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ktheist · 3 years

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01 — show me yours & i’ll show you mine | m

“then won’t you fuck me right now? i’m already wet for you.”

“not tonight,”

➙ muses. seokjin x college student / gamer!reader ft. best friend! taehyung

➙ genre. best friend’s brother au. university au. working au. fwb au.

➙ word. 5k

➙ warnings. explicit content, reader coming onto seokjin who’s still hung up about how he watched over her and his little brother, taehyung, all these years, they’re six years apart, fingering, rimming.

➙ index. 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | finale | side story 1 |

➙ synopsis. you’re a horny bunny yet kim seokjin always seems to manage to slide out of your grasps like a fox every time.

follow these two as they embark on a sexual adventure whilst keeping their relationship on the low from kim taehyung who may or may not just pull out the (your) best friend and (seokjin’s) brother card to call a time-off on them for good.

➙ note. if you’re used to reading my fics, this one is a little different. it focuses less on healing and more on getting it on w your best friend’s brother ykwim.

also, if you’re not okay with the age gap or the nature of their dynamic, keep it to yourself. block and don’t engage. much love x

“i watched you grow up!” seokjin shouts right in your face as he leans so far back against the counter, you thought his back would break.

“exactly,” a suggestive smirk curls on your lips as you lean your breasts against him, making sure the angle allows him to have an eyeful of your voluptuous slopes, “i’m grown now.”

but your words seem to have snapped him out of your wonderful spell, eyes going round with realization, “you’re nineteen!”

“and,” your finger teasingly travel up from his chest and a few inches above dip of his collarbone where the protrusion of his adam’s apple dips and stops at, “legal.”

“taehyung will kill me,” he reasons, large, secure hand wrapping around your wrist before he holds it away from his throat.

“only if he knows,” your free hand caresses the noticeable protrusion in his pants that’s pressing deliciously against your stomach.

seokjin’s mouth opens and closes twice but no words come out. and he’s not exactly making any moves to hold your teasing hand away from his boner.

“please, seokjin?” with a voice as sweet as angel’s and a tilt of head just in the right angle, you give him your best puppy eye, “i can’t take it anymore, after i saw how hung you were last month when i accidentally walked in on you in the bathroom... you’re all i think about - and you weren’t even hard back then!” you giggle when his hand finally captures yours when you try to pull down the zipper of his pants.

seokjin’s lush lips glisten from his tongue swiping out to wet them - you may not have spent as much time with him than with his brother but you know that whenever he does that little tongue thing and seem to stare off into nothing in particular - it’s because he’s heavily considering the possibility of delving into whatever that had his head occupied.

but before he can even say a word, the sound of keys jiggling from the other side of the door echoes into the space where you’d trapped him, in the middle of twirling around with a newly filled glass of water. you’d easily took the glass out of his hand, noting the way he arched a brow but silently watched as you placed it on the counter next to him before you boxed him between you and the counter.

“...that’s why i’m telling you! we need more cheese!” taehyung walks in with two bags of groceries, head craned towards his elder brother and middle child of the kims - namjoon who only shakes his head at the younger boy’s antics.

“we already bought three packets of cheese,” by the time namjoon’s pointing out the unbelievable bought, you’re already helping taehyung get the backs off his hands and placing them on the counter across where seokjin stands, front facing the counter, boner hidden underneath and hand gripping the poor glass until his knuckles turn white.

“oh my god, spicy carbonara ramen!” you squeal, finding out the signature light pink packet before setting that aside - you don’t trust anyone in this house to not steal your food unless you keep it safe in your room.

“you’re too obsessed with that thing,” taehyung asserts from next to you, sitting on one of the stools, eating out of the bag of cheese-flavored chips.

“uh-huh, maybe if seokjin or namjoon says that, i’d take it more seriously,” you don’t miss the way the eldest brother’s eyes sweeps up to you in an automatic response to his name.

to anyone else, your smile would look as if you’re sharing the same humor for teasing taehyung.

“uh, i’m like the boss of moderation,” taehyung waves a dismissive hand.

“the three packets of cheese in the fridge disagrees,” you twirl around, stealing the bag out of his grasp and leaning against the counter as you place one chip into your mouth.

you notice seokjin padding towards the hallway where the rooms are and somewhere at the end, lies the infamous bathroom you speak of that changed your life forever.

the kims and your family have known each other for years. having been next door neighbors, it’s almost inevitable that you’d be best friends with the same-age, truck toy-wielding boy. your parents didn’t need to worry when they didn’t find you in your room - they could just ring up the kims’ and ask if their daughter were over without telling them which, most of the time, was the case.

you didn’t get to hang out at school because you went to an all-girls school and taehyung and his brothers went to a co-ed school. seokjin was the kinder but still fun to hang out with brother but wasn’t around most times. he was already in high school when you were in elementary - had his own set of friends, joined robotics for the entirety of his high school career which made him immesurably busy. namjoon’s alright but he’s more quiet and also somehow managed to get you and taehyung to do your homeworks even though you initially came over to get away from your parents nagging you to do said homework.

you should’ve seen that diplomatic but persuasive nature of his would have landed him a job in one of the biggest firms in seoul. seokjin took on a much different route, choosing to work for samsung’s sister company that specialized in r&d-ing micro-everything that goes into the phone - which is also in seoul.

you and taehyung got into the same university but the different in majors yet again obstruct you from hanging out whenever you wanted to which was why you were almost always around in the weekend at the kim brothers’ shared apartment. that meant sacrificing your back, sleeping on the thinly layered futon taehyung bought for you on sale because he finally took pity on your sleeping on the couch and suffering from back pains every morning (they were exaggerated and taehyung knew but you guessed his guilty conscience got the best of him).

“what? so your girlfriend found out i’ve been crashing at your place and she wants you to choose between me and her?” you’re in front of the laptop (they don’t have a tv) in the living room, eating a bowl of ramen while taehyung has his cheesy burrito, the movie freezing in the screen before you turn to him with the most, you’d say, nasty frown.

“i mean - she just said a girl and a guy shouldn’t be sleeping together in a room regardless if one’s on the bed and the other’s on the floor,” taehyung’s avoiding your eyes and that’s how you know he’s actually debating following that snobbish little bitch’s instructions.

now, you don’t call just anyone a bitch but when you do, she’s on your ‘don’t fuck with’ list.

“do you see my girlfriend complaining about us sharing a room when me and her were dating?” you point out in a matter of factly.

“th-this and that are two different things!” taehyung slams the burrito onto the plate in his lap and slams said plate onto the coffee table.

you say slam but it’s really possibly just a tad bit aggressive than what taehyung’s like usually.

“how is it different?” the bowl of ramen clicks sharply when you place it on the coffee table too.

“i-it just is,” taehyung shrugs.

“i can’t believe you’re choosing some bimbo over me!” hand over your chest, you look at him dramatically, jaw hanging loose and eyes accusing.

“you’ve been sleeping in the living room before i got the futon. it’ll just be like one of those days, you know what i mean?” he shrugs - or at least attempts to look casual about it.

“look at this place! it’s not even big enough to fit the futon,” hands flailing, you gesture towards the minimal space on the floor.

“it’s fine, we can move the coffee table somewhere-” taehyung still tries but you’re already vexed-marching towards the hallway with your bowl of ramen without another word.

to just about anyone, it would’ve been obvious that you’ve had it with your best friend. but taehyung being taehyung is probably desensitized to your anger fits because this time, he does sound casual when he shouts, “what about the movie? can i continue watching without you?”

“do whatever you want!” you shout back before slamming the door behind you.

it takes you a moment to gather yourself before you notice the heat of a pair of eyes on you from all the way across the room. seokjin lies in bed with his laptop on his lap, pillows elevating his upper body. he’s staring at you with arched brows and cute naturally puckered lips.

“oh, don’t mind me. i just had a fight with taehyung and i can’t stand to see him right now,” you say, walking over to the vacant table and chair, “do you mind if i finish my ramen here?”

“be my guest,” before he even lifts his hand from the laptop to gesture towards said desk, you’re already plopping down with a “thanks!”

soon enough, the tapping sound of his keyboard fills the otherwise silent room. you don’t know how long time’s passed but you’ve already finished your ramen and scrolling through instagram on your phone when you see seokjin’s latest post.

he’s sitting in a cafe, dressed in a denim jacket over a white turtle neck with a cap casting shadow over his eyes. the angle he has head head lowered makes it all the more difficult to see his expression. only his soft kissable lips are visible.

so you double tap on the picture before going into gallery and scrolling through your own pic. there’s one with you standing in front of a brick wall, clad in all black, bringing out your colorful eye makeup in conjunction with pride month. the way you’re standing accentuates your curve, bringing attention to your hips after the beholder would be done with admiring the emotions in your eyes.

you have taehyung to thank for that picture but you’re not about to tag him for credit because you haven’t really forgave him. he’s on his phone since it dinged with a notification, probably from you liking his picture. but he hasn’t even looked at you once throughout the course of that and you posting a new picture.

relentless, open up snapchat, posing for a picture and making sure the frame captures the sight of your perked breasts as you stick the tip of your tongue out, smirking and biting on it ever so gently.

with a caption of ‘don’t have a bedroom to sleep in tonight, can i sleep in urs, ggukie-yah?’

it takes a second and a half for him to set his phone down... and go back to his laptop. the tapping sound continues without even the slightest hiccup to it - and he’s already opened your snap.

so with that, you stand up, pick up your bowl, making sure to stand in a way that makes your hips more curved and breasts more defined, “well, i guess i need to get out of here since taehyung’s jealous ass girlfriend doesn’t want me sleeping in his room.”

“hm?” his brows raises at that, “you’re leaving? but it’s night time.”

your dorm is at least half an hour away and it’s too expensive by grab - you usually go back on monday with taehyung since he has a car. but since you’re not on speaking terms, both you and seokjin know that even if the youngest brother offers to drive you back - you’d straight out refuse him. would probably even say something along the lines of your friendship being over and that he has no obligations to ensure you return safely. all of it’s gotta be dramatic though. maybe add in crocodile tears.

“i’d probably stay over at a friend’s at least he’ll lend me his bed to sleep in, unlike your woman-choosing brother.” when your hand is on the handle, seokjin stops you.

“this friend... is it ‘gukkie-yah’?” and there goes the fish biting the bait.

“how did you know?” you’d like to think your tilted head and confused, drawn together eyebrows are convincing enough.

“you mistook me for him... i got your snap which was probably meant for him,” he waves his darkened phone screen in the air.

“oh my god, you did?” hand over your mouth, you gasp, “i’m so sorry, that was embarrassing.”

“it’s chill,” he shrugs.

“anyways, i’ll text him on my way there. he usually has no qualms lending a helping hand to a friend in need,” and with that, you twist the doorknob.

“are you guys... close?” the question hits the air with a different kind of tone.

“kinda,” you say, face struggling to stay neutral when you see the way his eyes glint with a dangerous gleam, “we were fwb’s in freshman year before i started dating yoona... might continue where we left off.”

“cool,” is all he says before he goes back to his laptop, the incessant tapping sound echoing throughout the room. not even a glance is spared at you the whole time you slip out of the door and close it behind you.

taehyung’s eyes catch yours for the briefest second and before he can even say anything (he looks like he would’ve said hi like he didn’t just choose his girlfriend over you), you’re holding up a hand, “don’t talk to me. i’m still mad at you for choosing a girl over me.”

as soon as you’re done washing the dishes, you pad back towards the hallway, not even caring that taehyung’s not bothering to get up from his spot or pausing the movie to talk to you - guess you’re both in that stage where you know no matter how mad the other is, they’ll never be mad enough to break the friendship for forever.

either way, if your best friend already exiled you from his room and your crush doesn’t even care about you going over to another boy’s place, you might as well actually go over to said boy’s place.

at least jeongguk’s dick game is good.

“you’re really going?” seokjin’s sillhoutte leans against the door frame whilst you’re stuffing your clothes into a h&m’s paper bag.

“yeah, like, i’m done. i’m not gonna let that bimbo think she won,” you huff while in the middle of shoving your headphones on top of the neatly folded pile.

“you can sleep with me,” as soon as he said those words, you can see panic spread through his face as he quickly adds, “in my room- on the bed- i can sleep on the floor.”

“why can’t we sleep in the same bed?”

his eyes follow the sweater that you were in the middle of folding and discard, tossing it onto taehyung’s bed.

“you and taehyung don’t-” he starts but you’re convulsing in disgust.

“ew,” you manage to hold back your rising bile. so he stays quiet. clad in a creme colored sweater that makes him look cozy and warm, “why’d you think i never complained about sleeping on the couch or on the floor? it’s cause i don’t wanna catch his cooties!”

okay, so maybe that was a lie. taehyung may be cootie-less but you’ve never been the huggy-cuddly kind of best friends. for one, it’s because you both did believe that touching the opposite gender will actually render your whole body spotted with incurable diseases and before you know it, you both were allergic to physical contact with each other at least.

seokjin doesn’t seem to believe so, otherwise he wouldn’t be shaking his head and smiling to himself.

“does that mean we can sleep in the same bed?” you cross the short distance between the bed where you’re standing over and to the door, putting on your best puppy eye.

“sure, why not?” seokjin caves like he always does back then.

you squeal in delight, arms wrapping around his waist as you give him a big hug whilst he freezes under your touch but doesn’t tell you to go away, “eeep, thanks!”

it’s almost as if the incident at the kitchen this afternoon was just a dream.

taehyung has tried talking to you - you say talk because no word of apology slipped through his mouth - but you’re having none of it, hiding behind seokjin’s big bro influence, or so you’d like to call it, when he burst through his eldest brother’s door, demanding for his best friend, “i know she’s in here!”

“she is,” seokjin says simply and you’re about to shoot him accusatory looks before he chuckles, “but she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“____, come on, the squad’s all ready to play,” so that’s what he’s after.

over the years, you and taehyung have gathered your own like-minded people when it comes to video games. you don’t own a personal computer so your laptop suffers for it but the upside is that you get to bring it everywhere and it’s a pretty sturdy, gamer laptop.

“i’m playing here,” you say, laptop already set up on seokjin’s desk, headphones on.

“okay, whatever,” with a roll of his eyes, taehyung closes the door, leaving you and seokjin alone again.

and so it goes, you giving rapt attention to the game and the occasional comments spilling out of your lips when one of you make a dumb mistake or when one of you manage to kill off the enemy team’s avatar until you end up being killed yourself.

“what?” jeongguk - oh, he’s part of the squad - drags out as if he couldn’t belive his eyes.

“that’s cheating, bro,” taehyung’s voice rings in your earphone, “they literally ganged up on ___!”

“shit, shit, shit, shit, we’re gonna lose,” hoseok chants like a mantra.

“no, we’re not gonna lose,” you can just hear jimin rolling his eyes.

“bro, stop capping! we lost our fighter!” hoseok is at a point where he’s shrieking now.

“well, take however-long-it-takes-for-me-to-respawn, i guess,” you say in the middle of them arguing that they still have a hybrid fighter who is jeongguk.

either way, you’re already standing up, stretching your stayed-in-one-position-for-too-long limbs just in time for seokjin to walk in with a towelette draped over his head - you remember him using those cute little printed ones back then to dry his face after he brushed his teeth and cleansed his face. sure enough, he looks as fresh as the air that you’re about to take.

“you’re going to bed?” you ask the obvious.

“yeah, don’t worry, you don’t have to turn off the lights.”

“oh, don’t worry, i’m used to playing in the dark - my eyes are immune,” you wave a dismissive hand.

then he steals a glance at your laptop where your headphone lies next to it, emitting the lowest mumblings from your squad.

“you died?” he asserts - it’s obvious because otherwise, why would you even be talking to him.

“yeah, i think i’m gonna go wash my face now too.”

and with that, you’re out of the door, bursting in taehyung’s and shaking his shoulders to distract him as he reports the act of disturbance you’re comitting to the squad before you leave for the bathroom where your toiletries have made home in the cabinet along with taehyung’s belongings whilst namjoon and seokjin opts for placing theirs on either corners of the sink.

when you’re back, the room is already dark with your laptop being the only thing guiding your steps. there’s a lump underneath the blanket on the left side of the bed and another bright light casting sight on seokjin’s face as he scrolls through his phone.

he doesn’t bat an eye when you climb over, only looking up when it’s too late. thanks to his phone light, you can see how his eyes widen as he gazes at you with a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

you just pecked him on his cheek.

“good night,” and with that, you bound over to your laptop, noting that you’ve already respawned and getting shit talked by your squad for your tardiness and almost being the cause that the whole team was going to lose.

but fifteen minutes in, you make a blunder that causes the whole team to lose, “alright, alright, i don’t think i’m in my zone right now. maybe i’ll hit the sack.”

a chorus of protests erupts through your headphone as jeongguk starts calling you out on uncanny ability to stay up all night playing.

“i’m hitting twenty!” you dramatically moan, “my body doesn’t work like it used to!”

the protests floods in one more time but by then, you’re already saying your goodbyes, making sure to give taehyung a warning not to come bursting into seokjin’s room because he’s already asleep and you don’t want to get kicked out for being the cause his little brother disrupted his sleep to find the best friend he’s housing after she got exiled.

“seokjin?” you whisper into the dark, climbing onto the bed for the second time of the night but this time, you’re on top of the human-sized lump.

when no answer comes from the man, you giggle, “please, i heard your phone shutting off when i was telling the boys i was going to bed- had one headphone over my ear and the other off.”

only then does the man underneath you move, his tone bearing a warning, “taehyung is right across the hallway.”

“shh,” you’re groping blindly, but lady luck deems that you find seokjin’s neck and then his plump lips with ease, “then we better be real quiet.”

unlike this morning, he isn’t as deflective. doesn’t tell you to stop even when you’re grinding directly over him. and boy, is he hung.

“you know,” he lets you pry the sheets off him, kicking it off his feet completely as you take a seat on his hardening self, breasts pressed against his chest as you slowly lay yourself on him, “i was hoping you’d fuck me when i was playing,” his heartbeat is deliciously erratic, “bend me over the desk and fuck me while i talk to my friends like nothing’s happening.”

seokjin’s teeth grazing over your thumb that you use to shush him comes off as a pleasant surprise. your only regret is not letting the laptop stay on so you’d at least be able to see what kind of expression he’d make.

“you might not be able to keep your moans in on your first time with me,” the unadulterated confidence reeking off him is enticing. so ever different from the kim seokjin who’d throw around dad jokes in the house whenever the four of you sit down to have dinner, “none of the ladies i slept with could.”

“is that a challenge?” you don’t pretend to hide your excited tone as you shoot up, eyes searching for a face but all you see is darkness.

but you feel him underneath. you smell his fresh minty breath. you hear his deep breaths. you feel him.

“touch me,” it doesn’t take long for you to find both of his hands after you took off your tanktop and bra, mainly because they’re caressing your ass. all you do is cup them over your exposed breasts.

his hands are larger than jeongguk’s. they swallow your voluptous breasts like they were quarter sized cups. but by god, does he know how to fondle a woman. he teases you, grazing his thumb over your erect nipples ever so gently that you crave for more. it’s no surprise that when his hand snakes behind you and pulls you down, you easily submit.

you’ve always wondered how his lips would feel on you - but you never thought the first thing they’d be on is your nipple. suckling and biting tenderly whilst his hand makes sure your other nipple is kept accompanied.

“ah!” a mixture of a moan and a shout escapes your lips when he bites a tad too hard. teasing. testing the waters.

“for a little minx, you’re quite sensitive,” his chuckle is as warm and endearing. too warm and endearing for someone who’s doing things he shouldn’t do to his precious little brother’s best friend.

“the boys dig it,” you remark, not knowing that it would spark a fire that burns so bright, it can only be put out by your silent suffering as he flips you two over.

“that’s right, you’ve only ever had boys,” it’s not a question and even if it is, you wouldn’t have the time to answer because you’re yelping in surprise at the coolness that licks your entrance, legs forced open by seokjin’s knee.

“and girls- ah!”

a lone, single fingerpad rims around your opening. and that’s all it takes for you to swallow thickly. breath coming out bated with anticipation. heartbeat racing.

“let’s see, if you don’t make a sound, i’ll fuck you while you play next time,” he slips the tip of his finger in as if testing you, hoping you’d moan right when he sets down his offer on the table. your bottom lip hurts from suddenly forcing your teeth on it but that’s a small price to pay especially when you haven’t heard of the second half of the deal, “if you do make a sound, we stop this whole thing - no more teasing, no more seemingly innocent little gestures.”

“alright, bet,” that might’ve come off a little prickly, but it’s all seokjin’s fault! if he wasn’t hung like a horse, you would’ve taken one speculative glance and left him to his own devices!

the sweet chuckle echoing off the walls is disarming. so much so, when he slips one digit into you, your back arches and you’re biting into the pillow to stop a moan from escaping.

“is that a moan i hear? since we just started, i’ll let you off the hook,” there it is again, that disarming trickle of hymn as he slips in and out of you, loosening you up for something much, much bigger.

“it was a cough, god damn it,” you barely manage to get that out before you’re shoving your curled index finger into your mouth when he starts inserting two fingers inside without so much as a warning.

“that’s cheating!” you whine but your legs spread wider anyway.

“all is fair in war and sex,” he comments, free hand pinning your hips down on the bed before he starts thrusting his digits faster, the squelching sound of your juices reverberating against the walls - you fear that even without your moans, the two other brothers that are walls apart would’ve heard and come knocking on seokjin’s door.

along with the fear comes the electrifying euphoric sensation that courses from the tip of your toes to your core and all over your body. you remember clawing at seokjin’s hand that’s pinning you down because of how unbearably rapturous he’s making you feel. you remember his hand not budging a single inch from your meek attempts. you remember trying to bring your legs together but something’s wedged in between them. you remember tears pricking your eyes as the background slowly fades - taehyung’s presence in the room across from where you are, the possibility of namjoon coming back and walking down the hallway right as your back arches upwards and toes curling inwards as sparks course through your veins.

when your senses come back, seokjin’s in the middle of complimenting your hardwork, if “not bad” is even plausibly a praise. his fingers are still inside you, unmoving, possibly waiting for you to come down from your pleasured state.

“did i pass?” you might have been a little too elated.

“surprisingly,” he affirms, that beautiful sound of chuckles spilling out of his mouth.

“then won’t you fuck me right now? i’m already wet for you,” the last part, you say with a tinge of spoiled-ness.

“not tonight,” he says, before instructing you to lift up your head and slipping his shirt over it. you know it’s his because his heat still lingers when you slip your arms through the arm holes, cheeks hot as you forearm brushes against a nude chest as he pulls the sheets up over you.

but you being you, manage to ruin the moment with your, “why not?”

seokjin hums, that sound alone enough to make your heart shake with a sort of emotion that you can’t pinpoint, “like taehyung says - things are better in moderation.”

“he never said that,” you plainly dispute.

“well,” a kiss lands on the side of your head and an arm drapes over your stomach, just above the area where he used the same hand attached to that arm to pin you down as he fingered you, “let’s just say it’s my way of keeping you from going back to that ggukie-guy.”

you gasp into the dark, “are you jealous?!”

“i sure am,” he admits, a bit too willingly - as if it’s a known fact.

“oh,” you say, lost for words becase - “no one really admits that they are, not the people i’ve been with at least.”

“that’s cause you never been with a man... or woman. but i’d say being with a man - me - is better. i’ll show you what you’re missing out on,” he shushes you up with a “shhh” and a hand on your jaw to turn you towards him.

a pair of the softest lips meets yours and whatever retort you’re thinking up of is already out of the window.

note. this is different than what i’m used to writing so i’ll probably need some help!! i’m planning to update this from time to time with scenarios like ‘where he picks you up from your uni’ or ‘wherein he takes you shopping’ - idk djashdsakj send in suggestions that you think will fit oc and seokjin’s dynamic and i’ll incorporate them for the upcoming parts in their (nsfw) adventures to realizing their feelings for each other while also sneaking around behind taehyung’s back! it’s cool if you don’t though! but heads up, my smut writing skills aren’t as good so you’ll probably see more sexy times / implied smut most of the time lol

either way, hope yall enjoyed this!

#seokjin x reader #bts x reader #seokjin scenarios #bts smut #seokjin smut #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts fic #seokjin fanfic #seokjin fic #seokjin x you #bts x you #bts scenario #seokjin scenario

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thetaoofzoe · 4 years

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Fic: The Company Woman 1/1

Title: The Company Woman

Pairing: CEO Henry x YOU

Summary: No other company has made you want to become a Company Woman. No other company made you want to surrender to your boss. I would suggest trying to get a position in this luscious Company, but only if you’re good ;).

Rating: Explicit. Unprotected sex, cock-warming, strict rules, Soft Dom Henry, giddy and willing participants

And thank you to my ever loving @lightsidecalling.

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

Puckering your lips against one side of a small square of pink tissue, you watched yourself lightly dab at the other side with a soft powdered brush until you were satisfied you’d absorbed enough excess moisture from the matte lipstick. Carefully peeling the tissue from your dark cherry red lips, you tapped them with a clean manicured fingertip and then smiled at your reflection.

Perfect.

Picking up the parfum atomizer you layered yourself with a light floral scent. Not too much. Just enough so that the boss could smell it, appreciate it, but not be distracted by it.

Replacing the bottle on the vanity tray, your eyes drifted to the large pink sticky note affixed to your broad wall-length bathroom mirror. You leaned in to briefly consult it, as you had done every morning since landing a coveted position with The Company last year.

In your neat print, you’d copied the ‘Requirements for personal hygiene and workplace presentation’ instructions from your personalised employee handbook.

1. A bath or shower must be taken the night before bed and in the morning after rising from bed. Cleansing must pay close attention to delicate areas where unwanted scents can accumulate during general activities.

2. Hair must be neat no matter the style.

3. While professional whitening is not expected, you will maintain clean healthy teeth. At-home whitening strips are recommended.

4. Trousers are not allowed in the office and all clothing must be form-fitting, but not constricting or ‘tight’. Heels and nylons must be worn.

5. Makeup must be natural and unobtrusive and any scents must be light.

6. All foundation garments must not be detected beneath the outer clothes.

Mentally you ticked off the six boxes, stood back, and admired yourself in the brightly lighted mirror. You tucked the back of your rose coloured silk blouse into a darker rose coloured pencil skirt and made sure that the zipper that ran the vertical length of the skirt was centered on your backside.

Flicking off the bathroom light and picking a pair of matching shoes from the upper hall closet, you padded down the stairs to the lower level of your townhouse. Your work mobile was charging on the kitchen counter and picking it up from the cradle, you saw that you had a message.

A flick of your thumb across the dark screen revealed what Mr. Cavill wanted for lunch:

CUISSE DE VOLAILLE FARCIE AUX HERBES, JUS A L’ECHALOTE from Le Gavroche.

You hadn’t even had your own breakfast yet, and here he was requesting lunch. However, the thought of ensuring that your boss got whatever expensive meal he had a taste for that day, was exciting.

In fact, everything about working for the extremely posh company headed by five brothers was exciting. Everything was required to be of the highest quality and it was up to everyone involved to maintain the aesthetic of The Company. After all, appearances in that world were everything. One wrong move could spell the end of them. Nonetheless, you relished the strict nature of your working environment and eagerly submitted to your superiors.

Stepping into your shoes, and grabbing your handbag, you shrugged into a light jacket on your way out of the front door.

As a personal assistant to the middle (and in your opinion the smartest and most attractive) brother, Henry, your job afforded you the kind of luxuries of which you’d only dreamed.

When Henry travelled for business, you travelled for business. When he dined in impossibly decadent restaurants and slept in extravagant hotels, well, so did you. You didn’t always dine with him, (and you never slept with him), but you had unfettered access to all of the amenities that he enjoyed. The Company did well enough to, in turn, pay their employees handsomely and offer generous year-end bonuses.

You loved it. No other employer had been able to turn you into The Company woman you were now and make you like it. You loved your job so much that you barely blinked when, during a late afternoon meeting with Henry, he slid a neatly formatted document across his glossy desktop towards you.

You leaned in, but did not pick it up. You read it where it lay, white and crisp against the deep cherry mahogany.

‘This is a non-disclosure agreement,’ you said and let your eyes drift up to Henry’s face.

He looked cool and perfect in his bespoke icy blue three-piece suit, offset by a creme coloured necktie knotted in a full Windsor. The ticking of his wristwatch was loud in the silence and he held your gaze wordlessly.

Henry was all raw masculine power and you were aroused by him. Constantly. When you performed your morning and nightly routines, you thought about him, wondering if he appreciated the extra effort you put in just to impress him.

Had he noticed?

You sucked your lower lip and lowered your eyes to the document again.

