#& belated holiday gift from my brother means i have the first 2 on the way | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

libraryofloveletters · 3 years

Text

Love Delivered To Your Doorstep

Evan Buckley x Reader

Warnings: fem!reader, mentions of cheating, break ups and killing/serial killers. (<in a joking context)

Category: fluff for the most part.

Word Count: 3.9k

Author’s Note: Doesn’t follow canon, it has a little of buck begins in there but it doesn't follow a strict timeline. It also is written like Buck moves to LA and has his apartment from the moment he moves there while trying to figure out what he wants to do.

-----

Texting and calling was never your choice method of communication.

Letters had always been more of your thing.

Truthfully, they hadn't been your thing until your boyfriend moved halfway across the country for university. The two of you met in high school, freshman year and became inseparable since. Growing together and promising to always love each other no matter what -you always knew that couldn't be true but it never stopped you from telling him.

When he told you that he was going to be applying to UCLA during your senior year of high school, it came as a bit of a shock to you. The plan was always going to college together, get engaged when you were done school and then married with a house by 30.

You held out the hope of that being possible until the day he showed you his acceptance letter.

You were incredibly proud of him but it was real now, he was leaving.

You watched him pack up his entire life and uproot himself from New York and moved across the country. You sent the first letter to him at what was supposed to be his apartment.

September 30th.

‘Hi baby!

Just writing to see how you're settling in. How’s UCLA ? Have you gotten a chance to go around and get to see the place ? I know you’re there for school but you've got to live a little too. Hope your neighbours are sweet, your mom told me it’s a pretty nice place and it’s got a good view, sounds like your type of place. Hopefully I can come visit you soon.

I started my classes last week. My chem professor is a pain in my ass already, he expects us to read an entire textbook in a week - well not exactly an entire textbook but you get the point. My biology professor is a sweetheart, she showed us pictures of her kids and talked about them for an hour, I didn't realize being a mother was so interesting but she was cool. Also showed us a video of an appendectomy that one of her colleagues performed last week. How are your classes and professors ?

Did I mention I bumped into Sam at the grocery store ? Yeah, he’s back and he’s not fine to tell you the truth. He seemed like he was ready to snap but that might just be my judgment. He said to tell you hello if I spoke to you so- hello :)

I’m going to sign off here, I know this one is short but I don’t have much to update you on. Life’s been pretty dull without you. Hope you’re having fun out there, soaking up the sun for me.

Write me back soon, I love you.

Yours always, y/n’

You mailed the letter the next day, a few weeks had passed before you received a letter back. Except this letter had a different sender name but the same address.

October 22nd.

‘Hi y/n,

This isn't your boyfriend. (I'm assuming that’s who you're writing too based on the context of the letter) I’m Evan, I live in the apartment you thought belonged to your boyfriend or maybe you got the address wrong, I’m not sure. I know you were waiting for an update on all these exciting things that are happening at UCLA. I do not go to UCLA nor can I update you in anything exciting that’s happening there, sorry.

Anyways, the reason I'm writing you back is because I figured you’d want to know that this isn't the correct address and the person you were looking for isn't here before you send another letter and get no response. I was debating if I should have even written you back, but here I am, writing you back.

Your professor for chem seems like an ass to be honest (hope that’s not rude) and your biology professor sounds great, is she hot by the way ? because bonus points for that. Anyways, are you studying medicine ? I'm guessing yes because of the classes you're taking. I'm thinking of signing up to become a first responder but I haven’t decided yet on what yet or if I'm actually going to do it. Anyways, good luck on your classes and the shitty chem professor.

Hope you find your boyfriend (again, assuming)

Peace out,

Evan.’

To say you were shocked would be an understatement. How could the letter you sent to your boyfriend’s apartment belong to someone else ? Why was there someone else living in his apartment ? You dug through your apartment, searching for the paper he left you with the address, you finally found it buried in a drawer.

The address on the paper was identical to the one that Evan sent to you and to the one you sent prior to that. Either your boyfriend was lying or you were losing your mind.

November 4th.

‘Dear Evan,

I'm sorry that I sent the first letter to you and as you guessed, I was looking for my boyfriend who seems to be a bit MIA right now. His mother says that’s the right address and the place that she helped him move into. So I'm not really sure what’s happening there. Anyways, sorry for unloading all of that on you.

To answer your question, yes, I am studying medicine and no, she isn't hot. My bio professor is a 65 year old woman who loves her college aged kids very much. If that’s your definition of hot, then yes - she's got milf status

Have you decided yet if you’re going to sign up to be a first responder ? That’d be pretty cool. Imagine all the girls swoon over you and how many girls you’d pick up just for being a paramedic or a firefighter.

