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aerynwrites · 5 months

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Bound by The Heart (And Other Things)

Dammon x Afab!Reader

A/N: yeah uh…I don’t even have a reason for this other than I have my own personal HC that Dammon would be into bondage lmao. But like…the pretty kind. Hope y’all enjoy :3

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY! NSFW. Smut, PiV sex, cunnilingus, oral (fem receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, unprotected sex, bondage, rope bondage, restraints, discussions of a safe word but it;s never used, aftercare, fluff.

The weathered leather book is heavy in your hands as you examine the title.

A Pleasurable Deal.

The text immediately strikes you as one you’ve seen before, and heat rushes to your cheeks when the memory of a banned books list in Sorcerous Sundries comes to the front of your mind.

You remember Gale lamenting the list, saying no texts - no matter how obscene - should never be banned.

You hadn’t given much thought to the list until now, as the book sits in your hands. And the fact that you found it hidden away in Dammon’s side table.

Despite having been with the blacksmith for months now, you’d never seen this specific tome. Either because it was a new item he’d acquired or…a well loved one he'd kept hidden away.

You’re assuming it’s the latter if the worn corners of the leather cover and the bent pages have anything to say.

You move to put the book back, not wanting to intrude on your partners privacy, but as you move to slide it back into place, another book catches your eye. This one tucked behind several other blacksmithing texts.

It looks rather ornate, the black binding inlaid with gold colored trimmings.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re already reaching for the book, fingers sliding along the smooth cover and pulling it from its place.

Your eyes fall to the cover, eyes widening as you read the title.

A Madam's Guide to Pleasure.

The cover falls open before you can think better of it, your eyes immediately flicking to the small piece of paper sticking out from a section farther into the book. You yearn to flip to that page first, but your eyes instead fall to scan the table of contents.

Your face gets even hotter as you read over the various section titles. Everything from the basics when it comes to sex to the more debauched.

Finally, you flip the pages to where the paper sticks out, only to have a few pieces of folded parchment fall into your lap to reveal the title of the section they were tucked into.

‘Bondage’

The otherwise wicked ideal behind the term is hidden by the pretty flowing script on the page. Your eyes follow the words easily, slowly feeling your heart rate pick up as you take in the text.

You’ve only made it halfway through the section when you remember the papers that fell into your lap. Setting the book down gently and open to the page you left off, you reach down and unfold the pages.

The first thing you feel is shock followed by a sudden stab of arousal as you take in the charcoal images sketched onto the pages.

It’s Dammon’s work, you’d be able to tell his artistry from anywhere thanks to the hundreds of sketches he’s shown you of blacksmithing plans.

But these…these are not blueprints of swords or daggers or armor. No…

These sketches are something else entirely. Light and dark lines coming together as he depicts various different types of bondage scenarios.

None of the pictures are lewd in anyway besides their obvious connotation. In a way…they’re quite beautiful.

You see the vague shape of a body, legs tied together with an intricate weave of rope and knots, as if it’s meant to decorate the wearer rather than restrain them.

Almost all of the drawings seem that way, the rope and bindings tied and wrapped in a way that’s almost artistic.

The one that catches your eye the most though, is a page that depicts the front and back view of a woman kneeling and sitting on her heels.

The sketch of her from behind shows her hands bound behind her back, the ropes binding her arms together in an intricately woven pattern that spans from her wrists all the way up to just beneath her shoulders.

The other view seems to be part of the same design, the ropes snaking to the front of her body, twining delicately over her breasts, sternum and chest in complicated knots and patterns.

You’ve just reached up to trace your finger over the sketchings of rope, when a startled call of your name rips you from your reverie.

“What are you doing?”

Dammons voice is raised louder than he usually speaks to you, face several shades darker than usual as he practically lunges for the items in your hands, a look of utter fear and panic on his face.

“Oh, gods,” he mutters, hastily collecting the papers before shoving them back into the black bound novel. “You weren’t supposed to see that, I-“

“Dammon it’s okay! I promise-“

He turns to you then, book clutched tightly in his hands, as he looks at you with something none other than utter betrayal. “Why were you going through my things?” He asks.

You shake your head, heart sinking to your stomach and dispelling any feelings of arousal the drawings drew forth.

“I didn’t mean to, I came up here looking for one of my books and I saw you stored some in here and so I thought-“

“You thought you’d go through my books instead?” He asks, voice now tinged with accusation as he stands, the book still clutched tightly in his hands.

“I’m sorry Dammon,” you say from your position still kneeled on the floor. “I didn’t mean to upset you-“

“I-I’m not upset, I-“ the tiefling cuts himself off, running a hand down his face as he lets out a sigh, avoiding your gaze. “I just…need some air.”

You watch helplessly as Dammon turns and leaves the bedroom, a pit of guilt stirring deep in your belly.

————

Dammon spends the rest of the day in the forge, which isn’t unusual, but it feels like an intentional choice today. One you don’t begrudge him considering you snooped through his personal things.

It’s well into the evening before he comes into the house, and you’re just finishing up dinner. You watch him between plating your meals as he hangs up his blacksmith apron next to the door before heading to the water basin to wash his hands.

You’ve just placed the last of the food onto your plates when he approaches you, taking one of the plates from your hands with a quick kiss to your cheek.

A small weight is lifted from your shoulders at that small action, and you follow him silently to the kitchen table, taking your habitual seat to his right side.

The meal is pleasant enough, you tentatively asking about his forge projects and feel the tension lift as he tells you about them. It goes on like that - like normal despite the nagging in your mind.

You don’t want to ruin the mood by bringing up the earlier incident. But you also don’t want to leave it how it was. You owe him an apology, a real apology, and…there’s something else you want to talk to him about too.

You finally find the courage to bring it all up as you and Dammon clean up after dinner, you drying the washed dishes as Dammon puts them away.

“I’m sorry about earlier, Dammon,” you say softly, not missing the way his shoulders tense as he takes a plate from you, eyes avoiding yours once more.

“It’s…It’s alright,” he says with a sigh. “I’m not angry or upset with you, not over something so trivial. I was just…” he lets out a dry chuckle. “I supposed I’m a bit embarrassed for you to have come across such things. I know they aren’t…Common desires.”

He’s still turned away from you when he finishes, stashing the last dish before his hands fall to his sides. You immediately reach for him, taking his hand in your own as you urge him to face you.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” you tell him, feeling that familiar heat creep up into your cheeks as you contemplate your next words.

“I actually…Liked them. The drawings, I mean.”

Dammon’s eyes finally snap to yours then, bright blue iris’ completely visible to you as he stares at you wide eyed, mouth slightly agape.

“You…what?”

You take your lip between your teeth coyly, courage slowly building up in your chest as you move to slip your arms around his waist, hands resting on his low back as returns the lose embrace.

“I liked them,” you repeat. “It looked…beautiful really. The intricate designs and knots and I…”

You pause then, shyness creeping in one more as you look up at your lover.

“I think I’d like to try it sometime. If that’s - if you’d want too, of course.”

You can practically see the way Dammon’s heart rate picks up, cheeks darkening with blush as his breath stutters.

“You’d…You’d try that? With me?”

A small chuckle slips past your lips. “I hope it’s with you.”

In an answer of his own, Dammon captures your lips with his in a fierce kiss. It’s needy and desperate and filled with a relief only you can understand as he pulls you tighter to him.

“I love you,” he mutters against your lips before pulling down to trail kisses down your jaw. “We can’t do it tonight,” he says. “I need to prepare.”

You try to hide the small swell of disappointment, but Dammon must sense it anyways, nipping at the spot just below your ear as he tugs you closer to his body.

“I’m still going to ravish you tonight though. For making me the happiest man in Baldur’s Gate.”

You smile, pulling him up for another kiss before he whisks you upstairs. Anticipation for tonight and what’s to come in the future simmering low in your belly.

—————

It’s only a few days later when Dammon brings it back up, asking if tonight you’d like to try what you all had discussed. When you agreed, a bit too eagerly, he had just let out a small laugh before laying out all of the boundaries.

He had you pick a safeword in case you wanted out of the restraints, as well as asking you about anything you’d be uncomfortable with. In the end you’d just told him you trusted him completely and once again stated your excitment.

Which led you here, blindfolded on the edge of your shared bed in nothing but your smallclothes.

Dammon had tied the soft silk fabric around your eyes before leaving the room to fetch something, asking that you not remove the blindfold before he got back. You obeyed easily, but as the seconds turn into minutes, you feel yourself start to grow impatient.

What is taking him so long?

Your fingers twitch against your skin from where your hands sit on your thighs before moving to be by your side instead, toying with the soft sheets beneath you. Every creak and faint footstep has your ears perking up, waiting in anticipation for Dammon to return.

Finally, you hear his familiar footsteps coming up the stairs and to your shared room, the floor boards creaking beneath his weight. His steps are softer than when he left, the sound of bare soles on the wood greeting your ears as he approaches your position.

He must have taken off his shoes. And you silently hope he took off other things as well, wanting to feel him at least a little bit before you're restrained.

“Are you still alright?” he asks, his voice much closer than you anticipated.

You jump slightly as you realize he’s right in front of you now, and you can feel the subtle heat radiating from his body. You nod, reaching out instinctively to touch him.

He allows it, sighing lightly when your hands bump against his bare stomach, flattening against the taut muscle there before sliding upwards. You can feel the faint ridges and bumps unique to his skin as you continue upwards, gliding over his chest before coming back down again, mapping him in your blinded state. You only stop when your fingers meet rough fabric - the waistband of his pants.

You hear the faint sound of his tail brushing the ground intermittently, and you can’t help but smile as your fingers curl beneath the band of his pants. But before you can get any further, familiar calloused hands stop your own, pulling you away from his skin.

“If you do that, I’m afraid we won’t accomplish what we planned to do tonight,” he says breathlessly.

You are still amazed that such simple touches drive him crazy, but you can’t help but relish in it, because you feel the same anytime Dammon touches you. As if your body can’t get enough.

Tonight might be the night that it does.

“Can you give me your hand?” he asks, and you hear him rustling around with something.

“Of course.”

You offer him your hand and he takes it, turning it palm up and placing a long thin object in your palm. He curls your fingers round it, and when he offers no complaint, you reach up with your other hand to further investigate what it could be.

“It’s the rope I’m going to use,” he informs you as your fingers trail along the braid material. “It’s…This is why we had to wait. I had to find someone who…dealt with these kinds of things.”

You let out a small hum as you run the rope through you hands, and you slowly begin to understand what he means. It’s smoother than any rope you’ve ever used, so smooth in fact that it feels like silk. It’s sturdy too, not too thick but not so thin it will dig uncomfortably into your skin if it gets tight. It’s like it was created for this purpose alone.

And perhaps it was.

You’re no stranger to the more debacuhed happenings in the city. Hells - you’ve been inside Sharess’ Caress. They probably use rope like this in abundance there.

“It’s so…soft,” you say finally, reaching out to offer the rope back to him.

“Yes I…” He trails off for a moment before continuing. “This isn’t supposed to be painful,” he informs you, and you feel the bed dip beside you, his voice shifting to your right side. “It can be of course but…Not tonight. It’s more about the control I suppose. The art of it.”

You nod as you feel a warm hand settle on your hip. “That makes sense. The drawings I saw were beautiful in a way and also…” you trail off, heat creeping into your cheeks. “Let’s just say I was never put off by the idea once I saw it.”

You can hear the way Dammon’s breath catches, his nails digging into the flesh of your hip ever so slightly. “I should have suggested it sooner, it seems.”

You smile, leaning in to where you think his body is. “You should have.”

He lets out a sigh, and you feel the way it brushes against your temple as he speaks.

“Well…We’re here now,” he says, slowly dragging his hand from your hip up your back before settling on your shoulder. “Are you ready for me to start?”

You let out a breath of your own, anticipation bubbling in your veins as you shift in your place, eager to get started. “Yes, I’m ready.”