‘Um..’

‘I want you to read and sign it,’ said Henry in his warm honeyed voice, and you were startled a little by the clack of the Montblanc coming down next to the document.

‘Is this different from the disclosure documents I signed when I first started?’

Henry leaned back, relaxed and the leather chair creaked softly.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You’ve been with us for what, nearly a year?

‘Yes. A great year!’

His rosy pink lips lengthened into a charming smile and you thought about how his nipples and his cock must be that very same colour. The heat of arousal rose in you and tingled between your thighs. It was a familiar and welcomed feeling, the muted buzzing that signalled the beginnings of your body awakening. You crossed your legs.

‘A great year,’ he agreed. ‘And, we want to continue to have more great years with you.’

‘I hope so too, Mr. Cavill.’

Henry’s blue eyes lowered to the document and you followed his gaze.

Picking up the pen you realised that your hands were damp. You were nervous and there was something tantalising hanging heavily in the air, something that you became much more aware of as you finished reading carefully through the document.

By the time you looked up, your heart was crashing against your ribs and it was hard to catch your breath. Without signing, you put the pen down, and neatly lined it up with the edge of the paper. You took in a long breath, held it and then let it out between perfect lips.

Your eyes finally met his and the shift in your relationship suddenly became very clear. It was no longer he who held the power in that room.

It was you.

Holding his gaze, you picked up the pen again and then looked down to carefully sign on the dotted line above your printed name.

You set the pen atop the document and with two fingers, slid it back across the desk to him. You saw him swallow hard, but that was the only crack in his impassive exterior. Henry picked it up, slotted it into a pale blue folder and stored it in the top drawer of his desk. The pen was capped and secreted into an inner jacket pocket.

He stood then and watching him walk around the desk to stand directly in front of you, you wet your lips and followed suit.

‘Don’t think I didn’t notice you,’ Henry purred leaning in to murmur against your ear. ‘Your smell, your lips… that beautiful arse.’

His broad hand came down hard on your bottom, grabbed you possessively and gasping with delight, you swayed against him.

‘Lucky for you,’ you answered and earned a soft chuckle from him.

You thought about resisting, pulling back to teach him a lesson for being so eager. You wanted to play a little, a little slap, and a little bit of rough. What was he like under that cool crisp exterior? Was he dull? Or was he fiery? You knew he played rugby in his limited free time and made regular use of The Company’s private gym.

So, just what was he like?

You lifted your face and moaned softly beneath the pressure of his kiss. He tasted just as you imagined. Expensive, masculine, luscious.

You pushed him back then, face brightening into a look of shock and faux outrage. Holding your hand against his broad chest you teased in a soft voice,

‘You. Didn’t. Ask.’

Henry gave you a sly grin and you were glad that there was nothing within reach on his desk because he effortlessly spun and then sprawled you across it. He dug his fingers into your hips and pulled you back just enough so that your bottom was presented perfectly to him.

You let out a squeak of surprise and bliss.

Well, you thought belatedly as he unzipped your skirt from the hem up, at least the zipper on the skirt was finally making its fantasy debut. You had purchased that skirt in the hopes that one day he would be doing exactly what he was doing now.

‘Mr. Cavill!’ you exclaimed, trying to swallow down a giggle as you attempted to press up from the surface of the desk. He chuckled, sounding smug behind you as one big hand eased across your back and pressed you down again.

‘Mmm,’ he murmured, voice soft with praise and anticipation as he stroked his fingertips up beneath the elastic of your garters, starting from where the laced edge of your thigh-highs ended, gliding elegantly up your overheated flesh, before fanning his hands to grasp you beneath your ass. He squeezed. Hard. And you let out a shuddering groan, only to bite down on the noise and jerk forward with a surprised gasp when Henry swiped a sturdy finger up the wet crotch of your panties.

You closed your eyes and when he leaned against you, you felt the press of his heavy erection through his expensive gabardine. You squirmed, and he leaned away to lightly slap your bottom.

‘Please… please Mr. Cavill,’ you whimpered when he stepped back.

God you felt so cold without him against your skin.

You reached back, scrabbling trembling fingers up under your flagrantly open skirt, hooking your fingers into the waistband of your panties, and attempted to pull them down. Henry stopped you and, grasping the edge of the thin pink scrap of material, giving it one sharp tug until it ripped easily.

Fuck.

His hand came down on your back again, holding you, and he licked the pad of his thumb before sliding it into your slick warmth.

‘Look at you. Look how wet you are. I love hearing you, baby,’ he growled, sucking your juice off of his fingers. ‘Taste so good.’

You heard him unbuckling and opening his trousers and bit down on your lower lip, ready for it. Yes, God. Yes, God, yes.

‘Do you remember rule number 10?’ he asked, leaning in close now, covering you with his hard body and rocking you up to your tiptoes. The scent of him made it hard to think.

Rule number 10 – internal contraception only.

‘Yes,’ you managed to say, your voice barely over a broken whisper. ‘Yes, Mr. Cavill. I remember. I ha-haven’t broken it.’

‘Good.’

Henry made a low noise in the back of his throat, a sound that rippled deliciously through you, and using both strong hands, he opened you. With a low growling gasp, he pushed so gently into you that you stilled suddenly and closed your eyes, shutting out every visual distraction in order to be able to deeply experience the heat and power of his sex. You arched and against the desk, splaying your hands but failing to hold onto anything. Seeing this, Henry lightly grasped your wrists and pulling them behind you, he pinned them together against your lower back.

‘I like you like this,’ he rumbled. ‘Be a good girl. You’ll be a good girl for me?’

It took a moment for your brain to start working enough to form a coherent response, but even when your brain engaged with rational thought, straying away from the thick, delectable cock easing hot and insistently into your body, you could only choke out,

‘Y-yes! Yes, Mr. Cavill. Yes. I’ll be good!’

Henry seemed satisfied with your enthusiastic compliance and then a short amused laugh came out of him when the phone on his desk twittered gaily.

You both stilled and you whimpered like a denied little puppy, your hands flexing against the slick, glossy desktop, nearly reaching out for the phone out of habit. It was your job to answer the phones for Henry, after all.

‘Answer it,’ he said and was magnanimous enough to release your hands and stop fucking you.

You naughty boy, you thought and with a trembling hand you reached for the desk phone.

The slim narrow plastic slipped a bit in your sweat-slick hand but your voice was surprisingly steady when you spoke between clenched teeth,

‘This is Henry Cavill’s office. How may I help you?’

A young woman’s chipper sounding voice started rattling off information that you were sure you should have been writing down, but all you could think about was that stiff cock nestling just that much deeper inside you. Henry rolled his hips just then and you clamped down on a squeal.

‘Bless you,’ the woman said.

You gasped and made a belated attempt at sniffling to support her assumption that you’d sneezed and not that you were getting a thorough seeing to by your boss.

‘Th-thank you. Is ahh.. is there anything else?’

There wasn’t, and when she ended the call, you just dropped the receiver and shoved back against him. Henry took this as a cue to redouble his efforts and you soon came apart beneath his expert handling.

Your orgasm took you quite by surprise as if a switch had been thrown and you buried your face in your arms, biting down on your forearm to keep from screaming as Henry gushed into you. Blood rushed to your head and you lay there, collapsed against the desk and didn’t move even when Henry finally drew back.

You listened to him cleaning himself up and then putting himself back into place.

‘Shall I?’ he asked and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him reach for the small box of tissues in that lacquered wood box you’d always admired.

You made a soft, blissful sound of assent and basked in the pleasurable strokes of impossibly soft tissues on your tender delicate areas. And you giggled at the final kiss Henry placed on your skin when he was done.

With clothes righted, and skirt securely zipped, you leaned against the desk and looked at him. He didn’t seem chagrined at what had just transpired, only satisfied and content.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ you admitted after a stretch of silence.

With the edge of his thumb, he stroked your cheek and curled the rest of his fingers beneath your chin. His kiss was tender and full of promise.

‘Have an early evening and tomorrow we need to discuss the Zurich trip.’

‘Yes, Mr. Cavill,’ you grinned and turned to leave the now overly warm office.

‘Come in early so that we can have breakfast together.’

Your heart leapt, but you kept your cool.

‘Yes, Mr. Cavill. Anything in particular that you want?’

‘Just you,’ he said.

Nodding, you closed the door behind you and did a full body dance.

The Company Woman indeed.

-end

#henry cavill #henry cavill smut #ceo henry cavill #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #the witcher #man of steel #clark kent #mob boss #ceo #geralt #sherlock holmes #enola holmes

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megumisbimbo · 3 years

Text

Iced Americano*

Kuroo and Daichi x fem!reader

warnings: smut, fluff, oral (both receiving), protected sex, kuroo and daichi being hot

word count: 2.5k

minors pls don’t interact!

all characters are aged up!

a/n: this was very self indulgent...

Another boring day behind the counter of your college’s local coffee shop. Classes were hard but financing said classes was harder and you ended up having to take a part time job to pay your apartment rent. You didn’t hate it, it was nice meeting new people everyday, and seeing regular friendly faces. But there was one face in particular that never failed to catch your attention.

“What can I get for..you.. the usual i’m guessing?” You say, a shy smile playing across your face.

“Good to see you again y/n, and yes the usual please.” He responds, reciprocating your smile.

He was gorgeous and part of you thinks he knows that too. The way he carried himself with such confidence. He must know the effect he has on you.

“Iced Americano for Kuroo!”

He comes back to the counter and picks up his drink. He notices your eyes on him and flashes his award winning smirk. He slips a napkin across the counter and winks. You glance down at the napkin and read the small message he’s left for you. A simple “call me” with a winky face and his number below it. You couldn’t lie, you were a bit nervous to take the offer, but deep down you really wanted it. As soon as your shift ended you messaged the number.

me: Hi! Is this kuroo-san?

kuroo: It is. Is this the lovely y/n?

me: haha yes it is

kuroo: I’m a bit busy right now y/n, but don’t worry i’ll make a reappearance at the coffee shop tomorrow ;)

me: can’t wait!

Your heart was racing. This small encounter was more than enough to send butterflies rushing through your stomach. Months of pining for the handsome stranger finally paying off. For the first time in a long time, you were really excited for your early morning shift.

The next day finally rolled around and you were happy as can be. Even your coworkers noticed your chipper mood.

“y/n you’re awfully happy today. Something good happen?” Your coworker Yamaguchi asked.

“Hm I guess you could say something happened.”

“Spill. now.”

You giggled as you explained to him all that took place the day before, and how you’re super excited to see him again today. He seems a bit older than you are but you don’t mind. You’re pretty mature for your age, at least you think so.

“Is that him over there?” Tadashi asks, eying a tall “spiky haired man” that just walked in.

“Yes! That’s him! I’m gonna head to the register.”

“Hi Kuroo-san! The usual?” You ask, your eyes falling on the shorter man standing beside him.

The man smiles at you and you can’t help but notice how handsome he is as well. Two handsome men right in front of you. What a lucky day.

“Yes usual for me and a Cappuccino for him. How have you been y/n. Sorry I couldn’t talk very much yesterday, work has been hectic.” He asks leaning over the counter just enough so that you can feel his hot breath on your nose.

You smile and answer back making small talk as you punch in their order.

“Babe, can I get a muffin as well?” The shorter man asks, catching you off guard.

“Yeah which one?”

You stare at Kuroo, a confused look painting your blushing face.

Babe?

“Oh y/n, this is my boyfriend Daichi by the way. Daichi this is y/n, the girl I was telling you about.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you y/n, Kuroo talks about you quite a bit.” Daichi responds, nudging Kuroo in the side.

“y/n...if you’re free tonight..we’d love to have you over for dinner.”

“Dinner?” You ask, contemplating his extremely confusing request. The man was already in a relationship and he was asking you out on a date with him and his boyfriend in front of his boyfriend?

“Um.. Kuroo-san should you really be asking me out..when your boyfriend is uh..right there?”

“He’s interested as well. Unless you aren’t into that kind of thing! If not, we totally understand and we can pretend like this conversation never happened.”

That kind of thing? I mean a poly relationship isn’t something that has ever crossed your mind, but you weren’t against it you suppose.

“Sure I’ll join you two for dinner.” You respond, the smile Kuroo fell for playing across your slightly blushing face.

“Great! I’ll text you our address. We’ll see you tonight y/n.” He responds, giving you yet another wink. Those winks are deadly. They both walk away from the counter and over to the table across from the register, giving them both a clear view of you working.

“TADASHI YOU’LL NEVER GUESS WHAT HAPPENED!”

———

You stand outside the door of Kuroo and Daichi’s shared penthouse apartment. The building was big, beautiful, and very expensive. Your hands shake as they clutch onto the strap of your crossbody bag. You decided to wear the black bodycon dress you had bought for a blind date you never ended up going on. You were glad it was finally being put to good use. You awkwardly stand as your shaking finger presses the doorbell.

Quickly the door is opened, and the sweet face of your regular customer appears.

“Y/n! Glad you made it safely. The drive was not too long was it?”

“Actually I walked, you guys live pretty close to my apartment.”

“Oh well...that’s convenient. Come in, Daichi just finished making dinner.”

You follow Kuroo into the penthouse, your eyes taking in the sight of his multi million dollar home. You had no clue what these two did for work, but you were eager to find out. You get to the dinner table, which has been decorated with different types of food. Your mouth watered at the sight.

“Did Daichi-san make all of this?” You ask Kuroo.

“He did. He’s quite good in the kitchen, unlike myself. I can barely make a piece of toast.”

“More like he almost burnt down the building trying to make a piece of toast.” Daichi says, coming into the dining room with another plate of food.

“This all looks so amazing Daichi-san!”

“Thank you y/n, I’m glad you’re here tonight. Tetsurou has been especially giddy today.”

“Has he?...well I guess..I have been as well. I mean it’s not everyday you get to have dinner with two handsome men.” You say, blushing again. You bite your bottom lip nervously and Kuroo swears he could take you right then and there.

“So what do you two do for work, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Of course not, I work for Japan’s Volleyball Association. I’m in the Sports Promotion Division. Daichi here is a firefighter.” Kuroo explains.

Your eyes widen in wonder. They were both quite successful and obviously rich. You felt lucky they decided to ask a broke college girl out.

“So y/n, are you a full time student at Tokyo University?”

“Yes, but I also work the coffee shop job and I do a few odd jobs here and there. For the college and apartment expenses that is. My scholarship wasn’t enough to cover everything.”

You three continue the small talk, you talk about your school life and clubs you were into. You find out they met while playing volleyball in high school. Once they graduated, Kuroo mustered up the courage to ask Daichi out and of course, Daichi said yes.

Once dinner was over, you offered to help the boys out with the dishes and they insisted you relax on the couch while they finish. You obediently sit and scroll through your phone. Kuroo comes out first and sits beside you. He was close, closer to you than he’s ever been before. He turns his head towards you and meets your fear filled eyes. His eyes land on your lips as he subconsciously licks his own. A hand lands on the skin of your thigh and slowly inches it’s way up. You tense slightly at the action.

“Don’t be scared, I would never do anything you didn’t want me to y/n. But I can’t lie, I wanted to take you right there at that dinner table.”

He pushes your hair behind your shoulder and slots his face in between your neck and shoulder. He places small kisses across your shoulder leading up to your neck, finding the sweet spot that always makes you squirm.

“Kuroo-san wait- what about Daichi-san.”

“He’ll join us in a minute..y/n...may I?”

His hand slides across your lower back and grips your waist as his lips continue sucking on your neck.

“...yes Kuroo-san, please...I want you.”

Something inside Kuroo snapped upon hearing your words. His fingers find the zipper of your dress and slowly he unzips, taking in every small gasp that comes through your parted lips. You looked divine, the most delicious dessert he could have ever asked for. Soon you feel the couch dip on the other side and you whip your head around, Daichi’s sweet smile greeting you.

“Can we make you feel good y/n? We’ll be gentle.”

“Daichi-san..please...more.”

Daichi immediately latches onto your mouth, his tongue prodding at your lips begging for entry. Kuroo trails kisses down your back, following the trail the zipper makes.

“Let’s take this to the room.” Kuroo suggests, both you and Daichi nodding in agreement. You follow the pair down the corridor and into a dimly lit room, a king sized bed adorned with red silk sheets sitting right in the middle. The room was minimally decorated. They must not spend much time in here, that or they’re busy...doing something else.

Kuroo leads you to the edge of the bed. You stand in front of it as Kuroo slips off the rest of your dress. You’re wearing a black set of lace lingerie underneath, and both men are enamored by how stunning you look splayed out on their dark red sheets.

“I want her pussy first.” Kuroo growls.

You sit up quickly as both men crawl towards you as if you were prey and they were starved predators. You felt Daichi’s body against yours first. You scoot back into his chest and lean your head against him. Kuroo’s fingers lock onto the waistband of your little lace panties, which are already thoroughly soaked. He pulls them down and off of you. He bunches it up and stuffs it into your mouth. A finger swipes up your unclothed pussy and you moan into your panties, drool pooling in the bottom of your mouth soaking them even more. Daichi’s hands find purchase on your chest. He gently massages your breasts as you throw your head back onto his shoulder, moans spilling out of your stuffed mouth. Kuroo continues his attack, licking long stripes up your entrance. His lips latch onto your clit sucking and massaging it. His tongue dips into your entrance as the coil in your stomach tightens. The stimulation was overwhelming. Between Daichi fondling you and Kuroo’s work on your pussy, you release faster than you had ever before. Their soft lips and big hands were much better than your small, unskilled fingers. Kuroo diligently laps up your release and sits up. He leans toward Daichi and gives him a sloppy open mouth kiss. You watch in awe as the two make out, Kuroo pulling away first.

“Can you taste her on my tongue?” Kuroo asks, smirking at both of you.

“She’s delicious.” Daichi responds, kissing your neck. He takes a bit of your skin in between his teeth and bites and sucks until he’s sure he’s made a lasting mark. You moan, leaning your head against him, his hands still groping your sensitive tits.

Kuroo leans forward and takes the panty stuffed into your mouth with his teeth, spitting it out on the bed next to you. He slides a condom over himself and lines up his cock, pushing it slowly into your slick entrance. His cock was not very thick but it was long, and it didn’t take very long for him to bottom out completely. Kuroo presses your stomach, feeling the outline of his cock.

“Can you feel that y/n? Can you feel how well I fill you up?”

“S’good Kuroo-san- hngg too much-“

“You can take it baby. I know you can. You wanna be a good girl for us right?”

His thrusts were slow but forceful, each one perfectly hitting your g-spot. The way you clamped down on Kuroo’s cock sent him into a euphoric whirlwind. He gave a few more thrusts and spilled his seed into the condom as your second release gushed around him. Daichi was drooling at the pornographic scene unfolding between his legs. Kuroo pulls his softened cock out, and you whine at the loss of contact. You lean back onto Daichi’s shoulder once again as he leans down to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss.

“Daichi-san..wanna suck you off-please...”

Daichi chuckles at your eagerness and obliges. With the help of Kuroo, you turn around and lean down into his lap, his hardened cock standing tall and leaking beautifully. Kuroo’s arm wraps around your waist keeping you steady, as his lips leave a hot wet trail down your spine. You give the tip of Daichi’s cock a few kitten licks, eliciting a deep groan from the back of his throat. You take the tip into your mouth, your tongue swirling around it while Daichi’s hands grab a fist full of your hair.

“Just like that y/n-mmm...such a good girl.”

Daichi ruts up into your mouth, the tip grazing the back of your throat causing you to gag. Your nails dig into the flesh of his massive thighs, the pain only adding to his pleasure.

His cock feels hot and heavy in your mouth and each bob of your head makes his balls tighten. The feeling of your hot mouth around him sending him over the edge, he can’t take it.

“hnggg- y/n m’coming.”

Soon your throat was painted with thick ropes of hot cum. You swallowed as much as you could, licking your lips as some dribbles down your chin.

Your body went limp landing flat on Daichi’s chest. His hand rakes through your hair as you start to fall asleep.

“We gotta clean you up y/n, don’t fall asleep yet.” Daichi says.

“Let her sleep, we’ll wipe her down for now and wash her in the morning.”

A warm damp cloth meets your sore body as Kuroo wipes you down. Daichi diligently wipes away at your face and mouth giving soft kisses on your hair. Once clean, you were laid down in between the soft silk sheets you were previously clutching. Both men get in on either side of you, massaging the sore muscle of your hips and thighs. Looks like you’ll be skipping class tomorrow.

#kuroo tetsuro smut #daichi sawamura smut #kuroo tetsurou #daichi sawamura #kuroo x reader #daichi x reader #kuroo x daichi #kurodai #daikuroo #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #kuroo x you #daichi x you #🥀 — belladonna

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Secrets ~ 6

Warnings: noncon sexual acts later in series; light touching.

This is dark!Bucky and dark!Steve and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Notes:

Tomorrow will be a 12 hour day for me. Working on Xmas but oh well. I got this done on my one day off and I hope I survive the next week coming up!

I love you all, I thank you for your patience and feedback as always! Please don’t shy away in the comments, reblogs, etc.

Your time at Regia passed quickly and slowly all at once. You were woken most days abruptly by Barnes pounding on your door or standing over you with his smug half-grin. Then you dressed in clothes you reviled and ate a breakfast you couldn’t enjoy for all the expectation of your intake. You were allowed some recreation though that was often reading bland historical texts or walks in the garden with your keeper.

Your least favourite part of each day were your dance lessons. You had to relearn how to walk, talk, look, and eat, but you had never had much rhythm. Besides, being so close to Barnes with him commenting on your every misstep was hardly fun. He delighted in every mistake you made, eager to reproach you for each, and was easily amused by Priscilla’s stick smacking across your legs, back, and ass.

You counted eleven days as you began to truly fledge. You were tired, annoyed, and to be honest, hungry. That day, you beat Barnes’ early disturbance. You sat, in a coral blouse and a pleated grey skirted, with the lowest pair of heels in the closet. He greeted you almost with approval and that made your want to tear the blouse and shred it.

You didn’t. You followed him downstairs to your usual miserable meal. When you finished, he escorted you back up the wide staircase to the hall of mirrors. You hated the room. It gave you an all to inclusive view of your ridiculous attire. You didn’t look like you. Sure, you were one for a scholarly look but this wasn’t really that. This was a pompous, over-stylised look which would go well only with a silver spoon on your tongue.

A man waited in the hall of mirrors, a woman too. The man was slender and tall and his long fingers were twined together as he waited emotionlessly. He bowed as you entered and recited a dull ‘your highness’. The woman was squat and stuffed into a patterned wrap dress spotted with bright reds, pinks, and oranges. She was more jovial as her voice chimed with the same recitation.

“Lester, Deanna,” Barnes announced, “My apologies for the delay. I trust you are ready.”

“Darling, your highness,” The stout woman swayed over to you, “Come with me.”

“Huh,” you looked at Barnes and he smiled as he gestured you forward.

“Just go,” he ordered, “She doesn’t look like much but she’s not one for defiance.”

You sighed and let the woman usher you over to the attached room. The racks of dresses were gone but long garment bangs had been hung from a hook along the opposite wall. The door snapped shut behind you and Deanna flitted around you, like an elephant in heels, and turned you to face her.

“Oh, love, you are gorg,” she chimed in a peculiar accent, “I think however Lord Barnes was a bit off on your measurements,” she grasped your waist, “Lovely, lovely.”

“I hate to be a bitch but what the hell is going on?” You asked.

She blinked and laughed. She drew away and pushed her dark curls back as they burst forth from the jeweled pin behind her head. “Oh dear, you are fiery. The king will… like that. I think.”

She didn’t sound convincing as she spun away and marched over to the hook and took down the first bag. She unzipped it as she neared and turned it to reveal the contents. A white lacy dress with thin straps and a scalloped hem around the neckline. The bodice was fitted and the skirt flared out into a princess silhouette. You knitted your brow as you stared at it.

“Your wedding dress,” she sang. “Oh, it will surely look splendid on you, darling. Your highness.”

She stripped the bag away and was careful not to let the skirts touch the floor as she held it aloft and folded the swaths of fabric over her arm. She held it out to her as she beamed at you.

“So… I don’t get to choose?” You wondered. You didn’t care very much but you hated that all your decisions were made for you.

“Oh, but this was refashioned from the former queen’s dress. It is a tradition in Astrania. In fact some of this would date back centuries!” She explained, “Of course we do update the style.”

You chewed on your lip and shrugged. “Let’s just get this over with,” you muttered.

You felt defeated as you couldn’t help but fixate on the white gown. It was like you were wrapping yourself in a flag of surrender. You’d wave your skirts and let yourself be taken. You undressed and stepped into the dress as she opened it for you. She pulled the straps over your arms and zipped it up.

“Rather, it fits you well,” she came around as she pinched at the fabric and smoothed out the seams. She wasn’t wrong, though it felt rather constricting. “Well, come on. Lester needs to do his figures. He’s always the better eye for this. I just sew.”

She took your hand as you lifted your skirts with your other. You let her guide you back out to the hall of mirrors and you avoided looking around you. You couldn’t look at Barnes either as you sensed him watching you. You blurred your vision as you lifted your head and the tall man, Lester, walked around you. He began to pin little pieces in place and Deanna pulled out a small notepad as she began to jot with a stubbed pencil.

“Hmm,” Barnes appeared before you and your vision cleared, “Not bad…” He brushed the lace with his fingers and traced the curve of your waist with his hands, “However…” He lingered just below your chest, “You can’t show the entire kingdom your bra. You would do better to leave that behind on the day.”

“We can add some structure,” Lester offered evenly. “But our adjustments will be minor.”

Barnes reached over and tugged the skirts from your hand and fluffed them out around you. He rounded you and gripped your shoulders. You saw yourself in the mirrored wall and tried not to show your surprise. It wasn’t awful but you still didn’t like it.

“We have three days left. You have the other dress?” He asked.

“We have options,” Deanna said, “We were uncertain if the king would prefer red or blue.”

“Let me see,” Barnes sidestepped her and went to the attached room.

Deanna glanced at you and waved you after him as she approached and gathered your skirts. She followed after you and your vigilant chaperone. She released the vast skirts and went to Barnes as he neared the hanging garment bags. She unzipped both and he tilted his head and tutted.

“Red,” he said, “I believe the king will be in blue.”

“Very well,” Deanna pulled the dress from the bag. “Now dear, let’s get you changed.”

Barnes turned back and neared you. He faced you and reached around you. He pushed the zipper down slowly and leaned in until his breath tickled your nose. “Three days.” He reminded you. He drew away and left you as the bodice fell slack. He closed the door behind him as Deanna replaced him.

“Darling, I think red will look marvelous on you. And the king in blue! He has the most amazing eyes. Oh, if I was younger… maybe, skinnier,” she giggled, “Well, should I even tell you? You’ve seen him. Ugh, handsome bugger, he is.”

“Mhmm,” you grumbled as you wiggled out of the gown, “What a tragedy it’d be if his outside was ugly too.”

👑

That night was as restless as any. You laid in bed for a time, tossing and turning. You tried to forget about the blinding white dress and the abhorrent red number that came after. And how time seemed to pass regardless of your fears or your desires. You felt helpless. You used to be in control of everything and now, you couldn’t control even yourself.

You sat up in a slat of moonlight. You weren’t going to sleep. Your frustration mounted the longer you squeezed your eyes shut and clawed and clutched for rest. You grunted and stood as the duvet fell away from your legs. The short silk nightie sent a chill up your spin as it fluttered around your thighs.

You crossed your arms and went to the window. The lawns were peaceful despite the anxiety within the palace. You turned away as the lush green rippling in the silver shadows only heightened your uneasiness. You took the blush coloured robe from the chair sat before the vanity and swathed yourself in it as you neared the door.

It was, to your surprise, unlocked. As strict a warden as Barnes was, you just assumed he would have locked you in. You let out a breath and stepped out into the hallway. The portraits of your predecessors, dead and dusty, watched you pass as you tiptoed along. The windows cast shapes around you as you went along and at times, you were certain you heard whispers.

You descended to the lower first floor and ventured down a wing never explored before. Your eyes were attune to the darkness but still played tricks as you crept along. You heard the distant, muffled, and quite possibly, imagined ripple of water. You smelled a pool, the sharp scent of chlorine. Your senses brought you to a door at the end of the corridor.

Frosted glass framed in heavy metal. You pressed against the slotted handle and the clasp slowly lifted. You inched inside as you peeked around the door. Broad shoulders, bare and thick with muscle, beneath a head of dark hair. You were shocked by the scars along Barnes’ left shoulder and the arm no longer in place below. You’d never even noticed the prosthetic now laid out with his clothes on a bench near the wall.