Wait, are you into girls ? Or guys ? You know, whoever you're into, just imagine how many of them you’d pick up.

Also, you’re not a murderer or anything right ? because I rather not answer questions when the police come asking about why I've been sending letters to a serial killer.

Anyways, signing off for now.

Yours always, y/n.

ps. if you do end up bumping into or meeting a guy that looks like my boyfriend, (tall, brown hair, brown eyes. he’s got a pierced ear and a little butterfly tattoo by his collarbone- though not sure why or how you'd see his collarbone) let me know or tell him that his girlfriend is looking for him.

Double ps, what size shirt do you wear ?’

Buck laughed at your absurd question. A person he didn’t even know was asking what size shirt he wore. The letter was set on the coffee table with the rest of the mail, getting buried under all of the stuff he had on there. It was almost the end of December when he realized that he hadn't written you back yet.

December 21st.

‘Hey y/n,

Sorry I've taken so long to get back to you. Things have been hectic over here. I’ve been doing some ‘soul-searching’ - I guess you could call it that and honestly, I don’t think if this whole first responders thing is for me.

I tried out bartending or well, the technical term is mixologist and I’m liking it so far, I think i’m going to stick with it for now.

How have you been ? How’s school ? Surely, you’re on break for the holidays right about now or at least when you get this letter. I hope that you're spending the break doing something fun.

I’m not going to make this very long, I’m sure you’ve been busy with whatever you’re doing right now.

Also, I’ve been meaning to ask. Have you located the mysteriously disappearing boyfriend yet ? I haven't seen anyone that fit your description.

well, that’s not true- I did and just to be sure I asked to see his collarbone, he looked at me like I was a mad man so I guess it wasn't him ?

Anyways, I hope you have a good holiday and you're probably gonna get this sometime between holidays, so merry belated (?) Christmas and happy New Years y/n.

Peace out,

Evan.

ps. medium or large, depending on what it is. Hopefully that answers your question weirdo.’

January 13th.

The morning of the 13th, he went down to check his mail. A box was there with his name on it, the return address was one he had only seen on an envelope. The box returned upstairs with him, setting it on the counter before opening it.

Upon opening it, there was a letter and some colourful tissue paper with what seemed like a sweater under it. He opened the letter first.

‘Dear Evan,

Happy New Years! How was your holiday going ? Did you do anything fun ?

I’ve been good and school is good too, I'm almost done my first year, isn't that crazy ? Just a few more months to go.

How’s your job as mr. mixologist going ? I'm sure you’ve met some wild people and heard some interesting stories.

As for the boyfriend situation, that's over. I’m not surprised to tell you the truth but it still kinda sucks. Anyways, so what happened was that his older brother had come home from college last year and brought a friend with him. She went to the same school as his brother but transferred to UCLA- anyways long story short, they hooked up while he and I were still together and he moved in with her after his mom helped him move into the apartment I thought he had.

But! I’m single and chilling now so it’s all good. (bonus, she cheated on him and left him so yeah)

I got you a little something for Christmas and as a “sorry for unloading all my boyfriend drama on you” present. I was in the gift shop and it made me think of you. Do you celebrate Christmas? I forgot to check oops. If you don't, count it as a just a “sorry for unloading all my boyfriend drama on you” present?

I got a large because I wasn't sure if it would fit. I hope you like it. That’s all for now.

Yours always, y/n.’

He unwrapped the tissue paper to see a blue sweater with the letters NYU on it. He smiled, he assumed that’s where you went. It was sweet that you took the time to get him something, even if it was a by the way thing. Not a lot of people would send something to a person they had been talking to via letters and halfway across the country.

February 12th.

2 days before Valentine's Day, your least favourite holiday of the year. You weren't looking forward to watching all your friends going on with their boyfriends and girlfriends. The mail had arrived while you were out, you picked it up and headed in. There were two envelopes with your name on it, a plain white one and a red one. The red envelope was more squared than rectangular, you assumed it was a card- both had the same sender name.

‘Hey y/n!

Thank you for the sweater, it was nice of you to think of me and get me something. I didn’t know we were doing gifts or I would have sent you something as well and yes, I do celebrate Christmas.

My job as ‘mr. mixologist’ was going well until I quit. It just didn’t feel like the right fit for me you know ? I'm going to see what else is out there for me.

Sorry to hear about your boyfriend, he seems like a douche. Who would cheat on you ? You seem great I mean at least you are on paper (did you get my joke, it’s hard to tell)

Also, remember how I was thinking I might actually give that first responder thing a try? Imagine me as a firefighter, that’s pretty cool right ?

So I kinda did a thing and signed up and then I got in. I started two weeks ago and it was kicking my ass at first but I've gotten a hang of it and things are going pretty well. There's three other Evans in my class so everyone calls me Buck-I kind of like it.