Slowly and with whispered instructions he guides you so your are on your knees on the bed, sitting on your heels as you face away from him. Once you’re in position his fingers skim up to unhook the clasps of your bra, sliding it gently from your shoulders before tossing it somewhere off to your left.

“If you wanted me naked you could have just said so,” you tease, smiling when it earns youa chuckle from teh man behind you.

“That ruins the fun,” he says, and you finally feel the cool slide of rope against your arms. “This is…a lot of this is about the anticipation,” he tells you, breath ghosting over your ear as he gently guides your arms into position behind your back. “The gentle touches, the slow act of tying the rope, the build of what’s to come…”

He has you bend your arms behind your back, forearms almost crossing as he starts to slide the rope beneath them, wrapping it over just a few times before starting to tie the first knot, securing your arms together.

He continues like that for long agonizing moments. The cool rope sliding against your heated skin as he pulls, tugs, and knots the smooth cord into a masterpiece only he can see. The design soon travels from your forearms upwards above your elbows, as he begins to connect your arms together once more. He threads the rope beneath your right arm, hands ghosting across your back as he brings it over to your left, looping it over your bicep and back again, creating an intricate set of loops and ties that secure your arms behind you further, pulling your shoulders back to just the bare edge of discomfort.

Dammon was right. This is about the anticipation.

Because with each slide of the rope, with each brush of his fingers or ghost of his lips on your skin, you feel a new pang of arousal pool in your core. You shudder with each pass of the cord on your skin, breath hitching with each knot he tugs into place.

And Dammon, who’s never known to keep his hands from you for too long, can’t help but to touch you in between. His sharp nails ghosting along your skin, kisses pressed to your shoulder as he mutters words of praise…you can feel yourself getting wet already, and he’s barely even touched you. Not in the way you desire most, at least.

A whimper slips past your lips when he finally pulls away from you, the last piece of rope in place agasint your arms. But his absence doesn’t last long before he’s back again, his arms snaking around you as a new rope presses against the delicate skin of your lower belly.

“Are you still alright?” he asks, warm breath ghosting over your cheek as his head comes up beside yours to look down at your exposed body. His chin tucks perfectly against your shoulder as he presses a kiss to your cheek, waiting patiently for you to answer before he continues.

When you do find your words, they come out small, a mere gasp on your lips.

“Yes,” you assure him. “I just…wish you would touch me. I didn’t…this is more than i expected.”

You feel him tense behind you, his hands stilling. “We can stop at anytime-”

“No!” you almost shout, leaning back into your lover in a silent plea. “Please, don’t stop. I only meant…I didn’t expect to react so strongly to just this.”

Dammon clicks his tongue, letting out a low hum of understanding as his hands start to move again, the rope sliding softly against your skin.

“If it makes you feel any better…” Dammon trails off, wrapping the rope around your front again, allowing him to press himself against your back, the hardness of him pressing into your low back. “It’s having the same affect on me.”

His words, and the feeling of him hard as steel pressing into your skin is enough to send another bolt of pleasure through you. You expect him to pull away to continue his work, but he does no such thing, instead aiming to stay pressed as close to you as possible as he works on his art.

Each moment feels agonizing as he slowly winds the ropes up your body, fingers braiding and knotting the pieces together, fingers brushing against your skin, but never doing much more.

Your breath leaves you in shallow pants, and you can’t help it when you press your hips back into his own, desperate for any kind of touch, any friction to sooth the ache simmering in your veins.

A small groan leaves Dammons lips, and you feel a small tug the the ropes around your arms. “We’ll get there,” he whispers, leaning down to brush a tender kiss to your shoulder. “You’re doing so well, my love. I’m almost done.”

You fight to hold back the whine that threatens to slip past when his lips retreat from your skin, but you do, instead moving to lean back against him as he looks back over your shoulder once more to see his work.

You can feel the way the cords constrict around you, knotting in the center of your body as it travels upwards and spans out to wrap over your ribs and around your back. Soon enough you can feel them start to settle beneath your breasts. His hands barely brush the plush mounds as he ties a secure knot between them before taking the two ends up and over your collarbones to secure at the back of your neck.

He ties the last knot, a quiet sigh of admiration leaving him as his hands skim over his work, calloused palms ghosting over your skin.

You feel the bed shift, his warmth leaving your back. You wonder for a moment if he’s leaving again, but you continue to feel him move, until you think he settles in front of you on the plush mattress. The bed creaks softly as he settles, and despite the blindfold, you can feel his eyes boring into you, admiring his work much like he does that which he produces in the forge.

Dammon is a lot of things, and a proud man is one of them.

He’s never boastful or arrogant. But he loves his work - he’s always proud of what he can accomplish. And it seems that extends to you as well.

You don’t flinch when his hand settles on your cheek, thumb brushing the skin their gently, as he continues to admire you.

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” he whispers, his other hand coming up to cup one of your breasts gently.

A gasp slips past your lips as he runs a thumb over the stiff peak of your nipple, nails scratching the sensitive skin deliciously as he pulls away to trail further down your body. He traces the ropes he tied into place, fingers slipping beneath them every now and again to tug gently.

“Is it-“ another gasp interrupts you as his hands slide down to brush over your thighs instead. “Is it everything you imagined?”

Dammon leans forward then, his hands slipping around your hips as his lips fall to your shoulder before trailing down lower to nip sharp teeth at your collar bone.

“It’s even better,” he breathes. “You’re more magnificent than anything my mind could conjure up.”

A moan leaves you as his mouth finally reaches your breast, his teeth scarping against the sensitive swell before taking a pert nipple between his lips.

“Oh, gods…” you gasp, arms tugging at the rope as you instinctively want to reach up to cradle his head in your hands.

But the restraints keep you in place, completely at his mercy as he continues to lavish your skin with praises and gently love bites.

You’re burning up now, blood boiling in your veins and desperate for anything Dammon wishes to give you. Something he seems to sense as both arms move to slip around your back as he gently lowers you to lay back on the bed, his lips traveling lower the whole way.

Your arms are trapped beneath you in this new position, adding to the arousal pooling in your belly as you lay completely open and bare for the man before you.

His teeth tug at the rope around your hips, hands moving to spread your legs so he can settle between them.

“Are you still alright, my love?” He asks, fingers creeping slowly up your inner thighs.

Gods you love him. You really do. But in this moment you want nothing more than for him to ravish you, to tear you completely apart before putting you back together again.

He can be sweet later. Right now, you want him to fuck you.

“Yes, yes, Dammon I’m fine,” you assure him, bucking your hips up into his hands. “Just please…fuck me. I cant wait any longer.”

You would usually be embarrassed by blatantly begging like this, but the feel of Dammons mouth on your wet center removes any and all thoughts but him from your mind.

His tounge parts your folds running up to tease the small bundle of nerves that sends bolts of pleasure through you.

You squirm in Dammon’s steel grip, your back arching as he devours you, his fingers digging into your thighs, nails no doubt going to leave behind evidence of his hold on you come morning.

His name falls from your lips in a lewd prayer, as you buck your hips up into his mouth, seeking more despite the way his tongue moves ravenously against you.

You feel his hands slide up to the rope around your hips, fingers slipping beneath the cord as he uses it to tug you closer to him, as if he wishes to drown in you.

His nose nudges at your clit as his tounge prods your entrance, desperate to taste you, his moans sending vibrations through you that make that coil in your belly pull impossibly taut.

“Fuck,” cry out when he slides one hand to rub expect circles on your clit. “Dammon, I’m close I-“

An expert flick of his fingers cuts off your warning, sending you hurtling over the edge into oblivion as Dammon continues to work you through it.

Incoherent babbles of his name fall from your lips until you finally say back into the bed, chest heaving and legs twitching as Dammon continues to lick at you, certain to leave nothing behind.

You want to push him away, but without the use of your hands, you squeeze your thighs around his shoulders gently, urging him away from you.

He obeys with a small sigh, his hand sliding up your body, as his lips follow suit, leaving a moist trail of kisses in his wake before he’s finally pressing them to the underside of your jaw.

“You’re doing so well, my love,” me mutters against your skin, fingers toying idly with the smooth cord beneath your breasts.

You smile as you turn your head to capture his lips with your own, tasting yourself on his tounge before pulling away just enough to speak.

“Can you…Will you take the blindfold off?”you ask. “I’d like to see you.”

Dammon lets out a low hum, pressing one last kiss to the corner of your lips before reaching up to tug at the silken fabric.

While the sun has long set, the bedroom is still well lit, lanterns and a few candles lighting the space enough for you to need to adjust to the brightness.

You blink a few times, leaning into the hand Dammon places on your cheek as his face comes into focus.

You’ve never seen anything so breathtaking.

His lips are tilted up in that small smile of his, pupils blown wide with lust as he looks down at you. His cheeks are flushed and errant strands of hair fall from his usually well kept style.

You yearn to reach up and tuck them back, to card your fingers through his hair or trace around the base of his horns, but you’re once again reminded of the impossibility of that as your arms tug uselessly at your bindings.

It’s then that you start to recognize the ache in your arms, your hands tingling as they start to fall asleep form their position pinned under you.

You shift beneath Dammon, and he notices immediately, brow furrowing in silent question.

“Does it hurt?” He asks, voice laced with concern.

You shake your head. “No it doesn’t hurt. It just-“ you let out a small chuckle. “I think my hands are falling asleep.”

Dammon nods, and immediately goes to help you sit up, but you stop him with a shake of your head, an idea popping into your head.

“Wait.” You tell him, nodding your chin up towards where he was previously sitting. “Sit back.”

He gives you a curious look, and for a moment he hesitates, but he obeys, scooting back to sit on his heels between your legs.

You notice the hard bulge in his trousers, and any hesitance about your idea flies out the proverbial window.

With less effort than you expected, you manage to roll over onto your stomach, gathering your knees below you enough to raise your ass in the air, presenting yourself to the man behind you.

The sharp intake of breath is enough to tell you that Dammon understands your presentation for what it is. And soon two warm hands settle on your hips, trailing up your sides before coming back down again.

The warmth of him surrounds you soon after, his chest pressed against your back and arms as he leans over you, pressing gentle kisses to your shoulders.

“Are you sure?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, turning your face so it’s no longer pressed against the sheets.

“Dammon I swear to the gods, if you went through all this and don’t fuck me-“

His lips leave yours in an instant, the heat of him disappearing from behind you as you hear the faint rustle of fabric from behind you.

His hands settle on your hips again, nails biting into the skin harsher than before as you feel the head of his cock nudge at your entrance.

You expect him to check in with you again, expect him to ask if you remember your safe word or any amount of other precautions. But he doesn’t.

Instead he presses into you in one swift thrust, his cock guided easily by your earlier orgasm.

But it still never prepared you for the size of him. He always stretches you perfectly, the small ridges and bumps unique to his race adding to the sensation of him sinking into you.

The groan you let out is sinful, and you can’t help but turn to muffle it in the sheets.

But Dammon isn’t having that.

A strong tug in the rope between your arms has you pulling up from the bed, the force of the movement pulling you further back onto him until your hips are flush with his own.

“Don’t hide from me,” Dammon says, tugging at the restraints again, sending him deeper and making the rope dig deliciously into your skin. “I want to hear you.”

“Oh, gods. Dammon…”

His name falling from your lips finally makes him move, pulling out of you before thrusting back in with one solid movement.

Your name falls from his lips as he sets a punishing pace, something so different from the reverent way he worshiped your body earlier.

He curls himself over you, his chest pressed against your back as he plants one hand by your head on the bed, his sharp nails digging deep into the sheets as he holds himself over you.

He nuzzles his face into the space between your neck and shoulder, nose nudging your jaw as he takes your earlobe between his teeth and tugs.

Another whimper escapes your lips as he continues his mind blowing pace, hitting that spot inside you as you writhe against the ropes fully now. Hands clenching and unclenching as you press your hips back into his own, seeking your second release of the night.