He shoved himself into the pool and the water swelled around him. You placed your feet carefully as you eased the door shut and neared the bench where his suit was folded neatly with his shoes, socks, belt, and tie. You bent closer as you admired the hand at the end of the prosthetic; you touched it curiously. It felt lifelike even as it sat limp.

“Convincing?” Bucky’s voice frightened you as you heard the water move around his body. You turned to face him as he brought his right arm over the edge of the pool. “Don’t worry. You can toss it around. I won’t feel a thing.”

You were speechless; embarrassed. You hadn’t meant to intrude upon him but your fatigue mixed with your confusion had goaded you on.

“Sorry, I… I couldn’t sleep.” You hugged yourself and swept back to the door. “I wasn’t meaning-- I shouldn’t have--”

“Just an arm.” He said as he pushed himself up and turned to display what was left of his arm, a scarred stub just below his shoulder. “Good thing I was born with two.”

“Barnes…” You backed up until you were against the door. “I should go.”

“Alright,” he pushed himself back and floated with his single arm outstretched. “I always found swimming helped… with sleep.” He said lazily. “Calming.”

You didn’t move. You only watched as he floated along in only his briefs. He was entirely unbothered by your presence as he hummed and reached out to stop himself at the other end of the pool.

“Well, are you enjoying the show or you going to join?” He asked.

You watched him warily. “You’re not mad?”

“Maybe slightly irritated,” he shrugged, “You hovering is ruining the mood.”

You stared at him and slowly pushed yourself away from the door. You took small steps forward and lowered yourself along the rim of the pool. You held in a squeak as you hung your legs into the cool water.

“So, were you just not going to tell me there was a pool?” You chided.

“You didn’t ask,” he said as he waded casually through the water. “To be fair, you didn’t seem much interested in this place though as I’ve gathered, you are disinterested in most things.”

You frowned and rolled your eyes. You peered over at the wall and pondered leaving him as you found him. You were surprised by a wet hand on your knee.

“If I can get to you so easy, Steve’s gonna drive you mad,” Barnes said. “So if you’re going to be so easily perturbed, you better work on hiding it better.”

“Whatever,” you huffed.

“Whatever,” he mocked as his hand slid under the water and he gripped your ankle. “Loosen up.”

He kicked himself away from the wall and pulled you down into the pool. You plunged with a yelp and threw your arms up in panic. Your nose and mouth filled with water and he let you go. You bobbed back to the surface and spat as your silken night clothes clouded around you.

“What the fuck, Barnes?” You sputtered.

“I’ll admit,” he said through chuckles, “I had a drink or two.” He winked as he moved around you. “Well, Duchess, you do play the role much better than you think.”

“Ugh,” you turned away and reached for the wall of the pool, “You are the worst.”

“Wait,” he pressed against you and caught you around your waist, “Wait, wait.” He drew you back with him. “Come on. Relax.” He dragged you further into the water, “Look, you’ve only got a few days left and even if you hate to listen to me, you should. Once you’re at court, this won’t happen. Ever.”

“What do you care? You haven’t so far.” You struggled with him and dipped below the water again. You twisted and turned and came up facing him as he clung to you.

“Duchess,” he warned, “Don’t be a brat.”

“A brat?” You blinked. “Let go of me, Barnes.”

He grinned and held you to him as he moved backwards across the pool. You felt something between you. It moved against your pelvis and as he spun you and pinned you against the tile, you realised what it was.

“Are you serious right now?” You snarled. “What about your king, huh?”

He chuckled and his hand slid down your back. He squeezed your ass as he kept you against the side of the pool. He was so close you could feel his breath and smell the remnants of his sweat and cologne.

“I’m supposed to show you how to be a good wife,” his finger tickled under your thigh, “In all areas.”

“I doubt he had this in mind,” you pushed against him but he was too strong. He slid between your legs as his hand stretched along the crease of your thigh. “I mean it, Barnes--”

Your voice gurgled as he reached below your nightie and stroked the front of your thin panties. The water splashed as you slapped his chest and growled.

“James!” You cried out. “Stop!”

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. He twirled his fingers and you gritted your teeth against the tingle it sent through you. You stared into his eyes, fighting against the urge to let him go on. You shook your head slowly and pressed your hands to his shoulders. He let you push him away as his hand trailed over your leg.

“Oh, you just wait, Duchess,” he purred as he combed back his damp hair, “The king isn’t so willing to take orders.”

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #dark steve rogers #dark bucky barnes #fic #secrets #dark fic #dark!fic #series #mcu #marvel #au #captain america #king!steve #royal au

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asclepius-erebus · 3 years

Text

Nevarro

Title: Personal Eden (Ongoing)

Chapter 3: Nevarro

Rating: Mature (17+)

Word Count: 4.3k

TW: mentions of abuse (lmk if I should include any more!)

The next day, as anticipated, you land on Nevarro, where upon disembarking a flurry of droids scurry up to the ship.

“Hey!” Mando yells, paralyzing all the droids, “No droids!”

You learn that the baby is not in fact Mando’s, but a foundling he’d taken up first as a quarry but then adopted. You’re not sure what’s so special about this child, but for it to have a bounty over it’s head before it can intelligibly speak seemed cruel enough, and you don’t ask any further questions.

You also learned that Mando is a man of few words. He tends to keep his responses curt and to-the-point; and never straying away from the subject of conversation. From your observation, he has not gone onto tangents or disclosed any new information, willingly, that did not immediately pertain to the topic. It made it even more difficult for you to learn anything new about him, his character, humors, and appearance. He is a complete mystery, and yet you find him fascinating all the while he continues to intimidate with both his outward appearance, and lack of openness.

The day on Nevarro is grey despite the sky being totally clear. The landscape isn’t strikingly beautiful like some of the other planets you’ve been on with Malsifer. It’s gritty, dusty, and terribly suffocating. The air feels dense and warm, that kind that made you feel sticky and uncomfortable. The sky is a dull blue, but blue nontheless.

Since joining Mando on his ship, he’d allowed you the time to wash off the caked on makeup from the other night, some of which you’d cried off, like your ruby red lips. It was a nice color, you were fond of how well it complimented your skin and the shape of your lips- but it had overstayed its time on your face and it was time for it to go.

However, upon stepping onto the rough planet, you realize how out of place you appear to be. Not only is the green alien child perched on your hip and babbling to himself, but you’re still dressed in what Mando had rescued you in a few days ago. The wispy fabrics fluttered in the subtle warm breezes, carrying with them the muted but bright colors of an oceanside sunset of lavender, magenta, and gold. You felt exposed among the muted and dark colors that Mando and his child limited themselves to, sticking out like a sore thumb.

Mando’s child begins to fuss, deciding that he wanted to meander around in the dirt as Mando took a few steps towards an unfamiliar man. The man is of a darker complexion, though his beard and hair suggests he is of a wiser age, and extended a friendly hand to shake. They must already know each other.

The child giggles and laughs, grasping and tossing any rocks he finds on the ground. You crouch to his level, structuring his play by tossing him back the rocks he’d thrown. From this, he giggles excitedly.

“Greef.” Mando greets the aging man, Greef Karga, approaching him at the opening to the city, densely lined with clay houses and open markets. It teems with a unique variety of inhabitants and passersby- like Mando, who does not stand out in the crowd as obviously as the brightly colored dresses his new acquaintance was dressed in. That, was something he’d address soon enough.

“Mando.” Greef smiles, eyes lighting up upon seeing the familiar helmet, “How are you old friend?”

Mando looks over his shoulder at his companions before returning his attention to Greef, “Surprised to be back. What are you doing out here?” He asks with a tired sigh.

Greef raises an inquisitive eyebrow, “I’m just as surprised to see you out here… Tying up a few loose ends. Who’s your new friend?”

Mando hooks his gloved fingers at the top of his chest plate, resting his arms casually over himself and relieving some of the weight of the Beskar on his shoulders, “That’s who I’m here to find some information about. She’s one of Malsifer’s.”

“Malsifer?” Greef’s eyes widen, “What is she? A quarry?”

Mando’s helmet shakes, “No, Malsifer was. Malsifer had an indentured servant situation and I need to know more about her… Anything would be useful, but especially any bank records.” Mando says quietly, sliding a small note with the name of his newest crewmate scribbled onto it.

Greef looks down at the note inquisitively, “Malsifer, huh? Doesn’t surprise me… He always rubbed me the wrong way… Though I’m not surprised that his luck, or lack of it, finally caught up to him.”

“She’s got no where to go. Is there any way you can find out anything about her that’s useful…?”

Greef looks between Mando and the cooing child and woman behind him, and then down at the name on the note, “Get back to me in an hour or two.”

Mando turns to wave yourself and the baby to his side, the man with whom he was conversing with turning away and headed into the city.

“What was that about?” You ask, the baby occupying itself with a metal ball he’s produced from his bundle of clothing.

“Business.” He says briefly.

Business. You think to yourself, the most colorful response I’ve gotten since I boarded.

With the baby balanced on your hip, Mando navigates you both through the streets of a busy marketplace. Vendors line the streets and advertise their products and produce, crafts, and other items for sale, all ranging in complexity and beauty that you admire from a distance. The baby on your hip is thoroughly entertained with all the sights, sounds, and colors, teething on a pastry he managed to swipe off a vendor when they weren’t looking.

Of course you attract some attention. Not only did it not help that the baby you tote clearly is not yours, but your impractical and fluttering dresses had other passerby step and trip on them as you went- sending you a few gross side-eyes and raised eyebrows. You clutch what you can in your hands as you follow Mando’s glistening helmet through the crowd.

He approaches a stand fluttering with colorful fabrics, handcrafted designs embroidered to the hems of cloaks, dresses, and shirts. They’re all so pretty and wonderful to look at.

Mando begins a conversation with a middle aged woman at the stand in her native language, her weathered face and dark eyes glancing at you from time to time as Mando continues to explain something to her. She raises her hand and counts on her fingers as she explains something to him in response, Mando filling her palm with a few coins. Pleased, she nods and produces a neatly folded up wad of fabric. She extends it towards you with a forced but friendly smile.

“Something to cover yourself with for now…” Mando explains, “Later, on the ship, I can find you some clothes.”

Accepting the folded fabric, you briefly study its particular shade of purple. It’s dark and neutral, almost barely detectably purple should someone care enough and stare long enough at you. You unfold it to find an opening, and you slip it over your head, a hood catching on you as the rest of the fabric settles on your shoulders and over your torso. The baby gets caught in it too, but frees himself with a shake of his enormous head. It is a cloak, the fabric feeling pleasurably heavy on your figure and comfortable on your bare shoulders. It feels protective and warm, but breathable and completely functional as an everyday garment. Not only does it feel well, but it conceals you much better amongst everyone else.

“I buy my cloaks off her.” Mando responds simply, the first time he’s shared a new fact about himself, “She’s also going to find you a pair of shoes.”

He’s right. Perhaps the pair of sandals tied at your ankles aren’t the best fit for a shoe to be blundering around planets with. It was certainly enough for the occasions you accompanied Malsifer to meeting his clients, and the extent of your time out in the elements was limited to barely nothing. Malsifer concerned himself more with whether you appeared to his liking and aesthetics.

The older woman returns, producing a short pair of dark brown leather boots of a matte finish. They are simple and easy to slip on, with no intricate buckles, zippers, or ties. They hug your feet comfortably and accomplishes all the criteria necessary for being a practical piece of footwear.

Mando glances around and hands the woman a few extra coins, nodding in thanks as she accepts them and waves kindly at the child on your hip.

“Thank you.” You tell Mando as the three of you walk away from the stand of fluttering fabrics. He doesn’t react, at least as far as you can observe from the faceless helmet that you looked at when speaking to him.

“We have some time before we meet up with Greef again.” Mando says, ignoring what you’d said, “We can-“

“-Take a look around.” You interrupt, your curiosity about the rest of the market piqued. Surely there were other useful and interesting things the three of you can look at other than the four metal walls of Mando’s ship.

Mando agrees, but you’re not necessarily sure if it was from acquiescence or genuine concurrence.

It is difficult to read him, you’ve noticed it bothering you, without any facial expressions and other visual cues to clue you into his mood. His body language was often also very grey and difficult to deduce. This is unlike what you’ve relied on in the past to understand and predict other people’s behaviors. Malsifer was an individual very prone to giving himself way via his expressions and tone of voice, which made it easier to clue you into how you should respond, if at all. It’s natural to rely on social cues in order to know how to respond to a given situation, but with Mando, it feels quite the contrary.

He strolls with you at a relaxed pace, his hand firmly placed on the hilt of his blaster he keeps attached to his waist.

Your eyes flicker between his helmet and his hand. You’d seen him use his blaster with deadly precision, it drove you to tears to see the barrel trained at the space between your eyes. You hadn’t heard of stormtroopers being as accurate, and you question what he is, and what he represents. You can already deduce that he’s a bounty hunter, why else would he be looking for quarry? But why the child? Why the armor? And why the ship you’d finally observed to be very Old Republic.

“Mando-“ You begin to ask curiously…“Can I ask you a question?”… cautiously.

“Sure.” He says simply, his helmet turning to observe a long blaster rifle on display at a vendor.

“Where are you from?”

Mando’s helmet continues to follow the long rifle as he walks away, “No where. I was a foundling.”

“A foundling from where?” You ask again. “Who found you?”

“I don’t remember.” He says dryly, his gaze returning forward as he scans the vendors again till something catches his eye… visor.

“So then what’s with the armor?”

He stops midstride, and you sense that you’ve either said something wrong or insulted him in some way.

Your cheeks immediately feel like their burning despite the chill that raced down your spine. You blink back a million-and-one thoughts and possibilities on how he might respond. Was he mad? Dumbfounded? Absolutely furious? It’s too hard to tell. By the way he’d stopped and now turned his head towards you, your hands clench into a fist- not prepared to strike, but to brace.

He chuckles. He chuckles. Warmly, softly, and bemusedly, his modulated blitheness is musical and so incredibly comforting. You’re not sure how you should react. It’s not the reaction you’d braced yourself for. After all, you’d insulted him, didn’t you?

“You mean to tell me that you’ve never seen Mandalorian armor before?” He asks, resuming the slow pace he took beside you.

You shake your head, looking down at the ground as you resume walking a few paces behind him. The child, unbothered, continues to chew on the pastry and inquisitively looks between yourself and Mando.

“I’m surprised Malsifer never let you see one.” He says, “No wonder you seemed pretty scared when I was there.”

You’d kept your gaze down at your feet as you walked, feeling ashamed to ask a dumb question in the first place. Of course you knew what a Mandalorian was, but you’d only ever read about them in flimsi books you’d managed to smuggle in and out of Malsifer’s library. They seem downright fictional, down to their very demeanors of being militant and mute. It didn’t help that the only information accessible to you came in bound flimsi books that in itself was probably older than yourself or Malsifer’s combined existence. You’d never seen their armor, at least not the kind that Mando was sporting in pure Beskar and with a helmet that looked too much like a storm trooper’s. You’d sooner expect he was an ex-trooper, or someone who simply stole or bought their armor.

“It was terrifying.” You admit softly, “You, pointing a blaster in my face. Doesn’t help that you’ve got all that armor.”

You see his boots stop moving and turn towards you. You still keep your gaze down, distracting your hands with the child’s robes as the crumbs of his treat fell from his face.

“Look at me.” He says sternly, and you obey, looking up into his visor, “You need to… unlearn whatever this is.”

You chew your lip, intimidated by his presence so close and so powerful over you. You fight yourself and your nervous glances away from the glare of his visor.

“I don’t know what Malsifer put you through, but here, with us… none of it.” He continues, “Can’t have you walking behind me like some shadow, not with my kid.” He takes a step back from you and turns away, but stops.

His shoulders drop and his demeanor softens, “You were walking next to me.” He says, awaiting for you meet him at his side, “You were saying…”

Meeting up with him, the child in your arms coos and reaches out to Mando, who scoops him up from your grasp and you hide your arms under the cloak. He is right, it’s different with Mando and his kid. This is an equal playing field where you’re a part of a cohort of other individuals just like you. Of course, Mando is the leader, he provides, flies, and protects. The new dynamic is refreshing, but old habits are hard to beat. Which isn’t a natural nor healthy response. But neither was being caned across your knees and shins if you didn’t do so.

Mando stops at a vendor selling a wide assortment of things. They all seem extremely random, from switchboards to datatapes to bacta kits. Perhaps these are things the vendor was able to scavenge off broken ships and droids, this isn’t the first time you’d seen scrap collectors try to sell off what they can’t trade at a refinery. You’ve heard of such beings called Jawas who are infamous for such scavenging, but you also know that they’re not entirely open to the idea of selling what they find.

Mando strikes up a conversation with the vendor, a tall and slender specimen with small black eyes and three digits on each of their four arms. They’re haggling, is what you can assume, as Mando shakes his head and points to a well-stocked bacta kit on the table. The vendor insists on a certain price, counting it off on his palms before accepting a deal with Mando’s budget. He swipes the bacta off the table, and tosses it.

You catch it and immediately hide it under your cloak. Mando notices, walking away from the vendor saying, “Keep that there, don’t want him noticing he let me take the wrong one.”

His dry friendliness is welcoming, it made you feel like you were walking with a friend rather than a tank. The child giddily had finished his snack and entertained himself with his metal ball, which now you’d deduced was from a switch or lever, likely coming from the cockpit of the ship.

“So… your armor. Mandalorian?” You ask, keeping pace with him.

He nods, “Mandalorian.”

You think back to what you’d read about in the flimsis, “If I recall correctly, some Mandalorians choose to keep their helmets on? Or do all of you have to wear it all the time?”

Mando nods, “When I swore to the creed, I swore to keep my identity secret. It’s part of our code.”

“So ‘Mando’ isn’t your real name?” You ask.

“No.”

“So what is your name?”

“Mando.”

You furrow your brows, not wanting to press further. You admire the devotion, despite it frustrating you further. You wanted to learn more of him, but now you know that such learning can no longer pertain to his appearance, and you must now learn his character. Though it wasn’t the only thing weighing on your curiosity, you’ve already begun building his profile.

Like you’d learned during your time in hyperspace that he is a man of not-so-many words. He isn’t aptly good at beginning a conversation, and usually such conversations are limited to small talk on the basis of his work and ship… But that had been debunked when he disclosed that he gets his cloaks from the woman at the colorful stand, and joked to you about the bacta-kit hidden away under your cloak. You hope he will reveal more of himself to you with time. You’re patient enough for that.

You respect that his physical appearance as an extension of his anonymity. It’s not the only instance where you’ve experienced the sort of veiling that came with particular religions, cultural identities, and personal choices. It will be up to him to disclose what he wants and when- it would be rude of you to pester. It’s not your place.

The three of you walk leisurely, stopping occasionally to look at something interesting at a stall before returning into the direction of the ship. In the distance, you observe the man from earlier standing and waiting for you, Greef, you remember Mando mentioning the name.

Mando hands you the child back into your arms, “Get back on the ship.” He instructs, and you nod, the baby beginning to doze off to sleep in your arms.

“What did you find?” Mando asks taking a few steps towards Greef and out of earshot from his new crewmate.

Greef’s usually friendly smile is thin, “I found one result for her name, one that appears on an obituary. According to the systems, she’s technically dead.”

Mando exhales sharply, disappointed, and curiously tipping his head to the side, “So, what? How long has she been ‘dead’?”

“Five years.” Greef says bleakly, “And she has no digital footprints anywhere. No record of her ever even having an account to hold credits, or receipts from anywhere that she’s spent credits.”

Mando looks back in the direction of his ship, watching you board the Razor Crest with the child in your arms, how tenderly you hold his head and attend to his sleepy babbling. This is unfortunate news, that Mando would need to tell you sooner rather than later.

“I don’t know what to do with her.” Mando admits quietly, your silhouette disappearing in the ship.

Greef clears his throat, “I know this is none of my business, but the baby seems to like her, it’s pretty obvious… Until she can figure things out on her own, she can stick around, learn a thing or two, and you’ll have someone who can take care of the kid when you have jobs.”

Mando nods, “This isn’t the first time Malsifer faked someone’s death just to drain their accounts?”

“It’s also not the first time he’s trapped pretty young girls into being his personal assistants.” Greef says, raising an eyebrow in Mando’s direction.

“He abused them.” Mando says, “If it wasn’t for their money, what else did he need them for?”

Greef shrugs, folding his arms across his chest, “Malsifer seemed like the controlling type… He liked being in control of anything and everything important to him which is money and power. I don’t think she was a part of anything more sinister, but I certainly wouldn’t rule it out.”

“I’ll find that out more when she feels like talking. Right now… I don’t know what to do with her.” Mando crosses his arms.

Greef looks back at the ship behind Mando and back to his visor, “Let her stay until she can figure something out for herself. She can be useful while you work, keep the ship and the kid safe while you’re out…”

Mando nods again in agreement, “It’s my only option right now. Thank you… for your help.”

Greef smiles, “Anytime, old friend.”

Mando appears on the ship shortly after you’d put the child to sleep in his shiny egg-like crib. He’d tired himself out from the morning shopping and was happily full of whatever pastry took him the entire walk to eat.

You’d put the bacta pack in the bacta kit soldered on the metal of ship and managed to clear out some of the dust that had blown into the hull while the door was open. You’d observed Mando’s ship to not only be Old Republic but also just old in general. Though it is in excellent flying condition for its age, it lacked in amenities that more modern ships had like touch-pads instead of buttons and actually finished floors and walls. Either Mando is a man of old fashion, or simply too preoccupied to take care of his ship like others do.

He is quiet, walking up and down the hull checking lights, buttons, datapads, and other things. While he did that, you patiently sit on the familiar wedge prepared to strap into the metal wall and prepare for take-off. Your hands occupy themselves with the hang nails that plague your fingers.

You see, from the corner of your eye, something tan and grey. Looking up, it was Mando, handing off to you a pile of clothing he’d gathered in his quiet pacing around the hull.

“Thank you.” You say softly, standing to get to the fresher.

Mando nods, “Meet me in the cockpit, we need to talk.” And he turns before you can ask any questions. He disappears up the ladder.

The cockpit? You think to yourself curiously, what in the worlds does he want to talk about?

The mirror in the fresher is just reflective enough to call itself a mirror. It clearly once existed as a piece of scrap that Mando had repurposed to decorate the blank wall above the sink. But it fulfilled its purpose in reflecting back the visage of yourself you present every day.

Today, you look tired.

Dark circles around your eyes hint at some much needed deep sleep and the tired squint you gave to yourself only emphasizes this.

You look at the clothing Mando handed to you, consisting of a large white shirt and some pants that definitely needed to be tailored to accommodate your height and lack of… lower… masculine features. These are clearly articles of clothing Mando has no use for, and you’re thankful for them despite Mando’s somewhat apparent reluctance.

You undo yourself from your dress, somewhat sad to see the magical colors fall to the floor in a wispy heap. This was healthy though, a transition into a different person. After all, you’re fulfilling the prophecy you’d begun to brainstorm the first night aboard the ship: a change of clothes.

The shirt is square, harsh but hemmed edges of fabric for sleeves, a collar, and buttons to secure said collar closed. It sat rather high on your neck, so you keep the first two buttons undone, one side of the collar falling open to reveal the raw edge of the hem. The sleeves were of a comfortable length, also squared off with a button for cuff-links that you undo and gently fold up your forearm.

Looking back up at yourself in the mirror, you look like a little girl trying on her father’s clothes. It’s clear that they’re too big, but you make do with tucking and folding where you can. But the broad and structured shoulders the shirt gave you made you feel… bigger? Something about it made you feel more robust.

The pants are… another story. Of course they sat a little low on your hips and were too loose around the area where you lacked the facilities of a man. But the utilities of having so many pockets and places to stow away small items brought you some small joy as you cuff the pants around your ankles and tuck the shirt into them.

You style your hair simply up, anything to keep it away from your face and off your shoulders till it’s time to wash and you think what to do about them then.

Looking back into the crusty mirror, though your eyes see themselves, a whole new person has taken shape behind them. It felt foreign to you to appear so fresh-faced, neutral, and unassuming in a world where Malsifer demanded you always looked your best as an extension of himself and his appearance. That usually translated in wearing makeup on a near-daily basis, and extravagant colorful gowns to even the most casual of events.

The dress is a pastel mess on the floor of the fresher, and looking down at it, you feel a twinge of guilt for having to abandon it. It’s pretty…

You bundle it up and head out from the fresher.

You walk quietly across the hull, your bare feet making light patting noises as you went. Sitting at the wedge in the wall, you ditch the dress behind you and slip on your boots again before standing up, and head towards the cockpit like Mando told you to.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #the mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #the mandolarian #asclepius-erebus

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chews-erotically · 4 years

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Waxing Gibbous Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY

*Note: I dedicate this installment to the beautiful @ifimayhaveaword, who really made my day today with her lovely messages of support. People like you truly mean the world to me. I appreciate you more than you know.

* Warnings: Some minor angst/ miscommunication/ SMUT (m/f oral, fingering, hand job, spicy kisses) Can’t stop the smut train baybeeee choo choo motherfuckers * Summary: You process the events of the night before, and wonder about your place with Ezra and on the Green * Word Count: 3879 *Part ONE* *Part TWO* *Part THREE* *Part FOUR*

PART FIVE

You Awoke the next morning feeling as if it were some erotic fever dream. You stretched your arm out across the emptiness of the cot pushed beside yours. It was only when you moved to roll onto your back that the deep pang of soreness between your legs reminded you that, yes, what you’d wanted for months had actually happened, and you did indeed feel ruined. Ezra appeared to have left the tent in the early morning haze. You gazed upward at the ceiling of the tent, at the support beams that vaulted the cloth walls. Things were going to be different, that you knew. It did not make you any less apprehensive. He had told you he loved you. Or, more accurately, that he had love for you.

You could not forget the tenderness he’d shown you after you were attacked, but you were well aware that things said in the heat of passion were often a product of an intense moment and were not necessarily reflective of the truth. You chided yourself for ruminating; he’d been a nanosecond from coming inside of a warm body for the first time in undoubtedly several months. From your admittedly limited sexual experiences, proclamations of love and devotion and promises of ardent follow-through were often expressed in the heat of the moment, never to be mentioned again. You usually never saw them again.

This was different, of course, as you literally could not leave. You were both stranded, though you still kept up the pretense of harvesting in the event an opportunity to escape should present itself. The chance of this happening had begun to seem less and less likely- the heyday of the aurelac rush had long since come and gone, and the remaining groups of adventurers to the Green operated more or less on whispered rumors and folklore. The zipper of the tent pulled upward, and Ezra emerged. The flaps were quickly refastened, and he moved to whip his helmet off as you shyly pulled your worn blanket up to your neck. You had been wanton and vocal the night before, but in the light of the morning you felt fragile, unsure. Ezra looked to you, seemingly amused by your sudden modesty. The corner of his mouth tilted up, his warm brown eyes twinkled. The blond patch of hair, a rogue among it’s dark compatriots, stuck out wildly in response to the chaotic divestment of his helmet. He wasn’t even close to you and your heart started pounding. “Ah, good morning to you, Dove. I was hoping you would continue your slumber a bit longer. I have spent some time in the early light surveying the Green for signs of life and transport, not necessarily in that order, of course.” In the months since you’d first met him in the clearing on that fateful day, his arm had fully recovered thanks to your ministrations- all that remained was a cratered, puckering pink scar on the skin of his bicep. He wore a threadbare grey tee under his suit and this drew your eye to the wound. If something were to happen to you, if this did not pan out and you either died or escaped, were separated, would he remember you when he saw his scar? Would it be with fondness, or would it only remind him of how traumatic this all was? Why am I thinking like this? It was the fact that he had admitted, out loud, that he was looking for a way out, a way off of the Green. You knew that you would both die if you could not find a way to go, it was only logical. So why were you nursing this pang of melancholy that had emerged when you’d awoken to find his cot empty? You came back to yourself, and noted the concern etched on Ezra’s face as he contemplated you. “Have I said or done something to upset you, Dove? That has rendered you mute?” He moved across the floor of the tent with a lithe grace and perched on the edge of your cot, placing a hand on your knee. “Are you feeling alright?” You sighed, smiling softly when you felt his touch on you, warm and heavy. “Better than alright, Ez. I….can’t….I guess I’m still trying to wrap my head around what happened last night.” He creased his brow in contemplation and turned to face you fully. “I must admit, I myself did not envision such intimacy occurring between us in the manner it did. I…. fear I may have been a fair bit rougher than I meant to be at the outset. I need you to be truthful if I hurt you in any way.” You bit your lip, and your neck and face felt hot. Flashes of him caging you, filling you, his words, hot breath and hands, the way the cot had creaked like it was pleading for its life… “I….really loved everything about last night. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone...like that. So honestly, I’m sore. But in a...good way?” He surged forward, framing your face with his hands. His voice left his plush lips in a hoarse whisper. His eyes held yours, hypnotic and deep. “Will you feel me with every step you take today? I’m going to watch you. I have never felt such intensity with anyone the way I felt it when we took our pleasure last night. I don’t want it to stop.” You were flushed, your ears buzzed. Your mind filled with static. How could he practically dismantle you in this way with only words? You realized your mouth was hanging open. You snapped it shut and swallowed audibly. Ezra’s clever tongue darted to wet his lips before squeezing your knee and standing. “Get dressed, Dove. We’ve a day ahead of us.”