The other envelope, hopefully you opened this one first, is a little something for you for valentines. Hope you like it.

Peace out,

Buck’

The red envelope was on your lap, you pulled the edges carefully not wanting to rip it. Inside was a plain white card with bright red letters that made you laugh. The cover read ‘I’m not sick of you yet!” Opening the card, a $20 fell onto your lap. There was a little message inside that went along with the cash.

‘Since we aren't together and can’t spend valentines together, there’s some cash to get yourself a box of chocolates and a teddy bear. Happy Valentines Day y/n

Love, Buck.’

You smile, this was the first time that Buck had signed with ‘love, buck’ it had always been ‘peace out, buck.’ You tucked the card into the drawer, one you didn’t use very often so you knew it’d be safe there.

*4 years later*

A few weeks had passed since Buck had last heard from y/n. His last letter to her was at the end of June, telling her all about the day he had spent at Hen and Karen’s. He always described every little detail so vividly that it made her feel like she was there with him- but it was now July, end of actually and moving into August.

4 years had blown like nothing.

It felt like just yesterday he got the first letter in the mail. 4 years and they still had no idea what each other looked like but they knew every intricate and intimate detail about each other, their lives and the people in it.

Y/n and Buck had grown rather close over the last few months- more than they already were. Y/n just went through a pretty shitty break up and Buck wasn't exactly big on relationships as of right now.

He had just gotten home from work, his keys set on the counter when he realized that he forgot to check his mail. Stepping back out, there was a woman in the hallway and boxes scattered across her, leading into the apartment down the hall.

She must be his new neighbour.

He wanted to go over and introduce himself but she was busy telling the movers where to set her couch so he decided that he would check the mail and then introduce himself when he returned so he did just that.

Except, she was still busy.

She leaned against the wall, watching the movers move what looked like a coffee table. She glanced up to see Buck walking by, she smiled and he returned the smile.

Buck reaches his apartment, the mail in hand and steps in. He sorts through the pile, bills, ads, coupons and no letter from y/n.

---

Your new apartment was a mess. You decided it was time for a change. You applied to a few hospitals after your break up and the one in LA hired you. So you dropped everything and moved- no family, no ties.

A fresh start.

It was a nice neighbourhood and the building was quiet. The neighbours you met were pleasant and welcoming. When you were having the furniture moved in, there was a blonde man who smiled at you and you assumed he lived in the unit down the hall because that’s where he stepped into.

It was almost 11pm when you finally sat down. You had been on your feet all day and just wanted to eat something. The box with the dishes was beside the couch, you pulled the tape off and opened it. There was an envelope sitting on top of the stack of plates.

Buck’s last letter to you.

You must have tossed it into the boxes while packing and you forgot to write him back. Tumbling through the boxes, you find a sheet of paper and a pen from your bag. Sitting on the floor, the paper resting on an unopened box, you begin writing.

‘Dear Buck,

I’m sorry I've taken so long to get back to you. I quit my job, and uprooted my entire life. The break up sucked major ass as you know, so I decided it was time for a change.

Guess where I decided to go ?

Did you guess yet?

No, not Canada, why would you guess Canada ?

LA!

Yeah, isn't that crazy that I ended up here of all places? Maybe we could get together one day (if you haven’t turned into a crazy serial killer that is.)

Anyways, that’s why I've taken so long to write. I was packing when I got your letter and I tossed it in a box and just found it again. Anyways, I hope you’ve been good, how have things been at the station ?

I promise I'll write again with more details soon, I just have to get settled in first.

Yours always, y/n.’

Folding the paper, you slipped into an envelope. The address being scribbled into the back of the envelope. You were about to seal it when the building number caught your eye.

It was the same number as the place you moved into. The same address, the building number, the same floor.

The unit number was the only difference.

There was no way you moved into the building that Buck lived in.

You knew the address felt familiar when you saw the listing but you didn’t think anything of it nor did it occur to you that you knew the address.

Stepping out of your apartment, looking at the number on the room and back down at the envelope in your hand. Buck’s apartment was down the hall.

Part of you just wanted to mail it and keep things as it was but another part of you wanted to meet him, to see what he was really like in person. So there you were walking down the hallway at a quarter past 11 in the dead of the night to meet a man you had been sending letters to for the last 4 years.

The end of the hallway, you stared at the black wooden door in front of you. Your brain weighing the options right now: he’s a sweetheart and welcoming and makes you feel comfortable or he’s a weird guy who’s been lying to you this whole time and you told him everything about you and now he’s going to kill you.

Before you could register what you were doing, you knocked on the door.

