#like. who's the fucking professional here. you should be suggesting options to me not the other way around
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i hope every doctor that doesn't care and is basically like what do you want me to do about it trips and falls over or explodes violently or something
#bwark#like. who's the fucking professional here. you should be suggesting options to me not the other way around#anyways that prick was more interesting having me discuss my family trauma than my fucking back pain#the medical community is gonna make me go joker mode one day i swear#also i have 2 appointmentd to go to on wednesday now#(everly's eyes starts to glow red and he starts to release bloodlust and killer intent)#ALSO ALSO this guy's demeanour towards me did a 180 when he found out about my autism#officially labelling myself as anti professional diagnosis from now on
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jjk characters as male thot jobs
including: satoru gojo, suguru geto, toji fushiguro, kento nanami
contents: sfw but very suggestive, jjk men acting like sluts, gn!reader but there is a fem term used once
a/n: you might not consider some of these as “thot jobs” but im here to hypnotize you ouuuuhhh *wiggles fingers around* .. this is so silly but i had a blast writing this one
☆ . . . since gojo’s brain is hardwired to find teasing others amusing and quite the pass time i could see him as a dentist. you go to your local clinic for a annual deep cleaning and this man purposely goes out of his way to make things seem inherently sensual but still manages to do his job professionally. he’ll coo and praise you for following the most regular orders “now open real nice and wide for me … that’s righttt, good girl.” and “bite down on this … mhm yes just like that, you’re doing a great job.”
he’d definitely be like the annoying ones who still try to have a conversation while knuckles-deep prodding in your mouth. “i can tell you haven’t been flossing as much as you should be, what’s up with that?” and all you can do is narrow your eyes at him. he always caress your jaw and cheek too even through the latex gloves his touches are so intimate and gentle at the end of your appointment you’ll be genuinely considering if you should fuck your dentist or not.
☆ . . . i had multiple options for geto but firmly decided on a ceramic artist. i can envision him owning a modern yet whimsical pottery studio —he wanted the modern look but nanako and mimiko insist on the whimsical interior.— he offers free beginner classes twice a month. omgg the way his hands knead at the clay and skillfully sculpts on the wheel with his fingers meticulously bending, making his veins more prominent while delicately morphing the creation into a vase. he annunciates his instructions with melodic calmness but still has authority present in his tone i swearrr his voice is like honey.
you catch his eye in one of his classes and offers extended hours free of charge to help you “better your form.” he sits behind you, cradling your forearms directing your movements but still making room for you to assist your own creation. his warm minted breath tickles the back of your neck causing goosebumps “make sure to sit close to the wheel and anchor your elbows tightly against your body…” the sultry in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed with him slightly moving to your ear next “don’t be afraid to make mistakes it’s all about trial and error darling.”
☆ . . . like the unemployed bum toji is, he seems like the type of man to pride himself as a ‘jack of all trades.’ which is why i see him in the freelancer field of work, specifically, a personal shopper. he has an app on his phone where he can either accept or deny requests. he’s quite picky with commissions when money isn’t running low, but don’t get him wrong, he’s willing to go the extra mile to please his clients. always prefers phone calls over text when discussing farther details knowing his gruff voice will have the recipient weak in the knees. he isn’t shameful to treat his full time employment as a part time hookup arrangement…if he’s lucky enough that is.
“here’s your stuff pretty.” the quite taller and muscular man at your porch hands over a brown bag containing your groceries. you don’t miss the way his hands graze yours in the exchange, his sharp eyes examine you like you’re his prey; awaiting for your next move in a game you involuntarily started playing. words of gratitude try to slither past your lips but ultimately couldn’t —you’ve officially peaked his interest— “hey, why don’t i help you unload your items?” at that you nodded making way for the sleazy man to enter your home and eventually your bedroom as well.
☆ . . . what differentiates nanami from the rest is that he’s unaware of how insanely attractive his profession as a baker is. he truly doesn’t understand the appeal of a man in an apron kneading dough and decorating pink frilly cupcakes. he co-owns a bakery with haibara !! they even enrolled in culinary school together. the interior is quite morden with wisteria and other succulent plants hanging from the ceiling; most of the time he’s clueless to very clear advances from others or kindly shut them down saying how he’s “not looking for anything serious” which is a lie he himself started to believe.
but on a faithful sunday autumn morning you stroll in just salivating at the thought of warm dewy chocolate filled croissants, fresh from the oven, when you see him; clad in a bulky knitted cream sweater tying a black apron around his slim waist whilst his becipes bulged slightly through the thick material of the sweater. “good morning, what can i get for you today?” one thing lead to another making you leave with not only a croissant but the blond man’s phone number —due thanks to his cheeky younger coworker, yuji, who wrote the number on your receipt including a note that read: ‘he’s soooo into you :)’—
reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3
#gojo satoru#suguru geto#toji fushiguro#nanami kento#gojo smut#gojo fluff#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#gojo x y/n#jjk toji#toji smut#toji x y/n#toji x reader#jujutsu kaisen toji#toji fluff#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu nanami#jujutsu gojo#jujustsu kaisen fluff#jjk scenarios#nanami x you#nanami x reader#geto smut#geto x reader#x reader#nanami smut#jjk x reader#jujutsu geto#toji#nanami fluff
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Audition
“Malfoy, excuse me.”
“Fuck, Granger why are you squishing yourself into my seat? I understand that you might be hungry, but I’m sure you can wait for your own table.”
“What? No. I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend, Malfoy. Please. He stopped me out in Diagon and now he’s on his way here.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “McClaggen?”
She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I would greatly appreciate your assistance,” she asked, her voice calm and her expression placid. If Draco hadn’t seen her shaking hands, he would have thought her unafraid. Bloody Gryffindor.
Draco had worked in Wizagenmot Support for the past three years in the office next to Granger’s. Long enough to see her through two separate and distinct absolutely shite relationships with tossers who did not deserve her. Especially this last one. The Weasel had been bad enough, but at least he had the good sense to accept when it was over. Fucking Cormac McClaggen did not. He was essentially stalking the poor witch — forcing her to listen to his soliloquies about how they were destined for one another. Hermione wasn’t prone to exaggeration so Draco knew she was underselling her concerns. It made his blood boil whenever he thought about how much worse the git’s attentions must be in practice.
Despite her protests to the contrary, Hermione was clearly struggling if she was crawling next to him in a restaurant in Diagon Alley on a Saturday afternoon. Draco had long thought she should be with someone who respected her.
Someone who knew she was too good for them.
Someone like him.
Quick as he could, Draco scooped Hermione into his arms, pulling her until she was sitting on his lap, with one forearm draped across her thighs. “I’m here for anything you need, Granger.” His voice was a purr as he lightly stroked her knee through her trousers.
She rolled her eyes. “None of that Malfoy. This is a ruse. Although, I suppose if you wanted to turn your performance into more of an audition you could start by respecting my wishes. I do find that very attractive.”
He sat up straighter and put his arm in a less suggestive position. She was still in his lap, so there was only so much he could do on that front, but he hoped she would credit him for making the effort. “Is that so?”
“More and more so with every passing day.”
“Good, because I don’t want to be your friend, Granger. Not if I can be more. Do you have plans for dinner?”
“Yes, I believe I’m going out with you.”
Draco felt his typical smirk blossom into an actual smile.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Hermione. Malfoy? He’s just a professional colleague, Cormac. I fucking knew you were shagging with him.”
“I wasn’t. But I am now.” She pinched Draco lightly behind his back — in what he assumed was a warning for him to not contradict her lie. As if he would. If it was an an option, he’d like as many people as possible to think he was sleeping with Granger.
“When he hurts you, don’t come crying to me!”
“It would literally never occur to me to go to you for anything, but thank you for letting me know.”
Cormac left in a disgruntled huff.
“You serious about that dinner?”
Draco knew she was perfect for him. So if he had the chance, he would spend the rest of his life trying to be perfect for her. “Deadly serious Granger. Where would you like to go?”
#dramione#dramione drabble#dramione ficlet#dhr#dhr drabble#draco malfoy#hermione granger#draco x hermione#draco malfoy x hermione granger#fake dating#author: thelashjedi#thelashjedi
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Infuriating - ch. 2
Link to part 1 in my masterlist. (tumblr hates links in posts, sorry)
mdni, please.
By popular demand, a continuation. Previous chapter summary: you and Sevika are exes who love nothing more than to fight and bicker every chance you get. Somehow you end up a side room with her and your night takes a wild turn.
Pairing: Sevika x fem reader (as exes)
Words: 1.6k
Tags: talk of suggestive themes. No smut.. this time.
Notes: pretty conversation heavy in the second part. I’m not sure how enjoyable that is to read? Please let me know your thoughts on it. Writing convos is fun but I try not to overdo them.
“Trying to leave early?” you suddenly heard Silco say through the crowd of chatter and polite laughter.
The way his eyes were fixated on you informed you that your next decision should probably be in his favor, or else you might very well be in trouble. Considering how the last cocktail party you attended went down, you decided to be smart and stay on his good side. Reluctantly, you let go of the doorknob that would lead you outside, far away from this mess. It was a little embarrassing to have the boss catch you trying to sneak out of what was essentially glorified overtime, disguised as an “optional” gathering of business partners.
“I’m sorry, it’s just that.. I’m sure you remember the situation I was involved in last time.” you say, an apologetic look in your eyes in an attempt to appease him. Silco silently nodded. Of course he remembered. He was the one responsible for getting you shoved into that side room in the first place. That side room where you.. ah, no. Not now.
“I just saw her enter. She loves to try and rile me up when I need to be professional. I think it’s in everyone’s best interest that I leave.”
“And I think you both need to learn to be mature about it.” he said sternly.
You looked down at the floor in shame. Not an unreasonable expectation for him to have, to be fair. You were both adults, but somehow couldn’t manage to act like it in each other’s vicinity.
“Stay on the other side of the room and pay her no mind. Talk to our guests. If she acts out of line again, it will be on her this time.”
“Understood, sir.” you said, a little annoyed but also defeated. You turned around, ready to head to a table with some relatively serene looking folks surrounding it. Silco took a step to the side, halfway blocking your path.
“Half an hour of networking. Fully ignore Sevika. Then you can go.” he said before stepping back again to let you pass.
“I can do that. Thank you.”
Thankfully, in many ways this night went a lot better than the previous cocktail party you had attended. Sure, you didn’t feel like chatting with random strangers at all, but it was a lot more enjoyable than the fight you and Sevika had gotten into the last time you were here. Even though Silco had ordered you to fully ignore her, you couldn’t help but glance over to where she was sitting from time to time. You caught her looking back at you on more than one occasion. Perhaps she was pondering about new ways to irritate you while you were quietly trying to do your job. But tonight she didn’t seem so hellbent on making your life more difficult, as she usually did. Tonight, she was looking at you differently.
Perhaps it had been your encounter in the side room last time. You remembered it clear as day, that night where you couldn’t stop insulting each other, bickering like you had always done. That night where you finally dared to ask her why, why you two hadn’t worked out, why it had all gone to shit. That night where she ended up fucking you against a door in a side room and you ended up loving it. How she had still wanted to touch you so badly, despite it all. And for what?
You had to avert your gaze to focus back on the conversation you were having with the mellow folks around you. There was work to be done and you couldn’t have Sevika distract you from it. She was nothing more than a nuisance, you told yourself. Someone who hurt you and got away with it. She didn’t love you anymore and you didn’t either. What happened last time didn’t matter. The thrill wasn’t worth it. The regret, the heartbreak, none of it was worth it. She wasn’t worth it.
And yet. No matter what you did, the feeling of ‘what if’ never went away. It stuck in the back of your mind like a coffee stain, annoying and unhelpful and impossible to get rid of. Reminding you of what used to be. Dark and warm and intense. Unlike anything you had experienced before her. Now, it just left a bitter taste in your mouth.
On the surface, all the strangers were lovely and oddly friendly. But you knew that just below that surface lied a web of lies, deceit, and the unstoppable urge to profit off even the slightest amount of perceived weakness. So once your agreed upon half hour was over, you got out of there, and you got out of there fast.
Or at least, you tried to.
Once you opened the door to the outside world, chilly nighttime air sending a pleasantly cool shiver up your spine, you suddenly heard her familiar voice again. Calling out your name in the quiet darkness of the night. But unlike usual, her tone wasn’t taunting or mocking. The way she said it sounded almost like a request, to please hang on a second. But you didn’t want to.
“No.” you said plainly without looking back. You were already walking away, but you could hear Sevika following you, heavy footsteps quickly gaining on you.
“Come on, just give me one-“
“What, Sev?” you cut her off and stopped dead in your tracks, spinning around to face her. “Really. What could you possibly want from me right now?” you snapped, staring daggers at her.
“Calm down, spitfire.” she huffed. “I just-“
“You either want to fight or you want to fuck and I’m not up for either with you tonight. That enough? Go back inside, I’m going home.”
Sevika took one big step forward, now standing so close in front of you that you could almost feel her warm breath on your face as she loomed over you. It took just a second for you to notice her scent. Tobacco smoke mixed with something fresh and uniquely her and, infuriatingly, remnants of a sweet floral perfume she would have never worn herself.
“Let me finish.” she menaced. As if working on instinct alone, you found yourself unable to talk back to her.
“Contrary to popular belief, I do more than just fight and fuck.” she said whilst staring at you intensely. Her words could have easily be taken as a joke, had she not sounded so dead serious in the moment.
“I’m here to apologize.” she continued.
“Really?” you asked, questioningly as well as confused. “For..?”
“Starting shit yesterday. Wasn’t necessary. Shouldn’t have.”
Sevika. Apologizing. That’s new.
“Oh. Alright then..? What about when you..”
“When I fucked you against the door in the side room? No, not apologizing for that one.”
“Right.” you tried to hide a blush as to not give her the satisfaction of making you flustered. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Did Silco make you apologize?”
Sevika frowned. “What? No. He’s not my dad.”
Admittedly, the mental image of Silco berating Sevika like a small child was pretty funny and got a small chuckle out of you.
“I guess..” you sighed, “I should apologize too, then.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Well then.”
You stared at her for a moment. She didn’t reply, nor did she attempt to walk away from the situation.
“Now what?” you asked, genuinely unsure of what to do now.
Sevika shrugged. “We can still fight or fuck if you want.”
The absurdness of the situation made you laugh. First she apologizes, then she offers to have sex with you again despite her hating your guts. What was she doing?
“I’ll have to take a raincheck.” you laughed. “You’re a terrible person, you know that?”
“Likewise.” she said, a light grin on her face revealing no malicious intent, somehow. She waved you away dismissively.
“In that case, go home already then.”
“Do you think we should talk?” you suddenly blurted out.
Sevika raised an eyebrow at you. “About..?”
“Um, everything? Pretty much?” you said, starting to nervously fidget with your hands. “Sev, I asked you a question last time and you didn’t reply.”
She looked at you intently, the grin on her face from before now replaced with a frown. She knew exactly what you meant. What you had asked her that night in the side room of the bar.
“I want to know why.” you had said quietly, trying desperately to keep back your tears. “You never.. we never talked about why it went to shit. I want to understand.”
“I have so many questions. And so little answers. And I bet you have questions for me too.”
She briefly averted her gaze. You were right, and you both knew it.
“So please. Can we talk? If not for the sake of us, for the sake of the people around us..”
Us. A word you hadn’t used in a context together with her in a long time.
Sevika let out a deep, irritated sigh. You looked at her as she mentally debated with herself. Her grey eyes shimmered in the bright neon lights on the side of the bar, her wide frame casting an intimidating, strangely beautiful shadow onto the ground. Her dark red cloak obscured most of her body and in the moment, you caught yourself wishing that it didn’t.
“Fine.” she huffed, turning away from you, getting ready to walk back inside. “Last Drop, tomorrow, after the last shift.”
“Thank you.” you said quietly.
Now fully turned around, she walked back towards the building full of double-faced strangers, back into the suffocatingly smoky room. For a second, you pitied her.
“Bring your own money.” she said before heading inside, “I’m not buying you drinks.”
Notes: ugh, yes. I'm making a part 3. Not because I feel like I HAVE to. Because I want to. And because I can't for the life of me write anything SHORT and TO THE POINT. 😿
#arcane#sevika#arcane sevika#sevika x reader#sevika x female reader#sevika x y/n#sevika x you#arcane x reader#arcane imagine#arcane imagines#cat writes#infuriating
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~ temptation, torment, and tangerines ~
♥ story sample and details below the cut ♥
Sora kept her jaw shut because she was positive no matter what she said, Bell-mère would find a way to use it against her. Instead, she reached into her pockets for her keys. Groped at a half-empty box of cigarettes and a lighter in the right pocket. A folded-up page of one of Rosinante’s stupid boardroom doodles in the other.
But no keys. Because she wasn’t expecting to go to her office at midnight, and she probably left them on the fucking dresser.
“Don’t tell me.”
Sora lowered her head. Pinched her cigarette between her thumb and index finger. Ran her tongue over her molars. There were boardroom halls around, but she was positive they were all locked by now. Custodians had already swept by and cleaned them for the morning meetings. Tsuru’s office was up another floor, probably open. But that meant having this conversation in front of Tsuru. It’d be a power move if Bell-mère wouldn’t prattle off a list of Sora’s less-than-typical authority measures, and sink her career for good.
“We have two options.” She decided, straightening her shoulders and meeting Bell-mère’s dubious eye. “We could call this off until tomorrow morning.”
“Or…?”
The cigarette rested between her teeth again. She needed a support system. A feeble attempt. “I think we should call it off until tomorrow morning.”
Bell-mère leaned in. “I’ve got drills tomorrow morning. Unless you’re telling me it’s okay to skip them…?”
Sora didn’t have the mental fortitude to recall Bell-mère’s schedule. Chances were, she was bluffing. She wanted that other option. Just talk. Just talk. Just talk. “Well, then my only other suggestion is taking this to my room, because this isn’t an appropriate conversation to hold in a hallway.”
Bell-mère lit up like a goddamn bonfire. “That so, Commodore? Gonna teach me another lesson…?” She cut the distance between them, tracing a finger under Sora’s jaw. Sora did her best to remain stone-cold and professional. “Filed my nails for ya.”
“You are, unbelievable.”
“Yeah, funny enough, you’re not the only one who’s said that.”
it's everyone's favorite former marine! uh. yeah, rosinante's in this story too, yes, fine. but bell-mere doesn't get nearly enough love!!
in my journey to bring her justice, i've started writing a myriad of stories about her. so first, i bring you this E-rated, bell-mere x fem OC, 4 chaptered little thing. focuses on bell-mere and her time in the navy, and takes place in the 01746 universe, but i think it can be read and enjoyed standalone! i've got some corabelle in the works as well, so keep your eyes peeled!
before i continue, i will reiterate: this piece is rated E, so minors, please do not interact.
title: temptation, torment, and tangerines
rating: E
category: F/F, F/M
content warnings: none!
status: complete!, 4 chapters, 23,522 words
relationships: bell-mere/original character, rosinante/original character (only at the very tail end of chapter 4) rosinante & oc, bell-mere & rosinante
characters: original character (sora), bell-mere, donquixote rosinante, tsuru
additional tags: canon plausible, enemies to lovers, but uh it's more enemies to lovers to friends, sexual tension, angst and hurt/comfort, feminist themes, misandry, sora needs therapy, bell-mere does her best, okay here come the porn tags lmao, smut, shower sex, masturbation in shower, wow there's a tag for that, vaginal fingering, inappropriate use of devil fruit powers, rough sex, oral sex, vaginal fisting, gags, wow these two have fun huh, undertones of sorazon throughout the fic, but main pairing is bell-mere and sora, no infidelity this is pre-sorazon, exhibitionism, light masochism, some humor, conflict of interests, moral dilemmas, hate sex, arguing, size difference, referenced domestic abuse, referenced human trafficking
summary:
“I’m not, we’re not doing anything. I’ll let you go, for now, but you need to get serious. If I hear of any other misdemeanors after this conversation, I will report you.”
Bell-mère sauntered towards the door with her hands out in an exaggerated shrug. “You owe me a tangerine, by the way.”
Sora scoffed and folded her arms. “You’re supposed to salute your superiors upon entry and exiting.”