“Gods, Dammon, please..”

you're practically sobbing now, tears wetting your lashes at the intense pleasure that courses through you and the slight frustration of not being able to touch anything - touch him.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his free arm wrapping around your hips to hold you to him as he presses you down, further into the bed his cock pressing impossibly deeper inside of you at the change of position.

“Let go for me,” he says, voice sinful in your ear.

His words, and his fingers that slipped down to rub at your clit send you into oblivion for the second time.

You clench around him, crying out his name in a desperate plea as you squirm against him, veins alight with utter pleasure.

Dammon is not far behind you, just a few more stuttered thrusts and he comes in you with a groan of your name from his lips, his chest rumbling against your back as he sinks down into you, breath coming out in short labored breaths against your cheek.

Your mind is blissfully blank as you sink into the plush bedding beneath you, completely boneless as your lover adjusts his weight above you.

You whine when you feel him pull away from you, the room seeming so much cooler without his body next to yours.

“My love…?” His voice feels a million miles away as he brushes a few strands of hair from your sweat soaked forehead before pressing a kiss there. “Are you alright?”

You chuckle, but it comes out hoarse and weaker than intended.

“You just…gave me the best orgasm of my life. I’m more than alright.”

You watch through bleary eyes as Dammon blushes, his earlier dominant demeanor disappearing into the Dammon you know and love.

“I’m going to untie you.”

You nod, trying to help as much as you can in your blissed out state as he helps you to sit up, maneuvering you until you sit straddling his lap so he can more easily work at the ropes.

He moves quickly, fingers deftly untying the intricate knots and letting the ropes fall away from your skin. When he loosens the ropes at your back, your hands fall to your sides, a dull ache running from your shoulders down to the tips of your fingers.

You must have let out some kind of noise or flinched, because as soon as the ropes fall away, Dammon’s hands are on your arms, calloused palms running up and down your arms as he tries to sooth the aches and indentations left behind.

“They were too tight,” he mutters softly. “I’m sorry, my love I-”

You shush him softly, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips to quiet his concerns. “I’m alright, Dammon. I promise,” you assure him, smiling as he continued to rub at the light indentation marks left by the ropes. “I liked it,” you finally admit. “I really liked it.”

His minstrations pauses momentarily, hands sliding down to wrap around your waist as he pulls back enough to look down at you, brows furrowed ever so slightly. “You’re…not just saying that to please me, are you?”

You can’t help the playful groan that you let out, followed by a small chuckle as you wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest.

“Only you could give a woman the best orgasm of her life and still question whether she liked it,” you tease, practically feeling the way Dammon rolls his eyes at you.

A small squeal escapes you as Dammon wraps his arms around you more securly as he flips you onto your back again, head hitting the pillow as he hovers over your, lips turned upwards playfully.

“If you think that was the best…I think I have more work to do.”

Your brows wing up in surprise, lips aprting slightly as your mind runs wild with the possibilities. “Is that a challenge, you’re proposing?” you ask.

Dammon smiles, humming low in his chest as he leans down to press a kiss to your jaw. “It might be,” he aquecies. “But for now, i’d just like to hold you and maybe run you a bath. If you’d be so inclined.”

Warmth swells in your chest at his words. Even after something most would consider debacuhed, Dammon still manages to be the sweetest thing in the room. You turn and press a quick kiss to his lips before reching up to wrap your arms around his neck.

“I’d Love nothing more.”

He smiles and plops down next to you on the bed, gathering you in his arms as he does so. His chin rests on the top of your head as you nuzzle into his chest, your leg tangling with his own until you’re both settled comfortably against one another.

Comfortable silence fills the space, Dammon trailing light patterns on your back, as you do the same on his chest - both of you just taking a moment to bask in the other's presence. Until Dammon finally speaks up.

“Thank you…for trusting me enough to do this,” he tells you softly, voice gentle.

You nod, moving to slip your arms around his waist, scooting closer to him. “Of course,” you say, pressing a kiss to his chest. “I love you, Dammon.”

You feel his lips press against the crown of your head.

“I love you more.”

#Dammon x reader #bg3 Dammon x reader #Bg3 x reader #Dammon #bg3 Dammon #bg3

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hotvintagepoll · 1 month

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Propaganda

Rosalind Russell (His Girl Friday, Auntie Mame, The Women)—Hugely influential in her role as Hildy in His Girl Friday, Russell is perhaps the greatest influence on the character of Lois Lane. Catty, hilarious and charming, Russell is the blueprint for every sharp tongued transatlantic diva. In The Women she wears a series of incredible fits including a wonderful Schiaparelli dress covered in eyes. Later in her career she was the incredible Queer Icon Mame, a model of bohemian life that still resonates today

Nina Mae McKinney (Hallelujah, Pie Pie Blackbird, The Devil’s Daughter)—One of the first black movie stars, Nina worked with Bill ‘Bojangles’ Robinson, King Vidor, and Paul Robeson. She was the first Black Actress to be signed to one of the major studios, MGM, but her career was stalled by a lack of roles.

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Rosalind Russell:

She's funny! She's glamorous! She stood up for herself! She took her own initiative to make sure her role in His Girl Friday was funny enough to stand up to Cary Grant!

Funny, fast talking, witty, triple threat, so charming that her husband of 35 years watched her in a movie and decided he needed to meet her and he was going to marry her, and got Cary Grant to arrange a meeting. Grant was best man at their wedding. Was a big supporter and funder of arthritis research and was honoured by Congress for her work in that field.

She’s just so fucking funny. She gave another woman a permanent scar from biting her leg in a scene and this is a story she herself told in interviews. This maybe true maybe not piece of IMDB trivia is never far from my mind: At the wrap party, Rosalind Russell was dancing with George Cukor, when Ernst Lubitsch passed her and said, "If you want more close-ups in the picture, never mind dancing with your director, you'd better dance with Norma Shearer!" Without missing a beat, Russell took Shearer's hand with a wink and danced her across the floor.

Nina Mae McKinney:

Hollywood's first Black vamp, and have you seen her dance? 👀

She has such delicate features and such a delightfully impish smile

#nina mae mckinney #rosalind russell #hotvintagepoll #ladies 2 #fuck that old woman

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loving-family-poll · 3 months

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Ultimate Incest Tournament - Round 4

Propaganda under the cut:

Gerard/Mikey:

Vocalist and bassist respectively of my chemical romance. they are insanely codependent (describing themselves as the same person just different heights etc). gerard has also licked mikeys nipple onstage. good times

Gerard is decidedly super abnormal about mikey. he has written many songs about him that are always adjacent to straight up love songs. he has also been explicitly sexual with him (giving him a pantomime handjob, caressing his chest, saying he looks like a hooker etc etc) while also constantly babying him. theyre codependent and they finish each others sentences and theyre in ickydisgusting brotherlove❤️❤️❤️❤️

Grew up together as the outsiders in their New Jersey town and spent their teenhoods together in a musty basement. Mikey learned to walk by running after Gerard and face-planting. Gerard drew comics for Mikey and told him stories. They went to a Smashing Pumpkins concert together and decided that being in a band is what they wanted out of life. Mikey learned the bass because Gerard was in bands and he wanted to join. Gerard called up Mikey after witnessing 9/11 and told him they're gonna start a band. Everything they do is together, they love each other. And isn't it so much fun to turn that incest?

Mikey Way wrote a comic where the main character, who looks like him from the black parade era, gets a woman pregnant. Which isn't incestuous on its own, but she looks like the female version of Gerard Way from the black parade era. Love is love or something

Dave/Rose:

Daverose blondetwin sweep because they were codependent without ever meeting from growing up seeing each other in their dreams

What does it mean to be an abused teenage boy growing up alone and seeing a girl in your dreams every night who is also your best friend. and when you finally meet her you go on a suicide mission together even though nobody was asking you to die with her. and then you are the only two human beings left in the recognizable universe on a cold meteor surrounded by aliens but you’re glad it’s with her. and when you finally touch the girl from your childhood dreams she looks exactly like you. because she’s your sister

I don't have words for how good these snarky assholes are together. DaveRose is brain chemistry changing. They both put up so many fronts, and engage in so much snarky wordplay, and are constantly trying to get under each other's facade. They play off each other so well, witty and sharp, I need them to be together always

We all die & we all die alone are the two cold truths of the universe but dave and rose broke both simultaneously by ascending to godhood together

Their twincest wins because it is just so confusingly tragic? profound? dave leaving rose behind in a doomed world, dave following her to the bomb. they are both so closed & cut off & curt its hard to imagine the depth of these things. but that is their love language: giving up their lives for each other over and over, in a confusing and fumbling and heartfelt love song. i can’t say i love you but i know we’ll die together anyway. because we’re made of the exact same stuff. i’ll find you again at the last moment. that’s love.

THEY DIED TOGETHER, YOUR HONOR

Confirmed canon by the author, (something happened) between them. Parallels of dying by each other's sides in EVERY timeline. They are THE womb-to-tomb. There is nothing platonic about winking at your brother while talking about crushes, that shit is incestuous. Seer/Knight archetype. They will die protecting each other.

do you realize love someone if you don’t follow them on a suicide mission into the gaping maw of a literal fucking sun after they knock you out and psychoanalyze you in your dreams? the blueprint of the “ethereal androgynous blonde boygirl twins” trope. witch/knight dynamics. they find each other to die together in every timeline no matter what (but they’re still emotionally constipated teenagers who bicker and make fun of each other in pesterchum). kids with grown-up powers. perfect little freaks of nature. what if we looked exactly like each other’s eyes

#tournament polls #tumblr polls #incest poll #round 4 #gerard/mikey #waycest #daverose #dersecest #mcr #homestuck #tw incest

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melanin-melanina · 1 year

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#blackandbeautiful #black woman icons #blackandproud #black woman power #black woman standard of beauty #black and brown goddesses #black beauty #black woman aparición #black woman beauty #black woman femininity #black woman is the blueprints #black woman is god #black woman matter #black woman magic #black woman shit #beauty blog #scarf fashion

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kiwisbell · 8 months

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The Hitman's Guide to Getting the Girl: Chapter 1 [dave york x f!reader]

It's just another job, until Dave York decides to kidnap an enemy’s wiseass daughter. It’s just another job, until he falls in love.

series masterlist

status: complete

chapter 1 summary: Underestimating the power of a good omelette.

pairing: dave york x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings for entire fic: kidnapping, murder, violence, the world being horrible to women, reader having a very terrible sense of self-preservation, unprotected piv, oral sex (m and f receiving), dave york finding his second calling as a pussy-eating god, pining, possessive sex, jealousy, daddy issues, (stockholm syndrome?), dirty talk, actually filthy talk, hitmen and politicians, revenge, scary man with a soft spot for his woman, philosophical foreplay, tramp stamp worship (you'll see), a little sprinkle of breeding kink if you look hard enough, obsessive behaviour, anal fingering, anal sex, implied age gap, light dom/sub vibes, light bondage

tags and warnings for this chapter: kidnapping, violence, pretentious allusions, breaking and entering, self-reflection

word count: ~ 5k

this will be the first fic i've ever cross-posted to tumblr (yay me!); this means, however, that i am still learning and will likely make some silly mistakes. nonetheless, i have to apologise for my long hibernation and hope that bringing y'all a new miniseries will initiate my journey to forgiveness. please let me know what you think so far! chapter 2 will be posted soon.

PREFACE

“‘If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; which if thou please to hide in this true breast, and let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, and humbly beg the death upon my knee.’” — Richard III, I.II

chapter 1: when i first saw you, the end was soon

JANUARY

Dave York likes a clean job.

The interior of the home presents a good start. He enters through the garage door, briefly sweeping the Range Rover’s interior for any surprises. Finding none, he gives the signal to Resnik, who moves around to the front door. He will maintain a holding position until Dave radios his all-clear. There’s only one objective tonight.

