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novacqnes · 1 year

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prisoner, prisoner // vi

summary: most within the confines stillwater viewed vi as a seemingly mystical figure— by all except you. thus, when assigned to be her new cell mate you’ll stop at nothing to uncover the truth.

warning: prison? angsty, touch-starved, mentions of blood, wounds, a whole lot of teasing, smut; fingering (vi receiving), bottom vi

pairing: vi x fem reader

word count: 2.7k

a/n: vi’s literally one of my favorite characters and i only have one piece of writing up for her— it’s criminal (no pun intended) also this may or may not be me furthering my bottom vi agenda idk 🤷🏾‍♀️

the air inside of stillwater always had a way of trapping you. heavy and stifling it clung to your skin, mercilessly coating it with dew. although at times it felt more treacherous, seeping its way into your lungs, offering you just the slightest glimpse of your grim future. in many ways it stood in for the steel bars of your confinement, making your situation even direr.

the hallways reeked of something metallic— it could’ve been blood, rust from the decrepit bars, or the scent of pure fear. as you passed by each cell the stench seemed to vary, with some spaces emitting more fear than others. despite this, you weren’t afraid— at least not in the way you should’ve been. you knew your fate, and it involved the red-headed pariah at the far end of the hall.

truly, nobody knew anything about anyone— but there was much mystique surrounding inmate 516. you only knew her name and even that could’ve been up for debate. there wasn’t much emphasis on them, in fact, most of the time you forgot your own. yet within those, it didn’t matter and for as long as you existed inside them you were inmate 601.

slowly, her cell came into view. it looked bleaker than you’d ever imagined. a small, dreary voice echoed rang throughout your mind— and it urged you to turn back. the voice was relentless, it pleaded and cried. desperately attempting to persuade you to fall to your knees before the guards and beg for forgiveness. it only grew louder and for a moment you nearly gave in.

“keep moving 601,” the guard to your left spoke with a low, gruff voice. the other sent a sharp push to your shoulder sending you straight toward the front of the cell. you could feel the menacing smirks grazing their lips, wanting nothing more than to taunt you. after all, it was your fault for ending up there in the first place. this new living situation served as a reminder of it and the purplish bruise under your eye served as a reminder of it.

“on your feet, inmate,” the second guard barked, yet the order wasn’t directed at you. a muscular figure approached the bars, and slivers of fiery red hair emerged from the dark. you could almost make out her face and although you’d seen it numerous times before it was a lot softer than you’d imagined.

vi wrapped her hands around the steel bars, revealing the blood-stained bandages over them. she leaned forward, grayish-blue eyes quickly darting toward your face. after a moment her soft features hardened, allowing for her hard exterior to truly take shape. her eyes bore deep holes in yours prompting a rigid chill up your spine.

she spat, “the fuck is this…?” but no response was given. rather the men laughed at her question, obnoxiously so.

behind you the other guard leaned in, slowly un-cuffing as he whispered, “word of advice 601….try not to fall asleep.” he then produced a set of keys that would open the door to your new reality. the metal emitted a loud creek that traveled throughout the hallway. with another hard nudge, you were shoved into the small space. the hard clanging sound of the bars following suit.

you were left with nothing but the distinct unwelcoming silence that pervaded the cell. vi hardly spared you a second glance. she sauntered back over to the corner, continuing on as if you didn’t even exist. hence, the mystical aura that surrounded her persisted— and you had no way of knowing how to break it. thus you settled for simply chipping away at the tough exterior. with a deep breath, you stepped towards the lower bunk.

“what are you doing?”

“sitting down,” you chirped. her voice was low and hostile— it took everything in you not to shoot right back up. despite this you kept yourself planted on the flimsy mattress. ignoring the small voice making its way to the surface.

begrudgingly she stepped toward you, “that’s my bed.” the aggression was still present in her voice but you couldn’t help but detect the slight amusement in it as well. and for some odd reason, you found it intriguing— only fueling your curiosity.

“so?”

“…i can’t tell if you’re trying to be brave or just really stupid,” she whispered.

now vi stood just a few feet away yet her presence was stronger than ever. the only source of light was a dim lantern outside of the cell and it allowed you to partially capture vi’s face— and the rest of her. she was notorious for getting into fights but now that you were up close you certainly saw why. her arms and legs were sculpted by hard, defined muscles that seemed to flex without the slightest care. in a matter of your seconds, you’d found yourself completely warped in them and it was vi’s stern voice that pulled you out.

“i heard what you did— that fight in the cafeteria? why?” her entire being practically loomed over you. calloused hands gripped the frame on the top bunk as she bent over to face you. the distance was more than intimidating— it was domineering. it corroborated the long-standing rumors and it only made her seem more like a mystery. yet the longer you looked into her eyes the more you held out hope that your cellmate was more than just a ruthless murderer.

“it was the only way to get close to you.” slowly you rose from the bed, diminishing the already non-existent distance down to nothing. vi kept her arm planted on the metal, caging you in between it. her eyes darted in between yours and her expression remaining unreadable. the air seemed to thicken and for a moment it felt impossible to breathe.

vi’s voice was light and almost condescending. her soft lips to brushed along the side of your ear, “you got yourself thrown in the worst part of this shithole because you have a crush on me? jesus…maybe you are stupi—“

“it’s more complicated than that.”

she smirked, “then explain it to me, roomie.” she turned on her heel slowly ambling along the decaying wall, back over to her side of the room. as much you hated to admit you missed the proximity. it’d been so long since you’d experienced what it felt like to be touched by another person. and although she wouldn’t dare utter it aloud vi regretted pulling away.

“you haven’t heard, have you? most people think you’re some kind of monster or a martyr waiting to die. which is why you’ve been here for so long.”

“what do you think?”

“i don’t believe either,” you admitted. she kept most of her face turned away, thus your only view was the dark, intricate tattoo designs that ran across her soft skin. the longer she stood there the more you wanted to run your fingers over each one. and the desire was persistent— at that moment you wanted nothing more than to touch her. despite your judgment, you stepped forward, fighting the urge to do so.

it was evident that she didn’t trust you and you couldn’t blame her for it. vi had simply existed within stillwater for years but she didn’t really have anyone. the abuse from the guards was relentless and if she wasn’t in fights then she was here— in this poor excuse for a cell. she kept her arms bound to her sides, clenching her fists for dear life. therefore there was no way she was going to open up to you— especially not like this.

“i wanna tell you about how i got here…if you don’t mind?”

“i don’t have anywhere else to be,” she shrugged, a slight smile tugging on her lips. cautiously you moved towards vi once again, joining her on the opposite wall.

“a few years ago some of my friends and i thought we could pull off this heist. the plan was that we’d steal some piltover’s most beloved riches and in doing so we’d become legends— maybe even rich.”

“you can’t be serious,” she chuckled, filling the room with her quiet but infectious laughter. it was something that was so rare that it nearly shocked you. yet the sound was beautiful, sending a swarm of butterflies to the pit of your stomach.

you cleared your throat, “unfortunately i am, my adolescent years were a very dark time for me, alright? anyway, the day comes and i get there, i wait for god knows how long but they never show up. just when i’m about to leave these enforcers show up and they practically tackle me to the ground— i still have the scar. next thing i know i’m detained for a robbery that i never even got the chance to commit.”

“they let you go down for it?” she turned to face you, her breath lightly fanning your cheek. silently you nodded, keeping your eyes focused ahead. you couldn’t shake off the warm feeling that accompanied being under vi’s gaze. it made your conversation feel even more like a dream. but most of all it made you feel safe.

“most people suck, you learn that early. but if it makes you feel any better i wish that i’d met you earlier,” she sighed.

“why?”

“we would’ve come up with a much better plan- and we would’ve gotten away with it too,” she boasted, moving a couple of red strands from her face. you couldn’t help but admire even if it was just for a moment. small, reddish-pink bruises took shape along the sides of her face. despite this, her eyes looked brighter than ever and for the life of you, you didn’t have the willpower to look away— and neither did vi.

“can i see it? the scar?” she asked. her voice, smoother than ever was the only deterrent to your rampant dreams. dreams that consisted of your cellmate in ways that you preferred to keep to yourself. nevertheless, you lifted the hem of your shirt, revealing the entire left side of your abdomen.

“it’s dark, i can't see.” hesitantly you reached for her bruised hand. bringing it to your rib ever so slowly as you searched for the rough exterior of your wound. after a while you let go, allowing vi the chance to roam unassisted. the gesture was small but it brought both of you more comfort than the other would truly know.

“vi, why are you here?” you hummed, leaning into her soft touch as she caressed the skin along your abdomen. her fingers traveled upward, brushing the underside of your tits. the hair along the sensitive skin rose with each slow trace of vi’s fingertips.

“i don’t know y/n,” she whispered. she moved her other hand from her side bringing it to your aching body. despite the same desire that plagued vi’s body there was no hurry for her. she took her time basking in each part of the process.

“how’s that possible?”

“you piss off the wrong people i guess,” she chuckled, an apparent melancholic tone laced in her voice. you wanted to push further, ask her more questions but your mind couldn’t have been further from it. you needed vi more intimately than you’d ever expected and now you had nowhere to run.

“you’re so soft….” vi cooed, running the pad of her thumb over your nipple. she took used the other hand to knead your breast. her movements although minuscule drew shied moans from your lips that shot straight to vi’s core.

you purred, “do you know what that’s like?” she stopped for a moment, her eyes trailing up to meet yours. they glimmered even without the presence of a real source of light. she was desperate and it was so easily detectable just from the way that she looked back at you. she was tired of being alone and you wanted to tell— no show her that she didn’t have to be.

you cupped your hands to the sides of her face pulling her in for a kiss. at first, is was slow, but soon it escalated vi allowed her hands to roam up and down your body as your tongue slipped into her mouth, deepening the kiss even further. she reached for your shirt, roughly pulling it off your head. her lips immediately found your chest, peppering fiery kisses all over your tits. she pulled it into her mouth, cupping it gently as her lips wrapped around your nipple.

“i wanna show you something,” you muttered. slowly you brought your hand to vi’s lower abdomen keeping it there until she gave you approval. with one glance down at you, vi nodded, prompting you to sink your hand into her pants and underwear. the pad of your index finger connected with her clit first, sending a wintry chill up her spine.

“are you sure?” rather than responding she ushered her hips forward, humming at the warm contact. thus you took it as a sign to continue. you drew small circles, applying just the slightest amount of pressure. vi felt as if her entire body was being set ablaze with each part of it experiencing pleasure right after the next.

“i-i need more y/n,” she whimpered, clutching onto you. her hushed moans permeated the room, growing more fervent as you slipped a finger inside of her. low squelching sounds filled your ears the more you continued, pressing upwards. gradually your fingers became slick with her fluids and vi nearly incoherent.

you moved your lips to her neck, running your tongue along the skin. vi wanted to cry out, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d experienced anything like this. it was something so out of her control yet she loved every second of it.

“fuck—“ she choked out, her nails sinking into your skin. her heart was beating rapidly and fresh tears brimmed the corners of her eyes yet you showed no signs of slowing down. you slipped yet another finger into her pussy curling them at just the right angle. you targeted her g-spot wanting nothing more than for her to unravel against you.

“y/n— i’m- i can't.”

“tell me….” you cooed, pursuing a devilish pace. vi could feel her legs slowly losing feeling. her core burned with an insatiable ache that would soon consume her and she didn’t know how to express it.

“….tell me you what you want, violet.” she shook violently against you, burying her face into your neck yet you refused to stop— not until she said so.

“oh fuck— y/n, i’m gonna come.” vi’s cries filled your ears delightfully. she grasped onto your body tightly as the pit in her stomach came undone. fluids soaked your hand as well as the fabric of her uniform. patiently you eased her down from the high, running your arms along the art etched into her skin.

soon after she pulled away, discarding her wet pants before taking a seat on her bunk. she gestured for you to come to sit by her, sliding over to make room for you.

“…just so you know this is still my bed.”

you threw your hands up in defeat, flinging yourself onto the mattress beside her, “i surrender.”

for a while, the two of you sat alongside each other. there was something particularly comforting about unspoken comfort that vi seemed to understand better than anyone. in just a few hours your entire perception of her had been flipped on its side.

now? you had who idea what vi was except for the fact that you had to learn more. yet it wasn’t the things you’d originally set out on knowing, like her crimes or how long her prison sentence was. rather you wanted to learn small things, the parts that most people viewed as pointless. you wanted to know where she was from, her favorite color, what music did she like— if she even liked music?

vi shifted closer to you, her knees lightly brushing against yours as her eyes roamed over you. she leaned in close, pulling your attention back towards her.

“hey, what are you thinking about?” she asked. you turned to face her, bringing your thumb to the side of her face. she gazed back, her eyes holding the same amount of light as they did before.

“even after all of that…you’re still a mystery to me.”

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finelinevogue · 2 years

Text

on fire

watching this had me weak so i wrote about it :)

18+

He was watching you from across the room, unbuttoning his blazer buttons as if he were in a cologne commercial.

You kept eye contact with him, reaching your hand to push down one strap of your dress off your shoulder, biting your lip to hold back the grin you wanted to smile. He shook his head at you when you reached to knock off the other strap, pushing his blazer off and throwing it somewhere else in the room.

He wandered over to you slowly, un-cuffing his sleeves and rolling them up his forearms slightly, and undid his bow-tie so it draped around his neck.

You suddenly felt small when he came to tower over you, looking between his eyes and his lips as both were too pretty to ignore altogether.

“Do you have any idea how you’ve made me feel tonight?” He rasped, breathing his mouth over yours, teasing you instead of kissing you.

“I don’t know, you tell me?” You quipped back.

“Like I’m on fire.”

And his lips kissed you aggressively, puckering his lips first so he could capture your bottom lip with both his, getting a full taste of everything you had to offer.

You moaned when he pushed you further back into the dressing table, making your back arch and Harry detach his lips from yours in pleasure when his cock pressed against your front. You whined and looked down between the two of you, noticing his hand snaking your dress upwards and revealing more of your legs.

“My, my,” He chuckled when he’d punched up your skirt of your dress up to your hips and exposing your lace panties. “I’m going to hope these were just for me.”

He caught your gaze and your eyes were all dewy, in a haze over how hot and erotic this moment was between you and your boss.

“Sir, I couldn’t imagine anyone else seeing me like this but you.” You whispered to him, trying to make your sentence sound as innocent as you could.

“So you came to our work end-of-year party with the intention of getting off with your boss?”

He didn’t let you respond and instead slipped two fingers into your panties and ran his fingers over your clit, pushing to earn some pressure over your most sensitive parts.

His lips continued to maul over yours, claiming you as his all over again. He pushed you so hard that you had to slide yourself on top of the dresser to get away a little bit. Harry took the opportunity to crouch down and start kissing up your bare legs and leaving delicious hickeys on the inside of your thighs, before kissing over your core and causing you to irregularly breathe.

You moaned as he pressed his tongue onto you harder and causing pressure to build up inside of you. You tugged on his bow tie straps and pulled him up to you so you could continue kissing his pretty lips, as his fingers continued to circle your clit and build up a quick orgasm within you.

Your breathing became staggered and Harry dipped his lips under your jaw to kiss you harshly there, before leaving a good bruise there for him to dote on later. His fingers rubbed you until your legs started shaking, your head rolling back as well as your eyes and you crumbled with pleasure.

He brought his fingers to his lips afterwards and sucked them, tasting you all over him. He smirked when he saw you whine over his little action.

“Was that good, hm?” He teased, knowing you could barely think right now.

“Fuck off, y’narcissist.” You rolled your eyes with a smile, “And you’re not my boss. We both hold the same percentages in our company.”

“I love it when you talk sexy to me, baby.” He laughed, leaning into you and giving your lips a happy peck.

“Shut up and fuck me.”

“As the wife wishes.”

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the-letter-horror-lover · 2 years

Text

Rox

Summary:

Eric and Rox, pure porn, and they like it like that.

Notes:

Yes, 16 is coming, but this one was just for fun.

Chapter Text

The buzz of the tattooing pen filled zir ears as ze shaped the new motif. Butterflies. Beautiful black and white butterflies with nuclear green spots. Butterflies, the symbols of the soul's transformation. Eric was zir willing canvas tonight, the butterflies rising from just over the root of his prick, wrapping to the right over the flange of his pelvic bone. Around and up his back, following the inside curve of his shoulder blade, the butterflies ascended to the roses on his shoulders, alighting to feed on the nectar of mortal blossoms. Finally, in invisible UV-ink script among the butterflies, "Media vita in morte sumus."

"Pretty Man, you are a work of art." Stark naked, tied to the chair, and in a state of bliss, Eric opened his eyes and gave zir the most goofball smile. "And you're as high as a kite on endorphins."

"Surfing it. Amazing. More," he rasped.

"Gorgeous. Insane. Voracious." Rox picked up a lidded cup of orange juice and slipped the straw between Eric's lips. "Suck." Eric drank down a good amount of the cup and then flexed against his bonds when ze kissed him. "Let me dress the new designs."

That boy knew how to distract zir, but Rox took a moment to step back and admire zir work. Cordelia had been an inspiration. Rox imagined that if ze ever raised a child that ze would feel much the same pride. After all, it was ze and dear Ronnie-that-was who had taken Elizabeth to the Origin. While the transformation was the work of She Who Spins, the will to survive that Rebirth came from Cordelia alone. Newly widowed, a new mother, wounded, and dying, the butterfly burst forth from her mortal cocoon and thrived.

"Let me see?" Eric asked. "You were on fire, Rox."

"In a moment." A Reaper's touch could heal or kill, and Rox exerted a little extra to speed up the healing. Already the one just over his pubic bone had stopped seeping. "I do have a delicate touch, do I not?"

"And a kinky canvas."

"I've created a horny little monster." How could you not slap his ass? Rox did and it felt so good ze did it again. "Stop distracting me, you satyr."

"Or you could just fuck me right here."

"I give the marching orders, Pretty Man, and the fucking orders." Ze dressed and covered the tats with her own formula of beeswax and aloe, giving a grope to his locked-down bits. "Behave or I put it in a cage until Saturday."

"I always behave."

"No lightning strikes in my studio, libertine." The last butterfly was covered and Rox used her fingers to tease some of his fauxhawk into a pair of horns. "You're just so cute when you're all rammish and mouthy."

"I can do other things with my mouth. Get a little closer." Trash-Talking Eric was Turned On Eric.

"Do I need to tape it shut? Or should I smack your ass like a bongo player on Red Bull?" Ze body bumped him. "Or to I need to put your mouth and ass in the kitchen and make you work?"

"Fuck you." Overbright eyes, flushed cheeks, and a sneer. "Make me do jack."

"That's it, boy." Whoopie! "You need me to lay down the law around here."

Eric loved to play rough, even when he was doing what he wanted to do. Who knew that he had such a cop kink to match the service kink? The thing about Eric's service kink was that making pancakes, being a bath boy, or sexual services were all on the same plane. Rox never had a bottom who would get get off on orders to make elaborate sweets and Officer Friendly's tender attentions equally. It was fun and a little fattening, especially when Eric was in the mood to spoil one. Ze needed to get back into swinging zir scythe.

Restraints sent Eric to the moon, and being restrained and then moved was the equivalent of an endorphin keyboardsmash. Cuffing his upper arms to his torso, ze snapped a lead onto his collar and marched him into the stairwell. It was time for a visit from Officer Friendly.

There were times when not being able to keep his big fucking mouth shut had a good side. God. Real chains and bungee cords. Rox nailed every kink he had as if ze'd put them there zirself. And there were titties. Eric was a gold star faggot, but was going to trade it in if he couldn't admit that titties were fun. Rox's were cute. And since he had time to think, what with being on his knees and chained to an oak bannister as thick as his forearm, Eric found that liking titties did not make him less of a fag, it just meant he liked titties on Rox.

"HEY, COP! You going to keep me tied up in here all fucking night?" Rox was not afraid to play rough and Eric relished it. It was as if his skin was waking up, and everything else that had been muffled for so long. "I've got rights, you know!"

"Pipe down, punk. You have the right to be slapped in the face with my dick."

Officer Friendly strode into the stairwell, one of New York's finest perverts, and Eric reminded himself not to break role by drooling. Rox did something to motorcycle cop wear, especially those boots. Eric had previously enjoyed some rather fine copfucking in his time, but this was a whole new level. There were times when Rox was all about the femme, there were times when Rox presented masculine - those shoulders made Eric unf - and then there were times when Rox's gender was all about fucking up the binary.

Like now.

Pushup bras and a stiff cock in those blue pants. Hair tucked under the a motorcycle cop's helmet. Sunglasses. Handcuffs. Boots.

And the Nightstick of Doom.

"Good evening, Officer Friendly." Eric singsonged before adding, "You cock-knocking jugfucker."

Rox grinned, a mouth full of pearly whites as ze undid the chinstrap of the helmet and tossed zir herringbone braid free. "You perverted little shit. I need to give you the full force of the law. You go blasting through the city on that big blue crotch-rocket of yours-"

"With a perverted cop staring at my ass-"

"Breaking every traffic law-"

"Waving that nightstick around like a honking handled dildo-"

It was trash-talking, which not many people could do, but Eric loved it with someone who could play along with him. Good God, but he wanted to suck Rox off - that hadn't happened in a while, and it shook Eric to realize the trust that he placed in Rox.

"It's funny, punk. I think you want to be dickslapped." Rox unbuckled and unzipped, revealing that Officer Friendly liked to wear panties to match zir push-up bra. "Pervert."

"Other pervert. We keep having his conversation, usually with that nightstick up my ass."

"Is that a wish or observation?"

Eric was very busy appreciating Rox's dick under red lace. "I like things up my ass in general, so just mentioning."

"Are you a cocksucker, Butchy Boy?" Rox purred. "You're looking at the dick like it's dessert."

Now there was a question. That was something he hadn't done in a long, long time. For reasons.

"Eric?"

"Haven't in a while. Years, really."

"Ah. Gary."

"Yeah."

"Do you want to suck me?"

"Oh, fuck yes." Eric's mouth actually watered. He could almost taste it.

"Then there need to be ground rules." Rox stepped close and lightly dickslapped him. "If you're going to suck my dick, you're going to do it right."

Something inside of him relaxed at that. Trust Rox. It was okay. Fifteen minutes later, there was a pile of rejected flavored rubbers on one of the stairs.

"They all taste like cough medicine."

"You are a picky, butchy, bossy little brat."

"It's not my fault that most of the guys who invent these things have never had a dick in their mouth."

While Rox went to search for an acceptable alternative, Eric had plenty to keep him busy. The cross-piece for the nightstick was well up his ass being nicely unyielding to his prostate, bungee cords wrapped around his hips and thighs to keep it in place, with the indignity of dripping minty-fresh lube chilling down the back of his balls. He could hear Rox grumbling around the bedroom, then the kitchen.

"Damn it, you're such a mouthy brat, Eric. You need a dick in your mouth to cork you up."

"I'm a fucking trained chef, so I'm picky about what I put in my mouth!"

And maybe a little worried, too.

Rox stomped back into the stairwell with a packet of polyurethane rubbers and a squeeze bottle of chocolate syrup. Fucking yum. Hot-eyed, hard-cocked, with motorcycle cop pants sliding down zir hips. Yes. Oh, fucking hell yes. However-

"That better not be Hershey's, goddammit. Fake-ass chocolate flavoring and HFCS doesn't fly with me, Officer Friendly."

"Fox's U-Bet - it's even Kosher for Passover and it's my last bottle, you twat." Rox tucked the bottle under zir arm, and opened the condom packet, rolling the rubber on over a squirt of lube. "Prima donna attitude. Mouthy fucking power bottoms-"

"Shut up and gimme the dick." Yes, pushing it, but it was like flying with the endorphin high from the bondage and tattooing singing in his blood. "You push that thing good, Officer Friendly."

"I'll give you the dick, boy. Squeeze that nightstick like the cock-hound bottom you are and I'll fuck that filthy mouth of yours instead of your ass." Eric's reply was forestalled by a mouthful of dick and chocolate, Rox's fingers tight in his hair and syrup bottle at the ready. "Be a good boy and I'll cut your cock cage to let you come on my boots. I saw you looking at them. Kinky, wicked, mouthy harlot."