“I’ll salute ya as soon as I respect ya, toots.”
~ takes place in the 01746 universe, but can be read standalone ~
special thanks to @gali-la for beta reading this demon!! <3
until next time o7
#it's here!!!#so excited (and nervous) to share this one!!#it's. different#i say that about every story tho don't i#that's the GOAL alright#well anyway#one piece fanfiction#one piece fanart#genwrites#gensart#one piece original character#one piece oc#bell mère#bellemere#donquixote rosinante#corazon one piece
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I posted 4,055 times in 2022
That's 4,055 more posts than 2021!
929 posts created (23%)
3,126 posts reblogged (77%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@triviallytrue
@nostalgebraist-autoresponder
@sabakos
@lumsel
@the-real-numbers
I tagged 1,579 of my posts in 2022
#laugh rule - 102 posts
#q - 99 posts
#postpostmodern love story - 64 posts
#personal - 50 posts
#same as it ever was - 38 posts
#mine - 34 posts
#endorsed - 33 posts
#yeah - 30 posts
#hegelposting - 26 posts
#posting - 21 posts
Longest Tag: 138 characters
#if you aren't comfortable appropriating from a *closed* religion or arguing whether mohammad was a femboy you aren't approaching it safely
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
There was a junior who lived on our floor freshman year. His housing got messed up? I don't know. He only ever wore boxers inside the dorm, but nobody really seemed to have a problem with that. I saw him once in the Comp Sci building wearing actual clothing and barely recognized him. Our RA dropped out a couple weeks into the year so he taught all of us freshman what rules we could break, sometimes bought us alcohol, helped us with random college shit, etc. Chill guy.
One night in the middle of a huge rainstorm I ran into him in the hall as he was headed out, (only wearing his boxers, as per usual), and he invited me to join him. I figured he was going out to smoke or something, yeah sure, whatever, I'll hang out. But once we got outside, he stood out away from the building in the rain, looked up at the sky and screamed at the top of his lungs like an animal. But the sound went... nowhere. He suggested I try. so I did. We both screamed at the sky for a bit. My clothes were drenched. He told me he did that every time it rained like that. I never saw him do it ever again.
I have no idea what was up with him, exactly, but he clearly had something figured out.
622 notes - Posted November 5, 2022
#4
Professional sports without sexual tension isn't any interesting, it's why they invented sports anime. But cartoons aren't enough. To revive a dying, over-leveraged institution after inevitably collapses along with the coming burst of advertising bubble I propose that all sports allow the players to fuck each other to strengthen their warrior bonds and cause better interpersonal drama. Also if the straight people are having too much trouble we can gender desegregate everything while we're at it, and unban all performance enhancing drugs because the rules for that were stupid and its all just cope anyway. Every sports gym locker room should look like Starship Troopers. This solves every problem with sports and all of the new ones it creates are just further marketing opportunities.
655 notes - Posted November 29, 2022
#3
The media sure is an institution.
935 notes - Posted November 30, 2022
#2
Complaining that you have a biological disadvantage in sports is never as much fun as finding new sports that you are better at than everyone else. Like how gamers invented e-sports. or the bourgeoisie invented golf. or rednecks invented "drive car fast in a circle."
You have to take a solutions-oriented approach to your problems instead of complaining about how other people are better than you.
2,652 notes - Posted August 30, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
You probably don't know another language if you live in the United States and both you and your parents were born here unless you go out of your way to learn it. This is a problem of geography more than it is a moral failing because if you are an American, then learning another language is not immediately useful to you. This is because your options in school are as follows:
Spanish: Second most common language in America. Most people who speak it also speak English and will look at you funny if you know Spanish and will not appreciate you being able to eavesdrop on their conversations. But, it's the only non-English language with an appreciable population of native speakers that you can encounter without getting on a plane. However in all likelihood you will probably be taught by a non-native speaker who could not pass an A1 exam and you will learn no Spanish just the same as everyone else.
French: The only French speakers in North America probably don't want to talk to you ever, and if you speak non-Quebecois French at them they really won't want to. You are probably going to major in literary studies and spend the rest of your life pretending to read books no one else actually reads. You have opinions on Freud and Lacan.
German: No one in North America speaks German as their primary language. It's really only useful if you like philosophy or World War II history or want to move to Germany. You probably really like beer and will study abroad and be really annoying about it afterward. But most Germans you are likely to meet outside of Germany speak English somewhat well so you aren't really doing anything for yourself? So most people will also think you're a Wehraboo or worse unless you are Jewish.
Russian: You already speak Russian or another Slavic language at home and will insist that you do not up until the first day of class, when you and all of your classmates will spend the entire time gossiping with the professor in Russian. The few American kids will hang out in the back and probably talk about Dostoevsky and drink vodka out of their water bottles. Everyone will get an A and no one will learn anything new.
Mandarin Chinese: You (or more likely your parents) think "we'll all be speaking Chinese in twenty years" and so you want to get a head start. This attitude self-selects against people who will ever need to know Mandarin. You probably idolize Ezra Pound and use phrases like "command economy" unironically. Every single person from China who has ever met you hates your guts.
Japanese: You are a weeb. All of your classmates are weebs. Your professor may or may not be a weeb, but wants to die regardless. You'll probably give up halfway through the first semester along with the most annoying 80% of the class and switch to Spanish once you realize how hard it is to learn Japanese.
Korean or Arabic: Congratulations on your new job at [redacted]!
Pashto or Urdu or Farsi: Congratulations on your new job at [redacted], but also I really doubt you are supposed to be telling anyone that you are learning this language. Good luck on your future job search.
Navajo: Most Navajo people don't speak any Navajo and unless you live in New Mexico you will literally never meet someone who is Navajo. They don't want to talk to you anyway. I don't think many people ever even try to learn this, this is solely on this list because I've seen insane but clueless Europeans try to guilt Americans for not learning it for some incomprehensible reason.
Latin: Latin is a dead language. I'm sure you are tired of hearing about that by now, which is why I reminded you about it. Even Catholics will make fun of you now for learning this. Your parents probably want you to be a doctor, and will stop talking to you when you drop out of med school. Or maybe you're a classics student who will spend the rest of your life incorrecting historians about pissing contests no one cared about anyway. Go forge a historical demonology book or get off to a picture of Thomas Aquinas or Cicero or something, I don't know.
Ancient Greek: Oh, are you a theology student or something learning Biblical Koine? The Evangelical Christians don't care what the bible actu- ...No? You're learning Attic Greek? And you're not like, a linguistics or classics major or something, you chose to do this specifically. Hey, uh, are you doing anything later? Or right now, even?
3,283 notes - Posted August 30, 2022
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🛒🎃 !
Thank you so much for these top-shelf picks, brigit!!! I enjoyed this very much. <3<3<3
🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.
Mmmm it was really fun to think about how I would answer this question on both the sentence level (similes for describing physical sensation, HANDS, a character doing something - like crying or moving toward someone or going in for the kiss - before they've consciously formed the intention to do it) and on a more structural level (characters who have learned to bury a feeling deeeeeep down being put in a situation where it's definitely going to come out, non- or not-entirely-linear narratives, and so so so many "waking up in medical" scenes).
🎃 Do you write fics for certain holidays? Which is your favorite holiday inspired fic?
Oh, I love this one too, because one of the first self-conscious, "improve my writing" projects that I set myself was an early ficlet collection that included short holiday stories (set, in this case, in the Domestic Avengers Universe). And one of the most personal fics I've ever written is a repeated New Year's Eve fic (5 times Sam and Bucky didn't kiss on New Year's Eve + 1 time they made up for it). Here's a wee snip from that one below the cut:
“They’re a little disgusting,” Natasha commented, and Bucky managed not to jump, but it was a near thing. “Speaking of which, I’ve been watching you scan the windows and doors for at least fifteen minutes, so I think you should just ask me what you want to ask me.”
“You know, just because a guy likes to have a decent handle on the fire-safety situation -”
“Sam’s sitting out by the dock,” Natasha interrupted him.
“Oh,” Bucky replied, his eyes searching the large glass windows that backed up to the lake. “Okay. Well. I don’t want to bother him if he’s looking for some quiet.”
Natasha sighed and muttered something under her breath that sounded distinctly Russian.
“James,” she said more loudly, “one option in these kinds of situations is to ask him.”
“Natalia,” he replied, “I think we both know that getting information out of people is your strong suit. I’m more of a - you know, a ‘work from the shadows’ kind of guy. Just contemplate possibilities for a few years, and then there’s a step in the middle there somewhere, and then eventually I hit my target - boom - at just the right moment.”
“Okay then, Léon the Professional, let’s make it interesting,” Natasha suggested. “Target for target. If I ask someone out tonight, you ask someone out tonight.”
“No,” Bucky said immediately, “I’m not - that’s not an even trade. You and I are not working with remotely the same hardware or software here.”
“Ready,” Natasha started counting down.
“No,” Bucky repeated. “There’s no ‘ready’!”
“Set.”
“I already told you, Nat: I’m not -”
“Go.”
“- taking the deal. I’m not - and she’s gone.”
And indeed Natasha was already weaving her way past the couch and chairs where Steve and Tony were now chatting with Rhodey, slipping neatly up to the kitchen bar where she leaned over and whispered something into Pepper Potts’ ear. Bucky could see Pepper leaning gradually in the direction of Natasha’s voice - the two of them twisting toward each other until it was just a matter of inches for Natasha to brush her fingers over the hand Pepper had curled around her wine glass - and then they were walking toward the stairs, a slight flush on Pepper’s face and a satisfied smirk on Natasha’s.
“I didn’t take the deal,” Bucky mouthed in her direction, and he thought he could make out the words “excuses are for quitters” in her reply.
“Fuck,” Bucky swore, just to burn some feeling, because he obviously had taken the deal at some point, and how the hell did she do that?
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Sorry to the mutuals who already know about this but it’s still taking up so much brain space and I haven’t figured out a resolution yet.
My job is Private Practice Therapist, so I give people therapy and their insurance company pays me. No salary, I get paid per session. I work in a larger practice, they take 50% of what insurance pays me. In exchange they’re supposed to do 2 things.
- interact with insurance so I don’t have to
- find me clients
They’ve been doing a terrible job at the latter. I have very few clients, so I have very little income. 2 weeks ago I have a meeting with the guy who runs the larger practice (an older gay man), and I’m like “hey where are the clients? Everyone else has clients, I need income.”
His response was “the people this practice is set up to bring in as clients don’t want a trans therapist sorry.” While I’m still reeling from that he gives me 3 options
- pretend to be cis, stop being trans when I come into work
- do a bunch of unpaid labor to advertise myself (a service for which he’s already taking 50% of my paychecks)
- go work somewhere else
In the most professional way I can I ask “why the fuck would you even suggest the first option?” He tells me he suggested it bc he already convinced the 1 other trans therapist at the practice to do that.
Once again I’m reeling. He has another meeting to go to so he leaves.
I still have no idea what to do.
P.S. I spoke to the other trans therapist later and he said “yeah I hate that I had to do that, but I felt like I didn’t have a choice.” Like wtf is going on here.
I should add that I live in a fairly liberal area of the US. This is not at all the kind of place where you’d expect people to have to closet themselves for work.
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Sweeter Endings
Sugar Daddy!Steve Rogers x Reader
Summary: Still reeling from the financial realities of losing your mother you turn to a lucrative website for help and get more than you could have bargained for.
W/C: 5,325
Warnings: Smut (no minors 18+ only), light D/S dynamics, brief mentions of alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, swearing
A/N: NO MINORS, I wrote this for @donutloverxo 's Sugary 4k Challenge (Congrats!!) I love sugar daddy AUs so I was really excited to write this!! If you like it then please like/reblog/comment I'm all ears! Also maybe check out my other stuff if you want! Cheers!
Main Masterlist
____
The saying ‘desperate times call for desperate measures’ was truer than you’d ever imagined and you found out the hard way. Life had hit you hard last year. You had watched your mother succumb very quickly to cancer. A cold that just wouldn’t go away turned into a doctor’s visit turned into three months left to live. Having no one else in her life, the cost of her funeral and medical bills fell to you. The bills outweighing the inheritance you had no choice but to drop out of school.
One year later you were hanging on by threads to keep yourself off the streets without turning to a loan shark or selling yourself. Stocking shelves at a bougie grocery store in Soho by day and bartending in Tribeca by night had you working six days a week. What free time you had you were too exhausted to do anything with. Something had to give or you were going to collapse from the stress, you just didn’t know what.
A couple weeks ago you had been casually venting about how broke you were with a coworker when she jokingly suggested signing up for one of those Sugar Daddy sites. You laughed along with her but it sounded better than getting a third job. You had quietly asked one of your roommates to borrow their laptop saying you needed to look at job postings only half a lie, really and locked yourself in your room.
You were just gonna check out the website, maybe sign up and poke around, it didn’t mean you were committing to anything, just looking. You remembered first looking at the website once your shitty wifi loaded it, promising ‘beautiful and successful people making mutually beneficial connections’. You balked after reading that but you couldn’t look at any profiles without making one yourself so you had set to work.
After making your profile you hadn’t gotten any hits in about a week so you shrugged it off. You couldn’t keep hogging your roommate’s computer anyways so you set off back to work. Your days at the store wore on into endless nights at the bar and you wondered what other options you really had when you had no degree and no experience in any relevant field.
___
6 o’clock on a Thursday night, the typical after work crowd begins to roll in. The bar you work in is upscale, classy. Definitely trying to lure in the businessmen that worked in the area and their wallets. It annoyed you to deal with the same type of customers you did at the store all over again but with the high end crowd came good tips so you couldn't complain too much.
It was busier than usual when a group of men in suits walked in together asking for a booth. You saw a lot of business meetings take place over whiskey sours in this place so you didn’t think much of it. You tried your best to keep tending to your regulars when a pair from the group came over.
One of the men had deep brown eyes and a sly grin that when split gave you the perfect view of the gap between his teeth. He was confident but he had a kind look to him. His friend had dirty blond hair and a beard that clung to his perfect jawline and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t snuck a second look. You turned your back and continued filling orders to distract yourself when one of them cleared their throat behind you.
As you turned to face them you found it was the blond calling after you. His face held a hint of surprise but it was quickly replaced by a look of amusement as he smirked and one brow lifted, like he knew something you didn’t. He was like any other typical customer for you, professional and handsome, probably over-confident in himself. You returned his smirk and prepared your best charming banter. Time to earn those tips.
“Something to drink for you, gentleman?” You offered.
“We’d like a round of scotch for the table over there. You don’t mind bringing it over, do you sweetheart?” the brown-eyed man asked.
“Of course not” you answered. Pricks.
“Good girl” the blond said with a wink. Creep. A hot creep but still. Before you could ask he took his card out of his wallet and put it on the counter for the tab.
____
A round had come and passed, soon they’d asked for another but this time it was just the blond that approached you. You lifted your eyebrows in anticipation of an order.
“You here often?” he asked. Ugh, not even a good pick up line.
“Am I here at my job often?” You retorted with a playful smile.
The man’s shoulders shook as he chuckled. “Sorry you just uh, you look familiar that’s all. What’s your name?”
You supplied him with it and asked him if he wanted another round of scotch. He nodded.
“Smart girl, I’m Steve by the way.” He laid down his business card which you picked up with a look of challenging curiosity. Steve Rogers, CEO of Shield inc.
Oh. You didn’t recognize the name but you definitely knew the company. It felt like a quarter of their employees stopped in for a drink throughout the week and it was prominent enough of a company that you read about it weekly. Play it cool, these types want to feel like an every-man at the bar but still wanna feel important.
You raised your eyebrows again in recognition. “Nice to meet you, Steve, I’ll have your round right out.”
“Good Girl” he winked again at you. Okay so it’s hot, but he’s a total stranger and you don’t even know him. Stay on your game.
___
10 o’clock came around and things were thinning out slightly, regulars made their way out, awkward Tinder dates and rowdy young 20-somethings made their way in. The party of businessmen was still around but they were hopefully wrapping up after the 2 more rounds they’d had. Steve approached the bar once more and you preemptively picked up the bottle of scotch.
“Whoa, easy, girl! I’m here to pick up the tab” He said, taking out his wallet.
“What’s the name on the tab?” You decided to play dumb but based off the grin on his face he knew you were playing with him.
“Steve. Rogers.” He replied, his tone was stern but his eyes told you he was in on the joke.
You cashed him out and left him to sign his receipt so you could make more drinks. You saw him move in your peripheral and turned your head to see his face.
“Have a good night, sweetheart. I’ll be seein’ ya” he promised.
“Take care!” You smiled back.
A few minutes later you circled back to collect his receipt and found three $100 bills staring back at you. You blinked dumbly in disbelief, who the hell leaves a 200% tip? Looking around to see if Steve was still here he was nowhere to be found. You had no choice but to pocket the money.
____
Another week went by and left you wondering how much energy and concentration it would take for you to just evaporate, since that seemed easier than going to work today. Sadly still in solid form, you punched in at the store and stowed your things in your locker.
Your upscale customer base was a mostly pretentious and successful group of yuppies so even though you were grateful to not be on the streets you were constantly reminded of the professional success you couldn’t help but feel that you were missing out on. Stuck instead to listen to incessant whining ‘is this organic? I won’t eat it unless it’s organic’.
The upside of this job was that the time went by quickly because you always had so much to do. Plus with how monotonous the work was it was easy enough to zone out. So much so that you hadn’t heard someone calling your name and approaching you. A hand softly touching your shoulder snapped you into the present.
You looked up, startled to find a pair of blue eyes staring back into yours. You took a step back and processed who it was. “CEO guy?” Steve?
“‘CEO guy?’ I thought I recognized you, ‘barmaid’ or should I say… ‘stock girl?’” He joked using his fingers to make quotations.
Now that you thought about it, the store isn’t that far at all from the bar, it would make sense if he’s in the area. You smiled and tapped your nametag in response.
“I just came in on my lunch to grab a few groceries” looking down at his basket it held some protein powder, some eggs, and one lonely banana. “Clearly, I’m single. But you’d know that already, wouldn’t you?”
Your brows twinged together in confusion. What is that supposed to mean?
“Excuse me?”
He edged a little closer to you and lowered his voice “SeekingConnection.com?”
Your eyes widened in shock. The fucking Sugar Daddy site! I forgot about that! Surprise was quickly replaced with humiliation. You looked down and away as you felt your cheeks heat up.
“I don’t mean to embarrass you” Steve placated, “But I gotta say, I’m pretty hurt you never responded to me. I sent that message weeks ago and let’s just say I’m not used to rejection.” He kept his tone light, letting you know he wasn’t mad.
“I-I um, I’m sorry, I don’t have a computer and they don’t have an app, I was using my roommates’ computer and I guess I forgot about it…” You admitted.
Steve nodded in acknowledgement. Please say something to salvage this conversation. Please.
“Well,” Steve rummaged in his pocket for another business card. “You got a pen on you?”
You dug around in your apron and came up with one. Handing it to him you watched as he wrote on the back of the card. He held the card and the pen out to you.
“That’s my number, I’d ask for yours but I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, you already look like you wanna sink through the floor” Not helping, but I do. You took them from him and tucked them away in the pocket of your apron.
“You do have a phone right?” You only glared at him in response. “Well, if you check your profile, you would’ve seen I asked you out to lunch, offer still stands. Just text me when you’re free”
Should I even say yes? I mean, the winking the other night was weird but he’s good looking and at least somewhat considerate. I mean, it’s not like I had any other intention when I signed up for that site. What the hell. right?
“I… usually work mid shifts so I don’t know if lunch is doable, they only give me half an hour but, maybe we could do coffee? I’ve got tomorrow off from the bar I could meet you” you suggested.
If Steve felt pity for you he hid it well behind the wide smile he made when you offered coffee instead.
“There’s a place around the corner from here, just up a block, you know it? I’m off tomorrow at 6, why don’t you meet me there?”
“Sounds like a plan.” He winked at you again and started walking away. What the hell just happened?
____
You did end up borrowing your roommate’s computer once again when you got home to look up Steve’s DM. Sure enough, there he had been in all his internet glory. ‘Steve, 33, CEO. likes: art, conversation, whiskey. Digging around further on his profile you found that he owned several houses here and in Europe, he had a dog that was cuter than he was, and that he was ‘Seeking deeper connection’. All of these things piqued your interest.