It’s hardly your average suburb. The house is a goddamn mansion, with a winding driveway and no neighbours for four miles. It’s nighttime, dead silent, and nobody ever drives up here unless they’ve taken a wrong turn, but Dave is careful. He wore all black from his boots to his head, which was shrouded by a black hat. He brought one vehicle, three men, one weapon each. He does not intend to start a fight.

Well, not yet.

The foyer is clear, too. Two coats are hung up on the iron hooks: a sky-blue peacoat and a leather jacket. They look like they both belong to a woman. So do the shoes, which vary from a pair of cosy slippers to multiple sets of high heels (the physics of which he couldn’t hope to comprehend if he tried). It’s dark here, but a lone light illuminates the hallway ahead, shining from a room to the left. The kitchen, if his blueprints were correct.

His finger feathers near the trigger of his .45 Auto, his back up against the adjacent wall as he creeps toward the source of the light. Kovac’s voice crackles in his earpiece (“Clear upstairs”) as Dave takes a slow, deep breath and crosses the threshold into the kitchen, his firearm sweeping every corner before his eyes can.

The small hanging lights are on above the generous island, and a woman tends to a steaming cup of coffee behind it.

You look up and smile politely at Dave. “Hi.”

He had dealt with plenty of curveballs in his life. Avoiding IEDs, taking out a target from half a mile out, all the bullshit that came with building a business. Dave York knows how to take the shit and roll with it.

But you're… smiling.

Dave’s lips part but no sound comes out. You continue, stirring sugar into your coffee. “You don’t need to use that gun, do you?”

He licks his bottom lip and continues to stare.

Your smile turns sheepish. “I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

Stunned, Dave actually lowers the weapon a fraction.

You don’t hold yourself like you’re paralysed by fear. There is no tension in your shoulders; you look wholly at ease in your own home, your hands warmed by the cup of coffee on its little pink coaster. Dave expected terror, pleading, scratching and kicking and screaming.

“Boss? You clear?” comes Resnik’s voice in his ear.

“Do you mind if I finish my coffee?” you ask, indicating that your mug is still half-full.

Dave cannot physically produce the noises necessary for speech. He finds himself inclining his head in a vague nod, allowing you to lift the coffee cup to your mouth and purse your lips as you blow the steam away. It curls toward Dave and evaporates like a silvery ghost.

What kind of captive goes willingly to their own prison?

One who knows their bed is made.

“Hold,” he finally says to his team. “Apprehending target.”

“Ask them if they’d like a coffee before they go,” you offer. “I’ve got plenty to go around.”

He cannot bring himself to repeat those words to his men. He’s having enough trouble wrapping his head around you as it is.

You introduce yourself, and Dave assesses you as he shifts around the island. Sweeping his gaze from your slippered feet up to your slip of a nightgown, he finds nothing of note save for a pretty woman who knows she’s about to be taken forcibly from her home. A woman who’s seemingly prepared so well for this exact situation that she made a coffee at midnight and prepared some for her uninvited guests, too.

For the first time in his entire illicit career, Dave does not know what to think, do, or say.

“I’m sorry if I’ve made this difficult,” you tell him. “Do they usually struggle?”

Dave swallows thickly and finds his mouth completely dry. “Uh. Yeah.”

You smile indulgently, and it knocks his insides askew. “I can scream if you want.”

Dave winces. “No, that’s—that’s not necessary.”

“Well. You should probably frisk me. They usually frisk first.” You shrug one shoulder. “I don’t have a weapon on me, but if it makes you feel more comfortable…”

He’s holding a weapon in his hands and he’s never felt more disarmed.

They usually frisk first.

Who are they?

Dave frowns. “This has happened before?”

You wave a dismissive hand. “My father has made a lot of people angry.”

He feels the tension in his jaw when his teeth begin to ache from grinding them together. “Your father—”

“Let me guess. Screwed you over on a business deal.” You pin Dave with a powerful look, one whose meaning he cannot place. “Last I heard, he was in Zurich. You may be waiting a while if you intend to keep me until he returns. He’s nowhere as efficient as you seem to be.”

A deliberate choice of words, equal parts compliment and warning. Code for, If you want to travel anywhere in the next little while, you’ll have to take your little hostage with you.

Code for, I’m going to be more trouble than I’m worth.

He could have told you that the second he walked into the kitchen.

Dave moves behind you and watches you lift your arms before he can ask. The slight movement sends a waft of sweet, dark vanilla perfume toward him. He inhales, fascinated by the bombardment of sensations as he puts his hands on your body. The frisking is clinical—left arm, right arm, waist, hips, thighs, Jesus Christ— and ultimately fruitless. But your hair is soft and smells freshly of shampoo, your ears glisten with expensive diamonds, and your eyes glimmer with new colours he could not see from afar. You’re a picture of wealth and beauty and he’s entranced by the straightness of your spine, the incisive look in your eye.

You turn your head slightly to look at him, and Dave surprises himself when he maintains eye contact. “What’s your name?” you ask, your voice soft. He feels a cool puff of air brush his cheek when you speak.

His hands are still on your waist. As if struck by lightning, Dave jolts away. You don’t evade his eye, sipping the rest of your coffee. It’s so far beyond being in his best interests to give you his name, especially since he plans to keep you alive.

“Dave,” he says, fucking his best interests right in the ass.

You hum in appraisal. He feels more like the prospective captive with the way you look at him. “Pleasure to meet you, Dave. I’m finished with my coffee if you want to go now.”

“Okay,” he says, his voice gravelly.

“Where are you taking me?”

“My house,” he says shortly. “I’m not giving you the address, so don't ask.”

“I wouldn’t ask for your address. I would dig it out.”

He has no fucking doubt.

“Won't your family be suspicious of a bound woman locked up in your home?”

“I don’t have a family. No one will see you.”

He realises his mistake the instant he says it. “No more digging. No more questions.”

“Will you blindfold me?”

“Yes.”

“Am I allowed to pack a bag?”

“We’ll come back for your things another time. I’ve stayed here too long already.”

“I don't know if you’ve noticed, Dave, but there isn't another soul for miles.”

“People could always be following.”

Your face sets in a ponderous frown. “You're a paranoid man. Paranoid and proactive. Those are dangerous together, you know.”

“You aren't my therapist,” says Dave. “And I told you not to ask questions.”

He's never considered it. Taking preventative measures has always availed him, but what happens when he decides to take those measures against someone who never planned to take action? He's never taken an innocent life, but who gets to decide who’s innocent, anyway?

Your vanilla perfume and your expensive pyjamas and your blinding smile telegraph wealthy naïveté, but as far as Dave is concerned, you're proving to be lethal.

“I’m not asking questions,” you say nonchalantly. He’s irritated by how little your talking annoys him. He should be itching to shut you up himself. Maybe it's the tired, soft drawl of your voice. Different from the gruff male sounds he's used to hearing every day at work. “I’m making observations. While I have time.”

“Time for what?” Now who's the one asking questions?

Your mouth twists. “Making observations.”

He vaguely shakes his head. “Why won’t you fight me?”

“Why won’t you?”

Dave blinks.

Your perfect posture makes him feel like he’s being surveyed. “You didn’t walk in here with the intention to shoot me. Your finger wasn’t on the trigger. And because you have no reason to kill me, I have no reason to fight. I certainly can’t overpower you when I’m weaponless and you have backup. This is only a home. I’ll come back to it someday.”

It feels like fire licking against water. Relentless optimism meets unwavering cynicism. A pretty face and sharp tongue meet a man willing to do anything for a heap of cash. “Why won’t you fight me, Dave?” you ask him again. “It looks to me like you’d rather do anything than force me into the backseat of your car.”

“It’s a job,” he says plainly.

“Kidnapping me, or pissing off my father?”

“You’re insurance.”

“Have you ever heard of the myth of Sisyphus, Dave?”

He grunts, finally tearing his gaze away from you. He already regrets giving you his name.

You take his silence as assent. “And how is your relationship with your parents?”

“Okay. No more talking,” Dave snaps. He tucks his gun into his waistband and demands, with less bite than he intends, “Hands.”

You comply easily, hold your wrists together in front of you. You remain there as Dave directs his attention to his team. “Kovac, meet me in the kitchen. Target apprehended.”

“Roger.”

“Will you kill me if I keep talking?” you ask.

He pins you with a glare. “Maybe I will.”

You give him a knowing, clever smile, and Dave feels some of the tension in his shoulders loosen when Kovac enters the room, gun pointed in your direction. You lift your hands in the air and give Kovac a little wave. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Kovac. Dave and I have already made arrangements in here, so no need to shoot.”

He flashes Dave a questioning glance that gets no satisfaction, but lowers his weapon. “Yeah. Nice to meet you, too.”

Dave takes you by the arm, Kovac the other, and they lead you outside together. Resnik follows to the car, plucking his zip ties out of his pocket while Dave winds around to the driver’s side. “Don’t make any stops on the way back,” he tells Ari, “and don’t let her talk to you.”

“She a witch or something?” laughs the driver.

“Yeah. Something.”

A faint noise of protest perks Dave’s ears. “You don’t need to tie them so tight,” you tell Resnik, wincing at the pinching pain of the ties around your wrists.

“Shut up,” is all he says in reply.

“You know, the best way for a hostage to escape zip ties is getting their hands cut off.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Resnik tugs on your bound hands.

“I’m not going to run. But I will complain about chafing the entire trip if you don’t—”

“And I will sew your pretty little goddamn mouth shut if you don’t shut it.” Resnik shoves you hard into the backseat with Kovac and shuts the door. “Jesus, York. Did you have to pick such a complainer?”

Dave flicks out a switchblade and presses it into Resnik’s palm. “Cut them off and do it again. Not as tight.”

Resnik scoffs. “That's funny, man.”

Dave just stares. “Not as tight this time, sergeant.”

Resnik blinks, affronted. “Did you just pull rank on me?”

“You got a problem with that?”

The man sniffs haughtily. “No, sir.”

“Good.” Dave opens the passenger door and slips inside. He puts his gun, safety on, in the glove box. “Nobody touches her or threatens her. You answer to me if she gets hurt, and you won't be happy with my answer. Clear?”

Echoes of “clear” and “roger” echo through the car. Then, your sweet voice, piping up with a “Thanks, Dave.”

He ignores you, but catching a glimpse of you wedged between Kovac and Resnik, Dave’s chest settles a little at the sight of the zip ties around your wrists, much looser than before.

They make a stop on the way back, after all. But only because Dave has to piss.

And you're exhausted.

“Come on out,” he says. “Stretch your legs.”

You take his hand gratefully, shimmying out of the car. Dave crowds you so nobody sees your bound hands or the blindfold around your eyes. The sky is still pitch-black, but the 24/7 service centre still has vehicles parked outside.

“The stars are beautiful this far out,” you say wistfully, looking upward even though you cannot see the sky. “Sometimes I like to take a drive out and sit on the roof of my car in a parking lot. I like to watch the stars. They remind me I’m small.”

Dave tilts his head to the side. “You like feeling small?”

He can't relate to that. He wants to be the biggest person in the room, even if not a single other person knows it. He likes knowing he’s the one wielding the power. He doesn't understand how you can be so content with your hands bound and your eyes blinded.

“I like knowing there are bigger things out there,” you tell him. “Makes me feel protected.”

He has free reign to look at you when you can't pierce him with that keen stare. Your body shifts in a given space with the grace of water. You were raised like a princess, no doubt. A lifetime of behaving primly and properly under the care of a nanny while your father flitted off to fuck-knows and screwed over his business associates for more power. You know how to wave and smile. Dave didn't expect you to know how to wiggle your way into a person’s brain.

“Something tells me you don't stargaze.”

“Don’t have time for shit like that,” he says with a mirthless laugh. “Busy being a murderous sociopath.”

“I never used those words, Dave,” you say gently, “and I don't think you believe that.”

“Says my captive.”

