fear and overwhelming instinct keeps you silent but for hitching breath. At last, he looks down again, though not resuming eye contact. His gaze seems to rake what parts of your body he can see. You’re sure he catches a glimpse down your camisole to your naked breasts. You know your nipples must be prominent. Your cheeks burn.

And then, again, your eyes meet. A tiny movement; barely there and surely unconscious on his part. His pelvis moves forward, the pressure of his hidden but rock-solid erection becoming fractionally more pronounced on your mouth and chin. He inhales, throatily, his eyes lidded now. Not a trace of the cocksure smile of a few moments ago.

Then, from under his breath.

“Son of a bitch.”

He seems exasperated. His right hand slackens and the gun falls to his side. As he steps back, your overtaxed nerves finally fail you. The world falls away as you sprawl forward onto your cheap kitchen linoleum.

Five holds a glass of single malt. This isn’t how things are supposed to happen. Is he losing his touch, can’t even take out a single target these days? Does he shit his pants because a girl looks up at him now? He knows he’ll have to finish what he started, so why is he putting it off?

…Because shitting his pants wasn’t the problem: her tits were. Or her lips. Or her hair. Or the way her breath warmed his crotch, penetrating the layers of fabric between them. It had been unsettling: the way his hips had moved, seemingly without conscious design on his part. The body wanted friction…wanted her. He sighs, sweeping his hair back and altering his seated posture, the better to accommodate another growing erection.

This all because he’d fucked up that first time, when he’d trapped himself in the teenage body, sentencing himself to a few years stewing in hormonal rage and frustration. He’d coped with it, (for the second time) and he’d thought it was over, that he was controlled now the body had grown beyond sexual maturity. Sure, he was over the horrors of puberty but the virility was still…a problem. A problem perfectly summed up by the fact he'd just popped a boner on a barstool.

She was a pretty girl but not breathtakingly so. The photograph in the file hadn’t done her justice. She had seemed just a suburban twenty-something trying to make it in the big city... and that’s what she is. So why had her eyes assailed him so much? Something in them…or something they saw in him?

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes and forehead.

“Tough one, son?”

He looks up at the old man sitting a few barstools down and gives him a slight smile.

“You might say that.”

“Chick stuff or job stuff?”

Five lets out a slightly dark chuckle, “Both, my friend.”

“I’d call that a double-whammy. Ain’t life a bitch?” the man replies, draining the last of his drink.

Five gestures to the barman, wallet in hand.

“Whatever my friend over there’s having.”

The man toasts Five with his empty glass and goes back to playing with his bar mat.

He'd wanted retirement. He'd wanted to just let it all go. They're where they should be, powers all intact. Theoretically, there had been nothing to stop him just checking out. His real body got tired easily and would have relished the rest, but this body? No siree. Not with all those healthy young neurons firing up there his brain, his muscles, bones and joints strong and ready for another lifetime's activity.

After a few weeks of vacation, he was bored out of his mind, full of pent-up energy and feeling pretty stupid dressing the young body in old-man clothes. Full retirement had not suited him so, eventually, he'd told Herb that he was happy to work on a freelance basis. The occasional project had kept him sane over the last six years, as well as giving him an excuse to wear suits again. It was simply easier and less unsettling to self-image to wear a style that would suit a man of any age.

Five’s moral code was liberal (to say the least) but he drew the line at committing murder out of sheer boredom. Up until this evening, his duties had been strictly analytical- he’d been acting more as a consultant given his status as the founder of the Commission in some remote permutation of himself. Herb asked him to take on this job as a favor, (something about cost-saving and briefcase scarcity) and Five reluctantly agreed.

Her face rises unbidden to his mind’s eye. He takes a sip of scotch, savoring the burn on his tongue and throat as it goes down. The way she blushed, the way a tear rolled down her cheek. Her beautiful, pleading, wide-pupiled eyes. They had stirred something in him beyond his sexual frustration…but it’s no use dwelling on that.

Necking the last of his drink, Five decides. He can’t leave things as they are. It’s time to take action.

The blanket you woke up beneath is around your shoulders. One of the two cops, Officer Roja, sits on one of your dining chairs, facing you. She taps the end of her biro contemplatively against her notebook. Behind her, Officer Boden assesses the apartment, craning his head around doors and taking in the view from various angles.

“Can you give me a description of the man?”

The mug of coffee Officer Rojas made for you warms your fingers but it barely penetrates the bone deep numbness that’s settled all over you.

“He was young…white. College aged, I’d guess. But he was wearing a nice suit. Like a jacket and a waistcoat. It wasn’t the sort of outfit a college guy would have, I’d think. And he seemed…he seemed older when he spoke.”

“Mhm.” she said, taking a note. “That’s great, you’re doing really well. Can you tell me anything about his appearance? His face?”

You cast your mind back and find your memory disturbingly exact. His image is burned into your brain, his voice easily recalled. If you had to, you think you might be able to pick him out of a line-up by his smell alone- the smell of his aftershave.

“He had dark brown hair. Longer at the front, shorter at the back. Kinda…swept over. Green eyes. That sort of green that changes in different lights.”

She raises her eyebrows as she scribbles, impressed at recall you sense must be rare in other witnesses. The idea makes your cheeks burn with shame, although right then you aren’t sure exactly why.

“His nose was…it was straight but a little hooked? There were two small moles- maybe birthmarks on his cheek. His left cheek,” you gesture at the corresponding spot on your face.

“How tall was he?” prompted Officer Rojas, nodding.

You shake your head, unsure. You spent most of your time on your knees looking up at him so perspective was hard to gauge. The only thing you have as a reference was how his groin ended up right by your mouth as you knelt.

“Under six foot but I can’t tell you more than that. Five seven? Maybe eight?”

“Thanks ma’am, that’s so great.”

From beside the fridge-freezer, Officer Boden cuts in.

“You passed out here?”

You nod.

“But you woke up there-”

You nod again, feeling your face spasm with suppressed tears.

“-and the door was still locked from the inside?”

You feel your eyes screw up and sobs begin to puff their way out of your tightly-held lips as the tears come. Rojas places a hand on your arm.

“It’s okay, ma’am. You’re doing perfectly.”

“This building got cameras?” Boden continues, brusquely.

You nod, trying to speak through sobs.

“Uh…th-there’s one at the front door, one in the elevator. Maybe there are others? I- I don’t know.”

You just cry for a minute then, remembering the way he’d just been there when you closed the freezer. Aside from the Cookie Dough melting on the floor, you might have thought you imagined the whole thing. When you open your eyes, it’s clear that a silent conversation has been going on between Rojas and Boden. She’s giving him a look that means: leave this with me, dumbass. When she turns to you, her voice is gentle and her eyes concerned.

“I’m going to ask you something now, and you can just nod or shake your head. You don’t have to go into detail just now, okay?

You nod your understanding.

“Did this man hurt you in any way?”

You shake your head, tears still falling.

“He just held the gun to your head for a while? He didn’t hit you, kick you or anything like that?”

You shake your head again.

“Did he…did he touch you inappropriately?”

You shake your head for a third time, but the idea draws another sob from you.

“Ma’am?” says Rojas, softly, but Boden speaks again.

“You say you passed out here but you woke up there,” he indicated the two spots with a sweep of his arm, “that means he moved you. Did he perhaps drug you? You eat or drink anything? Maybe he injected you with something?”

This shocks you into speech, “No. No, I just passed out. I was scared. I haven’t been- everything’s fine.”

The way his hips moved fractionally towards you recurred in your mind: the way you could feel his erection against your face…but then, other things didn’t match with that picture: his ‘just business’ attitude and the way he hurriedly disengaged from you after that moment. He seemed…almost scared by what was happening…but he wanted you for at least a moment: that part you couldn’t deny.

And the worst thing? You couldn’t deny that, for at least a moment, you wanted him too.

You open your mouth to tell them, but something stops you. It seems wrong in a way you wouldn’t be able to explain. It seems unfair: it was a moment of vulnerability for both of you.

“I haven’t been raped,” you say, much more calmly, “I don’t think there was time, anyway. My show was starting a minute before I passed out. When I woke up on the sofa, it was still before the first ad-break. I could only have been out for a few minutes.”

Both cops look at you. You know what they’re thinking: it only takes a few minutes. You know that’s true butas you think back to that look in his eyes as they held yours, you know that he didn’t.

“You got family, Miss?” said Boden, “Or a friend, maybe? We gotta take you down to the station but after that you shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

Herb spills his tea into his saucer as Five blinks straight into his office once again, eyes aglow and energy high. Slapping the file onto Herb’s desk, Five doesn’t apologize for his rude entrance, too pumped to tell what he has to say.

“Got him Herb. Guy called Chet Monroe. Real piece of shit. For once I can’t wait to take this fucker out.”

Recovering himself, Herb swallows his last sip of tea.

Five Hargeeves had never failed to take out a target before. When Dot brought Herb the report from field agents that police had been seen escorting the mark, completely unharmed, from her building, he’d been extremely perturbed: Hargreeves was known for being volatile and following his own ends, the timeline be damned, and him going rogue had always meant very bad things for The Commission.

When a message from Five arrived requesting a meeting, Herb was unsure whether to be terrified or relieved. As it happened, Five was apologetic and only requesting to perform some recalculations. To this, Herb acquiesced immediately, just thankful to have Five working with them rather than against them.

He just has time to say: “Chet Monroe?” before Five launches into his spiel.

“Sex trafficker!” he says, triumph obvious in his voice. “The meat merchant. He’s the one who sources vulnerable girls, makes them feel safe and then pulls it out from under them. When I take him out, we preserve the timeline and we save a few girls...from him, anyway. It’s win-win. It's always nice when they're some real shitbag. I’ll waive my fee on this whole thing.”

“Let's see,” says Herb.

He opens the file and shifts the papers inside, looking at the potential new mark with interest. After scanning the information, he finds himself smiling with more mischief than he usually employs with Five.

“This seems more…vigilante than usual for you. I guess your brother would be proud of you.”

Five responds with a scoff, “You mean that bargain-basement batman? No, this is just about the math- him being an evil piece of shit is just a bonus. And then, guess what? He’s only one link in the chain further on. Two months after I meet her, that human shit-stain cat calls my girl and she tells him where to stick it. That will make him pissed off enough to beat the shit out of one of his girls, which means she’s too ill to rob the grocery store, so-”

Herb nods and waves a hand.

“I’ve read the files."

He knows the chain reaction that would eventually lead to timeline destruction. This certainly wasn't procedural, but since being in charge of the Commission, Herb had come to learn that timelines were far more malleable than he'd been led to believe. Most procedures, he discovered, were more to do with matters of bureaucracy than they were to do with paradox prevention. It was a discovery that was, at first, unsettling to him but now he finds it oddly freeing. After contemplating Five for a second, he makes his decision.

“Dot chose that girl mainly for ease of access. Single, lives alone, no combat experience. Seemed a waste of your skills but she was in your city, in your timeframe. Wouldn't even need a briefcase.”

"So you'll sign off the switch? This guy's in my timeframe too: don't need a briefcase for him either.”

Herb grins.

“You know,” he says, taking another sip of tea and fixing Five with a knowing look, “she sounds pretty special.”

He didn't miss the proprietary look that crept into Number Five’s eyes when he said ‘my girl’. Five doesn’t respond to the implication.

“Will you sign it off?”

Herb grins, “Of course, I'm sure Dot will understand.”

With a flash, no thanks and no goodbye, Herb is left alone, shaking his head.

“Ah, young love.” he murmurs with a little smirk, glad that Five is out of earshot.

Masterpost

Alternatively, join me on A03. Here is a link to the whole series

This is the first chapter of four Five X Reader Fics that are all posted on Ao3. I am in the process of writing a 5th. Smut is ever-present but takes a back seat to plot and character study in later instalments

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itsbrandy · 6 months

Text

Wildest Dreams

Chapter 2: He's So Tall and Handsome as Hell

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Original Female Character

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, drug use, alcohol use, partying, smoking, spanking, mm kissing, ff kissing, old timey taboo

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: Here's some angst for ya. Thank you for reading!

Dieter

Dieter was barely lucid by the time John arrived, but John fixed him up quickly. He’d made the stupid mistake of thinking John was there to break into his house despite the fact that his residence was carefully guarded by security.

“Are you taking downers?” John asked. He looked handsome. His blonde hair was neatly styled, and he was wearing baby blue. Dieter always loved it when he wore light colors. “You didn’t have to pregame so hard.”

“Dunno,” Dieter shrugged. “Too much time to wait.”

“‘Kay,” John said. He procured a pill bottle from his pocket and set a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass down on the coffee table. “Well, take some of this. You’ll pep right up. We’ve got girls coming. Lots of them. I did something you’re not going to believe, Dieter.”

Dieter took the small pill from John and threw it back with a shot of whiskey John poured for him. The shot screamed down his throat, burning up his nose and stimulating his senses.

“Nice,” Dieter commented. He loved the burn of whiskey as it went down. “What did you do?”

“I scouted the fucking acting schools,” John said. His brown eyes lit up with excitement.

“I’ve got 30-something acting school girls coming. Plus, our normal crowd. This party is going to be insane!”

Dieter was a bit too numb to match John’s level of enthusiasm, but he smiled and nodded to show his approval. If John was happy, he was happy. He hadn’t seen John this happy in a while. Ever since their big fight, John had kept his distance.

To be truthful with himself, Dieter wasn’t quite sure what the sudden change was.

Maybe it was that Dieter had drugs or that his house was bigger than John’s, so he could throw a proper rager.

Or maybe he’d gotten in trouble with his PR team for throwing parties at his own house and wanted to use Dieter’s house as a loophole.

Regardless of the reason, Dieter thought spending time with John was worth it.

Dieter was used to being used by people. All his life, he’d been used by people, whether it was for fame, money, sex, drugs, alcohol, or a cheap laugh.

“That’s awesome, John,” Dieter said. “How the hell did you manage that?”

“I’ve got connections,” John said. He poured Dieter another shot.

“Another one of my friends is bringing bottles. Don’t worry, this isn’t all we’ll have.”

“Good,” Dieter said, throwing the second shot back. “I was promised vodka.”

“Were you?” John asked, raising a blonde eyebrow.

Dieter wasn’t sure if he was playing dumb or if he was lying to him.

“Can we get some lights turned on in this place?” John asked, wandering over to the kitchen. “Do you usually just sit in the dark?”

Dieter shrugged. “I was on my own until you showed up. Let’s get those lights on so I can see your pretty face.”

“That’s more like it,” John said. He flicked the kitchen lights on, and Dieter almost gasped as he realized how shitty John looked.

He knew that he was spun out on drugs, but John had lost weight in the weeks since he’d last seen him. John’s cheekbones, usually prominent and handsome, jutted out unnaturally compared to his sunken in cheeks. His jaw wasn’t filled out either, making his chin look larger.

He didn’t look like himself.

He didn’t look like the John that Dieter was used to. But when John smiled at him, it was still that same smile, and Dieter realized he’d still kiss him in a heartbeat all the same. John just needed to eat more food. That was all.

Dieter could feed him. He made more than enough money to support John if he was struggling with eating. Or they could hire someone to bring him food. There had to be a solution.

Dieter’s mind was racing, and John’s mouth was moving, and Dieter couldn’t hear him.

“What did you say?” Dieter asked after a while. He was leaning against the counter, using it as support for his weight. His body felt heavy, and his head felt light.

“I said Mary Alice was pulled from the Paramount film,” John said with a grin. “I think it means you got the role.”

There was another man in the kitchen with John now, one that Dieter didn’t recognize.

He was taller than John but not taller than Dieter and had sandy brown hair. He was busy unloading bottles of alcohol out of a cardboard box and onto the other countertop.

“Who are you?” Dieter asked. He’d lost time between what John said about Mary Alice and now. There was a shot of whiskey served up right in front of him, speaking his name.

“Fred,” the man said, holding his hand out for Dieter to shake it. Instead, Dieter grabbed the shot glass and downed it, leaving Fred with his hand extended until he finally decided to retract it.

“When are people showing up?” Dieter asked.

“Now,” John said, as if Dieter was missing something.

When he turned around, he realized that there were already a couple dozen people milling around his living room. Music was playing from his record player, and girls were wearing shiny dresses that showed off their shoulders and their figures.

“Oh,” Dieter said. “I’m going to go talk to people, then.”

“Have fun,” John said. Dieter looked away, trying to find a beautiful girl in the room to talk to.

There were plenty of them, no shortage, really. John had done a really good job putting together the guest list.

What was it he said? Did he raid an acting school?

Genius, John.

John was so smart. So handsome. So strung out on drugs, God, he was so skinny now.

Dieter was worried, but Dieter couldn’t judge. He was also strung out on drugs.

The devil makes company.

His thoughts were like spaghetti in his hands, noodles slipping through his fingers as time and space contracted and flexed around him.

One moment, a girl would be sitting in his lap, her form pressed up against him. The next, she’d be gone, as if she was just a phantom, a poltergeist.

Dieter told himself he needed to slow down, but the drinks kept coming. Liquor flowed into his hand like it appeared out of thin air.