Eric thought he was probably lit up like a slot machine hitting a jackpot. His worries disappeared in a flood of endorphins and lust.

"Suck me right, boy. You can take it deeper. Don't be lazy - throat me."

Lazy? LAZY? My ASS lazy. Take you to the root lazy. Suck you like your dick's a cherry popsicle lazy. Make you hold on to the bannister lazy. Lazy? Make you come like a fucking fountain lazy.

"Look at you, a butchy power bottom on his knees with a pair of bollocks on his chin." Ze tugged his hair, pulling him close until those nuts were indeed on his chin. "Open wide!"

Oh, yes. It was on! Hair pulling trash talking wet and messy blow job with the shot in the chocolate streaked rubber and Rox and fucking hell dammit Red and zir knives and his dick. Ze was going to give him a fucking vasectomy if he sneezed at an inopportune time one of these days. The blood rushed from Eric's head to his freed dick fast enough to make him dizzy.

"Cute little cocksucker, where's your gag reflex? You did such a good job that you get to shoot on my boots - which you can clean later." Rox nudged the leather shaft of the boot right against his cock and then dickslapped him again. "Fuck the leather. Hump yourself off."

"Evil fucker." He wasn't going to last long, his muscles quivering from tailbone to the root of his dick. "Goddamn it why do you use frosty minty lube I swear to fuck that my asshole's numb-" Good. So fucking good that a dry hump on black leather was a little juicier than expected. "You kept me off until you popped and now you w-want to fffuck watch-"

His hips hitched and this time Eric had to bow his back against the heated bliss firing in his brain and loins.

"Your asshole isn't going to be numb tomorrow, Pretty Man. You're not going to be sitting without a fond thought for me for a few days." Ze pulled his head up by the hair. "Faster. Fuck my boot faster, make a sticky mess all over it, you wicked harlot of a boy."

This time Eric groaned, clutching his thighs around Rox's leg and humping without shame, the crosspiece of the nightstick giving his prostate heaven and hell with each thrust.

"Fuckgoddamnityouevilbitchohhellyeshellyesrox-" It was an orgasm to take the top of his head off, to pull every muscle in his body into the same helpless motion. Rox anchored him, stopping the panic before it could root, bending and catching his mouth in a fierce kiss.

"Good boy. Good Eric. Oh, you sweetheart. See? There it is. There we go." Ze crooned, drawing zir booted leg back and wiping down the leather with a handful of Lysol wipes. "It's all right. See?"

Somehow he got his lungs working again, brain blank with shock as ze unbound him. The nightstick and binds when into buckets of hot, soapy water just beyond the door, and ze had to support him speechless and rubber-legged into the bathroom. The chocolate and lube and… contagion washed down the drain, leaving him clean and shaking. Ze tucked Eric into the red satin nest of zir bed, orange juice with a bit of ginger grated in putting his head back on straight.

"Okay?"

It might take a while to answer that. Instead Eric just opened his arms in appeal, and Rox slid under the covers and into them, kissing his chin, cheeks and lips.

"Sleep, Eric. Sleep, lovely lad. I'll be right here when you wake. Shh."

A last thought crossed his mind as Rox's "shh" sent him to sleep. Oh, God. Please don't let me fall in love. I'm so fucking awful at it.

Chapter 17

Summary:

Alan's heading into a one-week break from chemo therapy.

Chapter Text

Ronald had to laugh at his brother this morning. Whatever arrangement was going on between Rox and his brother, it had good results. Ronald was starting to see the Eric he remembered, not the silent and traumatized man getting off a bus at the Port Authority, or the loner and hermit that Eric became as he struggled to recover. Now his brother was singing in the kitchen to the Ramones 'Rockaway Beach.'

Whatever works, Ronald thought with a smile.

"Your chef's on a tear." A guy in a sweet-looking three-piece wool was picking up a large order, a car and driver waiting at the curb. "Here you go."

Ronald swiped the black Amex through. "He's getting creative in there. There's going to be some goodies Friday morning."

"Yeah, we're really familiar with the cookies where I work." The guy paused, fiddling with the pen before signing and adding a good tip. "I don't supposed you'd remember one guy, but his name's Alan-"

"Humphries. I do remember him, he's in here about two or three times a week. One of our favorite customers, actually."

"My name's Chip Winters, I work at Bridges, in legal. Is he… I know he's sick…"

"Oh. Yeah, well. I'd say he's as okay as it gets under the circumstances." Ronnie wanted to guard the man's privacy, seeing as Alan was about as hermity as his brother. "I'd pass along some good wishes if anyone wanted to send them. It's been rough."

"It's cancer? Leukemia is what I heard." He picked up the box of four dozen cookies.

"Yeah. It is." Ronnie put the receipt in the drawer. "He's doing all right, but it's cancer."

"He's really well-liked. Decent. Not a lot of guys on the street can say that. I'll let people know to drop off good wishes here?"

"I think he'd like that. Just make sure that there's nobody sick or anything like that. Chemo hits your immune system - you can't fight things off."

"I will, thanks."

The guy left, the driver opening the door for him, taking the cookies and placing them carefully in the passenger seat. The song changed and Eric boogied right along, the most delicious smells wafting out of the kitchen. Might as well go and see what the Full Metal Chef was cooking. Eric's cooking jams were always epic, and stepping into the back revealed that Eric was in Carnivale/Mardi Gras overdrive, with an array of gustatory hedonism just starting to be placed on the long steel tables.

Empanadas. FUCK YEAH.

"Hey, bro! Gimmie!" Ron walked in making grabby hands at the goodies. "Oh, wow! Is that a chocolate tres leches?"

"Fuck off, Beer Brat. I'm still making breakfast." Eric hefted his strudel dough rolling pin menacingly. "Or you'll be brewing with a concussion."

"Feed me, shithead. I want pancakes." Ronald could do bratty, too. "How's Rox?"

In answer turned and lifted his white t-shirt and showed Ron the new ink under dressings. "Ze was on fire, baby bro."

"Man." Ron leaned in. Those were some awesome butterflies - the detail was mindblowing. "Ze has a great touch. They're hardly seeping at all."

"Ze's like the Bernini of ink." Eric lowered the shirt, still glowing like a Klieg light. "Wait until you see the reactive script."

It was entirely possible that his brother was falling in love. "You and Rox-" Thunderous scowl from Eric. Alert! Forbidden territory ahead. Abort mission! "Shutting up now. Pancakes."

"Will pancakes keep you shut up?"

"Until lunch, then I want some of the shrimp empanadas."

"How about a swift kick in the ass instead?"

"Could you not murder each other until I get my larder stocked? I'm hungry!" Came a plaintive call from the front of the store. "Ronald, stop teasing your brother. Murder in the kitchen is against the health code, I'm sure."

"He's being a dick!" Eric bellowed.

"I'm a fast learner!" Ronald grinned, shouting right after Eric. "Want some pancakes, Alan?"

"Sure, I'd love some!"

Eric was reaching for his throat and Ron backed up with a grin while shooting Eric the finger.

"Be right there, Alan!" Ron called. Ooh. Eric was giving him the glare of death, and Ron turned and skipped down the hall to the front of the shop. It wasn't often when he could score one of his brother, and he smiled sunnily at Alan's reproachful look. "Pancakes will be ready in just a few."

"At this rate, you'll be ducking flung pies at the Shady Pines Rest Home." Alan was piling extra goodies on the counter as Ron took the loaded bags out of the cooler behind the counter. "Don't tell me he starts it, either. You're a horrendous tease."

"I know. He's just fun to poke." Cocking his head, Ron gave Alan a full looking over. "You look better - you're color's much better. How are you feeling?"

"Much better. And I've been able to kick one medicine, save the opiates for really bad days, and wean down the ativan." Setting the panniers on the counter, he continued, "Now I have an argument with my doctors tomorrow over the use of certain unauthorized medicine, then a week off chemotherapy entirely."

"How are your docs going to take that?" There was a sound of Eric starting up the Kitchenaid mixer down the hall, and the scent of bacon. Yes! "They could make trouble."

"Medical confidentiality. Don't worry, I'm not letting them on. If anything they'll think I'm getting it from a black market dispensary." Alan loaded the panniers as Ron rang him up. "I'm just looking forward to the week off."

"What are you going to do? You're going to like this - it's cake, and fruit, and pudding, and cream in a parfait." Ron tucked it in the bag and ahead of Alan's reaching hand. "Nope. You'll spoil your pancakes. Hey, there was a guy in here asking after you. He said he worked in legal. I told him you were doing pretty well, and he wanted to drop off some good wishes."

"I… I'm not the biggest social butterfly in the company. That's a little surprising." Alan rubbed the tip of his nose with a finger. "Wait. Italian suit? Buffed nails? Metrosexual hair?"

"More like a corporate with an up-brush." Ronald had a moment where he wondered why he was noticing the guy's hair. Fucking orientation issues. "Good suit. Italian, I think."

"I know him. Has a thing for Brioni. I prefer Kiton or Canali." He smiled. "Suits. Italian menswear. I fell in love with Italian suits when I was taking vacations in Italy."

The tune changed to the Ramones singing 'Beat on the Brat' and Eric cranked it. "He's all frisky this morning. Sorry."

"It's all right. I'm glad he's feeling good." And if Alan knew the reason for feeling good, he kept it to himself. "He wasn't really going to make pancakes, was he."

Ron found that from somewhere, he could still muster the grace to blush as he lifted the gate to let Alan in.

Breakfast with the brothers was a delightful thing, and Alan was quietly worshipful over peach pancakes with buttered pecan topping. The food preempted any peacock displays, though Alan noted in Eric the aftermath of a very good night - no doubt with Rox Sharp. The pancakes were perfectly fluffy with diced peaches evenly throughout, and Eric quizzed him relentlessly about Italy.

Especially seasonings.

"I was a kid when we were there." Ronald said, dumping more bacon onto his plate.

"Yeah, but you were really little Ronnie. Four or five, maybe." Eric flipped more bacon onto their plates. "Naples, then Bologna."

"Lots of spaghetti, that's what I remember."

"Amalfi Coast, Lake Como, wherever there's water. I love to swim." Alan smiled, the memories sweet, but when or if he could go back nobody would say. "I've put them on my bucket list."

Shit. He nearly bit his tongue off in chagrin, but while Ronald looked shocked Eric only nodded. "Yeah. There's a few places on mine, too."

Alan swallowed, then breathed a little in relief. Of course Eric would have a bucket list, too. "Where do you want to go?"

"Amsterdam. Paris. London. I really loved Seattle, too. And there's Hawaii - Kauai." Eric reached out and shook his brother's shoulder. "Not going anywhere yet, Beer Brat."

"I know. Just - I don't like to think about it." Ronald sighed. "Death shouldn't win."

"It's not winning or losing, Ronald." Alan patted the young man's shoulder. "Now, getting to the botanical gardens on Tuesday… that might as well be on my bucket list."

Eric grinned. "Breaking out?"

"Hardly. I'm being chaperoned." Alan sighed. "I sound like a brat. My chemotherapy nurse thinks I'm not ready to solo yet."

"The one with the driver husband?" Ronald asked. "He's become a regular for dinners. He asked if we did kid food."

"Yeah, that's Carmine. He's Andrea's better half. She's a tyrant, but she loved the red velvet cake pops."

Eric, however, had his mind elsewhere - looking off into the middle distance. "I can do kid food. Kids would love my food."

Alan knew that look - it was the look of someone about to have a brilliantly misguided idea. Risk management time. "Everyone who knows anything about children via significant actual and extensive exposure to children raise your hands." No takers. Now to change the subject. "I was hoping to provision for the trip, though. Stuff for energy and maybe a picnic." Andrea was sacrificing a day off. The least he could do was bring goodies. "And cookies."

Eric eyerolled. "You and the sweets. I bet the first thing you did when you were eighteen was eat ice cream for breakfast."

Actually, the first thing he did at eighteen was figure out how not to freeze to death after being thrown out on his ass in the middle of January. "Wrong. Little Debbie Swiss Rolls and hot chocolate. It was too cold for ice cream."

There ensued a surreal discussion about the merits of Little Debbies versus Drakes Cakes, TastyKakes, or Ronald's 'I don't think you've ever heard of them' favorite, Dolley Madisons. Eric declared them both idiots and offered to make them some ramen noodle and Velveeta mac and "orange salty crap that they can't call cheese."

"It's retro food, Eric!"

"It's crap!" Eric hooked a thumb at Alan. "Other than mass-produced snack cakes, this guy knows his shit." A pause and a gleam in those very mischievous blue-green eyes. "Except about salt and fennel."

Oh-ho. Frisky Chef wanted to play? Alan grinned. It was like using a laser pointer to tease a cat. "The classic presentation of bouillabaisse-"

"Is the presentation of the authentic Marseille dish, not the fish-water 'classic' tourist version-"

There were good points to arguing with Hot Butch Honey. It was like mixing porn with the Food Network and the Travel Channel. One of the best points was that there was going to be a tub of bouillabaisse broth, fish and shellfish, plus the classic rouille and bread awaiting him on Friday. Eric was on the phone as he left ordering the fish and seafood. There was more than likely enough fennel in stock.

At home, he went through his emails, and was rather surprised at the volume of interdepartmental emails in his box. And then he saw that they were all good wishes. Get well soon cards, memes, LOLcats, cute animal videos. People were saying they missed him, and... and he didn't have any facial tissue.

"Need to order that."

Alan sacrificed one of his pocket squares, wiping up the tears and blowing his nose. For a long time, he sat and reread the notes, saving them one by one to a new folder on his desktop. They missed him. They thought about him. They didn't want to intrude. They hoped he was getting well. They hoped he'd come back to the offices soon. They had advice, admonishments, and more cute animals videos than he could watch in a week. Then he set up the webcam, put on his knit cap, and started the video.

"Hi, everyone. That was… it was just a lovely surprise and I can't thank you all enough. I'm in treatment, and I'm doing well. Thank you for thinking of me, it means so very much.

Thank you. And Chip, watch out for those cookies if you're not keeping up with your racquetball, all right?" He paused. "It's been rough. And I miss you all, seeing and talking with you every day. I just want you to know that. Good night, and everyone have a good weekend."

It wasn't something he'd thought about. You didn't appreciate the everyday things in life until you faced the prospect of losing them. He uploaded the video to his YouTube account and then sent the link to everyone - all 115 accounts who'd sent him notes. Then he opened up his files, settled back on the couch with his laptop and began to prepare is recommendations into the latest prospective acquisitions. Alan put his headset on, opened Mindmap, and got to work.

Case one: Sometimes very stupid people have a lot of money, very little sense.

"It is not my job to save people from the consequences of their own stupidity and greed." Alan dictated, talk converted to text. "They dove into this one against the best advice we had to offer, so let them take the bath they signed up for. The bailout's an insult and the C-levels would piss it away on their own salaries. I'm putting in a 'Hell no' on this one. I'll provide alternative purchasers, but these tools need to be out of a job. Report attached."

Case two: When cooking the books at least spend the money on someone who is capable of producing well-cooked books.

"They have massive liability in the form of two highly toxic properties they're trying to unload before the EPA comes after them It's been the same shell game since I was about six. They're running out of shells to hide the toxic pea under. Whoever ends up holding the bag on this one may be in bad shape depending on the outcome of Estate of John Ray Wheeler alias Monongahela Salvage v. EPA. Not recommended. Full report follows."

Case three: He hadn't seen such blatant bullshittery since his undergraduate Modern Lit paper on Ayn Rand.

"And they are in violation of the FCPA. 'Cost of doing business' and 'related expenses' my ass."

It was odd, he was working about as much as he did at the office, but in less contiguous blocks of time. There were times he had to put the laptop aside and sleep, and other times he'd be busy in the middle of the night, working and wondering if he was the only person awake in the financial district.

He fielded phone calls from his superiors and in addition to his regular Thursday meetings, he was chided for making people sniffly. Everyone was concerned. You need to eat more. Darleen in accounting is going to knit a sweater for you. People knew about the place on Pearl Street now - thanks to Chip, the cookies, and the inability of anyone in legal to keep their mouths shut about anything until paid to do so.

"And after tomorrow, I have a week free from chemo and the other drugs. Apparently they want to see what my bounce looks like." Alan sipped cautiously at a cayenne-spiked lemonade of Eric's invention and almost smacked his lips. It was just tart enough and had enough of a kick to make his eyelids sweat. "After I recuperate, I'm taking a few days to go places that are not the hospital."

Well, make that one place and see how it goes, but he wasn't going to say that. He still had some dignity, here. He signed off with everyone's good wishes, and then just lay back on the couch and stared at the tin-tiled ceiling for a while. He was dreading tomorrow, and he was dreading intensification. Andrea had been honest with him about that first day of phase two, and had promised to stay with him for the intrathecal.

The very idea of a spinal made him want to throw up. The one he'd had in the emergency room had been so much more than enough.

"Okay, Alan?" He addressed himself, "Go over your presentation for tomorrow, do some yoga, then eat and go to bed." He didn't need to wind himself up.

Setting up the laptop, Alan went through the medical cannabis presentation, looked over the hand-out folders, and brought it in at ten minutes. That would leave enough time for the arguments… hm… question and answer period. Packing up the laptop, he left it on charge and put his things in order for tomorrow. Snacks and juices, a bottle of water, and a small bottle of trace mineral drops - it had reduced his cravings for salt, too - slippers, Kindle. After a moment of hesitation, he added his chemo shirt, a flannel shirt, and his comfortable jeans. If he had to bring out the high caliber ammunition, he might as well look the part.

"Full battle dress." He selected a Kiton suit in light grey wool, Bruno Cucinelli tie and pocket square, Harry's of London black wingtips, Moreschi belt, and a French-cuffed Finamore light blue dress shirt. "But what to do about the head?"

Alan considered this in the mirror. The fade was holding, and he looked ridiculous in a hat - of which he didn't own any. Maybe he ought to invest.

"Then again, considering where else you're losing hair, I wouldn't have such a pity parade about the stuff on your head." Losing one's pubic hair was disconcerting, and a little embarrassing - even if nobody else knew. He quickly tried on the suit, pleased that enough weight had come back that the clothing didn't hang on him. "Okay. Even for a cancer patient, I look good."

And in the morning, he needed every advantage he could get. To say his team was not on board with this was understating the case, but damn it to hell he was going to turn them around or pitch them fucking well overboard.

In the morning he entered the room, set up his laptop, and started the second the last of his team was seated. Research. Evidence. Science. Twenty thousand extant papers about the efficacy of C. indica, C. ruderalis, C. Sativa, and their native cannabinoids in various clinical settings and there's no research? Alan hit them with everything he could about the body of research on the drugs they were giving him.

"Six hundred extant papers on oxycontin." Alan let his voice drip icicles as he went through the drugs and proposed drugs they'd given him. He slapped the folder down on the desk. "I am out of patience with the lot of you. You asked for evidence, and facts, and science, and there it is. It's on the internet, freely available to medical professionals and researching scientists such as yourselves. Sticking your fingers in your ears and going 'LALALALA!' is not going to cut it with me. If I can do my homework on this - and regain five pounds - then so can you. I expect better."

Alan was aware that he was standing beside his chair, and had just read off a whole table of physicians. Did he care? He checked. No, not a bit.

"If you have legitimate, quantifiable concerns, then I expect whats, wheres, whens, hows, and whys. Not to be a human beta test, and not to be kept in the dark." He let his voice sharpen. "Most of all, I do not expect you to look like a class of undergrads who have figured out that they're going to have to work. I was a TA, ladies and gentlemen, and I know the look. Do better. Next order of business?"

Alan sat down and composed himself. The suit had been the right call.

"It's still illegal," Dr. Chowdree said. "It's a street drug-"

"I obtain the substance from a highly reliable botanical geneticist, who is well versed in the medicinal properties his products." Eric needed a doctorate - that notebook of research and Eric's own notes were a few steps, duct tape, and a thesaurus from being his dissertation. "I have the utmost confidence in the science."

"From black market dispensary, Dr. Humphries?" Dr. Millard sniffed.

"Five pounds, good sleep, reduced pain, reduced nausea, and less gastrointestinal distress without the side effects and risk of addition presented and documented by ativan and the vicodin." Alan rebutted. "Let's not mention the oxycontin, or the side effects of the antidepressants you were ready to shovel at me. I'm willing to be the beta test on this one; informed consent has always been a biggie with me." Zing. "I don't like being an aftermarket statistic, especially when it involves surprise catheters."

"I would be interested, Dr. Humphries, in measuring your C-reactive protein, erythrocyte sedimentation rate, and plasma viscosity to map any reduction in the inflammation." Dr. Kelsy, his rheumatologist, spoke quietly as she pushed her glasses up. "The effects you're describing need to be validated by the numbers. If there's a significant reduction in your C-reactive and ESR, I'll back it."

Sometimes, all you needed was just one. He couldn't say that everyone was aboard with this, but first Dr. Kelsy, then Dr. Oh, then Dr. Chowdree were enough to hammer the others if not into compliance, then into shutting up and going along. Then they all shook hands and smiled while thinking in four letter words, and everyone was happy. Alan felt as if he'd swum twenty laps, but by God he'd won this one.

He went to the chemotherapy floor, feeling lighter of mind and heart than he had in a while. Only to get razzed for his suit by Andrea.

"Fancy, fancy, fancy, Alan." Andrea mock-fanned herself. "Carmine said you were sporting drop-dead threads today, but I had no idea."

"I paid him in cookies and pudding cups to keep quiet." The Peacock Brothers were rubbing off on him. Alan put a bit of a preen and strut in it. "A good suit is to men what lingerie is to women - it only serves its purpose if it ends up on the bedroom floor."

Andrea cracked up, having to sit in the chemo chair until she got it under control. "You are terrible. I like it."

"I told you that you were a gay guy in a girl suit." Alan took off his cufflinks, tie and tie tack. "I brought my chemo wear. Just let me get changed."

"All right. I'll come back in a few minutes, Mr. Hot Stuff." She pulled him down to kiss his forehead. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

He hugged her hard. "Couldn't do it without you, Didi."

"You are one of two people on earth who gets to call me that." She hugged him back. "Get changed, I have to print out new marching orders."

"Okay. And I brought you some goodies, too." The scrambled egg in sippy cup did him in. He brought her a real breakfast. "Scoot. I'll be all settled in when you get back."

Andrea scooted, and Alan got undressed, emptied his briefcase and folded the suit, shirt, and accessories into it. The shoes went into their felt bag in his backpack, and the slippers came out. He left the silk boxers and socks on, then changed into his chemo clothing and settled into the chair. He'd eat the brownie before she started his infusion.

Andrea came back in. "New marching orders from Dr. C, Alan. He's lightened up on the ativan, due to a 'new medication.' I take it you won?"

"I at least hammered them into going along." Alan sat up for the usual exam. "Dr. Kelsy was interested enough to say so."

"She's really new, but I hear good things about her." Andrea palped his arm and shoulder, looking for infection, tenderness and swelling. "Excited for next week?"

"So much! I just want to go out and do things." That it was complicated by the dread of intensification he left unsaid. "Even if it's just spending a beautiful spring day in a garden."

Andrea chuckled, smiling behind her mask. "You have the zoomies."

"I do not. I have cabin fever." He lay back as Andrea prepped his portacath for the blood draw. It was embarrassing, but he still was not good with needles. "It's been a month of not going or doing. I miss it."

"What time do you want me to pick you up on Tuesday?" Andrea asked as Alan closed his eyes. He knew it was not possible, but he could feel the portacath in his body as his bloods were being taken and it hit him funny sometimes. "I was thinking about nine."

"I was, too. I really want to go do something before it starts again." The thought of a spinal tap with chemo going into him made him put his head down and try not to shake. "Sorry."

"It's all right, Alan. I know it's scary." She put his port right, covered it, then hugged him gently. "I've arranged with Dr. Chowdree to be with you all the way through."

"So I'm only going to think about the gardens. We're going to have a great day." Alan said firmly. "And I'm picking up goodies from Pearl Street."

"They've been taking good care of you." Andrea racked the little tubes of blood. "Carmine brings dinner from there at least twice a week."