“Willing captive,” you clarify.

“That doesn't make a difference.”

“It may not for me,” you say, “but it does for you. If I thought you were going to kill me, I would have made a valiant effort to kick your ass.”

Dave snorts. “You a fighter?”

“I’m a talker. Same thing.”

“Yeah, I’ll give you that.”

“And I’m deeply sorry to offend you, Dave”—you feel around for his arm until you find his bicep over his leather jacket—“but you don't frighten me.”

He still feels the touch of your hand when it's gone. Dave makes for the service centre to take a piss, leaving you under Ari’s supervision. Kovac and Resnik are in the empty men’s room, too, talking idly about the choice of fast food joints in the service centre. “Hey, man,” says Kovac, leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. “The girl's hungry. You gonna feed her?”

Dave rolls his eyes. “Of course I’m going to feed her.”

“I can feed her something,” Resnik utters under his breath. Kovac slaps him square in the chest as a warning.

Dave’s jaw ticks. “Guess I wasn't clear earlier. Nobody—”

“Touches her. Yeah, I heard. Why, man, you want dibs? I didn't think we were in middle school.”

Dave has known his guys since their Army days. He knows they're capable of some crass talk, but he’s an expert at ignoring them. This time, he can't seem to shake the crude words.

“She came with us willingly, Resnik. She put out her hands and offered you all coffee. If you want to get your dick wet that badly, fuck your hand.”

When he gets back to the car, he helps you into the passenger’s seat. “Is everything okay?” you ask him.

“I just kidnapped you,” he grumbles, fumbling with your seatbelt, “and you're asking me if everything’s okay.”

“Well, you do seem tense.”

“Yeah. A little.” He's leaning over your body to buckle the belt, and he can smell your perfume, your hair, your freshly-laundered pyjamas.

You offer him a conciliatory smile. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Nice try,” chuckles Dave, even though the urge itches him under the skin. “You comfortable?”

“I’m okay. Are you?”

“Stop doing that.”

“Stop doing what?” You lift a challenging brow.

Dave only says, “Making me want to talk.”

Beside you, Ari laughs. “I’ll talk to you if you want.”

You give Dave your best pointed look through the blindfold. “Thank you, Ari.”

It's dawn by the time the car pulls into Dave’s driveway. He helps you out, letting you stretch your legs before he guides you into the house. He gently urges the blindfold over your head and you blink in the harsh light. “You okay?” he asks.

You briefly cover your eyes with your bound hands. “A little blind. It’s all right. I’m sure you have a lovely home.”

Dave chuckles. “Thanks.”

You grasp for his arm and wrap your hands around it, your eyes still closed. “Okay. Guide me to the basement. I’ll try not to slip.”

He frowns down at you. “Why the basement?”

“What, you don’t have a concrete prison for me?” You crack your eyes open and squint at Dave. “A cell with iron bars?”

“Uh. No. I was going to give you the guest bedroom.”

You release his arm. “Oh.”

Dave doesn't pause to ruminate on your past experience with kidnappings. Your eyes finally adjust and you follow him upstairs to the bedroom across the hall, already made-up with fresh linens.

Your mouth falls open. “This is the nicest jail cell I’ve ever seen.”

“No bars, I’m afraid,” Dave says mirthlessly. “Just a lock on the outside. Sorry.”

“Just protocol,” you say breezily.

The walls are a soothing off-white, the queen-sized bedding white and plush with a flower-patterned comforter atop it. You lift your brows at the sight of the flowers on the nightstand: freshly watered and thriving, not just a leftover decoration. There's a dresser and a plush ottoman at the foot of the bed.

“Did you do all this?” you ask with a sly smile.

Dave checks his watch. You assess the movement: quick and calculated, no time wasted, a quick flick of his wrist so his sleeve no longer obscures the hands. “If you're asking whether I picked the comforter, no.”

“Long shot.” You shrug. “In any case, it looks great.”

“You aren't supposed to sound grateful.” Dave folds his arms over his chest, watching you as you make your way around the room. You have a delicate way of touching things. Your perfectly manicured nails trace gently around the shapes of objects, like you're not so much feeling as reading their auras.

“You could have locked me in a concrete basement,” you point out, opening the top drawer. “Lots of space for a girl with no clothes.”

“I told you,” says Dave, walking up to your side and closing the drawer, “we’ll go back for your things. Tomorrow, okay? For now, you need to eat. You must be hungry.”

“I’ve been hungry since I saw your car outside my window.”

“Right. Well.” Dave wipes his hands on his slacks, hoping you don't notice and accuse him of having an unfulfilled relationship with his father or some shit. “I’ll bring up some food for you. You vegetarian?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Why would I lie about that?”

“Because I…” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don't know.”

You point toward the door on your right. “Ensuite?”

It's such a tactically-posed question that his old instincts almost have him saying, Affirmative. Instead, Dave manages a tight “Yes” and backs out of the room before the rest of the air can escape in the whirlpool you create. “Wash up, if you'd like. No one’s going to bother you.”

“You made that clear.” You give him a wry look and leave for the bathroom.

He has his head cook make you an omelette. Kovac and Resnik munch happily on their takeout food at Dave's dinner table and only clean up after themselves because their boss will wrong their necks if they don’t. Dave sits in his office and checks some boxes on the Post-it note he'd left for himself:

Kidnap rich daughter.

Send ransom.

Piss Daddy off.

Check one. Two more to go.

Dave rubs the slope of his nose and stretches out his back. He wonders if you feel as cramped as he does after being stuck inside an armoured car all night. He wonders why he's wondering about you at all. He hears the shower running upstairs and clutches his pen a little harder.

He has a fucking hostage in his own home, using his facilities. He's heard the word stupid uttered idly tonight, his men thinking he's foolish for keeping you so close. The pretty, young, silver-tongued princess who makes coffee for her captors. He hasn't locked the windows. He hasn't removed every sharp item from the room. You can escape if you want. You can try to attack them. But you know better.

Dave feels a bizarre surge of dread. He doesn't know how to deal with a person who shows no fear when Dave York enters their home. He knows how to cooperate through violence and intimidation. The fact that you respond to neither is not just a lack of leverage. It's a lack of power.

Dave stands abruptly from his desk and finds his head cook, Barry, in the kitchen, sprinkling chives onto what is possibly the most beautiful omelette Dave has ever seen. “Jesus,” he mutters. “She get to you, too?”

Barry chuckles. “No, sir. Just doing my job.”

“Yeah, that's what I keep telling myself, too.” Dave folds his arms over his chest. “This looks great. She’ll appreciate it.”

Barry eyes him subtly before returning to his presentation, but Dave notices the glance. Nothing is subtle when you're a soldier. “What's on your mind, chef?”

“Just…” Barry shrugs his broad shoulders. “The girl. Guy’s gotta wonder why she's here, and not…”

“In a concrete basement?” supplies Dave. Barry shrugs again. “I wasn't aware everyone in my house was so concerned with the health and safety of my prisoner.”

“Not concerned, sir,” says Barry, keeping his eyes down. “Just curious.”

“Clip that curiosity before it gets you into trouble, chef. I’ll take this to her room.”

“Yes, sir,” Dave hears behind his back as he makes his way back to you. He knocks twice on your door, the rap of his knuckles soft, and hears some generic shuffling of feet before you're opening it cautiously, peering through the small gap.

It's only when he catches a whiff of your shampooed hair and looks down into your keen eyes that Dave realises—

Why the fuck is he delivering a goddamn omelette to his own goddamn hostage?

Jesus Christ. He's not stupid. He's never been stupid. He crawled his way up out of the seven hells that was his career in the Army. He wrangled together his old buddies and created a profiting security company. He kills for money and he's never found out. He knows what he's doing.

Except for right fucking now.

You're dressed in a large sweatshirt and a pair of shorts from the dresser. They're both a bit threadbare and mismatched, but you make them look fashionable. Your hair is damp, and you peer at the omelette in his hands.

“That's the most beautiful omelette I’ve ever seen,” you say. “Don't think you can fool me into believing you made that.”

Dave blinks. “Should I be offended?”

You narrow your eyes. “Do you take offence to many things when you kill people for a living? I would think everything sort of slides off.”

Dave’s jaw goes taut. “Are you going to take the plate or just play mind games all night?”

“I’ll take the plate,” you say, opening the door wide, “but I don't see why it has to be one or the other.”

Dave hands you the omelette and feels a bit prideful seeing the clear hunger in your posture. You take a seat at the small, circular table in the bedroom and pull out the other chair for him. “You might as well sit,” you tell him. “You look like you're itching over there.”

Dave should go. He should lock you inside and leave you to your own devices while he gets his guys to bring you food and does his fucking job. He should be mean to you. He should threaten you to behave.

He sits across from you.

You eat exactly how he expects: reserved, taught, precise. Napkin on your lap, back straight. You only speak once you've swallowed and wipe your mouth after every few bites, even when there's nothing there. Dave can see your ravenous hunger, but your behaviour is learned. It’s habit. You've grown up in restraints.

You angle your fork and knife to indicate that you're pausing your meal. “My compliments to the chef.”

Dave, amused by the details of the way you eat, leans back in his chair. “He’ll be happy to have them. My guys are like stray dogs; they don't appreciate a good meal.”

You smirk. “Men tend to eat at their food, rather than eat with it.”

“Am I supposed to ask my food on a date?”

“That's up to you.” Digging back into your omelette, you wait until you swallow before speaking again. Dave hinges on each syllable. “But it might feel more flattered that way.”

“Thanks for the note.”

“Are you happy, Dave?”

He rears back slightly. “What?”

“I asked if you're happy. Do you like what you do?” You finish your omelette and drop your chin into your palm. “Do you like who you are?”

The only light in the room comes from the floor lamp. You seem energy-conscious, consuming as little space and light as possible. Your eyes are soft and curious, your lashes spidery on your cheeks. The width of your pupils sucks him in like the centre of a whirlpool. He wishes more than ever that he stocked this room with alcohol.

“I…” Dave shakes his head. “I don’t know. Should I be?”

“You have a very nice home,” you tell him. “Your cook makes great food. You have authority over some very strong men who like to make crude jokes about blindfolded women. I can understand if you’re happy with your life.”

“Yeah, well.” Dave pinches the bridge of his nose. “Maybe it’s more complicated than having nice things.”

Your smile is wicked. “One must imagine Sisyphus happy,” you say. “Except for Dave York.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “His life is only a death sentence that never kills. Nobody can imagine Sisyphus happy.”

“Maybe you can't imagine it because you don't know what it means to be happy.” The way you hold eye contact makes him jittery. It feels like a challenge—like trying to keep a foothold on the edge of a cliff. If he slips, you win.

“Maybe I don’t.” Dave tilts his head. “Do you?”

You readjust in your seat, drawing a knee up to your chest and resting your chin on it. “Do you know how many times I’ve been taken from my home, Dave?”

His hand curls into a fist atop the table. “I don't want to know—”

“Seventeen since you,” you supply. “Usually never for more than a few hours or a night. Most times, it's because my father pissed someone off, and the men who take me can't conceive of another way to pay him back than to kidnap a woman from her safe place.”

You give him a pointed look and guilt engulfs the discomforting curiosity weighing on his chest. Dave clears his throat.

“That's why I have to imagine Sisyphus happy,” you say softly. “Because if he can’t be happy, doomed to live the same existence over and over, then I can’t ever be free.”

“I think,” Dave says slowly, his voice a swipe of sharp nails in the silence, “that if Sisyphus is truly happy, it only means I’m a bad person.”

Your eyes blink sleepily. “What makes you say that?”

“I did this to myself,” he tells you. “Getting into this life.”

“I don't think that's necessarily true. You're a soldier. This country isn't kind to people like you.”

“No. It isn't. But I still made this choice.” Dave sweeps a hand around the room. “You're here because I killed. Hurt people. Made enemies. I’ve let myself accept the things I do, but if I let myself be happy about all of this, then…”

“You’ll begin to wonder if you're an evil man.”