And the pills…

Once John opened up his not-so-secret box of fun on the coffee table, it was like all hell had sprung loose. Women flocked to the sitting area like vultures surrounding a carcass. They giggled and shrieked, taking turns as they quickly depleted Dieter’s stash.

John asked him if he had any more drugs.

Of course, he did.

Dieter wandered off to grab more from his closet—a second supply. An addict never hid all of his shit in the same place. How stupid would that be?

He dropped off the drugs with John and waited patiently for John to help him do another line. How many had he done tonight? What was it he’d grabbed from the closet?

Dieter blinked, then blinked again. His vision had gone fuzzy, but it cleared up quickly.

Time seemed to skip, bending and flexing. He stumbled backward into his seat, unaware that he’d been standing.

John laughed and slung his arm around his shoulder. He was warm and fit against him like the perfect puzzle piece. Oh, Dieter missed John. He wished John would come around more.

He wished it was just the two of them alone now. They didn’t need all of these people to have a good time.

“This is the best party I’ve been to in a minute,” John whispered in his ear.

“Yeah?” Dieter asked. “Why do you say that?”

“There are so many women,” John said with a laugh that sent tingles up Dieter’s spine. “I really outdid myself this time.”

“You did,” Dieter agreed. “I don’t know how you fit so many people in here.”

“Magic,” John joked.

He tried to remember the other parties that he’d been to with John in the months before they’d stopped spending as much time with one another. There was the one that quickly devolved into a sex party.

Dieter could almost taste John’s lips on his tongue. The memory was so vivid. It felt like he was reliving the moment now.

But then he was kissing John, cupping his chin on the couch in his living room. The brash feel of stubble against his fingertips felt like electricity. John tasted like whiskey, and he smelled like sin and smoke.

“What are you doing?” John asked.

“What?” Dieter said.

He was in John’s lap, kissing him, and the girls around them were watching. They always kissed at parties. This wasn’t anything new.

But things had changed between Dieter and John in the passing months, as much as Dieter didn’t want to admit it. He wasn’t John’s number one, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be.

“There’s too many people here,” John said, giving him a gentle shove. “Not now.”

Dieter stood up and swayed, finding balance difficult.

“Okay,” he said, as if his heart wasn’t shattered. “That’s okay.”

John gathered a young woman in his lap, swiftly replacing Dieter with her soft hips and poofy dress.

“Find a girl, Dieter,” John said. “You should enjoy yourself tonight. This party is your party, after all.”

Dieter nodded. “Yeah, I should do that. You’re right, John.”

He was lying to John and to himself.

He didn’t want a girl. He wanted John tonight.

Maybe beggars can’t be choosers, and Dieter didn’t often beg. It was just that he’d expected something when John called him earlier. He thought that John wanted to come over because he wanted Dieter, not a spot to host the biggest rager Hollywood had seen all year.

Dieter stumbled away, heading out to the front patio with a cigarette between his teeth. He puffed and inhaled, breathing in the bite of nicotine and immediately feeling more awake, more lucid.

He loved cigarettes at parties. They helped him have a second wind, waking him up from the haze of drugs and alcohol. He needed fresh air, though, and the front patio was less jam-packed with people than the inside of his home was.

Partygoers were still arriving, walking past Dieter and into his home as if they owned the place. The door was revolving—people came in, people came out.

A young actress burst through the door to puke in his front shrubs before racing back indoors to continue the festivities.

A pair of Hollywood hopefuls entered the home hand-in-hand,

sober and bright-eyed, so unaware that Hollywood would snap them apart if they ever got a role in anything.

Agents weren’t a fan of established couples. Neither were production companies.

They liked couples who drew headlines and excitement. So they would break up couples on purpose, shred them into tiny little pieces, and take away their happiness forever.

Dieter knew how it went, which is why he never messed around with dating.

Their romance would end in disaster.

Dieter was smarter than them.

He took one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out on the railing of his front porch. As he did so, he noticed two girls walking down the road. One with dark hair, the other with light brown hair.

They walked hand-in-hand also, just like the couple that had entered his home before them.

The dark-haired one caught his eye and grabbed his attention immediately.

Much to his surprise, his first instinct wasn’t to ask her if she wanted to have sex with him. He wanted to ask her if she was okay.

She looked nervous as the pair of them approached his driveway, the woman with light brown hair murmuring reassurances to her.

“Nancy,” the dark-haired woman said. “This looks like a lot. I’m not sure if I’m comfortable—”

“It’ll be fun. I promise,” the other one, Nancy, said insistently. She hung on the dark-haired woman’s arm, pleading with her. “I just need to find Alice, and then you’ll feel more comfortable. She knows a ton of people here.”

“It’s so loud. Don’t you think the cops will come?” the dark-haired one said as they passed him.

She didn’t look at him, which bruised Dieter’s ego. Her brown eyes were locked on her friend instead.

Dieter knew the feeling. He opened his mouth to warn her about falling in love with her same-sex best friend.

It’ll end badly, he wanted to say. You’ll be in love forever, but you’ll always be forgotten about. You’ll live forever as the moth to her flame. Is that what you want?

Fuck, he should listen to his own advice.

Dieter laughed and lit another cigarette as the two women entered his home without saying hello to him.

The door opening let out the raucous sound of the party, which made Dieter’s head throb and pulse with the start of a headache.

He needed another drink ASAP.

“And? We’re in Hollywood. The cops know about these things. They wouldn’t dare mess with the stars. I mean, come on. This is Dieter Bravo’s house, after all,” Nancy said.

“Hm,” the dark-haired one said. Her voice still sounded wary, but she trusted her friend. “I hope you’re right.”

“We’ll get some drinks. You’ll feel better before you know it,” Nancy promised.

-----

Bee

Bee didn’t feel better with drinks in her. She felt dizzy and too hot. Her skin was crawling with the feeling of stuffiness in the crowded home. The lights were low, filled with the haze of smoke from all of the smokers.

She kept returning to the kitchen counter to pick up shot glasses of liquor, hoping that continuing to drink would make her feel more at peace and less like an outsider.

A couple of men approached her, but she quickly shooed them away and scurried back to Nancy’s side.

It was with Nancy that she felt safe, even though she didn’t really like Alice or her crowd very much.

Alice was stunning. She was blonde, with big curls and bright blue eyes. She was thin, too, with an angular face that made Bee envious and a body that turned heads on a swivel.

With Alice, Nancy, and Bee were right in the thick of things at the party. Though Bee didn’t recognize them, there were plenty of lower-level Hollywood stars gathered around where they sat on a set

of sofas.

Nancy flitted between the laps of men and Bee’s own lap.

Every time she got bored with a prospective catch, she’d return to Bee. Bee would wrap her arms around Nancy’s waist and nuzzle her shoulder with her chin, breathing in the smell of sultry smoke that mixed with Nancy’s fruity shampoo.

How could she have fun and give into her inhibitions at a party without giving into Nancy?

Especially with Nancy practically throwing herself at her. It just wasn’t fair.

Bee always stopped herself before she got too handsy, though. She didn’t want Nancy or anyone else to get too suspicious. Sure, there were other same-sex couples scattered around the Hollywood home.

Men kissed men, and women kissed women, but they were usually tucked away in the corners of the home as Bee maneuvered it.

The straight debauchery, on the other hand, was front and center for everyone’s enjoyment.

Bee never fancied herself as a voyeur, but she couldn’t keep her eyes away from John Hughes as he playfully spanked an acting school girl who had stripped down to her white slip at some point. A crowd formed around them, hooting and cheering.

There was one man Bee noticed over in that corner of the living room who didn’t look pleased to watch the display. Bee immediately recognized him as the owner of the home, Dieter Bravo.

He was famous on the Silver Screen. Devilishly handsome and horribly promiscuous—he was Hollywood’s darling.

He’d thrown this party, though. Why was he so ticked off that it was getting rowdy?

With all this alcohol and all of these women, wasn’t that the goal?

Bee didn’t strike Dieter as the type of man who enjoyed quiet evenings at home with talk radio on in the background and a mug of hot tea to warm his hand. He was whiskey and wine, cigarettes and ash, and women.

Plenty of women. Women at his disposal.

An entire acting school of women inside his living room.

This party fit him perfectly. It was exactly his style.

Then why was he so upset?

In her drunken haze, Bee almost wanted to get up and walk across the room to ask him herself. She pushed herself up from the armchair she sat in, only to be pushed back down by the weight of Nancy.

Nancy sat in her lap, and Bee wrapped her arms around her, pulling her close. She was careful not to spill the drink that Nancy clung in her hand by moving her too much.

“I really don’t like Jimmy,” Nancy whined. “But he keeps talking to me, and he’s so boring. The only thing is, I think he might be able to help me get more auditions. Should I spend more time with him?”

“It’s up to you, Nance,” Bee said. “Do you want to get more auditions?”

Nancy giggled. “Yeah, of course.”

She hiccupped, and Bee rubbed her back between her shoulder blades. Nancy sighed and leaned into Bee’s touch.

“You’re going to be a star, Bee,” Nancy said. “We’ll both be stars. I’m okay with fucking my way to the top if we have to. Anything to make sure that both of us will make it. I’ll do anything.”

Bee’s heart sank. She wasn’t sure she liked hearing those words from Nancy. Well, half of it she was more than fine with. Bee wanted to be a star. She wanted to make it in Hollywood.

Sure, she knew that there was no future where she could proudly kiss Nancy in front of the world, but there were plenty of Hollywood stars who were gay behind the scenes. There were probably a dozen or more of them in Dieter Bravo’s house at this very moment.

Nancy wrestled her way out of Bee’s arms and stood.

“I want another drink,” she said. Nancy reached out and grabbed Bee’s hand. “Come with me, let’s go get another one.”

Nancy hadn’t finished the one she’d been drinking, but Bee agreed—anything to stay near her.

“We’re going to get another drink,” Nancy told Alice.

Alice was bent over at the waist. Her face neared a side table where she snorted up some white powder neatly arranged in a line. Nancy waited for Alice to finish and cleared her throat.

Bee watched on awkwardly and fussed with her skirt. There was a wrinkle where the weight of Nancy had been.

“We’re going to get another drink,” Nancy repeated when Alice sat up straight. Her eyes were wide, her lids fluttered, and she looked dazed.

“Okay,” Alice said with a smile.

“What was that anyway?” Bee asked Nancy as the two of them walked toward the kitchen.

“I’m not sure,” Nancy shrugged. “Alice knows what she’s doing. She’s always at these parties. I think it’s how she stays so skinny.”

Bee gulped. That feeling of envy was back, sitting like a rock on her chest.

“You think so?” she asked. It looked scary.

Drinking was one thing for Bee. She knew she wasn’t really supposed to do it. Drinking wasn’t becoming of a young woman like her, especially not in copious amounts. If she wanted to be a star, no one could ever know about any habits of hers. Even the biggest stars didn’t really let on that they smoked.

Men smoked cigarettes, not women.

Well, some women did. But only if they were really glamorous.

Nancy dragged Bee toward the kitchen by her hand.

Bee’s hand felt sweaty in Nancy’s grasp. They held hands all the time, but the fuzzy feeling of alcohol made the butterflies in her stomach flap their wings like they were feral. Her heart was pounding. Her head was a mess.

“Whiskey or vodka?” Nancy asked as they approached the counter.

“Vodka,” Bee answered.

Nancy grinned. “I don’t know why I even asked. I know you so well.”

You do, Bee wanted to say. You know me better than anyone.

Nancy downed the rest of her existing drink and filled her glass with more whiskey.

Then, tugging Bee by her hand, she guided them through the crowd of people back toward Alice and her group on the couches.

But, of course, their seat had been taken. With this many people, Bee knew better than to have not asked someone to watch it for them, but she’d forgotten.

Now, she and Nancy would have to stand back in the shadows in one of the only places in the living room that wasn’t already occupied by dancing bodies and heads thrown back in laughter.

“This isn’t so bad,” Nancy said once they’d settled into their dark corner. “I needed a break from the men anyway.”

She set her glass of whiskey down on a bookshelf and took Bee’s glass from her as well.

“There,” Nancy said. “Let’s dance.”

Nancy wrapped her arms around Bee’s neck and swayed to the music. Bee could hardly hear the beat or the rhythm over the sounds of people yelling and laughing and telling ridiculous stories, but it didn’t matter.

Her hands found Nancy’s hips, and Nancy melted into her.

“You’re so beautiful,” Nancy said. “I’ve always thought you were so pretty.”

Bee stiffened. Her hands went rigid on Nancy’s waist. Was she just saying that because she was drunk? Did she mean it in a friendly way or in a different way?

Oh, there were too many questions.

She just couldn’t take it anymore. Bee had to know the truth. She just didn’t have the words to ask her.

She wasn’t brave enough to do this.

Bee reached out and grabbed her vodka drink, and slammed it down. Liquid courage burned its way down her throat, bringing stinging tears to her eyes.

Then, Bee kissed Nancy like she’d always wanted to. Her lips fit perfectly against Nancy’s, and her hands moved from Nancy’s waist to find her perfect brown curls.

Her hair was so soft, like nothing she’d ever felt before. When she twisted her fingers in her hair to pull her closer, it felt like grabbing a handful of silk ribbons.

Nancy tasted of whiskey and floral perfume.

Bee wanted her so badly it hurt, and she kissed her like her life depended on it.

There was no time to consider if this changed things between them. They were roommates, but before that, they’d been the closest friends.

This was just alcohol and adrenaline. Not feelings. Right?

Nancy sighed into the kiss, breathing gentle acknowledgment back to her.

So, she wasn’t imagining it. Nancy wasn’t just saying things to her because they were friends.

Bee had won. She’d gotten the girl. She’d done it. She’d been brave enough.

When Nancy pulled back, Bee had the feeling that they were being watched. There were a hundred people packed into the tight space, and the lights were dim, but someone’s gaze bore holes into Bee’s skin.

There was only one person in the crowded room whose eyes were locked on them as Nancy backed Bee against the wall, holding the back of her head.

Just before Nancy kissed her again, Bee locked eyes with Dieter Bravo himself.

“Hey, Nanc,” Alice said just before they kissed for a second time. “I have to use the bathroom. Will you come with me to find it?”

Nancy turned around quickly and addressed her acting class friend as if nothing ever happened between them. Her hands left Bee’s body like they’d never ever been there in the first place, igniting every nerve in her body like electric shock.

Jealousy burned through Bee like liquor.

Alice. So pretty and so sweet and so perfect.

If Nancy was gay, what was stopping her from choosing Alice over her?

She just did, right now. Would Nancy kiss Alice in the bathroom? Would she change her mind?

“Be right back,” Nancy said. Then, Nancy went to find the bathroom with the girl from her acting class, leaving Bee alone in the corner with Nancy’s forgotten glass of whiskey and bruised lips.

She stared off in the direction Nancy left in, willing her to come back, playing the moment their lips touched over and over. It was a moment she’d never forget. There was no way.

“I saw that,” Dieter said, sliding against the wall next to her. His shoulder accidentally bumped against the bookcase, rattling its contents.

Bee gasped and swung around. Not even the sweet numbness of alcohol could stop the fear of having been caught kissing her best friend by none other than Dieter Bravo himself.

“Don’t worry,” he said. His words slid together like his lips had lost their feeling. Bee was familiar with how that felt. “I have one of those too.”

Bee looked at him, really looked at him. He was so tall and handsome as hell.

How could he be in the same situation as her? He was a lady killer. Everyone knew that.

“But,” Bee said stupidly. “You have sex with women.”

Dieter laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Of course I do. I have sex with a lot of women.”

“Oh,” Bee said. “Yeah, of course you do.”

She wasn’t sure how she felt about his admission. It made her feel dizzy and a little bit winded, but she’d also just kissed her best friend. Her wires were all crossed.

“Do you want this?” Bee asked, unsure of what else to say. “I don’t drink whiskey.”

“That’s your friend’s drink,” Dieter pointed out. “You’re really going to give it away?”

“Oh,” Bee said. She felt dumb. She’d just said ‘Oh’ twice in a row. Why did this man make her speechless? “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“So, how long?” Dieter asked.

“How long what?”

“How long have you been in love with your best friend?” Dieter pressed. “It’s been a while for me, too. Probably five years.”

“I’m not sure,” Bee said honestly.

She couldn’t remember when she’d begun to fall for Nancy. There wasn’t a day that it started. There were always days where she looked at Nancy and loved her because who couldn’t love Nancy? When that love had changed to something more, Bee couldn’t say.

“That’s the best kind of love,” Dieter said. “The type where you aren’t sure where it ends and where it begins. You just know that it’s there, and you’ll always have it.”

Bee took a sip of Nancy’s whiskey instead of responding. His words had hit too close to home. Bee sputtered and coughed. Whiskey was awful.

“Don’t do that,” Dieter scolded. He eased the glass out of Bee’s hand, warm fingertips brushing against her skin. “You shouldn’t mix dark liquor and light.”

“How do you know that?” Bee asked.