‘Hey, Doll. Saw your profile and I had to ask, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this? Kidding, of course. But maybe you’d care to tell me your story over lunch? Your profile says we’re both in New York. - Steve’ Sent three weeks ago. Fuck.
You had texted him earlier to confirm, which is how you found yourself walking up the sidewalk towards the shop with a mind running rampant with nervous thoughts. What if he just wants to feel big about himself in comparison to me? What would I even really have to offer the relationship? A college dropout working two dead-end jobs with no social life. You needed to snap yourself out of it. You were just meeting for coffee doesn’t mean anything.
Pushing open the door you found Steve waving at you from a quiet corner. He was still in a suit, presumably coming from work himself. Even the buttons on his shirt looked expensive. You were wearing dirty jeans and a worn pair of work boots paired with a flannel. You couldn’t have looked more different if you tried.
“I waited for you to order,” He said. You smiled up at him, only now realizing how tall he was in comparison to you. He ushered you both towards the counter where you both placed your orders. You moved to take your wallet from your purse but he had already beat you there.
“Really? As if I’d let the lady pay, and on the first date no less?” He said playfully.
“Oh, so this is a date now, is it?” You kidded.
Steve shoved his hands in his pockets and gave you that boyish grin and a shrug. The pair of you made your way back to the table and waited for your drinks to be brought over.
“How was work?” You asked, “What exactly is it that your company does?”
“We offer security and surveillance software domestically as well as international. Stadiums, airports, other government buildings. Things of that nature. And work was fine, thank you for asking” Steve said with a genuine smile. “How was your day, doll?”
“Oh, my day was fine, more of the same but y’know,” You answered half-heartedly.
“You know, you never answered me, what’s a funny, pretty gal like you doing on a site like that?”
Embarrassment hit you again, this time maybe accompanied with a hint of shame. You were saved momentarily by your drinks being delivered. He seemed truly interested and since he was paying you supposed you owed him an answer.
“I was going to Columbia and I had a pretty good internship when my mom got diagnosed with cancer. She died three months later and since it was only always just the two of us I ended up footing the bill. I was on partial scholarship but between the hospital and the funeral I can’t really afford the rest of tuition on top of working for free so here I am” you explained, “Oh my god, I’m sorry I’m totally oversharing aren’t I? You probably don’t wanna hear about a bummer like this, sorry”
You tried to laugh to ease the tension you thought you’d created. Braving a look at Steve, he looked thoughtful and only a little bit like he pitied you. You could live with that.
“I’m really sorry about your mom, mine also got really sick before she died, I know it must’ve been hard. What were you in school for?”
___
You and Steve talked for hours, trading anecdotes of childhood and talking about each other’s interests. You had a similar sense in humour so you got on swimmingly. The evening seemed to be coming to a close as the night sky sent in through the window.
Being with Steve was probably the most relaxed you’d felt since before your mom was diagnosed. It became difficult to focus on anything but your financial situation and even though that’s what brought you here in the first place you had managed to forget all about it.
“So look, us getting together wasn’t exactly the most conventional on meet-cutes but to put it bluntly,” He said, “The CEO life makes it hard to meet real people and it gets kinda lonely, I mean, you saw my grocery basket” You both laughed at that. “You need money and I need company, I feel like we could help each other out. Whad’ya say? Think you could put up with me?”
You knew what this was but hearing it put so plainly was a little surprising. At least he was to the point.
“So if I said yes what does that mean, exactly?” you inquired.
“Well,” he started, “We take care of each other. Let me cover some of your bills at the very least, make it so you’d be comfortable quitting at least one of your jobs. And you’d keep me company, we go on dates, maybe you could come over, there’s the occasional work event or charity gala I’d need you on my arm for. Thoughts?”
God I can’t even imagine what it’s like to work only one job anymore. Maybe I could even save up and go back to school. He’s cute and he seems sensible, why not?
“Could we maybe take things slow? What you describe is something I’m down for but I don’t want to make myself completely dependent on you. But I’d love to be there for you, and I have to admit, the thought of only working one full time job is pretty crazy to me” You laughed.
Steve swallowed and placed one of his large, warm hands over yours.
“I can do things the old fashioned way, if that’s what you’d feel good with. I gotta say though, with looks like that it’s not gonna be easy” he jested.
You smiled shyly and looked away. You both stood to leave and he held the door open for you.
“I’ve already got your number from when you texted me earlier but I’ll talk to my assistant about my schedule and maybe I could take you out to dinner this weekend?”
“I um, I’d really like that. It’s a date” You stated.
“Oh, so you think this is a date now?” He jested.
You lightly punched him in the arm and he took the opportunity to pull you closer to him. You looked up to find his face inches from yours. You could smell his aftershave and his deep voice gave you goosebumps when he spoke next.
“I kinda want to kiss you goodnight, would that be okay?”
You could only nod as he shut his eyes and closed in. Your lips met in one perfect, chaste kiss. You sighed and leaned into his hand as it briefly cupped your face.
You broke apart and made promises to see each other soon. You felt like you could’ve floated home as you boarded the subway, caught up in the swarm of newly forming feelings.
_____
You sat in the break room when your phone buzzed to life, ‘Saturday at 7?’
You were about to type out a yes when you forgot you worked closing at the bar. Your thumbs moved quickly to tap out the reply ‘Working, sorry :/ the pitfalls of bartending. Sunday at 7?’
You were nervous telling him no and asking to change plans. You hated not being able to make things work but you only just met the man and the weekend tips were killer, it’s not like you could turn the shift down.
‘Ah yes, almost forgot. Sunday works too, I’ll text you the details. What’s your address? I’ll pick you up’
Oh, God. Steve can’t see my building! His cufflinks probably cost more than my rent!
‘I’ll just meet you there, don’t worry about it’
‘Not a chance, doll. Just tell me where and I’ll come get you’
You let out a worried sigh but knew you had to let it go. You sent him your address and went back to work.
____
Saturday was maybe the longest day in your entire week, in fact you loathed it. Mornings at the store followed by running immediately to the bar. Last call in New York was 4am so it’s a good thing you didn’t try to make brunch plans with Steve for Sunday. But ultimately both your shifts passed without major incident and now it was Sunday and you tried to ready yourself the best you could.
The place Steve mentioned was fancy, you knew that much from a quick search. Panicking instantly upon realizing you don’t really have any nice clothes you turned to your most fashionable roommate for help. She loaned you a cocktail dress that was revealing enough to draw interest without giving everything away. You just hoped Steve would like it.
‘Downstairs, doll. Silver BMW’ you exhaled. Hoo boy, here we go.
____
Steve handed his keys to the valet and rushed around to open your door for you. You held his hand and you clambered onto the sidewalk in your heels. His warm hand on the small of your back as he steered you towards the doors was a comforting weight.
Dinner has been lovely so far, he chose a place that wasn’t completely white-glove but was upscale enough to make you feel only a little underdressed.
You joked back and forth with him over the course of the meal, talked about your lives, and even found out you both have a guilty pleasure for cheesy rom-coms. It wasn’t until dessert and your third glass of wine came that you realized how much time had passed. You frowned slightly thinking of the early morning ahead of you followed by a long night at the bar.
“What’s wrong, doll?”
“Oh, nothing I just didn’t realize how late it was, I’ve got both jobs tomorrow it’ll just be a long day that’s all” you tried to wave it off but Steve frowned in response.
“Quit the bar” he stated.
“What?”
“Quit the bar. This is your card, I’ve already loaded $3000 on there. Put me in touch with your landlord and I’ll get you taken care of.” He slid the card across the table to you. Your name printed on the front. This got real very quickly.
“Steve, that’s.” You were in shock, a loss for words almost “that’s too much, I don’t know what to say.” You felt embarrassed taking the money. You knew that was the essence of your arrangement but actually taking his money had you feeling uneasy.
“Honey, this is what I’m here for. Let me take care of you. Give up your late nights. I wanna take you out on the weekends and you’ll need to be available for events. You can stay at the store if you want but quit the bar, you don’t need it.”
You took a deep sigh. He did say he wanted you to be comfortable quitting one of your jobs; it's just making the change that scares you. But something about Steve felt safe so you nodded and looked up to him.
“I’ll put in my two weeks”
“Good girl” he patted your knee and you involuntarily clenched your thighs. He smirked at that but let it go.
____
A few months had come and gone since that night and your time with Steve had been great. Only working the one job gave you so much more free time. You'd spent a good chunk of it just trying to form a normal sleep schedule but all the time you spent with Steve made it difficult. Not that you minded especially since your allowance was monthly but he’d showered you with gifts here and there.
They started off small, perfume, chocolates and flowers, or a simple pair of white gold hoops that reminded him of you. They gradually became pricier and more elaborate. You’d felt guilty accepting it all at first but he was insistent you deserve the best. He had even mentioned you moving out maybe finding a better place but you reminded him you needed to go slow.
He’d also been nothing short of a gentleman. Out in public at least, you’d learned the hard way that he was an absolute animal in bed. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep your hands off of him.
Something you had appreciated about Steve is that he never made you feel bad or less than for being broke. Never held his money over your head like leverage. You’d felt equal to him in all aspects, understanding you had just as much say as he did.
Still, there was a small nagging voice in the back of your head that reminded you Steve is not your boyfriend. This isn't a relationship and he's looking to get something out of just like you are. But if you were being honest you were catching feelings, it was hard not to when the man was giving you the fantasy. You decided to push that voice aside whenever it came up and let yourself be swept away. Maybe that would bite you in the ass but for now you were happy.
____
You were buzzed into Steve’s building and on the elevator ride up to his penthouse your phone buzzed. ‘I have to make a quick call- I’ve got a present waiting for you in the living room.’ You couldn’t help but feel giddy.
The doors opened and Steve was nowhere in sight but as you entered the living room a bag from Chanel and the Apple Store sat on the table. Oh god, what this time? I swear this man is too much.
You opened the smaller bag from Chanel first and found a beautiful black and white evening bag. It was sleek and simple, very much to your tastes. You were nervous to open the Apple bag, Steve always went overboard. Shakily removing the paper you pulled out the slim case in disbelief. A MacBook Air and a pair of AirPod Pros. The man well and truly spoiled you.
“You said you didn’t have a computer.” His voice came from behind you and startled you.
“Steve, this is too much. You’re too much.” You swung your arms around his neck and kissed him.
“Nothin’s too much for you, doll.” He kissed the top of your head.
“Think you could take a couple days off of work? I just got off the phone and confirmed plans for my house in Nice.”
A trip? France?? Oh my god. How is this my life? You felt so overwhelmed that you grabbed Steve by the collar and brought his face down to meet you in a kiss. His tongue swiped your lips and you granted him entrance. Moaning into his mouth your hands traveled up into his hair, pulling softly and coaxing a groan out of him.
He guided you to sit on the couch and brought you down into his lap. You ground down onto him and felt his hard-on through his slacks. Your hand moved slowly to undo the buttons of his shirt as he kissed down your jaw towards your neck. You sighed softly when he found your sweet spot and started sucking.
He helped you take off his shirt while you got started on his belt and undid his pants. He lifted himself off the couch slightly to move them down to his knees, taking his briefs with them. His cock stood proud and an angry red, leaking at the tip.
“I wanna ride you, I can’t wait.” You pouted as you writhed against him in need.
Steve tutted at you “that’s no way to get what you want. Ask me nicely, baby. Beg to ride my cock,”
You ground down even harder and whined. “Please, sir, please let me ride your cock. I need to feel you, I can’t wait any longer please.”
“Good Girl” Steve's hands flipped up your skirt and found your panties, ripping them to shreds. They were La Perla and had cost a pretty penny but he didn’t care.
He lined himself up and brought you down harshly gripping your hips. You moaned loudly in surprise and satisfaction and wasted no time moving back and forth. Steve made you feel so close and connected to him whenever he fucked you but he still made you feel sordid and dirty. You couldn’t get enough of the feeling, you’d gladly chase it.
His eyes were hooded as watched you chase your own pleasure and giving him some in return. His hands kneaded your ass and smacked it just to get a gasp out of you. He grabbed the back of your head and brought you in for a searing kiss that was all teeth and tongue. He’d nip at you and lick the pain away.
His hips met yours, finding your rhythm and speeding you both up when he gripped your hips.
“Can’t wait to have me, you had to fuck me on the couch huh?” Steve panted, “my dirty girl. So fuckin’ gorgeous.”
You put your forehead against his and went harder, pushing your clit to grind against the muscles of his abs.
“Only yours, sir.” Your orgasm was building. Steve was a pretty relaxed dom but you still needed permission.
“Sir, please let me cum I can’t wait any longer” you tried your best to slow your movements a bit.
“I think you can hold it baby, I wanna enjoy you a little longer”.
You could only whine in response and tried to slow your pace but his grip on your hips and his own movements pushed you further and further towards the edge. You tried to squirm out of his grasp but his hands only tightened. It felt like forever until Steve finally gave you permission.
“Go on baby, cum for me you earned it. Fuck your self on my cock and cum all over me”
Your movements were frantic, desperate to chase your orgasm when finally the perfect angle of his cock inside you and your clit against him set you free. You cried out above him and dug your nails in deep.
Steve held you firmly in place and started slamming into you from below, finally letting himself think about cumming. All you could do was hold on for mercy. Moments later he brought you down onto him one final slam as he came inside of you with a cry.
The only sound in the room was both of you trying to catch your breath. You sighed again and collapsed against him, nuzzling your face into his neck. He kissed the side of your face and let you make yourself at home while he caressed your back.
____
One shower and two more orgasms later you were both clean and made your way to the kitchen. Steve was gathering the ingredients for dinner when you hugged him from behind. Your head resting against his back. Steve twisted around and hugged you in full. You both stayed like that for a moment until you looked up at him.
You were so content. Moments like this where you were just domestic were some of the best between you. It wasn’t about money or material, it was just the two of you making dinner and enjoying each other, no barriers.
“Are you really going to take me to France?” Your voice came out muffled against his chest.
“Of course, doll. After dinner I want you to use your new laptop to buy some outfits for the trip. I left my card in your new purse.”
You lifted onto your tiptoes and kissed his nose.
“You really do think of everything, don’t you?”
“What can I say? I’m a planner” he retorted.
You didn’t know it yet but Steve was going to ask you to become official while you were there. He wasn’t worried in the slightest. In fact he’d never been so sure about something in his life.
#sugary4kchallenge#steve rogers x reader#sugar daddy!Steve rogers x reader#sugar daddy!steve rogers#sugar daddy au#marvel au#marvel fic#marvel x reader#fluff#smut
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Is There An Us? ~ Brock Boeser
Summary: Your relationship with your neighbour was just about casual sex and that’s all it was ever going to be. Or so you thought.
Word Count: ~7k
Warnings: smut, arguments, language
Standing in the quiet hallway of your apartment you listen to the sound of the elevator whirring as it approached the floor. Grabbing the handle of your bag you readjust it on your shoulder, sighing as you wait for what felt like forever. Perhaps the six flights of stairs really would have been the better option. But just as the scales are tipping in favour of jumping ship and heading for the stairwell the polished metal doors glide open.
Your eyes drift up to the man stepping out of the elevator. He seemed to be around your age, tall and attractive. You watch as he looks up from his phone, locking it without looking back down when he sees you. After stepping off the elevator and onto the solid floor he visibly pauses, eyes glancing up and down your body. You hold yourself back from rolling your eyes at the blatant way he was checking you out. “Hey,” he says with a slight nod.
“Hey,” you reply, stepping to the side of him as you stick your arm in front of the closing elevator door.
You glance back at him one more time. His eyes were still on you but he only looks up to look into your eyes when he notices you had looked back. Pulling your arm back you let the doors close, pressing the lobby button on the elevator. You hadn’t even realized that your heart was racing a little after the interaction till you were leaning against the elevator railing, already replaying the interaction. He wasn’t that attractive that he could do that and still seem intriguing to you…was he?
A couple weeks later you were digging through your purse, your anxiety levels bubbling up with each passing, keyless minute. You didn’t need your keys to lock your apartment door, it came with a keyless code entry instead. When you first moved in, thrilled with the ease of it all, you hadn’t realized what else would be incredibly easy…leaving your keys with the front door fob on your kitchen counter.
“Need to get in?”
Flinching you whirl around, looking in the direction of the voice. Not only were you locked out alone it was also getting late and the darkness had started to worry you standing outside the building alone. But you recognize the figure immediately, your panic subsidizing slightly. The man from the elevator a couple weeks before. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
Chuckling he shakes his head, his keys already in his hand as he steps closer to you, reaching his arm out to hold his key fob near the sensor. The light flashes green and he pulls it open, stepping back and gesturing for you to walk in ahead of him.
“So you can check me out again?”
He raises his eyebrows, glancing into the empty apartment lobby. “I could have left you out here.”
Scoffing you step through the open door. “You’re kind of an asshole,” you comment, already walking to the elevators, pressing the button just a little too hard.
“I wouldn’t…” he calls, jogging slightly to get to the elevators before you could disappear, potentially skewing your opinion of him forever. “…wouldn’t have left you out there.”
Keeping your body facing the closed elevator doors you turn your head to look over at him. “Oh, wow, sorry, you’re a real gentleman then,” you reply sarcastically.
“I, uh…look, I’m sorry, I think I gave you a bad first impression,” he stutters, seeming flustered. “I’m Brock, by the way.”
The elevator dings as the doors slide open and you step into the brightly lit space. “Y/N,” you reply, voice quiet and uncertain. Were you really going to let his past behaviour slide simply because he got a little flustered and muttered a hollow sorry?
You watch as he reaches over, pressing the number 6 for you both. “Did you just move in recently?”
“Just over a month ago,” you tell him, your shoulder pressing against the elevator wall as you lean against it. “How long have you been here?”
“A couple years,” Brock tells you. “I’m in 625 in case you ever need anything.”
You stare up at Brock blankly for a few minutes. Were you supposed to tell him your apartment number? Was he really offering to help you out in a time of crisis beyond being locked out of the apartment building? Or was he suggestion something beyond friendly and helpful with that? “636,” you eventually blurt out, feeling your cheeks redden immediately. “I’m, uh, I’m in 636…in case you need something,” you clarify just as the doors open.
“I’ll remember that,” Brock chuckles, stepping off the elevator after you. He turns in the opposite direction of you, glancing back with a smile. “See you around.”
“See you,” you call, heading down the hallway to your apartment.
And see him around you did. It seemed like you ran into him with greater frequency than anyone else who lived in the building. In the hallway, in the elevator, in the parking lot. Perhaps he was just easy to notice, tall and handsome, but you seemed to see him more than anyone else that lived in your building. And you couldn’t deny the little crush you had developed on him. Your heart would race when he would stop the elevator doors from closing to let you get in. Your cheeks would get warm when he would open the front door for you, cracking jokes about being there to save the day even though you always did have your key.
Saying you were happy it was Friday was beyond an understatement as you yank the apartment lobby door open. Your day seemed to have gone on forever, everything so much more difficult than it should have been. You were stressed and frazzled and you were ready to be doing anything other than thinking about work. As you get to the elevator you hear the front door opening again, drawing your attention. Your eyes land on Brock and you can’t help but smile a little. “Hey,” you greet as he walks over, your voice a little deflated.
“Hey.” Brock watches you for a split second, seeming contemplative. “Is everything…okay?”
Sighing loudly you nod, “just a really long, really bad day. I’ll be fine. How was yours?”
“Not bad,” Brock tells you honestly, stepping into the elevator after you. “What are you doing now?”
Shrugging you press your shoulder blades against the wall elevator, looking up at him. “Anything to get my mind off the day.”
“I have a bottle of wine at my place if you think that might help.”
Smiling softly you nod, pulling away from the elevator wall when the doors open. “I definitely think that would help.”
So you follow Brock down the hallway in the opposite direction of your own apartment, never having been down the hallway before.
You step into Brock’s apartment, immediately noticing how much more spacious it was than your own. Suddenly you realize you didn’t really know much about him, only knew what you had assumed about him. You didn’t know how old he was, what he did for a living, didn’t know if he had roommates or even his last name. Kicking off your shoes you follow him into the kitchen, watching him grab a bottle of white wine from the fridge. “White okay?”