"And I brought you breakfast!" Alan reached down and pulled up the backpack. "Buckwheat and peach pancakes, scrambled eggs with spinach, walnuts, and goat cheese, plus bacon."

Andrea literally squealed. "Why can't a girl have two husbands?"

William had to wait for General Affairs to send Maintenance to repair his office, then had to go to Cordelia and apologise. She was not jealous, that was mortal silliness, but she was enraged with him on Grell's behalf and had made her points with exceptional force. It was also indisputable that he had left her with incomplete information by not informing her of the exact nature of Eric Slingby's and and Alan Humphries' deaths. The worst part is that she did have very salient points, and William felt like a pincushion and punching bag by the time she slammed the door.

The London Dispatch was quiet, with the staff walking very softly past the Dispatch Manager's office. Cordelia's Reapers toed the mark, stood straight, and listened sharp - despite being disorderly, rowdy, and libidinous off duty. In every way, they were exemplary Reapers. William gave three precisely-timed knocks and let himself in - against all the frantic, silent advice of the Dispatch staff shaking their heads and making frantic cutting motions with their hands.

"I provided you with facts, but not with vital details that included the involvement of the demon known as Sebastian, and your late husband, as well as Grell's role and my own in the undesirable outcome." One had to get out of the gate fast, or Cordelia would ride right over you. "I also admit to my own ineffectuality in attempting to rectify the situation with Grell, and I am not an arsebackwards and thudfingered idiot, and despite the outcome of a truly horrific misjudgment on which no actual malice was consciously predicated."

Cordelia rubbed a spot above her right eyebrow, giving him one of her particular looks. Will reached out and offered an awkward rub.

"You are still an idiot." But she took off her glasses and leaned into the rub. "Do you know what it takes to be angry with you?"

"You should have told me you wished to see Grell. There was no need to sneak into my ledger." The Dowager Duchess Phantomhive bore tremendous but unexpected loyalty to Grell for saving the family from disgrace, and for saving her life as she lay dying. "I understand some things, you know."

Cordelia sighed. "It's complicated, Will. There's so much between Grell and myself."

Angelina Dalles, the Campania Incident, Grell's persistent involvement with that demon butler, and the inexplicable decision to make Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia Middleford into a Reaper.

Not that he could or should complain.

"Should I visit Grell again?" Will asked. "To make things clearer."

"Dearest darling, ze intends to tear your heart out and eat it. I would let things settle somewhat."

"That is a figure of speech."

"Are you sure about that?"

"... with Grell it is perhaps more prudent to assume the bloodiest interpretation possible."

"I told Rox that I wanted zir to come home."

William let that sink in. "That, in light of Grell's previous exile, and his… her desire to eat my heart, would be exceedingly unwise."

"I am Dispatch Manager. I have sole discretion over my Reapers." Cordelia put her foot down to Administration as hard as he ever had. Meddling with the Dispatch managers was a good way to spend time regrowing body parts and vital organs. "Ze turned me down. At the moment ze feels too much responsibility toward the reincarnates, one of which is her current lover. As he was before, which you forgot to mention."

"I… am behind modern times perhaps. What is this pronoun?"

"You are one hundred and twenty-five years my senior - cradle robber."

"You were not in a cradle when I met you. As I remember, you were sticking me with a sword." And Will remembered it quite well; his first meeting taught him to never get between Cordelia and her intended target. "It was quite rude, sticking first and asking questions later. Hasty. Not to mention unsubtle and indiscreet."

"Shut up and rub, William."

William shut up and rubbed. His question would be answered in sideways fashion, some time later, no doubt. It was awkward, ungraceful, and perhaps hazardous to his person, but William did want Cordelia to return to his residence with him. Sleep was so much more pleasant when there was someone warm in bed.

"The shift is over, will you not put on your coat?" he asked.

Cordelia looked at him over the top of her glasses, amused. "William."

"I am attempting to remedy the serial situations in which I have not expressed myself adequately or clearly as to-"

Some kisses needed to come with a warning.

And there was no need to crumple his tie.

Chapter 18

Summary:

Good stews are simple in presentation, but can be highly complex - and sometimes a little more complicated than they seem.

Alan was muzzy enough that Andrea accompanied him down to the lobby and handed him over to Carmine. The brownie dosed with high-CBD cannabis kicked in some time after the benadryl and when he woke up there were a lot less in the way of warning signals that the post-chemo misery was incoming. Still, he ended up sleeping again on the way downtown, awaking only when he remembered bouillabaisse - that was today!

Only the Frisky Chef could take his mind off chemo.

"Carmine? I need to stop by Pearl Street. My bouillabaisse!" Alan wrestled himself upright and blinked. They were at Houston and traffic was packed. "I finally got Chef Hotshot to put his court bouillon where his big mouth is."

Carmine laughed and lowered the partition. "You've met the guy? I've met the steampunky club kid - Ron."

"That's his little brother."

"I want to pick up dinner, so I'll come in with you. Are you going to be okay to eat?"

Alan assessed himself. "I think I am. I'll see how I feel in a couple of hours. But I am not giving up on the bouillabaisse."

"Got your pops?"

Carmine avoided calling them Preggo Pops for the sake of Alan's dignity, but Alan's dignity would be far more offended by getting car-sick. He held up the little Altoids tin and rattled it. "All is well. What are you thinking of for dinner?"

"Didi wants some of the white seafood lasagne and a loaf of their olive oil ciabatta, but it's a little advanced for the kids." Carmine sighed. "They're in the 'cut the crusts off the bread' stage and 'I want spaghetti' stages. Oh, and Cheerios. We're going nuts trying to to get them to eat nutritious stuff."

"He does good food, but you're right about the kids. When I was little I was the same way, and I didn't suffer from malnutrition. Do they still make Flintstone's vitamins? That was my mom's go-to." Alan pushed himself up in the seat. Still no nausea, just the usual 'coming down with something' feeling. "Or is it Sponge Bob vitamins?"

"Flintstones. We're old school." Carmine craned his neck. "Parking fucking sucks right now. Want me to run in and grab the goodies?"

"Reverse order. Run it around the block and I'll run in." Alan tucked his wallet into his hip pocket, looking with dismay at the mini traffic jam around Pearl Street. "It's no longer a best kept secret."

"Partially my fault, I bring some of my clients by here. The food's so good."

"Mine, too. I used to bring cookie plates every Friday - and someone missed that enough to track down the cookies. Here I go!" He was out of the back seat and squeezing between a double-parked Caddy and a Beemer with a single digit salute for the horns, then on the sidewalk and in the door. "Ronald, you're a bona fide Financial District thing. Sorry I'm late."

Ronald opened the gate and ushered Alan through, pausing in handing out brown paper Pearl Street Kitchen bags stuffed to the handles with comestibles. "Yeah, this is rush hour for us. All those dinners going out. Your driver called one in and Eric's got your bouillabaisse in the back."

"Can Carmine pull in around back? They're parking out there like they're auditioning for a new Mad Max movie."

"Sure, I've got that order in the back anyway. Go on in - Eric's been hovering over that bouillabaisse like it holds the secrets of the universe."

The kitchen was a flurry with just one person in it, and Alan scooted to the side into the safety of the alcove. Pulling out his phone, he called Carmine.

"Pull into the alley around the back. Your dinner's ready to go."

Eric marked brown bags with a Sharpie, set one marked 'Capello' next to one marked 'Humphries' then bellowed, "Last batch, Ronnie!"

"Eric, we're out of everything!"

"Close it up, then!" Eric bellowed again in a voice that likely carried to South Street.

Alan took advantage of the maelstrom to look at the tab on the Capello's bag and hang a fifty on it, then open the top of his bag and take a look. He'd wait until tomorrow to eat it. Just in case. What was in the Tupperware tub at the bottom? Alan had one guess, and it started with

'b' and ended with Eric Slingby, Hot Butch Honey Chef.

He raised an eyebrow at Eric - who simply gave him a cocky grin and twirled a spatula between his fingers. "Dessert's a local specialty."

Eric couldn't say exactly why he did it. Jerking chains and mouthing off just came naturally. Mr. Twinkie looked a little pale and tired, but a bit of Eric Slingby's Authentic Homemade Smartassery perked him right up.

"They've helped a great deal. Thank you." Humphries said, pausing then continuing. "Now, you normally do better than that jerking my chain, you big butch flirt."

Was that a return flirt? That was a return flirt. Eric grinned and gave a bit of a strut as he loaded the bagged dinners to go on the cart. "Yeah, you're feeling pretty good - all feisty."

"Why is it smaller people are always termed as feisty?" Humphries huffed, a twitch of the lips indicating amusement. "We can be just as hubristic as, say, highly skilled hotshot chefs built like their Viking ranges."

Eric preened, gratified his guess that Humphries flirted by argument was correct - and a little by the compliments, too. "I didn't know you were checking out my range."

There was an exchange of horns from the alley followed by. "Scoot it in, cutie. There's a cake in there with my name on it!"

"Blow me kisses all you want, Red - this is my spot!"

He and Humphries looked at each other. "Oh, Lord." "Oh, Lord."

"My driver, Carmine Capello."

"My tattooist, Rox Sharp."

Ronald spoke behind both of them. "My glee. Do it for the Vine, fellas."

Eric shoved the cart at Ronald, forcing him to juggle his phone. "Out, Beer Brat. Give those hungry people their food and then close it up."

"But-"

"OUT."

Ronald outed.

"Rox Sharp, tall tattoo artist, gives to queer youth and HIV-related charities, seriously avant garde with a car collection?" Humphries asked.

Eric nodded. "Tall Italian redheaded livery driver with two fussy kids and a wife who loves the white lasagna?"

"Exactly - his wife is also my chemotherapy nurse."

And then there was a whole lot of long, tall, and red with shoulders to make him unf in his kitchen. Even Humphries was a little round eyed. Rox in red ballet flats was maybe a half-inch shorter than Capello, and flipping zir long red braid.

Eric raised his hands. "Ronnie said that Capello could park there, because he's driving Humphries who is picking up his classic and correctly seasoned bouillabaisse, and dinner for his own family."

You had to get the first word in when the braid flipping started, or ze would go all night.

"Here I thought you'd started curating a collection of redheads." Rox sniffed. "Who's Mr. Long and Lean? Make some introductions, Eric."

"Bossing my ass around in my own kitchen. Behave or no cake for you." He'd pay for that later - hopefully - but his kitchen was his kitchen. "Right, Rox Sharp meet Carmine Capello, who drives for that guy over there - Alan Humphries. Capello, I'm Eric Slingby - I own and operate this nuthouse. Your white lasagna's ready and I did kid food. Humphries, this is Rox Sharp - my tattoo artist. Capello, that hipster dork over there is my brother Ronnie Knox who makes killer beer. Everyone out, Ronnie?"

"Yeah, and the cases are cleaned out. Man, what a rush hour!" It was just so cute how Ronnie would get all chirpy around Rox - little bro was sorting out his orientation issues pretty well. "There's a shitload of orders for Monday dinners, I have them on the iPad."

Eric took it and looked it over, then whistled as he added up the raw materials in his head. "I'll get the orders done tonight. Might have to make a few trips in the Snot Rocket."

"I can't go. Have a date." Ronnie preened. "Stacy's in town."

"I thought you were going to Monica's." That boy and his dick. "And what about that girl from Velvet who was blowing up your phone?"

"She dumped me. I'm soothing my wounds." He looked at Eric with big puppy-dog eyes. "That new cheesecake in the fridge upstairs would be such a comfort."

Eric sighed - he was such a fucking pushover. "Go. Put the cake in a box and the box in a cooler bag."

Ronnie shot up the stairs like a bottle rocket, leaving Eric in the kitchen with two long-stemmed redheads and a short-stemmed brunet. At another time, under other circumstances, Eric would have just called it a three-course tasting menu - because wedding band or not, Carmine Capello was pinging his gaydar and he might be pinging Capello's. Or maybe he was just getting a thing for redheads.

Rox was chatting enthusiastically with Humphries, very touchy with the fingers though, and Eric turned his attention to Capello. Capello flicked his gaze to Humphries, then raised an eyebrow at Eric. What? No way. Eric raised both of his in return and flicked his gaze to Rox. Capello considered that, then flicked his gaze again to Humphries and again back to Eric, this time with a more questioning expression. Eric shrugged uncomfortably. Even if the attraction was there, it was complicated by a lot of different factors. Time to change the subject. Eric checked Capello out, glancing at the wedding band. Capello gave a one-shouldered shrug and tapped his phone with the ring finger. Ah. Someone had to let him off the leash. Yes. Eric let his gaze slide to Rox, and gave back the same one-shouldered shrug. Capello smiled, a real one, and nodded. Loud and clear.

"Let me know what the kids think of the kid food." He slid the bag over to Capello. "My baby bro was picky as hell when he was in grade school."

"I will for sure. We're just trying to keep them from rickets and scurvy at this point."

"I survived on my mom's grilled cheese sandwiches, Campbell's tomato soup, Fritos, Captain Crunch, and Flintstone's vitamins until I was old enough to cook. They'll be fine."

"What do I owe?" Capello reached for his wallet as Eric shook his head.

"Kid food's free because it's an experiment, and Humphries snagged the tab before you came in."

It was almost overwhelming. Zir lads. Zir lads were all here. It was a joy like sunlight and a pain like a scythe in the guts. Ronald was bouncing around like a gangly puppy. Eric was trading speaking looks with the lanky Italian redhead - that boy and his prick. And Alan. Rox removed zir gloves to shake his hand, knowing that William would have a flappy fit over it. If a Reaper's touch could stave off the Shadow or turn it away entirely, Rox was all for it.

"So pleased to meet you, Mr. Humphries." It was eerie the way this Alan's hands felt the same as zir Alan's hands. "I've seen you at some of the Safe Spaces functions."

"How do you do? I remember the candy-apple red '62 Corvette you donated to last year's fundraiser. Two of my bosses didn't speak to each other for a week when one outbid the other."

"That was you who brought the big dollar bidders?" Ze left a lipstick mark on his cheek. "That's for bringing the deep pockets."

He was wide-eyed, but this was Alan - always a little startled with people.

"All I had to do was dangle that car. That was the star of the show."

"And you know Eric and Ronnie well enough to have parking privileges. I am fascinated." Rox was not going to let on that she'd seen him passed out in one of the recliners. Ze walked zir fingers up his arm. "Eric's been hiding you."

He still had a lovely blush, stammering and disclaiming. "I've been… um… that is… Ronald and Eric are very good friends…"

Eric paused in his silent flirtation with the Italian cutie, who was making speculative glances between Eric and Alan, and arched an eyebrow at zir. Ze did have a thing for men who could Spock. Rox arched zir eyebrow right back and grinned. Eric was gearing up for a strop, and that was a good thing.

"Behave, you." Zir Pretty Man grumped.

"But I'm so bad at it." Rox purred back. "Alan, you have to assert yourself with this one or he rolls right over you."

"He loves to argue, too." Alan affirmed, looking as if he might be getting a little of his own back.

"Pot to kettle, Mr. Wall Street Guy." Eric crossed his arms and shot one hip. Ze would have to have him pose naked like that - it was a good look.

"He's a terrible tease, Mx. Sharp. Possibly one of the best chefs in Lower Manhattan, though." Alan hefted his bag and Capello watched the interplay. "Mr. Slingby, thank you for the traditionally prepared bouillabaisse. I shall have your feedback shortly."

"All right." Eric seemed to be parsing Alan again, communicating on another spectrum above everyone else, and Alan picked up on it.

"I'm fine. The new medicine has helped immeasurably. I look forward to a lovely feast and revisiting some fond memories." Alan smiled and it was as sweet and kind as spring. "No need to worry."

How many times had ze heard that before.

Eric gave a too-casual shrug. "Might be better the second day. Lets the flavors blend." Alan gave Eric the 'I know what you're doing look' over the rims of his glasses and Eric returned it with a cocky grin. "The fennel is much more subtle that way."

"Hm. Subtle you say." The tone was deadpan, but Alan was trying not to smile.

Rox watched them banter and flirt, feeling as if ze could close zir eyes and ze'd be back in the Dispatch with zir juniors once more. It was amusing that Eric and Alan fell so easily into their mating dances. Oh, ze didn't want to give Eric up - he was loving and affectionate… and mortal.

Oh, dear.

That, again.

Alan made his farewells, as did the hunky driver - was Alan hitting that? He'd been flirting a mile a minute with Eric, with a wedding band on his ring finger, too. Maybe Eric was getting a thing for tall, sexually versatile redheads with shoulders. There would be interrogation this evening.

"Look at you, you flirty thing. All aglow." Rox pursed zir lips and looked him over. A month in zir care had worked wonders. "Goodness, you looked positively hungry."

Eric blushed. Right on target. "Shut up."

Rox advanced, stalking gracefully. "I believe you called it "test driving" - right?"

"No cake for you."

"Your ears are just scarlet, Pretty Man." Hooking zir fingers in the front of his trousers, ze reeled him in. "Tell Boss Rox your naughty thoughts."

"Tasting menu. I was thinking tasting menu." The poor dear facepalmed, the ears deepening to a shade just short of aubergine.

"Mmm. You are so missish for a pervert. It's quite the thrill." Rox insinuated zir fingers into the waistband of his underthings. "You can't bang everyone, dearest. It takes practice - you have to work up to it."

"Hey! I am not going to-"

Ze kissed him before he could say something stupid. Oh, the stroppy thing kissed zir silly while giving a sharp smack to zir ass in a way that made her squirm happily. "Bossy, butchy brat. Is Ronald out for the night?"

"In a few. He's getting changed and raiding the fridge." Eric did not let go of zir rear end, nuzzling and nibbling at zir ear. "He's got a hot date that requires cheesecake."

Oh, my. The Pretty Man was trying to seduce zir, kissing so sweetly. "You stroppy thing. You just want to get in my knickers."

"Or get you out of them-"

"You've locked down my toy." Ze did love cutting the silicone cage off, though.

"You're a boner hazard, Red. I'm making an innocent Béarnaise and bam - boner! It's like puberty again."

Rox laughed, pushing zir leg between his. "I think you're just making up for lost time. You've been celibate for so long."

He wrapped his arms around zir. "It's like everything's waking up again. I can't tell you what it's like. Like being dead and coming back to life, maybe."

Would zir kisses and zir touch add years to Eric's life, or could they hold back the sickness enough to matter? Oh, bloody hell, ze was falling in love with him and ze was so awful at it.

He broke the kiss and nuzzled zir ear, giving a playful tug on zir earring with his teeth before asking, "Come upstairs?"

Eric's voice held a hint of a deep burr, and Rox felt zirself go a little weak in the knees. It wasn't fair that certain men just put zir brains right down into zir knickers. "You are sometimes a very bad man."

"I hope so." Then he had the nerve to kiss that spot on zir neck that made zir breath catch and her heart do flips. "Come upstairs with me?"

Oh, hell. Nuzzly. Kissy. Sweet as sugar and twice as horny. How long since ze had bottom time? Too long. "Yes."

Ronnie was singing in the shower as they crept past the bathroom door and down the hallway to Eric's room. Brain in zir knickers. Right. And as soon as the door shut behind them, neither of them could get their clothing off fast enough. It was hard to retain one's dignity when one tripped getting out of one's own pants and knocked one's lover onto his bed. It was even harder to care about one's dignity when one's lover wrapped his arms around one and kissed one until one's IQ dropped ten points.

It made zir feel young again. Young and giddy, foolish and randy, believing that love-

Oh, no. Not again.

Rox broke the kiss and remembered to breathe. "Eric, are you in love with me?"

It took him a moment to engage the upstairs brain and his eyes widened. "Why - are you in love with me?"

"No. Absolutely not." Oh, what a lie.

"Good. Me neither." He lied right back.

"Okay." One should keep the lies mutual, after all.

"All right." And the kiss made further liars of them both.

Rox broke the kiss again. "Rubbers. Now. Gimme."

"You don't have any?"

"I came for cake - not for nookie, cookie."

Eric started to get up, then paused. "Ronnie's still in the bathroom. What- No, wait. I've got it."

Rolling out of bed, Eric kicked his trousers in the general direction of the hamper and took an Altoids tin from the top of his dresser.

"Breath mints? Hand it over." Ze held out a hand and he gave her the tin. "What kind of mischief-" Inside zie found breath mints, but also two little pillow packs of lubricant and two condoms. "You wicked little hedonist. This was in your pocket the night I brought you home. It's a booty call kit."

"Ronnie's idea." It was so amusing to make Eric blush.

"Yes, but who taught him? This is a big-brotherish thing to do." Waggling the box, Rox laughed. "Come here, Pretty Man. Let me get that thing off you. I want you very badly."

That was no lie. Eric being both sweet and rammish promised a very good time. It was with amusement that ze noted how he held his breath as she dispatched the silicone cage. Really, ze would have to come up with a more durable alternative if ze didn't want to keep denting his wallet with destroying the things.

"Red, you're murdering my bank balance - I've had to start buying them wholesale in New Jersey." It was difficult for Eric to stay grumpy when he hardened that fast. Ze gave him a stroke that tipped his head back and made his hips flex.

"You were saying?"

"Dunno. More."

Ze tore the wrapper open with zir teeth, and unrolled the lubricated nitrile over the rosy head of his prick and down the shaft. "Hedonist. Harlot. I love your repressed urges darling, especially when I'm face down and you're riding me as if I have 'Six Flags' stamped on my arse."

"It's a pretty ass. Cute, even."

The nerve! Ze smacked his thigh. "You impertinent bastard, everything about me is ravishing, stunning, and flamboyant - I don't do cute."

Oh, that was an Evil Eric smile if Rox ever saw one.

"Cuuuute." The big lummox cooed, crawling onto the bed and lying atop zir. "Like when your freckles get really bright when you're going to-" He laughed and nuzzled zir when ze pummeled his ass. "-come. You bite your lip when you're getting ready to come, and just before you do your freckles look like little bits of rose petals or paprika-"

"Bastard. Teasing wretch." Those muscles. That arse. Wrapping zirself around him ze exerted a little more strength to flip them both - but carefully, as mortals were delicate. "I want a fucking, Eric."

"Gimme the Altoids box." He rubbed his hands up zir thighs and hips.

"You taste fine, Pretty Man. I like the places your mouth has been." Ze settled down on him, grateful for the results of a fresh sugar wax even if the application and removal made zir howl. "I like the way you use your mouth, too. Verrry talented cocksucker, you are."

"I need the lube for that cute ass, sweetheart."

Eric's endowment was on the thick side of generous, and as much as zie wished for different bits with which to enjoy him, the plain truth was that getting in bed with Eric made zir not care. He made zir shameless whatever gender ze sported that day. Ze handed him the box and pursed her lips in disapproval of the lube.

"Boring, Eric. With all the flavors out there you pick plain old water-based in a longneck?"

"It's versatile! Besides, I have to keep Ronnie stocked up. That boy is all over town." Eric opened the top of the tube with a flick of his thumbnail. "I'll have you know that my asshole and balls were minty-fresh for three damn days after my last visit with Officer Friendly and the Night Stick of Doom."

If you couldn't laugh while having sex with someone, you shouldn't be fucking them - and Rox was laughing so hard that ze had tears in her eyes. "You bitch about swamp balls all the time. I gave you nice mentholated fresh balls. M-make up your mind."

"Like that?" Eric's grin was wolfish and hungry as he slipped the elongated tip of the lube packet into zir, sending a surge of heat from brain to balls. "Red, you look so good…"

"B-bastard brat wicked bloody ahh strumpet-" Zie took his prick in grip, positioning zirself and then slowly easing down. "Hedonist, you look so good on your ba- oh on your back!"

"Talk mean to me, lover." Eric groaned, his hands tightening on zir hips as ze opened for him. "Ride my dick like you stole it."

"Mouthy service brat, this is my pretty cock to play with." The stretch was lovely, making Rox shameless to scratch that itch. "If you pop your shot before I tell you to, you'll have it locked down for a week."

Oh. Oh, perfect. Ze didn't mind zir bits when Eric's prick pressed to zir prostate and the wicked thing rocked his hips just so. Lovely pace on the lad, that was for certain.