“No,” he says, looking down at the scattered chives on your empty plate. “I’m already an evil man. I just don't want to be happy about it.”

“Evil people don't go around lamenting their own evilness.” You smile at him and all he thinks is, I don't deserve that. “Maybe Sisyphus isn't happy. Maybe he’s resigned. But maybe there's something in the comfort of his everyday. If he can get even a little bit faster, a bit stronger at pushing the rock, he's making it easier. Maybe everything doesn't always have to be the same.”

He's never thought about it like that. Dave sighs, rubbing his jaw. “Your dad ever tell you you're a pain in the ass?”

You chew on your lower lip and it's the first indication he’s seen that you're remotely troubled. “If he noticed, he certainly wouldn't mention it.”

Dave doesn’t like the way light flees from your smart, incisive eyes. There’s a sharpness to their edges now, and it makes him feel cold, down to the bone. “There isn't a person in the world who wouldn't notice you.”

You lift your brows. “Maybe I should inform him. He’ll be surprised to hear that.”

Dave feels his mouth twitch at the corner. “Not the best dad, then.”

“He isn't winning any awards, though it might make him work harder at it if he knew that. He likes that I behave. He likes me quiet and prim and smiling and decidedly not ruining his reputation.”

“Sounds like he wants a houseplant, not a daughter,” mutters Dave.

You hum ponderously. “Do you think he’ll be happy if I wear more green?”

Dave laughs and covers it by clearing his throat. “Yeah. Maybe. We can try when I give you back to him.”

Your eyes glitter with a thrilling air of mischief. “You can give me back to my quiet, empty home, Dave. I’ll get under my covers, pour a glass of wine, light a candle, and regret that I didn’t annoy you more.” You lift your fork in mock-toast. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” echoes Dave softly, lifting your used knife. The utensils clatter together in the air, and the room goes silent for a long while.

#kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #dave york x female reader #dave york #the equalizer 2 #dave york fanfiction #dave york x you #dave york x reader #pedro pascal fic #dave york smut

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kelseytheballerina · 8 months

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Heyy so Starting by being straight up and admitting that envy is an ugly habit I have. I see people who grew up with money living their best life and I get hurt and mad because I'm working my ass off just trying to get by, or I see an attractive woman and feel like crap. Its something I'm recognizing as a problem and I want to stop. I saw a post where you said something about being inspired and motivated by women who are better off/more successful/prettier/etc instead of comparing and getting jealous. How do you actually put that into practice and acheive that mindset?

totally, so basically I would just look at it as inspiration and proof of an outcome. a lot of our desires can be based on theory. the possibility of having this or going there or excelling in this way. but we don’t technically know if we could pull it off or if it’s ever been done before with a specific set of conditions, so our goals and desires are just a theory. for example, maybe you desire to be a mom-model-actress-ceo under 25 and you see a woman literally become just that. I wouldn’t be like “grrrr how dare she have what I want” I would be happy that I now have proof that what I want is in the realm of possibility and there is a path that has been laid out should I choose to use hers as a blueprint. people will likely be more accepting of me doing the same thing since there’s already been someone who has come before me and been successful. plus, now you could have a potential peer who becomes a potential friend when you are in the same circle. when it comes to beauty, there’s so many girls out there being unapologetically into beauty care so now people won’t be weirded out when I start showing up with nails and hair and cute clothes because they have helped break down the taboo. so it’s more of an appreciation for them trailblazing a path or showing time and time again that something is possible and here’s what it looks like for a 35 year old and a 60 year old and a 19 year old and a white American and a black American and a Nigerian Brit and so on and so forth. it’s inspirational data.

it’s like, I now know I’m not crazy and my aspirations are attainable at least to a degree (factoring in variables like where you’re born and parents you’re born to, etc) so all I have to do is stay on track and I’ll be there too some day. when I’m studying over and over and wondering if this is even real and then I see a classmate got an A, I feel better knowing that I’m not screaming into the void and that the outcome I seek is actually a reality. I no longer feel like I’m rowing in open water of uncharted territory. this land has been conquered before and that’s great! so maybe I won’t get skin exactly like hers but I’ll get close. maybe I won’t get her salary at the same age she did but even if I have to work an extra 5 years I’ll be glad I was inspired by her to keep going. maybe you didn’t consider the possibility of having certain things until you saw that woman with it and now your mindset has been expanded to have more out of life.

I feel like when you’re envious, there’s a part of you deep down that will secretly wish for someone’s downfall, even if you’re friends with them because it’s a “me vs you and there can only be one” mentality. which means you’ll be likely to think everyone else is secretly out to get you too or the world is conspiring against you when it’s nothing of the sort. but when you have an “I’m happy for you and patiently waiting my turn” mentality, you’re more likely to see the blessings happening to you in action, you’re more likely to be a positive person around such women and they’d more likely want to be around you and help you come up with them rather than feeling some sort of repressed hater energy.

I always just remember that none of us are on the same timeline and not everyone peaks at the same age. some are late bloomers, some have more barriers in the way, but that just means you will end up being someone else’s inspiration one day when they find interest in your variables and outcome. let your journey be what it will be and keep your mind open to the wisdom you’re collecting along the way. if it took you 3 years to clear your skin up, you’ll have waaaay more insight on the topic than someone who’s only ever experienced the occasional breakout and let’s say you wanted to turn that into a skincare YouTube channel or something, you’d have more success than someone with nothing to say. what I mean by that is, sometimes the ones with the long journeys that feel unfavorable in the moment end up blooming into an unforeseen opportunity in the future.

envy is never worth it. it just makes the journey more miserable than it needs to be and pushes people away.

#ask

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scorpionextdooor · 11 months

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berryhobii · 5 months

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Hiiiii i just absolutely love your work and your representation for us black fans/readers thank u sm!!! im also extremely obsessed with Late for Work couple but this could go for any of the couples. im not sure if youre still taking requests (if not im so sorry not trying to be pushy kdjsks) but i wanted to know how would you think reader x Jungkook handle being an interracial couple in korea?! esp w her being a black woman? like reader feels a moment of insecurity or something and JK feels angry that someone made her feel that way and just loves her and makes her feel better? pure fluff or smut, ik you'd capture it perfectly 🥺💞 love you keep up the amazing work and take it easy!!!! xoxoxoxxxxx 💜💜💜

Hi! Thanks so much for your request! It really inspired me because I definitely understand being in an interracial relationship and the prejudice and problems we as black people face when he decide to date outside of our race. To my black people, WE ARE BEAUTIFUL. We have always been beautiful. People who hate on us fear our beauty because they know they could never replicate us or do what we do. Again, thank you for your request and I hope you enjoy! I made it a angsty but with fluff and just a tiny little piece of smut at the end. I also set this with the LFW Couple during their engagement phase🩵🩵🩵

Being a black woman, you’ve faced a lot of hate and turmoil. Some from your own community, some from others and even some self deprecation from yourself.

Regardless, you had amazing parents and friends who always assured you that your skin was beautiful and that you were beautiful. You were a black woman—the blueprint, the most elegant and graceful, the most envied.

You should be proud and you were.

Despite having so much overflowing confidence, there were moments where you could feel that little monster called insecurity crawling up your spine.

The most recent moment you could remember was a few months after you got engaged to your now wonderful husband, Jungkook.

He had taken charge of a lot of the wedding planning, saying he had a lot of good ideas and since he spent a lot of time at home anyway, he’d do most of the searching and calling. Of course, you’d come home and give some of your ideas as well.

“It’s your day, baby. I want you to have everything you want.”

Your heart and tummy soared with butterflies at hearing that. He really treated you like a princess. It was both of your wedding but Jungkook wanted you to have the wedding of your dreams. He didn’t care if you wanted him to wear pajamas or dye his hair orange, he’d do it if it meant you’d be happy.

With wedding preparations came things like makeup consultations and hair trials. As a black woman in Korea, there wasn’t a lot of options for makeup that fit your skin or people who understood your natural hair so you knew you’d probably be relying on yourself a lot for the time being. Good thing you knew how to do your own makeup and hair but doing it yourself kind of took away the magic and experience of wedding planning.

Thankfully, with some hard searching, you found a salon with a black employee. You could have cried tears of joy, seeing as her skin complexion was close to yours and that she had experience with wedding makeup.

Her name was Jazz and she was actually born in South Korea. The salon she worked at was owned by a close friend of her parents and she’s been working there for a few years.

“So, tell me about your fiancé. Is he handsome?” She asked you in English as she detangled your hair. Your Korean was pretty good but you sometimes preferred English.

You smiled just thinking about him, pulling up a photo of him on your phone. It was a selfie you two took after getting engaged—your left hand raised to show off your ring and him cheesing hard at the camera.

Jazz made an ‘oooo’ sound, looking a little closer at him. “He is very handsome. How’d you bag someone like that?”

With candy crush, you thought.

“Yeah. He’s amazing. He’s so kind and sweet too. I can’t imagine life without him.” You chattered dreamily. Your life had barely started with Jungkook but you wanted to live the rest of it with him. You wanted to laugh with him, to scold him for staying up too late, to argue with him and then make up later, to experience every joyous moment with him.

You only wanted him. For the rest of your life.

Jungkook came to pick you up after your appointment, waltzing into the shop like he owned it. You bit your lip at the sight of him—he’s being growing his hair out, claiming he wanted to see how it would look before the wedding. He asked how you’d like it and you insisted you’d love his hair any kind of way but you were secretly wishing he’d grow it out and wear a ponytail. Fingers crossed!

When you started spending more time together, you noticed how many hours he spent in the gym. You’d FaceTime him sometimes and he’d often be boxing or lifting weights, sweat dripping down his neck and muscles bulging. And yes, the first time you two had sex was after one of those calls. You had given yourself a 90 day time restraint, just to make sure he was pursuing you for more than just sex. 89 days was pretty close though so you considered it a win!

He scrunched his nose in a cute smile when he saw you, long legs carrying him over to where you were getting some final touchups by Jazz. She noticed him approaching, jaw dropping at your fiancé.

She leaned down to whisper scream in your ear, “girl he is fine as hell!”

You chuckled. “I know.” Standing to your feet, you greeted your sexy fiancé. “Hi baby.” You greeted in Korean.

Once he was close enough, he pulled you into a hug, inhaling the scent of your clean hair and all the products Jazz used. He pulled away to get a good look at you.

“You look beautiful baby.” He complimented and you smiled even wider, feeling all giddy under the praise. “Do you think this is the hairstyle you want for the wedding?”

“I like it but I don’t know. I’m gonna come back.”

“Please do!” Jazz chimed from behind you, making both of you laugh.

“Jungkook, this is Jazz.” You introduced. He smiled politely at her, reaching out a hand for her to shake.

“Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasures mine. I have so many ideas for the wedding and I just know your fiancé will look amazing in anything.” She gushed.

You felt Jungkook’s hand squeeze at your waist, looking down at you with soft eyes that made your heart flutter.

“I know she will too.”

You wanted to plant a smooch right on those lips, squeeze him tightly and never let him go.

Jazz’s grin was wider than the damn Joker. Ah, she loved love.

Jungkook’s eyes widened slightly as he remembered something, turning to Jazz, he inquired, “hey, do you guys dye hair here? I’m thinking of going purple.” He followed an excited Jazz over to the wall where they kept hair dye samples.

You smiled endearingly at both of them. They both gave off golden retriever energy. You hoped they’d be friends.

While they did that, you went back to the waiting area. You had seen a wedding magazine that you wanted to show Jungkook.

There were 2 older Korean lady’s sitting there, chatting to each other and reading magazines as well. They looked up when you entered, giving you looks that you’ve grown used to living here. It wasn’t really disgust or anything, it was more like a “what are you going here” kind of look.