Nodding you press your elbows against the bar height counter, leaning down onto it. “That’s great.”
Brock pours two glasses of wine, setting one in front of you. “So, you want to talk about it?”
Picking up the glass you take a sip, the flavour unfamiliar. It didn’t taste anything like the nine dollar bottom shelf bottles you had gotten used to. “Not really,” you reply honestly. The last thing you wanted to do was recount exactly how stressful the day had been.
Brock laughs and nods to the left, your eyes following to notice the living room. “Want to go sit down?”
Nodding you follow Brock into the living room, carefully settling down onto the couch, the glass of wine in your hand as you curl one of your legs under the other, facing Brock on the couch. “What do you…do?” You ask, gazing around the living room. While you were living in the same apartment building everything in his unit seemed to be just a higher caliber than your own.
“I play hockey.”
Glancing back over to him you giggle quietly. “I mean, what do you do for a job?”
“Hockey,” Brock repeats, chuckling.
You blink a couple times letting it process before nodding slowly, eyes glancing around the apartment. From what you knew about professional athlete’s salaries it did all check out. “Wow.” You look back to Brock, unsure exactly how to react. “Impressive.”
“Yeah, you seem impressed.” His voice is filled with sarcasm and the little smirk on his lips tells you he’s amused by your lacklustre response.
“I didn’t,” you begin, pausing to laugh softly, glancing down at the couch as your cheeks warm up. “I didn’t mean anything by it...just not what I was expecting.”
Brock takes a drink of his wine, his eyebrows lifted slightly as he sets the glass back onto the coffee table, clinking quietly against the glass table. “I don’t look like an athlete?”
“Oh my god,” you groan, laughing as you reach over, playfully hitting his arm. “Stop...you know I didn’t mean that. You do look very fit...I mean, like from what I’ve seen.”
“So you’re allowed to say that but you wanted to like kill me for checking you out that one time.”
“That’s different,” you protest. Lifting your glass to your lips you take another large sip of your wine, setting it down and curling your other leg onto the couch you lean your side against the back of the couch. “I wasn’t like...fucking eyeing you up and down so blatantly.”
“Blatantly?” Brock enquires.
Groaning you roll your eyes, tipping your head to the side to rest on the back of couch, giggling. “Whatever...yes, you’re hot, is that what you want to hear?”
Brock shrugs, the smirk on his lips only growing. “Well I’m not going to say I don’t like hearing it...but especially from you.”
You swallow heavily as you stare over at him, an overwhelming urge to reach over and touch him. To kiss him, to let him run his hands and not just his eyes over your body. Your eyes flick down to his lips for a second, your own parted slightly as an unsteady breath leaves them.
You slip one leg out from underneath you, sliding closer to him on the couch. Brock looks over at you for a couple moments, contemplative and tentative before leaning closer. His hand slips along your waist, gently tugging you a little closer as he brings his lips closer to your own.
Your eyes flutter shut as you bring one hand up to his shoulder, sliding behind his neck as you wait for him to kiss you. The moment seems to last for longer than it should before Brock presses his lips to yours. But as soon as he kisses you there isn’t another second of hesitation. Your own lips are eager, your body relaxing as you let Brock pull you closer. Your free hand moves to his arm, grasping at his shoulder as his entire arm circles around you.
The stress of the day was already so far out of your mind, so completely wrapped up in the moment. You clumsily pull one leg over one of Brock’s settling down onto his thigh. Your hips grind down against him and you’re not even sure if it was voluntary at this point, your body seeming to be taking over, needing a release. You moan against his lips as Brock brings his hands to your hips, guiding you to continue moving. Pulling back you gasp softly, fingers curling into the fabric of Brock’s shirt.
“Feel good?” Brock asks, a smirk on his lips. You can tell he’s feeling pretty cocky, knowing he didn’t even have to do anything to make you moan.
“Yes,” you whisper, leaning back in. Your lips meet his again, fast and eager as you bring your leg to the other side of him, now fully settled on his lap. You can feel that he’s just as painfully turned on as you are and you pull back. Your hands grasp at his shirt, tugging it up in an effort to signify that you wanted to speed things up.
Brock takes over, pulling his own shirt off before swiftly moving to yours, pulling it over your head easily. You can feel his fingers on your bra strap a minute later, the familiar relief of the fabric loosening around your body as he unhooks it, the straps slipping down your arms. His hands slide slowly up your bare sides as your lips connect with his again. You feel a shiver run up your spine under his touch, confident but gentle and slow.
A couple minutes later you pull back, sliding yourself back as you move onto the ground, your knees hitting the soft rug. Brock groans quietly as he watches you get down onto your knees. Your hands move to his jeans, fiddling with the buckle of his belt.
Brock’s large hands are on yours not long after, lifting them away from his belt as he finishes taking it off himself, lifting his hips to slide his jeans and underwear off for you. Reaching back over you gently wrap your hand around his hard length, your eyes flitting up to his as you lean forward, tongue running over the tip of his dick.
“Fuck,” Brock groans, his head tipping back on the couch. But as you take him into your mouth as far as you can he brings his head forward again, hands pulling your hair out of your face to watch you.
You continue what you’re doing, spurred on by the quiet groans and stifled moans coming from Brock. You feel your desire growing with each passing second, squeezing your legs together to try to and get some relief.
It’s not long before Brock is stopping you. “You’re so good at that,” he mutters, hands under your arms as he pulls you back to your feet. You watch him stand up a second later, leaning down to kiss you again. He slides his hand into yours a second later, pulling away and down the hallway to a room on the left.
You look around the dimly lit bedroom before Brock places his hands onto your waist, pushing you backwards till you hit the mattress. His bed is soft and comfortable as you scoot backwards on it, watching Brock leaning down, his hands unbuttoning your jeans and pulling them off with ease.
You swallow heavily when Brock runs his hand up your inner thigh, one arm supporting his weight as he leans down to kiss you again. His fingers brush over the fabric of your underwear and your hand clamps down onto his forearm. Your body language is less than subtle and Brock takes the hint to hurry up, pushing the fabric aside as his fingers run along your folds. Your hips jolt as his fingers find your clit, gentle and slow when he first gets to it. But as you stop being able to stifle your moans Brock increases the speed and pressure till you’re squirming underneath him, moaning quietly. “Oh fuck, I’m…I’m close,” you gasp out.
Brock continues what he’s doing, your fingers digging harder into his arm. Your eyes shut when the familiar rush comes over you, your body hot as the waves of pleasure rush from your core. You push Brock’s hand back when you’re through your orgasm, clit sensitive from the constant pressure. “Fuck,” you whisper, it’s the only thing you can think. You were far from a virgin but you weren’t used to men caring about your pleasure so much that they would make you come even before themselves.
Brock leans down, kissing you gently before laying down beside you. Tipping your head to the side you furrow your eyebrows. “You don’t want to…,” you drift off, watching him hesitantly.
“I mean, yeah,” he tells you with a chuckle. “But it’s up to you.”
You press your hand into the mattress, pushing yourself up and swinging one of your legs over Brock’s body, feeling him pressing against you, still just as hard. “I want to,” you tell him, resting your hands on Brock’s chest, leaning down and kissing him again. “Do you have a condom?” You whisper against his lips.
Brock nods and leans across the bed as you move off his lap, watching as he grabs one from the nightside table. He puts it on easily, glancing over at you, as if hoping you would just get the message that he wanted you back on top. You giggle quietly as you slide your leg back over him. Reaching down you wrap your hand around his length, guiding him to your entrance as you sink down onto him. You inhale sharply, pulling your hand away as you take over with your hips.
Brock places his hands on your hips, leaving them there gently, letting you go at your own pace. “You’re so fucking hot,” Brock mutters, looking up at you. You feel Brock bring his hand to your clit again and you tip your head back, gasping softly.
“Keep going, please,” you plead, the added sensation against your clit tipping you onto the fast track to another orgasm.
Brock does exactly as you say, his fingers rubbing gentle, consistent circles on your clit. “I-I’m,” you whine, feeling your body getting tired and hot and overwhelmed from being built up to your second orgasm so soon after the first. You’re shaky as you continue moving your hips, trying so hard to keep going as you ride through your second orgasm.
Brock’s hands tighten on your hips, stopping your movements as he takes over, hips smacking against your ass he thrusts into you. It’s only a couple more minutes before he’s slowing down, groaning softly as he wraps his arms around you, pulling your slightly clammy bodies together. “So good,” he hums, pressing his lips to your forehead.
When you catch your breath and your heart has slowed down you pull your body off of Brock, rolling onto your back beside him. “You’re a pretty good stress reliever,” you joke, turning your head to look over at him.
“I’m glad I could help,” Brock chuckles. Sitting up he climbs off the bed, removing the condom and heading into the en-suite bathroom.
While he’s in the bathroom you scurry about to get your own clothes back on. When he comes back into the room you watch him pause for a moment, glancing at your fully clothed body. “Are you, uh, leaving?”
You glance over at the door and then back to Brock. You had simply assumed that’s what you should do, not thinking too much about it. “Um,” you hum, shrugging. “I was planning to.”
“Okay, yeah, I’ll uh, walk you out…home?” Brock comments, pulling his own clothes back on with a slightly flustered speed.
Giggling you walk over, grasping Brock’s hand as he reaches for a pair of sweatpants hanging over the back of a chair in the corner of the room. “I can walk down the hallway alone,” you assure him, leaning over and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.
“Okay,” Brock chuckles, still seeming a little taken aback by your hasty exit.
“Okay,” you repeat, stepping back and towards Brock’s bedroom door. “Talk to you later?”
“Yeah, of course.”
So you gather your few belongings, heading out of Brock’s apartment and down the hallway to your own apartment.
A couple weeks later you find yourself standing in front of Brock’s apartment door. It was pretty late at night and you had been contemplating what you were about to do for far too long. Perhaps if you had just bit the bullet the first time the thoughts crossed your mind the time wouldn’t have been such a problem. Eventually you bring your hand to the door, knocking gently. Maybe if you didn’t knock too loud you wouldn’t wake him on the off chance he was asleep.
But the door swings open a couple minutes later and you can see the glow of the TV behind Brock, indicating you hadn’t woken him up. “Hey,” you greet sheepishly.
“Hi,” Brock replies, clearly confused but not unhappy with your presence. “What’s up?”
“Are you busy?”
Brock shakes his head, glancing back at the TV. “Not at all.”
You glance around the empty hallway before reaching over, fingers curling into Brock’s shirt and pulling him down, your lips on his eagerly. Brock responds quickly, his arm wrapping around your body and pulling you into his apartment, his other arm closing the door swiftly. “Let’s go to your bedroom,” you whisper against his lips and Brock takes your hand, guiding you to his bedroom without a second of hesitation.
And for months things continue just like that with Brock. Sometimes you would text him and get him to come to your apartment, sometimes you would run into him on the elevator or in the hallway and you would both end up back at his apartment, sometimes you would simply head to his apartment hoping he was there. But that’s all things ever were. Occasionally you would watch part of a movie together before or lay in bed talking for hours after. But your relationship with him revolved entirely around sex.
But Brock wasn’t the only guy in your life. You had met Kyle at the gym a month after you first met Brock and had started casually seeing him. No strings attached with either person, so you figured there would be no harm done. You knew what you were truly doing though, deep down you knew the truth was that Kyle was a distraction. You were far more attracted to Brock, craved his touch, loved the late night conversations. But he wasn’t going to commit to you, hadn’t even taken you out on a date. So you found someone to keep yourself from getting too hung up on him, to keep your feelings from getting involved.
You had just gone out for dinner with Kyle, now heading back to your apartment to hang out for the rest of the evening. You walk into the apartment lobby, freezing when you see Brock standing by the elevator. Just as you’re contemplating a way out of the situation Brock looks over his shoulder, doing a double take when he realizes it’s you and another guy. You quickly let go of Kyle’s hand, realizing it was too late anyway.
Kyle continues walking to the elevator, completely oblivious to the tension that had settled on the lobby. “Hi,” you greet Brock, barely able to make eye contact.
“Hi,” he replies coldly. “Having a good night?”
Swallowing heavily you nod, eyes glued to the ground. “Not bad,” you say quietly.
“Hey man, I’m Brock,” Brock says to Kyle, his voice cold. He didn’t need to introduce himself, you knew he was making some kind of point but you weren’t sure what or why.
“Hey,” Kyle replies, his tone friendly and light. “Kyle…how do you two know each other?”
You glance from Kyle and then back to Brock. Brock stares at you, waiting for you to give an answer. “We…,” you begin, trailing off, not knowing what to say. You were always bad at lying and you didn’t know if Brock was going to make it even harder for you to lie.
“We used to hook up,” Brock replies, his tone unwavering.
You feel your heart begin to hammer, freezing as you stare at Brock in shock. The elevator opening draws you out of your stunned silence and you reach over, placing your hand in Brock’s path, stopping him from getting on the elevator. “I was here first,” Brock grumbles.
“I want to talk to you,” you tell him, looking over at Kyle. “Can you please just meet me in my apartment?”
Kyle hesitates, seeming confused and concerned but he simply nods, stepping into the elevator alone.
Once the doors close you look up at Brock, eyebrows raised. “What the fuck, Brock?”
“What?”
Shaking your head you cross your arms over your chest. “You can’t just…you can’t just say stuff like that.”
“The truth?” Brock questions.
“But you can’t just…you just can’t, okay?”
“Can’t what?”
“Tell people we’ve been sleeping together.”
Brock shakes his head, scoffing. “Why not?”
“I…because, Brock, that’s personal information.”
Brock chuckles, looking away from you for a moment. “It’s my personal information too, I can do whatever I want with it.”
“Why are you being such a dick?” You snap, frustrated and annoyed. Sure, he was right, he could tell anyone he wanted that you two had been sleeping together multiple times a week for months. But he also could have chosen to be a gentleman and keep his mouth shut, sparing you from having to deal with the issues this would cause with Kyle.
“Me?” Brock exclaims, shaking his head. “You’re the one running around with other guys.”
You stare up at Brock in stunned silence. “Running around with other guys?” You question, shaking your head. “I’ve been seeing Kyle for months, I haven’t been running around with multiple. Not that it would matter if I was, that’s none of your business.”
“Months?” Brock’s voice is suddenly quieter and his eyes are soft as he stares down at you. “What do you mean you’ve been seeing him for months? We’ve been sleeping together for months.”
“I don’t know…we’ve just been casually dating. It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal,” Brock echoes, nodding as he reaches over, pressing the button for the elevator again, indicating he was done.
“Brock,” you whisper, turning to him. “Brock,” you repeat, beyond confused. You were almost certain he’d been seeing other women, he just had better timing. It’s not like you owed him an explanation, there was no reason for him to be upset. “Can you not just walk away from this conversation?”
“What do you want me to say?” Brock snaps, looking down at you.
“Why are you mad right now?”
“Because you’re fucking some other guy.”
It takes you a few minutes for your mind to wrap around what he said and what it meant. “Are you jealous?”
Brock looks down at you, jaw clenched. He doesn’t respond for a minute, looking back at the numbers above the elevator as they count down towards the lobby. “Yeah, maybe I am.”
“Why?” You whisper.
“What do you mean, why? Because I like you, Y/N.”
You reach over, grabbing Brock’s wrist and gently pulling him to face you. “Do you actually like me or do you just like fucking me?”
Brock glances towards the elevator, the doors opening. Brock slides his hand out of the grasp you have around his wrist, grasping your hand and slipping his fingers between yours as he pulls you onto the elevator. “I like you,” he tells you as the doors close, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. It’s so soft and gentle and you can’t help but melt into his grasp. You slide one hand up over his shoulders, leaning up onto your tip toes. He gently wraps one arm around your waist, the other on the side of your face.
“We should, uh,” you hum, pulling back. Neither of you had pressed a button to go anywhere, standing in the closed, unmoving elevator. But it felt like you had figured out a pause button. “Fuck, Brock,” you exclaim a second later, taking a step back from him. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what this means.”
Brock reaches over, grabbing both your hands and gently pulling you back towards him. “Why him?”
“What do you mean?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed.
“Why are you seeing him but just hooking up with me?”
“Because Kyle and I have been going out, on dates,” you explain simply.
“What if I took you out on dates?”
“Brock, it’s not that simple,” you whisper, shaking your head.
“Why not?”
“Because of…Kyle,” you tell him, your voice getting quieter when you say Kyle’s name.
Brock nods slowly, leaning back against the elevator wall. “Because you have stronger feelings for Kyle than you do for me,” Brock mutters.
You take a deep breath, shaking your head. “No,” you whisper.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that you only want to be with me because you don’t want me to be with anyone else,” you tell him, reaching over and pressing the button for the sixth floor.
Brock stares at you in silence, letting your words sink in. He didn’t know what to say because he realized that there was some truth to it. He had been enjoying what you had. No strings attached, no real accountability to another person. But it wasn’t that he hadn’t developed stronger feelings, he had just opted to ignore it.
The elevator doors open and you give him a chance to say something, anything, else. But when he doesn’t you step off the elevator, hurrying to your apartment where you were sure you had a less than simple conversation ahead of you.
After talking for awhile with Kyle he leaves your apartment for the night, both of you deciding you needed time to think. It wasn’t a volatile conversation, both of you well aware of the fact that you hadn’t done anything wrong. There were no strings attached but now you needed to figure out if that’s how you wanted things to stay, both with Kyle and with Brock.
You went to bed early that night, doing your best to think through the whole situation rationally, to not get too upset about it. Going to bed you had hoped a good night of sleep would help, but when you woke up the next morning you hadn’t found anymore clarity than you had going to bed the night before. You go about your morning routine as best you can, getting ready for work while trying to keep your mind off of the events of the night before.
You hated bringing your personal life to work but you had to admit that you were distracted all day. You forgot things you normally wouldn’t, things took much longer than normal. You were a mess. And by the time you left work that day you were exhausted, mentally and physically. Gathering your belongings you leave the office, later than anyone else because you needed to stay late to get everything done. It’s pouring rain and the sky is dark when you walk out of the office, hurrying to your car and heading straight home, wanting nothing but the warmth and comfort of your apartment.
As you pull the door to your apartment open you notice Brock walking in your direction. Rolling your eyes you take a deep breath, avoiding eye contact.
“Y/N,” Brock says, hurrying to your side.
“I’m not in the mood tonight. It’s been a long day, I just want to shower and go to bed.” You keep walking towards the elevator, doing your best to ignore the fact that Brock was following you now.
“We need to talk,” Brock says, voice serious as he steps in front of your path to the elevator.
“About what?” You deadpan, arms folded over your chest as you stare up at him.
“Us.”
Shaking your head you step away from him. “There is no us, Brock. There never was an us. So there’s nothing to talk about.”
“What if I want that to change?” Brock asks, voice gentle, eyes soft.
“I don’t…I can’t,” you begin, hesitating as you reach around Brock to press the button for the elevator. “I can’t do this tonight.” You step around Brock and into the elevator as the doors open, leaning against the back wall and reaching for the 6 button.
Suddenly Brock sticks his arm in front of the closing doors. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“I, uh, I don’t know, nothing I-.”
“Seven o’clock, I’m picking you up and we’re going for a date,” Brock tells you before letting the elevator doors shut, leaving you alone.
Your mind races for a few minutes and just as you contemplate going back to the lobby, finding Brock in the parking lot and telling him to forget it, the elevator doors open on the sixth floor and you find yourself walking to your apartment like a robot with a set location.
You had been hoping the next day at work would go a little smoother, that your distractions would be gone. But now you were fighting through the day with another mind full of distractions.
“So what’s going on with you?”
Glancing up from your computer you look at Caroline, your work best friend, standing over your desk. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you haven’t taken a single break in the last two days. You haven’t sent me any snarky texts about the boss. You were here late yesterday catching up on work, which you never have to do because you’re always ahead. So, what’s going on?”
Sighing you lean back in your chair, staring up at her. “You know 625?” You had told Caroline about Brock, well, the basics of it. But he always went by the nickname 625.
“Yeah, of course,” she laughs, sitting on the edge of your desk, ready for all the gossip.
“And Kyle?”
“The one with the name.”