"Wanna make you pop, Red. Make your freckles stand out and play with your titties." Eric rasped, the flush on his cheeks and the bright gaze showing what ze missed when he'd have zir from behind or on top. "Fuck my hand, lover. Ride me hard and make a mess-"

"B-bossy butchy boy, gimme that dick!" Oh, spare a thought for poor Ronnie, getting an awful earful as Eric took a grip on zir hips and bucked. "Lazy-arse power bottom, the only thing you move is your mouth-"

The slats of Eric's bed creaked in protest, and Rox couldn't help zirself when he made a perfect rub. Eric lifted zir knees off the bed as he met zir coming back down. "Lazy? I've give you lazy-"

"Work that ass for me, you stroppy strumpet-"

"Fuck you, kiss me when you talk trash with that mean mouth-"

He got his feet on the headboard and a grip on her arse and ze couldn't kiss him because she was too busy telling him to fuck zir harder.

And then he had a hand in zir hair and kissed zir just as perfectly as he fucked and- "Fuck oh fuck Eric don't you-"

"Come for me come for me Red a little more come on want to feel you coming on my cock-"

It took everything ze had not to bite and to keep him from seeing zir lose control of zir teeth, but oh ze made a mess of his belly and chest when ze arched and zir toes curled and the heat bloomed in zir loins and zir brain-

Oh, ze did hope Ronnie had left for the evening.

Then he kissed zir - warm, perfect, sweet, and loving - and ze kissed him back. It wasn't lying if you didn't say anything, after all.

It was good to awaken next to someone warm, William thought. Cordelia, like a cat, took up a great deal of room as she sprawled, hogged the blankets and in general slept on him. However, since he slept like - no pun intended - the dead, it didn't matter how Cordelia slept. William slept through pretty much everything. Well, everything except Cordelia nuzzling his ear, segueing into her preferred method of waking up, and embracing him with the passion of a goddess. Whatever he had done right, however he came to have her in his life, William was deeply grateful - and not just when she'd lie with him.

But his life was bliss when she would.

He should tell her.

"I should tell you that ah I am d-deeply fond of you and not just when you are willing to hmn have me in your bed-"

Cordelia opened her eyes, fingernails digging into his shoulders. "William - now? OH! Yes there like that, William now!"

Now-? Mmmnow! Cordelia's heels drummed on his arse as he gave her what she was asking for. Sweet and slick and strong around him and her fingernails and there was no call to do to to him such violence especially when it drove him to fever pitch and it was a good thing that reapers did not need to breathe because the bliss and release was such that he could not. They did quite make a wreck of her bed, but it was pleasant to lie entwined with her afterward, kissing the flush from her cheeks. Cordelia's fingers stroked the nape of his neck.

"Sweet old soul," she murmured to him."What would I do without you?"

"You would likely experience less frustration that causes you to upend my office," he replied thoughtfully. "Though I must admire the level of terror that you have inspired in the Dispatch at the mere possibility of your disquiet."

"William?"

"Yes?"

"Rhetorical."

Then for reasons that would likely remain mysterious, Cordelia kissed him again. There were times when it was simply best not to question.

"Will you see Grell again?" This Rox business and novel pronouns had him flummoxed. "And tell me this time instead of going through my ledger when I'm in the shower?"

"You would have been impossible over it, and you know it. I would like to see zir again, and to keep an eye on the reincarnates." Cordelia stroked his hair. "They were your family, William. I cannot think about what it was to lose all four of them."

"We do not have families as mortals do, Cordelia."

"I know, but they were anyway. I do want the whole story, William."

"It's complicated." And somewhat unflattering, actually.

"William."

Could he get out of this? Not without some damage to tender parts, he thought. Gingerly he lifted the lid he'd settled on the entire mess.

Sighing, William began, "The events of which I shall speak began about the same time time as a concatenation of circumstances involving both your late Aunt Angelina's affiliation with Grell Sutcliff and the peculiar circus of murderers."

In the middle of his explanation, Cordelia began to quietly weep and gently cradled his head as if he were the one afflicted. So very strange. He could not understand it. Or why she would rain kisses on his forehead, and make the same noises to him she had once made to comfort their… her daughter as a very young child. His own cheeks were wet with her tears, of course with her tears, as he gently explained again that Reapers do not have families as mortals do, so how could he mourn the loss of them?

#black butler fanfiction

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slasherholic · 3 years

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synopsis: hi this is a very indulgent self-care piece born out my desire to be held,, by evil handsome collector man,, so take some very mean “fluff” based on this gorgeous commission cause it lives rent free in my brain

written in 3rd person pov, but the protag’s name and features are left vague, so anyone who identifies with the descriptions in the warnings below can read this as a self insert :0

contains: female reader, language which describes the reader’s body as “small” and “petite”, depictions of murder and violence, kidnapping, nonconsensual touching / groping / cuddling, drugging, (my kink is getting a good fucking nights sleep srry,) restraints, mild fearplay, depictions of torture.

Asa Emory / The Collector x Small! Female Reader

When panic and confusion began to mount in the concert hall and the crowd fled for the exit, she scrambled forward on the dirty ground and huddled beneath the seat in front of her, for fear of being trampled.

Thirty seconds passed. Outside, in the main building, there was more screaming. She clutched her leg in a grip that turned her shins numb where her fingers dug in.

When the screams stopped, she clambered very hesitantly out.

The theater and all its levels were empty. On the stage lay the bodies of the cast, motionless islands in vast pools of spreading blood.

She should go now. Not out the front. There must be a side door, a fire exit, something.

When it happened it took the concert hall five whole seconds to rise into a panic. Nobody seemed to believe what they were seeing, and in the end, the shrieks coming from behind the curtains were what stoked the audience into a frenzy.

The curtains; likely her best chance.

She couldn’t stop herself from looking again as she clambered up on the stage, hugging the wall, gazing with huge eyes at the dead bodies speared into the wooden floor by volleys of long pikes with more prongs than she could count at a glance. It had been impeccable timing, right at the climax of the leading lady’s highest soprano note.

She looked up. Past the bright stage lights, high in the rafters above, she saw two heavy-looking mechanisms that among the steel fixtures did not at first glance look out of place. She made her way very cautiously behind the dense red curtains.

There were more bodies backstage but what had killed them was not immediately apparent and she didn’t want to linger and find out. There was an open door on the opposite end of the room and as she crossed the dusty paneled floor her head was on a swivel, listening, for anything. The building had fallen to suffocating silence.

Through the door, there was a stairwell, and another body. A man in a ripped white button up and a stained blue tie lay face-down on the first and second steps. There was a terrible smell. She stepped over him very slowly, and then slipped on his blood.

She fell forward into razor wire. It caught on her lavender dress and cut her arms and legs. Somehow she held her shriek. The gleaming wires stretched like a web across the narrow corridor from wall to wall, and she went carefully, dipping in and out between the maze, finding she could just squeeze through it. Blood was streaming down her ankles and getting on the soles of her heels by the time she reached the top.

She almost got out. She would have made it, if only the anticipation of freedom hadn’t made her so hasty.

He discovered her snared in the labyrinth of dangling fish hooks fifteen feet from the rear fire exit, sobbing in pain, a delicate, pretty little creature, pulling uselessly at the lines as he got close to gather her up.

She didn’t put up much of a fight. She was a small woman, in shock, easy to handle.

Into the trunk she went.

The hooks would need to come out surgically. He had designed them to snag skin and embed deep into muscle and stay.

She tried to fight him for the first few minutes after he dragged her out by her nape and bent her face-down over the operating table, pinning her by her wrists while he unbuttoned the back of her dress, which he decided he quite liked; but when she lay naked on the table with her slender arms secured, as if realizing the futility of it all, she stopped struggling, and just cried while he tightened the straps over her legs. He stuck a thick piece of leather in her mouth so her teeth wouldn’t break and didn’t bother to sedate her. Waste of his resources for a procedure this short. Her huge eyes streamed endless tears as he worked on her and her face twisted beautifully at every incision. He set his scalpel down to wipe the crimson stains off her skin, and in his tray sat six bloody hooks, each as long as her index finger.

She was smart enough to mind her volume after the excruciating part was over, sniffling and crying softly while he bandaged her limbs. She had expected never to see her airy lavender dress again, but when he finally unstrapped her, and flipped her on her stomach, he clothed her in it again. She stayed limp as he did the buttons back up her spine for fear of angering him. Her wrists and ankles went snuggly into pairs of sturdy leather cuffs.

He scooped her up, gripping her trembling body tightly, in case she decided to squirm. She didn’t.

Beyond the operating room there was a corridor, its walls and ceiling painted a maroon that had faded nearly to brown. She figured it was some sort of inn or hotel. A few of the doors lining the hall sat open a crack and one near the end sat wide-open. She looked inside it as he carried her past, and immediately wished she hadn’t.

The room he brought her to had a door that was open just a little. There, in the middle of the floor, fit with heavy brass bindings and three dangling padlocks, open as if expecting company, sat a sturdy red trunk.

She knew that she was going right down in it. She tried to cry again, but her energy was good and spent.

He crouched on one knee in front of the trunk. Its walls didn’t quite touch her body as he lowered her inside, but when he closed the lid, the darkness was overwhelming. The padlocks clicked, one by one. The door swung shut, and she heard more locks turn—one, two, three, four. She wasn’t going anywhere.

For a whole day, he didn’t touch her. Not to feed her, not to give her water. She sat waiting for it to be her turn, trying very hard to turn her brain off and forget what she had seen through that door in the hallway. If she fell asleep, she felt there was a chance her body might shut down before he took her life in a manner that would have her screaming bloody murder on her way out.

Before she managed sleep, the locks on the door turned, and he was back.

His footsteps were measured as he entered, unhurried. The keys on his ring jangled as the heavy padlocks on her trunk clicked. The lid opened.

The man in all black squatted down. He stared at her for some time without moving. She regarded him with wide, wary, tear-filled eyes.

His thick arms darted into the trunk to catch her around the waist before she could struggle. She shrieked and flinched as he gathered up her legs, lifting her effortlessly out.

He sat her atop the lid of the trunk. Her eyes were fixed on the floor, on his boots.

His gloved hands had a way of lingering on her body when he touched her and as he let go of her waist he stroked her smooth thigh delicately, a bit past where her stained dress was riding up. She trembled and shook horribly, vision spotting over with erratic breathless dots.

The keys on his belt jangled again as he leaned for something on the ground, then lifted her chin to face him. She offered him no resistance.

To her dried lips, he pressed a metal cup; his black eyes considered her from behind his frightening mask, watching her expectantly.

She wasn’t certain the liquid in the cup was water but at the first sign of hesitation he squeezed her cheeks impatiently. He could force her to drink it very easily and she’d seen enough of him by now to know he wouldn’t make it very pleasant.

Down it went. It didn’t burn her throat, didn't make her cough up blood. It was only a drink of water.

The man in all black set the empty cup back on the floor, wiped at the thin spill dribbling down her chin, and gave her cheek a quick caress.

He forced her to sit with him, stiflingly close, one thick arm wrapped firmly around her middle to secure her. She would rather go back in the trunk than be held to his body like this.

He went for something on his belt. When his hand came back, her eyes grew huge.

No. What’s in that? No, he can’t put that in her; but he’s far stronger than her, dangerously so, and if she tries to fight him he might break something or cut something off or just plain open her up again and let her bleed until she behaves.

Grabbing her jaw, his mouth came to settle gingerly against the side of her head, where she could feel his breaths fluttering on her hair.

“Hold very still.”

She didn’t think he was going to speak to her. His voice was nothing but a whisper, far softer than she would have imagined, which was somehow worse than shouting, because now she suspected he was making a very deliberate effort to frighten her to death.

She did as he said. His fingers tightened around her cheeks as he aligned the needle between her neck and shoulder. Her face contorted at the pinch.

The empty syringe fell from his hand, clinking against the bottom of trunk, rolling away on the floor. He released her face, and she blinked away new tears as he led her cuffed wrists down by their thin tether to rest in her lap. He traced her collarbone out towards her arm and gripped the curve of her shoulder firmly over her sleeve.

The world was growing softer around the edges. The drug must have been some sort of sedative.

He started to touch her chest. She drew breath sharply as his large hand slipped beneath the ruffled hem of her dress, trying not to whimper and somehow disturb him as he cupped one goosebump-freckled breast, kneading her gently. He ran his thumb very deliberately over the bud of her nipple, which is all it took to stiffen it up. His hand was very warm. She wanted to sob at the violation, but her wet eyes were lingering shut between blinks, and every time they closed, they were harder to open.

He wasn’t being cruel about it. The sensation was pleasant through and through, and her groggy mind was easily tricked. Without realizing, she slumped a little into his chest. His arm relaxed a bit around her stomach and it’s weight felt good and right, warm. His sweater was very soft on her skin. He didn’t smell unpleasant.

Then she realized her actions, jolting upright, appalled by herself. He gave a light exhale into her hair as if he had found the whole thing very amusing, and opted to play along for a time—but now that the moment was over, his arm flexed tight around her petite waist, becoming a restraint again.

He turned his attention to her other breast and examined her there too, which, though certainly unwanted, felt almost clinical rather than sexual. Maybe it was the gloves. Perhaps this was his process. Perhaps she would be carefully studied all over, classified and catalogued, before he took her apart.

Her brain grew too fuzzy after that. Her thoughts weren’t making much sense. She didn’t quite know where she was anymore, only that there had been a lot of hurt not long ago, but not now. All she knew now was that she was being touched very gently, and it was nice.

A short time later, her little body crumpled into his torso, and she didn’t try to get up again.

He pet the top of her head as she went under and sat considering her unconscious face.

The piece he had in mind was delicate, elegant. He couldn’t have her jerking and struggling in it. He could go and stick her in the freezer, and she would be ready by the morning, but eyes never preserved well, and he didn’t much want to dull hers. He was already deciding on colors that would compliment them well.

Sedation was a possibility. A quarter dose of Novapryl between feedings would be sufficient to keep her suspended in a similar groggy, tranquil state.

She shifted her cheek where she lay on his chest. He touched her face tenderly, stroking the cool skin with the flat of his hand, and in her stupor, she seemed to lean into his caress, which he found charming. Needy thing.

Sedation, then.

#tw: groping #tw: torture #asa emory #the collector #the collection #slashers #asa emory x reader #reader insert #female reader #writing #horror #darkfic

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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years

Text

Day 52: Tattoos

When he left the Wizarding World, Harry hadn't thought too much about what would happen to Draco Malfoy after he testified for him at his trial.

If pressed, he probably would have assumed that Malfoy would have continued in his father's footsteps. He would have imagined well tailored suits and robes, long blonde hair, the same aristocratic nose tipped in the air.

So, perhaps his jaw all but hitting the floor when he saw the other man for the first time in five years was understandable.

And it wasn't the fact that he was walking into the muggle bar that Harry worked at that shocked him, it was the fact that Malfoy had trimmed his hair short on the sides and left the top long; it was that he'd dyed it hot pink.

It was the fact that his left arm had a muggle tattoo covering the dark mark that had once been there with beautiful, bright flowers; new life coming out of death. It was the dragon tattoo peaking out of the collar of his shirt, that Harry guessed, was shaped around his namesake constellation.

It was the loose, black v-neck, muggle t-shirt tucked into skinny jeans that were cuffed just above his ankles. And the three earrings in the cartilage at the top of his right ear.

It was that he looked nothing like the stiff, tidy, pretentious twat that Harry would have envisioned him growing into and it made Harry wonder what else he was wrong about.

Malfoy caught sight of him a few second later and literally froze in place.

"What can I get you?" Harry asked, giving him a little smile.

"Sorry," Malfoy said, cocking his head uncertainly, "You look like someone I used to know."

(Read more below the cut)

And that was fair, too, Harry supposed. He didn't look anything like the scrawny, desperate teen he'd been the last time Malfoy saw him, either. Harry had grown a good six inches since then, his shoulders had filled out, he'd grown his hair long because the curls were less messy that way, he'd grown a beard that he kept short and tidy, and he had a few tattoos of his own. "You look like someone I used to know, too," he replied, "But you can't possibly be the same person that I thought I knew and I'm sure that I'm not quite what you thought either." He tilted his head at Malfoy, "What can I get you?" he repeated.

"What would you recommend?" Malfoy asked as he slid into a bar stool with a touch more caution than Harry liked.

"Do you like sweet drinks?" he asked, "I have this cotton candy drink that we make with cranberry juice and raspberry vodka," then he added, "And cotton candy, obviously."

"That would definitely be something I've never tried before," Malfoy replied with a little smile.

"Done." While Harry was making the drink he said, "So what brings you so far from home?"

Malfoy cocked his head, "I left home ages ago," he said. "Disowned, as a matter of fact."

Harry frowned as he reached under the bar to fetch the cotton candy, "What? Why?"

Harry saw him lift one shoulder casually before having to stick his head into the cupboard below to reach the bag of cotton candy in the back, "Apparently, Malfoys are allowed to make all sorts of mistakes and commit all sorts of atrocities, but being gay was just one step too far for them."

Harry bashed the back of his head against the bar in his haste to stand up, "Wait, you're-?" he started before registering just how badly that had hurt, "Ouch, fuck," he said, rubbing the back of his skull.

"Here," Malfoy murmured, holding out his hand, "Let me."

Harry leaned over and Malfoy gently cupped the back of his head and murmured something under his breath. A moment later a warm, tingly feeling suffused Harry's head and all of the pain disappeared.

"Wow," Harry said, rubbing the back of his skull again and feeling for any tender spots, "That was amazing."

Malfoy shrugged and Harry went back to working on the drink. "I was training to be a healer," he confessed softly so no one would overhear, "But then I had one too many people refuse to let me help them because of-" he broke off and shook his head, "Well you know."

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Harry said with a frown as he slid the drink across the bar. He was about to say more when Ben, one of his regulars, came up to the bar for a refill, "Hold that thought," he said, making his way over to get him another bourbon.

"This," Malfoy said, pointing to the drink Harry had made him when he returned a few minutes later, "Is actually quite tasty, Potter."

He laughed, "No need for the tone of surprise, this has been my job for nearly five years now. And you can call me, Harry," he added.

The corner of Draco's mouth tilted up, "Oh I can, can I?"

Harry nodded, "And I think I'll be calling you Draco."

"Bold of you," he said but he was smiling so Harry didn't take him too seriously.

"Gryffindor," he replied, pointing to himself with a wink. "So tell me about yourself, Draco," he said.

And to his surprise and utter delight, Draco did. He sat at the bar, sipping that martini before switching over to lemonade, all evening, telling Harry about his life and asking questions about Harry in turn.

One things led to another and by the time Harry was getting ready to leave, Harry was really not ready for the night to end.

"Can I walk you home?" Draco asked, apparently he wasn't ready for it to end either.

Harry smiled at him and nodded toward his house, they set off down the street talking about nothing. He only lived a few blocks away and they found themselves standing at the bottom of Harry's steps all too soon.

"Will you punch me if I kiss you?" Draco asked him.

Harry shook his head with a smile he couldn't quite hide, and leaned forward to meet Draco halfway. The moment their lips met, Harry's veins felt like they'd been set on fire. He reached out and clasped the fabric of Draco's t-shirt in his hands and pulled him forward, crashing their bodies together.

"Come inside," Harry begged against Draco's lips.

Draco pulled back, brow furrowed slightly, "You want this? With me?"

"Godric, yes," he groaned. "Please."

The other man gave him a breathless little smile and Harry dragged him up the stairs and straight to the bedroom.

Afterward, Harry got up to order them some pizza and when he returned, Draco was laid on his back on the bed, his pink hair fanned out across the pillow, Harry couldn't help but think that his body looked more gorgeous than any work of art he'd ever seen. And Harry sat up beside him admire him better, "I thought this one was your constellation," he murmured triumphantly, stroking his fingers over the dragon that curled over his collarbone and up his neck.

"Well spotted," Draco said, a smile in his voice.

He brushed his fingers over the snitch on Draco's chest, "I've got one of these, too," he murmured, leaning a bit so Draco can see the snitch he has on his own hip.

"Yes, I noticed," Draco replied, giving him a little smirk, "What does it say under it?"

"I open at the close," Harry said.

Draco hummed, "You'll have to tell me the story sometime."

"I'd like that," Harry told him, surprised to find that it was true since he'd never wanted to talk to anyone about the war. He trailed his fingers over the flower that had been tattooed over Draco's heart. "For your mum?" he asked.

He gave him a sad smile and nodded, "The black narcissus."

"These are for my parents," he told him, pointing to the antlers adorned with lilies along his collarbones.

"What are these ones?" he asked, trailing his fingers over the Marauder's map style footprints on his bicep and shoulder.

"These," he said, twisting to show Draco that they wrapped around his shoulder and onto his back, "are names of the people who have held me up, some of them still living, and others who live on in me." He grinned at him, "I'll show you the map they're modeled after the next time I have it out."

"Do you have any others?"

"Yeah," Harry said, collapsing onto his back so he could show Draco his ankle, "Deathly Hallows on my ankle."

Draco's fingers brushed lightly over his skin and Harry's spine tingled pleasantly.

"Do you have others?" he echoed

He nodded and rolled over onto his stomach and Harry had to hold back a gasp, "Beautiful," he whispered, trailing his fingers lightly over the wings covering Draco's shoulder blades.

"They're to remind me that I am free. I made my choice to fly instead of staying shackled."

"They're beautiful," Harry repeated.

Draco reached back and pointed to his neck and Harry's eyes followed to a compass. "To remind me that I choose the direction of my life from here on out."

"I love that," Harry replied, flopping back down on the bed next to Draco. "I'm planning my next one."

"Oh?" Draco asked, turning his head to the side and resting it on his forearms so he could look at Harry.

Harry nodded, "A constellation as well, Sirius, and wolfsbane incorporated somehow."

"Are all of yours for people, then?"

"Yeah," he replied, about to say more when the doorbell rang. "That'll be the pizza. Do you want to eat in here or in the kitchen?" he asked as he stood up and started looking for a pair of pants to put on to answer the door

"I should go-"

"Draco," he said, leaning in and stealing another kiss, "Stay. Please."

"For how long?" Draco asked.

The doorbell rang again and Harry stumbled into his boxers, "For as long as you want. Stay forever if you like."

And he was surprised to find that he was only half joking.

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Please go look at this GORGEOUS art by @pato-roldnart. I'm completely in awe of how talented they are. It's just like I imagined it and I am totally in love!

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Day 51: Parents | Day 53: First Anniversary

#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #drarry #drarry drabble #drarry ficlet #tattoos #I am weak for tattoos #and piercings #Day 52 #enjoy!#getting together

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mickey-henry · 3 years

Text

𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐈 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝

pairing: bucky barnes (bookstore au) x reader

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

word count: 2.3K

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

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

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

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

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

Shelves like skyscrapers—stuffed to the brim with books, magazines, and comics—graze the ceiling. An intimate reading nook lies next to the door; an inviting window seat dwells beside a floor-to-ceiling window. Clear mosaic window clings cover the glass, casting beautiful rainbows throughout the store. Stringed vintage light bulbs illuminate the shelves; candle-lit sconces adorn the top corners of each one. Oriental rugs lay between the shelves, covering a dark mocha floor. Tucked in the back of the store is a small coffee cranny, hidden at first glance. Frank Sinatra’s charming, rich vocals travel through the air, tickling your ears. The owner clearly put the utmost time, energy, and love into the creation of their shop. It is unequivocally perfect and already one of your favorite places.

You wander to the classics section, enthralled by the exquisite covers. Sensing someone nearby, your eyes glance at movement caught in the corner of your eye. Your stomach somersaults at the stunning stranger. The instant you lay your eyes on him, you forget to breathe for a moment—your breath engulfs your throat. You’re astounded by the Adonis of a man before you.

Bristles of scruff grace his defined jawline—his low man-bun neatly styles his dark chestnut hair. A grey short-sleeve button-up shirt hugs his toned arms; a white tank top clings to his lean, fit frame; cuffed slim-fit khaki pants, help up by a bronze braided belt, embrace his thick thighs; and weathered, chunky brown leather shoes don his feet.