Glancing down at yourself, you were wearing a pair of old shorts and a t-shirt from high school that you found in a drawer while packing. Not an ideal outfit, maybe he’s sleeping and you can go home and change- the door opened, a man wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt stood there. He looked like he had just woken up.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“It's alright,” he yawned, his hand covering his mouth as he blinked away a few tears. “What can I do for you ?” he leaned against the door.

“Um, this is an odd question-” you shifted, glancing down at the envelope in your hand. “Are you Buck ?”

“I am, who are you ?”

“Y/n.”

You had never seen a man wake up that fast, he seemed surprised, confused and concerned all in one. “How- uh, are you- What ?” he mumbled.

“I found your letter in the box after I moved, I moved into the apartment down the hall” you point to your left, Buck sticks his head out of the doorway and looks at the door you were pointing to. You were the woman in the hallway that he saw earlier, he knew you looked familiar.

“I just wrote your letter and I noticed that the addresses were the same, just a different unit number so I decided to come check. Sorry if I bothered you, we can talk another day- it’s late and you probably have work” “Would you like to come in?” he opens the door a bit more, looking to you for an answer.

“Um, okay sure.” stepping in, you can’t help but glance around. The apartment was similar to yours, the layout was a bit different though. “Can I get you something to drink ? Coffee, water ? A beer ?” he rounded the kitchen counter, you took a seat on one of the chairs by the counter.

“Water’s fine, thanks”

He reached for a bottle from the fridge, sliding it over to you. You gave him a smile, he leaned against the counter and was now looking- studying you.

“I know we’ve talked to each other for 4 years but this is kinda strange” you chuckled awkwardly, Buck can't help but smile.

“Yeah, it is, isn't it? but can I ask why you moved to LA?”

“Well all of that was in the letter” you slide the envelope across the counter and he picks it up, opening it. Giving him a few moments to read, you watch his expression like you were hoping for some insight as to how he was feeling or what he was thinking. He let out a laugh, “how’d you know I'd guess Canada ?” you smiled at him, a small wave of relief washing over you for some reason. “Lucky guess I suppose”

“Do you-” “What are-” the sentences cutting each other off, the two of you awkwardly smiling at each other. “You first” looking at him, he hums.

“Do you have work tomorrow or are you busy ?” His eyes meet yours, you found yourself leaning forwards towards the counter- towards him. He made you feel comfortable, you’d go as far as to say safe, in a way you’ve never felt before.

“No, I don't start until the 21st. Why ?”

“I was thinking - if you're not busy and if you want to, of course. Maybe I could take you out for breakfast and I could show you around ? Or lunch or dinner ? Whatever works for you actually” he rambles, fiddling with his fingers to avoid eye contact.

A small laugh slips past your lips causing him to look up, his brows furrowed as he studies your face, looking for an answer.

“Breakfast sounds good, what time should I be ready for ?”

“Uh, is 10 okay ?” he asks, you nod. “I’ll be ready for 10 then.”

“Okay, I'll pick you up” he smiles.

“Buck, we live in the same building.”

“Oh right,” he chuckles, “well I'll be by yours at 10 then” the two of you smiling at each other.

“Okay.”

----

taglist: @advicefromnixxxx @dralexreid @keenmarvellover @beth-winchester21 @fernandaweasley2 @yikesyikesyikes95 @hotchsdarling @duhbar1975 @hailsstormthings @averyhotchner @captainxholmes @venusrosepetal @luke-alvez @looney-literature @caitsymichelle13 @artemishunter18 @anxiousblanketqueen

744 notes · View notes

7-wonders · 4 years

Text

Money, Power, and Glory

Summary: The sordid history of Duncan’s rise to the top, and hand-to-hand combat lessons that lead to other activities.

Word Count: 3855

A/N: Hello and welcome to another chapter of Memento Mori! I hope everyone’s had a fantastic holiday season. As my belated gift to you all, this chapter includes what everyone’s been waiting for: SMUT. A big thanks to my lovely angel @divinelangdon for letting me spitball ideas at her at any time of day, and to @lvngdvns for inserting the original ‘what if’ into the minds of this fandom.

Warnings: Murder, mafia, drugs, fighting, sex; what you would usually expect from a story about a mob boss.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

By all accounts, Duncan Shepherd is not a man known for showing emotion, unless that emotion is sadistic pleasure gained at the expense of others’ well-being. Nobody would describe Duncan Shepherd as patient or helpful, a gentleman or a teacher. Instead, Duncan Shepherd is often referred to as cruel, vicious, heartless, and bloodthirsty, to name a few. But most of all, Duncan Shepherd would not be described as weak.

Duncan’s proud of the reputation that he’s cultivated through his few short years as the official “head” of the Shepherd family. However much he hates to acknowledge it, he has his strict upbringing to thank for that.