“So I was out with Kyle a couple nights ago and we ran into Brock-.”
“Brock, that’s 625’s name?” Caroline exclaims.
“Yeah, it’s Brock,” you laugh, swaying side to side in your chair. “So we ran into him and Brock got all pissed and jealous, acting like we were dating and I was cheating on him. But we haven’t even been on a single date.”
“But he clearly has feelings for you.”
Rolling your eyes you press your elbow to the desk, your head in your hand. “I don’t know, I thought maybe I just bruised his ego a bit. That he was just jealous because he wasn’t the only one I was sleeping with. But then…last night, he uh, he asked me on a date. A real date. Tonight, at seven.”
“Oh my god,” Caroline says, the shock in her voice not hidden. “So 625, uh, Brock, sorry…really does have feelings. What about Kyle?”
“I don’t know,” you whine. “I haven’t even really talked to him since that night. And part of me, I don’t know, maybe I don’t want to? Like now that I have Brock’s attention I don’t need Kyle as a distraction anymore. Fuck, I’m such a bitch.”
Caroline lets out a quiet laugh. “I mean, it’s kinda a bitchy thing to say but you were never trying to be a bitch so I don’t think it counts. I think you just need to follow your heart on this one.”
“My heart is dumb, Caroline.”
“Your heart will figure it out eventually.” Caroline stands up, giving you a reassuring smile before heading towards her own desk. “Oh, and can you finally answer my email about the meeting tomorrow afternoon?” She calls.
“Yeah, sorry, I’ll do that now,” you call back, feeling guilty about letting your work suffer.
Later that night you were standing at your kitchen counter, staring at the time on the oven. 7:02. You check your phone for what felt like the hundredth time that hour, trying to keep yourself from feeling nervous. It was just Brock. You had done things with Brock that you had never done with anyone before. He had seen every part of you, had touched every inch of your body. Yet the idea of going on a date with him was sending waves of anxiety through your body. A knock at the door makes you flinch, as if you weren’t expecting it. Taking a deep breath you walk over to the door, pulling it open and looking up at the tall figure in front of you.
“Hey,” you say quietly.
“Hey,” Brock replies with a soft smile. “You look beautiful.”
You feel your cheeks redden in an unfamiliar way and you glance down at the ground. “Thanks.”
“These are for you,” Brock says, handing you a bouquet of flowers.
Reaching over you take them from him, looking at the flowers in awe. “I, uh-.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Brock says, stepping into your apartment. “You don’t, um, have to make it a big deal.”
“I’m not,” you say quickly, despite the fact that you were trying really hard to contain the smile on your face. Bringing them into your kitchen you look through your cupboards for a vase.
“Do you want me to get it?” Brock asks, watching you reach for a vase on the top shelf.
“Sure,” you say, not having a chance to step away before Brock is standing behind you, reaching up over you to grab the vase. When he sets it down you slowly turn around, your bodies pressed against each other. Your eyes meet his only for a second before you lean up, pressing your lips against his.
Brock kisses you back, his hands tugging on your waist, pulling you even closer. Your arms slide up over his neck and he lifts you up onto the counter, your legs wrapping around his torso. Pulling your hands back you bring them to his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons.
“Wait, stop,” Brock says, pulling back, his hands wrapping around yours and pulling them away from his shirt. “This isn’t what this is about.”
“What?” You whisper, breathless and flushed, heart racing.
“Tonight. I’m not here to have sex with you. I’m taking you out, on a date. A nice date…which we’re going to be late for.”
“Brock,” you whine, leaning forward and pressing your lips to his gently. “That ship has sailed.”
Brock chuckles, his hands on your waist, sliding you to the edge of the counter. “I know, I’m sorry. I should have taken you out a long time ago,” he tells you, lifting you off the counter and setting you down gently.
Rolling you eyes you shake your head, turning your back to him to fill the vase with water. “I was just your fuck buddy, Brock. You and I both know that. I don’t know what changed, if anything changed at all. Maybe you just want me to think we’re more than that, so you can have me all to yourself, I don’t know. But don’t pretend you’ve had stronger feelings this whole time.”
Brock wraps his arms around you, his chest pressed to your back. “I’ll be honest, I do want you all to myself. The idea of you being with anyone else makes me mad. But it’s more than jealousy, Y/N. I don’t want you to be with anyone else but I don’t want to be with anyone else either. I know that’s crazy to say on a first date-.”
You can’t help but laugh at the idea of this being a real first date, after months and months of hooking up. “Sorry,” you whisper, for cutting Brock off with your laughter.
“I’m trying to be nice here and you’re laughing at me,” Brock chuckles, turning you around to get you to face him. “I like you…I have feelings for you. I didn’t even realize how strong they were till I saw you with Kyle. I don’t know, maybe I didn’t have to think about it until then. I just thought, things were good the way they were, we didn’t need to have that conversation…this conversation.”
You’re quiet for a moment after he finishes talking, processing what it meant, what you were supposed to say. “I don’t want you to be with anyone else either.”
“Good,” Brock whispers, leaning down and kissing you quickly. “Now come on, I’ve got a date to take you on.”
Brock takes your hand, guides you through your own apartment to the hallway, watches you lock the door behind the two of you. He doesn’t let go of your hand till you’re at his car, where he opens your door for you, closes it once you’re settled in the passenger’s seat. The drive to restaurant feels strangely comfortable, Brock letting you pick the music, the conversation flowing easily.
“This place is so nice,” you say to Brock after the two of you put in your drink orders. Wine, of course.
Brock shrugs, arms resting on the table as he leans closer, towards you. “I hoped you would like it.”
“I do,” you tell him. “But I would have liked any place you took me. It’s not about where we went, Brock, it’s about you actually taking me somewhere, a real date.”
“Well, I’ll keep that in mind for next time, and the time after that, and-.”
“Shut up,” you giggle, rolling your eyes. “What does this mean?” You ask with a newfound sense of seriousness.
“What?”
“Us. We’ve been casual for months, but now…now you don’t want me to be with anyone else and I don’t want you to be with anyone else. And we’re going on dates. And you bought be flowers. And…”
“And I guess that means there is an us now, hey?” Brock says, reaching across the table and taking your hand.
Your lips curl into a soft smile, nodding slowly. “I guess that means there is an us,” you agree.
#brock boeser#brock boeser fic#brock boeser imagine#brock boeser fanfic#brock boeser one shot#nhl fic#nhl one shot#nhl fanfic#nhl imagines#nhl fanfiction#hockey fic#hockey blurb#hockey fanfic
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Returning the favor
Merle x female reader, reader saves Merle’s life after he cuts off his hand
Warnings: sexual language, slight gore, cursing
A banging at the door made me jump awake - I never slept deeply anymore, and I spent most of my nights in and out of what could barely be described as sleep, easily woken and constantly exhausted.
My first thought was a particularly persistent walker. But then I heard a voice, raspy and southern “I saw you through the window. Open up. Or I swear, I’ll kick this damn door down.” It was most likely a looter. Opening the door to him seemed immediately like the stupid option, but if he was serious about knocking my door down then I would have to find a new place to hide out, an extra risk I could not afford to take. My best bet was to overpower him at the door. He’d seen me through the window and probably assumed that I’d be easily threatened, but what he hadn’t seen was the pistol I kept hidden by the door, or the knives I had stashed under my mattress and around the small room.
The banging on the door got more persistent. I grabbed a knife, and ensured my gun was easily in reach. It wouldn’t hurt to have extra weapons he didn’t know about.
I swung open the door. A tall, broad man stood in my doorway. One arm was pointing a gun vaguely in my direction, the other dripping so much blood it almost looked black. His hand had been cut off.
“Get out. All your shit is mine now, don’t think I won’t shoot you just cuz yer a girl,” He sneered at me, feigning confidence, but his skin was tinged grey and sweat was beading on his brow. He was weak and there was no way he could physically overpower me in this state, despite his muscular frame.
I raised a sceptical eyebrow at his threat. Then, in one swift motion, I knocked the gun from his hand and pushed my knife to his throat, firmly enough for a small bead of blood to gather on the edge of the blade. He opened his mouth, probably about to say something stupid, before the full weight of his body collapsed into me and he lost consciousness.
*
Somehow, with strength I hadn’t even known I had, I half lifted, half dragged the man’s body over to my mattress on the floor. It was clear he had lost far too much blood. I knew it was stupid, but some part of me wanted to help him, even though I knew he had come here to rob me blind, and possibly to kill me after he had taken all of my possessions. I told myself it was because leaving him outside would attract walkers. But really some part of me was still weak and soft, and somehow I had sympathy for a man who could not give less of a shit about me.
Minor medical training from books I had scavenged and stolen told me that he was in desperate need of stitches, and likely had a severe infection from his wound, and that it needed to be treated fast or there was no way he could survive without a hospital, which, for obvious reasons, was not an option. The building I had set up camp in was a small convenience store in the city which I used to run, and decided to stay in when the dead started walking. Unfortunately, the store had tempted many thieves in the early days, but as time went on, less and less people braved the city. The man must have seen that my store was the least damaged for several blocks, and identified it as his best bet at survival. He was right - behind the counter were antibiotics and just enough first aid equipment for me to have a chance at saving him. Even if he had stolen my supplies, it was unlikely that he would have managed treating his own wound.
The stitches were the worst part. I had never liked needles, and as far as facing my fears went, this was seriously hands on. It was messily done, probably a laughable job compared to professional standards. And I was sure that the amount of blood on the floor, my hands and staining my clothes was biologically impossible. But somehow he was still alive, something I still hadn’t decided was a good or bad thing. At least he was unconscious for now.
*
Two days passed. I was getting used to sleeping with him around, trying not to think about what he might do if he awoke while I was asleep- waking up to a gun in my face was a real possibility, but one that I had to risk. I slept on the floor next to the mattress he was occupying, uncomfortable enough to be exhausted but easily woken if he or the walkers became an immediate threat.
I sat next to him on the mattress, cleaning his arm, checking that the infection was fading and that the stitches were holding like they should be. It was strange looking after someone who had barely spoken two sentences to me, those sentences being delirious threats after severe blood loss. I often found myself wondering what he would have been like if we had met before the world had ended, at a bar maybe, where he could have bought me a drink or two. I like to think that he would have been the type to hit on me shamelessly and I would have been cynical but secretly loved his advances. I cut myself off in my head. It was ridiculous to think like this. With some effort, I focused back on his arm and began to change his bandage, but my eyelids were growing heavy and I had forgotten how comfortable the mattress was. Every time I closed my eyes, sleep tried to pull me down. I just had to keep them open, just had to focus-
I jolted awake. It almost pitch dark, if I had to guess a time I would have said an hour or two before dawn. There was a hand around my mouth and an arm was around my waist, holding me still against the warm, hard body behind me. He had woken up. Immediately I struggled against him, biting his hand and elbowing him in the stomach. He swore under his breath, but his grip only tightened around me.
“Stop wrigglin’. There’s walkers in here, I’m tryna figure out how many, so for fuck’s sake stay still.”
I nodded. He removed the hand from my mouth, but the arm around my waist stayed. Probably a precaution in case I tried anything again.
“Sorry,” I whispered back. “How did they get in - and when did you wake up? What’s your name? Why haven’t you killed me yet?” Now wasn’t the time for questions, but I was desperate for answers. For all I knew, the only reason he hadn’t killed me yet was to keep me as bait for the walkers.
He shushed me. Then, he finally let go of me and stood up. “Wait here.”
He walked off in the direction of a shuffling noise, and seconds later I heard the thunk of a knife through a skull, and the sound of a body hitting the floor. The sound, quiet as it was, caused another walker’s movements to become frenzied. I heard snarling and then the sound of a second body hitting the floor. There were no more walker sounds, just the sound of the man walking back towards me.
I jumped to my feet and reached for the knife normally hooked through my belt. It was gone, as was the knife under my mattress. I had no defence against the stranger that I had so stupidly taken care of.
“Window’s broken, s’what woke me up. You were out cold. Hope ya had a nice nap.”
I stood up, trying to read his face in the growing bit still dim light.
“Name’s Merle. And you, sugar tits, are exceptionally lucky that I believe in returning favours.”
So he didn’t plan on killing me after all. I shook off the lingering fear caused by both him and the walkers getting so close.
“Thanks. And you’re welcome, I stitched you up good. And don’t call me that, or I’ll chop of your other hand,” He smirked at me, knowing my threat was entirely empty.
“Oh yeah? I’m not so sure you wanna do that, sweetheart, you haven’t seen the half of what I can do with this hand,” His smile was suggestive and I could feel my face getting hot.
“I’m gonna board up the broken window,” I attempted to ignore his last sentence, but it was clear he could tell I was flustered as he stepped forward, closing in on me.
“Don’t ya think we should get to know each other a little first?”
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omg it’s me again i just thought of sth and only you can make it so good;; EMT seokjiN and this prompt i saw sth like “will you stop flirting with me? you just got seriously injured and I’m the emt trying to tend to your wounds, i don’t give a fuck that i look cute when i’m concerned, you’re lucky you’re not dead you dipshit”
➺ pairing; emt!seokjin x reader
➺ genre; sfw!! namjoon is clumsy!! y/n is particularly cheeky that even i was like :0!! and handsome seokjin is simply handsome!!
➺ wordcount; 4.9k
➺ what to expect; “i’m just checking out your pupils, darling. trust me. you’ll know when i’m about to kiss you.”
➺ note; i thought i’d kick off the christmas with cee event with a jin drabble seeing as it was recently his birthday!! also i hope this drabble pumps you UP for the other drabbles that’ll be posted this month <3 happy deceember!!
»»————- ❄ ————-««
“i just don’t think this is a super good idea, you know?” namjoon mutters sheepishly, looking down at you while you busy yourself with tightening his laces, “i mean, i can barely walk three steps without tripping over a normal floor, so i don’t know if me on ice is going to be any better-”
“oh, will you please give it a break? i’ve got you!” you get up off the ground before dusting your knees off, “besides, you were the one who said you wanted to try ice-skating - and it’s not like the ice skating rink is as steep as a mountain or anything. it’s all nice and flat! see?” you gesture towards the zamboni currently making its rounds on the ice, “and we came here just in time for a nice, clean layer of ice for us to skate on. there’s nothing that could go wrong!”
“nothing that could go wrong?!” namjoon gawks, hoisting his foot up so he can rest his ankle across his knee, “look at this thing, y/n! what kind of a shoe is this?” he taps his fingernail against the metal blade before quickly retracting his hand and shuddering, “these things are literal weapons- why can’t i just skate without the skates?”
“because that... wouldn’t be ice-skating anymore? that’d just be... ice-walking. and your sneakers won’t do you any good on the ice, anyway,” you shake your head before shrugging, “the blades are supposed to help you, like- they get a… solid grip on the ice and it helps you move around better, you know? something like that.”
namjoon scoffs and leans back on the bench, “please explain to me how a thin metal blade is supposed to get a solid grip on ice-”
“look, the offer to get you one of those little kiddie things for you to hold onto still stands.” you point over to the front counter, “they have one that looks like a penguin! it’s adorable! i mean, i think it’s a little shorter than your knees so you might have to crouch down a little if i get one for you-”
“wha-” namjoon immediately frowns before crossing his arms, “y/n, i am a grown man. i don’t need to hold onto a penguin-”
“okay, suit yourself!” you chirp, sticking your hand out for him, “c’mon, you manly man. i wanna get on the ice! i’ve been waiting all week for this-”
namjoon grumbles curses under his breath as he pushes himself up off the bench
penguin
he doesn’t need a penguin!
how dare you!!!!!
you can’t help but giggle as you watch him waddle towards you, being very careful not to fall over and twist an ankle
admittedly, bringing namjoon to an ice skating rink probably wasn’t the best idea
one time he sprained his ankle after tripping over literally nothing and he had to use a crutch for like two weeks
he’s verY susceptible to injuries
when he first brought up the idea of going to an ice-skating rink you were going to turn him down and suggest something safer and more namjoon friendly...
but it’s december!
and december is literally the time to go ice-skating!
and there’s always a hot chocolate truck that’s parked right by the rink so hopefully you’ll be able to soothe namjoon’s bruised bum (you’re betting that namjoon’s bum will be all sorts of bruised after ten minutes on the ice) with extra whipped cream and marshmallows
hopefully he won’t be as grumpy as he is now when he’s sipping on a big ol mug of rich, creamy hot chocolate
“we’re going to have so much fun! the last time i went skating, i-” as soon as you slide onto the ice, namjoon suddenly yanks you backwards
you turn to look at him only to see him gripping onto the railing for dear life
he’s not even on the ice yet!
big ol’ wimp
“what’s the matter? cold feet?” you joke, namjoon giving you an unimpressed frown, “what?? you have to admit that was a good joke-”
“that was an awful joke-”
“namjoon…” you purse your lips and place your free hand on your hip, “you know that you have to be on the ice in order to ice skate, right?” you give his hand a reassuring squeeze, “i’m not going to let you fall. i promise! but in the rare case that you do fall, feel free to fall on top of me to cushion your blow. i’ll gladly break a couple of ribs just to keep you from hitting the ground!”
“what happens if you skate circles around me and end up cutting a circle into the ice and then i fall in??”
oh god
here we go
“that’s not going to happen, namjoon.” you shake your head, “because we’re not in a cartoon.”
“what happens if i accidentally fall backwards and end up stabbing myself in the eye with the blade?”
“that’s not going to happen, namjoon- first of all, the tip of the blade is rounded off, so you won’t be stabbing anything at all, and second of all, we both know you’re not nearly flexible enough for your body to be able to bend in half like that-
“what happens if i fall to the ground and someone skates over my fingers and slices them off?!”
“that’s not going to-” you pause for a split second, “well, that could happen, so maybe just don’t fall and remember to keep your hands off the ice-”
“okay, well- i don’t want to do this anymore!!!” namjoon lets go of your hand and you resist the urge to fall to the ground and let out a primal screech of rage, “if there’s even a chance that i’m going to lose the tip of one finger today, there’s no way in hell i’m getting onto the ice-”
“you’re not going to lose any fingers-”
“how can you be so sure?!”
you immediately shut up before reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose
you love namjoon with all your heart but sometimes he’s just.., a little much
he’s not very big on risk-taking
he’s always been very content just staying within his comfort zone which is fine!
you never pressure him into doing anything if he very clearly is uncomfortable with it
with that being said, it’s just that whenever you even try to nudge him like a centimetre out of his safety bubble, he flips out on you just like how he’s flipping out right now
like that one time you made him try a vanilla bean frappucino (arguably the plainest most basic frappucino flavour on the starbucks menu) instead of his usual iced americano and after he took a sip he accused you of trying to make him get diabetes
it’s not like you’re purposely trying to torment him by forcing him to ice skate
you just wanted to come here and have a good time with your friend!
“namjoon, you seriously need to calm down-”
“i am calm! i am so calm! in fact, i’ve never been MORE CALM-!”
it doesn’t take long for you and namjoon to start bickering with each other, the both of you too wrapped up in yelling at each other to notice the weird glances you’re getting from everyone
“all i’m trying to say is that the only reason why we’re here in the first place is because you said that you wanted to try-”
“yeah, and now i change my mind! what, are you saying i’m not allowed to change my mind?”
“i never- i never said you weren’t allowed to change your mind, i just want you to try to understand that it can be a little frustrating for me to set everything up for you only for you to chicken out at the end-”
“chicken out?! how dare you?! i am not chickening- i’m backing out for the safety of my eyeballs and my hands-”
“i said i would hold your hand the whole time!”