You smiled at them, bowing your head a little in respect before shifting through the magazines for the one you were looking for. You found it, flipping through the pages to search for the centerpieces you saw.

“She’s marrying him? How distasteful.” You heard one of them say. You paused for a second. Were they talking about you? No, right? They were already having a conversation before you walked up. They were probably talking about someone else.

Just mind your business, you thought.

“It’s bad enough one of them is working here. I don’t want her touching my hair but Sunhee insists she knows what she’s doing. I don’t believe it. They can barely take care of their own hair. Just look at it.”

There was no way you could doubt that. They were definitely talking about Jazz. She had hair that appeared shorter, compliments of shrinkage. She showed you a photo of her hair straight and it was very close to her butt. You knew of the negative implications behind natural hair, especially when it came to shrinkage and the stereotypes surrounding it. You wished people understood more about black hair but ignorance had no bounds.

“I’d never let my son marry one of her kind. Look at her. She looks dirty. Just imagine their children. Ugh.”

Dirty? You weren’t dirty. And what was one of your kind? They were talking about you like you were less than human. You’ve experienced a lot over the years living here in South Korea—fetishization, discrimination, even people randomly touching you but you’ve never had anyone be that bold to speak about you right in front of you. They must have heard you speaking English with Jazz and assumed you didn’t understand them. Or they could very much well know you spoke Korean and just didn’t care.

You didn’t even realize Jungkook approaching you, startling a little at his hand on your back.

“You alright, baby?”

You managed a convincing smile. You didn’t want to cause a scene or anything. Jungkook was very overprotective of you. He didn’t tolerate disrespect and your comfort and safety was his number one priority. He was quick to remove you from any situations that he thought you’d be unsafe in and he was even quicker in shutting someone down who tried to embarrass or disrespect you.

You trusted him with your whole heart so why was it so hard to tell him? You took one look in those doe like eyes and you never wanted to see them harden in anger or get misty with tears.

So you smiled and reassured him. “I’m fine. I wanted to show you these centerpieces. Aren’t they nice?”

“They’re wonderful. I really like that arrangement. Let me take a picture of it.” He pulled out his phone and snapped a quick photo. “Ready to go? Taehyung and Namjoon invited us out to dinner.”

“Yup. All ready. Let me just say bye to Jazz.”

He nodded and let you go. Your smile dropped when you turned around, speed walking over to Jazz who was cleaning her station.

She noticed you walking up. “Oh, your fiancé already paid for you. He also made an appointment to dye his hair purple. Can you believe it? I personally think red would suit him better but-“

You cut her off by pulling her into a tight hug. You know you just met her so this was probably strange but you just needed her to know something.

She did think this was the tiniest bit weird but she still reciprocated your hug. You were a really nice person and she loved knowing of another black woman living in the same area.

“You okay?” She asked.

You pulled away and smiled at her. “I’m wonderful. And you’re beautiful.”

Her expression softened. “Thank you. So are you.”

“Here, take my number. I’d love it if you could come to my wedding.”

The entire car ride home, you were quiet. You had turned on the music to avoid any conversation. You knew if Jungkook started questioning you about what happened at the salon, you’d break and tell him about those women. You also knew it was stupid of you to hold it in but you just couldn’t tell him. You’d just forget and move on.

Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

When you got home, Jungkook went to take a phone call and you went to the bedroom to stare at yourself in the mirror.

You loved your hair. You loved yourself. You loved your skin. Those women were just ignorant. You shouldn’t let them get to you.

But you couldn’t stop thinking of what they said about you and Jungkook.

“I’d never let my son marry one of her kind.”

Did Jungkook’s parents think that of you? They were very kind to you and never made you feel not welcomed. You spoke to his mother all the time about the wedding. She’s even taught you how to cook Jungkook’s favorite meals. His father was a bit more stern but still a very kind man.

And what about Jungkook? Did he have an issue with you being black? You don’t think he would have dated or proposed to you if he didn’t, right? You never assumed he had an issue with your race just like you didn’t have a problem with his. Of course, you acknowledged he was Korean and you did your best to respect him and his culture. He was always so open, assuring that you could ask him anything and you did the same.

He admitted you were the first non Korean woman he’s ever dated and he didn’t want to do anything to offend you. Like he assured you, you told him that you weren’t much different from others. You still expected him to treat you well in this relationship and vice versa. Your differences in your races and culture didn’t really change very much.

So moments like these really made you wonder if you were too different.

“Baby, we have a few hours before dinner. Did you want to play It Takes Two with me?” Jungkook asked as he entered the bedroom. He noticed how you were staring at yourself but not in the normal admiring way you often did.

This time, your face looked somber. Was something bothering you?

“Baby? Are you okay?”

You looked at him through the mirror.

You couldn’t keep it from him any longer.

Sighing, you turned to face him. He had moved closer to you so now he was just inches away.

For some reason, you couldn’t lift your eyes to meet his. Shame burned at you.

Jungkook pouted his lip and tilted his head, reaching out a hand to cup your cheek and raise your head. Your eyes met and suddenly that dam broke.

He could see how your eyes began to tear up and he panicked. “What’s wrong? What happened?” He racked his brain for anything he could have done to upset you but nothing was really coming to mind. Was this one of those times you wanted him to pick up on hints? He could be a little dense sometimes which you thought was cute. You were good at communicating which helped both of you avoid any unnecessary problems.

So what was wrong?

“Jungkook…..do you….have a problem with me being black?”

Wow. Not what he was expecting. Then again, he didn’t really know what to expect. You hardly cried so he hasn’t gotten very good at determining your types of crying.

He was baffled by your question. “What? What are you talking about?”

You sighed again. “Well, I overheard these women talking at the salon. They were talking about me and Jazz. They called me dirty and said that they’d never let their sons marry one of my kind….” You inhaled a shaky breath, looking away from his eyes. If you looked any longer, the tears would fall.

Jungkook felt two emotions well up in him. The first was pure rage because how dare someone speak about you like that? He wished he had heard it because he would have given those women a piece of his mind. Respecting your elders was an important part of his culture but he didn’t give a damn about that when someone was disrespecting you.

The second emotion was sympathy because he hated seeing you doubt yourself. You were such a wonderful person, surefooted and with an unflappable spirit. You let comments roll off your back like water, only looking ahead and never letting people taint your energy. He knew you used to struggle sometimes with self love, especially trudging through the world as a black woman but he never saw it get to you and he admired that about you.

So to see you ready to cry over this made his heart ache for you.

“Sweetheart, look at me.”

You blinked your tears away, slowly shifting your gaze to stare back at him. A gentle smile was on his face, one you only ever saw during moments like this—those moments where he could fully open his heart up to you.

“Do you really think I would have even pursued you if I had a problem with that?”

You shrugged your shoulder. “I don’t know….” You mumbled, averting your gaze again but he moved his head a little to make you look at him again.

“I think you’re the most stunning person I’ve ever laid eyes on. When I first saw you, all I could think was how could such a gorgeous person exist? Naturally, I noticed your skin but only because it was glowing. You were brighter than anyone in that restaurant.”

You choked out a watery laugh. You remember that day. It was one of those days where you felt particularly hot. You weren’t expecting to meet someone but there was Jungkook, a little awkward but so charming. He caught your attention immediately. No one knew but receiving those flowers from him solidified your attraction to him and a part of you knew you’d be together in the long haul.

“I don’t care about you being black.” Then he realized what he said and backtracked a little. “Well, of course I care but you know, I don’t and….wait let me start over.” He stumbled, making you laugh again. That boyish awkwardness always managed to rear its head but it only made you fall for him even harder.

“I get what you mean.”

He sheepishly grinned before continuing, “I care about it because I care about you but I also don’t care because that’s not all you are. You’re sensible and bright and clever and so self assured. Not to mention, your ass is absolutely amazing and I want it tattooed on my forehead.”

You snorted a laugh, playfully smacking him on the chest. He was so silly but he knew if it was possible, he’d do it. He was that obsessed with you and everything about you.

“You’re ridiculous.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you closer to him, sparkling eyes blinking up at him.

“And your laugh is goofy and you’re bad at reading directions for furniture and you put your freezing cold feet on me at night which drives me insane.” He huffed.

“Socks are uncomfortable.” You defended.

“But…” He leaned down to brush his lips over yours. “I love all of that about you. I’ve never once doubted that. I love you, all of you.”

The tears finally fell but they weren’t because of your insecurity, not anymore. They were because you adored this man in front of you and you felt so unbelievably lucky to have him in your life.

“I love you too.”

Your lips met in a kiss that reminded you that he was what you needed. He was the only person you wanted.

And as you made love that night, sweet whispers of his love warming your skin, all of those previous anxieties had completely dispersed from your mind. His cock stretched you open, your arms holding him tightly and his hands grounding you to this reality. His lips blazed hot kisses across any skin he could reach, hips pushing slow and deep inside of you and bringing you closer to euphoria.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered, gripping your thighs that were wrapped around his waist and keeping him close.

“Jungkook….” You breathily uttered his name, not knowing what else to say but he didn’t need you to. He could feel all of your emotion through his name and he wanted to hear more of it.

“I got you, baby. Always.”

That little monster was locked back in its cage for now. You couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t break free again but you knew Jungkook would be there to help you through everything.

Everytime.

#bts #bts smut #bts x black reader #bts fic #askberryhobii #jungkook smut

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layer-10-love · 6 months

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Lady Moon.

2012 leo x reader-

As the leader or the team, Leo tended to be more focused in leading and less interested in other ‘lesser’ hobbies. So it’s a bit of a surprise when you find a romance novel underneath his pillow.

aka, boy fail cringe leo (affectionate) also i wrote this like in 40 minutes so apologies for bad writing

As the appointed leader, Leo tried to be serious and mature about his role;with no help from his brothers. Strong, calm, confident, stoic and mature was what he was supposedly was. Unfortunately, anyone that knew him for more than a few minutes would know that he is none of these things. At least to a certain extent.

Truth is, Leo…was a big fat nerd. No surprise there. He liked watching space heroes and often gushed about it to the nearest living creature, giving them new meaningless memories and a massive headache. He liked making stupid jokes and god awful puns. It was honestly sorta cute to you.

What was a surprise was the book that was underneath his pillow. You technically weren’t supposed to be going through his things, but he technically should’ve given back that black cat plushie you let him borrow for Halloween. Picking up the book, you glance over the title.

‘The Man and the Moon.’

From the looks of it, it was a romance novel.

…Leo? Leon? Leonardo? Fearless?

You never pegged him for the type to read romance books, hell, you never pegged him for the type to read things other than Japanese literature or comic books.

‘A classic romance novel tells the story of two star-crossed lovers, Max and Luna - both literally and figuratively. Max is a successful businessman who has dedicated his entire life to making his dreams come true, and Luna is a quiet and mysterious woman who seems to have a special connection with the moon. Despite coming from different backgrounds, Max and Luna quickly find themselves drawn to each other, and they must navigate the rocky terrain of love and discover the true meaning of happiness.’

You read as you skimmed over the summarization of the novel. It seemed like a good read! But, if you talked to Leo about your little discovery, you’d probably be in for another classic Leo Lecture about not snooping. Again, it was fair in your humble opinion.

And if you shared this information with his brothers, he would be ridiculed and mocked by his brothers, despite them having weirder hobbies. Aka, Mikey and his weird obsession with boiling pizza. Ah, brotherly love.

You made a mental note on the book and carefully stored it away underneath Leo’s soft pillow.

He doesn’t need to know.

——-

Leo seemed to be busy more often than usual, with the lame excuse of being occupied with meditation and training in his room.

Which was a bummer since tonight was a movie night with everyone. Raph, Mikey, Donnie, April and even Casey were here!

You huffed and sat on the floor in front of Mikey who was sitting on the couch.

“So, what shitty slasher flick are we watching tonight?”

Raph grinned menacingly while holding a dvd and standing in front of the television.