Through the rose-colored glasses that surround your heart, your soul imagines a life with a perfect stranger. The hopeless romantic in you can’t help but steal glances, hoping to catch a better glimpse of him. The moment he turns to walk away, your heart sinks to your stomach. You hope this isn’t the last time you see this gorgeous man.

A few minutes later, you’re mulling over a collectible edition of The Catcher in the Rye, attempting to justify purchasing yet another copy of your favorite book. A melodic voice interrupts your pondering. “That’s a pretty edition of The Catcher in the Rye you’ve got there.”

You turn towards the charming voice. Lo-and-behold, it’s the love of your life: the handsome stranger you’ve mentally lived a lifetime with. His beauty is even more profound up close: now you can see that his eyes are a lovely shade of blue. His eyes, haunted by a subtle sadness, draw you in, unlike anything you’ve experienced before. You find yourself entranced in his sea-blue current; you could easily drown in his gaze. You attempt to hide your awestruck expression and converse with him like a normal human being. “I agree! I already own a copy though, do I really need a new one?”

“I think we both know the answer is always yes,” he assures.

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. I'll get it! Thank you for justifying my unnecessary purchase.”

Your words hang in the air, everything going quiet as you wait for the ravishing stranger to introduce himself. The two of you stare in silence at each other, the tension thickening as the seconds pass by. After a few moments, his face flashes in realization—you were waiting for his name.

“I’m Bucky,” he offers with an enchanting smile, extending his hand out to you. You share your name as the two of you shake hands. Your eyes stare down his veiny arm to his ring-studded fingers grasped around yours. You allow yourself to imagine for a few moments how amazing those fingers would feel tracing your arms, tangling your hair, and teasing your inner thigh. Your lustful reverie comes to an abrupt halt at the sight of the book nestled inside the crook of his elbow: The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, the bane of your existence. You scoff with furrowed brows; of course, Mr. Handsome Stranger would be interested in the one book you despise.

“Got something to say there, sweetheart?” he questions with an amused grin.

“Out of all the classic novels in this entire store, that’s the one you chose? The Metamorphosis?”

“What’s wrong with this one?” he jives.

You pause for a second, debating whether it’s worth it to argue with a stranger. The pondering lasts only a few seconds; the exhaustion from your day disintegrates your filter. Besides, you loathe The Metamorphosis.

“What isn’t wrong with it? The dude wakes up thinking he’s an insect? The reader has to sit there throughout the entire book, wondering whether he’s a man or a bug? What the actual fuck? I didn’t appreciate the existential crisis that book gave me at fifteen; if I can help someone else avoid the suffering caused by that monstrosity, I'm going to do my part,” you huff, unamused by the joy Bucky seems to gain from your zealous analysis.

“Wow, what a passionate review! Perez Hilton would be envious of your slander. Okay then, what classic would you recommend instead?”

You cross your arms, expecting him to challenge your response. “The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde.”

“That’s a play,” he counters.

“It’s published as a book; it counts! It’s witty, playful, and has a happy ending, which is the most important point of all. It also doesn’t make you want to pull a Fahrenheit 451 and burn every copy in existence,” you attest.

He steps closer to you, tucking loose strands of his hair behind his ear. “Life doesn’t always have a happy ending, sweetheart.”

Great, there he goes again with that freaking pet name; it’s going to be the death of you. He knows your name, you just gave it to him, yet here he is, infuriatingly insisting on calling you sweetheart instead. Stupid pretty boy with his ocean blue eyes and amorous smile.

“That’s exactly the point,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “So, why would I want to read something that doesn’t end well? If I’m going to escape this reality for a while, it better be for a happier one.”

“And if it's not?”

“Then I’ll throw the book across the room and make up my own happy ending!”

“Ooh, aggressive,” he tuts. “The owner of this place might not be too happy with you if you’re throwing books all over the place; it’ll scare away the customers.”

“Then it’s a good thing the owner isn’t here,” you interject confidently, knowing full well you have no idea who the owner is.

“Well, that just isn’t true, sweetheart. You’re looking right at him.”

He’s lying—he has to be. Why would a dreamboat like Bucky own a bookstore?

You scoff, “you’re not the owner of this place.”

“I’m not? What makes you say that?” he banters.

“People like you don’t own bookstores!” you exclaim.

“People like me?” he goads, cocking his head to the side. The action erupts butterflies in your stomach.

“Attractive people!” you groan.

“So you think I’m attractive?” he plays, stepping to close the gap between you.

“Psh, no, you wish,” you muster. The heat spreading across your cheeks betrays your bluff.

There are mere inches between the both of you now; you hope he can’t hear your racing heartbeat. You watch his eyes go down from yours to your mouth and back up again. He eyes you with a smirk, his teeth playfully tugging his bottom lip. It takes everything in your power not to give in to his spell.

“I’ve known you for what, five minutes? I don’t go around kissing strangers, Bucky,” you falter, taking a step back from his closeness.

“Then let’s not be strangers, sweetheart. Grab a coffee with me; I know a nice place, not far from here,” he flirts, gesturing to the counter at the back of the store.

“Let me learn more about what goes on in that pretty little head of yours,” he purrs, his breath tickling your cheek.

“Okay, fine. I’ll have a coffee with you,” you surrender.

A bright, honeyed smile dons his face.

“It better be good, though. Not the stale crap you usually get in the middle of the afternoon.”

“I’d only give you the best, sweetheart,” he winks, extending his right hand. You take it; he gives you a soft squeeze before weaving you through the towering shelves.

Your discussion continues with another passionate book review as he prepares your drink. He’s a sucker for gritty dystopian novels while you gravitate towards sappy romances. He shares his passion for painting as he guides you to the reading nook. The artwork hung on the edges of the bookcases is crafted by him—a detail you hadn’t noticed at first glance. His stunning work features both landscapes and people. He loves to sit in a picturesque landscape and paint for endless hours. Occasionally, he takes his old polaroid as he explores the town, snapping moments between strangers, translating their intimacy to canvas when he gets home.

He gestures for you to take a seat in the reading nook before handing you our steaming cup of joe. You sit with your legs crossed, your hands hugging the mug in your lap. Bucky sits with his leg draped over the side of the bench, his left foot pressing into his right thigh. The conversation shifts topics; the two of you divulge your desires and unfulfilled ambitions. You aren’t sure if it’s the look in his eyes, the sweet cup of joe in your palms, or the aroma of coffee surrounding you, but in his presence, your senses feel wide awake.

Before you know it, the mesmeric moon replaces the sizzling sun, melting away the blistering heat, and the steaming cup of coffee in your hands has long chilled. Bucky’s employee interrupts the blissful rendezvous, informing him that all the closing duties are complete, and he’s headed home for the night.

You stare at your watch in shock—it's five past nine. Where did the time go? You apologize profusely to the poor kid who had to close up alone; he assures you it’s no problem.

A melancholic pit in your stomach forms as you turn back to Bucky. He’s nestled himself into your soul; you don’t want to say farewell to him so soon. He has a sad glint in his eyes; you hope it’s because he’s also dreading the end of this perfect night.

“Can I walk you to your car?” he asks timidly, his earlier suave demeanor gone from his voice. He stands up in front of you, offering his arm to escort you.

“I’d love that,” you reply with a shy grin, grabbing his arm and hugging it tightly.

In the blink of an eye, you’re in front of your car. You let go of his arm and lean against the trunk. You stare into his eyes, hoping that he can see without the use of words how much you don’t want this moment to end. There’s a few moments of painful silence before Bucky clears his throat.

“So, now that we’re not total strangers, how about that kiss?” he flirts with pleading eyes.

“Okay,” you reply with a bashful smile.

He slowly reaches his hand towards your cheek, softly stroking it with his thumb. He presses his forehead against yours. “Are you sure you want to do this? ‘Cause if we do, you might not be able to get rid of me, sweetheart.”

“Yes I do, Bucky,” you giggle.

He grins as he gently presses his pillowy pink lips on yours. The kiss steals all the air from your lungs—his touch sends tingles throughout your body, electrifying your veins. You’re breathless when your lips finally part.

“Let me get your number before I let you go,” Bucky insists. You nod and hand him your phone, unable to form a coherent thought. The ghost of his lips and fingers trace your figure. You’re barely acquainted with his tender touch, yet you feel naked without it, yearning to once again be within his grasp.

You exchange phones—adding your number and name with a sparkling heart emoji and swiftly passing his phone back before you can change your mind. Bucky snaps a quick selfie for his contact, smirking for the camera. You grin when you see he also put emojis by his name: a beetle and a kissy-face.

He pecks your cheek before opening the car door for you. “Hope to see you around, lovebug.” The new pet name burns your cheeks and erupts butterflies in your stomach.

He doesn’t leave the parking lot until your car disappears completely from his view.

You drive home with thoughts of Bucky swirling in your mind. You send a silent thanks to the universe for bringing this beautiful man into your life. His voice, touch, and smile echo in your thoughts for the remainder of the evening—his presence paving its way through your dreams. You’re falling hard and fast; you only hope he’ll be there to catch you.

tagging a few mutuals who expressed interest in this story🥰please fill out the taglist form if you’d like to be tagged in the next story! 💖

@ritesofreverie @midnightf @certainaesthetic

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes #mickey-henry #my fic: you're the best book I ever read #mel's writing

398 notes · View notes

harryspet · 4 years

Text

painted with bruises | bucky barnes

[Warnings] severe domestic violence, bucky barnes x reader, dark!steve rogers x reader, mafia!bucky, officer!steve, oral sex (female recieving), kidnapping, bondage, extreme violence, torture, so much angst, steve is a suuuper bad person in this haha

[A/N] This is a super last minute entry into @tilltheendwilliwrite ‘s 7.7K Follower (Covid Sucks) Celebration! so I hope you enjoy.

TRIGGERING AND ADULT CONTENT AHEAD

In which Bucky kidnaps you in order to get close to his enemy, Steve, but realizes that Steve isn’t the hero he used to be.

word count: 3.5k

taglist: @cherienymphe @peterztinglez @lovelynerdytraveler @buckybarney @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @lovemassivelybeautifulbouquet @what-is-your-wish @brattypeony @hermayone @buckysugar @nsfwsebbie @mandiiblanche

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He twirled his knife through his fingers, passing the time, as he waited for you to finally come to. He’d seen a million pictures of you but, seeing you so close in person, Bucky couldn’t help but think that your pictures didn’t do you justice. You were a mostly a ghost to society and, as someone who’s only family was Steve and someone who lived comfortably in his shadow, you had no one to truly gaze upon your beauty.

You were a hidden gem and Bucky understood a little more why Steve kept you so close to him. No matter how much you trained and proved your strength, you were still a prize. A very useful prize though. Bucky leaned back in the wooden chair, the furniture still wrapped in its protective plastic, knife still in hand as he watched your head start to move. The floor creaked beneath you, sound traveled eerily through the abandoned home.

Motion traveled through your body as each of your limbs tried to free and stretch themselves. Bucky’s men informed him that you put up a good fight when they picked you up from the grocery store parking deck. Clint even came back with a broken pinky and a wounded ego.

You sat in a chair only five feet away from him, your hands tightly handcuffed behind you, and your ankles cuffed to the legs of the chair. The home was beginning to smell like mildew and the smell invaded your senses as your eyes blinked open. Surprisingly, it wasn’t your restraints that triggered your initial sense of pain but your ribs.

When you finally gazed upon him, both of your faces were stoic. Two predators stared back at each other. You noted the two men standing a few feet behind him, their clothes dark and their faces hard. You recognized the one who’s pinky you’d roughly bent back when they had grabbed you.

The room was illuminated by a flickering chandelier and you realized you were sitting in the dining room of some boarded-up house. By the furniture and wallpaper, you would’ve guessed it used to be a pretty, luxurious home.

“Good evening, Mrs. Rogers.”

It took you a few short seconds but you placed who the man before you was. Brown leather jacket, dark beard, and a black glove covering up his left hand. You knew what was hidden beneath it, his arm being just as notorious as he was.

“Bucky Barnes,” Your eyes narrowed at him, “You’ve … gotten old.”

Bucky didn’t smile but his slight amusement was evident, “Rikers Island will do that to you.”

His hands folded together and you tried to read the state of emotions. You imagined that he was doing the same to you, “Seems you’re lucky that you’re not there, rotting away right now.”

“Not so lucky for you or Steve though, right?”

“I guess not,” You spoke blankly.

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed, “You’re not going to ask why you’re here? No pleading? No threats of violence?”

You hadn’t realized that you hadn’t. Perhaps because you had experienced much worse than anything this mobster could ever inflict upon you, “I know this is because of Steve because he’s the one who put you in prison. I know you probably want to hurt me in order to get back at him.”

Bucky leaned forward, his eyes locked on yours, “And this doesn’t scare you?”

There was fear in your heart but you weren’t sure if it was from a fear that you’d be hurt, “I know he’s looking for me. Half of the NYPD is probably looking for me right now. They’ll find you …”

“That may be true but you probably know how much of a selfish bastard he is. If he ran to his colleagues, he’d get taken off the case because he’s too close to it. I think Steve would want to kill me himself … hunt me down himself,” Your heart began to race as you listened to his words. You trusted Steve or at least a fantasy of Steve that you created, but Bucky’s words had a brutal truth to them. “What do you think, Mrs. Rogers?”

“I think you end up dead either way,” You stated, trying to keep your lip from shaking.

“And what about you?”

“Steve... Steve will find me.”

“Sure,” You watched the knife twist in his hands, “But does he find you before or after I kill you is the question? … I think I’d want to see his face when I take away what he loves the most. But if you die, it’ll probably only make the public give him more sympathy. Our mayor loves charity cases and Steve would get promoted to chief of police in no time.”

You swallowed, “But you won’t let that happen. You’d kill him before you let that happen.”

Bucky sighed, “You got me, Mrs. Rogers. You know, you would’ve made a great detective. It’s a shame that you left the force after only three years,” Your eyes widened at his statement. Though the information was a google click away, you hadn’t thought about your past in so long that it had startled you, “It makes me wonder what made you quick.”

“You’re trying to make small talk with me while I’m handcuffed to a chair?” You scowled but he chuckled.

“Fine, no small talk. Clint,” Bucky lifted his knife up, the handle facing up. The older man, his light brown hair slicked up and shaved at the sides, moved forward and grabbed the knife from Bucky. He used the hand that wasn’t bandaged up and moved towards you, “How about a little photo shoot so we can keep Mr. Rogers updated.”

Uselessly, you started to pull at your restraint. The man kneeled down by your feet, taking the knife and starting to cut away at the fabric of your black leggings, “What are you doing?” Bucky found it strange that you were now finally panicking. You had managed to act like your life wasn’t in danger this entire time.

Now your eyes were blinking fast and the discomfort in your face was evident. Bucky didn’t answer you, only stared as he watched the fabric rip away, “I-I left because of Steve!” You rushed out, “I didn’t have to work because Steve was going to take care of us.”

“Clint,” Bucky stopped the man from continuing, your bottom leg already exposed. Clint stood and stepped away from you causing you to let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding, “He was going to take care of you? But you spent so long getting your GED, training and you worked hard to get that job.”

“He was my fiance then and … I thought it would be good for us. If I didn’t have to work then I shouldn't have to. Besides, he didn’t want me to be stressed from work while we were trying for a baby.”

“How long have you been trying?” He seemed genuinely interested but you kept talking hoping it would keep the knife away.

“Two years…” Your voice trembled as his question triggered bad memories.

“Steve always wanted a family,” Bucky said like your answer triggered his own memory, “He’d probably do anything to get that …”

Part of you felt like you were betraying Steve by revealing so much information. You knew that Bucky and Steve went back all the way to elementary school and that their path had divulged into two very different roads.

“He will have it,” You said, suddenly growing angry. You felt anger at Bucky as well as yourself, “When he finds me and kills you. And you’ll never experience anything like that.”

Bucky’s facial expression darkened at your words. He raised a hand, gesturing to Clint to continue. Clint went back to tearing away at your clothes and you started to struggle wildly, almost tipping the chair over in the process.

Bucky straightened his jacket, trying to seem phased by the tears welling in your eyes. Clint tore away at your leggings and Bucky gestured to Sam to start taking pictures. The goal was to get Steve to think that you were being tortured in more ways than one.

“Don’t. P-Please, don’t!”

All the men seemed to hesitate at the same time. Clint had paused as he watched the front of your shirt slip away to the sides and Sam’s finger hovered over the camera button. The beauty of your face was still there, tears in all, but your body told a completely different story.

Bucky had never seen someone so purple and blue. The bruises covered your stomach, your thighs, and your arms which had been covered by long sleeves. There was a huge bandage on your stomach, bloody gauze stuck behind it. Bucky stood.

Even in all his time in the most brutal jail in the world, he hadn’t seen anything like this, especially not done to a woman. Your knees snapped together and you turned your head, trying to hide away.

“Who did this?” Bucky asked, his voice smaller than it had been during the entire encounter.

You breathed heavily like you were being suffocated by the attention, “Y-Your men manhandled me!” You forced out, “What do you mean? Did you forget that you kidnapped me?”

Bucky looked to Clint and Sam, “Get out.”

As they left the room, Bucky removed his jacket, exposing the protruding biceps beneath his black shirt. He placed the jacket over as he began to undo your restraints one by one, “I gave them strict orders not to hurt you. And these … these bruises … some look much older than others,” You were a rainbow of color, signifying that each mark had a different date of impact. Bucky looked up at you, from his place kneeling at your feet, and something remarkable had changed in his face, “Don’t tell me …”

As your wrists were free, you brought your hands together, rubbing them together as they began to shake, “I had an accident … “

“Steve did this,” His voice had gone from strong and commanding to what is what now, weak and unsure. You shook your head, shutting your eyes tight, “I’m sorry … I’m so sorry about all of this.”

“You think you’re different from him?” You spoke, your tone venomous.

“I know I am,” This time he was sure of his words yet he seemed a bit hurt, “And he’s going to pay for what he’s done.”

“He won’t,” That much you did know, “And you’re a fool just like me.”

“Ma’am,” You looked up from the bubbles, your bruised figure beneath the warm water, as you heard a maid call for you, “I left a robe for you on the counter and some clothes for you on the bed. Mr. Barnes wants you to join him for breakfast but he understands if you’d still like your time alone. He’ll send up your food if that’s what you wish.”

You didn’t respond, though she sounded like a kind lady, you had resorted to silence ever since your world came crashing down around you yesterday.

You refused to see a Doctor which Bucky respected, probably knowing how much he had violated you yesterday and wanting to continue to play the good guy.

When you heard her footsteps pitter-patter away, you sunk back down into the bubbles. It had been a long while since you “relaxed” in this way. Despite the fact that you were home most of the day, you never felt peace or relaxation living with Steve.

Even when you organized his clothes perfectly, cooked his favorite dinner, or wore that red lingerie thing he liked, he was never really satisfied. Even when he pretended he was happy and you fell for his charm, his tone always changed.

And now it felt like the relationship you had worked so hard to maintain was more useless than you originally thought. You had no baby and no happy family to show for it. You were behind enemy lines probably destined to die because of Steve.

Though it did cross your mind that you were being abnormally pampered for a hostage. Bucky’s penthouse was high up, looking over the darker side of the city. A view of luxury from the wrong side of the tracks.

You ate your breakfast alone from your room, spending most of the day staring up at the ceiling. When the servant returned that evening, you assumed that she was here to invite you to dinner with Mr. Barnes. She’d probably expect you to say no and to depressingly roll over in bed.

Instead, she found you dressed and ready for something- anything. You’d pick out something from the fineries in the closet, a tight red dress that hugged your curves, and let more parts of your body show then you were normally comfortable with.

“Ma’am,” The woman tried to keep eye contact and not let her eyes wander over your rainbow skin, “Mr. Rogers … Mr. Rogers is here.”

You took a deep, uncertain breath before your lips pressed into a thin smile, “Good.”

“You don’t want to eat here?” She asked, sounding concerned.

“Mr. Barnes wants me to eat with him, right?” You were already walking past her, your heels clicking against the marble floors. She was baffled as she followed after her. Bucky’s home was regal and, walking it in for the first time, you thought the man must’ve seen way too many mafia movies from the seventies.

You approached a landing with a view of the massive living room, a grand staircase leading down to the event that you’d just interrupted. At least ten men were gathered, a black tarp laid out as a hunched over man sat there on his knees, and one man paced by the first. Steve and Bucky.

They hadn’t noticed you and you took the opportunity to listen in.

“This good guy persona … you’ve really lied to yourself so much that you’ve convinced yourself it's true,” Bucky’s tone was incredulous and you could tell the amusement in his voice was only a facade, “You forgot how you even climbed the ranks so fast. Without my connections, without my intel, you’d still be working security at the mall.”

“I turned myself around…” His voice was weaker than usual and, as you moved towards the stairs, you realized the blood soaking through the back of his shirt, “I tried to help you, Buck.”

“You threw me in prison for something that I did for you. I help you lock up one of my enemies, you get the praise and I make more money,” You started to put things together as you listened, thinking back to when you thought Steve was a hero and that this city was lucky to not have to deal with Bucky Barnes anymore, “Except you couldn’t help yourself from wanting more, old friend.”

“Oh, cut the fucking bullshit!” You felt your heart began to race at the sound of his growing anger but you kept moving forward. As you finally started to descend the stairs, your eyes connected with your kidnapper, “Where is she?”

Steve scared you to death but you had decided that you weren’t afraid of your final days anymore.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” You couldn’t exactly read Bucky’s expression but you knew exactly what Steve was thinking when he turned his head towards the bottom of the staircase. It was initially a look of relief, of thankfulness that he could lay eyes on his beautiful, obedient, and stupid wife. Then it turned to that anger you knew so well, that look he gave you and you knew immediately that you probably would be able to get out of bed the next day because of how in pain you’d be.

Painted with bruises, you crossed the room and took your place beside Bucky.

“Y/N … I’m taking you home, I promise,” He stated, trying to mask that fury with a smile that had charmed you many times before.

You gazed at Bucky who seemed a bit unsure of your intentions but was entranced by you nonetheless, “That’s not a home,” You stated, trying your best to keep eye contact. Even now, you found your knees weak despite the fact that his hands were restrained behind his back and he was the one on his knees now, “A-And …” You cleared your throat, taking a deep breath, “And it’s over.”

“What’s over, baby?” His voice raised and his eyes narrowed angrily, causing you to take a step back but you felt a calm hand on the small of your back. It was a reminder that this was all a manipulative strategy and he was trying to hold onto his control by scaring you.

“Us,” You stated as calmly as possible.

“Did you fuck him?”

“Steve-”

“Answer me! Did you fuck him?” You were shaking now but not in fear.

You turned towards Bucky, and before he could even know what you were planning, you were reaching towards his waistband. He didn’t panic, surprisingly, but easily let you grab the gun strapped to his waist. Even knowing you could turn it on him, he let you do it. To Steve’s surprise, this wasn’t a big charade in order to disarm Bucky and set the two of you free.

You pointed it at your kneeling, former lover, “Y/N, what are you-”

“Who I fuck from now on should be the least of your worries. you jealous, fucking prick,” Twisting the knife, he was now red with anger. In an attempt to get to his feet, you thought he might charge at you but your aim was good, and, gripping the gun tightly, you fired a bullet into his thigh.

“Fuck!” He cursed, falling back down, and whaling in excruciating pain, “You fucking bitch! You’re nothing without me!”

He’d saved you. He’d kept you from choosing a life of crime, of falling into a broken system, and he’d encourage you to follow dreams. Then he’d hurt you like the monster he actually was in an attempt to break you to his will.

You raised the gun up, your eyes concentrating on the space on his forehead. You hadn’t noticed how badly you were shaking until you felt that same hand on your back. He placed his other hand on top of the barrel, “You don’t have to make it painless for him,” Were his words and you lowered the gun, letting Bucky carefully take it from you.

“I want him to suffer,” You seethed, watching Steve clutch his thigh in pain.

“Take him to the garage,” Bucky ordered his men, “Leave him unrecognizable.”

Steve went kicking and screaming but you found yourself unafraid of him anymore. You thought of him as this powerful entity that could never be taken down. Now you saw him as a petulant child that would probably beg for his mother on his way out.