This was the first time she had heard of such a thing. She’d only known that she liked vodka more than she liked whiskey. Whiskey smelled like shoe polish, but Nancy seemed to have no trouble drinking it. Alice drank it, too.

But both of them were cool. They were the type of women who could get away with smoking cigarettes.

“I’m an alcoholic,” Dieter said nonchalantly, as if he was stating where he was from.

Bee laughed out of shock.

“I’m sorry,” she said immediately. Her eyes widened out of horror at her own loose lips. “I’m drunk.”

“That’s an interesting name,” Dieter said. “I’m Dieter.”

“No, my name isn’t drunk,” Bee said, confused. “My name is Bee.”

“Bee,” Dieter grinned, and it sent Bee’s heart rate soaring. Her pulse pounded in her ears like it only did when she was thinking about Nancy. “I like that name.”

“Oh, Bee,” Alice said suddenly from behind her. She quickly wound herself around Dieter, planting a kiss on his cheek as if she belonged in his arms.

Dieter grabbed onto her, but Bee wasn’t sure if he wanted to be touching her or if he grabbed her because Alice had knocked him off balance.

Her lipstick left red marks on Dieter’s cheekbone.

Dieter handed Nancy’s whiskey glass back to Bee. She held it eagerly, so excited to see Nancy again that she hardly cared about Alice’s posturing.

“I see you’ve met Dieter,” Alice said protectively. “Dieter and I might be starring in a movie together very soon.”

“Maybe,” Dieter said. “We’ll have to see.”

“That’s great,” Bee said. She didn’t care. There was something more important on her mind.

She looked around, but Nancy was nowhere in sight. Had Alice left her in the bathroom? There were so many strange men around. It wasn’t safe for her to be alone.

“Where’s Nancy?” Bee asked, panicked.

“She found a gent on the way back from the toilet,” Alice laughed. “I think they took a detour into one of the guest rooms if you know what I mean.”

Alice winked at her, and it was the last thing that Bee remembered except for the smash of the glass as she dropped Nancy’s drink to the floor.

Chapter 3, Masterlist

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #old hollywood #1950s au #wildest dreams #agentbrandy

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kayhi808 · 1 year

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More Than Our Scars - Part 6

Appointments with Dr. Krista Dumont was scheduled by Anvil's insurance company. You can't have an active agent that's mentally unstable, let alone the CEO. At first, meetings with Dr. Dumont were helpful. She taught Bill how to deal with his anxiety. How to deal with his scars. The old Bill was a vain man. Suits fit perfectly. He kept his body in top shape, hair styled just so, neatly trimmed beard. He was extremely handsome. A failed mission, amnesia, injuries, irreparable facial scarring does a lot to a man's self-esteem & self worth. Lately, she has been asking more about details of the mission itself & what he can remember. Bill has a gut feeling that these weren't normal evaluation questions.

Curiosity got the better of her, "What happened to your hand?"

Bill flexes his fingers & smiles down at his bandaged hand, "Rabid puppy bite."

"You got a pet?" He shrugs but says nothing. "Your scars are healing very nicely." Dr Dumont studies his face & it annoys Bill. "You're almost 6 months into your recovery, Bill. You've achieved a lot in a very short time."

"Wiping my own ass again. That was a real milestone," knee bouncing as he stares at the ceiling of her office.

"We've talked about this. Be kind to yourself. Hang in there."

She rests her hand on Bill's, but before he can pull away, his phone rings. He see's its you calling him, so he gets up and moves away from Dumont. "Hey. (Pause) Nah, I'm finishing up. We started late. I'll get outta here soon. Were you calling for something? (Pause) I can pick it up on the way home. I'll see you in a bit." He shoves his phone back in his pocket. "Are we through here?"

"Bill, you need to take this seriously & participate," irritated because of the interruption or his lack of engagement, Bill couldn't tell. "Your snide comments are not helping you." Nods at his phone, "Who were you talking to?"

"Nobody," slouching down in his chair.

"I ask because you seem very comfortable. Your guard wasn't up. I haven't seen you like that."

"Yea, well. They don't pry & prod at me."

"Is that how you feel about our sessions?"

Bill emits a soft growl & stands, "I think our hour is up. Thanks, Doc." He gives a lazy salute & leaves the office.

*****

After the debacle that happened in the lobby of Anvil, Billy was able to calm you down & reassure you that he had zero intention of letting any harm come to you. He had a medic over to wrap your ribs to prevent any more damage & to clean the bite you left on his hand. Luckily, no stitches were needed, yet you were filled with remorse. You believe Bill when he promises that he'll make Kingpin pay with his life. You have mixed feelings about that. You've prayed for Fisk's demise, but you don't want a death on Billy's conscience. Unbeknownst to you, your new roommate is a US Marine Corp Scout Sniper with 137 confirmed kills to his name.

Bill comes through the door with arms loaded down with groceries. You walk over "Here, let me help you."

"I got it," giving you an insulted look & angling the bags out of your reach. You follow him into the kitchen.

"Did you have to wait? They were supposed to have everything ready for pick up, " you ask nervously.

Dumping the bags on the counter, "Everything was set. What the hell did you buy?" He see's you tense, "Not that I care. I said you could buy what you needed."

"You lived quite the bachelor life. You don't even have the basics in your pantry. I had to restock."

"You don't need to do this, I'm fine with picking up food."

"I don't mind at all. I enjoy cooking. I used to be a chef before...before," you trail off. You busy yourself with putting things away. Billy gently tugs on your hair as you walk away. He follows & puts things on the higher shelves you can't reach without hurting your ribs.

"So what's on the menu for tonight?"

"You look like a steak & potatoes kind of guy. I figure that was a safe bet until you tell me what you like." Bill breaks into a grin, so you probably guessed right. "I'm sorry too that I interrupted your session with your doctor. I didn't mean to . I didn't want you to return only to go back out again. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I was done. It's too much talking for me."

You smile to yourself because you're not surprised to hear that, "Man of few words." You turn around from the cupboard to find Billy directly behind you, intruding in your personal space, "Shit," the smile falling from your lips.

Billy slowly leans over & brushes his lips across your cheek to whisper in your ear, "I don't always need words to convey what I want." The low almost rumble-like tone makes you break out in goosebumps, your nipples pebbling to aching buds beneath your shirt just by his voice alone. He pulls back slowly & his goatee tickles your neck. You can't help but stare. He smirks & cocks an eyebrow at you. You nod & he buries his hands in your hair & his mouth slants over yours. He hasn't kissed you since that night in his office. You almost thought it was a dream. But this is real. The smell of him. His taste. The way he feels against you. This was all Billy Russo. Your tongue slides against his & he leans into you, pressing his erection against your belly. You moan into his mouth & his kisses become more devouring. He slides his hands under your shirt & stops kissing you. He takes in a ragged breath & rests his head on the top of yours & pulls you to his chest, with his arm hugging you around your shoulders & neck.

"Wh...what's wrong? Why...did you stop?"

His hands glide along your shirt over your ribs. They are still tightly wrapped. "You're still healing. I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't hurt me." He smiles at you.

"Take a deep breath for me." You can't, because it'll be very painful. You were just in a kiss drunken haze created by Mr. Russo. You want him.

"Maybe if you were really gentle..."

Laughs harshly, "If I...WHEN I fuck you, I'm going to be far from gentle, sweetheart." He tilts your chin up and kisses you. “Never say I wasn’t a gentleman.” Groans, "I need a cold shower."

“I hate you.”

“Soon, darlin’“

“I’m burning your dinner. You’re getting a well-done steak.”

You hear a true laugh from him & minutes later you hear the shower running.

A smile creeps onto your face. He didn’t say IF. He said WHEN.

@idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @jvanilly

#billy russo #billy russo fanfic #billy russo fanfiction #billy russo fic #billy russo s2 #billy russo x reader #billy russo x y/n

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areaphim · 2 years

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QUILGE OPIE x APPLE ACCUTRONE ( BARRO) x ROBERT ACCUTRONE- First Sight.

Footsteps run heavily down the hallway, echoing loudly from the walls of Silbern. Breathing and panting loud and hard, Apple, trying to find a way, any way, to get away from Quilge Opie. “I’m not going to keep chasing you all day. Come here, Princess. It’s not like you can actually get away from me. You can never escape The Jail.”, Quilge says, as he’s walking after her.

Still engaged to him, the young Apple Barro at this time refuses to marry such a monster. With her quiet soul and her heart closed off to the world to everyone except for His Majesty, Yhwach, who was the main reason behind this marriage. Since they are both Echt (Pureblooded) Quincy, an arranged marriage had to be formed, to preserve and extend the Quincy race. Since both Apple and Quilge come from noble Quincy families, it was only natural.

“Don’t you love me? You NEED me, woman! My wife, my love, you aren’t going anywhere, so why run?! His Majesty will not be happy when he hears about this!”, Quilge screams, walking a bit faster than normal. Quilge is not giving up on Apple. As kids, when the engagement was first announced, everyone feared for Apple. They knew that this boy, this sick, twisted sadistic child would be worse as an adult. They didn’t know if Apple would even survive being with him for the rest of her life, however long that was.

He needed her. He lusted for her. He wanted- no, NEEDED- everything of Apple; her scent, her power, her body, her children. The thought of that heated his body up even more. Apple was his, and nobody can change that.

“Quilge! Just go already! Leave me be, and return to your chambers! Unfortunately, I’ll be back soon.”, Apple yells, as she stops to look at her fiancé. “I don’t recall you ever using just my first name. Lord Quilge sounds just fine. You’re coming back with me, my dear. By the gods, you’re such a pain. Let’s go now. I don’t have time to waste, for you and your shenanigans, again.”

Quilge steps right in front of Apple, and they stare one another down, in complete silence. Apple ran out from Quilge, to talk to His Majesty Yhwach, about breaking their engagement. They had been together since childhood, and it has been nothing but miserable for the both of them. Surprisingly, Apple and Quilge have had a few wonderful memories together. As Quilge looks deep into his lover’s seafoam green eyes, he asks her as to why she hates him so.

“Why is it that you hate me? If you would only listen to me, and actually show some interest, we wouldn’t have these problems! Don’t you realize that His Majesty put us together for a great reason? Once you bear my child, they will come great power, and become an excellent Sternritter! Don’t you want that? You’re so beautiful, I wish I could-“

Someone stops Quilge mid sentence. A tall, slender man, with light brown hair, styled perfectly, thin square-framed glasses, and a full, neatly trimmed mustache stands in between the couple. Neither Quincy saw nor heard him approach them. He side eyes Quilge, and fully turns to look at Apple.

“I haven’t seen you around before, but have heard of you. You must be the one who has relations to Lille Barro. Engaged to Quilge Opie. Hm, interesting.”

“What are you doing here…Accutrone?”, Quilge asks, while Apple steps back. This man, who had the audacity to speak to Apple, HIS lover, right in front of Quilge? He wasn’t going to have that.

“Answer me! Who gave you the right to speak to my lady?! This isn’t your conversation to be in!”

“I did hear all of such conversation. You shouldn’t be speaking to her that way, Opie. Only if you had manners,” Robert turns to Apple once again, “as I was saying. My name is Robert Accutrone, Sternritter N. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Barro.”

As Apple was about to speak, Quilge, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her away from Robert. Before walking off, Quilge stated to Robert, “Stay away from her, Accutrone. Mind your business. Or, I will dispose of you, REGARDLESS OF THE CONSEQUENCES!”

“We will meet again, Barro.”, Robert states as he walks away from the pair.

“That cocky asshole! How the hell does he think he can just waltz his way anywhere he pleases?! Let’s go.”, Quilge says, as continues to pull Apple with him, down the halls of Silbern.

#quilge opie #robert accutrone #Sternritter #bleach #bleach oc #bleach fanfiction #bleach tybw #yhwach

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h4kufilmz · 2 years

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follow the wind ✎ ( PARK SUNGHOON )

=͟͟͞♡ PAIRING : SUNGHOON x MALE READER

=͟͟͞♡ GENRE : ... Angst. are we surprised? are you surprisd? and some fantasy, again, ARE YOU SURPRISED? some fluff at the end, happy ending, now this is where y'all should be surprised cause.. happy? endings? 🤺

=͟͟͞♡ WARNING : major character death, blood, violence, some cursing and grief.

a sigh left M/N's parted lips, letting the soft cool breeze sweep through his features into his room. no other than his soft breaths and rustle from the trees were heard.

he liked it this way, it kept his mind at bay from the thoughts seeping through it, troubling him. he prefers to deal with it alone as he could think more clearly by himself, and this is not something he should really be telling anyone.

from the far distance he could see a creature flying it's way to his window, it glimmered as it made contact with golden rays of the sun, he exactly knew who this was from.

a smile grew on his face as the owl made of ice landed on the stool of his window, it shine so brightly as a cold mist cascades down it's figure as it fades away leaving a single snowflake.

his smile grew bigger as he knew who this was from, "ah what does he want now?" he got off the chair that sar beside the window slipping the snowflake in his pocket. paying no mind, he took his coat and was about to head before stopping.

his eyes stared at his holster that carried his sword, something in him was telling him to bring it with him, for a few seconds he stood there deciding if he should or not, ultimately he made up his mind and wrapped the holster around his waist, slipping on his coat he made his way out.

today was particularly a windy one, the walk through the forest was rather more tedious than it is, leaves flying whichever direction the wind blew, same with his hair, it'll look as if he got caught in some storm when he gets there.

finally, he saw the clearing they'd normally meet in, M/N could see sunghoon's silver hair in the distance, neatly styled, just like always.

he was the star between the two of them, everyone always praised him and noticed his efforts, he'd always have a group of fans waiting beside the street screaming his name just him to not even look their way and continue dragging M/N to some random stool that he saw a few days ago.

that was the thing about sunghoon, he never truly cared about the fame he got, he never really acknowledged the fans screaming his way. it never really held any importance to him, it really caught his eye nor got to him in any way.

and he'll continue to do so, as he truly doesn't see how people see him, he'd honestly disagree whenever M/N mentions that he should show some appreciation to those people who made the effort to lose their voices just for him to walk past them, he'd always say: "i don't deserve the praise, you do." and M/N would just scoff and they'd laugh it off. that's how it's always been.

M/N disagree's with sunghoon as well, a never ending argument against them both.

despite his fame and success, M/N was just always seen as sunghoon's shadow, only following behind him and no one truly noticed nor praised him as much as they would do to sunghoon, but he's fine with that, only sunghoon wasn't. he's always been M/N's biggest fan, always cheering him on, preaching about how good of a swordsman he is to everyone, advocating that they should scream M/N's name, praise him, give him these tittles and awards and not him.

they both worked hard to get to where they are now, ans M/N can't be any prouder of sunghoon, he wasn't the least bit jealous and sunghoon wasn't cocky at all unlike most who reached that kind of status.

hearing the soft crunch of the leaves behind him, sunghoon turned around with a smile immediately approaching the boy engulfing him in his arms.

"hoon— i need to breathe." M/N in a muffled voice said, patting sunghoons back lightly as he finally let go. "you're extra affectionate today." M/N stated, smoothing his wrinkled coat, "and you — you like a mess, what storm hit you today?" and there it was, the teasing, accompanied with his cheeky smirk. what a very punchable face he truly had, yet too pretty to scar.

a glare was sent in sunghoons direction, with an eye-roll, M/N a hand in his pocket taking out the snowflake sunghoon had sent him, "what does mr ice prince need?" it was sunghoons turn to roll his eyes, oh how he hated that title.

"y'know just because i've been given the power to manipulate ice doesn't mea that i—"

"that i am cold." M/N mimicked his words spot on, he heard of the nth time, he could even copy the little things he does that are almost unnoticeable whenever he said it, "yes yes, i get — you give very warm hugs baby but why did you disturb my looking out the window session?"

'baby' ugh how sunghoon loved and hated, he'd always scream inside whenever M/N would call him that, and the way he'll always say it will never get sunghoon to recover, yet.. this time around he hoped to not hear it.

before answering M/N's question, sunghoon's eyes darted to the side, he could feel the sense of hesitation and seemingly sunghoon was holding himself back on something, "ah i just wanted to spend time with you!" sunghoon tugged his lips into a smile, "i've been so busy and you've been on break so we don't even have time to see each other as much, and i miss you." M/N knew sunghoon better than anyone, he could noticed the shake in his smile even if it the the slightest movement he could notice it, sunghoon was an open book to him that he could read through all the time, and M/N knew whenever he was troubled by something.

"has something happened hoon?"

a short pause occurred, until sunghoon shook his head lightly a soft smile made it's way onto his lips as he took M/N's hand, "it's fine, just enjoy some time with me.. please?" his eyes silently pleaded with M/N, he couldn't resist those eyes, he entwined their fingers together sunghoon looked pleased as they took their walk into the forest.

it was a silent walk, yet it was comfortable form of silence, they've always done this and it's one of thejr favorite things to do, the state of serenity was something they both cherished, as their minds were always at peace whenever they'd have these walks only them and the sounds of the forest accompany them.

they stopped at another clearing in the forest, this one was particularly spacious, perfect for a training ground where swords and different elements would clash, the grass seemed to be shaved off clean as the trees surrounded it, M/N wonder if this were a work of humans in the past, well it didn't look old that's for sure.