It was another hot day in the Green, and you both resumed your digging, harvesting and cataloguing as if it were any other afternoon. For all intents and purposes, it was. Ezra waxed poetic about the juxtaposition of the beauty surrounding you beside the deadliness of the air, how the regular exchange of oxygen, hydrogen and carbon dioxide were perverted carbon copies of the vegetation you were both used to which processed and sustained an atmosphere more life-sustaining. You hummed at the appropriate moments, but your mind was on your conversation in the tent. What he had said to you seemed indicative of the fact that he intended to continue a physical relationship. It made you feel equal parts giddy and insecure. You frowned in thought. Snap the fuck out of it. You’re no delicate, blushing maiden. You know yourself. You’re seriously thinking like some incapable, dependent damsel the second you get some good dick?? Except you moved a certain way while crouching down and you winced, gasping softly. Ezra stopped mid-sentence and turned his gaze toward you, his eyes dark, his tongue once again flicking out to moisten his lips. “Are you injured, little Dove?” he asked, smiling softly. “Uh, no, not exactly. You know, what I told you before...I’m fine, really.” He sauntered over to you and held out his hand. You grasped it, and he pulled you to your feet so that your helmets were touching. “As cocky as I may have seemed at the outset in regards to the way I left my mark on you, do not think it is no little concern to me to see your movements impaired. My words were not meant to denote any sadistic pleasure taken in regards to your objective discomfort.” His hands were stroking gently up and down your arms as he spoke. You shrugged under his hands, a flash of annoyance crossing your features. “I’m really fine, Ez. I’m not some wilting flower that you’ve irreparably damaged with your Godlike virility. I promise you, my delicate, blushing womanhood will recover.” Ezra cocked an eyebrow in surprise. His hands stilled as he paused a beat before responding. “Now that is something I would not anticipate. The thought that for one moment I consider you anything less than an equal, in fact a superior to myself in several ways, not the least of which include cunning and resilience. It saddens me that you think that of me.” All at once you felt like a jerk. Damn this emotional lability, damn this stubborn pride. Ezra was genuinely concerned that you were in pain, and you were jumping at the opportunity to argue semantics and gender roles. On a toxic planet you were both stranded on, no less. You reached for his gloved hand, squeezing firmly. His hand squeezed back, equally firm. “I don’t know why I said that, Ezra. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I sound like an asshole, I’m sorry.” You’ve gotten into me.

You were back in the tent after determining that the day's work had finished. It was quiet, Ezra ruminated. The tension had surely rebuilt itself over the course of the day, there was only so much harvesting, so much concentration on work that could be accomplished, before it came to this. The both of you, stripped to your thermals. You lay as you had countless times before, facing one another on your cots. Ezra swept his thumb lazily back and forth across your knuckles. You felt like you could drown in the depths of him. “I’m sorry again about what I said to you today. I don’t know why I said it. I didn’t mean it.” “Though you have nothing to apologize for, Dove, I will readily accept if it will still the turbulence within you. I meant what I said, and I have you to thank for every bit of happiness I doubted I’d ever feel in this Kevva-forsaken place. My arm, my livelihood. My life. If not for you I’d have faded forgotten like so many other poor, foolish dupes. My very survival is due to your strength and intellect.” You felt full to bursting at his words, overwhelmed by his sincerity. You couldn’t respond, so you propelled yourself forward and pressed your lips to his desperately. He stilled only momentarily, startled at your boldness, before he responded hungrily. Lips slid, teeth clashed. His tongue begged entry into your mouth, which you granted with a whimper. He tasted somehow sweet, wild. His breaths gasped into your mouth, you pushed your own back into him. Hands tangled in hair. You had yet to see him unclothed, you reached out and grasped his shirt in your needy fist. Ezra immediately took the hint and stripped it. You removed your own and his hands were at once on your breasts, large warm hands that enveloped each in turn, greedy and restless. He couldn’t touch enough of you at once. His hands moved to your waist, tearing at your pants. You helped him pull them off and fling them to the ground. You felt like you were radiating heat, you were a thermal detonator. Ezra pinched your nipple, applying slight pressure into the bud with his thumb nail. Your nerves sparked and sang, your ass arching off of your cot like you’d been hit by an electrical current. You gasped, your trembling hands moving to divest him of his pants. His hand shot down to still yours. You both paused, the only sound within the confines of your quarters were the loud gasps that echoed between you. “Is….is something wrong?” Ezra fought to still his breathing. “Sweet girl, I have not forgotten my rough congress with you the night before. I do not want to risk exacerbating your discomfort. You should recover, first, from our mutual enthusiasm.” You groaned in frustration. “I’ll be fine. Ezra, I promise you won’t break me.” You palmed him through his trousers, Kevva he was so hard. So hot. You swore you were salivating. Ezra stilled, breath held in an attempt to maintain his composure. “Please grant me this, at least for my own peace of mind. Just for tonight. Allow me, if I may, to indulge in an alternate form of intimacy, one which I’ve dreamed of sharing with you since your first trick with the Sater.” The last sentence was gritted out between clenched teeth. Your eyes wide, you bit your lip and barely finished a frenzied nod before Ezra was pinning your hands above your head and scraping his teeth against the juncture of your neck and shoulder. It was somehow different, more measured, if no less intense. You let a shiver run through your body as Ezra moved down to first one breast, then the other. He opened his mouth wide and covered the entirety of your nipple and sucked. You gasped, already overwhelmed. You felt as if you could lose your mind as he possessed you. Teeth scraped and teased, and he made sure the peak of your breast was properly slicked before repeating the motions on your other breast. You keened out into the cycled air of the tent as the wet surface of your skin cooled, warring with the sinful furnace of Ezra’s mouth on your other breast. He disengaged, intentions clear as he continued to kiss, lick, and nip down the length of your body. You were struck mute and trembling. You didn’t realize he had let go of your hands, and you were so mesmerized that you kept them stationary above your head. Ezra reached your drenched core and settled between your legs, pressing feather-light kisses to your inner thighs as you whimpered. He was going to kill you. He paused, and as you realized he was beginning to part your inner folds you started and reflexively started to close your legs. Ezra huffed, placing a searing palm against the inside of your knee in protest. “Don’t be shy, sweet girl. There is no shame here with me. I consider it a compliment of the highest order that you are blooming for me like this.” He moved to lay his head against the side of your thigh. He felt inches away from you. You could feel every warm exhale against your dripping sex, hypersensitive, attuned to every word and movement. “Look at you,” he crooned reverently. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen arousal so profound. Glistening like a jewel. Every blushing fold spread open and ready. The temple of this divine cunt fluttering and weeping for me.” You choked out a broken groan at his words and tilted your hips toward him desperately. Impossibly, you felt him closer, his breaths tiny explosions on your swollen core. He groaned back in response and dragged his fingers languidly through your slick. “.....smell so good…” Before you could register his words he darted forward and licked from your clenching hole up to your clit, his tongue wide and flat. Ezra ran his tongue back down to your base before repeating the motion twice more. It was a feeling so intense, sensation so overwhelming to you, that you could not speak, only throw your head back with eyes and mouth wide in a silent scream. Your hands hammered down to your sides and you tore at the sheets beneath you. “....taste so fucking good.” You gasped his name like a prayer. You were incapable of speech, your mind blank. Over the din of white noise between your ears, you heard Ezra speaking your name reverently. You forced your head up to meet his gaze. Your arousal was a wet sheen across his face, his eyes blown wide, hair wild. So beautiful. “You still with me, Dove?” You could only give him another desperate nod. You then watched, eyes wide and shocked, as Ezra opened his wicked mouth and let a strand of spittle drip down from his lips and roll down to coat your engorged clit. “Ezra...oh my fucking God,” You moaned. He could kill you in this moment, snuff your life like a wasted candle and you would thank him. When he next attached his mouth to you and began to tongue your fluttering cunt, you could not stop the noises that left your gasping mouth. You could not keep track of the groans, whimpers, screams, pleas that left you like an incantation. If you’d been able to form a coherent thought, you may have even supposed (correctly) that Ezra would be cataloguing every single one. When he moved his mouth back to your aching clit, he replaced his tongue with two thick fingers and entered you easily. He began a slow, deep pace while his tongue danced across and upon your bud. Your legs began to shake of their own accord, muscles jumping and fluttering. Ezra placed a hand across your stomach to steady you, murmuring low praises. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. So good. Come for me sweetheart. Let go, release onto my tongue, spill your ecstasy into my mouth.” He resumed the labor of his fingers within your walls and latched his mouth to your bud and began sucking. The pressure in your belly, between your legs, through your limbs stretched tight and snapped, and you roared Ezra’s name into the void of the Green. You were shaking, you were flying apart, the world could be crumbling down around you, you did not care. I’m dying, you thought. You could not think beyond the white-hot, searing pleasure that sparked through and lit up every nerve ending. Ezra worked you through your explosive release, easing you down with slow licks and kisses as he greedily consumed every drop of his victory. He finally relented and crawled back up your shaking body. He kissed you wantonly, gasping into your mouth. You tasted your own arousal and release on his lips and tongue- it was intoxicating. He kissed you as if he would die if he stopped, his hands cradling your face. “Ezra,” you moaned, your breaths and heart rate finally beginning to slow. “Ezra, that was…..” You felt him smirk against your mouth. You gasped out a laugh and wound your arms around his shoulders. “Proud of yourself, are you?” You swore on your soul that he giggled. “While I must admit fault has never been found in my technique, I don’t believe I’ve ever had a response so….intense. You do wonders for my ego, Dovie.” He whispered, tucking his nose into your neck. You stroked his back, your limbs heavy and loose. You could have drifted away like this but for the hardness you felt against your hip. “Hey, Ez?” “Mmmfff.” “What about you?” To punctuate your point, your hand reached down to palm him through his trousers. Ezra’s demeanor immediately changed, lazy grin stilling as he gasped and groaned against you. “I believe I told you I wanted you in my mouth last night, Ezra. I still do.” “You don’t have to, sweet one. I wanted to take care of you tonight,” he gasped, even as he began to rock his hips into your open hand. “I want to take care of you, too,” You whispered against his mouth. You were startled by the desire flooding into you once again- Ezra had fully wrung you out, you should be exhausted. Instead, the flames of your lust were stoked once again as you rolled him onto his back and began to undo his pants. Ezra stared down at you, his breathing hitched and baited. His hands were fisted on either side of him, he looked almost scared to move. You revealed his swollen aching cock, red and weeping. He was so aroused the head of him was almost purple. You swore you could see his pronounced veins pulsating. Your felt your cunt clench, further shocking you. You realized your mouth was watering. “I need this divine cock in my mouth, Ezra. I want to watch you fall apart for me.” Ezra whined, hands clutching in desperation as yours were only a short time before. You flashed him a salacious grin and opened your mouth to spew your own string of saliva to cascade down the head of his cock. Ezra gasped, eyes wide. “Turnabout is fair play, Sir.” Shudders racked his body as you lowered your head, placing delicate kisses at the base of him before working your way up. Ezra quickly became a panting, groaning mess, knocking his head into the pillow. The cords of his neck stood out in stark relief as his hips canted upward in search of more of your mouth, more of anything. “Please, sweet girl,” he moaned, is voice thin and reedy, “Please. I need more….” You glanced up at him as your hand slowly pumped his length, considering, before once again leaning forward. Without preamble you opened your mouth and took him down as far as you could. The cries that erupted from him at your action could have awakened any floater within a 15-mile radius. You wanted to hear it again, so you dislodged him from your mouth before repeating your action. You clasped hour hands around the sizable part of him that did not fit, lacing your fingers together. You pressed your palms against the slick shaft and worked him slowly and steadily while the obscene, wet noises coming from your mouth reverberated throughout your quarters. Ezra was properly wrecked, sobbing and gasping, pleading for you to continue. “You're going to kill me,” he whined, and it caused a fresh flood of arousal to run down the insides of your thighs. He was so, so close. You could feel his cock twitch and swell impossibly. You raised your eyes to meet his, mouth popping off of him, strands of spit stretching like cables between your parted lips and his glistening head. Catching your breath, you wiped the back of your hand across your mouth. “Come in my mouth, Ezra.” Ezra could only whimper in response, hands buried in your hair as you sank back onto him. You bobbed your head once, twice, three times, and then he was painting your mouth and tongue with his seed. You struggled to swallow it all, it seemed neverending. Ezra sobbed, shouting half-formed words and unintelligible praises into the air. His hips twitched and rolled up rhythmically as you struggled to keep him captured within the confines of your mouth. You swallowed each spurt eagerly until Ezra tugged at your hair, hypersensitized, to pull you up his chest. His limbs trembled in aftershocks as his arms wrapped around you. His heart continued to hammer in his chest as you lay your head on him. You reached a hand up to cup his face. Ezra leaned into it, turning his head and placing a kiss to the palm of your hand. “You are magical, Dove. Transcendent. I do not deserve you.” You yawned and burrowed your head into the crook of his neck. You were suddenly exhausted. You stayed entwined on your cots, breaths slowing and steadying as you both found your slumber. Inhaling as you exhaled, you dreamed of escape, daring to hope against hope that there was a way to leave and make your way to something better. Something you both deserved.

#chews-erotically writes Ezra Ezra-Prospect

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wendimydarling · 4 years

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Title: Convenience

Summary: Clark doesn’t like sleeping out in the cold.

Pairing: Clark Kent x OFC Reader

Word Count: 2546

Warnings: Sex. There is sex.

A/N: So all this lovely text got deleted after I shared it. This story was a beast, but worth it to power through and finish. The idea came from this NSFW gif here, which gave me the thought “what if Clark was an escort while he was a nomad looking for his parents?” which then translated to “what if he just parachuted into each town if he didn’t intend to stay?”

Song drabble number ? for the 500 Event, sent in anonymously!

Clark wasn’t saving for much, he was just looking for a place where he could remain anonymous, a place to hide from who he was. And that required a certain amount of cash put away. But it was hard to find a job when he was constantly on the road, and he was always on the road it seemed. No jobs meant no money, and no money meant no place to sleep.

So Clark would offer out his services. He was young, handsome, and had the stamina of... well, of Superman.

He never asked for money. His preferred payment of choice was a place to crash and a shower, and breakfast if he could swing it. Though he’d never tell them that was what he was up to. Why hurt their feelings?

This particular evening, he’d come upon a small town in the middle of nowhere, as usual. Clark went straight to the local dive bar; that was the best place to find pretty girls desperate enough to take a man home. He entered the establishment and surveyed the room, a gruff expression etched into his features. Slim pickings tonight. Still, it was early, so he went to the bar, checking his wallet to see if he had enough for dinner and the drinks that would be needed. Just enough for the drinks. Fuck.

Clark ordered a beer, making kind but vague eyes at the girls staring at him from the corner. He was hoping for something a little more appetizing but beggars can’t be choosers, and either of them would be a better choice than sleeping out in the cold. He was nearing the end of his beer and had just resigned himself to his fate when she walked in.

Target acquired.

She was all legs; a pencil skirt gracefully hugged her figure and a low cut blouse accentuated her small bust. She was clearly out of place here, which meant either she was meeting someone, or she’d had a bad day and desperately needed a drink. Long dark curls hung over one of her shoulders, and she met his gaze with large, bambi eyes. He tipped his beer toward her and went back to his phone; she would not be easy prey.

He had to make her comfortable, make her seem as though he wasn’t interested. She was pretty enough that some lug would make a move on her soon, and then Clark would step in and defend her. That typically works. She’d be grateful, offer him a beer of thanks, and then they’d get to chatting and he’d turn on the charm. She’d be putty in his hands.

Sure enough, a big ugly brute that had downed probably three beers too many sauntered up to the woman.

“Hey, pretty lady,” he slurred, running a finger along her thigh. The woman grabbed his hand and firmly removed it from her leg, but the brute caught her wrist, pulling her close and leaning in for a kiss.

Clark watched the exchange through his glass, seeing how she’d manage. The woman tried to fight the man off but she was clearly overpowered, and her words weren’t working. Clark decided now was the time to intervene. He stepped in and clapped a hand on the idiot’s shoulder, squeezing harder than he should. The man was taken aback by his strength but he took a swing and Clark let him, knowing it would do far more damage to the brute, and would earn him some sympathy points. He pretended to fall down while the brute was thrown out of the bar, howling in pain and clutching his hand.

“Oh my god, are you okay?”

Her large brown eyes met his steely blue as she touched his shoulder, and Clark shook his head in mock confusion, standing up at his full height to tower over her. He could hear her heart race faster, could see the blood in her veins pumping harder at his nearness.

Target locked.

He pressed the heel of his palm to his eye a couple of times.

“I’m fine, are you?”

“Yes, thanks to you.”

“Happy to help. No one else should bother you.”

Clark turned to head back to his drink.

“Can I buy you a beer?”

There it is.

“No it’s alright; I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Come on, it’s the least I can do to say thank you.”

Clark turned to look at her, a smile on his face.

“Well, if you insist.”

Bullseye.

~~~~~~~

Claire had just wanted a drink. She hated this town, and couldn’t wait until this weekend when she could go back home. Being assigned to this town for two months had been hell, but in her line of work, shitholes like this just came with the paycheck.

But every now and then some fun would come her way. Like the man behind her.

The man with impressive stature and beautiful black curls. The man with soft eyes, steel blue eyes that held a haunted past and an uncertain future. Steel… it’s fitting. That’s what I’ll call him. Claire didn’t want a relationship, just a good fuck, but she wouldn’t tell him that. Why hurt his feelings?

They were back at her apartment, she jimmying her key in the fickle lock as Steel held her close, his breath tickling her ear. His hands were at her hips, hiking her skirt ever so slowly up over her ass.

“Let me,” he whispered, and Claire’s knees nearly buckled. His voice was so low, so husky, and it shot fire straight through her. Steel’s fingers gently slipped over and between hers as he grabbed the key from her, reaching around her body to grasp the door knob. A shiver ran down Claire’s spine as he kissed the back of her neck. The door swung open in seconds.

Claire stepped into the small apartment. Steel followed, greedily grabbing at her waist as she toed off her pumps. He spun her around and cupped her face gently with his hands, the first brush of his lips slow, heated. He smelled like cedar and smoke, and tasted like whiskey and hops. There was a pleasant flavor to his tongue that she couldn’t describe, one she’d never tasted before on any man.

“Where’s your bedroom,” he asked, whispering again, and Claire moaned against his mouth.

“End of the hallway.”

He picked Claire up with such surprising ease, and never in her life had she felt so small. It was as if she weighed nothing. She straddled his broad waist and his hands grasped her ass as he walked her down the hall, his lips never leaving hers. As they reached the bedroom, Claire felt his fingers clasp the zipper of her skirt, revealing her soft skin slowly as he continued to taste her lips.

Every touch felt gentle and firm but calculated, as if he was restraining himself from something. So when her blouse was suddenly yanked open, Claire gasped in surprise. Quickly relieved of the torn garment, Steel hoisted her in the air again and tossed her onto the bed. A pang shot through her belly at the feeling of being so roughly handled, and the way he licked his lips as he stared at her like she was his prey left her loins singing.

Steel undressed carefully as Claire stared at him, and she wondered briefly if he was even human. Every sinew, every muscle stood out from underneath taut skin, dark curls trailing down his abdomen to frame the largest cock she’d ever seen. He stared back, his eyes taking in her own petite form, decorated elegantly with the dark undergarments she’d been left in.

He crawled to her slowly, hovering above her, trapping her in the cage of his body. His lips fell back onto hers, his hands tracing every line of her skin. Claire shivered at the touch; it had been awhile since she’d brought someone home, and she wondered how she’d forgotten the heavenly feeling of being pressed into a mattress by the delicious weight of a man.

His lips were talented, dedicated, travelling the length of her neck to the valley of her breasts. His hot breath warmed her nipple through her bra, and he gently pulled the cup down to reveal the sensitive nub to his tongue. Claire arched her back and Steel took the opportunity to reach underneath her, unclasping her bra and holding her in that position to afford himself more access to her chest. She gasped as his lips returned to the beautiful center of her breast, sucking it effortlessly into a peak that he could flick with the tip of his tongue.

Claire writhed and moaned beneath him, gasping and mewling at the feel of his mouth on her flushed skin. He trailed wet kisses down her ribs to her hips, fingers running along her thighs, hands forcing her wider. He grasped her underwear in his teeth and pulled gently, his nose running along her leg until Claire joined him in his nakedness. Those teeth made their way back up her other leg, nipping at her tender flesh as she whined, her soft sounds begging him for more.

Steel’s fingers discovered her sex, slipping easily through the slick that had coated her folds. Claire couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this wet, this fast, but the moment his fingers slid deep inside of her body she realized that she didn’t care. He was knuckle deep and somehow able to push so hard that Claire’s body snapped; no build up, no swell. She had been picked up and dropped over the edge, and shock rang clear on her face as she came without warning around his fingers.

He watched her with the knowing look of a man who has done this before, a man who knew the effect he had on women. But the gleam in Steel’s eye had a dullness to it that Claire noticed, almost a sadness. It made her want to comfort him, though she didn’t know why. She lifted a hand to stroke his cheek with her thumb and he wrapped his arm around her waist, hoisting her into a sitting position.

Claire was higher than she expected and looked down to discover that Steel was holding her literally with just his hand, impaling her core with his fingers. Shocked pleasure contorted her face as she snapped her head up to look at him, confusion and arousal striking her features. A second orgasm barrelling toward her at lightning speed the moment he wiggled his fingers against her cervix, and Claire clasped her hands around Steel’s neck, her forehead falling to his shoulder as her body convulsed. He held her close, burying his face in her hair. His lips surround her collarbone, the comforting caress of soft kisses alighting on her flushed skin as she rejoins him from the clouds.

“Well fuck,” Claire exclaimed breathlessly, and Steel chuckled, brushing her clit on purpose as he removed his fingers from her wet heat. She gasps and bucks her hips, sliding off of his lap and onto the bed. He grinned at her, flipping her over effortlessly. Claire felt like a rag doll, and it made her bite her lip in anticipation.

She watched him through hooded eyes as he tore open the square foil. How had she missed his beauty when she first saw him in the bar? Long lashes brushed his cheeks every time he blinked, dark curls hung over his forehead. He had a strong jaw, and there was a smattering of freckles over his nose that were only just barely visible in the low light of the room. He looked up at her and Claire’s heart skipped a beat at the dark lust that had taken over his amiable features.

Steel knelt on the bed and grasped her hips, yanking Claire up to meet him. She felt the tip of his length press against her folds, but for some reason he hesitated. Claire pushed against him, whining softly and urging him to continue. Faster than she thought possible he was sheathed inside of her and she cried out, the sudden fullness bursting through her abdomen. She gasped and moaned, panting heavily as her body tried to reject him, but Steel slowly eased them down so that he was lying on top of her, holding still so that Claire could grow accustomed to his size. He kissed her cheek softly, slipping a hand underneath her to tease her opening.

Claire shifted as Steel’s fingers cupped her mound. He spread her folds, softly stroking her clit with his middle finger as she adjusted slowly. She clenched around him, filled with an unbelievable desire to be fucked raw by this astonishing person. He thrust into Claire once, testing her, and she uttered a moan, throaty and full of need.

“Please!” Claire whispered urgently. Steel didn’t hesitate this time; he began thrusting into her in earnest, ripping her apart seam by seam. Claire cried out each time he struck deepest, her eyes closed, face skewed in the painful pleasure of sexual rapture. She could hear Steel’s voice in her ear, grunts and growls winding the coil in her belly tighter and tighter. One of his hands laced with hers for support and the other continued to play with her folds, spurring her on to another tumble over the edge.

Unable to move, the coil sprang open, and stars burst behind Claire’s eyes as she came. She heard Steel groan as her walls milked his cock, and he sat the two of them up suddenly. His hands grasped her hips and slammed her repeatedly down onto his pulsing length, and Claire fisted her hands in the sheets, her orgasm remaining strong. Harder and stronger, stronger than she’d ever felt a man before, he snapped his hips up into her until she felt his cock swell, releasing everything he had. Claire slumped to the bed when he was finished, exhausted beyond belief.

Panting heavily, she turned and watched through tired eyes as Steel cleaned up. He hardly seemed out of breath and Claire couldn’t believe it; she was gasping for air. He came back over to the bed and laid the blanket on top of her, and Claire grabbed his hand and pulled. She didn’t want to be alone tonight. Steel slipped under the covers and draped his arm over her still-trembling form, brushing her hair softly from her face. Her eyes soon closed and she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

~~~~~~~

Clark watched the woman’s chest rise and fall as she slept. Everything about her was beautiful. He closed his eyes and listened to the thump of her heart, the rush of blood sweeping through her pulse points, the sharp draft of air swelling her lungs. The gentle ambient melody of her body lulled Clark into a sense of calm, and he found that self-loathing that often accompanied his thoughts in this moment didn’t appear this time; he was peaceful for once. He snuggled into her warmth as he fell asleep with her, comforted by the soft bed and the notion of a shower tomorrow. He might also find comfort in her body again in the morning, but for now, this was enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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bumblebee-moreno · 3 years

Text

Lovers

After hours of cursing at my laptop, I have finally finished my secret santa fic for @artemiseamoon (hope you like it!!!)

Ezra x reader (written with an AFAB reader in mind, though it’s entirely possible I accidentally made it gender neutral)

Warnings: insecure Ezra, discussion of body image (Ezra), light angst, but mostly fluff, possibly OOC Ezra? idk I haven’t written a lot of him yet... umm marriage is discussed just but it’s left ambiguous as to whether it’s legal or if y’all just decided to say you were 🤷 ...um possible inaccuracies with the tarot content?? i did my research but I had zero knowledge to begin with so idk if I got everything right?

Word count: 5098

A/N: Important!!! This fic is separated into sections... Italics take place in a different point in time. The three middle sections (which each have titles) are to represent each card in the tarot reading, the first titled section (in italics) is a flashback, the second is present time, and the third (in italics) is a snapshot of the future. the beginning and end also take place present time.

before you continue, did you read the author’s note?? it’s important to understanding the fic!!

Ezra lets out a soft sigh, burying his nose deeper into your chest. You card your fingers through his hair, a soft smile appearing on your lips at the way he leans into your touch.

These moments are your favourite: when the weather outside is too dreary for work, and the two of you curl up together on the small cot you share.

Ezra insists he hates days like this. A day without work is a day without pay, after all. You’d always laugh at his complaints.

“Surely a day in bed with me isn’t that unbearable,” you’d always tease.

“A day in your arms,” He’d reply, pressing a kiss to your lips, “is the only satisfactory substitution for a day’s work.”

Ezra shifts in your embrace until he can reach to brush his lips against your neck. You tilt your head, allowing him easier access.

Ezra begins murmuring against your skin. Between every kiss comes a compliment. You have no idea what most of them mean; you can only guess by the love with which they’re said. “There are,” Ezra kisses you again, “no words,” kiss, “impressive enough to describe you, my Star.”

You slowly sit up, Ezra following suit, not allowing any significant distance to come between the two of you.

You cup Ezra’s cheeks, steadying his face between your hands. Softly, as if he might shatter if you’re not careful, you brush your thumb across his lower lip.

Your lover stares into your eyes, almost as if they are the night sky and he’s searching for constellations. Just as you begin to wonder if he’s lost himself, Ezra breaks the silence, his voice barely more than a breath. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

“Just thinking about how lucky I am to hold the universe in my hands,” you reply, and as if to prove your point, you pull Ezra into a kiss that is as gentle as it is passionate.

“You are mistaken, Star,” Ezra lifts his hand to your face, desperately wishing he had his other, so he could properly mirror your touch. He places a feather-light kiss to your forehead.

“Oh?” you breathe, preparing yourself to argue when he says that he’s the one holding the universe in his hand. Just as he always says.

But his touch falls from your face. With a feather-like touch, he pulls your right hand from his cheek, turning it to place your palm on your left one. He mirrors it with your left hand.

“Now you hold the universe in your hands,” he whispers with a subtle quiver in his voice.