An absent father who died when Duncan was barely old enough to walk, followed by rumors that the supposed grieving widow was the one who ‘accidentally’ gave her husband too many sleeping pills mixed with a hearty glass of aged bourbon with the endgame of joining her brother and building the Shepherd name into one of the most powerful monikers in Washington D.C. Being passed off from nanny to nanny, his mother and uncle too busy climbing their way up the elitist ladder to take care of the sole heir to the elaborate empire they were crafting.

The Shepherd family had always been wealthy, but the wealth became exorbitant upon Annette and Bill’s foray into the underbelly of the city’s privileged class. Suddenly, Duncan was shipped off to the best boarding school in North America, with business and political skills instilled in him from the very beginning of his enrollment at the Andover Preparatory School (along with how to dodge punches and how to go on a coke binge and still show up for your 8 a.m. looking none the worse). Prep school was difficult, but it was much more preferable than being around his uncle.

Duncan’s met a lot of douchebags through his close association with the GOP, but Bill Shepherd embodies toxic masculinity. For a man so fond of collared shirts and quarter zip pullovers, he knew just how to emasculate even the most confident of men with a few well-shot insults. For his detested nephew, however, “a few” insults was a daily occurrence that could be counted on with the regularity of the rise and fall of the sun. The physical aspect of Bill’s temperament, slapping and punching and the feeling of his fingers digging into Duncan’s jaw as he commands him to “use your empty, good-for-nothing brain and just listen to me, god damn it,” marred Duncan’s late teen years.

His uncle saw him as a threat. Even if Duncan wasn’t able to discern that himself from the increasing beatdowns, whether physical or verbal, as he reached adulthood, his mother was sure to remind him of that fact whenever he was younger and would come crying to her about the mean things that Uncle Bill had said to him. If he closes his eyes, he can still feel her hand carding through his light brown locks and her soft voice reminding him that everything under the control of the Shepherd name would be his one day, regardless of what her brother said. She never confronted Bill about the abuse, but she had tried, in her own fucked-up way.

Ultimately, Duncan has Bill to thank for his rise to the top of the Shepherd Freedom Foundation, Gardner Analytics, Shepherd Unlimited, and, of course, the Shepherd family itself. It was Bill who accosted Duncan after the young Shepherd had gotten into a gunfight with a rival group that had attempted to blindside him on his first solo meeting to restake territory claims over the different wards of Washington D.C. It was Bill who grabbed Duncan by the collar of his bloodstained black shirt, throttling him and bitterly spitting out that he would never be a “true” Shepherd. It was Bill who took a swing at Duncan, a horrified Annette frozen with fear across the room.

And, in the end, it was Bill who was too slow to react to Duncan pulling a knife out in retaliation and jabbing it into his uncle’s abdomen. Annette had screamed, but Duncan had hardly heard her over the sound of his blood roaring in his ears as he stared at his hands, soaked in the blood of his uncle who was on the floor and gasping for his last breaths. Duncan’s Goliath was finally slain, dead on the floor with blood slowly spilling out from the stab wound. His first murder had been his most difficult, and while the easiness of ending somebody’s life scared him, the fact that Duncan enjoyed killing his uncle frightened him the most.

It had been all too easy to frame Bill Shepherd’s death as a robbery-gone-wrong. Annette, already shaken from seeing her brother stabbed to death by her son, had been able to pull on years of experience with lying through her teeth to recount to police the harrowing ordeal of how she came to the building that housed the various Shepherd businesses only to see Bill bleeding out in his office. With the notability of the victim and the million dollars that had been stolen from the busted safe behind the bookshelf (in reality, the money was funneled into one of the family’s many offshore accounts, but that was neither here nor there), the case was textbook open-and-shut.

The “grieving” Shepherds had publicly vowed that their figurehead’s death would not be in vain. They would build on his legacy, just as he would have wanted. Behind closed doors, Annette had begrudgingly admitted that Duncan was in the right when he shoved a blade into Bill’s stomach, especially upon seeing just how capable of leading Duncan was. More money, more power, more territory, more influence: the more the Shepherd family became a name at the forefront of every conversation about the VIPs of Washington D.C., the more determined Duncan was to reach the top. He would stop at nothing to be better than his uncle, to prove to him one last time that he was more of a man than Bill Shepherd, cold and rotting six feet under, could ever be.

So maybe people are right when they refer to Duncan Shepherd as a callous, cruel, bloodthirsty, monster of a mob boss. But Duncan is certainly not weak.

Why, then, does he feel so weak when he’s around (Y/N)? The woman shouldn’t even warrant a passing thought, not when Duncan has far more important matters to be dealing with. He should have killed her; it would have been far easier, and created less of a lasting effect (for Duncan, at least). Yet, when he heard about how she nearly scaled a wall when attempting to run from some of his men, and when he saw the fire blazing in her big eyes as she spit at him when he tried to touch her face, he knew he couldn’t.