"remember that last village we went to?" the question raised M/N's brows for a moment, a little startled by the sudden question of it, "the stone village? near borea? yes i do, there were countless reports of attacks from there."

"attacks caused by demons, from the neighboring realm elysia." sunghoon's whole, aura changed by the second, something dark seemed to loom around him. "we managed to infiltrate one of their camps and in the middle of the fighting you.. disappeared, where were you?" sunghoon eyes slightly narrowed, his tone held a one of suspicion towards M/N. M/N was caught off guard, he raked his mind for a convincing answer, "i ran off into he forest as i saw some of them trying to flee, possibly call for back up." M/N tried his best at that one, though he doubts it'll even slightly convince sunghoon.

what truly baffled him is why he was asking these questions so suddenly, he could sense that something was wrong before they even arrived at this clearing, sunghoon seemed so nervous and seemed to be contemplating about something, as if we were tasked to do something againt his own will. with a glance spared he could see sunghoon just standing there, in deep thought, he noticed that his hand place atop the lock of his scabbard.

M/N was scared that the thing he was fearing ever since that mission has already happened.

"hoon is something wrong? y'know you can just tell m—" yet sunghoon did not let him finish, he gave M/N no time to react. as huge pillars of ice emerged from the ground charging towards M/N with great speeds.

M/N was sent hurling towards a tree, as he didn't anticipate an attack coming from sunghoon, he swore he would've been crushed here and there if the ice just didn't stop. he shakily breathes out a sigh eyeing te stray icicle that was close to impale him.

his eyes then soon darted toward sunghoon, who already had his sword unsheathed, it pointed his way he could see the cold mist that encapsulated it slowly disperse into nothing.

"the council already knows what you did, someone saw you helping them flee."

"but i have a plan M/N we can esca—" yet before sunghoon knew it, a huge gust of wind dispersed through the small clearing, the huge pieces of ice were sent flying. M/N then leaped forward sword unsheathed, their blades met.

with a loud klang they struggled against each other, their fierce gazes never left on another, "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!" M/N yelled, shoving sunghoon away using the fuller of his sword.

"and what do you want me to let it happen, M/N?" his voice fell into a whisper, soft and breathless, the glint of hope in his eyes didn't falter yet.. he didn't know what to do, sunghoon seemed to be pinned onto a corner to he had to make up his mind and decide, yet he knew the answer but he doesn't know if it's the right one. all he knows he'll never forgive himself if he lets this happen to someone who's been with through everything.

"i— .. i don't know, but you can't just throw away everything just to save me." M/N's voice wavered, he's been thinking of what step he should take for the past weeks, and seemingly he took too long, they caught up on him and now they're in this predicament, swords drawn, on opposite sides.

"so what if i lose everything? i can get back on my feet but losing you... that's forever M/N."

silence then befell over them, the two seemed to be so deep into their own worlds, thinking.

"i challenge you to a duel." M/N looking up at sunghoon, who's eyes were wide, a puzzled expression on his face. "if i win, you'll leave me alone and if you win, i'll agree with your plan." he pointed his blade right at him, "don't you dare hold back park sunghoon."

with this proposal M/N made, sunghoon wanted to refuse yet it seemed as if this was the only way they'll have it.

setting their hesitation aside they lunged forward their blades met once, sending a huge shockwave that traveled through the forest.

with each slash and perry, wind and ice clashed, cuts and gashes formed from these slashes but the pain wasn't felt, they were too determined to win to feel any of it. even if the red liquid started to seep through their clothes.

this continued, the trees froze and fell from both wind and ice, the animals fled to safety this clearing turned into a battleground of two powerhouses.

they fought for something, as with each klang that emitted from their blades their hearts and souls shattered, they never thought their swords would ever clash with one another. they comrades, friends.. and maybe even more.

now they were in opposite sides, one wanted to throw away everything and run away and the other wanted nothing of that.. he didn't know what he wanted. but he dedicated his sword and strength so his friend can keep that thing's he's worked so hard for, to not wander around the plains aimlessly trying to a place called home, he want that for sunghoon, that life is the his bestfriend doesn't deserve. and he'll make sure he won't need to experience it.

with each frozen structure sunghoon M/N's way, the sharp winds that could cut through mountains always just cut through it, til one of them could find a blind plot on their armor this battle won't end.

and there they came to halt, their ragged breaths filled the silence, "M/N. let's stop this, there'll be no end to this and we'll end up hurting ourselves more." sunghoon was the first speak in between his pants, it wasn't the exhaustion that made him want to stop, is the further clashing with M/N was what made him want to stop. it hurts him that they came to this, but with M/N's shaking from left to right the dread that simmered down soon came back, worse than ever.

"you" M/N breathlessly said, lifting his arm up pointing his sword in sunghoons direction, "you've always been like this." his words arched sunghoons brow in confusion, "what do you mean?"

"i mean this! you never know when to stop meddling with other people's business, my business, you should've just let me deal with this myself. and now we're here—"

"AND WHAT DO WANT ME TO DO HUH?" the sudden outburst made M/N flinch, his eyes wide as he gazed up at sunghoon who's tears slid down his features, "DO YOU WANT ME TO WATCH THEM KILL YOU? OR— OR LET YOU TURN YOURSELF IN?!" he clenched his chest as more tears fell down.

M/N wanted to run to him, say sorry, say he didn't mean anything he said and that he takes it all back and hold sunghoon in his arms, yet not a single muscle even dare move in M/N's body, all he could do stare in silence.

until.. "let's finish this." the wind seemed to blow harder now as it circled M/N, his eyes were blanketed by a soft hue of green. he channeled his winds to a level sunghoon nor even M/N has seen, he was determined to finish this.

sunghoon gripped tightly gripped the handle of his sword, the pain he felt morphed into a searing anger, the way M/N just dismissed him, he didn't seem to acknowledge that fact that he wanted to stop and this was hurting them. hurting him. all those years until now it seemed like he was facing a different person. so if he really just wanted to finish this then so be it.

the temperature then dropped drastically, as the ground started to freeze under sunghoon's shoes, the ice slowly crept up to the tip of his blade, he was called the ice prince for a reason.

with one moment of silence, in a mere millisecond, total destruction.

they lunged forward as once again their blades met, yet this time, it seemed that thirst for one anothers blood is present within their blades.

they danced in a clash of blades and destruction, sunghoon thrusted his sword forward, M/N dodged his attack by fading into the cold mist that emitted from sunghoon. he raised his sword to slash him from behind, but a an icicle that arose from the ground didn't allow him to do so.

this continued for hours, a grand duel that shook the forest they were bound to be taken over by fatigue, and that is exactly what they felt, they'll soon succumb to their own exhaustion.

yet both didn't have the desire to step down, even if they were already battered, their hair disheveled, slashes and gashes were littered their body, the pain never got to them.

when the begins to set in the horizon, they had one last leap forward, their swords struggled against each other, their shaking hands and legs struggled to keep them up, as their eyes met.

time seemed to stand still at that moment, their anger simmered as they looked into each others eyes with shock and fear. this wasn't them and they should stop, sunghoon wanted to stop, yet M/N.. he wanted to get this over with.

a huge surge of wind encapsulated his sword, with a single slash sunghoon was pushed hard towards a tree, hitting his head in the process.

the impact made him dizzy, his vision was blurry and everything seemed to spin around him, but he could still see M/N's figure standing there, he then held a stance, an offensive one seemingly he was about to strike sunghoon, with one slash he'd be finished.

sunghoon just accepted it at this point, if he were to go, then so be it, he could see a dome of wind circling around them, the faint glow of green accompanying it, slowly it grew brighter and brighter. he was too weak to anything anymore.

sunghoon just closed his eyes, this was it, this'll how he'll meet his end, memories started to replay in his mind, the laughter, the sadness, the ups and downs, he only smiled. he was glad he lived a life with M/N in it while it lasted, never had he imagined they'd ever come to this.

sunghoon could hear the wind howling loud in his ears, at any second by now, was expecting it.

yet when it stopped, he didn't felt.. nothing, he couldn't feel the wind blowing anymore, he couldn't hear it, was this death? that thought went away when he could see the sound of metal hitting the ground and a loud thud accompanied it. he opened his eyes and he didn't want to believe it, there M/N layed in a pool of his own blood, "M-M/N" he uttered weakly, he tried to stand but his legs didn't let him, as he fell flat on the ground, with a shaky arm he dragged himself towards where M/N layed.

when he reached M/N's body immediately he shook it, "M/N get up this isn't funny." he lied beside him, not caring if his clothes were stained with blood, he needed to wake M/N up. "M/N, M/N! wake up p-please!" a sob ripped through his throat, yet M/N still didn't move. "this isn't fucking funny please... i'm sorry." he buried his head on M/N's back, his weak sobs echoed through the forest, as he continued to beg M/N to wake up, yet nothing, he didn't want to accept this.

he failed to save him.

as everything else went black.

sunghoon soon awoke in an unfamiliar room, it looked like a little cottage from what he assumed, he stepped off from the bed and opening the door to see no one, but he sensed that he wasn't alone here, "hello? anyone there?" looked around cautiously, his attention then went to the window.

as he stares outside, he could only see miles and miles of grass, the only thing that stuck out was the tiny hill in the distance and a tree stood there.

with his curiosity peaked, he went outside, he walked closer and he could finally notice someone sitting under the tree. he felt a sense of familiarity with this person, he had no idea where so maybe they know.

with each step he got closer and closer, until he reached the hill, the person face the other way so he couldn't see him all he knew this person was guy, "hello?" he tried getting his attention, almost immediately they turned their head.

and sunghoon's eyes almost bulged out of it's sockets, it was M/N but.. what was he doing here? he seemed sad and ashamed, as he was in deep thought.

quickly his feet moved up the hill, he walked beside M/N, "M/N." he said, M/N seemed to avoid his gaze, he pursed his lips together with a glint of shame in his eyes.

"hey, what's wrong?" sunghoon eyes held a sense of concern, placing his hand on M/N's shoulder.

he was then shocked to hear a sob emit from him, sunghoon didn't waste a second to take M/N in his embrace, he didn't know what was happening, nor where they were and why theut were here.

he only whispered comforting words in his ear, "i'm sorry" in betweens his tears he said, "what do you mean?" he chuckled, smoothing his thumb wiping away the tears the slid down M/N's face.

M/N's eyes for a second widened, seemingly in shock he, immediately it seems as if he knew what was going on.

"did you accidentally break something again?" sunghoon joked, this was his way to calm the boy down, which worked, M/N's laughter never failed to make his heart flutter.

they just laid there incased in a warm embrace, in silence. listening to calming howl of breeze hitting the tree causing it to rustle softly above them.

M/N pulled away, wiping the stray tears, sniffling, his eyes then went down on sunghoons figure, he feel sunghoons hands on his, M/N entwined their fingers together, relishing the moment they'd still be together.

"so where are we?" sunghoon's eyes scanned the area for anything else, but it was only an endless sea of grass. "i myself can't answer that, cause i don't know." M/N chuckled.

he lied.

"well i must say, pretty neat place." sunghoon pulled M/N in his arms, joyous laughter emitted fom the two.

"hoon remember the last village we went to?" sunghoon's head tilted in confusion, "yeah what about it?" he returned the question, M/N cleared his throat before answering, "you remember when i suddenly disappeared? when i came back i told you i chased down some demons trying to flee.. actually i helped them flee."

sunghoon for a moment pulled away, he an expression of shock and fear on his features.

"M/N why did you just tell me this now? what if the council finds out, they'll see you as a traitor and—"

M/N brought his fingers up to sunghoons lips, shutting him up, "calm down, they won't." sunghoon couldn't feel the reassurance, yet the usual calmness that radiated from M/N made him drop it, and considering... this place seems to just be an endless field. he didn't know if this was truly endless, yet.. as long as they're safe and as long as hes with M/N he's content.

"are you not mad at me?" sunghoon's eye's narrowed in question, as he shook his head, "not even a bit, you did what you thought was right." sunghoon stroked M/N's head, the reassuring gaze made him comfortable enough to keep going.

"they were kids, that i assume that they only wanted to see their father who stationed in that camp."

sunghoon nodded signaling for the boy to keep going, "i had no choice, they were only kids hoon, i can't sit here and continue killing beings who are only paying the price for what their ancestors did."

"what do you mean? you're.. leaving the knights?"

M/N nodded, a solemn smile tugged his lips. "i plan on going on a trip once i do so."

sunghoon nodded, he understood M/N and his reasons, yet he couldn't help but be sad as it won't be the same when he's, "can i come?" oh how innocent his question came, M/N shook his head a smile tugged his lips, he brought his hands onto sunghoons face cupping it.

"i wanna take this one alone, i'll be gone for a while but.. once i come back i'll make sure to bring you something."

sunghoon nodded and brought M/N into a tight embrace, "i'm gonna miss you." he buried his head on the crook of M/N's neck, "i'll miss you too, very very very much, but i'll be back." they stayed like that for a while, relishing every moment that passed, every leaf that fell from the tree a moment passed.

M/N pulled away and stood up reaching for sunghoons hand who immediately took his, "let's go to bed it's getting late." sunghoon nodded, no further questions he wanted to spend every last moment right now with M/N.

hands entwined they made it back to the small cottage, the sun sunk down the field as the moon arose, they went under the covers, entangling themselves arms and legs, sunghoon planted a soft kisss on M/N's head as the boy giggled.

sunghoot then felt drowsy, his eyes felt heavy and with a yawn accompanying it, but all he could do as he was drifting away into sleep was look at M/N's smiling face, he'll remember that smile forever.

"goodbye hoon, thank you for everything." sunghoon felt M/N's soft lips on his forehead and there on slowly, he drifted off to sleep.

sunghoons eyes fluttered awake, as he looked around to see the boys, surrounding him, he turned his head to find M/N but he wasn't there.. there was no way he could fit such a small anyway, he tried getting up but his body clearly said no, as a sharp pain from his head pulled him back down. "hoon just stay still, you're not in shape to get up." jay scolded, clicking his tongue.

"w-where's M/N?" he asked and everyone just fell silent, they all seemed to avoid his gaze it confused him, until heesung stood up, he had the smile that didn't exactly reached his ears, it seemingly like he was trying to reassure sunghoon, "don't be shocked but.. M/N is gone."

sunghoon's blinked eyes blinked in confusion, "he didn't even say goodb—" he stopped mid sentence as the memory replayed itself to him.

"n-no.." he uttered tears brimmed in his eyes, "no he told me he was going on a trip i— i need to see him" despite the pain he sat up, yet jay kept him in place, as he only shook his head.

"he's alive i just talked to him moments ago t-this isn't true stop fucking playing in my head stop— STOP HE ISN'T GONE HE'S ALIVE" sunghoon held his head in his hands, the other boy could only cry along with him, they felt his grief as M/N was their friend too yet sunghoon him and sunghoon had a special connection. so what they felt, sunghoon felt it much worst.

"maybe that was his way of saying goodbye to you, but he's gone sunghoon." in between the tears jake said, his hand was on sunghoons shoulder, sunghoon shook his head, refusing to believe this, it wasn't real to him, it didn't feel like it, cause he still feels as if M/N is still here and alive and he's just on a long trip and he'll come back to him, he told him he'd comeback.

he'd comeback to him, he will, he should, but deep down sunghoon he won't, but what else is he to do? he lost the most of important person in his eyes, in his life. where will he even begin to get back on his feet after this? will he even be able to do so? these questions were raised in his head as he continued to sob loudly, calling out M/N's name thinking that somehow he'll hear him and he'll come back.

but he won't and sunghoon doesn't know what else to do, but to helplessly cry out his name.

it's been three since M/N's passing, the slight sting was still felt in his heart, whenever he'd see something that made him remember M/N, or the mention of his name.

sunghoon was a mess after that, he shut everyone out and cried every night, he stopped going to the knights headquarters and just stayed clumped up in his room in grief.

he avoided the forest at all cost, he hated it, he hated that it reminded him of him and M/N's walks together and he remembered the dreaded memory of their battle and M/N's lifeless body laying on the dirt ground in a pool of his own blood.

but that's all over now, he's trying to get on his feet again, he's getting himself back step by step, though it is proven to not be easy, his mind wanders back to that dreaded memory once and a while, but he'll have to learn how to live with the pain. he'll prove to himself that he can do it, that he can stand back up after everything, that's why M/N always wanted for him he must've hated seeing him at that state.

a grieving soul that called out for his name.

he'll do this for himself, he's lost sight of everything, his friends, his job, his achievements, his life. he lost himself to hi grief but he's back up to fight and learn to live with his grief, it'll just be a part of him forever.

but it doesn't need to keep weighing him down, he'll live with it, as with everything he'll learn.

the knock from his door startled, "park sunghoon!" it was sunoo, "you're fucking late come on! the boys are waiting at the plaza" he sounded annoyed, he was too deep in his thoughts to remember. he opened his door already ready, "sorry i got a little bit too comfortable." he chuckled, "whatever let's go we can't keep M/N waiting." sunghoon nodded, this was the first in two years will he ever get to see his bestfriends grave, the boys made sure it was kept clean and fresh flowers were always placed there, he couldn't thank them more for it.