You drop your arms, lips parting to argue with him; to insist you had it right the first time. But your words catch in your throat when a single tear spills down Ezra’s face.

He tries to swipe it away before you see, but you catch his wrist. “What’s wrong, love?” you dry his cheek with your thumb, allowing your fingertips to linger against his jaw.

You watch the wheels turn in Ezra’s head as he chooses his words. “…Me,” he replies simply.

For a moment, you don’t know how to respond. “…you?”

Ezra nods, pulling away from you to lean against the wall.

“What does that mean?” you try to brush a strand of hair out of Ezra’s face, but he shies away from your touch.

“You deserve… more,” Ezra refuses to look at you.

“I don’t understand,” you search Ezra’s face for clues.

“You deserve someone who can give you everything,” he sniffs, “You deserve more than a forlorn pod and allocating freeze-dried rations.” More tears escape from Ezra’s eyes and drip into his lap.

“Ezra,” you soothe, “I don’t care about any of that.” Ezra opens his mouth to argue, but you continue. “Is it not enough to love each other?” you question, not bothering to wait for an answer. “If I only cared about material possessions, do you think I’d really have stuck around this long? I love you, that’s all I care about.”

Ezra wordlessly stands, shuffling across the floor to rifle through a canvas bag.

“What are you doing?” you sigh. You’re met only with a hollow silence.

After a moment, Ezra returns. He delicately sits beside you, placing a small object in your lap. Your gaze drops to find a stack of well-loved cards.

“Ezra,” you protest, setting the cards aside.

“Please,” the desperation in Ezra’s voice breaks your heart.

“You don’t need a tarot reading to tell you that I love you,” you try to meet Ezra’s eyes, but they’re glued to the floor.

“I just—” Ezra sighs. “Forgive my trepidation, but I need to know… where are we headed? I comprehend that you love me at this moment in our journey, but what about years from now? Will you still be enamoured by me?”

You give in with a sigh, realising that Ezra won’t be satisfied by just your insistence that you’ll always love him.

“I’d like to believe you when you say you love me, but I can’t help but speculate that your judgement may be clouded,” Ezra continues. “Our ceaseless wayfaring, our lamentable career… It’s all beneath you. You deserve better.”

You finish shuffling the cards and lay them in front of you. After taking a moment to examine the spread, you open your mouth to speak.

---

Reversed Ace of Cups

Ezra sat back, frowning at the canvas bag. It was stretched at odd angles, stitches pulled tight. He didn’t even attempt to close it, the zipper would tear right off.

“You’re certain all your possessions fit in here?” he asked. He wasn’t able to fit half your things in the bag, let alone all of them.

“Yes, Ezra, I’m certain it all fits.” You lifted your attention from scrubbing filters to examine Ezra’s progress. Laughing at his lost expression, you crossed the floor to kneel across from him.

“You just have to reorganise so it fits,” you explained, shuffling items around until there was room for more.

Ezra watched your hands dig through the bag. They looked like they’d fit perfectly in his. He watched your eyes analyse your work. Just like they do in the field.

Ezra could tell there was a lifetime of stories behind that gaze. He wondered which story caused that slight frown that only seemed to disappear when you were asleep. Or, perhaps, it was a collection of stories.

“There,” You sat back on your knees.

Ezra dropped his attention to the bag. Everything fit. It was still a bit stretched at the seams, but the zipper would no longer struggle to close.

Something caught Ezra’s eye. He reached in, lifting a deck of cards from the top of the bag’s contents. He removed the string holding them together and spread them out in his hands to admire the art on each of them.

“I, um…” You stuttered, watching Ezra’s fingers trace the worn ink and well-used edges.

“I was not aware that you read tarot,” Ezra murmured with a hint of admiration in his voice.

“Keeps me sane,” you shrugged.

“Would you feel inclined to do a reading for me?” Ezra asked, offering the cards out to you.

Your fingers brushed against his and Ezra’s heart jumped into his throat. The contact only lasted a moment, though, before you began shuffling the cards. You were saying something. Your voice was beautiful. Ezra could listen to you talk forever.

You were staring at him expectantly. Ezra’s face heated up—he hadn’t heard what you said.

“I apologise, I didn’t quite catch that, Star.” He chewed his lip, praying that you didn’t catch on to his train of thought.

You fought the urge to smile at the nickname. Ezra has called you that since the day you met. You always pretended to be annoyed, insisting he use your name. You don’t hate it; you just wish it meant the same thing to him that it did to you.

“I asked if you had a question? For the reading.”

“Oh,” Ezra exclaimed. “My apologies, my cognizance was elsewhere.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you laughed, your usual frown melting away. Ezra’s chest swelled with pride at being the reason you’re so relaxed, despite his embarrassment.

“This assignment is approaching its end,” Ezra took a moment to sweep his gaze across the room that had been your shared home for the last several months. “How should I converge with the coming weeks?”

‘will you stick around?’ Ezra meant to say. But you couldn’t know how he feels. Not yet.

You nodded to acknowledge Ezra’s question before you finish shuffling.

Ezra wasn’t even sure how many cards you laid down.

Even through your concentration, you looked happy. Relaxed.

You began to speak. As you shared your interpretation of the cards, Ezra watched how different emotions transformed your face.

Some of them, he had seen before; the passionate look you get when you talk about the stars, the way your brows furrow in an excited concentration. He only saw your eyes light up like this on occasion; at night, usually. When it was too dark to work but neither of you are quite ready to go to sleep, so you settle on opposite ends of the bed, each doing your own thing. He’d sometimes watch you from the corner of his eye, and when you thought he wasn’t looking, you’d glance up at him with that same look in your eye, Ezra had always wondered what it meant, but has never dared ask for fear you’d stop letting him see it. It was a look that felt rare and intimate. As if only those who you’d trust with your life would ever have the privilege of seeing it.

But some of those expressions, Ezra had never seen on your face. The way you looked when you paused for a breath, it was as if you were doing so much more than interpreting the message the cards were telling you; you were the connection between this reality and the next, watching a story unfold and telling Ezra what he needed to know to make it his reality.

Your expressions confirmed what your words were telling him: everything was about to change. His lifestyle. His relationship with you. Everything.

It should have scared Ezra. But this was the safest, the calmest, Ezra had felt in a long time.

You fell silent, finished with your reading. You searched Ezra’s face for a reaction.

“I love you,” Ezra blurted out before he could stop himself.

Your jaw dropped. “Ezra, I—” You didn’t know what to say.

“I understand if my feelings are not reciprocated. And I apologise if this puts you in a vexatious position, I assure you, that was not my intention.” Ezra paused, wringing his hands together. “I simply needed you to be aware of my feelings towards you.”

You didn’t know how to respond. A million words sat at the tip of your tongue, but none of them seemed right. With each passing second, Ezra could feel his stomach drop further and further into the floor.

“Oh,” Ezra breathed, taking your silence as rejection. He backed away, shoulders threatening to collapse around him. Tears stung at the backs of his eyes. His stomach was turning. How could he be so stupid as to think you’d fall in love with a man like him?

You dove forward suddenly, pulling his face toward yours, your lips crashing against his. It took Ezra a moment to register your actions, and another to react. He was soon pulling you into his chest in a bruising embrace, his lips engulfed yours in a way that was almost overwhelming. Ezra let out a soft moan when your fingers found his hair. His nose bumped yours and his breath tasted like the stale, nearly unbearable rations you’d been living off of for months, but you didn’t care—yours probably wasn’t much better.

The kiss was rushed, desperate. Your teeth kept hitting his. He couldn’t decide where on your body he wanted his hands to be.

You finally broke away for a breath. “I love you too,” you whispered into Ezra’s lips.

___

Reversed Judgement

It’s been years since that night. You’d gone through everything together; Ezra nursed you back to health when you got sick, you’d taken care of him when he, inevitably, caught whatever you had. It’s been ages since you stopped counting how many times you’d stitched each other’s wounds. You’d been there for him when he lost his arm, he’d been by your side for every injury of your own. It has never been a question that you have each other’s backs.

Ezra smiles softly. You’re so beautiful like this. The way your eyes light up as you speak, as if you’re a prospector who has just uncovered a valuable gem. It’s an expression Ezra has seen a million times, but his heart aches to see it a million more.

But his smile quickly fades. You’re happy right now. But how long until you realise you deserve better? You don’t deserve this life. You deserve more than a creaky pod and a lumpy cot much too small for one person, let alone two.

And what about the loss of his arm? The jobs Ezra can take now are restricted, the people who will hire him even more so. In bed, he can hardly figure out what to do with himself. You keep insisting that it’s okay, that he’ll learn. But how long are you willing to wait?

Ezra closes his eyes and listens to your voice; it’s his favourite sound. And the passion behind it now, during a reading? It’s overwhelming.

Ezra wants the rest of his life to be spent by your side. He can’t stop thinking about his future with you. Will you settle down together? Or spend the rest of your lives travelling the galaxy together? He’s not sure which he wants more. But either way, he can’t imagine a story for himself that doesn’t include growing old with you. If he’s honest with himself, Ezra can’t even remember a time he’s thought so much about the future. It’s always been about now. About surviving to see tomorrow.

Why does that have to change now that he’s in love? Why is he suddenly afraid of the future?

You’re happy now. Your kisses, the way you seek Ezra out even in your sleep, how your hand finds his almost constantly, proves how happy you are.

Ezra’s never been this happy. He’s never known someone who makes him feel so safe. Around you, Ezra can put his guard down. He doesn’t have to be so cryptic all the time. With you, Ezra can just exist.

Ezra’s hand finds its way into his pocket. His fingers wrap around a small stone.

He watches your hands accentuate each point you make. Ezra loves your hands. Especially your right hand; it’s the one he gets to hold when you walk beside him. It fits so perfectly in his. He loves the way your hands bury themselves in his hair when you kiss him. He loves how gentle they are when you’re patching him up. He pretends to hate it when you slip your hands under his shirt when you notice how cold they are just so you can press them against his chest and laugh at him when he squirms. Ezra loves that laugh.

He fidgets with the gem. He’s forgotten exactly how long it’s been there, though he remembers the day he got it as if it were yesterday. It was one of your first digs together. The gem was too small to be worth anything. So Ezra pocketed the stone, and it’s become a bit of an extension of himself.

Ezra watches your lips move in sync with your words. He loves your lips. The way they taste against his. The way they trace along his jaw when you’re teasing. Ezra’s kissed you a million times, and yet he always yearns for another.

“My Star,” he’d always say whenever you noted that he could never seem to stop kissing you, “a single touch shared with you could console even the most pained of men. And therefore, what motivation do I have to add to the distance between us?”

My Star. Ezra’s called you that… Forever. Ezra loves your name. But to call you his Star is a privilege only he has. Every time he says it, he remembers the countless times the two of you have laid on the ground, examining the night sky in search of constellations. No matter where you are, you always find a way to stargaze.

Through the window of your shared pod.

Passing glances through your helmet when the air outside isn’t safe to breathe.

But by far, Ezra’s favourite is when the air outside is breathable so you pull him outside to lay on the ground, held in each other’s embrace.

On those nights, you’ll continue to talk about the stars long after Ezra’s coaxed you inside to bed. He loves to fall asleep to the sound of your voice in one ear, the rhythm of your heartbeat in the other. Those nights fill Ezra’s chest with a lightness that washes away years of trauma.

But tonight, the stars are hidden behind a veil of clouds. Rain echoes through the trees outside. It reminds Ezra of the nights you’re curled under threadbare blankets and you’re whispering sweet nothings in Ezra’s ear.

Ezra smiles at this. Rainy days are his favourite. It stresses him that he often can’t work on those days, though in your company, that stress quickly melts away.

Ezra is never happier than when he’s with you.

___

Ten of Cups

“Star,” Ezra calls out to you.

You’re on your knees, elbow-deep in a sticky black mud. “Yeah?” you grunt back, nearly toppling forward into the mud in your distraction.

“The spoils of these pits appear to already have been claimed, and the sun is beginning to set.” Ezra sits back on his knees, pulling his arm from his own mud pit. “I suppose it’s time we get cleaned up for the remainder day.”

Ezra stifles a laugh at your disgusted grimace when you free your arms from the mud. After a brief examination of the sun-streaked sky, you let out a frustrated huff, pushing yourself to your feet.

“Yeah,” you give in. You have to resist the urge to wipe your hands on your clothing. You accept Ezra’s outstretched hand, lacing your fingers in his.

The stream isn’t far away—close enough that its inviting babbling has called out to you and Ezra all day.

Ezra leads you hand-in-hand to the edge of the murky water. He sinks to his knees first, wasting no time in submerging his arm into the icy liquid to wash away the itchy layers of chemically contaminated mud.

With a desperate splash, you follow close behind.

It’s jobs like these that makes Ezra wish gloves were a luxury the two of you could afford. But gloves strong enough to not break down upon contact with the mud would cost a fortune to buy and would require frequent replacements.

And so, after a long day buried in the acidic material, your arms are left itchy and raw. Ezra frantically rubs his forearm back and forth over a rock just below the surface of the water in a desperate attempt to wash himself clean, and, perhaps relieve some of the painful itch. If he notices the blood staining the water, he doesn’t care; in this moment, the temporary relief overpowers the regret that will later come from allowing the rock to break through his skin.

Ezra startles when your hands close around his wrist. Gently, You begin rubbing away the mud with your already clean hands. You’re conscious to take extra care around the steady trickle of blood.

“You’ll only make it worse like that,” you murmur, focusing your attention on making sure no mud is left under Ezra’s fingernails.

“Thank you,” Ezra closes his eyes in pleasure when you begin massaging his raw skin under the cloudy water to remove the last traces of mud.

“Mhm,” you reply absentmindedly and pull his hand from the water.

Ezra stands, hoisting you to your feet and pulling you into your shared pod.

You help each other dry off and spread an ointment over each other’s arms that makes tears of relief spring to Ezra’s eyes. After stripping yourselves free of your dirty clothes, Ezra collapses onto the cot, pulling you into his chest.

You shift until your head is resting on his shoulder and your body is curled around Ezra’s side leaving his arm free to reach what he needs to.

This position makes it difficult for Ezra to wrap his arm around you, but after a long day of work, neither one of you wants to move if he needs to reach something from the rusty bedside table.

You wrap your arms around your lover’s neck. Reflexively, Ezra’s fingers lift to find yours. He silently fidgets with the thin metal band around your finger, which had been returned to its rightful place upon arrival at the pod.

The pads of his fingers trace over the small gem embedded in the metal. Ezra smiles, remembering the cold winter’s day you’d finally said “I do.”

A soft chuckle escapes Ezra’s throat as he recalls the night you’d agreed to marry him, despite the many years you’d spent telling him about your distaste for the idea of being married.

“What’s that about?” you ask, not seeing a reason to laugh.

“I’m so fortunate to have you, Star,” Ezra whispers back, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” You murmur and lean up to press a kiss to Ezra’s jaw, at the same place you always do; the little patch in his scruff, where Ezra seems unable to grow any hair.

You love those spots on either side of his face. “They’re built in places for me to kiss,” you’d always insist whenever Ezra was feeling insecure about his patchy stubble.

“Still?” Ezra asks. “You still love me after all these years?”

“Why not?” You can’t think of a single thing Ezra has ever done that might make you rethink your feelings. Sure, he has his habits that never fail to get on your nerves. But, if anything, that makes you love him all the more.

“You’re not growing exhausted by my presence?”

“How could I ever get bored of you?” You sit up enough to meet Ezra’s gaze. “I love you more than anything. If I didn’t, what reason would I have to follow you on all these jobs and crazy ideas you get to make a living?” You caress Ezra’s cheek with your knuckles. “Ezra, I stay because I love you. Those feelings are never going to change. And, if they do, it will be because I’ve fallen further in love with you. If that’s even possible.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” Ezra smiles softly.

You let out a hum of contemplation. “I’m just here for the kisses,” you tease, placing a brief peck on his lips.

Ezra hums contentedly, and you snuggle back into his chest. After a few moments of a loving stillness, Ezra’s fingers find their way back to yours to toy with your ring.

“Do you remember the night I gave this to you?” Ezra whispers, tracing circles over the tiny gem.

“How could I forget?” You whisper back.

___

You finish your reading and lift your eyes to gauge Ezra’s reaction. A small smile tugs at his lips, but he doesn’t respond.

Silently, Ezra rises to his feet, gathering the cards and stowing them back in your bag.

“Lay down,” Ezra commands. With a grunt, he pulls a strange machine from under the cot. You obey, too curious to argue. Ezra shoves the machine to the centre of the floor.

Ezra switches off the lamp, plunging the tent into absolute darkness. “My mother had one of these when I was a child,” Ezra explains, “I had to construct this one from scrap parts, so it’s not as impressive as the one I grew up with.” With a soft click, the machine turns on and the ceiling is decorated with small flecks of light.

Ezra continues to explain, but you’ve already figured it out. “It’s the stars on Wehouf,” you interrupt with a gasp. Wehouf was where you first met Ezra.

Ezra lays on the cot beside you, wrapping you into a firm embrace.

“You built this for me?” you murmur in disbelief. How did he find time to work on this without you noticing?

“Took me two years,” Ezra presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “The majority of the parts I required aren’t easy to come by in the green.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“The entire time I was assembling it, I couldn’t help but meditate over how intensely I feel for you. I never thought I was capable of these feelings. When we first met, you were nothing more than an associate on an endeavour to make a living. I’m not certain when I fell in love,” Ezra’s hand slips under your shirt and he begins tracing gentle circles against your skin with his fingertips. “I don’t think I ever stopped falling. I don’t believe I ever want to. I crave to spend my whole lifetime by your side. I want to chart the view of the stars from every planet, every moon. And I want to do it with your hand in mine.”

“Ezra, I—” You start.

“You could count every single star in the sky, and still only know a fraction of the love I feel for you,” Ezra continues. “And I know you’ve expressed a distaste for it in the past,” Ezra shifts to pull the tiny gem from his pocket. Gently, he slips the metal band around your finger. A perfect fit. “But, I was hoping you’d consider marrying me? I wouldn’t expect it to be legal if that’s not what you want, but—”

“Of course I’ll marry you, Ezra,” You interrupt, shifting to meet his gaze. “I love you more than anything. If it makes you happy, of course, I’ll marry you. And besides, we’re out here alone a solid 98% of the time. So marriage can be whatever we want it to be. Right?”

Ezra breathes a sigh of relief. He wasn’t afraid of you saying no, per se, but he was terrified the question would make you uncomfortable and perhaps cause you to push him away.

“I know I can be an arduous man to love sometimes,” Ezra begins to tear up. “And I still think you deserve better than me. But, you make me exultant beyond any doubt, and you seem content by my side as well. I can’t promise that things will be perfect, because they most certainly won’t. But I will love you eternally, with every fibre of my being. And that, Star, is a promise.”

“Oh, Ezra,” you whisper, “I don’t expect things to always be perfect. I’ve lived with you long enough to know that life will go to shit. A lot. But I’ve also lived with you long enough to know it always ends up okay.” You rest your forehead against Ezra’s. “You deserve more than you think you do. I know you’ve made mistakes. Fuck, I’ve watched you make some seriously questionable decisions. To the point where I sometimes wonder how you’re still alive. But you have more love in this little tuft of hair than most people have in their whole body.” You gently tug on Ezra’s little blond patch of hair to emphasize your point. “And that’s all I care about.” You finish with a brief but passionate kiss.

Ezra doesn’t know how to respond. Tears threaten to escape down his cheeks. “Fuck,” he sobs, pulling you closer until your nose is buried in his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Ezra,” you hum.

Your fingers begin to toy with the ring on your finger. “How’d you manage to get this?” Ezra doesn’t even have to see to know what you’re talking about.

“The gem is from one of our first digs together,” He explains. “It was too diminutive to sell, but I couldn’t bring myself to dispose of it. I got it fixed with a ring two planets back.”

“That must’ve cost a fortune,” you say, suddenly feeling a bit guilty that he felt the need to do such a thing to please you. Sufficient jewellers aren’t easy to find this far out, and because of that, it can be quite expensive to so much as repair a simple ring.

“Nearly depleted my personal savings,” Ezra answers. “But I couldn’t think of a superior way to spend it; now whenever my gaze falls upon your hand, I am reminded of our years spent in each other’s presence.”

“You didn’t have to,” you kiss the soft skin at Ezra’s neck. “I’d have married you without it.”

“Do you not like it?” Ezra asks with a touch of panic to his voice.

“Oh, I love it,” you reassure. Ezra visibly relaxes. “I love everything you get for me.” You pull the ring off your finger to inspect it as you talk. It’s a simple band, with just enough width to have room for the gem embedded in the smooth metal. Upon closer examination, you find a tiny engraving inside. ‘I love you, my Star.’ “I love everything you do for me,” you turn your head to admire the speckles of light above you. You return the ring to your finger. “I always will. Just know I don’t expect to be spoiled. I enjoy it, but your love is enough for me.”

“I know, my Star,” Ezra sighs. “I can’t provide you the life of luxury you deserve. I enjoy doing what I can to make up for it.”

“I have everything I want right here.” You snuggle deeper into Ezra’s chest to admire the stars projected across the ceiling.

He doesn’t respond. For a few moments, the only sounds are the rain, the soft whirring of the star machine, and your breaths combined with Ezra’s. You never saw yourself in this position. But Ezra has a way of turning the lives of those around him upside down. And for you, it somehow feels right.

“I love you, my Star.”

“I love you too, Ezra.”

#ezra prospect #pedros12daysofchristmas #ezra x reader #Pedro Pascal

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cali-holland · 4 years

Text

Something Blue- Tom Holland One Shot

Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader

Requested by anon: Hello! I love your writing. If it’s not a big deal, can I please request a Tom x reader where it’s their wedding day? and it kind of just follows the events of the wedding (getting ready, photos, vows, the after party, the wedding night)? Sorry if that’s too specific! I hope you’re staying safe 🥰

Prompt: Today’s the first day of the rest of your life.

Word Count: 1400

Warnings: sexual themes ig???

Masterlist Tom Holland Masterlist

*Moodboard is mine, pics used are not*

~~~

The first day of the rest of your life. The first day of forever. That’s what everyone always called their wedding day. It was odd though for this to be such a special day, shared between you and the people you love so much, and yet you wake up alone. You weren’t really one to believe in superstitions, but neither you nor Tom wanted to accidentally jinx it by seeing each other before the wedding ceremony, even if that meant sleeping alone that night.

You stretched a little, still trying to wake up after turning off your alarm. The sun streaming in through the blinds told you that the weather would be on your side today, and for that you were thankful. Yawning, you grabbed your phone off the nightstand and opened it to a new text from Tom.

‘Good morning, future wifey. Can’t wait to see you later ;)’

You smiled typing back, ‘Good morning to you, too, future hubby. See you at the altar’.

Still smiling to yourself, you got ready for the big day ahead. Hours later, your hair and makeup was done and perfect, and you made your way over to the country club, which had been transformed into a magnificent venue over the past couple of days. Inside one of the special rooms specifically for the bridal party, you met with your mother, Nikki, and your bridesmaids.

“How are you feeling?” Your mother asked, smiling brightly at you.

“Like I can’t wait to be at the altar already.” You replied, blushing as you spoke. You were a little bit nervous, but you loved Tom and you wanted more than anything to get married to him; he was the one for you, forever and always after today. “I just wish I could see him already.”

“He’s just as excited as you are.” Nikki smiled, “I don’t think he slept at all last night.”

Everyone left you for a few minutes so that you could get changed into your dress, and your bridesmaids returned to help zip you up. As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you felt yourself growing a little bit more anxious. This was really happening, you were going to get married to your best friend; and the guests were starting to arrive, which just even further solidified that.

A knock came from the door, and you wondered who it was for a moment before Harry stepped inside. Nikki looked at his nervous face and quickly asked, “Is something wrong?”

“No,” He shook his head, before looking at you with a small smile. “Tom’s just really nervous, and he wants to talk to you. Do you think I could bring him over and you talk to him through the door?”

“Of course.” You said softly, nodding.

“Be right back.” Harry replied, leaving the room and hurrying to go get his older brother. A few moments later and there was another knock on the door, and luckily it was thin enough that you could hear Tom through it.

“Hi, darling.” He spoke to the door, and you stood on the other side, feeling your heart soar at his voice.

“Hi, honey.” You answered with a small laugh.

“Are you in your dress? Got your veil on and everything?” Tom asked.

“Yeah,”

“You look so beautiful. I haven’t seen you yet, but I just know it. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Tom leaned against the doorframe a little, but turned his head so his mouth was still close to the door itself.

“Tom, you’re going to make me cry and ruin my mascara before the wedding even starts.” You teased, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He let out a small sigh, “I should go, let you finish getting ready.”

“Wait, close your eyes.” You slowly opened the door, keeping your body hidden behind the door. Your hand found his and he squeezed it gently, reassuring both of you. After a moment of silent, comforting hand holding, he let go, knowing he really had to get back.

“I’ll see you at the altar.” Tom said as you closed the door again.

“Can’t wait.” You smiled, before you heard him walk away down the hall.

“That was the cutest thing in the world. What the hell, I want one.” Your bridesmaid joked, making everyone laugh. Nothing like a chronically single bridesmaid to ease the nerves at a wedding.

It didn’t take long before you were making your way down the aisle, a few tears in your eyes as you watched Tom try to slyly wipe away his own tears. You both laughed a little as you came to a stop in front of him at the altar. You handed your bouquet of flowers over to your maid of honor, and Tom took your hand in his, squeezing it just as he had done earlier.

“You look beautiful.” He mouthed to you.

“You look handsome.” You mouthed back, before the two of you turned to the officiant. When it was time for the vows, you turned back to face Tom, nothing but love and adoration in your eyes for him.

“Y/N, my love,” Tom smiled as he nervously rubbed his thumb across the back of your hand. You squeezed his hand lightly, silently telling him you loved him, “I swear to be there for you, today and every day. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I vow to always keep a smile on your face and to love you every day for the rest of my life. Forever and always.”

“And I vow to love you, Tom, every single moment for the rest of our lives together. I promise to always be a listening ear and positive support. You have always been the sunshine of my life, and I vow to be the sunshine of yours, always making you happy and always making sure you know just how much I love you. Forever and always.” You repeated the words back to him, making him somehow smile even brighter than he had been smiling before.

And on went the exchanging of rings, where both of you just about dropped them from being so overwhelmingly elated. The officiant barely said his famous words when Tom kissed you. It was a classic, modest kiss, until his hands landed on your waist and he dipped you overdramatically, making you laugh into the kiss as everyone awed and cheered.

“I love you so much.” Tom murmured, lips barely off yours.

“I love you more than anything.” You beamed.

After all the pictures, you two went to the banquet hall, adorned with white drapes, fairy lights, and light green accents. Your two chairs specifically had leaves draped over them, with golden signs reading “wifey” and “hubby”. A large H made of roses sat in the corner by the three tiered cake. It was all so picture perfect, and with Tom by your side, it was a dream come true. Following the few toasts from the bridal party, dinner was served to everyone, and you and Tom finally got a moment alone.

“You know what I haven’t figured out yet?” Tom asked you quietly. You hummed in response, and he leaned over to your chair, whispering in your ear, “What’s something blue?”

“Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.” You teased.

“It’s your garter, isn’t it?” He smirked, sounding enthusiastic about the upcoming garter toss. You playfully rolled your eyes at him, and he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

When it came time for the bouquet and garter toss, Tom was amused (but not at all surprised) to find the lacy blue garter just above your knee. The only surprising thing, and worrying thing, about the garter toss was the fact that Paddy of all people caught it. Tom was thoroughly amused with his youngest brother, but Nikki wasn’t.

At the end of the night, you and Tom made your way back home. Your honeymoon flight out to Rome was tomorrow morning, giving you two plenty of time to rest before catching a flight.

“Got anything else blue under here?” Tom asked you cheekily, reaching for the zipper of your dress.

“Try something new.” You laughed, pulling him in for a kiss to start your wedding night off right.

~~~

Tag List: @viagracex @theamazingtomholland @hellomoveonby @heyitsshrez @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart

Tom Tag List: @quaksonhehe @tomkindholland

#tom holland #tom holland one shot #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfic

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

On Track

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Lee Minho

Genre: Married Life AU, Romance

Warnings: Smut and Language

Word Count: 11K

Summary: Despite her reputation, Y/N is considered one of the very best agents in the music industry. Of course, it doesn’t help that she married one of her clients---notoriously stubborn and arrogant Lee Minho AKA the extremely talented Lee Know whose silky voice and amazing choreographies appeal to an enormous fan-base. A pop singer who prefers to work alone, Y/N usually obliges Minho’s preferences...until her boss demands that he collaborate with the up-and-coming and multi-talented trio, 3racha.