You turned to him but you didn’t have words yet. “How do you feel?” He asked, probably unsure of what to say to you.

“Why do they say revenge is never the answer?” You asked, “I feel … fucking exhilarated.”

Bucky’s lip turned into a smirk, “They say that cathartic feeling won’t last … something tells me this is different.”

You nodded, your lips tugging into a smile, “Yeah, this is different,” You stepped forward, closing the gap between you. With hesitant hands, he grabbed your waist but you threw your arms around his neck. You pulled him down towards you, smashing your lips against his.

Your lips didn’t stop tasting one another, as your bodies began crumbling down towards the carpet. The heat of the fire fanned your flames and you found yourselves desperately tugging at each other’s clothes.

You swallowed that feeling that told you this was wrong, you swallowed that guilt you might have felt and you decided to do what you wanted for the first time in a long time. Bucky’s hands roamed over your skin but he never grabbed at you and you could tell he was trying to be gentle. With your back against the carpet, he hovered over you, “You’re beautiful,” He said, his blue eyes sparkling in the firelight.

You liked the look in his eyes because he didn’t feel sorry for you. He meant those words.

He kissed the side of your mouth and then down your chin. As his lips touched your scars, it was like he was acknowledging them and also accepting them at the same time. He kissed down your body, over your breast. He moved down, sliding your panties to the side as his head dipped down. He kissed your sensitive bud, teasing you as he looked back into your eyes, “Your aim is quite good, I think you could have a place here, Y/N.”

Your cheeks were warm and not because of the fire, “I won’t belong to anyone else ever again.”

“Of course not,” He smiled a wicked smile, “You’re in control … and your wish would be my command.”

His head finally dipped down again and, as you’d never been touched before, Bucky left you convulsing in pleasure for the rest of the long night.

The Persephone to his Hades, you knew then that the underworld may have been where you belonged all along.

I hope you enjoyed this one! Please lmk what you think :)

#tpromptsachallenge #tw:abuse #dark fic #bucky barnes #dark!steve rogers #bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky x reader #mafia!bucky #writing challenge #marvel smut #bucky barnes au #captain america #captain america x reader #winter soldier #sebastian stan #chris evans #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes angst

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strawbxrryneptune · 3 years

Text

Imagine starting a relationship with hood!Bakugou after months of him trying to bag you.

Masterlist

♡♡

You always thought he was fine asf, but you were kinda weary cause like,, he's hot, (kinda) respects his momma, has cash and no hoes? There's got to be a catch.

Once he cuffed, he treated you like a queen. Paying for your nails, sending you out with your girlfriends on spa days, letting you come in him with him for smoke sessions, settling on his lap and listening to his lazy drawl.

When you were sad, he would immediately be there, taking you out and dolling you up, threatening to shoot whoever fucked you up, even if it was your own parents. If you weren't in the mood to go out, he would lay you down, spread your plush thighs and stay there for hours working you up. Wouldn't stop till his face was smeared in your essence, eyes glassed over and dark. He would work his way back to your body, letting you taste yourself on his tongue before jerking off onto your tits, cleaning you up and holding you till the morning, when you'd wake up with a massage and some dick. Maybe he'd even bring you some food from your fav fast food place across town.

Being with him was amazing, until it wasn't. Yeah he treated you good, but shit. Ditching you on dates to take care of "business", spoiling the shit outta you when you got pissy instead of actually comforting you like he should. It was annoying, and when he didn't even show up when you told him to come home at a certain time for a surprise? You were livid. Him walking through the door 4 hours late, smelling like bud and laughing with Kirishima had you clenching your fists, not even letting the red head get out a word before you were growling for him to leave, you'd talk to him later. Bakugou blocked the doorway, raising a displeased eyebrow at you.

"Fuck is your deal, y/n?"

You scoff at his use of your name, strutting over to the two men. Kirishima's eyes flick between the two of you, gulping harshly at the tension. He had never seen you this mad, and it was making him nervous.

"My deal? You were supposed to be here 4 hours ago. I made dinner, cleaned the apartment, got new shit just for you and you blew me off, again."

He rolled his crimson eyes, crossing his thick arms over his chest.

"Stop trippin Ma. I lost track of time-"

"I should go."

You both snap your heads in the direction of Kirishima, face red and hands tugging at his cami, making his way quickly over to the door and shutting it with an awkward wave of his hand.

The minute the door closes you turn back to Bakugou, whose eyes are already locked on you.

"You're insufferable."

He laughs, running a hand through his hair.

"You know you like it."

You grit your teeth, tears of frustration burning at the back of your eyes.

"God, why do you do this? You flake on me, make me feel all shitty and then come back all smiles like you did nothing wrong. I just,, I...."

Bakugou turns away from you, kicking off his shoes in disinterest.

"I- I- , you what, Mama? Spit it out like a good fuckin' girl "

Ignoring the way heat prickles at you when he says that, you wait till he turns back around, keeping eye contact as you spit out,

"I fucking hate you."

He's on you in a flash, hand curling around your neck while the other knots into your hair. He's close, annoyingly so, breath fanning across you face as his eyes bore into yours with a suffocating intensity.

"Say it again."

You keep your mouth shut, glaring up at him before he yanks your head back by the grip on your roots.

"Say. That. Shit. Again."

You snarl up at him, about to mouth the words once again when he propels forward, teeth clashing against yours before his tongue slides out of his mouth, sliding against yours. He kisses you hard, leaving no room to move or breathe.

The smell of him is familiar and comforting, surrounding you as you begrudgingly melt into his arms.

He brings the hand in your hair down to your ass, giving it a sharp smack and kneading the soft flesh afterwards. He pulls away from your lips, watching you chase after them.

"You hate me?"

You nod, fire burning behind your eyes. He grabs the back of your neck and forces you down onto your knees, rocking his hips against your face.

"I don't think you hate me. I think you just like acting like a little slut to get your way."

You huff and reach up to take his cock out of his sweats, but he slaps your hands away.

"Nuh uh, sweetheart. Brats who hate their Daddies don't get cock. You should be thankful I'm even letting you watch."

He steps away from you, tugging his sweats and boxers down to rest under his ass, piercings glittering in the dim lighting. Your mouth waters at the sight, thick cock standing tall, veins scattered all around it, the most prominent one right under the head of his fat cock, a Jacob's ladder sitting directly under his leaking head, your eyes following the bead of pre rolling down. His dick twitches when you run your tongue along your bottom lip, practically drooling. He moans softly, hips grinding into his hand.

"Bet you want my cock in your mouth, hah?. You wish you hadn't said shit, that you kept your cute mouth shut till I told you to fuckin open it."

You tremble in front if him, thighs pressing together as you watch him get off, his free hand reaching up to tug and rub at his nipple, drawing a groan from the blonde's chest. He slides his hand roughly up his cock, fingers brushing along the sensitive vein and piercing, circling the head of dick before dragging back down to cup his balls, hisses and curses falling out of his mouth. You watch him throb and writhe in front of you, vermillion eyes locked on you. You trail your gaze from his fat, leaking cock, to his shaking thighs, his clenched abs, all the way up to those eyes, and your breath gets caught in your throat. His eyebrows are scrunched up in pleasure, cheeks flushed and lip swollen and bitten, drool falling out of his open, panting mouth as he stares hard at you.

"Fuck. Suck- suck my cock, slut."

You don't have to be told twice.

You immediately jerk forward, lips wrapping around the head of him, tongue slipping in and swirling around. You run your fingers down, fondling his balls before rubbing down on his taint, making him let out a strangled moan, trying to push you further down. You resist, taking your time and rubbing your tongue along the piercing, fiddling with it before letting your teeth scrape against the throbbing vein under his head, barely nicking it before he floods your mouth with cum, hips spasming against your mouth as he finally pushes you all the way down, your eyes watering as you struggle to swallow and breathe. He shudders above you, gold chain swinging. You look up at him through your lashes when you pull up, sticking out your tongue and showing him you got everything. He huffs out a breathless laugh, leaning down to spit a glob on your tongue before yanking you up and kissing you once more.

"Still hate me?"

You shake your head, leaning in for another kiss.

"Good."

He slips a hand into your bottoms, sliding thick fingers through your slit.

"Fuck, I could just slide in right now, huh? Get this wet just from sucking me off, such a dirty little bitch."

You whimper, letting him lift your leg and rip your panties off.

It was gonna be a long night

@hanji-is-life

#bakugo smut #bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki smut #katsuki bakugou smut #bakugou x reader smut #Bakugou x reader #bakugou thirst

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cotton-tails · 3 years

Text

So I saw this last night, and the little angsty plot bunny in my head woke up and I just had to write something. Fully intended to be a drabble of sorts, but of course it turned into a four page tear-fest, so grab the tissues and strap in.

Oh, and I haven't edited this, it's just 3am word-vomit, so enjoy the mess!

“So, this hasn’t exactly gone to plan.”

Della snorts cheerlessly at Donald’s deadpan comment, struggling into a sitting position and wincing at a twinge in her elbow. The chains dig into her arms with every movement, a very clear upgrade from the ropes they’d all been able to break out of within several minutes not too long ago. These idiots don’t know who they’re messing with.

Or they do; probably a little too well, hence the plan that fell apart very quickly. And the chains. And the scary looking red lightning below them.

“Shut up!” Heron snaps behind them, cuffing Donald a little too roughly around the head.

He doesn’t react more than a sharp hiss and a dark glare behind him, and Della can’t help the sharp pang of guilt under the surge of anger. She bites back a comment, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground until the villain is out of earshot.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes, keeping her voice low.

“What? Why?” Donald sounds confused but she can’t bring herself to look at him.

“You should be with Daisy right now,” she says, “I’m the one who guilted you into staying, into coming on this stupid trip. And now we’re facing the very real possibility of dying.”

Donald is quiet.

Forcing herself to look up, she frowns at the look on his face. He still doesn’t say anything, but the expression says it all; ‘Della-you-absolute-idiot-what-are-you-blathering-on-about?’

“I came on this stupid trip cause our kids were in trouble,” he hisses eventually, “my family were in trouble! You think I wouldn’t ditch my vacation in a heartbeat for any of you?”

“I-” Della starts, but her voice catches, rendering her utterly speechless. He’s not lying, she knows exactly what he would do for the family, for her. Yet, somehow that knowledge isn’t exactly helping.

She misses her chance to reply, all conversation cut off with the explosive arrival of Scrooge and Bradford through the roof.

Della clenches her fist and almost bites through the inside of her cheek as he slams to the ground. She manages to chime out a ‘Hey Uncle Scrooge,’ with Donald when his pained gaze finds them. Beakley mutters a sarcastic ‘Fantastic,’ from her other side. She can only watch as a now armoured Bradford, armed with the sword, picks him up by the back of his coat and drags him up the stairs. He’s blathering on about something, but she’s stopped listening; too busy focusing on her battered and beaten uncle and how this could have gone so completely and utterly wrong.

It’s the usual spiel anyway, threats to destroy his family, his adventures, everything he had worked for, blah blah blah.

Then the contract is revealed, and her stomach drops to somewhere around her knees. If they don’t find a way out soon, Scrooge will have to either sign his life away or they all die, and frankly, neither option sound particularly appealing.

It’s only when Bradford sacrifices his own agents that the desperateness of the situation really sinks in. It’s one thing to talk about murder, it’s entirely another to actually do it. And if Bradford is willing to throw away his own agents, Della can’t imagine what he would be willing to do to her family if Scrooge doesn’t sign.

He tries to buy some time. Della can almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he tries to figure out how to get out of this one. She huffs out a half-hearted laugh at the sharp quip about the fine-print. He’d figure something out, he always does. Not to mention the kids are bound to have found a way out by now, they’d pick up the rest of their allies and be on their way to disrupt the whole evil plan.

It’s just a matter of-

“Ugh! Enough stalling!”

Never mind.

“You need some incentive.”

Della does not like where this is going.

“Perhaps the life of your most trusted ally?”

The three of them snap their heads forward as Bradford stalks towards them, sword dragging on the concrete threateningly. As the screeching rings in Della’s ears, the only thought racing through her mind is ‘not Donnie, not Donnie, please, don’t take my brother.’

Her heart almost stops when he scoops Donald up by his collar, his cry echoing in her ears.

“Donald!” Three voices scream.

She can barely breathe, crippling panic bubbling up inside. All she wants to do is close her eyes and scream, break these chains and drag him back to safety, but she can’t move, she can’t take her eyes off her twin as he’s dangled over the edge.

“What will it be Scrooge? Adventure? Or your Family?”

‘Just do what he wants!’ She’s not ashamed of the thought. They’ll figure out a way to reverse the contract, there’s always a way, always a loophole. Just do it so she can see her brother safely on solid ground.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

She can’t say she’s surprised at how quickly he gives in.

“No! Don’t!” Donald screams, “find a way out! You can beat him!”

The pen is already in his hand. “It’s not worth the risk lad.”

They can only watch in horror at the golden glow that circles around him, lifting him up and binding him with unbreakable chains that drag him to the ground.

“I did it!” Bradford crows triumphantly. “The great Scrooge McDuck, now only a poor old man!”

Della’s heart breaks just a little at the look of absolute misery on her old uncle’s face, but she doesn’t have time to mourn properly, because Bradford is talking. Again.

“Normally I wouldn’t indulge in such petty villainy,” he says, his gaze turning back to Donald, still dangling over the edge, with a glint in his eye that makes Della’s blood run cold. “But since this is a special occasion.”

He lets go.

Della’s eyes meet Donald’s for an agonising second, and then he’s gone.

There’s a flash of red, and someone is screaming.

She doesn’t even realise it’s her until a rough hand knocks her back.

“Shut it! Or it’ll be you next!”

Hot tears stream down her beak and she presses her forehead into the cold concrete, not even bothering to choke back a sob. Over the pounding of her own taunting heartbeat in her ears, she hears the sound of the machine powering down (‘Too late’ her traitorous mind provides), of her kids voices yelling something, and Scrooge shouting for them to be careful.

And Bradford, confused and angry as her family finally, finally step in to save the day.

His voice sets off something inside that she hadn’t felt since the day Lunaris betrayed her. A raging anger that burns through her, overwhelming any other emotion and completely taking over her mind.

The chains are no longer an obstacle, and even Beakley can’t stop her from launching herself at the buzzard. They tumble down the stairs, fists flying and feet kicking. Everything blurs after that, which may or may not be a side effect of a rather painful bump on the head as they hit the ground at the bottom of the staircase. She’s kicked off, then it’s just a cloud of lights and bodies and a strong arm holding her back from doing anything overly-reckless and potentially stupid.

The kids, her (their) beautiful, wonderful kids, figure out the loophole and the ever-binding contract disintegrates.

It’s done.

The maniacal villain is defeated once more. The world has returned to rights and the sounds of celebration fill the air.

But Della can only stand and watch, her hands trembling and eyes burning. Beakley stands behind her, hands hovering just behind her shoulders, ready to give comfort if needed.

He’s gone.

Her brother, the other half of her soul; just… gone.

And… oh.

Her knees buckle, a wrecked sob forcing its way from her throat. Beakley catches her with a arm round the shoulders and a hand under her elbow, lowering her gently to the ground as she crumples into a ball. She presses her hands to her eyes in a hopeless attempt to stem the tears as everything comes crashing down.

“It’s okay, let it out dear.”

He shouldn’t have been here. He should’ve been on that amazing adventure with Daisy, sailing together on that old houseboat. After everything life had thrown at him, after all the madness they’d been through, he’d finally caught a break, finally found that amazing person who loved him as fiercely as he loved her.

Then Della had come along, crying about lost time and not being ready. She hadn’t wanted to him to leave, even on a stupid vacation that he would very clearly be coming back from.

Now he wouldn’t even get the chance to go.

And it’s all her fault.

“Mom?”

The obvious confusion and concern in Huey’s voice is enough to send her tumbling over the edge all over again, fresh tears springing up at the thought of having to explain what happened to her- to his kids.

Scrooge hurries them away, and she tries not to listen to the hushed explanation, the startled gasps, and she has to cover her ears for the rest. She can’t stand it.

It’s all her fault.

“DELLA!”

‘What?’

There’s no mistaking that voice.

Her head snaps up so fast she’s half sure she’s given herself whiplash. Even through blurred eyesight, she knows that silhouette, that outfit, that stupid hat. She blinks, sniffing and scrubbing at her face with her sleeve, hardly daring to believe.

It shouldn’t be possible, there’s no way it’s possible. She saw it, she saw him fall, saw the flash of lightning, the empty space where he had been only moments before. She watched her own brother die. So how was he standing ten feet in front of her, laughing as he’s tackled by several small and colourful blurs?

A hand appears in front of her face and she looks up into the stunned face of her uncle. He looks almost as much of a mess as she feels, tearstains tracking down his cheeks and spotting on his coat.

“I think it might be best if we just don’t question it,” he says, helping her to her feet.

His hands are shaking as he holds hers tightly, but she doesn’t comment; it can’t be any worse than her own trembling limbs. They turn back to Donald, who’s ended up sat on the floor under the collective weight of the kids. He’s got a tearful Louie on his shoulder and several kids wrapped around his torso as he struggles to his feet, and Della can see him mouthing a headcount as he takes them all in.

“I swear every time we see you, you have more children.”

She hadn’t even noticed Panchito and José just beside him, grins wide and eyes twinkling with amusement and, in José’s case, something else that she can’t quite place. Donald just laughs at Panchito’s observation, the sound sweet as honey and causing even more tears to well up all round. The pure relief that sweeps through her is almost enough to make her knees give way again, but Scrooge’s hand gripping hers and Beakley’s arm still around her shoulders is just enough to keep her grounded.

Then he catches her eye.

“Hey Dells.”

The kids must see something in her face, cause they have to good sense to dart out of the way just moments before Della hurls herself at her brother. They almost topple backwards, but Donald is able to keep them just about upright while Della just focuses on wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. His arms circle her waist, holding her just as tightly. The tears are streaming freely now, but she’s beyond caring. He can yell at her about ruining his shirt later and she’ll just take it with a grin.

“You idiot!” she yells, her voice muffled by his shoulder, “I thought you were dead!”

“For a minute, so did I,” he says into her hair, “how about we just call it even?”

The soft jibe only makes her laugh, and she holds him just that little bit tighter.

Miracles do happen, and in the end all that matters is love, family and adventure.

But if he thinks she’s going to let him go galivanting off on some adventure without her now, then he’d better think again.

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anlian-aishang · 3 years

Text

Listen, okay, I know this sounds weird and it probably is but HEAR ME OUT. I am on a vacation with my boyfriend and his family right now and the mind is wannnnnnndering. I can’t help myself okay so here we go.

Summary: It can’t be delayed any longer: the time has come to introduce Levi to your parents. You have no idea how it will go, but still, the truth remains: It can’t be delayed any longer.

Word count: 4000 Tags: levi x reader, fluff turned smut, modern AU, fem!reader

Time on the dashboard read 4:45 PM. Taking in the sights of your hometown, it seemed you would arrive right on time - as always - in the most important of moments.

After many months of dating, you were finally introducing your boyfriend to your parents. You would have liked to delay it even longer, but there always came a point when your parents’ suggestions implicitly became demands. Until recently, you had put off their introduction again and again, but with their increasingly frequent calls and texts, your autonomy was being put to the test. Besides, the last thing you wanted to do was make them think you were hiding something - that there was a reason you did not want them to meet.

In fact, it was completely the opposite. Levi Ackerman, your new boyfriend, you thought him the best around. To show him off to anyone and everyone was an easy sell. Sure, you were still in the first-year honeymoon period, but both of you would have been lying if you said you did not feel very serious about the other. You had not yet admitted it to each other, but the thought of marriage had crossed both of your minds, was dwelling in his. That said, of course, being married - or even engaged - without this parental milestone, you were sure your mother would send you to an early grave. Before your relationship could reach its goal, it had to take the steps to get there. Even if it meant dragging your introvert to your hometown for a weekend at your parents’ makeshift bed and breakfast, well, he always said he would do anything for you. In more ways than one, your relationship was being put to the test.

Even up till now in the car ride there, you had not asked him how he felt about the excursion. It was not that you had not thought to do it, but rather, a combination of many reasons not to. You could already imagine the conversation:

Are you nervous? No, why would I be? I mean, they’re my parents. … And? Well, what if they don’t like you? So? … What are you gonna do? Break up with me or something?

It was then that you stopped yourself. Not only did these thoughts do no good, but they were especially harmful this close to the destination. Turning onto your block, things looked both so different and so familiar all at once. It was time to orient your headspace and that meant shoving out the imagination of the worst-case scenario.

As the sun continued its journey from east to west, you drifted your gaze to the driver likewise. A dark sweater overtop and a light ironed dress shirt underneath. Cotton neckband peeked out of the cashmere collar. Charcoal sleeves, rolled up at the elbows, revealed pastel cuffs curled over. Black jeans, cuffed at the bottom, made his legs look longer, showing one inch of matching patterned socks. For this occasion, you had not told him how to dress, but as with so many other things, he just knew.

Maybe it would be fine. No, you corrected yourself, it’ll be great.

// // //

Thanks to your dad working in the garage, eye contact was first made through the glass windshield as you pulled in the driveway. You could not remember the last time you felt so nervous to see him, not since you brought home that one report card or knocked over the inherited vase. In a last-second frenzy, your mind raced over ways to get out of this. A fake stomach ache, forgetting your toothbrush, maybe you could just jut the car in reverse yourself.

Instead, your guest made a swift exit. Turning the key, unbuckling his seatbelt, he let himself out and pivoted to your side. One firm hand on the handle and one on top of the frame, he tugged your door open and took your hand in his. For a second, your eyes widened and jaw hinged, but you quickly snapped them shut. You did not want to give it away, but this gentlemanly gesture was a rare luxury. Looking up to meet his gaze, you caught a glimpse of something more. Don’t be so nervous. I know what I’m doing. A relieved grin, you pulled yourself up from the passenger seat and - with a new skip in your step - made a brisk carefree pace to your dad.

Your greeting was typical, but with a tinge of mutual excitement. “And this is - “ you opened up to your side, but your guest was not yet there. Back at the car, the trunk was propped open as he unloaded all the luggage. Whoops. You had forgotten about it but maybe that was for the better. His backpack around his shoulders, your bags tucked under his arms and in his hand. Fingers turning white were his only sign of struggle, his step remained steady and his expression relaxed. Watching him carry your luggage, your father gave a series of subtle nods. Unbeknownst to you, your mother gleamed from inside the house and through the kitchen window. Dressing up for dinner, holding the door for you, now bringing in your belongings - your parents had already been impressed even before “hello.”

The way that your dad towered over him had you feeling slightly nervous - as if you were introducing your high school boyfriend or prom date. Levi, on the other hand, showed no signs of intimidation. A firm handshake, modest smile, and “nice to meet you” all made the model first impression. Beneath the shadow of your hair, you smiled to yourself, That’s not quite how ours went.

Brief pleasantries and talk of the weather - you deliberately saved the real getting-to-know for the dinner table - afterward, your dad took a few strides towards the car, eyes scanning carefully. Even though Levi had only just met him, it was obvious to more than just his daughter: he was in admiration of the ride. Taking in its pristine reflection, he asked, “You wash it yourself or take it in?”

“Myself.” Levi affirmed, “I don’t trust anyone else to do it right.”

Though he had simply spoken the truth, it had already earned that hearty chuckle from your father - one you had not heard since the last time you were home. He pointed a finger towards your date and nodded, “I like that, Levi.”

Just as Levi has read his body language, it seemed like your dad understood his as well. Sparing him the hand clamp on the shoulder, giving you a sigh of relief, he instead gave one keen grin before turning around and leading the way inside. “Let’s head in. Dinner should be just about ready.”

The second his back turned, you snuck Levi a quick glance, It’s going well already.

Curved smile and a tilt of his head, I know.

// // //

At the front door, opening to the kitchen, you met your mother’s attention. In a split second exchange that only a mother and daughter could have, you conveyed your love for him, she conveyed her approval of him. All throughout your life, she had never let you forget how wonderful you were, how smart you were, how beautiful you were, how you deserved the best man on earth. With that one look, you both spoke silently, He could be the one.