"come onnn you know how pissed jay gets"

"okay okay damn, no need to threaten me with that."

they shared on last laughter and made their way out sunghoons house, without even a second before stepping out they were immediately met with screaming, fans, they called both sunoo and sunghoon's name and for once.

he waved back at them.

they all went silent after that, seemingly too shocked to even emit a scream, sunghoon and sunoo only laughed as they continued walking.

wherever the winds goes he'll follow, he'll get himse the back on track and walk on the path he intended to walk on, it won't be easy but maybe he'll be able to do it.

and maybe one day the wind will lead back to M/N's arms, and he'll come back to him, after his long trip away.

#enhypen #enhypen x male reader #idol x male reader #kpop male reader #kpop x male reader #enhypen kpop #sunghoon x male reader #park sunghoon

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endeaavorr · 3 years

Text

[18.23]

the third vibrate from your phone successfully prodded your eyes to wake. your left arm numb from the way you accidentally slept on it hurriedly reaches out to put your phone on silent, not wanting to wake him up. ah yes, him. you look at the dimmed screen of your phone, 5.00 am 8th of August.

your heart warms at the sight. you lean back to the mattress facing up, trying to stretch your body properly before starting up the day. you turn your head to the left and see his sleeping figure. the slow rise of his chest, the slight part of his lips, and the nasty scar, as shoto calls it, settling happily across the side of his face.

you don’t usually get to see this side of him, either because he doesn’t come home that night from work, or you’re too tired to pay attention, or the two of you passed out right after doing it. so you hit the snooze button once more and studies his face, your right hand now softly leaning on his broad chest, neat fingers tracing the outlines of his never aging face.

but the morning haze soon is replaced by your default mode. pulling enji’s cover to his chin to keep him warm, you get up to start preparing breakfast, you wanted to make it extra special for today.

for the last month the two of you has been, how do you say it, distant. you were taking extra shifts at your agency to afford this watch you wanted to give him on his birthday. even so, since you can’t tell him why he’s starting to come home to a cold empty house, it’s been quiet and rather uncomfortably awkward. you kinda feel bad in a way, so you’re determined to make today work.

you were so drowned in your thoughts, you didn’t even realize enji already woke up and finished his morning run.

“good morning, papa.” you greet him with your usual kind eyes.

“morning,”

he’s fresh out of the shower, wearing a sleeveless shirt and a lounge short, a small towel sitting on his damp hair. he sits on the tatami while you plate breakfast for the two of you. the air is dry and suddenly even the tatami is not that comfortable.

breakfast was quiet, it has always been quiet. but not like this, it’s normally filled with you clinging to his arm and playfully sneak your head under his arms right above his folded feet, facing him with a half closed sleepy smile.

you steal glances at him but he’s always looking down. just when you have the courage to break the silence, he says i enjoyed the food, and puts his dish in the sink.

“i’m staying out tonight, don’t wait up for me.”

you were only able to muster a ‘good luck at work, papa!’ before he’s gone again.

it’s 5pm. you just got home from enji’s agency, dropping of a set of suit you picked up from the launderer. reservation is at 8pm, you have three hours to call him about it and get ready yourself.

“hello,”

“ah papa ! are you busy now ?”

“yeah, i thought i told you this morning.”

it’s a lie, you asked his assistant and his schedule is empty from 5pm above.

“well, not according to your assistant apparently.”

it’s silent.

“well, i just dropped off something for you at the receptionist ! make sure to wear them, dinner’s at ___ at 8pm under my name, i’ll see you there papa ! i love you!”

“wait—“

you leaned to the wall behind you and press your phone to your chest in a relieved sigh. really, you’ve been living together literally your whole life, how are you still nervous like a preteen talking to their first crush ?

you shake your head mentally and start to get ready. in the mean time.. enji is dumbfounded. he’s just confused and the receptionists are grinning knowingly, which makes him even more, confused. good thing his office has a shower and a spare room though.

it’s 7pm. you apply some final touches of light make up. the two light honks from outside signals that your driver is here, ready to take you. the restaurant is pretty close from enji’s office, but it takes a good 25 min walk from the todoroki residence and you don’t wanna ruin your hair.

you get up and look at yourself in the mirror, you’re wearing a black designer dress that exposes your shoulders with a small purse on the right of your hand. you’re ready to go.

8 pm.

“ah, endeavor-san, how can i help you tonight ?”

the hostess welcomes enji with a polite smile.

“i have a reservation under my daughter’s name, todoroki y/n.”

“right this way, sir.”

enji follows the hostess to a more secluded table from the others, he notices it’s way quieter than the main dining hall, the view next to both of the seats are the wide view of city lights. the waiter serving them tonight introduces himself and hands him the menu, while pouring water from a sealed glass bottle to enji’s glass. he looks through some pages but then decided to just wait for you to order.

you arrive no later than five minutes after he did, welcomed by the same hostess, and immediately taken to your table.

“you look good, papa.”

“you too,”

he takes his time to scan over you, your neatly styled hair, your set of greenish ocean eyes that matches his, the scar on your left cheek that you wear proudly, and lastly the way he realizes again just how breathtaking you are.

on the other side, you feel your heart flutter. he looks really good. the slightly opened white shirt, the perfectly tailored navy suit, emphasizing his strong arms that has saved way too many lives, too many times.

enji was too busy staring at you he didn’t even bother taking a look at his menu. and by the time the waiter was ready to take his order, he just went with the classic i’ll have one of what she’s having.

“how’s your day, papa?” you started the conversation.

“it’s normal, busy.”

you place your right hand on top of his, thumb gently rubbing comforting strokes on his palm.

“i missed you, you know.”

“well, you’re the one who’s been away so much.”

you’re honestly a bit startled at his bluntness, he usually won’t do things like this. you get a bit shy and shifts your gaze from his to where your palms are lightly entangled.

“i’m sorry papa, i can’t help it, i needed extra shifts.”

“for what ? is it about money ? you know you can always ask me, right ? i don’t mind providing for you for the rest of my life as long as i get to come home to you, and not just a cold dead hall.”

you’re out of words, his brows is contorted, and the glint in his eyes shows something you guessed to be dissapointment ? guilt ?

“i’m sorry,” you say again, hands shyly squeezing his and the other toying with the ends of your skirt. your heart still goes on a marathon when it comes to him.

the dinner was nice, it’s slow paced and calm, just like how he likes it. the little tense you two had is now slowly melting away. opting to take a walk home instead, you walk hand in hand under the generous light of the moon.

enji took off his suit halfway and put it around you, keeping his right hand in his pocket while his other is entangled with your much smaller one. his shirt has now one more button open, sleeves rolled neatly three times as they rest proper on half of his arm.

you can’t stop smiling, butterflies going crazy in your stomach like a lovesick fool, that you maybe are. you don’t know if it’s from the wine, but he’s way more talkative right now, you’re making jokes here and there, laughing to yourself while gripping his hand tighter and hugging his arms with your other hand. he’s laughing a little too, not that he doesn’t appreciate it, that’s just how he is.

you’re waiting to cross the road at the last junction before you reach your home, the road is clean empty but the light is still red. the both of you don’t mind, he takes this chance to pull you tighter against him and breathe the always comforting natural scent of your hair.

your solace is interrupted by the ding of the crossing light turning green, but enji doesn’t let go, so you start walking slowly like that, pressed against each other, steps getting tangled making it hard to walk. the things you do for love.

it’s 11 pm.

he goes in first while you lock the front door and make sure all the lamps in the yard are on. he sits down and starts to take off his shoe, you quickly slipped of your heels and crouched between his legs to do it for him instead. your short dress riding up, displaying your already exposed milky thighs in its glory.

you can tell where he’s looking and feel the twitch of your insides from the yearning you’ve been holding back. he reaches out his right hand to caress your cheek. you lean to his rough hands and give him a faint smile before you push your body towards his in attempt of pinning him down, disguised by an innocent hug. your head resting on his chest while he supports himself with one arm and holds you back with the other. he face touches the bare skin of your neck and finds comfort there. pressing kisses that quickly turned wet.

you lift up your head and pulled his supporting hand towards you, making sure he’s fully laid on the wooden floor, arms caging his head, hazy eyes looking down on his meaningful orbs. it’s not long before you crash your lips together in a desperate kiss, your spit drooling down his chin, his stubble grazing the smooth well cared surface of your face.

you sit down on his crotch and he abruptly breaks the kiss with a groan, but you’re quick to grab his face and pull him in an even more passionate open mouthed kiss, his hands find the swell of your ass and guide them so you’re now grinding on his growing bulge too.

the mutual need to breathe forces both of you to break the kiss. foreheads now touching together, heavy ragged breath mixing, the intimacy making you dizzy. but the high wears off sooner than you thought and you can’t help but hide your reddened face to his neck, not wanting him to see you blush, hands clutching him tight as he sits back up holding you properly.

“let’s go take a bath, i’m sweaty.”

you can only offer a weak nod, still too embarrassed of what you just did. he hoists you up to his shoulder and carries you to the bathroom.

it’s so warm. you’re sitting between his legs leaning to him, his strong arms on your stomach protectively, body radiating comforting warmth to yours, making the both of you completely relaxed.

you almost let yourself fall asleep if not that you remember about his gift. so you get up first, telling him to enjoy the bath a little longer and go sprint to your room.

you quickly dried your hair and put on a set of babydoll you’ve been keeping for this day. it’s a simple white see through babydoll with soft lace that hangs prettily on your supple thighs. you put on your sleep robe and go to his room with a deep green paperbag on your right hand.

it’s 11.30 pm.

the futon is laid and you’re sitting above it on your knees, your gift hidden behind your figure.

enji comes out of the bathroom already in his sleepwear, a black set of loose shirt and a matching pants. his hands are still busy trying to dry his own hair until he looks up at the sight of you and pauses.

you pat the spot next to you, signaling him to sit there. he walks up to you and sit crossed legged in front of you. he can see the rather big paperbag behind you but decided not to say anything.

“what is it ?”

you opened your mouth in attempt to answer him but was left with nothing, so you just shoved the paperbag and places it in on the little space between the two of you, encouraging him to open it. he’s still not getting it and looks at you with genuinely asking eyes, but you’re too stubborn to meet his eyes and just keep looking at the walls to your right, peach blush already forming again.

“it’s for you,” you brave yourself to look at him in the eyes and finally say it, “happy birthday, papa.”

enji felt like his brain short circuited. but you ushered him to open your gift before he could say anything. you watch as his big hands fully envelop the big green box inside, the one your clumsy hands almost dropped.

he opend the box and stares at it for a while. it’s a platinum rolex day-date 40 from it’s 2021 men collection.

“this is expensive,” was the first respond he let out.

“we-well, that’s why i’d been taking extra shifts,” you sheepishly rub the back of your head. enji’s strong gaze didn’t waver.

“you didn’t have to—“

“but i want to !” you cut him,

“it’s just—“

you grab the pillow behind you and hide your face in it, finding it hard to speak to him eye to eye like this. “i love you, and sometimes i can’t help my feelings, i just thought, this is what people do to their loved ones.. you know,” you explain in a voice growing smaller than before, almost completely muffled by the pillow.

he lets out a sigh before repacking his gift, putting it back inside the paperbag and placing it on his side. you’re getting nervous.. is he mad ? did he not like it ? were you pushing it ?

all your silent doubt dies down as he pulled you close to his chest.

“i love you too, thank you.”

his voice runs beautifully through your ear, the sensation going straight to your heart. you ease up and holds him back.

“um, papa,”

“hn”

“i still have another gift,”

he pulls back and looks at you with a raised brow. you better not have unnecessarily give up you rest just to buy him a ‘gift’, it translates. both your hands come out in front of you in a waving motion to dismiss his half true accusation, but you struggled so much trying to pull out the right words.. you just let out a bashful sigh and unties the knot in front of your outer, before letting the dense fabric hit the floor, revealing the pretty babydoll sitting pretty and proper accentuating your pretty pretty curves.

he stills.

“do-does it look weird..?”

he scans over you for a while but your embarrassment made you thought he was looking at you in a weird way.

your cheeks are heating up, eyes glued to your thighs before you hear a rustle and suddenly your back is against the futon with one arm pinned above your head by his weight, and your other one is in his, you look at you favorite set of eyes that matches yours and the blue sky, he presses your hand to the side of is face and land a deep kiss on the innerside of your wrist, leaning against it while staring back at you.

it was a good birthday.

happy birthday todoroki enji, 8.8.21

#papa!enji #endeavor #endeavor fluff #endeavor smut #endeavor angst #endeavor x reader #endeavor x reader fluff #endeavor x reader smutt #endeavor x reader angst #enji todoroki #enji todoroki fluff #enji todoroki smut #enji todoroki angst #enji todoroki x reader fluff #enji todoroki x reader angst #enji todoroki x reader smut #mha #bnha

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mickey-henry · 3 years

Text

𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐈 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝

pairing: bucky barnes (bookstore au) x reader

summary: eager to escape the heat, you find yourself in the presence of a mesmerizing bookstore and an irresistibly beautiful man.

word count: 2.3K

author’s note: hello! welcome to my third fic😊 I’m eager to share this with you all! I now have a taglist (the link is also in my bio) if you’re interested🥰 thank you to @certainaesthetic for helping me workshop this idea, @fuckandfluff for the grammar help, and @midnightf for hyping me up as I wrote it! likes, reblogs, messages, replies, and comments are cherished! the header images are from pinterest and the divider is from here. I hope you like it! 💖

You’re desperate to escape the smoldering heat. It’s too hot to rest in the car; it’s been baking all day beneath the sweltering summer sun, parked just outside your place of work. If you attempt to sit in it now, you’d only be greeted with a wave of torrid air, stung with the touch of your seatbelt, and burnt from the searing leather of your steering wheel.

You’re off from work earlier than usual—the blinding sun is usually long beneath the horizon before you head home for the day. The pathetically small sun visor does nothing to shade your eyes from the blazing sunlight. Rather than driving half-blind, you decide to wait out the setting sun.

As you ponder how to spend the rest of your afternoon, you realize that now is an opportune time to visit the new bookstore, The Book Haven, that opened last month. After changing out of your uniform and throwing your work stuff in the trunk, you walk across the plaza to the shop entrance.

The bookstore greets you with the chime of a bell and a rush of cool air as you step in, a blissful contrast to the scorching outdoors. The welcoming scent of coffee grounds and the tangy aroma of old books accompany the refreshing breeze. You take a deep breath, appreciating the convivial atmosphere. The bookstore is a sublime sight; words almost can’t describe its charm.

Shelves like skyscrapers—stuffed to the brim with books, magazines, and comics—graze the ceiling. An intimate reading nook lies next to the door; an inviting window seat dwells beside a floor-to-ceiling window. Clear mosaic window clings cover the glass, casting beautiful rainbows throughout the store. Stringed vintage light bulbs illuminate the shelves; candle-lit sconces adorn the top corners of each one. Oriental rugs lay between the shelves, covering a dark mocha floor. Tucked in the back of the store is a small coffee cranny, hidden at first glance. Frank Sinatra’s charming, rich vocals travel through the air, tickling your ears. The owner clearly put the utmost time, energy, and love into the creation of their shop. It is unequivocally perfect and already one of your favorite places.

You wander to the classics section, enthralled by the exquisite covers. Sensing someone nearby, your eyes glance at movement caught in the corner of your eye. Your stomach somersaults at the stunning stranger. The instant you lay your eyes on him, you forget to breathe for a moment—your breath engulfs your throat. You’re astounded by the Adonis of a man before you.

Bristles of scruff grace his defined jawline—his low man-bun neatly styles his dark chestnut hair. A grey short-sleeve button-up shirt hugs his toned arms; a white tank top clings to his lean, fit frame; cuffed slim-fit khaki pants, help up by a bronze braided belt, embrace his thick thighs; and weathered, chunky brown leather shoes don his feet.

Through the rose-colored glasses that surround your heart, your soul imagines a life with a perfect stranger. The hopeless romantic in you can’t help but steal glances, hoping to catch a better glimpse of him. The moment he turns to walk away, your heart sinks to your stomach. You hope this isn’t the last time you see this gorgeous man.

A few minutes later, you’re mulling over a collectible edition of The Catcher in the Rye, attempting to justify purchasing yet another copy of your favorite book. A melodic voice interrupts your pondering. “That’s a pretty edition of The Catcher in the Rye you’ve got there.”

You turn towards the charming voice. Lo-and-behold, it’s the love of your life: the handsome stranger you’ve mentally lived a lifetime with. His beauty is even more profound up close: now you can see that his eyes are a lovely shade of blue. His eyes, haunted by a subtle sadness, draw you in, unlike anything you’ve experienced before. You find yourself entranced in his sea-blue current; you could easily drown in his gaze. You attempt to hide your awestruck expression and converse with him like a normal human being. “I agree! I already own a copy though, do I really need a new one?”

“I think we both know the answer is always yes,” he assures.