Duncan’s found it impossible to stop thinking about last week’s shooting lesson. How she looked to him for guidance on what, to Duncan, is the most basic of tasks. Her defiant comments that make him angry while simultaneously making him chuckle. Her wide smile when she hit the target. The smell of her hair as Duncan loomed behind her to check her sight.

The way that her body slotted perfectly against his when he closed his hands on top of hers.

Duncan’s stirred out of his unusually soft reverie by the chiming of his phone. An email notification from one of his tech employees shows on the screen, the subject line warning him of an extended search of his name and family in the metropolitan area. It may sound conceited, but any search taking place within a 30 mile radius lasting longer than a few minutes carries with it the potential of a threat against the empire that Duncan has so carefully built. He’s sure it’s nothing, but clicks on the email just to be certain.

His eyes scan quickly over the contents of the message, noting the IP address and the approximate length of said search. The IP address traces back to a physical residence, the location of which makes Duncan smirk. It’s (Y/N), and he has no doubt that he’s been on her mind just as much as she’s been on his. Finding her file (because of course Duncan Shepherd is going to have an extensive file for every person he’s ever interacted with) on his computer, he types her number into his phone and sends her a short text.

“Training tomorrow, 3 p.m., same location as last week. Oh, and the next time you’re interested in learning more about me, you need only ask. -D.S.”

The embarrassment of knowing that Duncan Shepherd knew that (Y/N) was searching for information about him still controls her emotions as she readies herself to once again meet the notorious mob boss. She thinks she would rather die than see the triumph that sparkles in his crystal blue eyes of the knowledge that she cannot stop thinking about him.

In (Y/N)’s defense, it was merely an informative search. Not being from the area, she figured that it would be a good idea to learn a little bit more about the man she is now indebted to for the foreseeable future. What she had learned was sad and brutal, but also what she expected. Wikipedia described a rich boy who was coddled until he was old enough to receive a position at the top of one of his family��s companies, while the gossip tabloids loved to speculate on the true amount of wealth that the family possesses. Forbes Magazine called him a bright, young entrepreneur whose tenacity was forged out of the tragedy of his uncle’s murder, and the Washington Herald painted a compelling narrative of various criminal activities and how they lined up with events in the rise of the Shepherd family.

(It’s probably no coincidence that, shortly after the three-part investigative story had been released, the Herald’s editor-in-chief, Tom Hammerschmidt, was found floating face-down in the Potomac river with a bullet lodged in his head. The official cause of death was ruled a suicide, but the popular rumor is that a furious Annette demanded his murder.)

She could skip today’s proposed “training” with Duncan, but that’s useless when he knows where she lives and can quite literally kill her for refusing his demand, so she slips on a pair of black workout leggings and a purple-and-white patterned sports bra.Throwing a sweatshirt on, (Y/N) quickly grabs a water bottle and her phone before rushing out the door so as not to be late. Although she doesn’t know much about Duncan’s personality, she assumes that he hates people who are late.

The man in question is waiting inside the doors of the high-end training gym when (Y/N) enters, slightly out of breath from nearly running to make it in time. A small smile starts to spread across his face as he appraises her outfit, and (Y/N) self-consciously crosses her arms over her chest.

“Sorry that my clothes aren’t right off the runway like yours,” (Y/N) says as she gestures to Duncan’s figure. While he’s wearing workout clothes as well, his joggers and zip-up hoodie carry an air of wealth with them.

“They’ll do.” (Y/N) huffs as Duncan spins on his heel, repeating the same procedure as the last time they were here in order to get through the private door.

There’s training mats set up in the open area next to the shooting range, and Duncan waits until (Y/N) places her stuff against the wall before walking to a bench and grabbing a roll of athletic tape. “We’re not doing shooting training today?” (Y/N) asks.

“No, I feel like you have a pretty good grip on shooting. Today I’m going to teach you how to fight, as that will most likely be what will happen if you do get into an altercation while under my orders.”

“When am I not going to be under your orders?” She rolls her eyes as she pretends not to watch Duncan take off his hoodie and reveal his strong, muscular arms. (Y/N) realizes that she’s never seen Duncan in shirts that didn’t have long sleeves, the monochromatic tattoos that decorate his skin coming as a bit of a shock.

“Once I decide that there’s enough to implicate you in crimes as well, if you were to ever run to the police.” She scoffs as he holds out his hand. “Give me your hand.”

She shouldn’t talk back, she knows, but she’s feeling defiant after hearing just how Duncan plans to keep her quiet. “Why?”