Not as subtle, though, was her greeting. Skipping past you and to the new guest, she called, “Levi!” If the smile on your mother’s face was not wide enough, her volume was an indicator of her enthusiasm - loud and clear. “It’s so great to meet you!”

Without a thud, Levi set down just enough luggage to meet another handshake. Two oven mitts made a sandwich with his hand. If he was clammy, she would have no clue, but with his composure, it was clear he was in smooth sailing. A smile wider than the one he had greeted your father with, he chimed his reciprocation, “It’s great to finally meet you, too.”

Their smiles were contagious. Watching your two worlds combine so seamlessly, you never imagined it would go this well. You could not have made it go so well, even if you tried.

But that was the thing: while he was being so prim, proper, polite, it was also evident - he had not faked a single part. He may have had a dirty mouth and sense of sarcasm when you were in private, but today came as a pleasant reminder - he was truly a gentleman through and through. Sure, your parents had their quirks - you had complained about them plenty of times - but the fact was that if not for them, he would not have you. The least he could do was be a good guest which, for him, came effortlessly. Like most things, you smirked.

“Well, Levi, I hope you’ll enjoy dinner tonight. I figured, ‘what better than the family recipe when to get to know the family?’” Your mother’s glee was without bounds. You flickered your gaze and twitched your lips, a nervous neutralizer to her naivety.

“Smells great, I can’t wait to try it.” That kindred tinge to his voice, you thought to gape over your shoulder. Instead, you ground yourself, furthering the facade that he was always this warm.

“Well, Levi, that means a lot coming from you!” You swore, you had never seen your mother cook with such tempo. “My daughter tells me you’re quite the chef!”

A single breath chuckle made your heart skip, “Really? She’s never told me that.” An elbow perched on the counter supported his slight lean, “No matter what I make, she always says, ‘my mom makes it better’.”

Two unison laughs from your parents, you bit your lip, This is going so well. Your dad noogied your head as he joked, “She’s a handful, isn’t she?”

Still angled against the countertop, Levi divided his attention carefully. His words spoke to your parents, his wink to you, “A handful indeed.”

// // //

Setting the table, refilling the drinks, even insisting on doing the dishes, Levi had gone above and beyond throughout the whole night. With eyebrow raises and plenty of thanks, through both body and spoken language, your parents’ approval was spelled out for both of you. Of course, you had been on pins and needles the entire time, but Levi’s innate courtesy took the edge off, to say the least.

Sweet dessert and candy wine wound you down along with the time. From the first eye contact to small talk, from 5 PM to midnight, this had all gone better than anyone could have planned. As they discussed his line of work, congratulated him on status, your gaze drifted from your empty glass around the room. All was sound except... Eyes widened at your baggage still flattening the doormat. You choked on your own breath, Of all the first impressions they could have of him…. being a slob? No one - not you, not them, least of all him - could live with that takeaway.

Clearing your throat, “Ahem - Levi, darling...” your princessy tone was a deliberate choice, implying that you always lived like one, “would you put those in my -” you corrected yourself, “in our room?”

Since you moved out, your childhood bedroom had been turned into a guestroom. When your parents phoned you and asked - once again, one of those suggestions turned demands - you gave a reluctant yes. Now that your significant other was spending the night, though, you were thankful that they had taken the initiative: exchanging your twin bed for a queen and your teenage posters for floral paintings. Sometimes, you shook your head, parents really do know best.

“Oh my gosh! Look at the time!” Your mom exclaimed, “You two must be exhausted after all that driving.”

“Yeah, of course!” Even your dad’s voice began to boom, “Get some sleep. Hot breakfast and coffee first thing in the morning! Wouldn’t want to miss that, right?”

With a turn of his head, Levi exchanged a quick glance with you, an unspoken, What do you say?

As smoothly as it had gone, the night was ending likewise. You would have to do it all again tomorrow, but it seemed neither you nor him had any qualms about that. In fact, you sparkled, knowing that each second spent together was one more that they would get to know and love him - one more step towards So, when is the engagement? The wedding? The house? The kids?

As you had shooed away the spiraling thoughts earlier, you did so again now. The last display of composure was merely this walk to the bedroom. The end in sight.

Signing off on the first night, Levi followed your lead as you stood from the table, “Yeah, we are pretty tired. We probably should head to bed.”

“Thanks so much for coming over!” You giggled at your mother’s giddiness, never having once left throughout the whole night, “We’ll be better hosts tomorrow and actually show you the house, huh?”

“Please.” Through combed bangs, his steel eyes shined, “The pleasure was ours.”

// // //

Behind closed doors, you at last had full reprieve to be yourself - no longer an audience to impress, you finally felt at home. Without shame, deviant eyes drank up the dark sights. A stupid smile on your face, a long-lost sense of teenage rebellion revived as you ate up the eye candy. By a grip at the middle of his back, Levi tugged his sweater off and over his head, forcing his hair to fray, coercing a few tired shakes of his head back and forth. Slender fingers worked his buttons, slowly revealing his chest, rising and falling with tired sighs. Unbuckling his belt, stepping out of his pants, you admired every inch of him that you had not yet already.

As he threw his arms into the grey cotton long sleeve, he took a moment before putting it on. A smug, “Can I help you?”

You smirked, nibbling on your fingertip, “I’m just fine, thanks,” you sauntered closer, pressing one hand to his pecs, an elbow hooking around the back of his undercut, “and so is my boyfriend.”

A blend of mocking and appreciation you only heard from him. Sneering, “You embarrass me, you know that?”

Nail outlined his muscles, happy that he still had not yet donned the garment, “You did good out there today.”

Placing his hand atop yours, he pulled your touch up, off, away from his chest. “Let’s do even better.” Keeping hold of your hand, he dragged you both onto the mattress and underneath the sheets. Tugging the loose strands from your face, he gave a light kiss on your forehead and spoke against your skin, teasing through a whisper, “Be a good girl and get some sleep.”

// // //

At your side, his breathing slowed as he strayed off towards sleep. For you, the opposite. Heart racing. Sweat forming. Ache throbbing.

You could not put a finger on what it was. Whether it was how perfectly he dressed, how perfectly he had conducted himself, how perfect he was today and every day, you could not tell the primary source of your infatuation. Perhaps all of his ingredients had comprised one dire cocktail. As much as he charmed your parents, he did you even more. The same bedroom where you dreamed of finding your Prince Charming, you were now in that same bedroom with him. All of it had set you off, hormones raging just like they had back in their heyday. Your body moved - both as if not your own, but also in the purest form of yourself. Palms pushed yourself up from the mattress, legs swung to his sides, hips found his and ground against them as you buried your face in his neck.

Of course, he already knew what you were doing. And of course, he should have known, you would do it at a time like this.

“Really, brat?” He scoffed. In the dark of night, his exhale on your lips tickled even more than usual. “Tonight? Of all nights?”

You lowered yourself even further, pressing your bodies together from chests to calves. Fingers dove into his hair, lazily tugging his ear to your mouth as you whispered, “I can’t help myself, Levi.”

That much was obvious. Clearly, you had turned a blind eye to such a stupid risk. Objectively, your hosts were just a few dangerous stretches away. However, your vision was clouded by an increasingly unignorable lust, obstructing your sight to only the dark black gap under the door and the handsome man beneath you, tainted in obsidian by your hovering shadow. You could see only those two things, and in your short-circuited mind, they told only two things: you had privacy and passion both in arms reach.

You let your desire speak for you, telling both yourself and him, “It - It’ll be fine.”

// // //

Such an empty lie, such a possessive thirst, they were the only things that could bring you to the scene you had set for yourself now: grinding against your boyfriend during your weekend back home.

Dragging your hips back and forth, you were thankful for the uncharacteristic choice to pack a nightgown. Rather than the thick cotton flannel of pajama pants, underneath your skirt, thin silk panties made direct and demanding friction with his hardening member. Hands cupped around his shoulders - fingers clenching, nails digging - as you strove for any source of support through each and every building wave.

He would never instigate at a time like this, but at the same time, he would never hold back when faced with his sex kitten. Hands snaked from their hold in your hair and caress at your nape - down past your waist, hips, and lower back - until finding the peak of your cheeks and squeezing them tightly. His knuckles turned pale as he savored your feel. Your mouth agape as you submit to his vice.

That hold on your ass, he never let up. Instead, he tightened even more, garnering leverage to encourage your oscillation up and down his length. Was he increasing his pleasure? Yours? Both? In this darkness, you could not see that far ahead. Taking up all your thoughts now, was only the fun you were having at the one time you were supposed to refrain from it.

He had the same thought. To get off at a time like this, your drive must have been unbelieveable. Certainly, in your typical frame of mind, you never would have chosen to do this here and now. His mind began to wander, just how madly you must have been in love with him, sending his libido skyhigh with yours.

Wafting against your neck, a breathlessly amused and enamored sigh, “You like that, huh?” Levi reached a hand down to your sex, pulling your panties and his underwear down to your ankles. Without any layers between you, your pleasure amplified immensely, along with it, your cries.

“Ah ah ah,” He warned, his whisper impossibly light. Perhaps you had forgotten about the danger lurking outside, but neither his awareness nor his control ever wavered, not even in the hottest of heats. In one swift motion, Levi stretched his forearm in alignment with your spine and cradled the back of your head in his hand. Thanks to his muscle, even as he rolled you both over, the crunch of the mattress and sifting of sheets were barely audible. With the role reversal, you instinctively clutched his back and whimpered.

Levi pressed his lips hard and fast against yours, effectively silencing you. Tongue swiped at your lips, demanding his entrance. Teeth grazed your tongue in guidance, preventing those troublesome sounds. His muscle reached just above the back of your throat - the perfect location to block those noises without the threat of your choking. Steady palm caressed your cheek, relaxing. Careful thumb rubbed your face, settling. Slowly, he pulled from the kiss to a distance just close enough - you could hear even the faintest intrigue from his depths, “Can you be a good girl?”

With your saturated gaze and vulnerable tone, you promised your best and begged, “Y-Yes, Levi…” You moaned, “I will be a good girl for you.”

It was as if you had signed a contract. Only with the promise of your best kept silence would he provide the pleasure that made you scream. A half-hover over you, Levi placed himself perfectly between your legs. Arms at your sides. Hands beneath your back. His leaking tip lined up to your dripping arousal - both just like and unlike it had so many times before. A few preliminary thrusts, he knew he already had your consent, but he could not help but ask once more. A bite on your ear, smooth lips soothed it with a purr, “You ready, princess?”

If his goal was to keep you quiet, he should have known better. Not only did you nod - and nearly squeal - but you wrapped your legs around him, beckoning for that specific proximity and angle. Within the short stretch that your eyes could see, you easily made out that trademark stare of his. One brow arched, half-shut eyes peeked to you, barely parted lips revealed a smirk that checked, You sure you want to do that?

But clearly, you knew what you wanted and would do anything to get it. It would be wrong to deny you for a single moment further, for each second was one more that your passion yearned so much that it hurt, one more that you could be walked in on, one more that the risk increased.

In case your using him as a toy, your vehement asking, fuck - even your phermones, were not enough, the feeling of your sex showed your hand. The warm and wet of your walls coated him entirely on only the first thrust, such that he could fuck deeper and deeper, faster and faster right from the start. Now, you were not the only one who could not contain yourself. In fact, you wondered, maybe you were handling it better than him.

His abdomen flexed, chest heaved, veins protruded, “Fuck…. F’Fuck me….!”

In missionary, he liked to spice things up - hair pulling, nipple pinching, neck sucking, ear biting. Tonight, though, he was utterly incapacitated. Maybe it was heightened sensitivity in the pitch black night. Maybe it was the feeling of your sex. Maybe it was even the release of those ropes and reins. After being tied up and restrained all night, he was finally set free. Not only that, but you had been the one to both link those chains in the first place and also the one to cut them off at the end of the night. The change had him riled, and after such a trying day, there was not much more he could take.

Who would have thought, the day he met your parents, that you would be the one keeping him on his toes? His pace became erratic, and thus, so did your screams. In that instant, you forgot where you were entirely. But even in the throes of it, he did not. Your instinct was as it always was - to tell him when you were close. But as your back arched, lips parted, scream brewed, his instinct was just as alert. Even as his own orgasm began to take control from him, he first took care of you. Hot hand clamped around your mouth, muffling your helpless blend of gasps, moans, and shrieks.

Pulsating pleasure interrupted his sentiment, but with his hand silencing you, it was conveyed all the same - if not better. “Shh’hh!” His breaths were cut off in rhythm with each filling shot you felt within. In a debate for what to say - shut up, keep it down, be quiet, and many more - his sentences were instead an incoherent mix of syllables, all of which felt kind on your ears regardless. Even for someone so perfect like him, his mind could become clouded every once in a while, especially around you.

Finally, you had found the man you deserved.

// masterlist //

#levi #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #anlian writes #my writing #alias's #fluff #oneshot #2021 #smut #spice rack

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kristaline2dmensimp · 3 years

Text

Marco x reader (NSFW)

Warning: Femdom(?), Unprotected sex, slight bdsm.

A/n: Its already oct 7 in my country!!! In all honesty this is my first time writing smut so bare with wrong grammars? 😅 also this is kind a birthday gift to myself. 😁

(ahem @thatbadbruja My friend and fellow Marco simp I won't definitely forget to tag you on my Marco's content. 👀)

1,743 words

*****

3rd person's POV

This last few days you couldn't sleep well since you started to have this fantasy with your lover a.k.a Marco appearing frequently in your dreams. Moreover, in an outrageous state.

Imagining about taking complete control during your sexy time with Marco's hands tied to the headboard panting and moaning, both body glistening in sweat- wouldn't leave your mind.

Succumbing to your desires, you embarrassingly confessed it to Marco which he responded with a raised brow, but didn't dismiss the idea of it. In fact, he's quite curious; he's more open about his kink and fetishes to you, so hearing you voice out your own desire he's more willing to oblige. Which resulted to being locked inside the privacy of your room, full on liplock sharing a hot intense kiss, pulling away only to breathe; discarding each other's clothing until you were left with only your undergarments and him being completely bare.

"Strawberry will be our safeword." You said pushing him down to the bed, with a small smirk on your face. "I think you're underestimating me Yoi." He chuckled pulling you on top of him mirroring your smirk as you straddle his waist.

Smiling you lean down to his ear before you grind against his pulsating cock, wiping the smirk from his face, prompting a deep groan from the Marco.

"Just a precaution, my dear." You whispered before smashing your lips on his, tongue on the mix, one hand caressing the tattooed part of his well toned chest to distract him while your other hand reached for something on your bedside table.

Marco, of course, isn't one to give up easily, so expect a little challenge from him. He smirked as he tried to gain momentum on the kiss.

Frowning, you hump hard enough into his hardened cock swallowing his moans of pleasure.

He tried to move his hand to touch you but felt half of his strength drained from his body. Pulling away for air, a string of saliva connecting you two, looking up, that's when he realized you had cuffed his hands to the headboard.

'when did....' Marco wondered in shock.

"Oh, I hope you don't mind being tied up for a little while." You said massaging his chest with a small grin.

"Really yoi? Seastone cuffs?" He asked panting fo air looking at you through half lidded eyes. He can't deny he's actually turned on by this.

"I know you're not complaining. So relax, I'll make sure you enjoy it." You said grinning as he gulp seeing the mischievous glint in yoir eyes that made his cock stiffer than usual.

"My, my. You seem really excited." You said feeling his hard member under your clothed sex.

"Well that's your effect on me." Grinning at his reply, you lean down kissing his lips soflty before traveling down to his neck and chest until you came face to face with his aching cock.

You took a hold of his hardened shaft pumping it slightly and his hips instinctively jerk into your hand.

"f-f*ck (____)." He groaned out throwing his head back into the pillow, hands clench and unclenching tugging on the restraints you put on him as you drag your tongue from the underside of his shaft to his tip, licking off the precum before swallowing him.

"Shit f*ck!" He grunted catching him off guard by starting immediately on a fast rhythm, bobbing your head up and down feeling his legs tense up.

"Haa...haa...sh*t you're honna make me cum faster than I thought." Marco moaned accompanied by the rattling of the chains at his futile attempt of breaking free. Not being able to touch your face, your hair, 'anything' are pure torture to him.

Feeling delighted knowing you were responsible for the sound of pleasure leaving his mouth, you suck roughly on his length hoping this would push him over the edge.

"(____) I'm c-cumming." Feeling him twitch in your mouth, you immediately pull away. "wha- hey." He whined from the lost contact leaving him fromt the peak of his orgasm. He lift his head to look at you, eyes filled with lust and out of breath.

"Do you wanna cum Marco?" You teased, stripping off your remaining undergarments. "If you're gonna cum.." You trailed off taking his hard shaft and aligning it at your entrance. "Then do it inside!" You finished your sentence as you slam yourself down, the delicious stretch, movement and the thickness of his cock made you moan louder.

"Wai–" He didn't had the chance to finish what he was saying when his body stilled, releasing a strangled groan as he came deep inside of you, back arching feeling the tightness of your walls.

Your body shivering from the feeling of being filled to the brim. "Haa...haa..you came so..much." You panted both of your face flushed red and body covered with sweat. Smiling you look at him in the eye.

"Round two babe? I haven't came yet." You coed and before he could comprehend the dangerous glint in your eyes, you began to lift your hips up before slamming it back down, eliticing the loud sweet moan out of Marco.

"(___) w-wait! I just ca~me." He moan throwing his head back on the pillow, restlessly clutching and tugging the restraints on his wrist, flexing the fine muscles of his arm.

"F*ck!" He cussed. Without the healing properties of his devil fruit, Marco could thoroughly feel the slight overstimulation mixed with pleasure coursing through his body. This may be the first time he felt this kind of sensations and boy it felt too good. The drool at the corner of his mouth and the way he he shut his eyes closed are the proof of it.

"Haa..fuck it." He panted before digging the heel of his feet down to the mattress, moving his hips to meet your thrust feeling determined to make you cum faster. "Ahh!" The action made you gasp and moan as he hit your sweet spot. Falling forward to his chest both of you were breathing heavily but your movements didn't falter still maintaining the fast rhythm.

"Don't think just because...I'm tied up with sea prism stone...I dont have the energy left....to f*ck you..yoi." He said in between breaths while looking at you straight in the eye. "heh, we'll see...about that." You responded picking up the pace.

Groaning, you two chase each other's lips, muffling the sound of pleasure only pulling away for air and your body began to tremble feeling your upcoming release. Your hands on his chest for support.

You shut your eyes closed as you bit your lower lip while Marco let out a hoarse moan feeling you clamp down on him.

Noticing this, Marco speed up his thrust knowing you're gonna cum sooner or later as he found your sweet spot intensifying your pleasure. He smirk watching as you gave off a lewd expression while wiping the drool off at the corner of your mouth.

"Mmm, feels too good." You said slamming down on his shaft matching his pace. Encouraged by your words, Marco continously hit your sweet spot that made you see stars until your orgasm hit you hard to the point you collapsed on top of him. With one last thrust he came deep insde you.

He gave off a rugged breaths as you pulled yourself off, shuddering at the oozing feeling of his release down your legs.

"That was....amazing." Marco stated catching his breath before looking at you. "It sure did." You responded staring back at him.

Marco felt a chill ran down his spine seeing the dangerous glint on ypir eyes haven't faded. He jolt at the feeling of your hand on his softening shaft trying to spring it back to life.

"Haa..(____) stop pls....f*ck!" Marco whined as he squirmed, already feeling sensitive, you had made him cum twice without even a few minutes break.

"Is it too much? Yoi can say the safeword dear." You stated, pausing your ministrations to give him the chance to reply, but you were met with silence his gaze full with lust and heavy breaths.

"I really shouldn't underestimated you. Hope your done with the few seconds break, Marco." You coed secretly pulling out a blindfold, both of you were clearly enjoying this.

Your alluring smirk was the last thing he sees before you put on the blindfold on him, his other senses heightens.

You lean down, capturing his lips swallowing his groans and moans while you kept stroking his shaft.

"The main event is yet to come." You whispered tugging his bottom lip, aligning his semi hardened shaft at your entrance, you began to slowly sink down making him moan loud from the overstimulation and his grip tightened at the chains of his restraints.

" Haa.. You're lucky that you put...ahh...seastone cuffs on me or else...ah sh*t You'd be at my mercy yoi." Marco said struggling to keep his moans down as you started bouncing up and down on his shaft.

You knew he'd never let you go easily and his statement is the proof of it, so why not make use the best of it?

Feeling him twitch, you smirked. "Too bad, I'm in control." You responded letting out an occasional moans when the tip of his cock graze ypur sweet spot.

Completely drowned in pleasure, Marco let out a strangle moan, flexing the veins and muscles of his arms as you made him cum for the third time yet your movements didn't falter.

"If I can only escape this cuf-" Marco didn't had the chance to finish his sentence when you captured his lips, tongue dancing together.

'haa...f*ck..' He thought feeling his impending release coming quicker than the last one.

"I'm coming master~" You grinned widely when Marco cussed out loud from hearing your words, both of your bodies were already covered in a thick sweat and exhaustion were taking over, yet you had the the gal to still tease him? Was what marco thought and he wonder when did you become so bold. But he wasn't going to complaining.

"(____) I'll surely..haa..get you back for this yoi.." Marco stated tugging the chains as you giggle. "I'd be disappointed if you don't, my dear Marco~" You coed before you two came undone reaching pure ecstasy.

#one piece #marco the phoenix #marco x reader #marco x you #one piece imagine #one piece x you

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aetheternity · 3 years

Text

I'll admit it's exciting. (Armin x reader)

Synopsis: Being your professor's dirty little secret. His pet.. Sounded too good to refuse.

Warning: Smut in the later chapters! 18+ only

"Good girl.." Your lip tucked itself beneath your tooth. Spine tingling at the intoxicating scent surrounding you.

You coaxed a breath off your lips as the almost inaudible creak of the desk under your professors weight made you sit up straight. His arms locking you in place.

You looked into his soft blue eyes feeling a tinge of entrapment at the way he had you locked in.

"Do you understand now?" His surprisingly large hands caressed your shoulder.

"Y-yeah." If you could see your own face you'd probably be embarrassed but you were currently helpless to the tiny bits of touch he allowed you.

Your elbows pushed you up just a little bit closer to his chest. His touch disappearing too soon.