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. I'll get it! Thank you for justifying my unnecessary purchase.”

Your words hang in the air, everything going quiet as you wait for the ravishing stranger to introduce himself. The two of you stare in silence at each other, the tension thickening as the seconds pass by. After a few moments, his face flashes in realization—you were waiting for his name.

“I’m Bucky,” he offers with an enchanting smile, extending his hand out to you. You share your name as the two of you shake hands. Your eyes stare down his veiny arm to his ring-studded fingers grasped around yours. You allow yourself to imagine for a few moments how amazing those fingers would feel tracing your arms, tangling your hair, and teasing your inner thigh. Your lustful reverie comes to an abrupt halt at the sight of the book nestled inside the crook of his elbow: The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, the bane of your existence. You scoff with furrowed brows; of course, Mr. Handsome Stranger would be interested in the one book you despise.

“Got something to say there, sweetheart?” he questions with an amused grin.

“Out of all the classic novels in this entire store, that’s the one you chose? The Metamorphosis?”

“What’s wrong with this one?” he jives.

You pause for a second, debating whether it’s worth it to argue with a stranger. The pondering lasts only a few seconds; the exhaustion from your day disintegrates your filter. Besides, you loathe The Metamorphosis.

“What isn’t wrong with it? The dude wakes up thinking he’s an insect? The reader has to sit there throughout the entire book, wondering whether he’s a man or a bug? What the actual fuck? I didn’t appreciate the existential crisis that book gave me at fifteen; if I can help someone else avoid the suffering caused by that monstrosity, I'm going to do my part,” you huff, unamused by the joy Bucky seems to gain from your zealous analysis.

“Wow, what a passionate review! Perez Hilton would be envious of your slander. Okay then, what classic would you recommend instead?”

You cross your arms, expecting him to challenge your response. “The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde.”

“That’s a play,” he counters.

“It’s published as a book; it counts! It’s witty, playful, and has a happy ending, which is the most important point of all. It also doesn’t make you want to pull a Fahrenheit 451 and burn every copy in existence,” you attest.

He steps closer to you, tucking loose strands of his hair behind his ear. “Life doesn’t always have a happy ending, sweetheart.”

Great, there he goes again with that freaking pet name; it’s going to be the death of you. He knows your name, you just gave it to him, yet here he is, infuriatingly insisting on calling you sweetheart instead. Stupid pretty boy with his ocean blue eyes and amorous smile.

“That’s exactly the point,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “So, why would I want to read something that doesn’t end well? If I’m going to escape this reality for a while, it better be for a happier one.”

“And if it's not?”

“Then I’ll throw the book across the room and make up my own happy ending!”

“Ooh, aggressive,” he tuts. “The owner of this place might not be too happy with you if you’re throwing books all over the place; it’ll scare away the customers.”

“Then it’s a good thing the owner isn’t here,” you interject confidently, knowing full well you have no idea who the owner is.

“Well, that just isn’t true, sweetheart. You’re looking right at him.”

He’s lying—he has to be. Why would a dreamboat like Bucky own a bookstore?

You scoff, “you’re not the owner of this place.”

“I’m not? What makes you say that?” he banters.

“People like you don’t own bookstores!” you exclaim.

“People like me?” he goads, cocking his head to the side. The action erupts butterflies in your stomach.

“Attractive people!” you groan.

“So you think I’m attractive?” he plays, stepping to close the gap between you.

“Psh, no, you wish,” you muster. The heat spreading across your cheeks betrays your bluff.

There are mere inches between the both of you now; you hope he can’t hear your racing heartbeat. You watch his eyes go down from yours to your mouth and back up again. He eyes you with a smirk, his teeth playfully tugging his bottom lip. It takes everything in your power not to give in to his spell.

“I’ve known you for what, five minutes? I don’t go around kissing strangers, Bucky,” you falter, taking a step back from his closeness.

“Then let’s not be strangers, sweetheart. Grab a coffee with me; I know a nice place, not far from here,” he flirts, gesturing to the counter at the back of the store.

“Let me learn more about what goes on in that pretty little head of yours,” he purrs, his breath tickling your cheek.

“Okay, fine. I’ll have a coffee with you,” you surrender.

A bright, honeyed smile dons his face.

“It better be good, though. Not the stale crap you usually get in the middle of the afternoon.”

“I’d only give you the best, sweetheart,” he winks, extending his right hand. You take it; he gives you a soft squeeze before weaving you through the towering shelves.

Your discussion continues with another passionate book review as he prepares your drink. He’s a sucker for gritty dystopian novels while you gravitate towards sappy romances. He shares his passion for painting as he guides you to the reading nook. The artwork hung on the edges of the bookcases is crafted by him—a detail you hadn’t noticed at first glance. His stunning work features both landscapes and people. He loves to sit in a picturesque landscape and paint for endless hours. Occasionally, he takes his old polaroid as he explores the town, snapping moments between strangers, translating their intimacy to canvas when he gets home.

He gestures for you to take a seat in the reading nook before handing you our steaming cup of joe. You sit with your legs crossed, your hands hugging the mug in your lap. Bucky sits with his leg draped over the side of the bench, his left foot pressing into his right thigh. The conversation shifts topics; the two of you divulge your desires and unfulfilled ambitions. You aren’t sure if it’s the look in his eyes, the sweet cup of joe in your palms, or the aroma of coffee surrounding you, but in his presence, your senses feel wide awake.

Before you know it, the mesmeric moon replaces the sizzling sun, melting away the blistering heat, and the steaming cup of coffee in your hands has long chilled. Bucky’s employee interrupts the blissful rendezvous, informing him that all the closing duties are complete, and he’s headed home for the night.

You stare at your watch in shock—it's five past nine. Where did the time go? You apologize profusely to the poor kid who had to close up alone; he assures you it’s no problem.

A melancholic pit in your stomach forms as you turn back to Bucky. He’s nestled himself into your soul; you don’t want to say farewell to him so soon. He has a sad glint in his eyes; you hope it’s because he’s also dreading the end of this perfect night.

“Can I walk you to your car?” he asks timidly, his earlier suave demeanor gone from his voice. He stands up in front of you, offering his arm to escort you.

“I’d love that,” you reply with a shy grin, grabbing his arm and hugging it tightly.

In the blink of an eye, you’re in front of your car. You let go of his arm and lean against the trunk. You stare into his eyes, hoping that he can see without the use of words how much you don’t want this moment to end. There’s a few moments of painful silence before Bucky clears his throat.

“So, now that we’re not total strangers, how about that kiss?” he flirts with pleading eyes.

“Okay,” you reply with a bashful smile.

He slowly reaches his hand towards your cheek, softly stroking it with his thumb. He presses his forehead against yours. “Are you sure you want to do this? ‘Cause if we do, you might not be able to get rid of me, sweetheart.”

“Yes I do, Bucky,” you giggle.

He grins as he gently presses his pillowy pink lips on yours. The kiss steals all the air from your lungs—his touch sends tingles throughout your body, electrifying your veins. You’re breathless when your lips finally part.

“Let me get your number before I let you go,” Bucky insists. You nod and hand him your phone, unable to form a coherent thought. The ghost of his lips and fingers trace your figure. You’re barely acquainted with his tender touch, yet you feel naked without it, yearning to once again be within his grasp.

You exchange phones—adding your number and name with a sparkling heart emoji and swiftly passing his phone back before you can change your mind. Bucky snaps a quick selfie for his contact, smirking for the camera. You grin when you see he also put emojis by his name: a beetle and a kissy-face.

He pecks your cheek before opening the car door for you. “Hope to see you around, lovebug.” The new pet name burns your cheeks and erupts butterflies in your stomach.

He doesn’t leave the parking lot until your car disappears completely from his view.

You drive home with thoughts of Bucky swirling in your mind. You send a silent thanks to the universe for bringing this beautiful man into your life. His voice, touch, and smile echo in your thoughts for the remainder of the evening—his presence paving its way through your dreams. You’re falling hard and fast; you only hope he’ll be there to catch you.

tagging a few mutuals who expressed interest in this story🥰please fill out the taglist form if you’d like to be tagged in the next story! 💖

@ritesofreverie @midnightf @certainaesthetic

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes #mickey-henry #my fic: you're the best book I ever read #mel's writing

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zuluc · 3 years

Text

summary: he needs his rest a lot more than he thinks. he’s used to late nights in his lab, looking into new experiments and discoveries but these things will never compare to the feeling of waking up with you

pairing: albedo x gn!reader

style & genre: written; fluff

warnings: none

notes: i really love albedo. childe you’re off the roster 😀

It’s his slight movement against you that causes you to open your eyes to finally wake up to the day. Last night you had planned on sleeping alone, knowing that the Chief Alchemist was going to have another one of his late nights doing whatever he normally did. But lo and behold, here he is snuggled into your chest.

You peer down and it seems he’s trying to suffocate himself with how he tightens his arms around you. This is all in his sleep mind you, and something about him wanting you so close even when knocked out was quite endearing. When you shift his hold allows you minimal movement and when you settle he secures you to himself once more.

“Albedo...” you say softly, your voice smaller than usual due to you just waking up. His hair is out of it’s usual style and you can hear his soft breaths, slow and controlled to indicate how he’s still deep in slumber. Your hand comes up to brush a few strands away from his forehead to press a light kiss on it.

It wouldn’t hurt to let him sleep for a few moments more. You could just be a little late today and all would be fine.

But he wakes anyway.

Albedo hums and his eyes flutter open to reveal those teal irises you adore. He stares blankly for a few moments before collecting himself, slowly blinking with eyes softening seeing you. It never fails to get your heart racing at the way he looks at you, not too much unlike how he views new discoveries, but unique in how instead of being calculative and cold there is an unmistakable warmth for you only.

The few times others have commented on it, Albedo simply sent them away when he turned to stare at them with a bored expression.

You break eye contact first and peek out the window left open in the night. The room is chillier with it being the beginning of spring and you notice that there is a thicker blanket laid on top of the both of you. Your lover buries himself further into the comforters while pulling you along.

“I was too preoccupied to close it and this was hanging off the edge anyways.” It was as if he could read your mind. You quirk a brow.

“Preoccupied with what exactly?” You ask. If he finally came home at whatever time, you were sure that he’d leave most of his work, or at least his alchemy work, at his lab. He only chuckles and moves lower to hug around your hips, your head and collarbones above his head.

His face is pressed into your stomach when he says, “Look behind me.” Your eyes trail in curiosity and they land on his sketchbook placed neatly on the bedside table. It’s open and you have to blink out more sleep in your eyes for you to realize what was on it.

He had drawn you as you slept.

The lines he drew were soft and light, the shading against your face not covered by the moonlight more faded than all his other drawings. It wasn’t like the scratching of his pencil against the paper was loud, but he wanted to capture the essence you gave off. Off to the corner, he included his own crossed legs making it as if the sketch were in first person. He wanted to capture the experience as well.

You were ethereal. You were safe. You were his.

Of course, you wouldn’t know this unless he explicitly stated it. And he did, now bringing you down under the covers with him. The blanket is still thin enough to allow light to pass through and shine on your faces. Here, you see that loving look again accompanied with the rays of morning sunlight.

One arm is still around you as his free hand cups your face. He whispers your name, commits your face to memory, and savors the feeling of you.

“You’re touchy today,” you muse and he closes his eyes, a relieved sigh coming from him with a slight grin. He leans in to kiss you and he pours all that he can’t say to you in it. You melt into his embrace with ease.

The rest of the morning consists of you both holding one other, basking in mostly silence. You would make small conversation here and there, you would be talking about things you’ve seen on your commissions and he would say things about what he was currently working on around Mondstadt.

When you ask him about Dragonspine, however, you notice that his arms hold you just a bit tighter. But he answers you about how he managed to sketch out a few things and how annoyed he was with others, namely Pallad. That adventurer was a handful for you and Albedo is thankful for you making comments about him as well.

The morning was cold but now you couldn’t feel any warmer.

Bonus:

“Albedo,” Sucrose’s voice cuts through his thoughts. He looks up from his book and acknowledges her. “Y/n dropped this off for you.” She places a basket on top of his desk and returns to her own work. He’s elated upon removing the cover and seeing a batch of sweets inside along with a note.

“Make sure you’re taking a rest and not overworking. I’ll see you soon, love you!”

He smiles and ducks his head, eyes landing on the drawing he made the night before.

It doesn’t disappear for a while.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcannons #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact albedo #genshin impact albedo x reader #albedo #albedo x reader

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gothhisoka · 3 years

Text

𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖕 (𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔 𝖝 𝕱𝖊𝖒𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗)

Title: Worship

Pairing: Chrollo x Femreader

Warnings: Smut, minors DNI, 18+, explicit content

Word Count: 3116 (I promise it is worth it. Oh god is it worth it)

Note: This is from my cross-published fanfic called Hunter University! It is available if you click here on Wattpad and AO3. My fanfic is x OC, but I upload x Reader versions of some chapters here on Tumblr. In short, it is a dark academia college AU with Chrollo as the main love interest.

Background: You are an artist in college and Chrollo is your fellow classmate. You just returned from a night out at a ball, drunk. Chrollo appeared at the door to your dorm room as he promised he would after you danced with one another at the ball.

Chrollo was surprised you looked so intact. He was sure you would come waddling to the door in pajamas as you did the last time he visited your room. Although it had been an hour since the ball ended, your makeup hadn't smudged a bit. Sure, it was faded, and your hair was significantly messier, but overall you looked as remarkable as you did at the start of the ball.

Your tired eyes widened with surprise at the sight of him. He was just as unimpaired as you were. Though now he was missing his suit jacket. His hair had become slightly disheveled, losing its styled waves. He still had on those signature silver rings and little cross earrings.

You attempt to soak in his sight with your intoxicated brain. He looked even more captivating in this particular state.

“Hi…” was all you could utter.

“Can I come in?”

You realized he was waiting for your permission. He didn’t need it.

You stepped aside to let him in and shut the door. Your room was the same as the last time he saw it, with your drawings hung on the walls and lights strung above the desk. Their small bulbs reflected against the night-stained window.

Upon shutting the door, the tension noticeably rose. It was dark in the small space and you were alone. Chrollo took his black dress shoes off near the door, placing them neatly side by side.

So he plans on staying. You tried to hide a smile. The hour of his visit was surely suspicious. There could be only one thing on his mind.

"So what're you doing here?" you spoke nonchalantly, acting like you didn't just fantasize about what could happen in the next few minutes.

Chrollo opened and shut his mouth, his response escaping him. He turned back to you and used his eyes to convey a craving far deeper than any words could admit.

"I said I would come to find you, didn't I?" He said lowly.

He had begun to walk around the room, absentmindedly stopping at a piece of art from time to time. You were too tired to care. The collection included nature scenes, portraits of people he didn't recognize, anatomy studies, and...

He paused, noticing a drawing on the wall behind the place where the door would otherwise be covering.

It was a full-body anatomy study of yourself. To be specific, it would fit further in the category of a glorified nude. It was on a miniature piece of parchment sketched in charcoal. It was obviously you: the woman had your (hair color) hair and distinct mouth and nose. The paper was hardly noticeable amongst the scatter of papers. You wouldn't see it unless you had a careful eye such as that of Chrollo.

You hardly noticed when he reached the particular spot on your wall. Your tiredness had waned significantly with Chrollo's entrance, but it still fogged your mind.

Additionally, you had long forgotten about your secret behind-the-door location for your drawings that were not meant to be seen by a single soul.

Chrollo attempted to hide a mysterious smile. He turned to you, “You draw wonderfully.”

“Thanks?” you reply, with more question in your tone than you hoped to show.

The heat in the room shot through the roof. You were sure if you checked the temperature it would be well above its normal chilly state. Perhaps it was the heat in your cheeks that was causing such a change.

“So…” he began.

“So,” you replied, trying to avoid eye contact. Please, just let it happen already.

You thought you had a good idea of why he had come to your room at one o'clock in the morning after a night of drinking and questionably close dancing. You couldn't be certain, though, because that was just how he was: unpredictable and exceedingly complicated.

You didn’t think him so complicated as to not be able to admit why he was at your room, though.

You waited as he thought about what to say next. This is taking too damn long.

Luckily, you prepared an excuse. You never failed to come ready for something you could expect. And this, the direction in which your encounter is headed, is inevitable. You had been rehearsing the line in your head for the duration of their conversation like reviewing terms for a test.

This was the only way to test if your assumptions are correct.

Blame it on the champagne if I am wrong. But I really hope I'm right.

You look directly at him. Time to be daring.

You took a breath and did your best to look directly at him, "Well, I actually do need some help. You see, this dress is quite difficult to take off by myself..."

Walking towards him, you place a hand at the hem of your dress. Your delicate fingers wrap around its lacy fabric.

Chrollo looked amused. He sizes you up, looking from your hand holding the hem of your dress to your unfazed expression. Unfazed, yet your cheeks were slowly turning a shade of scarlet. Nice try, Chrollo thought.

He gestured, "Turn around."