Well, nobody ever said that married life is easy.

For: @hwngjn

There’s a certain decorum involved with the management of arrogant pop singers who think the entire world revolves around their singular existence. In my experience, if you want to tame these wild inclinations, then it’s best to do one of the three things: 1) leave the company ASAP with a two-week notice and a heartfelt plea for a good recommendation, 2) tolerate the existence of this pop singer and hope that he matures with age, or 3) marry this pop singer because you fell in love without understanding the fraternization clause of your contract.

Allow me to elaborate: options one and two will leave you with enough room to continue rising through the ranks without much conflict with upper management. You see, I have firsthand knowledge because I lived through the ensuing outcomes, leaving my first job at the tender age of 23 with very little knowledge and then arduously suffering at my next position with a female artist who insisted on testing my patience. But then again, if you choose to skip options one and two and pursue option three, then you better learn to live with the consequences because it will bring the most long-term effects.

Let me start from here because, for the most part, the consequences for me were fairly minimal. The record company was, of course, incensed when they found out about my unauthorized affair. Unfortunately, Minho liked to brag about the things he cherished, and he made no secret of our relationship outside of the company. I knew it was only a matter of time before the issue was brought to the attention of Mr. Park, the company’s CEO and head producer.

I can still remember sitting in his big office, ignoring the lingering smell of smoke, while Mr. Park shoved my management contract in my face. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked, to which I had no response other than my weakness for Minho’s cunning smile. “You’re done here,” he announced and my heart broke in my chest.

Fortunately, before I could finish packing my belongings on the same afternoon, Minho had appeared at my desk with a very unhappy Mr. Park trailing behind him with an intense scowl. “Tell her,” Minho growled.

“Y/N,” he sighed. “You’ve been reinstated. Mr. Lee made a convincing argument on your behalf. Apparently, he can’t possibly work here and renew his contract without you as his manager.”

I remember glaring at Minho for his intervention, since our impromptu marriage was entirely his fault. “Thank you, sir.”

Thereafter, I was determined to do the best job I could as famed singer Lee Know’s manager, even if it meant facing scrutiny from jealous fans or bowing my head when I faced another agent in the hallways. I suppose I could deal with their scrutiny because it was better than the alternative of finding myself lounging away in Minho’s expensive condo unemployed and ruined because of my reputation. Even so, I was walking on thin glass everyday, and Minho continued to make things hard by insisting that he didn’t need to follow the rules, especially since he insisted on some one-sided feud with Mr. Park.

For example, today Minho was scheduled for an interview with a very distinguished magazine, but my husband had decided to prioritize his never ceasing libido over regular responsibilities. “Hold still,” Minho said, smirking against the side of my neck while his hands made quick work of my skirt and panties, shoving them harshly down my legs to make room for his greedy touches. Inhibited access to the heat between my legs, presented to him in just the way he liked, meant that his fingers were currently teasing the swollen folds of my labia while I fell apart at the seams.

I could tell that Minho wanted to take his time, but one glance at my wristwatch told me that we weren’t allowed such liberties today. “No, sir,” I said, reaching behind me to scratch my nails along his forearm. “You have an interview in ten minutes!”

“Relax,” he said, kissing delicately down the individual knobs of my spine. “I missed you today.”

“How romantic,” I deadpanned. “Can you hurry before the agency sends someone to look for us?”

As I said before, Minho was never the type to follow clear instructions, and he didn’t like the fact that his agency was rather strict when it came to scheduling. He liked to spite the men upstairs whenever an opportunity arose, such as prolonging needless foreplay when I was already dripping down my thighs because of his ministrations. I reached behind me for his belt, attempting to undo the zipper and release the erection straining the material.

“What’s your hurry, sweetheart?” he purred, knocking away my hand.

“My job as your manager,” I returned, fervently trying to hasten our unexpected intimacy.

“Well, as your favorite client, I suggest you bend over for me so I can fuck this little pussy.”

His words went straight to the tight coil offering no resistance the longer Minho continued to speak dirty words into my ears. “Did you lock the door?”

“Why? Are you expecting someone?”

I frowned, ready to offer a snarky retort before the words were wiped clean from my head when I felt the tip of his cock sink into my awaiting heat. “What was that, sweetheart?” he asked and I moaned loudly because he was suddenly intense with his movements, leaving no room to gather my bearings before he was fucking at a harsh pace.

Actually, in hindsight, I should’ve seen this coming when I met Minho in my office for the very first time. He walked in wearing a loose-fitting tank top and tight skinny jeans like he was attending a fraternity party instead of a company meeting. Minho’s steps were completely assured, sunglasses framing his face perfectly and standing out against the smooth tone of his skin. “Y/N?” he asked with a smirk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “The agency assigned you to my care.”

“Really?” Minho asked, cocksure and smiling bright as he made himself comfortable on my futon without permission. “Miss, you say?”

“We go by professional titles, Mr. Lee,” I said, glaring at him from behind my computer screen.

“Sure,” he dismissed, reaching for the flower vase on my coffee table. “How does this work exactly? You do whatever I ask, right?”

“Put the vase down and pay attention.”

Minho’s smile vanished at my tone. “What did you say?”

“Mr. Lee, the agency forewarned me about your...behavior. I must assure you that it won’t be tolerated because my job is to make sure that you do everything outlined in your contract. I’m sure you didn’t bother taking the time to read it, but there are certain things the company expects of you other than posting to your Twitter at 3:00 AM in the morning.”

I took a deep breath, satisfied that he appeared to be listening. “For example, the company expects your first album release this October. It’s my job to make sure you attend all recording sessions. Furthermore, promotions will be anticipated leading to the album’s delivery to applicable streaming platforms. That means interviews, photoshoots, award shows, and radio performances. Please understand that I’m one of the very best this agency has to offer, which means my clients demonstrate respect and high aptitude for their work and how it reflects on the company. From the moment you first stepped through that door, I knew that you lacked both of those capabilities.”

I stood up from my desk, walking around to the front to regard the man who suddenly found it difficult to look at me. “Here’s a warning, Mr. Lee. If you fail to adhere to my standards, then I won’t hesitate to ask the company to find you a new manager, understand?”

Minho scoffed, snatching his sunglasses away before nodding his head. “Fine.”

Satisfied, I reached behind me for the manila folder I prepared for his arrival. “Now, let’s review your schedule.”

Of course, that was two years ago and despite the whirlwind of mischievousness that encapsulated Minho, including several scandals, an endless barrage of paparazzi, and several intense arguments with upper management, I wouldn’t trade our relationship for anything else in the world. You see, I never counted on falling in love with an idol singer, but he managed to charm his way into my good graces with an irresistible smile and warm personality masked beneath his arrogant facade of indifference. He always brought a smile to my face, even in the midst of an intense orgasm bent over my desk as his cock hit deep inside.

He fingers wrapped around my wrist, dragging my watch into his line of vision. “Two minutes, Y/N.”

I groaned in complaint, wondering how someone who graduated college with a flawless 4.0 GPA continuously broke company rules on a daily basis.

The following morning, I found myself crushed between several executives for an undisclosed company meeting. “Everyone!” Mr. Park announced. “I have exciting news for this year’s Christmas theme.”

A chorus of groans greeted his words. “Sir, I thought we were leaving the decision for the talent?” another agent spoke up.

“Yes, but I think this will work better for our core demographics,” Mr. Park said. “Y/N!”

I sat up straighter, attempting to look more alert than I felt inside. Unfortunately, Minho had kept me up all night in the small recording studio he built in our shared condo, asking me for continuous feedback on his latest project. “Sir?”

“Mr. Lee gave us a very interesting demo last week for a recent project.”

“Oh?”

“I’d like to make it a collaboration effort with our talent,” Mr. Park said and my heart seized in my chest because I knew firsthand just how much Minho despised working with other people. “3racha have landed their first platinum album. We need to capitalize on their success!”

“You want a collaboration between 3racha and Minho?” I asked, swallowing hard at the idea of telling my husband.

“Exactly,” Mr. Park said with a smile. “For the music video, I was thinking we could also invite Hwang Hyunjin and Lee Felix to choreograph something for the project.”

“How...exciting?” I offered, cringing at my tone. Thankfully, Mr. Park was already addressing 3racha’s manager while I stared at my empty coffee mug and wondering if I would need more caffeine to survive.

Afterwards, Mr. Park adjourned our meeting and I returned to my office to find Minho waiting for me perched on the edge of my desk. “Sweetheart,” he greeted me, pulling me in by my waist to press a welcoming kiss to my pout. “You seem worried?”

I leaned back enough to meet his gaze. “You better promise me that you won’t get upset and scream.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “When have I ever done that?”

A million scenarios filtered through my mind before I decided to leave those memories in the past. “I just finished a company meeting.”

“Oh yeah?” he nodded, playing with the necklace resting against my collarbone. “What happened?”

I took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “Mr. Park had an... interesting suggestion.”

Minho glanced up and narrowed his eyes. “This doesn’t sound good.”

“He wants a collaboration,” I said, deciding to go for the killing blow before I could lose any more of my fading confidence. “The new demo you played for the company. He wants you to work with 3racha.”

Minho was quiet for a moment before he chuckled. “Really? Well, I don’t think so, sweetheart. You know how I feel about those things.”

I released an unsteady exhale. “It might be an opportunity?”

He shook his head. “You just march your cute little ass back into Park’s office and tell him I’m not interested.”

I groaned, pulling out of Minho’s arms to walk around my desk. “I have no power to tell Mr. Park anything.”

“Why not? You’re my manager!”

“Yeah, but he’s the head producer and owner,” I remarked, offering him an unimpressed look as I sat down to unlock my computer. “Besides, I think it’s a cool idea for the fans.”

Minho frowned. “Fuck, if I’m collaborating with anyone, then it’s gonna be Sam Smith or Post Malone.”

“As likely as that sounds,” I started with a dramatic sigh, “I think you should start small and work your way to the top.”

“But 3racha?” Minho grimaced. “Those fucking guys think they’re the absolute shit around here.”

“That sounds familiar.”

“Not funny,” Minho grumbled. “It’s my demo. I should be able to choose who I work with.”

“I think you’ve forgotten the fine print in your contract,” I said, reaching across the desk to offer his hand a gentle squeeze. “Please don’t make a big deal out of this. Can’t you make an exception...for me?”

Minho sighed, and I offered my absolute best pout in return.

“You’re lucky that I love you.”

Later that afternoon, I was surprised to meet Mr. Kim in the elevator on my way to the lobby. It was heavily rumored around the office that 3racha’s manager was notorious for locking himself away in the studio with his favorite clients. “Y/N,” he greeted me. “Are you busy?”

“Not really,” I said, holding up a folder. “I was bringing some files to Mr. Park.”

“Leave them with his secretary,” Mr. Kim insisted. “I thought it might be a good idea for you to meet my clients since we’ll be working together.”

“Minho is busy with an interview right now.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Mr Kim said. “Maybe it’s better if you talk to them first?”

I considered his offer, noting the disheveled appearance of his suit. “How long have you been trying to find me?”

“Does right now work for you?” he continued, pointedly ignoring my question.

“If you must insist,” I grumbled. “But they’ll have to meet at some point.”

“Yes, but I think we can delay the inevitable,” Mr. Kim said with a pointed look which I knew was directed at my husband.

“Fine.”

My easy agreement was met with a satisfied smirk to which I resisted the urge to remind Mr. Kim that I was only meeting his clients to make things easier for everyone involved in the collaboration. Of course, I had no room to talk down to my superiors and Mr. Kim’s credentials were practically golden compared to the minimal mark I had left on the company and its prolific talent. Instead, I let out a shaky exhale, wondering if it was too late to reconsider the fight I endured on a regular basis to keep my position with the company.

“Here we are,” Mr. Kim grinned. The elevator stopped on the top floor with a resounding alarm. “I think you’ll find my clients to be satisfactory.”

“In comparison to Minho, you mean?” I asked, narrowing my eyes as Mr. Kim urged me to follow him down a narrow hallway. I vaguely recognized our destination, but I usually never lingered around the studios.

“Did I say that?”

“It was implied,” I sighed, crossing my arms.

“Well, that wasn’t my intention, Y/N. You, of course, understand that nothing between us is personal?”

“We’re colleagues, Mr. Kim,” I replied. “That defines our relationship.”

“In that case...” he trailed off, pausing outside one of the doors. “I’m excited to work together.”

I rolled my eyes when he turned his back, but held my tongue as he reached for my hand to drag me inside the room. Immediately, my eyes were drawn to the plethora of monitors and screens dragging the walls of the entertainment studio. It reminded me of my early time as an intern during college, overwhelmed by the inner workings of the record company I was privileged to support, learning everything about the business. There was also a time, however briefly, when I first entered my current company as nothing more than an executive assistant for Mr. Kim who enjoyed reminding me of the fact, especially when his clients continued to eclipse mine in popularity. And that included the three men who offered us polite smiles when we interrupted their session.

“Y/N,” Mr. Kim said, dragging me further into the room. “I thought it might be nice to formally offer introductions. I’d like you to meet Bang Chan, Han Jisung, and Seo Changbin.”

“I’m very excited,” I said, taking on a professional tone as I extended my hand to Chan. “My client is looking forward to your future collaboration.”

Chan accepted my outstretched hand, curling his fingers around mine. “Likewise.”

I withdrew my hand slowly, offering Jisung and Changbin a courteous nod. “Mr. Kim insisted that we meet today.”

“Yes,” Chan nodded. “But your client is noticeably absent.”

I swallowed hard as I met his gaze. “Minho is busy with an interview.”

“I see,” Chan remarked, taking a step back. “Well, 3racha is working until this evening. Perhaps Minho could join us here after his meeting.”

I turned around to look at Mr. Kim who only shrugged in response as if it hadn’t been his idea to keep Minho as far away as possible until necessary. I rolled my shoulders, schooling my expression as I gave Chan an airy laugh. “That only makes sense, doesn’t it? Let me send him a message.”

“In the meantime,” Changbin sighed from behind us. “We can continue with the recording.”

“Keep us updated, Y/N,” Chan said, returning to his work while I started on drafting a message for Minho.

To Minho: Tell me when your interview ends

“Y/N,” Mr. Kim cleared his throat. “I hope Minho’s schedule is cleared for tomorrow?

I raised one eyebrow in question. “Tomorrow?”

“We’d like to start the first recording session,” Chan replied. “Mr. Park played us some of Minho’s demo and we have some ideas for the track.”

“Oh,” I responded, completely out of my element when it came to the actual creation of music despite the many nights I spent with Minho in our home studio. “I’m sure we can make it work.”

“Perfect,” Mr. Kim declared, pulling out his cellphone with a grin. “I’ll make the arrangements on my end.”

Mr. Kim stepped out into the hallway, leaving me alone with his clients who were all watching me with barely concealed curiosity. “You know,” Chan started, “I’ve listened to Minho’s albums. He doesn’t seem like the type of person to write love songs.”

“He likes to experiment,” I said, blushing when I recalled the way he had intimately explained the meaning behind his new demo, but there was no way I was telling anyone that the song was about me.

“Is he...open to criticism?” Jisung asked hesitantly.

“Why? Is there something wrong with the demo?”

“Of course not!” Jisung immediately corrected. “I just thought I’d ask because we have some cool suggestions to improve the overall quality. But I don’t know if Minho would listen.”

It was highly unlikely. “I’m sure he’s open for improvement,” I lied, wincing when I felt my phone vibrate from inside my pocket.

Minho: Call me.

“One second, gentlemen,” I said, cringing at my tone before escaping into the hallway. I held up my cell phone reluctantly, tapping on Minho’s contact name to place the call. He answered almost immediately. “Minho?”

“Sweetheart,” came his voice from the other end. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Yeah,” I said with a heavy exhale. “I’m with 3racha.”

He was silent on the other end for an uncomfortable duration. “Why?”

“Mr. Kim caught me on the way to Mr. Park’s office,” I said. “He insisted we meet.”

“Really? Are you having fun?”

I inwardly groaned at Minho’s tone, recognizing it as the same one he reserved when he was feeling particularly annoyed. “They want to meet you too.”

I was met with another long silence and then- “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I paced outside the studio entrance, wondering if Minho had suddenly had a change of heart in the brief amount of time he had been notified of the collaboration project. After all, everything would be a lot easier if my husband wasn’t so stubborn, a perfectionist in every sense of the word who had trouble delegating work to other people, especially when he didn’t trust them. But for this to be successful, Minho would need to respect 3racha as capable artists who knew what they were doing when it came to creating hit singles.

“This feels more like an intervention,” Minho suddenly announced, trudging down the hallway and pulling me out of my foreboding thoughts.

“Then don’t give me a reason to be nervous,” I said, accepting his brief kiss before reaching out for the door handle. “Promise me you’ll behave?”

“I’ll try,” Minho grumbled, and that was the only confirmation I received before letting the literal beast into the jungle..

Chan was the first to realize Minho’s arrival, standing up from the couch to greet Minho with a professional smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Minho glared at Chan’s outstretched hand. “I’m not thrilled about this collaboration.”

I shook my head, resisting the urge to grab Minho’s hand and force him to feign politeness for once in his life. “Oh,” Chan said, retracting his arm. “I just thought we should get along since we’re working together.”

“A temporary arrangement,” Minho said, clicking his tongue as he turned around to look at me. “Y/N can handle the PR stuff.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” I quipped, trying to lighten the air even though Minho had more or less successfully generated enough tension to last a lifetime.

“Mr. Lee, my clients were hoping to schedule a session tomorrow,” Mr. Kim said. “We’d like to start on the collaboration as soon as possible.”

“Sure,” Minho said, jaw clenching to betray that he wasn’t entirely happy. “I’d like to work quickly.”

A long, insufferable silence ensued while Minho took his time studying the three artists he was expected to share his newest creation. Finally, Mr. Kim interrupted the never-ending staring contest, flashing a forced smile. “Bring the demo with you, Mr. Lee, and anything else you’ve been working on.”

Minho nodded. “I’ve already finished most of the song.” I took a deep breath, waiting until Minho turned around to look at me. “I have something to do, so I’ll see you at home.”

I bowed my head, holding my tongue until the sound of the door closing broke whatever spell Minho had cast over our sullen group. “Pleasant isn’t he?” Changbin snorted.

“He’s just busy,” I tried to excuse, but the sentiment fell short and I suddenly had the desire to run down the hall with my arms flailing above my head.

I guess we can consider day one a complete and total failure.

Despite the awkward tension of Minho’s first meeting with 3racha, I was determined that the remainder of the collaboration would endure no further obstacles. Accordingly, I woke up early the next morning with every intention of playing the part of the mediator, which meant doing everything possible to improve Minho’s mood. For example, my husband was notorious for being intimidating at work, but he was nothing short of soft at home and I took advantage of his early-morning clinginess by surprising him with breakfast in bed and open arms without worrying about rushing through our usual routine.

“You want something,” Minho said, one arm pulling me close to his chest while his other hand made busy work of his breakfast.

“What makes you say that?” I asked.

“In general? Maybe it’s the fact that we’re already twenty minutes behind schedule and you aren’t losing your shit.”

I opened one eye, watching him as he swallowed down the remainder of his orange juice. “I’m comfortable.”

“Really?” Minho snickered, looking down with a knowing glance. “Sweetheart, you’re usually pushing me out the door right about now.”

“Well, things have been hectic at the company, so I thought it might be nice to treat ourselves.”

“I assume you’re talking about my required collaboration with the three idiots,” Minho said.

“I’m concerned,” I continued. “Minho, you hate working with the other artists, but this isn’t something we can just walk away from.”

“I understand,” Minho sighed. “I don’t want you to worry about me or the collaboration. I promise to be a good boy.”

I rolled my eyes at his tone. “That’s a great way to instill confidence.”

“They’re irritating,” Minho continued. “My inbox is full of messages and I hate email.”

“Welcome to the 21st century.”

“Are you sure Mr. Park wanted this?”

“Minho,” I said, slowly pulling myself out of his arms. “Stop thinking about the project like it’s some sort of punishment. Consider it an opportunity instead.”

“Please feel free to elaborate.”

“3racha are incredibly famous and they have a considerable fanbase,” I said. “When those fans hear your voice on the record, they might start paying more attention to your music.”

Minho exhaled, chest falling beneath my hands. “I see your point, but I don’t like it.”

“Nobody said you had to like it,” I reminded him. “Be nice to them.”

“What are you asking me to do?” my husband groaned, rolling over onto his stomach.

I quickly straddled his waist, working my fingers into the tense muscles of his shoulders. “I know you don’t like the collaboration, but it won’t last forever and then you can go back to working on your solo projects.”

“I guess, but only if you come to all the recording sessions.”

I grinned triumphantly, even if it was only one victory in a long history of tedious arguments with my stubborn husband.

Mr. Kim was a very impatient man, and I was only somewhat surprised to see him standing by the main entrance when we finally arrived at the company. “Minho, you needed to be in the recording studio...” he trailed off, glancing at his wristwatch with a frown. “Ten minutes ago.”

My husband scoffed. “I don’t work on your time, Mr. Kim.”

“We had a late start,” I intervened. “I’ll make sure he gets there soon, Mr. Kim.”

The older man grunted, clearly displeased with Minho’s behavior. Thankfully, Minho had the decency to wait until he was well out of hearing range before further disparaging Mr. Kim’s character. “Sweetheart, I’m doing this for you,” Minho said, glaring over my shoulder at Mr. Kim’s retreating form. “But I don’t appreciate being told what to do.”

“That’s how he is,” I said. “I used to work for him as an assistant. He was always keeping everyone busy. Time wasted is money lost.”

Minho snickered at my poor imitation of Mr. Kim’s accent. “I’d kick his skinny ass if I was any less patient.”

I resisted the urge to laugh at Minho’s “restraint” because my husband was notorious for acting without consideration for the consequences. “Don’t be late for your first recording session.”

Minho pouted, looking down at me with wide, brown eyes. “You aren’t coming?”

“I’ll be there soon,” I promised him with a quick kiss. “I have something to do first.”

Minho was hesitant to leave me behind, but I offered him another encouraging kiss before retreating in the opposite direction to my office. It seemed that I would need reinforcements for this particular occasion, and I knew there were only two men who I could force to help me. As such, I found Jeongin and Seungmin loitering around their desks, passing back and forth what appeared to be a paper airplane. “I wasn’t aware I made any prior aviation requests.”

Jeongin let out a small whine, quickly disposing of the distraction in the bin next to his desk. “Sorry, Mrs. Lee.”

“Look, I’m actually in a hurry today and there’s too much going on for me to handle your hijinks,” I said, beckoning the interns to follow me into my office. “I have an important assignment for you.”

“Of course!” Seungmin agreed, walking ahead to grab the door. “Whatever you need, Mrs. Lee.”

“It’s about Minho.”

“Lee Minho?”

I turned around to glare at Jeongin. “Who else? Or did I receive notice of another client with the same name?”

Jeongin shook his head furiously. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Lee. It’s just...”

“Minho has a history with interns,” Seungmin finished. “And maybe people in general.”

I laughed at their suggestions. “You’ll be with me the entire time, alright?”

They both visibly relaxed. “So we don’t have to help him?”

“Not directly,” I affirmed, moving around my desk. “Sit down, boys.” They both complied quickly, looking up at me with wide and innocent eyes that reminded me of my days in university. “Minho and 3racha have a recording session scheduled for this afternoon.”

Jeongin squealed from his chair. “The 3racha! I love their music! Oh, do you think it’d be too much to ask for an autograph?”

Upon seeing my glare, Jeongin quickly apologized. “Would it be too much to resist that urge, Mr. Yang?”

The younger boy sighed. “Sorry, Mrs. Lee.”

“Anyway,” I continued, ignoring their antics. “I have your assignments.”

Seungmin leaned forward expectantly. “Whatever you need, Mrs. Lee!”

“Your job,” I said, glancing back and forth between Jeongin and Seungmin, “is to make sure that Minho doesn’t piss off 3racha.”

“How?” Jeongin asked with sad eyes that almost forced me to change my mind on the spot.

“Just make sure you’re at their recording sessions with me,” I said. “Intervene whenever it seems like they might argue.”

“Intervene?”

I sighed impatiently. “I don’t know, improvise or something, but nothing bad needs to happen or Mr. Park will chew my ass out for disrupting a perfectly good collaboration opportunity.”

Seungmin and Jeongin looked at each other before sighing in defeat. “Does this mean we’ll be getting a raise?”

Here’s the thing about my job: despite Minho’s insistence, he was not the only client I represented. For example, I was also currently working on the debut of a new boy group who were incredibly talented and highly charismatic. They were also obedient and respectful, doing whatever they could to make my job easier even though I never asked them to sacrifice their free-time to practice their dancing and singing. When I worked with their leader, I couldn’t help but think that my job was considerably easier in comparison to the extra effort sometimes required to fix Minho’s mistakes, like the time he showed up an hour late for an interview because I forgot to set the alarm in our bedroom. Nonetheless, it always seemed like I was doing something extra to remedy Minho’s abrasive nature, which explains why I was prepared to sacrifice two of the company’s interns for the betterment of the future.

“Are you ready?” I asked the younger boys, lingering by the doorway to the studio.

Seungmin managed a nod while Jeongin murmured something that I decided to interpret as his approval. I knocked on the door expectantly, slightly relieved when Minho greeted me on the other side. “There you are,” he said. “We couldn’t possibly start without you.”

I rolled my eyes, but followed him inside with my interns hot on my heels. Minho retired to the couch, hunched over his laptop as he worked with a frown. Meanwhile, Chan, Jisung, and Changbin were busy adjusting the sound equipment while Mr. Kim watched his clients with eager eyes.

“Stay here,” I said to my nervous interns before joining Minho on the couch. “Do you actually plan to help them?”

“Believe it or not, Y/N,” Minho said. “I’m not actually procrastinating...just putting the finishing touches on the initial demo.”

He lifted one of the earbuds, offering it to me with a grin. “Are you trying to ask me something?”

Minho scoffed. “Will you please listen to my finished demo?”

I snatched the earbud from him in response, plugging my right ear and blocking out the lingering noise from the studio. The soft cadence of the piano started to play from the computer, shortly followed by Minho’s familiar breathy vocals that never ceased to amaze me. My husband was gifted with a profoundly gorgeous voice that could reach high notes that even I would struggle to obtain.

“My voice sounds angelic, wouldn’t you agree?” Minho asked.

“I see your ego has somehow managed to grow overnight.”

Minho chuckled, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to my lips. “Don’t worry, I don't intend to sabotage the collaboration...I worked too hard on this demo.”

“I guess we can start then,” I said, stretching my arms high above my head as I waited for Minho to eject his flash drive. From the corner of my eye, I spotted Jisung approaching the two of us with a hesitant smile. “Good morning, Jisung,” I said, nudging Minho when he continued to remain silent.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said, holding up the flashdrive. “I prepared most of the song.”

“Really?” Jisung questioned, accepting the device from Minho. “I’d like to listen.”

Jisung returned to the sound booth and Chan accepted the flash drive with a brief glance over his shoulder at Minho. My husband remained silent while Chan opened the corresponding file on the computer and everyone listened with admirable concentration while Minho’s sweet music and tender voice filled the empty studio space.

“It’s good,” Changbin acknowledged at the end, even though his tone was somewhat reluctant.

“Good enough on its own,” Minho muttered and I shot him a warning look. “Fine,” he begrudged. “I have some ideas on the arrangements.”

“Sure,” Chan nodded, leaning back against the sound booth.

“We can split up the parts,” Minho continued. “I’ll handle the chorus.”

“I see,” Chan acknowledged. “I guess that means you want us to take the verses?”

“Logical, isn’t it?” Minho snarked. “I suppose you can add a rap verse or two since that’s your...thing.”

“I could try and sing as well,” Jisung offered. “We could harmonize over the final chorus.”

“You sing?” Minho snorted. “I thought you were a rap group.”

“Does that automatically disqualify us from being singers?” Changbin asked gruffly.

“Of course not!” I interfered, inserting myself effectively between Minho and Changbin. “I’ve heard some of your vocal work and it’s absolutely beautiful.”

Minho grumbled something indecipherable under his breath from behind me, but I ignored him and continued to do my absolute best to ensure the recording session progressed as smoothly as possible. “I hope you don’t mind, but my interns will also be joining us today for their field work.”

“That’s fine with me,” Chan spoke up from his position behind the sound station. “Should we start with finalizing arrangements?”