“that’s not secure enough! you holding my hand on slippery ice as a form of safety is equivalent to me getting on a rollercoaster using flimsy shoelaces to tie me to the seat-”
“that’s why i said i would get you the penguin so that you have two handles to hold onto-”
“i don’t want the friggin’ penguin!” namjoon snaps, stepping aside when a little kid nudges past him only to immediately glide onto the ice
the two of you pause to watch him and you gawk when he starts zipping back and forth like a maniac
that could be you right now
you, too, could be having a blast on the ice right now if it weren’t for your manbaby friend over here
you gesture to the random child currently twirling around on the ice before scoffing, “namjoon! look at him! if that literal toddler can do that on the ice, you can at least step forward to stand on the ice-”
“that is not a child, that is just a very tiny professional ice skater-”
you press your lips together in frustration as namjoon continues to list off reasons why the two of you should just go for hot chocolate and then go straight home
and for a second you think about giving up and just giving him what he wants but...
no
no way!
you are noT letting him talk himself out of this one this time
you wanna go ice skating today and you’re going to figure out a way to make both you and namjoon happy
okay
so he doesn’t want to hold your hand
he doesn’t want the penguin
what other options do you have??
you twiddle with the end of your scarf before pausing and looking down at it
…
lightbulb
»»————- ❄ ————-««
“alrighty… how does that feel?” you tighten the knot before giving namjoon’s stomach a pat, “nice and secure?”
yep
that’s right
you ended up tying your scarf around namjoon’s waist like some kind of a leash
you’re really hoping people won’t think this is one of those pet-play situations where namjoon is your human puppy and you’re his BDSM dominatrix
you’re not shaminG the kink or anything!!!
you’re just not into the whole arf arf roll over thing
it probably didn’t help that you wore a leather trench coat today
the weather’s finally cooled down enough for you to wear it so obviouSLY you had to wear your super cool leather trench coat but now you feel like you should take it off just in case it makes you look like you’re... into barking
namjoon hooks a finger into the scarf and gives it a little tug, “…i suppose… this is better than nothing…”
“great!” you sigh in relief, “so… i’m gonna take it nice and slow, okay? we’ll start off with some basic gliding and then we’ll go from there.”
unfortunately the ice is a little rougher now because it took like twenty minutes for namjoon to practice just standing on the ice without toppling over
you’re just glad that he’s now willing to actually give skating a try instead of giving up and going home
this is progress!!
you wonder if you’ll ever be able to convince him to go skydiving with you one day
...baby steps
“so, gliding is kind of like… it’s kind of like marching, i guess?” you hum, “it’ll help you transition into skating. you’re gonna march two steps forward and then let yourself just glide forward…” you wrap the end of the scarf around your fist to really make sure that it won’t slip from your fingers (because you’re 100% sure that namjoon will have a meltdown if you let go of it) as you continue to skate backwards slowly, watching namjoon’s feet like a hawk
you’re surprised he hasn’t fallen yet what with his wobbly knees
“am i… am i doing it??” namjoon asks dumbly and you can’t help but grin when he starts to pick up the movement
thank god he’s a fast learner
“hey, look at you go!” you laugh lightly, giving him a thumbs up, “you’re doing it! i mean, we’re going pretty slowly... but you’re doing it!”
namjoon reaches forward to grab onto the scarf when he wobbles a little and you immediately stop so that he can rebalance himself
(you don’t know how you’re going to catch him if he falls because he’s definitely going to end up crushing you and breaking all the bones in your body)
the two of you spend the next twenty minutes or so slowly making your way around the rink
for the most part, namjoon does just fine
there was one point where a little kid knocked into him from behind and he nearly fell over buT luckily he grabbed onto the railing before anything happened
he looked like he was fully ready to chase after the kid to strangle him but that’s beside the point
you let out an impatient little sigh as people continue to whiz past you
boo
you wanna do some whizzing too!
“are you…” you trail off, looking back over at namjoon, “okay to move on to stroking?”
namjoon’s brows furrow as he lets go of the scarf after regaining his balance, “stroking?”
“mhm!” you nod, turning to glance over your shoulder for a second to make sure there’s no one behind you, subtly skating backwards a tiny bit quicker, “it’s literally just, like, a longer version of gliding. you just extend the same motion for a longer period of time, that’s all.”
“oh... like... like this?” namjoon pushes off a little harder and you nod enthusiastically at the smooth movement
“yeah, there you go!” you laugh when namjoon picks it up with no problem, “look at you! you’re a natural... you might even be better than that tiny professional ice skater from earlier- make sure to lean forward a little…”
namjoon grins excitedly as he continues to glide left and right all while you (unbeknownst to him) gradually pick up your pace while pulling him towards you
hey!
he’s doing it!
this wasn’t as hard as he thought it’d be
he’s doing it!!!!!
and he’s going waY quicker than he originally was, which is probably a good sign, right?
“can i take the lead?” namjoon stands up a little straighter and puffs his chest out, “i wanna lead you now!”
you slow down a little and look down at the scarf that you’re still clutching onto for dear life, “you wanna take th- okay, well, do you want me to untie you?”
“oh no, i think you should still hold onto it just in case, but i wanna lead the way!” namjoon bounces up and down excitedly and clasps his hands together, “please, y/n? you’ve seen how fast i can go now!”
right
he can go super fasT on his own and it’s not because you’ve been pulling him along like a little wagon
you know what
it’s fine
you’re not worried about namjoon leading the way mainly because you know he’s just going to go around and around in slow circles
you could probably get away with closing your eyes while he pulls you around
you snort before nodding and sliding to the side so that he can skate past you, “alright, hotshot. you take the lead. now it’s really going to look like this is a leash- woAH-” your eyes widen in surprise when namjoon suddenly surges forward, his legs going left and right and left and right at a consistent pace-
oh god
okay
you speed yourself up as well to try to keep up with him, keeping your grip tight around your poor stretched out scarf
“namjoon-!” you laugh uneasily, “take it easy, you speed demon-”
“we should go ice skating all the time!” namjoon cheers, raising both his hands up in the air as he continues gliding like a maniac, “isn’t this fun?!”
“oh shit, sorry, excuse me-” you try your best noT to collide with people as you skate past them, “namjoon, i know you think this is fun but i really think you should slow down a little- oh, frick-” you curse to yourself when you notice that your scarf is caught in the clasp of your bracelet
shit!
this scarf was expensive!!!!
there’s no way you’re going to accidentally yanK out the threads and ruin it
“c’mon, stupid thing...” you look up for a brief second to make sure that namjoon’s still going straight and that he’s not about to round a corner or anything before looking back down to try to unhook the thread
you could try tugging on it but you’re worried that it’s going to mess up your scarf and you are noT willing to take that chance
“i’m turning here!”
“uh-huh, yeah...” your tongue pokes out in concentration as you use your nail to try to pluck it out and...
ah!
success!
there we go
no destroyed scarves today!
“what did you just sa-!” your eyes widen in surprise when suddenly the scarf disappears from your fist and you look up to see that the-
SMAK!
»»————- ❄ ————-««
...
...
my head hurts
...
my ass hurts too
...
you peel an eye open slowly before closing it again
holy moly
your head is spinning and your ears are ringing and you’re pretty sure your eyes are permanently crossed because you can’t seem to get your vision to focus
is it possible to feel like you want to throw up and pass out at the same time?
you squeeze your eyes shut before shaking your head a little in a poor attempt to shakE the pain away
jesus
what happened??
the last thing you remember is going full speed on the ice and then everything went black
you push yourself up onto your elbows before looking around
you… are in a van that smells like bleach for some reason
why are you in a van??
oh god
were you kidnapped???
were you chloroformed and kidnapped???
you jump when one of the doors suddenly swings open and you immediately pull your legs up and away so that your kidnapper can’t reach over and drag you out by the legs
“hey, you! how are you feeling?”
“i- um-” you sit up all the way before turning and leaning back against the metal bench screwed into the side of the van, “i think i’m oka- a..a...aaaaaayyyy....?” you trail off dumbly, finding yourself being unable to shut your TRAP
okay
hello
you blink owlishly at the very handsome kidnapper before tilting your head to the side a little
the corners of his mouth twitch in a smile and he mimics your movements, tilting his head as well
maybe… you weren’t kidnapped
you just died and went to heaven, that’s all!
this is heaven
heaven is the back of an impeccably clean van and you are currently staring at a real-life angel
“sorry you woke up all alone, by the way- i just had to ask your friend a couple of questions as to what happened... i also had to comfort him a little because i’m pretty sure he thinks he killed you-”
“i’m sorry, am i not dead? is this not, like, the bus to heaven or something?” you ask, looking around at your surroundings
there’s a lot of medical-related tools and gadgets in here considering the fact that this is heaven
apparently heaven has heart defibrillators which doesn’t make much sense
“hey, hey- relax!” you jump when you feel him wrap his fingers around your ankle to get your attention, “you’re not dead. this isn’t the bus to heaven. you’re just in the back of an ambulance. you got into a little collision with the plexiglass barriers.”
aH
okay
that makes more sense
“oh, thank god.” you breathe out, “because if i did die, then body slamming into plexiglass would’ve been a humiliating way to go.”
“mm, i totally agree. i would’ve been embarrassed having to drag your dead body away from the plexiglass.” mr probably-not-here-to-kidnap-you laughs lightly and opens the door a little wider for himself, “i just wanna patch you up. will you let me do that?”
you feel your mouth go dry when he takes his jacket off
hello broad shoulders
“you can do anything you want to me.” you blurt out, watching in awe as he steps into the ambulance to join you
you’re pretty sure the fact that you might have a mild concussion has something to do with it but your filter has just completely disappeared because jesus christ you want this man to ram into you harder than you rammed into the wall
you just don’t get it
how can one man be so... attractive?
the soft, perfectly tousled hair is right!
the pillowy, cherry-coloured lips are right!
the twinkling brown eyes are right!
the low, soothing voice is right!
the broad shoulders and equally as broad chest... veRY right
everything is just so RIGHT
you swallow thickly when he sits down across from you and crosses his legs, his knees practically pressed right up against yours
you’re certainly not complaining about being so close to him but you’re definitely going to cramp up like this and you always make really weird faces when you get pins and needles shooting up your legs
you move your legs so that your ankles are on either side of his thighs before scooting your bum a little closer towards him
heh >:-)
“can you tell me what your name is?” he asks, pulling a first-aid kit out from under the bench
“y/n y/l/n.” you answer almost instantaneously, keeping your eyes glued on his face as he rummages through the box
“mhm… very good…”
“what’s your name?” you watch as he rips open a little gauze pad
god
even his fingers are pretty
“seokjin.” seokjin smiles sweetly, your heart skipping a beat when he reaches up to brush some hair away from your forehead, “i’m just going to clean your cut up a little bit. stay still for me, yeah?”
you nod obediently and find yourself leaning forward a little bit even though you know you probably don’t need to
“what’s your last name?” you ask, seokjin looking down at you for a brief second before focusing back on the cut on your forehead
“kim. why?”
“just wanted to know what my future surname is going to be, that’s all.”
seokjin snorts before raising a brow, “quite the charmer, aren’t you?”
“it’s not every day that i get to talk to a very handsome ambulance man.”
seokjin chuckles, smoothing his fingers over the pad to make sure that it’s secure before pulling away, “mm, that’s fair. can you tell me what day it is?”
“saturday. which i think is the perfect day out of all of the days to go out on a date, because if we get super drunk and have crazy sex tonight, we can wake up late tomorrow and go out for brunch-!”
seokjin suddenly pinches your lips in between his fingers before frowning in concern, “your bottom lip is a little busted.”
“pheel vfree to kiss it bhetter.” you murmur, seokjin pulling away to rummage through his little kit again, “you look really cute when you’re concerned, by the way.”
“is that so?” seokjin hums, pulling a q-tip out and a tube of what looks to be some kind of a gel, “you can’t go around kissing strangers, you know.”
“you’re an exception.” you grin, dodging the q-tip when seokjin tries to dab some gel on your lip, “i was serious about the date, though. what do you think?”
“i think-” seokjin tries again only for you to turn your head the other way, “i think that you need to stop flirting with me so that i can do my job-”
“i’m letting you do your job!” you argue, “i’m just asking you an innocent question, that’s all-”
“if you were letting me do my job, you would be all patched up by now-” seokjin laughs lightly, shaking his head and leaning backwards when you move your head again, “okay, how about this? i will happily go out with you if you just stay still and let me clean up your lip.”
you perk up immediately, “for real?”
“for real.” he nods, holding the q-tip up, “are you willing to cooperate now?”
“mhm.” you hum contently, leaning forward and immediately pursing your lips, “please fix my lips so they’ll be nice and healed by the time we go out on our date.”
“why? are you planning to do a lot of kissing on our date?” seokjin teases, applying the gel before using the other end to dab off the excess
“that’s for me to know and for you to find out.”
seokjin presses his lips together to hold back a smirk
you are... awfully cheeky, aren’t you?
he’s verY into that
and bonus points because you’re very attractive and definitely his type
“okay, lemme just do one last thing here.” seokjin reaches into his shirt pocket for a little flashlight before reaching over and pinching your chin in between his fingers gently and bringing your face closer to his
“you’re not even going to wait until after our first date to kiss me?” you murmur, your eyes widening slightly, “and i thought i was coming on strong.”
“i’m just checking out your pupils, darling.” seokjin hums, “trust me. you’ll know when i’m about to kiss you.”
you shift in your spot a little as you feel youR cheeks starting to heat up now
oh,.,. how the tables have turned.,,.
seokjin’s just glad that he finally figured out how to get you to stay still so that he can get along with his procedures smoothly
“hi, pretty girl…” seokjin coos, raising your eyelid gently so that he can get a good look at your pupils, “mhm, that’s right… just keep your eyes on me…”
gladly
you’d keep your eyes on seokjin for the rest of your liFE if you could
“is this finally the part where you kiss me?”
“nice try, cheeky.”
»»————- ❄ ————-««
“so y/n’s going to be okay?” namjoon chews on his thumbnail anxiously and you reach over to pat his knee reassuringly
the poor thing is going to chew his entire hand off if he doesn’t stop soon
he joined you on the ambulance ten minutes ago but for eight whole minutes was just profusely apologizing to you (“i’ll never put on another pair of skates for as long as i’ll live!” “namjoon, it’s fine-” “for as long aS I LIVE-”)
seokjin nods as he packs up his kit and slides it back underneath the bench, “y/n’s going to be just fine. you can relax!”
“namjoon - you’re acting like you ran me over with a monster truck. i’m fine!”
“how many fingers am i holding up?” namjoon holds up three fingers and you blink at him before raising a brow
“obviously five.”
namjoon’s eyes widen in panic and he turns back to look at seokjin, “y-you said she was fine!”
“three! three fingers, you’re holding up three fingers-” you giggle, reaching forward to push namjoon’s hand back down, “seriously, joon... i’m fine! i swear.”
“alright, all you have to do is keep her company during the ride.” seokjin clears his throat, “i want to do a couple of scans at the hospital just in case!”
“aw, but i don’t want namjoon to keep me company-” you whine quietly, leaning against namjoon’s shoulder as you look up at jin, “why can’t you keep me company instead?”
“someone has to drive the ambulance.” seokjin teases, reaching down to pinch the apple of your cheek gently, “i’m all yours at the hospital.”
“namjoon can drive.” you push your bottom lip out in a pout before batting your lashes at him, “don’t you wanna hang out with me?”
“if namjoon’s driving skills are as good as his skating skills, i think i’m going to have to pass.” jin laughs lightly, sliding back into his jacket “we can hang out once we get to the hospital.”
namjoon narrows his eyes suspiciously as he glances back and forth between the two of you
...
..,.,...the energy in here...,.,..
.,,.,.,,the vibes,.,..,
someone definitely wants to fuck someone
seokjin sighs to himself as he hops into the driver’s seat before slamming the door shut
he pulls his phone out to check the time before smiling to himself because :-) your number is on his phone :-)
he wasn’t expecting to get a cute girl’s number today but he welcomes this surprise with open arms!
“y/n y/l/n...” he murmurs under his breath, reaching up to adjust the mirror
hm
your name does seem like it’d fit with his surname
his ears prickle when he hears your muffled voice through the thin partition and he leans back a little so he can do some sneaky eavesdropping
“i am planning... to have so much sex with that man. but in like a romantic way, you know? because i’m classy like that.”
seokjin snorts to himself before shoving the key into the ignition
(for the record: he feels the exact same way as you do).
christmas with cee 2020 masterlist
🎁what would you like from ceenta this year? 🎁
#cwc2020#requested drabbles#emt!jin#jin drabbles#seokjin drabbles#bts drabbles#seokjin fluff#seokjin fics#seokjin fic recs#seokjin#jin#kim seokjin#bts fluff#bts fluff recs#bts fics#bts fic recs#bts#bts smut#bts smut recs#seokjin smut#seokjin smut recs#bts au#jin au#seokjin au#kim seokjin drabbles#reader insert#seokjin x reader#jin x reader#seokjin cute#jin cute
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A Succubus’ Dilemma
Summary: Succubus!Reader is struggling with her identity as she gets closer to Kirishima. She wants to continue being the diligent, strong-willed hero that he praises her for being but the presence of Eijirou Kirishima is making that unbearably difficult. She just can't pretend to be quirkless anymore…
Words: 4.5k
Rating: 🌊 Explicit, Smut
Warnings: cursing, virginity (but there’s no explicit mention of it), oral (receiving), aphrodisiac, heavy overstimulation, a bit of corruption, kinda dark ending?
Notes: ~Welcome to another steamy piece from your favorite island resort~
This one is pretty straight-forward. I feel like I kicked up the smut on this one. Also, I based the ending off one of the endings of one of my favorite yaoi visual novels :-)
You were lying down on Kirishima’s bed, deeply engrossed in the romantic scene transpiring on your phone’s screen. You had decided to entertain yourself with an episode from your favorite show while your best friend was in the shower.
‘I love you, Jake. But…I just want to wait before we get intimate. I’m just not ready, right now’
‘Of course, Kathrine! I’ll wait however long it takes! You’re so much more to me than a warm body!’
‘You say that…but what if I choose to stay celibate forever?’
‘Then you can live with the confidence that I, Jake Petersmith, have wholeheartedly loved you for the wonderful human that you are!
‘Oh, Jake!
‘Kathrine!’
You were tearing up at the cheesy displays of affection since you were a sucker for all things romantic. You loved how characters seemed to have an undying love for one another. Often, you fantasized about sharing that kind of ethereal love with someone yourself. How it would be to run together through a field of sunflowers, or skip hand-in-hand on the sandy surfaces of the beach, or even make couple pranksters YouTube videos that were so obviously not faked.
But that kind of future won’t happen for you. It can’t. Not in the gross body you were in. Surely you were easy on the eyes, but what lurked inside was a demon that constantly bewitched your thoughts. Making you see people around you as simply meat sticks and sticky caverns to be engorged in.
Simply put, you were a succubus. Or at least had a succubus-like quirk. You never told anyone though, only being known to your parents. You tried so hard to reign in these feelings on a daily basis while pretending to be quirkless. But it was becoming increasingly difficult as you got older and as you hung around the likes of…Kirishima.
Oh Kirishima. He was such a beautiful human on the inside and out. Always praising and encouraging you. Being there for you when it seemed you were at your worst low points, and then being there to pick you up and trophy you around when you succeeded at doing even just the bare minimum. You wished you could return even half the happiness to him that he gave you throughout your days at U.A. You wanted to do all the romantic things you saw in movies and books with him. Kirishima was just such a sunshine in your life and you wanted him to continue warming you for the rest of it.
There was a time where 90% of your thoughts toward him were like this…and then as time went on, they became more savagely. Where all you wanted was for him to sink those sharp teeth in your flesh, ravaging your body with a cock that could probably barely even fit inside you, holding you within those arms- those beautifully muscular arms that glistened provocatively with sweat when he trained. You wanted him. Needed him. Please desire me, Eijirou.
You were about to slip your hands down your underwear when you heard the creak of the door open.
“L/N!! Did you miss me?! I’m back!” Kirishima bursted through the door with that wide grin you loved so much.
Of course, I freaking missed you, Eijirou. You were only gone for 11 minutes, 35 seconds, and 23 milliseconds. But I missed every moment.
You covered up your lust with a chuckle. “You weren’t even gone that long.”
“Aww don’t say that!! I missed you, you know.” He teased at you.
Don’t tempt me, baby
“Haha, whatever, Kiri…” You sat up as Kirishima slumped down on the floor next to his coffee table and pulled out his laptop. “So what are we watching, tonight?”
“Hmm…not sure! What do you wanna watch, L/N?” He turned his head to smile back at you. He was so cute. So gorgeous. And your erotic thoughts seemed to be running rampant right now. Especially at the fact that the two of you would be huddled up alone together for who knows however long a movie marathon is. You had to find a way to quickly rid yourself of these thoughts.