You obeyed. You desired something far more than the unzipping of your dress, but you were not presumptuous enough to say it. The expression on Chrollo's face told you that he was hoping for the same thing. He hid many emotions well, but being turned on wasn't one of them.

Chrollo brushed your hair away from the zipper, delicately placing it over your shoulder. His fingers purposefully grazed your back as he did this, causing your breath to hitch slightly.

His hands moved to the zipper, carefully pulling it down. It went past the clasp of your bra to your lower back. There was complete silence. Both of you were still. Are we still hesitating?

Chrollo was the first to move. He pulled you close to him so that your back was touching him. His left arm wrapped across your chest possessively, holding you in a tight embrace. With his other hand, he brushed your hair back from your ear. He smelt of sweet alcohol. Clearly, he was slightly drunk as well, for the next words he said couldn't be uttered by a sober man.

His whispered breath tickled your neck, husky with the threat of sleep, "I want you so bad right now."

You tensed with a sudden surge of desire. Your impression had been right. He let his strong arm remain around you, patiently waiting for a response.

You choked out your reply, "The feelings' mutual."

Under his touch, your streak of audacity from earlier dissolved into compliance. You suddenly wanted nothing more than to submit to his words.

With complete control, Chrollo took your shoulder and turned you around. Your dress was now loose on your shoulders. He placed his hands around your hips firmly. He looked at you under his thick eyelashes and slowly leaned in. The pressure was growing to an unbearable level, but he still wouldn't go all the way.

Then his lips crashed against yours with the force of weeks of pent-up desire. This kiss didn't speak of courtesy, of patience. This was raw passion. It was furious and messy. you preferred this to sensitive steps around the intensity they both craved.

"You must still be drunk," you said playfully as you both pulled away to catch your breath. You held your hand to Chrollo's chest. His heart was beating surprisingly fast.

"If I'm drunk, then what are you?" Chrollo said with a lazy smirk.

"I'm drunk as well."

Chrollo threaded his hands through your hair, pulling the long strands through his fingers. He pulled you in close again with his hand at the back of your head.

You opened your mouth to allow for Chrollo's tongue to slip in. He lessened the intensity and slowly moved his tongue against your own tongue and lips. You couldn't help but let out soft moans that made Chrollo weak at the knees.

He pushed you against the wall to deepen your kiss. Drawings fluttered down, becoming detached with the sudden movement. Including that drawing.

Chrollo pulled away, much to your shock. You were left panting with reddened cheeks. Please don't let this end now.

He displayed a shit-eating grin. Even with his ego, in the current moment, his expression made you melt. His face was inches from yours, looking down into your (eye color) eyes.

He shifted his gaze down to the floor and said, "Nice drawing you have there."

You finally noticed what he had been so smug about. Shit. Your face flushed ten different shades of scarlet.

Chrollo leaned in as he did before and murmured in your ear, "I wish I could see the real thing."

You failed to not show your excitement. The way your eyes lit up exposed you. "I can arrange that."

At that, Chrollo leaned in again, this time moving to your neck. His lips fluttered down your throat to your collarbone. You leaned your head back and tried to control your uneven breath.

His lips reached the edge of the neckline on your dress. He raised his eyes to meet yours, asking for permission to go further.

You let out a breathy, "Yes. Please."

What you wanted to say was, Please, take me now.

It could be too soon for him. But based on how this was going, you expected it was leading to something more. Whatever that was, you wished you could know right now. The growing tension between your thighs began to ache.

Chrollo slipped his hand across your skin to the hemline of your dress, moving it completely off of your shoulder and down your arms. Your black see-through bra was now in full view. Your nipples grew hard at the sudden exposure.

At least I went with my fancy bra. You suddenly grew very shy. The last time you went even this far was years ago.

He evidently liked the lingerie for his hands immediately traveled to your breast to caress it as he continued to kiss you.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered against your neck. Your heart fluttered at his words.

Chrollo then moved his lips progressively further down as he slipped your dress off of your body. Soon your underwear came into view, then your feet. He helped your step out of the dress.

"Your turn," you said, unbuttoning his shirt. All the while he continued to distractingly leave lazy kisses upon your face, one on your forehead, your cheek, your lips.

After an agonizingly long time, you pulled off his shirt. Fuck.

You knew he would be defined. But him, this boy standing in front of you, resembled more of a greek statue than an actual human. It looked like his body had been sculpted by the finest stone on earth. He had a six-pack, defined pectoral muscles, and prominent collarbones. His biceps flexed as he leaned his hand against the wall, bracing himself. It was you who needed to brace yourself. Your breath hitched again at the sight of him.

You ran a hand up his firm body as you planted your lips upon his once again. This time Chrollo put his hands beneath your thighs, his fingers pressing into your soft skin. He picked you up easily.

You wrapped your legs around him as he brought you to the bed, kissing him all the while.

He dropped you down gently, releasing his grip off of your thighs. You took this time to look up at him and admire the beauty of his aroused state. He had a dangerous and wild look, with tousled hair and a constant smile playing at his lips. His heavy-lidded eyes were lazily focused upon you.

You continued to make out on the bed, its white silk sheets creating an angelic halo around you. Chrollo couldn't stand looking at you like this, underneath him. It was far too much power for one man to hold.

You reached to your back to undo the clasp of your bra. You threw it to the ground. Chrollo immediately began to touch your naked tits in a way that made you want to dissolve. He moved in circles around your nipples first, watching as they grew harder under his expert touch. Then he moved his mouth to the sensitive area, playing with you and biting slightly. You audibly moaned at the gesture. Damn the neighbors.

Chrollo sensed your desire to take it further. He looked up, grey eyes filled with lust, "Y/n...let me pleasure you."

It wasn't the suggestion you were expecting, but you were satisfied nonetheless. You didn't care about anything in the world besides what he could do to you at this moment, whatever it may be.

"If you say my name like that you can do anything you want to me," you said breathily. It was exactly what he needed to hear.

Chrollo smirked and moved to take off your soaking underwear. Under his pants, his dick grew visibly harder. He threw the underwear onto the floor.

Gently placing his finger at your throbbing core, he began to stroke. Upon receiving his touch your back arched involuntarily. You were beyond eager.

"Fuck... Chrollo..."

This served as encouragement for him to insert his finger deeper into you, curling it slightly. It hit your g-spot repeatedly, eliciting ungodly sounds from you.

As he was doing this, he slowly positioned himself on top of you, grabbing onto the bed frame with his spare hand. He just wanted to look at your face as you opened your mouth in delight.

He inserted one more finger which caused your arousal to heighten. God, he really knows how to do this.

Just as you felt the heat in your core escalating, he slid his finger out. You whimpered in protest.

Chrollo looked down at you with a wicked smile. "Beg for it."

Oh fuck.

You gladly would. It was more your instincts speaking than any coherent thought.

"Please... Chrollo..." you said between breaths.

You wanted to not only plead for him, you wanted to worship him.

"More."

This is what you had been missing out on all those weeks. And oh god, did you eat it up.

"FUCK please do that again," you exclaimed.

It was enough to convince him. Chrollo moved his face towards your slickened pussy.

Is he about to...

He pushed his hair back out of his face with his clean hand, his forehead tattoo revealed. For only a second, he raised his eyes to gaze into yours. You fell for him all over again at that simple glance.

Then he entered you. His tongue made you want to weep. He devoured your insides, soaking up the salty juices. You couldn't help but hold his head, pulling it closer to your body. You ran your hand through his soft black hair. There was so much heat between them that you were both perspiring.

You began to shudder." I'm going to... oh... fuck," you gasped.

You felt the sweet release of cum spread below you onto the sheets and Chrollo himself. You felt self-conscious for a moment. That is until Chrollo began to lick up your juices. He ran his tongue up your soft thighs.

"You taste so fucking good, darling."

Chrollo looked at you like he had fallen all over again as well. You grinned back at him. Your cheeks grew even redder, if possible. Your heart screamed to continue but you were too physically exhausted to move. Still, wouldn't Chrollo want his turn?

You laid there, naked and panting on the silk sheets. Chrollo flopped next to you, unaffected beside his flushed cheeks and a wide grin.

The lights were still low in the little room. Looking out the window, you saw that the sun had yet to rise. This was a positive fact because the only thing you needed to do now was to sleep. And preferably, cuddling with the boy next to you. You hoped he would stay. It was more than hope, really. Your body couldn't spend any more time away from him after that.

Damn. He was good. He was really, really fucking good.

He knew his way with words, to begin with. He said exactly what needed to be said to escalate your arousal. You wanted to worship those fingers, the way he so expertly felt around you like he had memorized a map. And his tongue was even more worthy of revere.

You flipped over to your elbows. Your breasts brushed against the bedding, noticeably making Chrollo gulp. You boldly reached to touch the front of his pants.

"You don't want a turn?" you smirked.

"This was more than enough for me."

He stared into your eyes as if he was calculating a complex math problem rather than looking at the person who just received the best head of their life.

You yawned, despite yourself. Your body ached with all the action of the night.

"Go to bed, sweetheart. I'll be here."

Those were the last words you heard before your eyes drifted shut. Exhaustion stilled your naked body. Chrollo reached over you to turn off the bedside lamp.

He wasn't nearly as tired. He could've gone for a couple more rounds, perhaps take it a step further if you so desired. But he knew you needed the sleep. Most of your makeup had rubbed off, displaying the dark circles under your eyes.

He slipped off his pants and threw them onto the floor with the rest of the clothes. He found the soft sheets and pulled them across you and himself. The bed was small but cozy. His strong chest was flush against your back.

Your (hair color) hair smelt of a summer day, like sunlight and wildflowers. He took this opportunity to feel up the rest of your glorious body. He ran his hand lightly from your shoulder to your hips, to your thighs. All of it was angelic to him.

He moved you closer with his arm, protectively wrapping it across your front. Somehow holding you like this felt far more intimate than any sexual activity. The way the moonlight graced your skin was majestic.

How had he fallen so hard, so fast? It was unlike him to act with such recklessness.

Through it all, he still had his mind. you had no way to tell the extent of his feelings. He made sure of this. His libido could act one way, that was clear from tonight. But he was an expert at controlling his outward emotions. You would never know. If you did, it would be over for him. All the planning will be for naught.

He closed his eyes before he could fall upon any more worries. He had already pondered the issue for many sleepless nights.

He fell into a dreamless slumber with you safe in his arms. You both slept soundly until the sun peeked through the window.

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maythewidowtakeusall · 3 years

Text

SUN-KISSED Pt. 2

Part 1 | Part 2

Read on AO3

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Wordcount: 2894

Warnings: alcohol

Summary: An argument with your boyfriend Steve Rogers is the perfect incentive to go out drinking with Natasha.

It's sunset again, Natasha notices, but she pushes the thought down as your fingers tangle with hers. You tug on her arm and she follows you silently, pathetically at your whim at all times, even when she knows she should tell you it's a bad idea. Because it is. She doesn't trust herself sober around you, and she's scared of what a few drinks will do.

But you're adamant, your mascara smudged under your eyes from crying earlier. She hates it, she hates Steve for making you feel so bad about yourself, about your work. You're fucking amazing, and though she respects the old man, she's not going to let him do this to you. He can stick his second world war virtues up his ass.

Despite the considerable force you're pulling her along with, she stops you, spins you around, curls an arm around your waist tightly to hold you close. She can't help but smirk as your eyes widen.

She probably enjoys this too much. But it was you who called her.

You watch with confusion as Natasha licks her thumb and swipes it across your cheeks gently, wiping away the last telltale signs of your argument with Steve. Your eyes shine more brightly than they usually do, but otherwise you look perfect again, even with your tousled hair and carelessly thrown on leather jacket.

"There."

"It was the mascara, right? I forgot about that," you say with a sheepish smile that soon drops, the feeling of your cheeks heating up deepening your embarrassment. It's the proximity of another human being, or the two shots of tequila you had back at the Avengers Tower, or the fact that at least she genuinely seems to give a shit about you. At any rate, it feels soothing after all the jarring words you and Steve threw around earlier. You need a girls' night out, you need to be told not to overthink things, to let loose.

And the moment you stormed out of Steve's room, you knew who you had to turn to. You knew it was only Natasha you wanted around and no one else.

She didn't protest. In fact, she dropped her plans at a moment's notice to go out with you. She promised to take you to a dive bar, one she knows like the back of her hand that has good drinks and even better prices. It's close to her place, and you will crash there afterwards. She said will, not can. She's not letting you go back to Steve in the state you are in, the state he's put you in.

And you are perfectly alright with that plan.

The Coyote is a small but handsome place, with soft blues rock whining in the background, furnished with tables and bar stools from a bygone era. There's a pool table in the back, a woman in her fifties tending the bar with a frown as one of the patrons knocks his drink over. You stand in awe for a minute as the bartender - who also happens to be the owner of this particular dive - berates the man in front of her for spilling his beer. "You think I want to clean up after you all night, Larry?" she throws him a disdainful look before muttering under her breath as she fetches a rag to mop up the beer that bleeds down the wooden surface just like your mascara ran down your cheeks not so long ago. "Fucking lightweight."

"Well, what do you think?" Natasha smiles, pleased to see enthusiasm stealing behind your eyes.

"I love it. It's so..."

"Vintage?" she helps. She knows you love old things in the most adorable way. You love everything that is vintage, everything that takes you back to times you never lived in - buildings, furniture, streets, monuments, museums... People. Old people too, she reminds herself bitterly.

"Yeah," you smile.

She matches your smile, knowing eyes drinking in your improving mood greedily. "Wait til you've tried their drinks. Holly prides herself on only keeping the best of the best."

The night is a lot slower and more mellow than what you expected. You wanted wild, you wanted to force the thoughts out of your mind, you wanted to be exhausted, maybe even blackout and start over fresh tomorrow. But you're just tipsy, the alcohol filling your body with a gentle buzz that's not at all unpleasant. You and Nat have paced yourselves, and you talk, and fill the booth you took for just the two of you with genuine laughter and ease. She matches your teasing tone when you joke, indulges you when you steer the conversation to deeper waters. However, you've been tiptoeing around Steve, and the argument, but Natasha unravels you, and she listens to what you have to say, and it's fucking difficult to admit, but she seems to understand you more than Steve ever did - so you cave in when she puts a hand on your forearm. It feels right, too right, but her question distracts you.

"So... Should we address the elephant in the room or is this the point where we pick up the pace a little?"

Your shoulders sag when you realise you don't really want to get drunk. You don't want wild. Or reckless. Lights out, with the bittersweet relief of not remembering a god damn thing about tonight. You just want this moment, even if it is difficult to open up to her. "I don't know what to say."

"I do," she quips. "Steve's a moron."

You laugh, despite everything, and it makes her tighten her grip on your arm encouragingly for a second. "He's not a moron. But he did act rather moronic today."

"I think you did well on the mission," Nat declares, leaning back and lifting her glass of beer to her lips.

"I was reckless."

"Those are his words, not yours."

"Yeah... The thing is, I don't feel guilty about what I've done at all. I calculated the risks, and I trusted my abilities to see me through the job. Mission accomplished - even if my tactics were questionable from a strictly military perspective."

Nat nods, and a silence settles over the two of you as she draws patterns on the cold wet glass in her hands. It's comfortable, and her wordless agreement wraps around you like a warm blanket. Your gaze meets the attentive green emeralds of her eyes, and you swallow thickly. Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's your loneliness, but she looks so fucking beautiful in the dim light of the bar, green military style jacket slipping down on one shoulder to reveal her black tank top. You shouldn't, you shouldn't, and you can't help it, and she frowns softly, trying to read your thoughts. And you worry, you worry she can read you easily, you worry she can open you up and trace the lines of your attraction to her with her fingertips.

Because that's what this is, you realise. Attraction. No matter how fucked up it is, no matter how angry it makes you at yourself. Steve's back at the Avengers Tower dissecting the argument in his head while worrying about where you've slipped off to. But you know he doesn't approve, not even his guilt can make him see that you shouldn't have to justify your every move on missions. You're far from helpless, and yet he treats you like a damsel in distress. Like you're less than him in a way, just because you weren't injected with the super soldier serum.

You want to be treated as an equal. In the team, in your relationships, during your missions. You want to be seen for who you are - a capable person, an effective agent, a force to be reckoned with, a mind that can easily keep up with the rest of the Avengers. Alas none of them really see you that way, and Steve is no exception.

But Natasha is.

The cab ride is quiet, you two sit in the back, eyes somehow glued to each other, Steve forced to the back of your mind as an unpleasant thought by what you feel for Nat in this very moment. You wonder if this feeling has always been in you, hidden, denied, labelled impossible and maybe even shameful. She reaches across and gently places her hand in yours.

And for whatever reason, you don't pull it back.

You've never seen her flat before, but it's everything you've expected. Laid back yet angular, stylish yet chaotic, inviting yet intimidating. It's an effervescent mixture, just like she is, and she pulls you inside without a second thought, exposing her hideout as if you came here every other day, as if letting you in her most private corner of the world was absolutely normal.

The thought of it makes your insides burn with a feeling you know you shouldn't allow to even exist.