I ushered Minho forward whose expression revealed his reluctance. However, since he was on his best behavior, Minho started conversing with Chan and the others about arranging the vocals and rap verses for the song. In return, I sat down on the couch with my interns since I wasn’t skilled enough to comprehend their impressive knowledge of song production. I knew Mr. Kim was also quite unfamiliar with their vernacular, but the proud man continued to linger around the artists as if he could possibly offer something beneficial to the professionals.

I scoffed at the idea, turning to look at Seungmin who was busy playing some sort of application on his phone. “Is this your way of doing a good job?”

He jumped at the sound of my voice, closing out of his game before shoving his phone back into his pocket. “I’m paying attention!”

From my other side, Jeongin sighed happily. “Han has the best voice.”

I tried not to laugh at Jeongin’s starstruck expression, especially since Han Jisung was a very impressive vocalist, singing Minho’s lyrics like they had come from his own imagination. “He’s quite talented,” I agreed, studying my husband to try and determine if he also shared the same opinion.

But Minho was difficult to read when he was focused on his music. He never spoke during Han’s performance, waiting until the younger boy was finished before addressing him expectantly from the recording booth. Minho sighed, pressing the button to allow him to speak directly to Jisung. “It was alright for a rapper.”

I resisted the urge to bang my head against the wall as Jisung glowered at Minho. “I’m not just a rapper.”

“The tone isn’t right,” Minho carried on as if Jisung hadn’t spoken, “we need tighter vocals.”

“My vocals are fine!” Jisung bristled and I shoved at Jeongin’s arm who immediately jumped into action. The younger intern stood up abruptly, the unexpected action commanding the attention of the entire studio...

“Who wants coffee!”

I sighed at his dramatics, but it was a decent distraction. “Why not?” Chan asked, reclining back in his chair. “It seems like we have a lot of work to do.”

Sadly, truer words had never been spoken.

Graciously, Minho managed to keep his more radical opinions to himself for the remainder of our scheduled recording sessions with 3racha. Of course, my husband always had his ways of insinuating an insult through carefully chosen words. Nonetheless, I think all parties involved knew it would be to everyone’s benefit if we finished recording the new song without arguing about Minho’s dismissive comments.

In any case, Mr. Park was thrilled with the final result, inviting me and Mr. Kim to his office after listening to the finished product. “This is exactly what I envisioned,” he said with a bright smile. “The fans will love this!”

“It was a process, sir,” I admitted, sheepishly offering Mr. Kim what I hoped was a sincere apology.

“I’ve scheduled a shooting day for the music video,” Mr. Park said. “I have the perfect concept for the song!”

“I’m sure it’s brilliant, sir,” Mr. Kim added.

“Lee Felix and Hwang Hyunjin have agreed to choreograph the track,” Mr. Park said. “They have some very interesting ideas for your clients.”

It was only then when I remembered that Minho liked to arrange his own dances, but since we were already this far into the collaboration, he might reluctantly agree once more. “We’ll be there,” I reassured my boss.

Unfortunately, I knew it would be a horrible shooting day when I walked outside with Minho and saw a gray sky and light misting of rain. “This is already a mess,” I said, dragging my still sleepy husband to the car.

“How long will this take?” Minho grumbled.

“If you’re willing to cooperate,” I said, fixing him with a stern glance, “then I’d imagine we can finish by this evening.”

Minho yawned. “I hate music video shoots.”

“You poor thing,” I sighed. “Whenever you finally decide to become a director, then I’m certain you’ll insist on controlling that aspect of music production as well.”

“I feel like you understand my vision, Y/N,” Minho said with an airy laugh. “I’m too tired to argue today.”

I exhaled a sigh of relief, hoping that he was being honest. “Mr. Park invited the company’s best choreographers. Please don’t insist on doing your own performance.”

“As long as they won’t have me doing anything less than artistic,” Minho said. “We should be fine.”

I chose not to take my husband’s words to heart as we drove to the shooting sight together in silence. It had started to steadily rain the longer we drove, and I had a feeling that the sky itself was foreshadowing the impending breakdown threatening to destroy all the progress we made. But I was also an optimist, and Minho was usually the least abrasive when it came to shooting music videos.

I parked my car next to the company’s van, watching a few regular staff members unload equipment from the back. “Y/N, it’s not too late for us to drive to that adorable little breakfast restaurant we like so much,” Minho reminded me.

“Shoot the video and I’ll treat you to a gourmet dinner,” I said, reaching across the console to squeeze my husband’s hand.

He was still reluctant, but I was proud when he reached into the backseat for our umbrella. We stood close together, Minho’s hand firm around my waist. In the distance, I easily found Mr. Kim talking with his clients as they fought to stay dry under one of the company’s tents.

Mr. Kim saw me first, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Y/N, you’ve decided to keep us waiting again.”

“Blame it on the weather,” I said, closing the umbrella as Minho wandered over to talk with one of the directors.

“Oh! You mean the rain pushing us into a delay? I guess I didn’t notice,” Mr. Kim returned, rolling his eyes as he led me further into the crowd of people. I faintly recognized the younger men dressed in gorgeous outfits, recalling their appearance in various music videos from some of the company’s most distinguished artists. “Y/N,” Mr. Kim smiled. “I’d like you to meet Lee Felix and Hwang Hyunjin. They have some excellent suggestions for the music video.”

“The honor is mine,” I said, bowing respectfully to Felix and Hyunjin. “Minho is eager to work with you.”

Felix smirked. “You don’t have to lie to us, Mrs. Lee. We know your husband prefers to work alone.”

“Ah,” I murmured. “His reputation precedes him.”

“I hope he can appreciate our efforts,” Hyunjin added. “Felix and I have been working on some new choreography for the track.”

“He’s being compliant today,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“There isn’t much of a choice,” Mr. Kim said, startling when the director attempted to speak over the white-noise of the tent’s occupants.

“Attention! We’re starting inside the school for the first scene.”

I met Minho’s eyes over the crowd of moving staff, nodding for him to obey the director’s command. “What’s the concept, Mr. Kim?”

“Friends-to-lovers?” Mr. Kim shrugged. “Your pretty husband is the main character, which I’m sure will please him greatly.”

“It’s a high school setting?”

“Yes, and he has a crush on a school girl,” Mr. Kim said. “You should know this very well, Mrs. Lee, didn’t he seduce you in the same way?”

I ignored his jab. “And 3racha?”

“Protective friends, I guess,” Mr. Kim said. “The director assured me that it wouldn’t take long to film.”

“I hope not,” I said. “The less Minho has to be here, the better.”

“Cut!” the director growled. “Mr. Lee, this is not the same choreography that we discussed with Felix and Hyunjin.”

“I tried to improvise,” my husband defended himself.

There were less than two scenes left to film and I was very close to dragging Minho away from the film shooting and knocking some sense into him. “Follow the script we discussed,” the director said. “Let’s take five.”

Chan glared at Minho as he snatched a bottle of water from the snack table. “Is it too much to ask you to cooperate, Minho?”

My husband ignored Chan, pausing in front of me to bring his forehead against mine. “I’m tired.”

I shot Chan an apologetic smile as I smoothed my hands through Minho’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

He pulled back to look at Chan who was engrossed in conversation with Jisung and Changbin. “He’s impossible to work with.”

“What’s wrong now?” I sighed, feeling another impending headache courtesy of Minho’s behavior.

“I hate Bang Chan,” Minho said. “He keeps looking at your ass.”

“Who cares?” I nearly shouted, attracting the attention of a few camera workers. “Minho, the shooting is almost over. Please, for the sake of my mental sanity, can you try to listen to the director?”

Minho’s eyes betrayed his exhaustion. “I want greasy food for dinner and a cheesy movie when I get home.”

I laughed, amused by Minho’s behavior. “Whatever you want.”

“Minho!” the director yelled. “We need you back on set.”

Minho closed his eyes and sighed. “He’s lucky I’m a professional.”

I was lingering by the snack table, picking my way through the bowl of skittles because I only liked the red kind, when I heard the unexpected sound of yelling from somewhere inside the school. My husband’s voice was easy to detect about the noise, and I stuffed a handful of candies into my mouth before deciding to investigate. As much as I’d like to imagine that the yelling was a part of the music video, common sense told me that my husband had likely gotten into another confrontation with the director.

However, the last thing I expected to see was Minho marching through the open doors of the school with Chan following him with clear annoyance. “I’m telling you it’s not good enough,” Chan said, frowning when Minho stopped by my side.

“I don’t want to film it again,” Minho said. “Besides, your reaction was genuine. The best ‘acting’ you’ve done all day.”

“What’s going on?” I demanded.

“Nothing,” Minho said, glaring at Chan as he reached for my hand. “The collaboration required a song and we have a finished copy and a music video. I’ve done my part, so if you’ll kindly excuse my wife and I...”

Chan shook his head. “Do whatever you want, Minho. I don’t care anymore.... But the sad part in all of this is how much I was sincerely excited to work with you, despite your reputation.”

Minho seemed at a loss for words, glancing back and forth between me and Chan. “I can’t share your sentiment, Chan,” he finally said. “I think it’s best if we make this a one time thing.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Chan agreed with a disappointed sigh.

I could only helplessly stand aside as the two bickered, wondering if it was too late to formally retire.

Sunday was the only day of the week where I could actually enjoy myself without having to worry about the company or the never-ending demands of my clients, with the exception of my husband. “Y/N,” Minho slurred from next to me in our bed.

I made a vague noise of recognition, pulling the blankets closer to my chin because it was too cold in the apartment. “What?”

“Your phone is vibrating,” Minho said, and I managed to crane my head back just enough to realize that he was right.

I reached out my hand to feel for the stupid thing on the nightstand, pulling it close enough to read the message displayed across the screen:

From Mr. Kim: Mr. Park planned some sort of elaborate interview/performance for the new collaboration. Make sure Minho is at the company tomorrow by noon.

“Who is it?” Minho asked, using one arm to drag me closer to his welcoming heat.

“Mr. Kim,” I murmured in return.

“Why?” Minho growled.

“Apparently, you have an interview with 3racha tomorrow. Mr. Park wants a live performance for the debut of the collaboration.”

“I thought I was done with them,” Minho said with a tone that suggested he was anything but pleased with the news.

“It’s just one performance,” I argued. “And you promised me that you would finish all your responsibilities.”

“You keep adding more things,” Minho gruffed.

I smirked, rolling onto my side to face my husband. “I think it’s a great idea to let the fans hear it live on the same day it starts streaming.”

“Can’t they just play the recording of my parts?”

“It won’t be the same,” I said, leaning in closer to brush my lips across the seam of his pout. “I’ll be the loudest fan screaming your name from the back.”

He chuckled, allowing one hand to pull me in closer. “Aren’t you always my biggest fan?”

“Lee Know, will you sign my albums?”

“You’re a good negotiator, sweetheart,” he said, diving in for a passionate kiss that reminded me of when we first started dating and Minho was always eager to shower me with affection.

“Minho,” I gasped, barely restraining a moan when he suddenly moved between my thighs.

“I’m sorry I’ve made things difficult,” he said, pressing sweet kisses to the skin around my calves. Tender moments like this reminded me of the person I fell in love with, slowly learning that there was more to Minho than his arrogant stage persona.

“Please,” I whispered, helping him remove my sweatpants before weaving my fingers through his hair.

“Anything for you,” Minho said, breath hot against my sensitive skin. He stuck out his tongue, tasting the heat between my legs with languid strokes that promised the best wake-up call to start the day. Not that Minho and I did anything substantial on Sundays since we preferred to watch movies and indulge in the glorious high of junk food.

More often than not, we always ended up in this position with my husband doing his best to please me. And I had no room to complain because Minho was awfully talented with his tongue, and he had me writhing against the mattress like a complete mess. “You’re too good at this,” I complained halfheartedly.

His nails dug into my hips, holding me in place while he continued to drive me over the edge. “Are you going to cum for me?”

I always broke at his husky tone, lying spent in my post-orgasmic haze as Minho feathered light kisses across my legs. In moments like this, it was impossible to think about the negative aspects of working for the company, or the drama of the collaboration. Besides, it was only one more day and Minho never broke his promises.

I found a strange, but calming quality to pacing back and forth when I came across a problem that was incredibly difficult to solve. For example, arriving at the office early to prepare last minute forms while fully expecting my husband to show up to his scheduled interview and performance without my intervention. Yet, despite my expectations, I was currently backstage with Mr. Kim and his clients while we listened to a crowd of eager fans waiting to hear the new collaboration. Unfortunately, my husband was nowhere to be seen, and that meant our schedule was in jeopardy.

“Where’s Minho?” Mr. Kim nearly screeched, raking his hands through his balding hair while remaining heavily engrossed in his phone screen.

The performance was supposed to start ten minutes ago and the fans were clearly confused. A distinct murmuring of intermingled voices echoing throughout the soundless concert hall. “Y/N?”

I turned around, using every last ounce of strength I could muster to meet Chan’s gaze. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Is that so?” Chan asked, and the anger in his eyes was enough to nearly give me a premature heart attack.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, desperately ringing Minho’s number once again only to be met by the familiar greeting of his voicemail inbox.

“I knew that bastard would ruin this,” Changbin said. “He was determined from the start to see this fail.”

“It was one performance,” Jisung bemoaned, and I could only feel absolutely miserable listening to their shared complaints. But, in the words of my formidable boss, the show must go on and I couldn’t bear to disappoint the eager fans waiting to hear the song they loved.

Speaking of which, I reached out a hand to support myself against the wall when I saw Mr. Park walk backstage with his assistants. Our eyes met from across the room. “Mr. Park,” I managed, but my throat was suddenly dry despite the three empty bottles of water I had consumed.

“Y/N,” Mr. Park sighed, eliminating the distance between us. “Tell them to have 3racha perform without Minho. Our phone conversation today has certainly changed my mind about the viability of his collaboration.”

“You talked to him?” I growled, feeling nothing short of betrayed since my husband had repeatedly ignored my phone calls.

“We’ve reached an impasse,” Mr. Park explained solemnly. “Please tell Mr. Kim about the change.”

“But sir!” I tried to protest because I was extremely confused and had no idea what we needed to tell the fans.

However, Mr. Park was already focused on a new task and instead of delaying the inevitable, I found Mr. Kim talking urgently to a stage hand next to the curtain. “Introduce 3racha,” I said. “Tell them that Minho had an unexpected emergency.”

Mr. Kim, if it was even possible, grew even redder to the point where I hesitated to call for help backstage. “This is an outrage!” he finally growled, crowding me against the wall. “If this goes wrong, then I hope you know that it’s entirely your husband’s fault and his mistakes reflect poorly on your performance.

I bowed my head, because I knew that part of the blame rested on my shoulders as Minho’s manager, especially in regard to the mysterious phone call he shared with Mr. Park. In the meantime, I could hear the crowd cheer for the arrival of 3racha who performed to the best of their ability without my husband. Still, it broke my heart to know that he had somehow been excused from the performance after promising to complete the remainder of his responsibilities.

But I still wanted to give Minho the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps something happened when I left for the company and he was forced to call Mr. Park? Still, my optimism didn’t stop my hands from shaking from my grip around the steering wheel, pulling into my usual parking spot with a heavy sigh. Before our marriage, there were plenty of times when Minho tested my patience. For example, on multiple occasions I had come very close to handing in my request to have him transferred to someone else because he was sometimes impossible to handle. However, each time I would threaten to leave, Minho always convinced me to stay, turning his entire attitude around and doing his best to make up for his mistakes. He was usually successful, but today’s mishap forced me to question whether or not he was capable of recovering from this unexpected slight. And it wouldn’t just jeopardize my relationship with him as his manager, but also the close intimacy I shared with him as his wife.

I paused at the door to our apartment, trying to listen for any sound of movement from inside. “He’ll have a good excuse,” I attempted to justify, unlocking the door before dragging my feet into the entryway. “Minho?” I called out, greeting nothing but silence before I walked downstairs to his studio where Minho often liked to escape when he wanted to be alone.

I was surprised to see him inside, working on his computer as if today was just another ordinary session. “Minho,” I snapped, opening the door without bothering to knock. “We need to talk.”

Minho sighed, glancing away from his computer screen. “I know Mr. Park cancelled my performance.”

“Yeah? And you don’t think that there’s something wrong!”

“Y/N, don’t worry about the interview,” he replied. “Park called me earlier and told me he would take care of everything.”

I slowly exhaled. “I know he called you, but I don’t understand why it happened.”

“He said it wouldn’t be the last time I was involved with marketing,” Minho continued. “I told him I was under the impression that today would be the last performance. We argued for a while and he told me that I shouldn’t bother showing up today if I wasn’t committed to the project.”

I blinked twice, trying to process his words. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, barely restraining the anger. “I called you several times before Mr. Park showed up backstage.”

“I knew you’d be disappointed,” Minho said with a vulnerable tone I could hardly tolerate. “It’s not a big deal. Park knows about everything, and tomorrow we can forget about the collaboration.”

He looked at me like he was expecting me to just agree with him, but I was beyond words. Instead, I turned my back to him and retreated upstairs to our bedroom. I had fought with my husband before, but this was an entirely new level of anger and frustration.

I could hear Minho following me, but I refused to acknowledge his attempts to gain my attention. “You’re an asshole sometimes,” I growled, storming around the bedroom to find a spare set of sheets in the closet. “Let me know when you’re done being the world’s biggest jerk.”

“What are you doing?” Minho asked, blocking my path to the doorway. “We’re not done talking about this if you’re upset.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m done and you don’t always get your way,” I snapped, pushing past my husband into the living room.

“Y/N,” Minho said, reaching for my arm despite my attempts to ignore him. “I’m sorry.”

“No you aren’t,” I said, spinning around on my heel to confront him. “If you were sorry, then you’d try to make things right, but your ego has grown to such a monumental size that you can’t even accept the added weight of another mistake.”

“What are you saying?”

“You can’t make this right,” I said, tears obscuring the vision of my husband. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Sweetheart,” he said, expression transforming completely when he realized I was truly on the verge of a breakdown. “You know I’m not mad at you! Park knows everything, he was the one who told me not to show up!”

“It doesn’t matter,” I cried. “I asked you to do something that’s surprisingly simple for most people. Not because I wanted to punish you, but because I saw an opportunity to help Lee Know! But after the stunt you pulled today, I don’t think I’d bother helping you anymore.”

The single tear that fell from Minho’s eye would have normally been enough for me to recognize his guilt, but I wasn’t in the mood to fall back into the tedious cycle of forgiving him only to deal with another mishap in the future. “Y/N,” he said softly. “Please don’t leave me.”

I shook my head. “I need some time to think about things.”

“What do you mean?” he asked with a desperate tone. “We should talk about this, I can make it better!”

“Just let me sleep,” I begged him and he broke even more, releasing my hand with an uncharacteristic whine.

I tossed my blanket onto the couch, attempting to find a comfortable position on the leather. It was a far cry from the mattress in our bedroom, but I desperately needed space away from Minho. For now, I didn’t want to deal with the reality of our situation, which is why I was more than willing to drown myself in the familiar darkness of sleep.

The smell of bacon was surprisingly overwhelming when I woke up the next morning with lower back pain. I groaned, attempting to sit up despite the near constant throbbing. Apparently, leather sofas were built for style instead of comfort.

I opened my eyes slowly, feeling my heart jump inside my chest when I saw Minho holding a plate in my direction. “Y/N, are you okay?”

I swiped a hand across my face, remembering my argument with Minho from the previous evening. “I’m fine.”

“You should eat,” he insisted so I accepted the plate from him, shaking my head when I realized the toast was burnt, but Minho had never been a great cook. “I want to talk about last night,” Minho said. “Because you’re obviously hurt and that’s the last thing I wanted.”

“What did you expect?” I asked. “You weren’t there for the performance, you ignored my calls, and then my boss tells me that one of his artists decided he was done promoting his new single?”

Minho winced at my tone. “It’s all my fault because I decided to take everything personally. He forced me to do the collaboration when I didn’t want to participate, and it felt like he was taunting me...like I had no control over my music and he could do whatever he wanted.”

“He can, Minho,” I said. “You signed a contract with the company.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I keep forgetting that part, and it’s really stupid how much I let it affect me, but I hate it when things are out of my control.”

“But that’s no reason to take it on the people who were only trying to do their job,” I snapped. “Or refuse to tell your own wife!”

“I understand,” Minho nodded. “I was too caught up in my problems to realize that everyone was suffering because of my decisions.”

“What are you going to do about it?” I asked, holding my breath because I was dreading his answer.

“I’ll apologize to them,” Minho said, hanging his head in shame. “I need you to know that I’m sorry for everything.”

My heart broke at the sorrowful expression he wore, completely uncharacteristic of my husband...as was his decision to apologize since I halfway expected Minho to threaten his leave from the company. However, I also sometimes forgot that Minho was more than the way he acted around other people, and his sincerity was perfectly evident for me to recognize. “I know you are, but sometimes you do things without thinking about the consequences.”

“I’m aware,” he chuckled. “And I usually don’t really care, but that’s selfish...especially when it hurts you.”

“It is selfish,” I agreed. “How do I know you won’t do this again in the future?”

“Because I’ll remind myself of this moment,” he said. “I’ll remember what happened last night and do whatever I can to prevent it from happening again.”

I was stunned by his determination. “Are you really going to apologize to everyone?”

“I am,” he nodded. “Of course, your forgiveness matters the most.”

I took a deep breath, processing his words and the steady way he continued to hold my gaze. “You know I forgive you.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly, leaning in to press a chaste kiss against my lips. “I need you more than anything else in the world.”

My heart warmed at his declaration. “I wonder what everyone at the company would think if they saw how cheesy you are.”

“Are you going to tell on me?”

“Not as long as you behave,” I returned, laughing at the way he held me tighter, feeling nothing short of safe and secure in his familiar embrace.

Mr. Kim was surprisingly calm when I requested a meeting between our clients. In fact, I was shocked that he even accommodated my request considering our bad relations. However, I recognized an opening, walking down the hallway next to Minho who was clearly nervous as he hugged the bottle of champagne we brought as an apology gift.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Mr. Kim greeted us upon our arrival, sparing Minho a grimace before inviting us inside the studio.

Chan and Jisung were sitting together on the couch, glancing up only when Minho paused in front of them. Meanwhile, Changbin stood against the wall, watching my husband with narrowed eyes. Minho held tightly to the bottle of champagne in his hands, glancing between the three men who all wore similar expressions of disdain. “I’m sorry for the interview,” he said. “It was really selfish and immature.”

Chan arched one eyebrow, glancing between me and Minho. “Really?”

I quietly offered Minho a small push against his lower back, encouraging him to continue. “I rehearsed this,” Minho chuckled, “but it’s hard to swallow my pride.”

“Take your time,” I whispered to him softly.

“Well, let me start by saying that I was wrong about the whole collaboration thing,” he said. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be and you guys did everything to help us succeed.”

Changbin scoffed. “You certainly made it more difficult.”

Jisung nodded furiously in agreement. “I don’t think I’ve ever had this much trouble with promotion.”

“I know,” Minho agreed. “I was just upset because I have this stupid thing with Park and he knows that I have...problems working with other people.”

“That’s an understatement,” Changbin said, glowering at my husband with obvious disapproval.

“Honestly,” Minho said, swallowing hard. “The song is one of my favorites. I wouldn’t mind collaborating again in the future.”

“Well-” Jising broke off, staring at Mino with something akin to shock. “Huh?”

Chan frowned. “You really made us look bad on stage.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” Minho sighed. “I was being an enormous jerk, trying to stick it to the man or something ridiculous and it played out better in my head.”

I reached out a comforting hand, squeezing Minho’s shoulder for support. “I think he knows his decision was wrong.”

Minho nodded. “You might be upset with me and I understand. I’m sorry for everything that happened, and if you decide I don’t deserve to be taken seriously, then I won’t blame you.”

Minho ended his speech with a nervous cough, thrusting out the bottle of champagne in Jisung’s direction who accepted the bottle hesitantly. “Minho,” Chan said, closing his laptop with a sigh. “I know about your history when it comes to working with other artists.”

“It’s not exactly a glowing resume,” Minho admitted.

“No, but that’s the only reason why I know that your apology was sincere,” Chan said. “If you’re really serious, then I think we can move past this.”

Changbin nodded his agreement. “Mr. Park also explained some of the...politics behind the interview fiasco.”

“I guess it’s hard for you,” Chan shrugged. “I’m glad you came here to make things right.”

“And the champagne is nice,” Jisung added quickly to which Minho managed a smile.

“I’ll do whatever I can to make it up to you.”

“Well, if you were serious about collaborating again, we can start with line distributions,” Changbin said, leaning in with a smirk. “I want to sing next time.”

Minho laughed, nodding enthusiastically. “I think that’s a great idea.”

“In that case, we have cause for celebration,” Jisung cheered. “Mr. Kim, do we have spare glasses?”

In the meantime, I took a step back to allow the four men space to talk together, distributing several glasses of champagne before laughing at Jisung’s failed attempt not to spill anything on the carpet. It was certainly admirable, and I found myself simply watching Minho from across the room. This was nothing short of substantial progress, and I cherished the moment because it promised very good things for the future.

And at one point, Minho snuck away from his new collaborators to join me at the sound booth. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’m glad you’ve always been at my side.”

I reached out for his hand, watching Chan, Changbin, and Jisung hold up their champagne glasses in our direction. “You know? I’m really excited about your next project.”

Minho grinned, leaning his forehead against mine. “I think I could get used to this...as long as you’ll be there.”

I sighed happily, closing my eyes to remember this moment. “That will never change.”

#stray kids #skz #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids requests #stray kids imagines #stray kids oneshot #stray kids scenarios #skz oneshot #stray kids lee know #skz lee know #lee minho #lee know fanfic #lee know smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids minho #stray kids minho fanfic

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dw-writes · 4 years

Text

Trektober 2020 - Day 7: Soulmate AU + Interspecies Relationship - Leonard McCoy x Alien!Reader

Ooof thats a long title. This is a little longer than the other fics ive written for trektober, and it’s actually for Day 7 because I missed it yesterday. Based on a uuuuuuh fic that I may or may not eventually write for McCoy later, because I love Asterlites and I’ve done them before for Marvel and never really got to explore what I wanted to do with them on that fic so /shrug

ENJOY

Trektober Day 3 - In Uniform (Bones x Reader) || Trektober Day 4 - Aliens Made Them Do It (Bones x Reader) || Trekober Day 5 - Pining (Bones x Reader) || Trektober Day 6 - Captain’s Chair (Jim Kirk x Reader) || Trektober Day 7 - Soulmate AU + Interspecies Relationship (Bones x Reader) || Trektober Day 9 - Sex Pollen (Jim Kirk x Reader) || Trektober Day 10 - Historical AU (James Kirk and Leonard McCoy) || Trektober Day 11 - Stars (Leonard McCoy x Reader) || Trektober Day 15 - Shuttle Crash (Leonard McCoy x Reader) || Trektober Day 18 - Waiting by Bio Bed (Leonard McCoy x Reader) || Trektober Day 31 - Holiday Celebration (Leonard McCoy x Reader)

You’d always wondered about your starmate mark, always questioned what it meant. Everyone else’s marks were beautiful, lovely things on your planet – intricate swirls of gaseous nebulae and streaks of bright colors reminiscent of the stars that sat in the chests of every Asterlite you knew. They adorned cheeks and crested eyebrows and sprawled over wrists and chests and ribs and the mates of every Asterlite would recognize them in a heartbeat.

Yours, though, yours was different. Your starmate mark outlined the delicate bones of your dominate hand, as though someone had x-rayed it. You often stared at it as you worked, the thin black lines that traced your bones sometimes distracting enough to catch your attention for minutes at a time. No one else recognized it – not during your years in Asterla’s prestigious academies, or during your time interning at the nearby Federation Starbase. By the time you left your home planet to join Starfleet, you had taken to wearing gloves: it hid your odd starmate mark from prying and pitying eyes, at least.

You flew through Starfleet Academy – your knowledge of star systems and interspecies relations helped launch you through courses in both Command and Science tracks. During your second year, the third-year cadets were assigned to starships in an emergency dispatch to Vulcan. The following week, you watched an energy drill pierce the bay outside of Starfleet Academy, and finally learned about the starship Enterprise and it’s new, daring captain.

You vowed that by your fourth year, you would be on that ship.

During your third year, Starfleet archives in London were attacked, and the Enterprise was roped into another adventure that had your heart racing with every detail you heard. The Enterprise was all put destroyed during the interaction with Khan, leaving the crew grounded for months – months during which the funeral for Admiral Pike took place.

You were there, of course, along with every cadet and every member of Starfleet that was in San Francisco at the time. A girl you knew, an officer you had made friends with while the Enterprise was grounded – Uhura – helped you with your dress cap. You fussed at her as she produced a series of Bobbin pins.