“Mmm, let me look up some! Hold on.” A blatant lie. You were going to google get-dry-quick schemes so you could enjoy the rest of the night safely with Kirishima. It was the least he deserved after training so hard today.
HOW TO NOT BE HORNY??!!1!
You analyzed your search results before clicking on a forum where someone seemed to be going through the same dilemma as you.
‘Hello, my name is [redacted] and I’m horny all the time ☹. I’ve lost so many boyfriends because of it and I truly want to find a husband, but it would be silly of me to expect them to drop everything to please me. How can I stop these feelings?’
Someone just like you! You weren’t alone in this cruel abyss. Perhaps she also had a succubus quirk!
Looking through the answers wasn’t much help for the most part. Most of the replies being trolls who asked where she was so they could “help” her. Even worse were the ones that chastised her for her feelings. Saying she was impure and needed to change her ways.
But your eyes were intrigued at the first comment that seemed to provide some kind of helpful information.
‘You might be a nymphomaniac. Have you tried talking with a professional?’
A nym- what? What was that? You opened another tab.
What is a nympomiac?
Too concerned with research to get the correct spelling, you saw articles for definitions of the auto-corrected word.
Nym∙pho∙ma∙ni∙ac
Noun: a woman with uncontrollable or excessive sexual desire
Gasping at the accuracy you divulged further.
How to not be a nymphomiakc?
A lot of the results for this returned with solutions that were too time-consuming. Prescribed medication, cognitive therapy, and even some evil medieval treatments that involved leeches.
But you needed something now. Why were all these long-winded answers so abundant?! Couldn’t they just give you something to do now? What the fuck would you have to do?? Shove an iceblock your pussy?? Should you go ask Todoroki for a favor??
You were in the middle of texting Todoroki when Kirishima pulled you out of your frenzy.
“You find anything, L/N?”
“Gyahh! What?!” You dropped your phone and looked at Kirishima like you were a deer caught in his headlights.
“Woah, you okay there?! Did I scare you? Maybe horror isn’t a good idea, then.” His worried face could send you to the grave. How could you let him worry about you like this?
“Ohh..no Kiri. I’m fine. We can just watch whatever you want.” You eased your breaths, desperately trying to sound normal.
“You sure?! Awesome! There’s this zombie flick I’ve been meaning to watch but I get kinda scared watching stuff like that alone.” He clicked around happily through some tabs on his browser. “I think if its with someone as courageous as you, I’ll be less scared.”
Was he trying to make you cry? Saying something so beautiful like that with a face like his. Shame on him, honestly.
“I’m gonna play it now, you ready?”
“Mmhm”
--------------------------------------------------
The movie so far was just as you hoped: grotesque, gory, horrifying, and most importantly, non-arousing. It helped that you stayed on the bed while Kirishima sat on the floor, so I guess that was cheating, but nonetheless necessary.
“You doin’ okay up there, L/N?” Kirishima checked up on you. You had probably been suspiciously quiet due to concentrating on waving away any little lewd thoughts.
“Oh yeah, what about you, Kiri?”
“W-Well! I was kinda thinking! That maybe uhh…I could possibly join you up there?” He scratched his head in nervousness at his slighty flirty suggestion.
Oh no
“Up where?”
“On the bed. Y-you know…with you?”
At this point you didn’t really know whether to praise or curse the gods above you. If there was one thing you could be sure to thank them for, it was the dark room that hid the flustering of your facial expression.
“I-Its your bed after all…”
“I know! I guess its just- heheh..nevermind! I’m hopping up!” Kirishima rugged his massive body on the bed next to you. Even taking some of the blanket you had so you’d be forced to share with him, he just softly smiled as he did so.
This was way too much for the hellion within you to handle. You could smell his strong scent from beside you. His breathing more pronounced in your ear drums. And its like you could feel his heartbeat within you. Pulsating inside you…
Things would take a turn for the worse when it seemed like a sweet romantic scene was about to show up. The two main leads were alone in a bunker and one of them had just revealed they were bitten.
“Samuel, Nooo!”
“Lilia! Listen to me! I need you to hear what I have to say.”
“We don’t have time, Samuel! We- We need to get you medicine. We have to! We have-“
“Stop, Lilia! There’s nothing that can save me now! You and I both know what happens from here.”
“Samuel…”
“Lilia… I want you to be the one who does it.”
“I can’t…Samuel..I can’t”
“You have to, Lilia. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.”
“Don’t do this, Sam…”
“I love you, Lilia.”
“Oh Samuel! I’ll never be with anyone else! Ever!”
“Lilia…”
The words lingered in your head as the movie continued on.
‘I’ll never be with anyone else’
Was such an option available to you? Even if you did take away the innocence of your love, Kirishima Eijirou, who’s to know how your body would react? The best result would be that your body would finally be satisfied and you’d no longer have these perverse thoughts.
On the other hand, maybe you’d just sink further and further down. Drowning in the suffocating waters of lust. And then what? Kirishima can’t just drop everything to cater to your needs. No. He was going to be hero. An amazing one at that.
But Kirishima wasn’t just a hero, he was your best friend. You felt awful every time he would praise your strong-willed persona. Saying how amazing you were despite being quirkless. He’d even say you were more manly than him at times. It was like you were betraying him. You were betraying that innocent smile he wore for you everyday…you couldn’t hold it anymore.
“Kirishima.”
He looked back at you, surprised at your rare use of his name. Sensing something was wrong he paused the movie and turned his entire body to face yours.
“L/N, what’s wrong”
You were doing it again. Making him worry over you. But you couldn’t keep holding in this secret. You needed to tell him.
“I have to ask you something…”
“Please ask! I’m listening with all ears, L/N” He perked up at you. He looked just like a puppy, waiting for your every move like that.
“What do you think about…impulsive people?”
“Huh? Impulsive people?” He scratched his head at the question. “Well…I guess they’re entertaining to watch? Kind of like Bakugou. But I suppose being too impulsive is bad. You could get yourself or others in danger.”
Your head lowered at his statement, eyes closing shut. Of course he would say something like that. It’s only natural for humans to be mindful of their indulgences. They had to. It’s a part of social conformity after all.
Yet still, it hurt.
He noticed your displeasure in his answer.
“What’s wrong, L/N? Why did you ask that? You’re not impulsive at all!” He was trying to cheer you up, but it only dug the knife further into your chest. “You’re one of the most dignified, tough, and resilient people I know!”
Tears were starting to form in your eyes and before you could object him he continued.
“A-and that’s why…That’s why I love you, F/N. I want you to be my girlfriend.”
As much as you wanted to pull him close to you and pamper him with kisses, you needed to come clean. You shot up from the bed, your back faced towards him and your handing closing into a clenched fist.
“That can’t happen, Kirishima! It won’t work!”
Kirishima followed you by jumping up from the bed, grabbing you by the arms to get you to face him. “Why, F/N?! Why can’t it happen? Is there something wrong with me?! Please just tell me!”
“Nooo…nooo there’s nothing wrong with you, Kiri..” The waterworks flowed from your eyes and violent sobs escaped from you. You slumped down on your knees in sorrow. Kirishima joined you on the floor and tried to pull you into him, but you’d jerk your body away. “You know nothing about me, Kirishima…I’ve- I’ve lied to you.”
“What do you mean, F/N? What did you lie about? I’m sure its not that bad!”
“I’m not quirkless, Kiri…” A couple more sobs came out of you. “I-I’m a demon…a succubus. A filthy succubus! Just a filthy disgusting succubus!!”
Not being able to stand your self-hatred, he grabbed you by the jaw to force you to look at him. His blazingly crimson eyes met your beautifully wet e/c ones. “Stop that, F/N! You’re not disgusting! Or filthy! You could never be those things!”.
You gripped his wrist and pulled it harshly away from you. “What would you know?! You don’t know the things I deal with inside this wicked head of mine! I encompass the most obscene thoughts about people! About you! Every morning I think about how I’m going to seduce you and get you to desire me just as much as I do! Every training session I look at that beautifully sculpted body of yours and I mentally defile it! Thinking of you as nothing more than a walking, breathing dildo! I see you when you’re smiling with your friends and all I want to do is just steal you away make you mine forever! And every night, I cry at the lack of pleasure I’m getting. The lack of warmth that I only want YOU to give to me. The lack of feeling your hot, meaty cock inside me! It drives me insane, Eijirou! I hate having these thoughts! I hate them! I hate them! I ha-hmmph!”
Kirishima had suddenly kissed you, and you had returned it by ravaging your tongue around his. You didn’t care about the cuts you might receive from his teeth grazing against your delicate flesh. You could only be swallowed by the pleasures overtaking your mouth. You drowned in each other, but only briefly before you had placed your hands on his chest and pushed him away from you.
“What are you doing?! Didn’t you just hear what I said?” You struggled to catch your breath as you wiped away the remnants of his saliva from your face.
“Why didn’t you tell me this, F/N? Did you…did you not trust me? Did you not think of me as manly enough to handle this?” His hands gripped tightly at your shoulders, craving a reply from you.
“You know that’s not true, Kiri. You’re the best person to ever come into my life, and that’s why I had to withhold this secret from you. I didn’t want you to abandon me.”
“I could never aban-“
“But I also didn’t want you to get wrapped up in me. I want you to continue your goals of becoming a hero, Eijirou. Who knows what sanity you’ll be sacrificing by being with me. It’s not a chance I’m willing to take.”
“That isn’t your call to make.” Kirishima’s uncharacteristically cold reply created an atmosphere that overwhelmed you.
“What do you mean? Hiding my quirk was the best decision.”
“Did you really think about me?” Kirishima’s hands glided from your shoulders to your upper arms, still holding a tight grip. “Did you think about how I’d feel if I knew you were holding yourself back like that? What if you’re killing yourself and you don��t know it? I’m supposed to be a hero, F/N. Your hero.”
Before you could reply he had stood up and lifted you back on the bed. He layed you down and positioned himself between your legs, squeezing at your thighs. They were so soft, so delicate. All of you was soft and delicate. And nothing you had told him tonight would change the way he felt about you. There was nothing you could say or do to change his feelings for you. Nothing.
You tried to pry his hands away from the meat of your thighs, but you were admittedly weak from his confession and the thick, encompassing atmosphere that was Kirishima’s presence around you. “Kiri-“
“Eijirou. Call me Eijiirou.”
“…Eijirou. We can’t do this. It’s dangerous…”
“It’s dangerous if I do, its dangerous if you don’t. But I’m telling you right now, F/N, I’m not letting you continue to do this to yourself. Knowing that you’re hurting like this and not being able to do anything? Not doing anything to help the one I love? What kind of hero would I be?...What kind of man would I be?”
Kirishima then leaned down to capture your lips in another kiss. You tried to move your head away but he took one of his hands against your jaw to hold you in place. It felt so good. So fucking good. His lips, his tongue, his rough hands. You teared up just at the pleasure of it all.
He then took his other hand to lift up your shirt, revealing your bra that contained the softest bust that any man could ever lay his hand upon. And right now that man was him. And he’d make sure it’d always be him.
Letting go of your lips, he roughly caressed your breasts before completely pulling your shirt over your head. Faint thoughts of resistance would slip away as you lost yourself in the pleasure you’d been craving for so long.
Struggling to get your bra off, Kirishima impatiently ripped it himself, using a bit of his quirk in the process.
“Eiji…”
“Sshh, baby. I’m gonna take care of you so well.” He slipped off your shorts along with your underwear and threw them unmindfully on the floor. Gripping the flesh below your inner knee, he spread your legs wide enough to slightly sting.
Your pussy was overflowing with juices for him and he barely even touched you yet. He took a moment to relish in the view, taking in deep breaths to smell your intoxicating aroma. He was inexperienced at sex but he knew this erotic perfume you were exuding could only have been the work of your succubus traits. He leaned down to give an experimental lick, his tongue curling to make sure he could gather as much of your juices as he could. He let your flavor sit in his mouth as if trying to enjoy the last sip of water on a mission in the desert.
His lewd behaviors made an unbearable heat rise to your face and you cowered behind your hands. Irritated, Kirishima jerked your hands away and looked at you as if you just insulted his entire lineage.
“Don’t you dare cover up that beautiful face of yours.” He leaned his head back down, this time capturing all the folds of your pussy in his mouth. “I want to see every expression you make. Hear every seductive sound that leaves that your throat.” The vibrations of his voice on your pussy drove you crazy. The rapid moving of his tongue against your clit was immediately sending you to a heavenly dimension.
“Ohh Eiji…Eiji I’m gonna cum…”
“Cum for me, baby. I want it.”
Your orgasm was so intense you could’ve passed out, but you couldn’t. Not with Eijirou still licking all over your clit like that.
“Oh my god, Eiji! Eijiii” Your hands gripped at his spiky hair, tugging tightly trying to get him to have mercy on your sensitive bud. “F-ffuckk! I can’t, Eiji, I can’t!”
Still not letting up, he continued to overstimulate you with his relentless tongue. “I’m sorry, F/N.” He slurped up your juices before working his tongue again. “You taste so fucking good. Like the freshest fruit from a garden.” He rotated between drinking up your fluids and licking vigorously at your clit. “I can’t stop, baby. I need more. Just cum again, okay?”
And cum, you would. A second orgasm was on the horizon and the overstimulation of it was making you shed tears. “Eiji…I’m gonna cum again. Oh my fucking god, I’m gonna cum againnn- Hnngh!!“. Intense waves of pleasure rode over you. However, Kirishima was still lapping up at your folds. “Eijirouuuu!!!”. Your moans became more high-pitched and erratic as you were overstimulated now for the second time.
“Just one more time, baby. I promise”. “I swear I just-“ Slurp. “Never tasted-“ Slurrp. “Anything so fucking good before.”
You were left with no choice but to cave into your third orgasm and Kirishima seemed to show no mercy for you. “Fucckkk.” You sniffled through your sobs as your next high came quicker than the previous ones. Finally Kirishima had lifted his head from between your lips. He had the most animalistic and erotic face you could have ever dreamed of seeing.
“Damn, that was so good. You did so well for me, baby.” Kirishima gleamed with the shine that was your juices. He leaned down to entwine his tongue with yours. You could taste yourself on him and it made you delirious. You had just cum three times, but you wanted more. You needed more.
Kirishima felt the same way as you as he backed up to give himself space to take his shorts off. Cock now springing free, you could see the beast of a rod he had and it made your mouth water. You whined at just the thought of the pleasure you were about to become entranced by. He lined himself up at your sopping entrance, but before he could slip in, you lightly pressed on his chest to get his attention.
“Are you sure, Eijirou? You can stop right now if want. I won’t be mad at you at all. You’ve already done so much for me, tonight.”
His cheeks faded into a deep pink as he moved your hands to be at his shoulders.
“I want you, F/N”. He stuck the tip of his cock in you, grunting at the tightness of your entrance. “I fucking want you.”
You let out a guttural moan as he slowly stretched your pussy to fit his cock. You finally felt it. The warmth you’d been craving deep inside. The stingingly sweet pain of his cock stretching out your drenched pussy. You could die right now. Right here in the arms of the man you loved. And your ghost would be perfectly okay with it. But your flesh craved even more. You needed him to reach the deepest parts of you. You needed him to destroy your greedy pussy.
“Fuck me, Eijirou. I want you to fuck me like the greedy slut that I am!” You looked directly into his dazed eyes, whining at him to give you what you wanted. “Please, I want you so bad. Mark this pussy with that cock of yours. Make me unable to think about anyone else like this. C’mon, give it to me! ”
Too aroused by your begging, he silently obliged. Sinking the entirety of his cock inside you, he twitched at your pulsating walls. It was like your pussy was a breathing organ, sucking him in and tightening around him so he could never leave. And he wasn’t going to. He’d stay like this forever with you.
Not giving you time to get used to his size, Kirishima started thrusting brutally against your hips. You let out the sweetest moans as you littered his back with scratches. His thrusts becoming smoother and smoother as your pussy got used to him. His cock ferociously grazed against your g-spot as the tip teasingly nibbed at your cervix. The perfect mix of pleasure and pain, you felt your now fourth orgasm approaching. You let go of his shoulders to lay your head back deep in the cushions of his pillows.
“Eijirou, you’re gonna make me cum again! You’re gonna make me cum all over your cock-!”
“Oh fuck- me too, F/N”. The rhythm of his thrusts became more faltered as your walls inhumanely squeezed the life out of him. He looked at your cock-drunk face, pleased with his performance. “Where do you want it, baby?”
You raised your head to reestablish eye contact with him. “I want it inside! Cum inside me! I need your cum so bad, need to feel it in my-Hmmnghh!!” Your orgasm overtook your speaking as you groaned hysterically.
Kirishima not far behind you, quickened his pace to chase his own high. “Shit, F/N! I’m gonna cum inside you! Fucking take all of it, baby! Don’t let any seep out, okay?”
You moaned at the hotness of his seed spurting inside. It was so deep inside you and you wondered if it was either easier or more difficult to get pregnant as a succubus. Either way you wanted more and your walls clenched once again against Kirishima’s cock.
He grunted before leaning down to bury his face in your neck, once again starting to thrust inside you. He was overstimulated but your pussy was driving him crazy. Perhaps your juices were an aphrodisiac, making anyone a slave to the area between your thighs. He kissed along your jaw and brought his hand up against your throat. He didn’t squeeze tight, just enough to get your attention.
He rose his head up to get a good look at your face. You looked liked a corrupted angel beneath him. He couldn’t believe you withholded him from these pleasures for so long. Were you just gonna go fuck other guys? You were going to let other men taste what has been his all along? He needed to hear you say you belonged to him. He’d give up anything to hear your sweet voice tell him everything from your insides and out belonged to him.
“Tell me who you belong to, baby?”
You replied with no hesitation, willing to say and do anything to milk more of his cum inside you.
“You, Eijirou! I belong to you! My flesh, my womb, my guts! Everything belongs to you Eijirou!” You felt another orgasm filling up in your stomach. “Please don’t ever leave me, Eiji. I want you with me forever. “
Of course, this was something he had no qualms about doing. He was ready. He’d give up school, his goals, his life to please you at every waking moment. He’d keep you pumped full of his cum so you’d never think about anyone else. You wouldn’t even remember what it was like to live like you weren’t a succubus. You’d be happy like this. With him.
Because he was your hero.
#kirishima x reader#kirishima eijiro x reader#eijirou x reader#kirishima x reader smut#kirishima#kirishima eijirou#kirishima smut#kirishima eijirou smut#mha x reader#bnha x reader#mha smut#bnha smut#my hero academia smut#boku no hero academia smut#i was supposed to just be doing drabbles#i just couldn't not make this dark#the vn is called room. no 9#cayofdreams#cayfanfic
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get a grip [pcy]
—summary: working for park chanyeol, one of the favorite soccer players of the entire country, is damn right exhausting. taking out his obvious good looks and his charming smile, there is nothing more she can enjoy about him when she has to walk his demonic chihuahua through his rich neighborhood and get a sightly lower than average paycheck at the end of the month.
but it’s expected. he’s rich, successful and he probably bought the dog just because he could. all she has to do is her job. she barely even sees him, either way.
a lost chihuahua later and a few excuses spewing out her lips, the least she expects is for this year’s soccer promise to say he’ll be staying at home the rest of the summer, and that she better get his dog back to normal, if not, she’ll lose her job.
as if that barking demon isn’t enough of a problem, now she has to deal with her intense yet misunderstood attraction towards chanyeol. that isn’t such a promising summer.
—title: get a grip
— pairing: park chanyeol x reader
— genre: dog walker!au ; professional soccer player!au ; boss!au ; strangers to enemies to lovers!au
— type: fluff ; angst ; humor ; suggestive
— word count: 11,196
— note: this is a gift for one of my kofi supporters. thank you!
No matter how spacious this mansion is, it always remains empty. Pine green vines curl against the grass while her cheap sneakers step on it, shortened breaths leaving her lips in hopes of releasing the stress that accumulates inside of her.
Think, five thousand square feet worth of space in this house, and one tiny chihuahua had managed to slip the confines of its collar to run away as if he was on the brink of winning the goddamned Olympics.