It's late, but you're both hungry, and you make sandwiches in the small kitchen while joking and keeping the conversation light, amicably bumping your shoulders together. It hurts, for the both of you, to see the what ifs, the what could bes, the life you can't have but suddenly seem to crave. She accidentally smudges some pesto on her finger and licks it off. You lose your mind. You eat. Hunched over the tiny kitchen table, you feel yourself sober up completely. You're exhausted, but you don't want this night to end. Neither of you have done or said anything inappropriate, nothing has happened here for which you should apologise to Steve on the next day. And yet it's the most comfortable and loved you've felt in a long time.

You feel self-conscious when you wipe your makeup off in the quiet seclusion of her bathroom, a pair of her sweatpants and an old band t-shirt waiting for you, neatly folded, on top of the laundry basket. You expose the dark circles underneath your eyes, along with all the imperfections of your skin, and your lower lips trembles at the thought of having to bare yourself in front of her. Your body is shapeless after you've changed into your makeshift pyjamas (you try not to think too hard on wearing her clothes). Your hair, released from the tight updo you've forced it into is messy and loose now. To be fair, it was messy before too, but it's not really helping your confidence right now. You will have to leave eventually, and face her, and you're terrified of not seeing the same light and warmth in her eyes when she looks at you, the same smile she always wears on her lips whenever you're around.

She smiles even wider than usual when you emerge. The simple explanation would be that you're beautiful - it's the truth, without any embellishments whatsoever. The more complicated one she doesn't allow herself to dwell on, so she nods towards the bedroom and you follow her, even if a little forlorn.

"I don't often get guests," she smiles, sitting in the edge of the bed. The room smells of clean sheets and her perfume. "And even when I do, it's Clint, and I'm making him sleep on the sofa. But I'm willing to make an exception for you."

"Oh, you shouldn't," you protest as she stands. "The sofa is perfectly fine for me."

"It's alright, I don't mind-"

"Please-"

"It's no fuss-"

"This bed is big enough for the two of us anyways."

A small, awkward silence settles on you as you stare back at one another. If Natasha feels as bewildered as you do, she hides it well. Her head lolls to one side in thought, eyes assessing you. She seems content with whatever she's found in your gaze as she shrugs and sinks back down on the bed.

"Don't even think about hogging my blanket."

You regain your composure and grin, unable to feel uncomfortable around her any longer. You plop down on your belly unceremoniously and starfish on the mattress, and you can almost see her roll her eyes at you even through your closed eyes. You sigh as the firm mattress rises to meet your tired bones. "Ooh, I'm never leaving this bed."

"Move," Natasha nudges you, and you oblige her as you roll on your back. She lays next to you, and you stare up at the ceiling, glow in the dark stars blinking back at you in the dim light.

"I used to have those on my bedroom ceiling as a kid," you smile fondly.

"I didn't exactly have a conventional childhood. Figured I had some ground to cover on that front," she murmurs softly, lost for a moment in her memories. Your quiet laugh draws her back to the present and she's so very grateful for that. So very grateful for you.

"Well then, this is a good addition too, our little sleepover."

"Oh, yeah?" she grins, rolling on her side as she props her head up on a hand. "What do you want to do then to make it memorable? Gush about our crushes? Have a pillow fight? Play spin the bottle? Truth or dare? Get drunk? I have a bottle of wine, we could do that."

Your eyes land on her soft lips and you imagine daring her to kiss you. You imagine what it would be like to draw her in, to give in to the feelings inside you, to deepen the kiss, blame it on being drunk, trail your lips down the length of her neck...

But you could never do that to Steve.

"I think I've had enough excitement for tonight."

"Suit yourself, love."

Does she look disappointed? You don't have enough time to ponder as she nods and pulls back the covers to wrap them around the both of you. She then reaches to switch the lamp off on the bedside table and settles down beside you. You're still facing each other, and in the darkness you can see the outlines of her smile when your eyes adjust. She puts a hand on your shoulder, gives it a little squeeze. She's upset, she really is, she was so close to reeling you in, trapping you, telling you all she's been wanting to say for months now. But she's proud of you. For being loyal, for not breaking the trust Steve put in you even though you could do it without consequences. She'd never tell on you. But somehow, your silent refusal has made you even a better person in her eyes than if you would have given in to the kiss you've both obviously wanted.

But this all must be very confusing for you. Your week was an emotional rollercoaster, and she just wants you to be okay. "Wake me if you need anything."

You nod, and satisfied, Natasha turns to her other side. It's difficult, being so torn, wanting love but not knowing where you're supposed to get it. Overwhelmed by everything, you seem to spiral into mild panic. You don't know this place, and Steve is a stubborn asshole, and you just want to feel safe and sheltered for a single night, is that too much to ask for?

You scoot closer to Natasha, letting her feel your warmth first before you tentatively snuggle up to her from behind. She lets you, deathly still as if any movement on her part would scare you away. You slide your hand on her waist, afraid to go too far.

She takes it and wraps it around her midsection.

You don't talk about it in the morning. The sun shines brightly as you sit together in the kitchen. Coffee. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Slipping slices of tangerine to one another. A long hug before you leave.

And somehow you both feel a little less when you're apart.

You have much to think on, you both do. You don't avoid Steve when you get back. You go straight to him and you ask him for a break. He deals with his heartbreak as he soldiers though every hardship in his life - lips pressed together, emotions repressed, stiff nod straining his neck, regret shining in his blue eyes. But you need this. You need this, because he deserves better than to be lied to. Than to be led on. So does she.

Weeks pass. Missions come and go, all successful. You work together professionally, there's nothing forced. Tony remarks on the sudden drop of temperature in the room during a mission briefing where you and Steve sit in opposite ends of the room, but Natasha steps in and whacks him on the back of the head with the file in her hand and that's that.

You go to the top floor of the tower one evening, the staggering height's isolation comforting you now more than scaring you. You sit there for a while, watching the sunset, when you remember Italy, 3 months ago, stopping to marvel at the sunset, Natasha by your side.

And then you know. You just do. You need more time to accept it, of course. Probably even more time to act on it. But in the meantime, you can't stop thinking about her feeding tangerine to you in the morning, fingers brushing against yours as she passes the slices to you.

Tag list: @fayhar

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #black widow x you #natasha romanoff fanfiction #marvel mcu #mcu fanfiction #natasha romanoff #black widow

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gureishi · 3 years

Note

Smutty Seven + 18 with a female reader?? Hehe

Hehe indeed. Thank you for the request, darling anon! There are a million fics about this sort of scenario, but I wanted to write one so bad, so now there are a million and one ;)

breathe, darling, breathe in deep

Saeyoung X Reader, E, Words: 2322

cw: outdoor sex, light gagging (hand over mouth)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

It is the way he rolls up his sleeves that does you in.

The room is lit by amber-colored lamps and hundreds of real, flickering candles—a touch of which you are particularly proud. From across the vast, glittering space, you watch him. He is laughing, and when he laughs, his face is lit by a sort of otherworldly glow that makes your breath hitch. He is talking to a small group of guests, commanding their attention with remarkable ease: when he wants to, he can shine so bright he’s almost blinding.

And, even as he talks energetically, he is rolling up the sleeves of his black button-down shirt (so casually, as if he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it). His fingers are nimble and clever and the candlelight strikes the muscles in his forearms. Your stomach does a flip.

“…a lovely idea, dear,” says a voice—closer and louder than the sound of his laughter—and you drag your mind (kicking and screaming) back to the older woman beside you.

“Oh,” you murmur, demurely as you can manage—not even sure which element of this particularly elaborate party you are being praised for. “Thank you.”

The woman beside you smiles kindly, gesturing at the broad wooden doors, cast open so as to extend the party from the banquet hall into the garden. Ah: and it is this that she is complimenting; these doors are normally closed, but you asked for them to be left open so the room would smell of fresh night air and gardenias.

It is subtle—but the scent of flowers on the air makes guests cheerful, and cheerful guests make larger donations. It took some trial and error, in the beginning—but nowadays, you can plan a successful charity party practically in your sleep.

She asks you about the flower varieties, and you do your best to explain (thanking your lucky stars that you’ve got a brother-in-law who knows a thing or two—or more—about flowers). As you speak, you look out at the garden—and can’t help sneaking another glance toward the opposite corner of the hall.

Saeyoung is running a hand through his hair—which is parted neatly tonight, the way he’ll only do it when you ask nicely. As if he feels your eyes on him, he tilts his head—the tiniest gesture. He sees you.

He winks.

A shiver runs up your spine. His arm muscles practically shimmer in the candlelight, and his clever fingers mess up his styled hair just enough that you’ll notice. He knows, you think, exactly what he is doing.

Your toes tingle.

Two can play at that game.

Knowing that he’s watching now (wondering how you’d doubted even for a second that his eyes—in spite of all pretense—were on you to begin with), you give the woman beside you a dazzling smile.

“Would you like to see the garden?” you ask her. She smiles right back, and you toss your hair triumphantly. She tells you that she would be delighted.

So you lead the way, straight through the middle of the ballroom. Your dress is silky smooth, and all it takes is a little wiggle for one sleeve to fall artfully over your shoulder. You don’t look his way as you pass—but you feel his eyes on you: thoughtful; curious; captivated.

You linger in the doorway, letting the moonlight do the work for you: highlighting your silhouette, casting your body in a sort of soft shimmer. Another guests joins you, and you dive into an account of the history of this piece of land—which has been related to you by the manager of the venue at least once a week for the past three months. The facts have become ingrained in your mind—so you talk lightly, only half-listening to yourself.

Meanwhile, you reach back to gather your hair up in your hands. The garden air isn’t hot, but it is warm enough that no one so much as looks twice as you lift your hair, exposing the back of your neck.

No one but Saeyoung, of course—whose gaze you can feel viscerally now, searing your skin. Ah, you think—now it is hot. You pull your hair forward, over your shoulder; one of the women is laughing at something the other has said and, not even having heard the joke, you join in—hoping your voice sounds natural even as your toes curl in your shoes.

You can’t help another peek. Oh: and he is transfixed.

A few others have joined the group of people in the far corner, but he isn’t speaking anymore. You have his full attention, and his eyes are fiery; you give him a tiny smile, as if to say I dare you.

“…would like to see that,” one of the women is saying. Your fingertips dance over the slit in your long dress. With a gesture that you hope is subtle, you flick your skirt aside—and the thin fabric flutters around you, exposing your thigh to the night air.

Your heart is racing.

You can never hear his footsteps, even after all this time. He walks like a cat, light and silent—but you sense that he is coming for you. You grin in spite of yourself; the women, oblivious, ask if you would like to explore the garden with them.

“Go ahead,” you murmur. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

With polite smiles, they are off. There is a gentle breeze: it dances in your hair and plays over the bare skin of your leg, your shoulder, your neck.

You count your heartbeats: one, two, three—

And then there is whisper, low and rough, in your ear.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he growls. His hand lands on your hip, and you can’t repress a little shiver. Your skin sizzles where he has touched it.

“You started it,” you whisper, still looking out at the garden. He shifts closer, and you can feel his warmth as his body presses up against yours. He is tense, you think—wound tight like a spring.

“I rolled up my sleeves,” he hisses. “You…you…”

“I what, sweetheart?” You turn, then, and the look on his face catches you off guard. His eyes are dark, his pupils huge—and he looks absolutely ravished, though you haven’t so much as touched him yet.

“Since when?” you ask, your face flushing. He shifts uncomfortably and it takes all the willpower you have to keep your eyes on his face rather than checking if he’s—if he’s already—

“That dress,” he mutters, his eyes boring into yours, the heat from his body making you squirm. “In the candlelight, and—”

You grin. You knew the candles were a good idea.

“Does this mean I win?” you purr, giving your hips the tiniest little shimmy. He shakes his head as if he can’t get his genius mind to think straight.

“You always win, babe,” he murmurs. His other hand drifts up to your waist—and you are conscious, all of a sudden, that you are standing in the doorway, in full view of both the candlelit banquet hall and the moonlit garden.

You cast a glance to the side, trying to discern just how much attention you are attracting. He seems like he’s lost his sense of place altogether.

“So do I get a prize?” you whisper.

“Oh god,” he groans, his voice shaking as he tries to keep it low. You bite your lip.

“Breathe, baby,” you say. You run a hand up his arm and he takes a quiet, shuddering breath, shifting his weight back and forth like it’s taking all his restraint just to stay still. “You’re in luck.”

“And why’s that?” His voice is so rough; electric heat pools in the pit of your stomach.

“Cause you married a party planner,” you tell him. “And the thing about party planners is we pay attention.” Before he can respond, you grab his hand, pulling him through the doorway into the fragrant garden air. He follows unsteadily; you lead him down the stone-lined path, carefully sidestepping the group of guests clustered around the rose bushes.

“Pay attention to what?” he asks weakly. Once you are past the little group on onlookers, you pick up the pace; he matches you easily.

“The history of the venue,” you say, laughing. “The ground plan. Nooks and crannies.”

You turn abruptly onto another, smaller path and he takes a shuddering breath.

“No way,” he says slowly. It is dark here, and there is not a soul in sight; you glance at him—there is a wicked grin spreading across his dizzy face.

“You trust me?” you ask. He holds your hand so tight.

“With your own life,” he murmurs, “which is infinitely more important than mine.”

You reach the end of the path and kick off your heels. He follows wordlessly as you dart through the grass, through a thicket of trees, and—at last—behind a small, rundown shed.

“Here?” he asks. But there is raw need in his voice, and his eyes shine like golden stars in the darkness.

“You want me?” you ask him. You flip your hair over your shoulder and cock your hip and he groans.

“Do I—?”

And then he is on you, his hands gripping your hips, his lips crashing feverishly into yours. He is walking you back, back—you feel the wooden shed against your bare shoulders and throw your arms around his neck. He lifts you, his hip rocking almost frantically, and you wrap your legs around his waist (infinitely grateful that you chose the dress with the slit in the skirt after all).

You slide a hand between your bodies and undo the top button of his pants. His erection strains, already, against the soft fabric and he hisses as you graze it with your fingertips.

And then his hand is on your thigh, creeping up your skirt—and your head falls back as his clever fingers find your underwear. You are so hot, already, so needy, so desperate for him—and when you feel his finger move against you, you moan into the night air.

“Quiet, princess,” he purrs, his fingertip fluttering. Your vision blurs.

“Make me,” you say.

He laughs darkly and presses you harder into the wall of the shed. With your arms and legs tight around him, he lets go of you entirely and—one hand still fluttering against your underwear—claps the other forcefully over your mouth.

“How’s that?” he whispers. His low voice swims with lust, and your thighs shake as you squeeze them tighter around his hips. You nod furiously.

Leaning back against the shed, you take one trembling hand from his waist and unzip his pants, tugging at his underwear. But you are pressed against him so tightly and the angle is wrong and you can’t quite—

“Let me help you with that,” he murmurs. He takes his hand from your mouth to pull his underwear down—and, with a sort of wild longing, you run your fingers along his length. He bites back a low moan, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Now,” you hiss. “Right now.”

You are so very close to the edge of freefall and the sight of his desperate face pushes you ever nearer. He adjusts, shifts in your arms—and his breath is ragged, and his face is full of wonder—

He thrusts into you, and you come apart entirely.

His hips rock into yours and your your body shakes around him. You float on the flower-scented air, your lungs full and your body weak and your muscles vibrating as you let yourself be carried away. He finds a rhythm and you melt into it with him, your eyes shut, your hips shivering.

He rocks you back into the shed—hard—and you bury your fingers in his hair and succumb to the sensations; he shudders, so you lean forward to graze his earlobe with your teeth.

“That’s—” he hisses, struggling to focus on you, “—not playing fair.”

You take his cartilage into your mouth and bite down and he loses his rhythm, his thrusts becoming erratic—his hands bruising your hips, his breath harsh and uneven.

“I want you to,” you whisper, and he lifts one hand to your jaw; you look into his burning eyes and he dissolves.

Your hands tug at his hair and you hold him tight; for a moment, he stops breathing entirely.

He shivers—gasps for air—falls still.

“You—” you pant. “We—”

He kisses your jaw and lowers you ever-so-gently to the ground; you wobble where you stand and he wraps an arm around your waist.

“The party,” you whisper.

For a moment, he is quiet.

Then he laughs—oh, and his laugh is beautiful, clear and bright as the stars, and you laugh with him: leaning into his shoulder, tears in your eyes.

“Do you think,” you gasp through your fit of giggles, “everyone knows?”

He grins lazily down at you.

“The guests? No,” he says, with confidence. “They wouldn’t notice if a rocket ship landed in their midst as long as the champagne is still being passed around. But our friends—”

“If they know us at all,” you say. “They shouldn’t be surprised.”

His eyes sparkle.

“Nothing wrong with an evening stroll in the garden with my beloved wife,” he says, throwing you a roguish wink. You lean into him.

“Never change,” you say. His expression softens and he presses his lips to your shoulder.

“I am who I am,” he tells you firmly. You tilt your face upward to catch his lips in a fleeting kiss that tastes like nighttime.

“And who’s that?” you ask.

Saeyoung smiles.

“Yours,” he whispers, “of course.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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