"I think you'll be ready for the test in a couple days." And suddenly every bit of him was walking away and back to sit at his desk. "You should still study though. This stuff has been difficult for you."

~~~~

"Y/N."

The tip of your nail stayed fidgeting between your lips.

"Y/N."

Words flew through your brain but it all continued to just be flushed straight out again.

"Y/N!" The book flew from your grasp landing with a clatter that attracted glances from all angles.

"Are you alright Y/N?" Eren asked, concern etched into his deep sapphire eyes.

You let out a harsh exhale. "I was, until Sasha stopped my heart." You held a palm up to your chest, glaring over at Sasha.

Mikasa blinked boredom sunk into her features. Her cheeks forced into the palms of her hands as her elbows stayed firmly planted into the table. "New class?"

You nodded, shutting your binder before promptly flipping it open again.

"You'll be fine." She muttered, staring at you with her own version of concern.

"How can you say that? I had to transfer from a different class a month after the semester already started. You know how much stuff I've already missed! Not to mention I had originally thought this class was gonna be next semester me's problem." With a groan you let your head flop harshly onto the mildly sticky table in front of you.

"I think what Mikasa was trying to suggest was that Mr. Arlert has always been said to be a very gentle and caring professor." Sasha said

"You can always take office hours if you really have a hard time." Eren suggested

"Thanks Eren, but I think you're forgetting that I hate doing anything outside of class that won't immediately get me a passing grade."

Eren just shrugged, moving to stuff his notebooks into his own bag. All of them genuinely looking as though he'd just reused them from high school. Each one with a rip in the first page or the spiral unraveling.

"Welp it's 2:00." Sasha reminded you. And you groaned so loud you could practically feel the stares from other tables touching your soul.

"Maybe I'll fall down the stairs and break my ankle before I get up there." You slung your bag onto your shoulder hanging your head as you walked off.

"I'll have your favorite donuts in my room after you get out!" Sasha called

"You should've started with that!"

You made the walk so much longer by dragging your feet up every stair individually and rubbing a finger to your temple. So much so that it surprised you when you walked into the classroom and no one was in there except..

"Oh hello."

Hot..

So so very hot..

His smile sparkled only futher brightened by his deep blue eyes. His short blond hair parted slightly over his forehead. His blue button up was cuffed up against his forearms revealing a very slender but still fairly muscular set of hands. He probably had a nice chest too.

"You must be Y/N." He chuckled and before you could reassociate he was giving you a whole new list of things to think about as he bent over his desk to retrieve a piece of paper.

"Here's the syllabus. You're starting kinda late so it will be helpful to you to come to office hours. My office hours are at the bottom here." When he reached forward to point his scent caught you by surprise. A sweet almost fruit like smell wafted up your nose. "I hope you'll catch on quickly. Sit wherever you'd like."

His remark barely registered in your mind, your mouth hung open immediately slamming shut as the class quickly began to fill.

Before you could get swept up by the people flooding into the room you made your way to the front plopping down into the seat closest to the window. When you looked up again from where you'd yanked your binder almost haphazardly out of your bag, you caught the quickest wink you'd ever seen in your entire life.

Or maybe it was your imagination.

But the way he leaned a little closer when he approached you wasn't.

"Front row? Good choice."

Regardless of the heart problems he'd recently caused you he was moving on. Quickly silencing the class and starting the lesson.

Hot.

The only thought racing through your head.

Hot. Hot. Hot..

He was pretty! When he turned off the light his eyes didn't dull in the almost blinding way in which they shone. His hair fluttered over his forehead and ears and his shirt seemed to hug his chest tighter every time he reached up to turn off the projector or even just to reach a high spot on the board.

You already knew everything from today was going in one ear and out the other but it was really hard to give a damn when your professor's pants cupped his ass they way they did. His dark shoes clicked across the floor and-

"Do you understand any of it? I know it's your first day."

You blinked up at him hoping your eyes weren't as wide as they felt or that you weren't popping your mouth open and close like a suffocating fish.

He smiled, flipping the paper on the desk around till it faced him. "Can I?" He reached for the tip of your pen and as you let it go your fingers brushed in probably the strongest current of static that had ever touched your body.

"Don't worry ok this is just a practice test I wanna see what you know." He said, leaving a couple marks on the paper. He then pointed to the two empty test questions. "Don't leave anything blank ok."

This time when he walked away you were without a doubt certain he'd winked. When you looked down at your paper again you could see 3 checks on the paper in the light blue ink you were using and a little smiley face in the corner.

Your chest honestly had no right fluttering the way it did over something so trivial.

The class was only an hour and forty minutes but when it was over you felt like you'd only been seated there for ten minutes. When you handed the test paper back he sent you one final wink that made your knees buckle.

"See you next time." He said and you had to forcibly stop yourself from shuttering.

You half speed walked half ran out of there as soon as his classroom door had shut behind you. All the way to Sasha's dorm room.

You slammed it open already knowing Sasha only kept it locked when she wasn't in there. Your chest was heaving and you held onto the door frame for support. Noticing the immediate and visible flinch from Eren and Sasha.

"He's. Hot!!" You gasped for air before walking in and sinking to the floor in front of Sasha. She didn't budge as you fell against her shoulder just wrapped an arm around your shoulders hugging your back. "Oh god he's so hot.." You breathed into Sasha's collarbone.

"Looks like she did learn something." Eren muttered

"No! You don't understand he's like so pretty!"

Mikasa didn't even try to hide the way she rolled her eyes and Eren just sighed.

"Aww you've got a crush on your professor that's adorable." Sasha said, reaching into the box next to her, grabbing your favorite donut she pushed it into your open mouth pulling it back slightly to allow you to chew.

You sobbed a little before sighing and falling back into Sasha's neck. "What the hell am I gonna do?" You sighed

"Focus on passing the class is probably the first step." Eren replied

"Now you're just being silly." You replied, rubbing your fingers into the floor.

Sasha brought the donut back up to your lips smiling as you took another bite. "I wanna see him now! Isn't he the really young professor? Like he's supposedly only twenty five as of recently and got hired less than a year ago."

"Yeah.." You quickly put your password into your phone, turning the screen so Sasha could see.

Mikasa and Eren scooted closer as Sasha took a closer look. "He is pretty." Mikasa was the first to speak.

"Why do you just have his picture pulled up? How're you already being creepy?" Eren questioned

You scoffed, "I just happened to be looking on Instagram during a quick bathroom trip.. and I just so happened to look for him.. it's his fault for making it easy." You snatched the donut from Sasha taking a bigger bite.

"Yeah no I agree with Eren this is cree- AW HE HAS A DOG!" Sasha snatched the phone zooming in on the puppy in his lap.

"Actually it's his family's dog. Her name's Pumpkin and he goes home as often as possible to see her. A small two hour train ride to be exact." You sigh briefly "I've never really liked Terriers as a dog breed but that one's so cute.."

"Is the dog cute or is it the guy holding her?" Mikasa questioned with a little smirk.

"Not helping Mikasa.." Eren interjected "What are you even thinking? No matter if you like professor Arlert or not he has to keep it professional and so do you."

"Eren, look at the puppy." You took your phone from Sasha turning the screen back to face him.

He glanced down at the image then back into your eyes with a raised eyebrow.

"Puppy!"

"Creepy!" He pressed the power button on your phone and you deflated against Sasha's legs letting your phone turn over onto its face.

"I'll never understand why you don't go for a degree in hacking or something the way you always manage to pull up information on people." Mikasa shook her head.

"Probably going to be stuck with more math classes for one and secondly when I become a supervillain I don't need everyone knowing it was apart of my major." You replied, with an exaggerated eye roll.

Sasha shrugged, "If it was your major I'm pretty sure everyone would understand your descent into madness."

"I can't believe you just said that.." Eren groaned, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

"Me or her?" You asked

"Yes!"

~~~~

Thursday came too soon. Or maybe you should say, finally Thursday is here! You jumped back and forth between the two but by the time you slid into the honestly uncomfortable classroom seat and placed your bag between your legs you knew exactly what you felt.

"Professor!" A female's voice caught your attention and you turned slightly to see a short brown haired girl running into the classroom.

"You were right about what I was missing! Once I applied what we talked about in office hours it became so simple."

"That's what I like to hear Petra." He winked as he flipped through a stack of papers on his desk.

Wait, had he always done that to all the students or had you just not noticed last time? You felt your shoulders hunch but they were instantly picking back up again as he slid a piece of paper onto your desk.

"You did pretty well on that practice test. Seems like you'll be up to speed in no time." He smiled, a deep warm smile that made your stomach squeeze.

Your lips curled upwards and you quickly moved to hide it behind your paper as he walked away.

"You too huh?"

You felt your skin practically vibrate but you hoped and prayed it wasn't too noticeable.

"Wh-what?" You glanced over at the girl Petra who sat only one desk away from you. Her features flat and her eyes dark in the middle an almost scary contrast from earlier.

"You're into him too?" She muttered

Was it that obvious? Stupid question. How could you be so obvious?

"I don't think you'll win out." She continued and before you could question it, she pointed to the back row.

It seemed almost like a tussle as Mr. Arlert was being held hostage by another young female holding his hand. He smiled mildly awkwardly as he spoke with her, nodding his head to everything her and the other girls surrounding her said. The first girl running a thumb over the back of his hand.

You felt your skin prickle and you exhaled loudly. "So.. I'm guessing you too.."

Petra blinked at you then quickly shifted around in her seat. Mr. Arlert quickly approached the front of the room clapping to get the classes attention. And with that the lesson was beginning.

You noticed from the clap at the beginning of class to the last word uttered that not one word in Mr. Arlert's lesson had actually registered in your mind. Your thoughts too full of Petra's words, her blank almost villainous expression as she'd talked.

And that girl's hand. That annoying girl in the back row. You peeked your head back there looking at the now empty chair. In fact the entire classroom was empty and had been for at least 15 minutes since you continued to struggle with stuffing your binder back into your apparently shrunken bag.

"Need help?"

You bit your lip and looked away as he came closer. You weren't really standing up straight but you immediately noticed the way he towered over you. His fingers so delicate in the way they brushed over yours sliding the irritating object into the confines of your bag.

"Thank you.." You whispered

He chuckled, "No problem, happy to help."

His eyes didn't leave yours for an almost uncomfortable amount of time so you shifted your feet backing away a little. He seemed to notice and placed a hand on the back of his neck, backing up himself.

Oh no. Now he was getting uncomfortable.

He made his way back over to his desk but not before you'd slipped in something to ease the tension. "Sorry for over staying my welcome.."

He let out a soft chuckle. "You're not bothering me plus there are no classes in here for two hours after mine on Thursday. You can stay as long as you'd like."

"O-oh." You face palmed internally at your stupid reply. "So.." You began again. "Do you mind if I asked you how you're such a young professor.."

His eyes flickered up from the work he'd been filling out. "Well, I skipped a couple grades and I was in college by 15. I'm actually still in college now but I was an assistant teacher at 18 for about three years for a high school a couple blocks from here before I became a full fledged teacher and then I worked at the same school as a teacher for three more years before I finally left and started teaching here."

It should've been obvious from the start that he'd worked tireless hours of school to get here at such a young age. Not to mention probably having worked just as hard in the gym. He'd only leaned back a little bit in his chair but it was enough for you to have a perfect mental image.

Your eyes flicked up to his much softer more.. Arlert like smile? Maybe? It just felt like the kind of smile he'd give a friend and less like the smile he used in the classroom. Not that that one felt fake, just.. different.

"Do you.. I mean.. have you always had girls?.." His eyebrows scrunched as you spoke. You pointed to the back of the classroom. "You're young I mean, do girls always touch you like that?"

He blinked up at the ceiling then back down to you. Your breath hitched as he pulled himself up from the desk walking closer to you.

"As soon as they find out I'm not that much older than them? Yeah."

You probably should've stopped but your brain was suddenly working independently. "Does it?.. Do you like that kind of attention?"

He sat down on the desk crossing his arms over his chest and his leg over his knee. He spoke his head. "Not normally no."

"Normally?"

He stood again but this time he stopped directly in front of you. Sharp blue eyes cold and yet warm and vibrant. The desk creaked under your weight as you leaned back into it. His hands at your sides, his breath tickling your upper lip.

His thumb came up to graze your cheek but was quickly removed and planted back on the desk. "Can I kiss you?"

You nodded way too eagerly and-

So so so much softer than you'd even thought imaginable. His nose rubbed against yours and he was pulling away. Too soon.

You grabbed the back of his neck, yanking him back to you. Immediately delighted by the warm touch of his pretty pink lips.

He pulled back and you yanked him forward. Over and over again with soft peppered kisses. And then one slightly longer one where he was comfortably mushing his lips against yours.

#armin x reader #armin arlert x reader #armin smut #armin arlert x reader smut #armin arlert #armin x y/n #armin aot #aot x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #aot smut #snk smut #aot imagines #attack on titan smut #shingeki no kyoujin #cal writes

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underneaththe-waterfall · 3 years

Text

Good Boy

Summary: Its your birthday and Yugyeom surprises you with a special gift. Your gift is a half naked Yugyeom cuffed to the bed. It was up to you, you could do whatever you wanted to do to him.

It was your birthday and as usual Yugyeom couldn’t think of what to give you. He asked everyone ,and by everyone he means a few of your close friends. They all suggested that he got you jewelry or something meaningful for the both of you but yugyeom thought that their ideas were to common. Then, an amazing idea led him to what he actually ended up doing. He was going to be your good boy for your birthday.

He carried the hand cuffs and a blindfold to the room , both which were usually used on you. Yugyeom had always wanted to know what it felt like to be controlled since he had always been the dom in your relationship. Although he would always deny your requests to dominate him, it was actually one of his fantasies that would make him wake up in cold sweat in the middle of the night when you weren’t there.

He took off all his clothing except his boxers and laid of the bed , facing the ceiling. He placed the black lace blindfold on the bedside table as he wanted you to be able to choose if he can see what your doing. He then took the handcuffs and put them on his wrist and then looping them over the headboard. The handcuffs felt tight on his wrists and he looked up to see they were already leaving marks .He heard the click as his arms where locked into place above his head.

Yugyeom laid there anticipating your arrival. It was nearly time for you to get back home. He had let you celebrate all day with your friends and now finally you both were about to get some very needed alone time.Just thinking about everything you would do to him once you were here was turning him on.As he laid there in silence waiting for your arrival his thoughts went wild.

Yuyeom snapped back to reality after a while and looked at the clock. He had been waiting now for 10 minutes .He suddenly got the urge to scrap all this and fuck you until sunlight as a punishment for making him wait. It was too late for that now though. His hands were cuffed above his head and you would now be arriving any minute.

After a few minutes of staring into space Yugyeom heard chatter and laughter at the front door. A few moor seconds and he heard the sound of your heels as you approached the room.

YN POV

You slowly twisted the knob of the door thinking Yugyeom had gone to sleep. You surely didnt expect what you saw when you opened the door. In front of you was Yugyeom sprawled out across the bed his arms cuffed to the bed over his head. His legs where open and you could see the needy look on his face. His cheeks were covered in a pink blush and you could see his faint abs coved in a thin layer of sweat. He looked like something straight out of a porn magazine.

You stood there for a few seconds too shocked to speak. You stood there waiting for him to say something, anything. But he remained silent maintaining the strong eye contact between the two of you. You put down the bags of presents your friends bought you at the door and you walked towards him now finally understanding what was going on. He wanted you to dom. You had bought up the topic before but Yugyeom always dismissed it saying your too much of a sub to even think about it. Maybe this was the prefect chance for you to prove him wrong.

You stood next to the bed and without you realising your hands traced over Yugyeoms face and he closed his eyes at your touch. When your thumb grazed over his bottom lip he finally spoke in almost a whisper .

”Happy birthday.”

You didn’t respond but instead continued to look at him. Your own fantasies began playing out in your head and you began wondering about all the dirty things you could do to Yugyeom. You imagined him laying there helpless relying on you and only you to provide him pleasure and begging you for release.

This situation deffinately excited you and you couldnt wait for the night to continue. Knowing that Yugyeom would usually never let you dom , you wanted to know what had gotten into him. You wanted to hear him say it.

”Whats all this”

You say now trying to look unimpressed. You knew how to mess with him. walking away from the bed you took your coat and sitting on the desk looking back at Yugyeom. He looked confused as he spoke,

“This is my present for you”

He says looking away from yours eyes now feeling insecure. Was his idea just dumb? Of course you would want something nice. Not a half naked Yugyeom on your bed. You probably wanted a ring or- Yugyeoms thoughts were interrupted by you saying,

“I see, are you going to be a good boy for me then?”

You looked at him with a smirk. Now was not the time for you to act shy. The roles where reversed and after all, you should enjoy the birthday present Yugyeom had given you.

You slowly began stripping and Yugyeom watch you intently as he folded his hands into fists. He was always the one to undress you and he wasn’t used to anything different. You were now just in your black lace bra and panties and you wore them especially for him. But this was not how you thought things would turn out, not that you minded. You looked back at Yugyeom and you could see he was trying his hardest to control himself. Just as he was about to speak you cut him off ,

“No speaking unless I say so.”

Yugyeom nodded somewhat timidly and you could see how nervous he was. You walked towards him and straight away something caught your attention. You could see the imprint of his cock in his black boxers and he was rock hard. You looked back at him and he had a slight blush covering his cheeks. This was probably the first time you had seen Yugyeom so shy. You liked it.

“Tell me what you want. Say it or I wont do anything.”

You say in an attempted harsh tone .He looked up at you and gulped clearly not being able to see through your act.

” Please touch me .”

He said it so quietly you almost didn’t hear him.

”You can do better then that”

You say now moving your hands to your sides making sure your not touching him.

You didn’t expect Yugyeom to give in so easily and looked at him surprised as he moved around a little a whine leaving his lips.

”Please touch me , I wanna come sooo bad please please noona-.”

Hearing him say noona always done something to you. He knew that. Even though you were a few months older then Yugyeom, you never insisted that he calls you noona as he said he finds it embarassing.He complained that his hyungs would make fun of him saying he has a noona kink. You usually wouldnt mind but Yugyeom knew that you loved the name and of course he would use it against you in this situation.

There were now beads of sweat forming on his forehead and he looked so deprived you almost felt bad. You moved your hand to his covered member slowly dragging your index finger along his length. Yugyeom shuffled a little as he bit his lips. He wasnt going to lose pride behind this. He tried his best not to move as you dragged your fingers along his clothed dick. He couldn’t hold in a moan as you used your thumb and index finger to squeeze the head of his dick and lean his head back even more closing his eyes tightly.

You enjoyed seeing him like this. He had to rely on you giving him pleasure and only you. You smiled at the thought and began pulling down his boxers until they were completely off. You bent down slightly so your mouth was near Yugyeoms dick and you could already see him twitching. You stuck your tongue out and licked the head of his cock slightly. You heard him hiss at the contact, closing his eyes tightly waiting for you to do something.

You licked his cock from the underside feeling his vein on your tongue as you reached the tip.

“Ah please stop teasing”

You heard Yugyeom barely moan out and you replied by slipping his whole dick into your mouth until the tip hit the back of your throat. You were used to the size of Yugyeoms dick so without hesitating you began to move your head up and down his shaft until your nose touched his pubic hairs. You could see the look of pleasure and bliss on his face as you continued to suck on his cock.

He looked at the way you were sucking his dick and it made him want to pull you by your hair and face fuck you. Your eyes were wide open glazed with tears and you had spit dripping down the corners of your mouth. Finally taking his gaze off you, he closed his eyes enjoying the feeling as you swallowed around his dick. You could feel Yugyeom twitching in your mouth and you wanted nothing more then to taste his cum. But there was no way you would let Yugyeom cum so easily. You had learnt a few tricks from him over the years.

You continued to suck his dick until you felt the tremble of his thighs under your hands. You could taste his salty precum coming out and it wouldn’t be long before he would cum. As his dick hit the back of your throat for the last time you completely removed him from your mouth. A string of saliva was connecting your mouth with his cock and your lips looked shiny and swollen. Yugyeom swore that if his hands were not cuffed right now he would kiss you for hours.

For now though he frowned and let out a whine. He wanted to cum so bad but as soon as he was about to you stopped. You looked up and could see unshed tears in his eyes. You had no idea Yugyeom was so sensitive. You chuckled to yourself as you stood back up scanning the room. Yugyeom watched you intently as your eyes landed on the lace blindfold. You walked over to the other side of the bed where the blindfold was placed on the bed side table.

“The whole time I was gone you were really preparing everything”

You say while touching yugyeoms hair as he looked down submissively.

”So do you want to wear this?”

You ask holding the black silk blindfold in your hands waiting for him to repond. He stayed silent for a moment clearly trying to make a decision.

”Yes”

Wordlessly you walked towards him on the bed signalling him to raise his head so you could put the blindfold on .He closed his eyes as you placed the lace material on his eyes and tied it tightly behind his head. Now Yugyeom was completely under your control. His hair was now slightly wet from sweat and some strands were sticking on his forehead. His hands were still in place above his head and you could see the now dark red marks on his wrists where the cuffs were. A pang of guilt ran through you as your hand automatically began caressing yugyeoms wrist .He responded with a hiss which he tried to hide quickly. Of course the cuffs would be too small for Yugyeom. They even felt tight on you sometimes. Just as the thought of removing them came in your head, Yugyeom spoke intterupting your thoughts.

”I want to keep them on.”

You didn’t want to argue with that. Your eyes travelled to his semi hard cock and you could see precum leaking from his red tip. You were getting impatient yourself now and by watching Yugyeom in the state he was right now you were shocked that you had been able to control yourself for so long. You straddled him and instantly began to brush his hair out his face admiring him.

”God ,your so beautiful”

You say looking at his red swollen lips which Yugyeom had clearly bitten too much. Instantly you placed your lips on top of his trying to devour him straight away. You didn’t even know yourself that you had wanted this for so long.

Yugyeom moaned in the kiss as you unconsiously began grinding on his hard cock. You heard the chains of the cuffs rattle as Yugyeom moved his hands not being able to resist touching you. He tilted his head up holding back a moan as you continued to grind down harder on his member. This was torture and Yugyeom was beginning to regret his plan. He wished he could just bend you over and rail into you as you screamed his name. Too consumed in his thoughts. Yugyeom didn’t even realised that you had now gotten up from his lap and were removing your panties but leaving your bra on.

He stayed still and you could see his chest moving rapidly as he breathed in and out. He looked so drained and you were feeling the same yourself. Now that you were just wearing your bra, you straddled him and he let out a moan at the feeling of your wetness and your warm skin. You kissed him sucking on his bottom lip and he let out a groan as he once again adjusted his hands in the cuffs.

“please~”

He said in defeat not being able to wait a second longer.

You moved forward a little lining his now extremely hard cock with your hole only letting the tip in. You both let out a moan at the feeling of satisfaction that ran through both your bodies. You breathed heavily as you slid the rest of him inside you. You stayed still for a few moments enjoying the feeling of being full but the silence was broken by Yugyeoms groaning and he was already beginning to move underneath you. He planted his feet in the bed so he could thrust up into your heat. You were far too gone to stop him your own desperation clouding your thoughts.

You wanted to see him as he fucked you.Your hands automatically reached for the back of his lace blindfold taking it of with a single pull. Yugyeom looked at you with his blown out eyes and flushed cheeks. He looked so desperate and needy. At that moment you realised you couldn’t do this whole dominant thing. You needed his hands caressing you. Touching every inch of your body whilst he was inside of you. You reached up and opened he handcuffs and immediately Yugyeom moved down his arms wincing.

His hands then flew to your hips holding on to you tight as he fucked up into your heat. You breathed heavily and put your forehead onto his shoulder letting out occasional whines when he sped up or hit a spot.

”There was I thinking you could dominate me”

Yugyeom whispered in your ear and even though you couldn’t see him you knew he was smiling. His submissive act had now completely slipped away. You were about to respond with something just as witty but the second you opened your mouth you felt Yugyeoms hands reach behind you opening your bra releasing your breasts.

He began fondling your breasts whilst slowing down his pace. You felt like you were so close and yet he was slowing down. You let out a moan along with

“Agh move faster please.”

He didn’t reply and continued to mark your breast and now his cock was barely even moving .He was now just inside you still as you moaned at the feeling of him kissing and sucking on your breasts.

”Please , please fuck me”

You say tears falling from your eyes from need and want.

“If you want it that bad then ,fuck yourself on my cock”

He said whilst taking your hands and cuffing your wrists with the hand cuff that was on you previously. You complied waiting until the cuffs were locked in place and you began moving. You rolled your hips into his moving as fast as you could. Your thighs were starting to burn but you couldn’t stop. You were so close.

Yugyeom watched you as you bounced on his cock with all the strength you had as sweat was forming on your entire body. He kept his hands lightly on your hips as you done all the work. You continued at a fast pace getting closer out of feeling Yugyeoms eyes on you. You were soo close to cumming that you closed your eyes and faced up in bliss trying to reach your orgasm .He continued to watch you not moving a inch and not long after he saw you come undone. You let out moans and Yugyeoms name until you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore leaning against him breathing heavily.

He pulled you closer to himself as you tried to calm down .He slipped of the handcuffs from your arm and placing them on the bedside table. After a few moments of silence you looked up at Yugyeom and he looked back at you in adoration. Like you were a piece of gold or a monument .But you were thinking about something else.

”You haven’t cum yet”

You say now feeling slightly guilty for only caring about your release.

”Todays all about you”

Yugyeom replied pulling you closer again and you smiled putting your head on his chest.

“Lets go to sleep”

He spoke after yawning after a while of just sitting there in each others embrace. You hummed getting up as Yugyeoms now softened dick slipped out of you. You ignored the sensation in your lower body and the ache in your thighs as you laid down next to Yugyeom. He instantly pulled you back and spooned you.

After a few moments you heard soft snoring behind you and smiled. This was definitely the best birthday you had ever had.

MASTERLIST

SORRY FOR ANY ERRORS

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