“It’s not a slasher film, god knows Mikey would have nightmares again. Not that I’m against the idea of Mikey suffering, but I don’t want to have to let him sleep in my bed again.”

Mikey cheered from the back,

“I knew you cared about me! See, Casey? Raph likes me more than you.”

Casey frowned and groaned.

“C'mon! Do we really have to watch a baby version of scary movies?! What happened to entertainment and morality?”

“I’m surprised you know the word, ‘morality’”, teased April.

“Nah, I think he’s just throwing out random words and hoping that one of them will make sense. Remember when he said that we should ‘photosynthesis’ and ‘equilibrium’ with the enemy?”, you add mockingly, “You almost made Donnie pop a blood vessel.”

Speaking of Donnie, he rushed right through his lab door carrying multiple blueprints and plans for whatever new project he was working on.

“Hey four eyes! Gonna join us for crappy baby's first horror flick?”

“Why do you call me four eyes, Casey? I’ve never even worn glasses before, so why would you nickname me something that doesn't make any sense?”

“Easy.”, started Casey, “Glasses make you a nerd. YOU are a nerd without glasses, therefore you need glasses since you’re a nerd.”

“Casey connecting the dots? Hell must’ve flown over and pigs must’ve learnt to fly.”, you snickered.

After a whole debate between Donnie and Casey, the pizza was brought by Mikey and the rest of the snacks were laid on the floor by April and Raph. Monthly movie nights were truly a miracle.

But, there’s something missing.

“Where’s Leo?”, Mikey questioned while taking a disgustingly large bite of his pizza.

“Fearless? Eh, he’s probably in the dojo training like always.”

“Probably, but usually everyone joins for these types of things! Do you think he’s training or doing something else?”

“If you care so much why don’t you ask him for yourself, [Name]?”, Raph says, really not caring about anything else other than the movie that he picked.

You grumble and reluctantly head over to Leo’s room, hoping that he wasn’t doing teenage boy activities. Ugh.

You considered knocking on his door, but then you remembered the plushie he never returned and slammed the door open.

Leo scrambled off the bed and onto the ground, holding a familiar book before throwing it off into the distance, praying you didn’t see. He chuckled nervously while leaning suspiciously on his bed.

“Oh! Hey, [Name]…! Uh…do you need something?”

He seemed so anxious and nervous…it was actually kinda cute! It’s like you have two little creatures on your shoulder, each one trying to give you a way to navigate this whole situation.

‘Leave him alone and give him space! That’s the nice thing to do.’, says the one on your right shoulder.

‘Get the book and make fun of him!!!’, giggles the one on your left shoulder.

…it’s obvious who won.

“What were you reading, Leo?” You ask with a teasing grin, watching him squirm under your gaze.

“Oh…uh me? Uhm…comic books! Yeah comic books! I was reading a really weird part so that’s why I was surprised when you came in and…”

Whatever other words that were being soren from him was ignored, you only think about how oddly adorable it was.

You glance at where the book was hastily hidden and chuckled.

“What comic was it?”

Before Leo could make another desperate and obvious lie, you quickly snatched up the book from where he tossed it and read the title. It was the same one as before.

“The Man and the Moon?”, you teased.

“That isn’t mine! April just asked me to hold on to it for her!”, he blushed as he tried to regain his confidence and composure.

“Cmon, Leo, we both know you can’t lie to save your shell.”

He paused and looked away, blushing furiously and fidgeting with his fingers. You sighed and took his hand.

“Hey.”, you look into his eyes. “I pinky swear that I won’t tell your brothers. You know how they are.”, you think back to the time Raph was found playing a dating simulator, and how the bickering lasted for weeks.

“Plus,”, you continued, “it’s not the worst thing you've ever done.”

“…You don’t think it’s weird?”, he asked cautiously.

“Why would it be weird? Like, people read romance all the time.”

“But, y’know…I’m a guy…and a mutant turtle…and well…”

You shrugged and climbed onto his bed, leaning against his plastron once you had sat down next to him.

“Romance is nice, I guess. It’s just another genre in a variety of genres.”, you felt and heard his heart thump faster as he gulped nervously.

“So…”, You started, “Are you gonna go to movie night or what?”

Leo’s eyes widened as he seemed to have a revelation.

“The movie! Crap, I forgot about that!”

#rise of the tmnt #tmnt #tmnt x reader #leo x reader #tmnt 2012 #leonardo x reader #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #save rottmnt #save rise of the tmnt #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #kikou drabbles

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thebadgerclan · 10 months

Text

The Panther and The Fox

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Requested by @imabee-oralizard

Summary: Sturmhond needs a job done...

Few things were certain in Ketterdam, but one thing was: when Sturmhond came to town, your life was about to get a lot more interesting. You’d been in the common area of the Slat, helping Inej clean her blades, when Kaz had entered, the privateer trailing behind him. “New job,” Kaz called, getting everyone’s attention. “N–Sturmhond has requested our assistance.”

“What exactly will we be assisting with?” Jesper asked from his seat on the couch, his arm draped across Wylan’s shoulders. Sturmhond stepped forward, clearing his throat. “A rather large and valuable sapphire has been lifted from the vaults in Os Alta. Rumor has it that it’s found its way here. I was enlisted to find the gem and bring it home, and I found myself thinking ‘who in Ketterdam could help me?’”

“And we’re what you came up with?” you asked, drawing Sturmhond’s attention. “Well,” the privateer replied. “Your boss once helped me lift nearly 1 ton of titanium from a heavily guarded shipyard, I’d say finding and lifting a sapphire is within your skillset. And might I ask…” Sturmhond moved to stand before you, taking your hand in his. “What a stunningly beautiful woman such as yourself is doing in the Barrel?”

It seemed Sturmhond wasn’t beating around the bush. You pulled your hand back, setting Inej’s knife on the table. “The same as everyone here: trying to survive. And it’s pretty bold for a pirate to question me, don’t you think?” You rose from your seat and made your way upstairs to gather what you’d need for the job, and as you left, you heard Sturmhond mutter, “privateer!” under his breath.

***

This was what the Crows did best: plotting and scheming. The six of you–Kaz, Inej, Jesper, Wylan, Sturmhond, and yourself–stood around the table, papers and blueprints covering the surface. You pointed to one of the portraits, Ericson Hills, a young and inexperienced mercher. “He’s been bragging about a ‘new acquisition’ straight from Os Alta,” you explained. “Saying that he wants to give it to his new lady friend, but it’s ‘too gaudy’ and ‘likely to be stolen by some Barrel rats’.”

Sturmhond nodded. “So you’re not just a pretty face,” he said with a smirk. “But sharp as a tack, too.” It was almost painful how obvious he was being, and you’d be lying if you said he didn’t give you butterflies. It was Sturmhond for Ghezen’s sake, the world renowned privateer. And thanks to Kaz, you knew that he was indeed King Nikolai. But watching his flirt and flounder was too fun, so you decided to let it play out for a bit longer.

“You know what else is sharp, sailor boy?” you quipped. “The daggers I keep up my sleeves. Pray you don’t get the chance to see them.” Your words were harsh, but you said them with a smirk, so Sturmhond knew the chase was still on. Kaz obnoxiously cleared his throat, rolling his eyes at you. “Now, the plan: Inej will stake out Hills’ manor, learn the guards' routes. Wylan will make a few flash bombs, and Jesper will be on scene in case of any trouble.

“Once the coast is clear, Inej will get Y/N inside. Y/N will find the sapphire and replace it with a decoy. With any luck, we’ll be in and out with no trouble.” “I’m sorry,” Sturmhond said. “I thought Inej was the stealthy one?” Jesper laughed. “There’s a reason they call Y/N The Panther. She’s quick, nimble, eerily silent. And she’s got a knack for memorization.”

It was true. If you were handed a layout or blueprint, you could memorize it in 10 minutes. Yes, Inej was a good spider, silent and quick, but no one had your talent for memory. Sturmhond looked at you, just now realizing your choice of attire. You wore an ensemble of black leather, the garments skin tight and form fitting. Your hair was braided back, and your daggers were now plainly visible.

“I didn’t know panthers wore leather,” he said, and you tsked, crossing your arms. “And I didn’t know foxes wore teal.” Sturmhond couldn’t hold back his laughter. Saints, she’s perfect, he thought, but before he could say anything more, you and Inej had left the room. “A little advice,” Jesper said, clapping the privateer on the shoulder. “Teasing will only get you so far with Y/N.”

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sturmhond replied, feeling the flush creep up his neck. “Sure, man,” Jesper said, winking as he turned to leave. Kaz was the only one left in the room, and he said nothing as he cleaned the papers from the table. “Let’s talk payment, shall we?” he said a few moments later. Sturmhond nodded. “I can approximate the value of the sapphire and pay you in cash.” Kaz nodded. “Reasonable. You can’t be seen at Hills’ manor, this job can’t be tied back to Ravka.” The privateer nodded. “Understood. I’ll wait on the Volkvolny then?”

Kaz shrugged. “If you want. It’s Y/N making the drop, by the way, so I’d work out what you want to say to her before she shows up.” “W-what are you talking about?” “Please, Sturmhond. You’re a smart man, surely you’ve seen the way she looks at you?” Sturmhond balked. “I…what?” Kaz sighed. “She likes you, privateer, it’s obvious.” “How is it obvious?”

“Well, for starters, she’d have castrated anyone else who called her ‘more than a pretty face’, regardless if it was meant to be flirtatious. Second, I saw how she was looking at you. She wants you.” “How…” Sturmhond was speechless, for quite possibly the first time in his life. “How do you know that?” “Because,” Kaz said, leaning on his cane as he stood. “It’s the same way you look at her. And don’t go getting any ideas, privateer. I assess, I analyze, it’s nothing personal. Now let’s go.” As Sturmhond left the room, he thought he heard Kaz whisper something under his breath. “I know because it’s how I look at Inej.”

***

The job took an hour and a half, but to Sturmhond, it felt infinite. He stood on the deck, pacing back and forth, anxiously waiting for you to appear. Not just so he’d have the sapphire, but so he could see you, talk to you. All night he’d been thinking about what to say, how to phrase it so he didn’t sound like an ass.

You’re so beautiful, please don’t hate me. I know we’ve only known each other for an hour, but I think I love you. Do you want to come to Ravka and be my Queen? Yeah, the last option was definitely too much. Just when Sturmhond was about to go below decks, a shadow appeared on the railing.

“Y/N?” he whispered, and the shadow moved closer. You pulled back your hood and held out your hand, the sapphire glinting in the moonlight. “Kaz will be expecting your payment in one week’s time,” you said, and Sturmhond nodded. “Thank you,” he replied, taking the jewel. “My country is once more in your debt.”

You were silent for a moment before speaking. “You asked me earlier what someone like me was doing in the Barrell.” “I did, and I apologize, if-” “But what’s someone like you doing masquerading as a privateer?” Sturmhond cocked his head. “What do you mean, lovely?” “I mean, what in Ghezen’s name is the Ravkan King doing sailing to Ketterdam when he could easily hire someone to do it for him?”

“I… that’s…” “I already know,” you said. “And I have no plans on telling anyone.” Nikolai sighed. “Thank you. And I am sorry, for what I said earlier. I should have been more tactful, and-” “Why are you sorry?” Nikolai was officially at a loss for words. “I…” “You’re cute, Latsov,” you said, and Nikolai was sure he’d died and gone to heaven. “I wouldn’t let just anyone call me ‘a pretty face’. So…there’s a spot on East Stave that serves the best waffles in the city, if you’re interested?”

A smile broke out on his face. “Are you asking me on a date?” You looked over your shoulder at him as you walked away. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. But you’re paying, privateer.” Nikolai followed you off of the ship, and once you were side by side, he reached out and took your hand. And when you squeezed his hand, looking at him with a soft smile, he knew for sure: he was a goner.

#nikolai lantsov x reader #shadow and bone reader insert #nikolai lantsov x you #shadow and bone

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