“This tape isn’t for me.” Giving her hand over, (Y/N) watches as Duncan swiftly wraps her wrist, checking the support of the tape on the joint before repeating the process on her other wrist. “This will help make sure you don’t injure anything. While the main goal today is to make sure you know how to take down an opponent, I also want to know that you know how to effectively punch somebody.”

Duncan lets go of her hands, and (Y/N) takes off her own sweatshirt before joining him in the center of the training mat. He’s conspicuously not looking at her chest, and (Y/N) bites back a laugh at the polite behavior of the crime lord before her. “Hold your hand out in a fist,” Duncan commands.

His eyes are narrowed in calculation as he studies her fist, adjusting her thumb so it’s on top of the space between the first and second knuckles of her index and middle fingers. He’s a good teacher, and he explains his reasoning as he makes adjustments, “you never want to have your thumb tucked inside your fist. You’re almost guaranteed to break your thumb that way.”

“Thumb on the outside, got it.”

Duncan steps back, holding his arm up with his palm facing (Y/N). “Punch my hand.”

“What?” (Y/N) looks at him warily. “I’m not going to punch you! What if I hurt you?”

“I promise you won’t hurt me,” Duncan says with a laugh. “Now punch.”

(Y/N) squares her shoulders, rearing her arm back before punching Duncan’s hand as hard as she can. He nods, and she punches once more, this time with her other fist. “I’m impressed,” Duncan says, “you punch really well.”

“I’ve taken a couple of self-defense classes in the past. They didn’t teach punching, but they did teach how to throw your weight into your hits.” Duncan’s eyes flash with a hint of pride, and (Y/N)’s chest uncharacteristically clenches at the thought of making him proud.

“Great, then we don’t need to work too much on that. Unwrap your wrists and we’ll practice some sparring.”

It seems like a good part of her life lately is following Duncan’s directions, but (Y/N) complies anyways. Duncan’s joggers look like they were tailored specifically for him, his black tank top showcasing the tattoos (Y/N) had found herself staring at earlier. This time, Duncan does notice. “Do you like my tattoos?” Duncan asks with a smirk.

“I just--you don’t seem like the type of person to have tattoos,” (Y/N) stutters.

He quirks an eyebrow in amusement. “I’m a mob boss.”

“Still don’t seem like you’d have tattoos,” she mutters before placing her hands on her hips. “What’s the goal here?”

“The goal is to take me down. When you’ve had me on my back for five seconds, today’s training will be over. However, there will be no dirty moves, got it?”

“But kicking someone in the balls is okay if I’m fighting an attacker, right?”

“Yes, but not in a practice scenario.” Duncan starts to slowly circle (Y/N), watching as her spine stiffens under his gaze. “I suppose I should warn you that I will not make this easy for you. You will be fighting to win, not fighting to learn.”

(Y/N) nods, turning to stop Duncan from pacing around her. He takes two steps back, standing in a defensive stance as (Y/N) attempts to get a feel for how to spar. She snaps her arm towards Duncan suddenly, in an attempt to catch him by surprise, but the man simply blocks it with a quick dodge.

The punch leaves (Y/N) defenseless, and Duncan lunges forward to shove her. He would never actually punch her; he’s been trained in combat since he was 10, and she learned to throw a proper punch 10 minutes ago. It would be unfair of him to swing at her, so Duncan settles for pushing her instead.

(Y/N) attempts to regain her footing, but Duncan’s too quick. His arm wraps around her neck in a chokehold, and (Y/N) gasps for air as she tries to wriggle out of his grasp. Avoiding panicking, (Y/N) thinks desperately to the aforementioned self-defense classes, trying to remember any of the acronyms the instructor swore would save the class’s lives one day.

Rearing her arm towards her body, (Y/N) swings her elbow back as hard as she can to elbow Duncan in the stomach. He releases her with a pained groan, obviously not expecting that move, and she turns around and kicks at his leg.

“Fuck you,” Duncan gasps out, stumbling backwards but refusing to fall.

“Fuck you!” (Y/N) retorts. “You tried to choke me out!”

“And I warned you beforehand what you were getting into.” The two move warily, neither person wanting to make the next move. (Y/N)’s eyes crackle with anger, and Duncan grins wildly at the fierce expression she wears.

He swings once again, (Y/N) dodging before punching him in the chest. Duncan seizes the opportunity to sweep her leg with a well-placed kick, and (Y/N) goes falling to the mat with a thud. She inhales heavily, trying to get her lungs to work again after having the air knocked out of them. (Y/N)’s barely able to scramble backwards before Duncan is on top of her, his legs straddling her waist as his hands pin her wrists above her head.