“You are not sticking those in my hair!” you hissed at her, scrunching your nose as she forced the cap into place with her hand.

“Hold it there,” she commanded. You pursed your lips but did so. She eyed the gloves you wore – grey, to match the dress uniforms – as she delicately pulled the long points of your ears out from under the cap. “Those aren’t standard issue,” she pointed out. She glanced over her shoulder as someone called her name, another officer from the Enterprise that you recognized – Commander Spock. Your heart raced a little in excitement: he was the First Officer, after all, and if you could get in his good graces, you could get a recommendation onto the ship.

“No,” you finally answered, focusing your eyes on her. Once the hat was secured to your head, and your ears bent unnaturally away from your head, you pulled the cuff of one glove down to show the delicate outline of your wrist. Uhura started to walk as she took your hand, pulling the glove up more and revealing more of your starmate mark. “It’s something everyone on our planet has,” you explained, pulling your hand away. “A mark that my mate would know.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

You fixed your glove as you approached Commander Spock, inclining your head towards him out of respect. He returned the nod. Uhura introduced you as the three of you continued your brisk pace towards the crowd.

“I remember you,” he said at the sound of your name, “You’re an excellent student. I imagine there will be captains vying for you to join their crews at the end of your term.”

“I actually want to join the Enterprise,” you blurted. Heat crawled up your face when Spock arched an eyebrow. “It’s been a dream of mine since the Enterprise faced the Romulans during her maiden voyage. A stellar crew deserves a stellar crew mate.” You flapped your hands and gently swatted Uhura’s arm. “I can’t stop talking, Nyota, please—”

She caught your hand and smiled, slowing down as a group of finely dressed men started to approach. “Top of the class in both Command tracks and Science tracks. An excellent negotiator for interspecies relations and a top-notch stellar cartographer,” she said, rattling off your credentials like she had already memorized them. Her smile crew at the approach of a man you instantly recognized. “I’ve already told Jim that if he doesn’t accept the application when it appears in his inbox that someone will jettison him into space in the middle of the night,” she added.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

“You’re welcome,” replied Uhura.

Captain James T. Kirk smiled when he approached, flanked by a man that you had seen a few times in recent weeks. “The academy is willing to wave your fourth year, since you seem to already be taking those classes,” he said when he approached. He held out a hand. “Jim Kirk. Once Uhura told me about you and we got handed the five-year mission, it only made sense to make sure you were on the crew.”

You took his hand with a dry mouth and a nervous smile. “I’ll be sure not to disappoint, sir,” you said.

The man next to him cleared his throat and with a voice that made the warmth in your chest double, said, “It’s starting.”

You were separated from the crew after the ceremony – you needing to finish the required tests for your remaining courses and them being asked to attend the burial of Admiral Pike.

You didn’t seem them again for weeks.

When you did, you were standing in the middle of the bridge leading towards the entrance of the Enterprise, holding your bag over your shoulder, wearing Science blues. Two unbroken gold rings encircled your wrists. Your gloves were black.

Uhura met you as soon as you boarded with a wide smile. “Commander,” she teased, holding out the emblem you’d wear on your chest for the foreseeable future. You took it, fumbling it around as you followed her, trying to pin it into place. “You’ll have to go to the Med Bay for a physical before we leave,” she said as she took your bag. “You’re the last one to arrive, you know.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you said as you jogged to keep up with her excited pace. “I got lost and then when I found it I was just,” you took a deep breath, “Floored. This ship, it’s gorgeous, and I’ve been trying for years to get here, and—”

She stopped you with a hand on your shoulder. “I know,” she said. She squeezed it. “You’re here.” Her smile grew soft and small and she repeated the words so gently that you thought you would cry. “Hurry with your physical. You’ll wanna be on the bridge when we take off.” She lifted your bag. “Then, I’ll show you to your room.”

You nodded and swallowed the lump in your throat. She turned to your right, while you headed left, following the signs down to the Med Bay at the end of the hall. It was bustling with staff that were preparing to leave and other officers and crew members who, like yourself, had been running late.

The man you had seen before, at the funeral, turned when you entered, eyebrow arched as he called your name. You straightened. “You’re late,” he pointed out. He waved to a bio bed, silently ordering you to take a seat.

You complied. “The ship is still docked,” you said with a small, teasing smile, “So, I’m not that late.” You glanced up in time to see him roll his eyes. “It’s Dr. McCoy, right?” you asked.

“That it is,” he said. He frowned at the readings on the bio bed, then said in a softer voice, “Your heart rate is awfully high, darlin’. Nerves?” He stepped in front of you and held out his hands. You set your gloved ones in his palms. “Mind if I take these off? Wanna check your fingers.” He glanced up at your face, “They speak to circulation.”

“Oh.” You tugged on the fingers of your gloves and said, “I have a mark.”

“A mark?” he asked. You tugged your last glove off and held out your hands. He took your dominant hand with an interested, “Huh.”

“They’re—”

“Bones!” called Jim from the entrance of the Med Bay. Dr. McCoy rolled his eyes and turned, his fingers still clasped around your hand. You stared at him, heart thundering in your chest, eyes roaming over the gentle curls of bright colors that peeked over the zipper of his uniform. “We’re ready to go,” said Jim as he approached. He grinned when he spotted you, and added, “You should come up, too. See your first warp.”

“I’m in the middle of something,” pointed out McCoy – Bones.

Bones.

The name echoed in your head and you stared at the bones on your skin.

“You can do finish it when we’re on the way,” Jim said, slapping his hand against McCoy’s shoulder before turning and leaving. “I’ll hold the Lift for you!”

Bones turned to you with an annoyed sound, glancing down at your hand still held in his. “We’ll need to continue this later, darlin’.” He smoothed his thumb over the detailed lines of your knuckles.

“That’s fine,” you whispered, “I don’t mind.” As he looked up and met your gaze, you got the feeling that he didn’t mind too much, either.

#trektober 2020 #star trek #leonard mccoy #leonard mccoy x reader #leonard bones mccoy #leonard bones mccoy x reader #star trek aos

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candy-and-writing · 4 years

Text

But With Three Of Us, Honey, It’s A Side Show

Summary: You and Bucky have a unique. . . friends with benefits relationship. He told you when you started that he didn’t date, that he didn’t do relationships. But you start to fall for him, anyway.

Warnings: 18+, smut, explicit smut, angst, oral sex (f), fingering, slight Steve x reader, mention of oral sex (m), soft! Bucky, dom! Bucky, mention of alcohol use and abuse, mention of substance abuse, Steve is a sweetheart

A/n: so this is for @p8tn0lish ‘s Sweet 200 Challenge.It was due like two weeks ago, but I suck, so :P

The one sex scene is loosely based off that one Endings, Beginnings scene with Seb in the kitchen (you know the one I’m talking about)

Feel free to leave comments and likes to let me know how you liked it! Enjoy!

I am NOT responsible for your media content consumption. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and/or dark themes. By reading this work you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party app or website; if you are seeing this work anywhere other than tumblr and archiveofourown, it has been reposted without my permission.

You still weren't quite sure how you ended up in this predicament, laying on your stomach with your ass up in the air as Bucky pounded into you ruthlessly, fucking away the stress of the latest mission.

He palmed your ass with his hand, squeezing your flesh before giving it a quick slap, causing you to yelp into the mattress. It amazed you how much you both needed this—how much you needed Bucky to be in control just as much as he needed it, how much you needed to relinquish power over your choices, to just let someone choose for you.

Bucky was the one who came to you with the proposal, after a drunken night of fucking until you were both sweating vodka. You thought it would be a good idea—no strings attached. Just a friend to come to when one of you needed to forget.

Now, though, as he pounds into you with his fingers locked against your throat, growling filthy things and calling you a good girl, you think you would've been better off taking a Xanax and drinking some of Tony's expensive whiskey until the combination knocked you out cold.

With a feral growl, Bucky came, tightening his grip on your throat until the edges of your vision turned black. He pulled out of you, the slightest whimper escaping your lips as he stood from the bed, taking off the condom and marching into the bathroom. You rolled over onto your side, catching your breath.

Bucky came back into your room, his boxers on, and handed you a damp rag.

"Here." You pushed his hand away with a grunt, Bucky chuckling as you closed your eyes. "That good, huh?"

You hummed in response. Sleep shrouded you, calling your name and you just wanted Bucky to lay down next to you. Cracking your eyes open, you saw Bucky pull his shirt down his torso. He brushed a strand of hair away from your face, whispering goodnight to you.

"Stay," you muttered, keeping his hand in place on your head.

Bucky huffed out a laugh. "I don't do cuddling, doll."

"It's only cuddling if you make it cuddling," you retorted, a snarky smile spreading your lips. "C'mon, you can sneak out in the morning. Please?"

He seemed to be considering your proposal, deep in thought as he sighed, pulling his wrist out of your grasp. "Another time. Get some sleep, doll."

You tried to hide your disappointment as Bucky walked out of your room. You ran your hand through your sweat-soaked hair, turning on your back as you stared at the ceiling until sleep took over.

Bucky came to you again the next night.

You had barely cracked your door open before he barreled in, slamming it shut behind him and pulling you into a bruising kiss. You let him, melting into him almost too easily. He pushed you back until your legs hit the bed, forcing you down.

"Bucky," you breathed, grabbing at his hands as he tugged at your nightshirt. He ignored you, nibbling at your neck. "Buck. Bucky, wait. Stop."

Bucky pulled away reluctantly, his eyes dark as he scowled at you. "What?" he growled.

"Talk to me," you said quietly. You could read him like a book—the way his shoulders tensed, the crease of his eyebrows, the way his jaw ticked when the words left your mouth.

Bucky sighed. "It's nothing, doll, really. It just. . . it hasn't been a good day."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He chuckled humorlessly. "If I wanted to talk, I'd go to Steve. I don't want to talk—I want to forget."

"Whatever you need." Because that was the truth. You'd give him whatever he needed, and if that meant he needed you to lay down so he could pound into you until you lost consciousness, then that was exactly what you'd do.

Bucky kissed you then, hot and heavy and desperate. He shoved you down onto your back, his knees on either side of your waist.

"Safeword?" he asked you.

You swallowed, the breath leaving your lungs. "Brooklyn."

He smirked. "Good girl."

Things between you and Bucky only escalated. He came to your door almost nightly—sometimes after a nightmare, other times it was just after the last waking Avenger went to bed.

You hated it. You hated the way he worshipped your body, how he whispered filthy promises into your ear, how he called you 'doll' in that husky tone that sent shivers down your spine. You hated the power he had over you.

You just finished a mission in Prague with Steve and Bucky, some HYDRA lackies dealing illegal weapons across the borders. You were hot, sweaty, and you hadn't taken a shower in over four days. What seemed to bother you most is that Bucky hasn't touched you in those four days. You couldn't, not with Steve there. It was too risky.

Bucky was ready to jump you by the time the quinjet landed, speeding past you with a knowing look. Bedroom. Now.

Debrief was in an hour, which gave you and Bucky plenty of time to. . . wind down. You scurried to your room, finding Bucking already standing by your bed.

"Took you long enough," he huffed, his brow creased. "What'd you do, stop for ice cream?"

"Ha, ha," you snorted, smiling as you dropped your duffle bag onto your desk. You jumped when you felt Bucky's hand brush your hair over your shoulder, the tips of his fingers skimming against the nape of your neck. Shivers danced down your spine, his lips caressing your neck as you inhaled a shaky breath.

"M'gonna take you right here," he whispered hotly in your ear. "Then we're gonna take a shower."

You nodded eagerly, eyes closed as you relished in his heat. You gasped as he tugged at your tac suit.

"God, I missed you."

You melted into his touch, leaning against his chest as he nibbled at your exposed shoulder. He pulled the zipper down to your naval, yanking the fabric down your torso and leaving your top half bare.

"Missed ya so much," he muttered huskily in your ear, more to himself than to you. But you heard it. It sent a shudder down your spine and made your knees weak.

You spun on your toes and kissed him, your hands reaching up to cup his face. His fingers dug into your ass and pulled you up, your legs wrapping around his slim waist. He took a step forward and swept an arm over your desk, knocking your duffel bag and several stacks of papers off the surface before he set you down.

He kissed his way down your neck, his hands working on shedding you of your uniform. As he pulled the fabric down your legs, he dropped to his knees. He tore your underwear down quickly before he looked up at you, his eyelashes fluttering. You sucked in a shaky breath, watching him as he dived in.

Your head fell back against the wall as Bucky devoured you with his mouth, his tongue zeroing in on your clit until you were squirming, your body tensing as your legs wrapped his head.

Bucky hummed against your flesh, sending vibrations up through your clit before continuing his ministrations until you thought you would explode. His tongue stayed focused on your folds, working you with his mouth until you were burning, hotter and hotter with each passing second.

You moaned as he inserted two fingers into you, pushing closer to the precipice. The pads of his fingers pushed up against your soft spot, causing you to preen. He continued to press against that trigger inside you, kept you balanced on the peak between his fingers and his tongue until you couldn't breathe; until you thought you would pass out.

He drew his fingers back then, fucking you with his tongue and you cried out, the pressure shattering in your gut and you came, fingers clutched in his hair as he lapped up your juices. You whined as you slumped back against the wall, weakly pushing his head away from your center, oversensitive.

Bucky pulled back, a sly smirk on his face as your juices soaked his beard. He stood, bringing you in for a sloppy kiss, all tongue and teeth and you could taste yourself on his lips. It was intoxicating.

"Let's take a shower," he whispered.

You both were late for the debriefing. Steve had given you both a disappointed look but didn't ask why. Throughout the entire meeting, Bucky kept stealing glances at you when Steve wasn't looking, distracting you when you were trying to present your part of the review.

Suffice to say, the debrief was messy. But Steve had gotten what he needed to write the report, so he let the two of you go. Bucky left with a short nod to his friend, not even sparing you a glance. You followed him out, your shoulders dropping when he continued to ignore you.

You stopped when you heard Steve call your name. You turned, watching as Steve jogged to catch up with you.

"What's up, Cap?"

"Uh, nothing, I—" He suddenly looked very uncomfortable. He scratched the back of his neck as you watched him. "I was just wondering if you were free tomorrow night?"

You let out a small chuckle. "I am. Why?"

Steve felt his cheeks heat up. "Would you wanna get dinner? With me?"

You raised your eyebrows in shock. "Oh."

"It's fine if you don't," Steve said. "Just forget I said anything—"

"No!" you interjected quickly. "No, I mean, I. . . ." You thought about Bucky for a second, your relationship and your feelings towards him. It was stupid to think he would ever feel the same, but going out with his best friend? "I'd love to, Steve."

Steve felt a weight lift off his chest. "Good. Great! You been to that new Italian place in the city yet?"

You shook your head.

"Good, I'll pick you up at eight?"

You smiled. "It's a date."

Steve smiled down at you. His phone buzzed. "I've gotta take this, I'll see you around."

"Bye." You watched him walk away, beaming to yourself like you were a girl with a highschool crush. You smiled the rest of the way to your room. The smile went away, however, when you found Bucky sitting on your bed.

"What'd Steve wanna talk to you about?" he asked, not looking up from the book he was reading.

"Nothing," you lied. You kicked your shoes off and looked at him. "Uh—I need to talk to you."

Bucky looked at you. "What's up?"

You swallowed thickly, your nerves jumping in your throat. "I think we need to end this—us." You motioned between you and him. Bucky frowned at you.

"What're you talking about, doll?"

"Don't—" you took a breath, "don't call me that—you know what I'm talking about."

Bucky stood, walking up to you. "What did Steve talk to you about?"

"It doesn't matter," you said. "Just. . . just listen to me—"

He had you pinned against the wall. "So let me get this straight: not two hours ago you had my dick in your mouth and now you want to end things? I think I at least deserve an explanation, doll."

"Because this isn't healthy," you spat. "What we're doing isn't healthy. We fuck each other silly instead of talking about our problems and you barely even look at me during the day. I mean, do you even like me?"

"Of course I like you. We're friends."

"We're not just friends and you fucking know it!" You shoved him off of you. "You want to know why I want to end things? Because Steve asked me out. And I think he might actually like me. I can't go out with him if I'm fucking his best friend, and I couldn't tell him 'no' because then I'd have to explain why!"

Bucky stared at you, perplexed. "Steve asked you out?"

You scoffed. "Don't act like you care. I don't even know why you wanted to do this with me in the first place, I mean, it's not like you—"

His lips were on yours, then, swiftly silencing you. The desperation rolled off of him in waves as he kissed you, his hands cupping your cheeks. It took you a moment to gain your senses, to push him off in mere confusion. You stared at him, dumbfounded. He was breathless, eyelids hooded as he stared at your lips.

"If you really want to end things," Bucky muttered, "if that's what you really want, then I won't stop you."

You swallowed thickly, nodding. "It is."

His shoulders slumped and you swore you saw Bucky's face fall. "Okay."

And just like that, he was gone.

#buck barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers

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lesbian-deadpool · 4 years

Text

“Soulmates”

Part One Of Three: Everything Hurts

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 2,339

Warnings: Unrequited love, relationship difficulties, cannon storyline (its a warning try me lol), I think that’s it.

Request: For the anon who donated to the Australian Bushfires, who wanted angst. Well, you got it, buddy.

Summary: You were her soulmate. But she wasn’t yours.

A/N: Thanks to @missmonsters2 for helping me out with this idea. Parts of this fic are inspired by ‘Peach Scone by Hobo Johnson and The LoveMakers’ I so hope this was angsty enough.

(Not my GIF)

***

You were being pushed through the door, of your shared apartment, by two hands on your back. The woman they belonged to giggling cutely. Not a care in the world. And only slightly intoxicated.

The door had only just closed behind you when the red-head had helped you spin around to face her. Your lips colliding fiercely, as soon as your eyes met.

Natasha was tugging at your clothes, as were you with hers, frantically trying to find the zipper to her tight dress.

You guys had just gotten back from one of Tony Stark’s infamous parties and were near enough running on pure bliss. It was the last one you would be attending for a while. As it was yours and Natasha’s leaving party and wouldn't be in the tower enough to attend every party. You enjoyed yourselves, no matter how bittersweet it was. You were sad that you were retiring from the superhero life, but were over joked to be starting this new chapter with your fiancé.

And you knew the perfect way to finish off the celebration.

“Leaving with a bang” as they say.

“Natasha?” You asked, shaking the Black Widow gently, I mean, you weren’t entirely insane, “Natasha?”

With a mumble she awoke, blinking groggily at your face, using her arms to lift her up off her stomach slightly, from where she had fallen asleep on the common room’s sofa.

“You were whimpering,” you told her, with a worried look on her face, “Are you okay?”

“Umm...”

How was she supposed to tell you she was having a sex dream about you, where you had the life she wished you had together?

“Yeah, it was just a nightmare.”

That’s right! She wasn’t.

“I’m fine now,” she said standing up, “Thanks for waking me.”

“Anytime.” You smiled, cocking your head to the side. And Natasha swore she didn't know she could fall for you any harder.

“Well, see you around, Y/N,” Natasha uttered, beginning to make her way to her bedroom.

“Oh, yeah, shoot! I gotta meet Penny for our date. Bye, Nat!”

Ah, Penny. The woman Natasha hated for no other reason than the fact that she was with you. You. Perfect, wonderful, you.

The love of Natasha’s life.

Now, Natasha wasn’t one to believe in the childish theory of soulmates.

But if she were to think about the term ‘soulmates’, and picked it apart to its very core, converting it into a science. Now science. Natasha believed science. And she would be left with no other reason than to believe with everything she had, that you two were meant to be.

That you were “soulmates”.

Or as close as you could get.

But, sadly. Life never worked out in Natasha’s favour.

As you believed that Penny was the closest thing you could get to a soulmate. As did your brunette girlfriend. And the rest of the fucking world!

The team and high-level S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents commenting on how perfect you two were together when she came over to visit. How you two were “meant to be”.

Natasha could hardly bare it. Sadness filling her up to her brim every time she saw you together, you, or if somebody else mentioned her, anything that involved you two together.

She hated it. With a tearful passion. It made knots appear in her stomach, and twist so unnaturally, that she thought she could be ripped in half by the wrenching pain. Absolutely nauseous, as she had to fight off tears tooth and nail.

But no matter how heartbroken Natasha was, that you had found, the seemingly, perfect person, that sadly wasn't her. She was happy for you. Beyond so. All she wanted was for you to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with her like she wished.

She loved you. And you were happy. And at the heart of it all, that’s all that truly mattered.

“Bye!” she could only call out softly, as you disappeared in the elevator. Wanting, more than anything, to be able to ask you ‘not to go’, to ‘stay with her, please’, to ‘realise how much she is in love with you’, and beg for you to ‘give her a chance’. But she didn’t. And she never would. For as long as you were with your ‘one and only’. Natasha wasn’t even sure you had heard her say her goodbye.

With a frown, the Assassin sullenly walked away, towards her bedroom, where her sheets, crappy daytime TV reruns, and her many thoughts of you, to keep her company until she inedibility fell into an uneasy sleep.

***

“Hey, what’s up with you?” Natasha smiled as soon as she saw you sitting in the common room, her smile dropping when she noticed how you sad you looked, “Y/N?”

You gave an unceremonious groan, throwing your head back against the back of the couch. Natasha quickly coming to sit by your side.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly, hand coming to caress at the back of your neck comfortingly, whilst the other rested just above your knee.

“Penny and I had a fight.”

You felt Natasha’s grip tense but thought nothing of it.

“What happened?” Natasha asked, voice slightly harder than it was before.

You sighed.

“She said I spent too much time here. Working. Whatever.”

“Well, you are an Avenger. You kind of need to be here a lot.”

“Yeah, I know.” You nodded. “But... it just felt like she was giving me an ultimatum, y’know?”

Natasha thought about your situation for a short while, her hand that was previously on your neck, now rubbing up and down your back.

How could she do this to you?

You were trying to save the world, fighting so that she, and everyone else, could live without fear. Day in, day out, this is what you did. You managed to balance the hero life and your life with her, better than anyone she had ever seen.

And yet, that still wasn't enough.

Natasha wanted to say all those things. Every single one of them.

But she knew it would only make things worse.

So much worse.

So instead she said the things that you wanted her to say. That she would want if she was in your situation. The things she could tell were true.

“I’m sure she’ll come around, you just gotta give her time to think it through.”

“Yeah,” you said slowly, thinking about Natasha’s words deeply, “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, Nat.”

“It’s no problem.”

It was a problem. It was a big heart-wrenching problem. But she vowed to never tell you that.

***

A coo from Wanda made Natasha look over her shoulder, to where the brunette witch was leaning over the kitchen island. Following her gaze, she saw what Wanda was looking as. It was you. And Penny. On the couch, huddled together doing a crossword together, as your hand brushed through her hair.

A look of disdain broke through Natasha’s conceded barrier. Hurt shining in her eyes, but still unable to remove them from your forms.

Unknown to the red-head, she had moved to stand beside Wanda.

“Natasha?” Wanda called out to her, regaining her attention.

“Huh?”

Natasha schooled her features and turned to the younger woman.

“Sorry, what did you say, Wanda?”

Giggling, she repeated herself, “I said: Don’t you think they belong together, Nat?”

She took another long look at you two. Seeing how happy you looked together.

“Yeah,” she agreed, nodding sadly. Feeling like her heart was about to tear in half, and be ripped right out through her chest at the same time, “They’re happy.”

“Are you okay, Nat?”

“Hmm? Yeah,” Natasha said, she could tell that Wanda doubted her. Damn you, and your ability to make her well-tuned skill break, without actually doing anything. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You just seem... sad?” The young brunet cocked her head to the side, obviously worried about Natasha. But not quite there to knowing why Natasha seemed off, somehow.

“I’m fine, Wanda. Just a little tired.”

“Oh. Well, maybe I could make you some tea tonight, to help you sleep?”

“That would be nice.” Natasha smiled. “Thank you, Wan.”

Natasha was still in the kitchen.

Wanda had left to go chat with Clint about something.

So while she was minding her own business, flicking through a random cookbook that was left upon the counter, from when Wanda had used it the day before. Sipping the coffee from her steaming cup.

When a voice drew her attention towards them.

“Hi.”

Penny.

The brunette was pleasant enough, a bright smile tugging on her face.

Natasha faced her fully, glancing over to where you now sat chatting with Tony. The ex-playboy talking animatedly, probably something he was currently working on. Your face split into a grin, excited to hear what he was making, throwing you ideas at him, which made the both of giddy like school children.

A smile tugged at the corner of Natasha’s lips at the sight, then she remembered the woman standing in front of her.

“Hi, Penny,” she greeted, “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. I just thought that I’d come and hi.” Penny shrugged. “We haven’t really talked that much. And I know how much you mean to Y/N, and how much she would love it if we got to know each other a bit better.”

Oh, what fresh hell is this? Natasha thought.

“This is technically the first time we’ve properly spoken,” she continued, her nervousness showing through at Natasha’s silence.

Yeah, there’s a reason for that. Just can’t tell you.

Now, Natasha wasn't entirely cruel. But she had to admit that she wanted to see the girl squirm, only because of her disdain for you and her being together.

But wanting and doing, were very different things entirely.

“Oh, yeah. Y/N has told me so much about you,” Natasha said, making Penny smile. And Natasha remembered that she had no right to hate her as much as she did, “All of the things you do for her. How much you love her,” she listed off. “It’s so great. Y/N deserves it. You should keep doing those things.”

“I don’t ever plan on stopping,” Penny told her honestly, that bright smile still on her face.

Natasha pulled a tight-lipped smile, one that conveyed sadness. But lucky for her, Penny couldn’t read her the way her friends could, or at all, really.

“Yeah, they’re so great. Y/N was one of the first people to care for me when no one else did. I don’t think I ever felt love until I met her.” At this moment Natasha hated herself, because of the word vomit pouring out of her mouth.

Penny cooed softly. “Well, that’s my, Y/N.” Poor, clueless Penny.

Natasha hated her calling you, ‘her Y/N’. She had glanced down when Penny said that, hiding the tears that started to burn behind her eyes.

God. She couldn’t handle this much longer.

“She’s so lucky to have friends like you.”

‘Friends’.

“I’m lucky to have them.”

And she was.

Natasha felt so fucking lucky, that she was graced with a person like you. With all the things she had ever done. With all the pain she caused. The hell she has made. You. For some strange, unknown reason, chose to look at her with your bright eyes, looking past all that. Making Natasha feel like the only person in the world, you would ever look at like that.

Then you met Penny.

And now she truly knew what you looked like when you saw someone as your one and only. Because she would watch you look at Penny that way.

That’s when she realised you would never look at her that way. And she was stupid enough to believe you had seen her that way before.

So, Natasha was left alone, with the thoughts of you, and being with you. Like she always had.

“I don’ want her to get hurt, y’know?” Natasha said, but before Penny could reply, she continued, wanting nothing more than to get out of there, and that situation, which hurt her more than she liked to admit, “Good for you guys, though. For finding each other. I’m so happy for you.”

She’s lying through her fucking teeth right now. But at the same time, she meant every word she spoke.

Because, who was Natasha to get in between two people, who believed they had found the love of their life.

“Well.” Natasha pointed over her shoulder, with her thumb, in the direction of the room's exit. “I’ve got things I need to do. So... see you around, Penny.”

“Oh,” Penny said surprised at Natasha’s sudden leave, calling to the red-head as she walked away, “Okay, bye Natasha! It was nice talking to you!”

“You too, Penny.”

***

“Natasha?”

“Y/N?” Natasha spun around, her voice breathless, praying beyond everything that it wasn’t happening to you too. If the world were to do anything for her, just once, grant her one wish. She hoped it would be this one.

But life was never that fair, was it?

You looked away from your slowly vanishing hands and into Natasha’s eyes, they were quickly filling with tears. Taking a step towards her, you almost stumbled, and the red-head rushed to you.

Natasha held you in her arms, slowly lowering you to the ground, letting you rest partly in her lap. She rocked back and forth, as tears splashed across your face.

“Hey. Hey. Don’t cry,” you said, feeling the energy rapidly leaving your body. You knew this was the end. Yet all you could care about was Natasha crying above you. Because of you. And what was happening to you.

“Please,” she begged softly, watching your eyes slowly close, “Please don't leave me.”

She pressed a kiss to your forehead, as your body quickly turned to ash.

“I’m in love with you.”

Was the last thing she ever got to say to you, in a heartbroken whisper. And that was the last thing you heard.

Then you were gone.

#original work #original fanfiction #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #marvel #MCU #slight flashing gif #tw flashing gif #kinda

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