Chests heaving, both Duncan and (Y/N) glare at each other as he waits for her to give in, but she refuses to admit defeat. She becomes acutely aware of the fact that Duncan is pinning her down to the mat with his weight, his strong hips against hers making movement impossible. It’s borderline-indecent, and (Y/N) chides herself for finding being held to the ground any shade of arousing. Although she can’t tell if she wants to kick him or kiss him right now, she knows that Duncan feels the same when he glances from her eyes to her lips, and back again.

“Can you get off of me?” The end of (Y/N)’s sentence is muffled as Duncan presses his lips to hers.

The shock of being kissed by the man who just defeated her at sparring quickly wears off as (Y/N) eagerly reciprocates the action, feverishly kissing him back. Her hands flex in Duncan’s grasp, desperate to grab onto any part of him as a way to ground herself. Duncan refuses to acquiesce, so she brings one leg up to the back of his knee and applies as much weight to the vulnerable area as she can.

“Ah!” Duncan groans, the buckling of his knee giving (Y/N) the opportunity to flip them over. Now it’s she who has the upper hand, grinding her hips down harshly on him as she kisses him once more. Duncan licks at her bottom lip, attempting to gain access to (Y/N)’s mouth and getting frustrated when she refuses to let him slip his tongue into her mouth. He’s done playing nice, and nips at (Y/N)’s bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He moans when the copper taste of blood hits his tongue, (Y/N) pulling away and panting harshly.

“You fucking asshole, that hurt!” Duncan just chuckles, flipping them over once again and roughly yanking her leggings and underwear down her legs. (Y/N) lets out a surprised moan when Duncan’s finger runs over her clit, collecting some of her burgeoning arousal and using it to slide effortlessly into her cunt.

(Y/N) is not the type of person to engage in casual sex with a person she hardly knows. She’s not even sure she’s had an actual one night stand before; the couple times that she had, it’s been with somebody she knew fairly well. So to be under the most dangerous man she’s ever met, his fingers buried inside her as he works her open, is certainly unlike her. It would, however, be impossible to deny that she’s not thoroughly enjoying this endeavor.

One hand grabs at Duncan’s bicep, and (Y/N) briefly admires the elegant script inked into his skin. Her other hand goes to grab at his sizable bulge, gripping onto his erection as roughly as he’s currently fingering her. Duncan lets out a choked groan at the sensation that’s both painful and pleasurable. Once he’s decided that neither party can handle the tension any longer, he withdraws his fingers from her cunt and pulls down his pants.

After (Y/N) gives his shaft a couple of quick strokes, Duncan lines himself up with her entrance and thrusts into (Y/N)’s tight walls. Matching moans ring out through the training room as Duncan begins to set a quick and deep rhythm. (Y/N)’s hips snap upwards, meeting Duncan’s as the two thrust in tandem. Every other sound, feeling, or experience fades away as Duncan continually bottoms out in (Y/N)’s cunt, his balls slapping against her ass. Her head lolls back against the ground, giving her the perfect chance to admire Duncan’s lustful expression and how his hair falls into his face with each sharp roll of his hips.

(Y/N)’s head begins to spin as Duncan’s rhythm begins to stutter upon nearing his orgasm, and she bites down on the juncture of his neck and shoulder in an attempt to muffle a scream as she cums unexpectedly. He cries out at the sharp pressure of her bite and the fluttering of her walls, speeding up his thrusts before pulling out and tapping at (Y/N)’s bottom lip with the swollen head of his cock.

She turns her head towards him, eyes glazed with lust as she opens her mouth. Duncan only needs to thrust into his fist a few times before he cums in (Y/N)’s mouth with a deep groan. Her lips are painted white with his seed, and he nearly cums again when she licks it all up before swallowing with a content hum. Duncan collapses next to (Y/N), whose bones feel as if they’re made of Jell-o. As they both come down from their highs, (Y/N) has only one thought on her mind: What the hell did they just do?

Tag list: @sammythankyou @girlycakepops @ultragibbycentralworld @ajokeformur-ray @nana15774 @queencocoakimmie @lichellaw @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @everything-is-awesomesauce @ccodyfern @jimmlangdon @omgsuperstarg @queenie435 @dextergirl12345 @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @kahhlo @storminmytwistedmind @1-800-bitchcraft @langdonslove @cuddletothecake @born-on-stgeorges-day @xavierplympton @michaelsapostle @hecohansen31 @venusxxlangdon @idespac @tcc-gizmachine @hexqueensupreme @wroteclassicaly @queenmismatched @youngandfleeting @hecatemacbeth7 @lambofcairo @myluciferiscody

#duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd imagine #duncan shepherd imagines #duncan shepherd x reader #duncan shepherd smut #hoc #hoc imagine #hoc imagines #house of cards #house of cards imagine #ahs #ahs imagine #ahs apocalypse imagine

222 notes · View notes