How difficult could it be to find a beige-toned, short-haired, teeth-baring chihuahua in the middle of Park Chanyeol’s mansion? Well, extremely so, much more when said chihuahua belongs to him and she can’t find it anywhere.
She turns to the left, watching some of the chefs taking a break by one of Chanyeol’s balconies, cigarettes slipping through their lips to let out clouds of smoke. Three of them, to be exact, one shorter and fuller, one extremely buff and tall, and the shortest one the slimmest of them all.
“Guys!” Waving her hand in the air, she tries to recollect the attention of the trio. The shortest one stops smoking, waving back as he screams out her name. “Have you seen Messi?”
Yes, that’s the dog’s name. God bless Park Chanyeol for the ironies of his train of thought.
“The chihuahua?” The chef shouts back, and she has to blink away the eye-roll that almost emits from her. As it turns out, she is the dog-walker for a reason, the only individual she’d have to deal with here is…well, Messi. Not the soccer player, but the dog.
“Yeah. Have you seen him?”
“No!” Her bones grit against each other, practically seeing it all in the back of her eyelids. Unemployed, again, with a dog missing and someone gaining way more than she has in this job once they find him, somewhere along this unnecessarily expensive neighborhood. She’s guessing thousands, that’s how important this dog is. What she’ll get? A kick in the ass. “Maybe ask Junmyeon? He’s around the household.”
“Okay. Thanks!”
The recognition should go to the architects that worked in such masterpiece or the painters and designers that turned this mansion into a daydream. Tall white walls, curling trees and flowers spread across the front yard, the sun falling across the entrance—all emit beauty, accompanied by twelve bathrooms, nine bedrooms, one cinema, a bar and whatever else she hasn’t managed to hear about. She can go around the main spot, though, going through the living room and stepping on the almost-too-pristine marble flooring as she inspects around the room.
Chanyeol is never here, a shadow whenever he passes by to change his clothing and get on another plane. Most of the time, he lives in Spain. She doesn’t know why he bothers keeping this place when all his business with soccer is dealt with over there, but his house remains intact, leaving people to grant his every wish. Chefs that work on prepping meals that sometimes he eats, sometimes he doesn’t. Dog-walkers, such as herself. Gardeners. Cleaners. Maids. The list is endless.
Maybe, his dog is not everything Chanyeol has lost.
In the second living room, on the right wing of the house, she finds the figure that the chefs had been talking about. Junmyeon hunches over a table, inspecting through a folder before he jots something down with his pen. His black hair, moved away from his face, rests just below his ears, wearing his typical sweater—this time, champagne-colored—and jeans.
Chanyeol’s physiotherapist doesn’t spend much time around the mansion. Unless Chanyeol is there, of course. But the times that he has been around, she has enjoyed his presence. Some kind of friendship had blossomed—quite ironic, to be exact. Her mouth runs on speeches of ‘eat the rich and Park Chanyeol’, while Junmyeon defends him. Something about him having a deeper heart than she could ever judge.
Yeah, right.
“Jun,” She calls out, panting when she spreads her fingers on her knees to catch a breather. “Have you seen Messi?”
The man’s rounded cheeks lift when he gives her a smile, hanging his pen from the collar of his sweater. “May want to check in Argentina.”
What’s with this mansion and the stupid jokes? “Junmyeon, I’m serious. Messi slipped away from his collar…” Her hands lift the white and blue collar up in the air, the elegant decorations making it seem ridiculous. “And now I can’t find him. He’s gone.”
Junmyeon’s smile falls, going over to where she is. “Shit, Chanyeol will lose it.”
Her world crumbles down to pieces at that moment. The chefs are always here, maids upon maids that welcome her for each walk in the morning with a chihuahua that jogs and jogs and never gets tired, but if Junmyeon is there, it’s because he needs to tend to Chanyeol.
“Fuck, is he here?!” Panic starts to creep up on her, opening the doors of the living room to lead herself to the pool place in the mansion. God forbid that little dog is swimming in a pool the size of an average family’s house.
Junmyeon scoffs, though helping her lurk through the bushes and the seats. “It’s the end of the season and his meniscus are killing him. If I’m here, it’s because I need to tend to Chanyeol—”
Smacking her hands against her thighs, she looks around the place. Where had that little thing gone? “Well, excuse me for thinking you’d be visiting me for once.” The sarcasm drips from her tone, trying to find a defense mechanism for her endless anger. “We—We walked five blocks, all the way back and just when we got to the door, that fucking Houdini decided to slip away from the collar.”
“It must’ve been loose. I don’t think a chihuahua named Messi can just go like that.” Junmyeon answers, and she shakes her head, worrying her lip between her teeth.
Job lost. That’s it. She may want to start to buy the newspaper again just to check what’s available.
“It wasn’t loose.”
“Okay, damn, don’t use that tone on me.” His hands spread on his waist, harsh rays of sunshine falling upon his olive skin before he sighs deeply. “Where did you see him last?”
“Blasting towards the gardens.” She points towards the entrance door. “But I checked there, Jun. He’s not there.”
“He’s hiding or he left. Let’s hope it’s the first option.” The man is already walking ahead of her, getting out of the pool area and returning to the living room as she follows after his steps. He seems to have a plan, and she was starting to run out of options. “His favorite snacks are in the kitchen. We’ll just make a trail of food for him to follow and he will. He just came from a jog, he’ll be hungry. Or thirsty, we could add some water there.”
Bonus points for the man who actually graduated from university. Light transcends through her body, relaxing her every muscle as they get towards the kitchen. The chefs are not there, so the embarrassment will lessen, as well.
“I hadn’t thought about that.”
“Because you never think when you’re panicking.” A year of working in this household does that much. Hours spent with Junmyeon, waiting for Chanyeol to arrive because of his early appearances and her late outings with the chihuahua had led to some friendship to blossom there.
“You know how much I need this job.” Seriousness bathes over her statement, dragging through every syllable of what people don’t notice. They see the woman with the graphic t-shirts and jeans, looking unfitting in this exquisite place, that walks the dog every morning. They don’t see the reality of why she needs this job, and why she’s never as put-together as the others.
“I do.” He pushes the wooden doors of the kitchen open, turning around to give her a relaxing smile. Those that make his brown eyes twinkle, pushing his lips closer together. “And Chanyeol just left, so he’s not going to notice Messi gone.”
“I’m sure. It’s not like he ever pays attention to his dog either way.” She pushes the door of the kitchen open with her back, continuing to walk backwards as she speaks. “Seriously, why does someone get a dog when they are never going to take care of them? He doesn’t even live here, and when he does, he’s out and about. That’s like having a child and never taking care of it.”
The shadows in Junmyeon’s face cast down just like the smile that falls down from his features, widened eyes concentrating on whatever is inside that kitchen. She stops when her back collides with the island in the middle, turning around upon his horror. There, with its barking ways and humongous eyes is Messi, hugged tightly to Chanyeol’s chest.
Which, speaking of the man, he doesn’t seem pleased.
What’s the part that bothered him? The bad father part? Or the part where she questions why he even got a dog on the first place?
Messi doesn’t stay still on Chanyeol’s trained arms. He twists and turns until Chanyeol drops him on the floor, and she takes this time to stare at him. Sure, she has never been too fond of people in surprisingly well-established positions, and those who live such lavish lifestyles when others are completely devastated in what consists of economy, but Chanyeol is a sight to look at, nonetheless.
Brown hair that falls just over his forehead, tossed from practicing, his skin a bit tanner than when he stays in on winter. Protruding ears tinge in a blush thanks to the frown on his features, wide eyes dead-set on her. His lips push together, stifling whatever curses he wants to throw her way, arms crossed over his toned chest. A black t-shirt covers him, and she sees the strength of his calves in his basketball shorts.
“Ah, Mr. Park—” She tries to laugh through the issue, pointing towards Messi. “He was giving a walk on his own.”
“I found him barking at my car when I parked here. I forgot my phone, thankfully.” Never had he looked so serious, fire flaming from his eyes when he steps forward, spreading his hands on top of the island to look at her face to face. “I didn’t hire you to lose my dog, didn’t I?”
“You didn’t.” She responds after swallowing thickly. “He just slipped away—”
“Well, that’s my child. You can’t just let it slip away and expect me not to notice because I’m never here.” Ouch. The words must have hurt him, a long sigh leaving his nostrils when he shakes his head. “He’s developed anger issues.”
Her eyebrows raise on her forehead. That dog has always been one little barking thing. He’d bite, grunt and scratch whatever gets in his line of sight. He was like that one year ago, when he was a mere puppy, and the story goes on.
“He’s always been like that…” She replies, parting her lips in an amused smile. “That’s not my fault. I’m not a dog trainer, I’m a dog walker.”
Chanyeol points at the dog, now growling at him and scratching at his legs, as if trying to get to the top of the Everest. For someone so small, Chanyeol’s legs must be the road to heaven, too close to the sky for him to even try to get on him. “He never did this before. He’s—he didn’t even bite me in the past!”
Maintaining her stance, she crosses her arms across her chest. It doesn’t matter that half the country has popularized Chanyeol with a fame that even himself couldn’t control. Gold never blinded her enough not to realize the stain on a ring—so, that won’t be the case with Chanyeol. “Try thinking like him. He doesn’t recognize you. He doesn’t even recognize me. He must be acting up because he is always left on his own.”
Frowning deeply, he shakes his head: “No. You’re the one who has been with him the longest. You must have put him through some shit if he’s running away like that—”
Junmyeon lifts his hand in the air, like a student in the middle of class, staring at his two bickering teachers, practically throwing daggers at each other from their positions on that island.
Fuck Park Chanyeol, and not in the good kind of way. Fuck him in the sense of fleeing him away to a far, very far island where no one can find him and cannot hear his absolute bullshit.
Seriously, Messi developed anger issues because of her?
Junmyeon’s theory is a bit more factual. “Maybe, he’s just acting up because he is alone a lot of times.” He complements, shrugging in the process. “You know, like how kids do when their parents are never home. They start, I don’t know, not going to school, biting kids in elementary, probably thinking they’re a dog? I know those things happen.”
Chanyeol shakes his head, kneeling down to try and pat Messi’s short hair, but the dog clings onto his fingers, not biting as harshly to cause him pain, but enough to stick to the skin. “He wasn’t like this with me when I was here.”
“What, a trillion years ago?” She mumbles, widening her eyes when Chanyeol connects his gaze to hers. Fire radiates from those brown irises, standing up and moving to her side of the island.
Bye-bye dreams of a bigger apartment.
Farewell her curriculum.
Goodbye to her dignity.
See you later gossip mornings with Junmyeon.
“Sorry.”
His taut and trained arms cross over his chest, pushing his hair away from his eyes before returning to his scolding position. “If you know so much about my dog, why don’t you teach me how to be a great father?”
She snorts out a laugh. “It’s a dog, Mr. Park. I’m sure he doesn’t have enough braincells to—”
“He does.” Chanyeol utters, quirking one of his eyebrows. “Now that I’ll stay here for the summer, I want you to reconnect me with my dog. I’ll walk him with you every single day if I have to, but Messi…Messi changed with you and that fact stays.”
“Just listen to yourself. This is ridiculous!” She exclaims, expanding her hands towards the dog. “He was like that when I met him. Just—I don’t know, you’ve got money. Hire a dog psychologist or—or, I don’t know? A family counselor? A therapist? Don’t include me on this—”
“You want to keep your job?” The jab of his tone has her closing her eyes tightly. Okay, so she has to keep the job, but walking goddamned Satan on a leash every morning is not the job of her dreams. She hums, opening her pupils to show him her interest. “Well, stay and teach me how to be a dad. If by the end of the month it doesn’t work, I’ll have to find someone else for your spot.”
Eat the rich.
They are fucking ridiculous with the things they wish for. It’s a dog. All he wants is food, attention and a bone thrown his way from time to time. He can’t connect with him because Chanyeol is never here. Period.
Or because he’s a chihuahua. Shit, Paris Hilton’s dog mustn’t have the best attitude either.
But she extends her hand, interlocking it with his to give it a shake. “You’ve got it, Mr. Park.”
“Great.”
“Excellent.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He swings his hand towards the door, absentmindedly and relaxed. “We’re done here. Thank you for…uh, walking my dog and almost losing him?”
Poor dog doesn’t know what kind of person he just came back to. She tries to give a tight-lipped smile, nodding once and turning around to get out of that goddamned kitchen, cursing Chanyeol’s name inside her head endlessly.
###
Give life a mask and a stage and it’ll take anyone’s breath away, dramatic as it gets, bleeding out the pure execution of a wrongly written script. It’s a comedy, one of those dark ones that have people on the brink of feeling bad because they laughed.
Hell, but everyone has been laughing at him for the past week. The gin burns with the friction it leaves on his throat, clearing it once or twice when he leans back on one of his plenty of couches in his mansion. The King of Red Cards, the media had called him—and sure, Chanyeol knows not everything is fair in soccer, and most players use dramatics to earn the others some extra time or simply, when the shot of competitiveness settles inside of them and they use every touch against their skin to win the game.
Chanyeol? He doesn’t do well with red cards. They match his face when someone points it at him, and he’s all shouts and widened eyes. He knows where he touches, how he does it, and while he may seem like it, he’s not malicious. His body isn’t trained to extend his leg far enough to hurt someone non-accidentally.
But the media has done two things with the last three matches of his team. Mock him with endless pictures of his angered face as he tried to explain himself. Blame him for his team’s loss, and, how to forget? Tell him he’s not worth the money he earns.
That has him tipping his head back and downing the rest of the gin, listening to Sehun’s laughter as he tells him what had happened this morning.
Sure, the championships are over, he’s back home, there is nothing to worry about…but here’s the thing: he hasn’t been home, every day, since well over a year. The couches are practically new, the bed is spacious enough to hold five people in it, and he hates it. He had been taken for so long that his somber thoughts almost irk him.
Jesus Christ, how does one turn off that voice inside his head that repeats: An entire summer, Chanyeol, you can’t leave this mansion for an entire summer—?
“You really made that scene just because of your dog?”
Sehun has a point. He’s not half as tipsy as he is, still downing his first drink, one leg crossed over the other when he speaks. Amusement had covered his enigmatic features, long nose scrunched up after hearing him speaking about the fucking dog-walker.
Sure, Chanyeol had just gotten the news of his long-vacation, as announced by his manager, that morning…but he really shouldn’t have taken it all out on the girl.
Red card for that one, too.
“Messi wasn’t like that.” Chanyeol says, putting the glass down on the white coffee table, matching his leather couches and spacious bookshelves, filled with books that bring a tinge of color to this white lounge room. “You know, the dog.” He intensifies with some hand movements. “…I…He wasn’t like that when I was with Sohyun. When we adopted him—”
“And left him to be taken care by other people? Yes, that’s when he was tiny and sweet.” Sehun chuckles at his own words, leaning forward when parting his legs and serving himself some gin. “Chanyeol, be honest with yourself. Sohyun was a little, petty, spoiled bitch and you bought her a chihuahua because she wanted one. None of you were home to take care of the pet equivalent of a child, come on.”
His lips part, lifting his index finger in the air to form a debate before lowering it slowly. “Sohyun was here for the first three months of Messi’s life.”
And she really shouldn’t have picked that name, now he thinks. The poor dog is probably made fun of when with other dogs, in their own language.
One thing that should be known about Sehun, his best friend and actor, is that there is not a single hair on his tongue. He uses it to get women, and he definitely uses it to put Chanyeol in his place. “Tell me,” He starts, taking a sip of his newly served drink. “When was she taking care of Messi? During those three months, when she lived here, and all she did was cheat on you…or was it when she, clearly, put the dog away from her room to fuck your publicist?”
Talk about harsh.
His life should have never intercepted with Sohyun’s. With her long-bleached hair, small shoulders and wide hips, she had made her way through the world of modelling. A socialite with pretty lips, a soft voice and the most sensual of touches had practically put him to his knees in the matter of seconds. One week of dating, a month of locking himself up in his room after practice just to spend hours and hours between her legs had turned into a relationship.
He should’ve never gone to that party he met her to. Shouldn’t have moved in with her so soon. Shouldn’t have given her the benefit of the doubt when she promised she’d stay by his side while he was in Spain.
This mansion is haunted with the ghost of the plenty of men that passed by this couch, his bed, his rooms, his kitchen, the bathroom.
Someone, call the ghostbusters, because he’s not entirely pleased with still living here.
“I know I overreacted.” Chanyeol says, tracing the outline of his empty glass. “But…he really wasn’t like that. She has made him more aggressive.”
“Says who?”
“Me. I say so.” His eyes widen, resting his hand against his forehead when he leans back. “Sehun, I’m having the worst day of my life and I have to live in this fucking mansion for an entire month, just…let me be.”
His friend squints his eyes, inspecting his features for a few seconds before humming.
“Is she, like, the woman that comes around here every morning…at around seven, and takes Messi with her?”
Chanyeol scoffs. “That’s what a dog walker does, ain’t it?”
With that, he’s settled. Sehun melts into his chair, pleased with the scent of his gin when he closes his eyes and tries to muffle his laughter. “You’re being a kid.”
“Why?” He asks. “She—I may have not been good with my words, but my point stands. He’s—”
“Let me remind you, Chanyeol, I was with you when you hired her.”
He doesn’t recall the exact day but he uncovers his forehead to look at him properly. “What about it?”
Sehun shrugs. “I don’t know, bro. You were looking through the pictures of all the people trying to walk your dog to hell and back if you asked them to, and you only hired her because you thought she was hot.”
Oh, now he remembers.
Maybe, it was one of those judgement-clouded, ego-hurt, post-break-up decisions that he had made. Sohyun’s bags packed, she had left their dog behind, wanting to do nothing with him now that they were separated, for good. Of course, some ties unite him to the small, little puppy that now hates him to bits, but at the time, he had to go back to Barcelona.
His manager arranged it all, and Sehun was planning on helping him with the interviews when he came across her picture. All he had to do was point and say:
“I said she was cute, not hot.” Chanyeol corrects, half-drunken in his slurred voice.
“Same thing.” Sehun fights back, but Chanyeol shakes his head.
“It’s not the same thing.” He says. “Besides, she’s a back-talker and extremely disrespectful. There’s this air of arrogance to her—”
“That battles yours? What a match!” Sehun claps his hands together, laughter escaping his lips when he shakes his head. “Park Chanyeol, look at you. Haven’t gotten laid in a while and now you’re not sure how to get a girl. Have to act like a kid pulling at his crush’s braids.”
Chanyeol scoffs. Sure, she’s not half bad looking in her simple clothing with that troublesome smirk on her lips, but she is definitely not enough trouble for him to be spending every single day with her just because. “Dude, seriously, I would never do that.”
“You wouldn’t have done that before, but you haven’t been in the game for a while.” Sehun stands up, tugging at his jacket to put it on before giving a sugar-sweet, teeth-rotting smirk. “I’m betting my sweet little ass something is going to happen, and not on her side of things, but in your side.”
“Why?!”
Sehun opens the door, cackling in the process. “Because it’s obvious, douchebag. She hates your guts!”
He grabs one of the pink cushions on the couch, throwing it towards Sehun only to be stopped by the man closing the door behind him.
“That’s it, go away, asshole!”
As if he could really absentmindedly go all those extra miles just to get some…some arrogant dog-walker that thinks he hasn’t tried to establish a relationship with his dog.
Sehun’s really on some hard shit. He’s betting acid—with his sweet little ass, as Sehun would say.
###
Books are a bunch of bullshit. Crap. Manure. Shit.
Or, maybe she’s just thinking about her breakfast—that also looks like absolute shit.
Some mixtures just don’t go well. The soft texture of black beans, somewhat dulcet and creamy on top of a crunchy, half-bitten toast is not what anyone would call an ideal breakfast. It doesn’t bring any source of happiness or energy to her day, much less when accompanied by lukewarm water. Her small bed works as her dining table as she munches on her breakfast as quickly as she can, reading a romance book once of her friends had given her to pass time.
If life was good, she’d have a house as big as Park Chanyeol. Another thing that doesn’t go well with her morning. She sighs deeply, leaning back on the bed and bringing the book up to her eyesight. The bodyguard, meaning the main man, has decided to leave everything to protect his princess, rushing through fields of people just to get to her before the bad guys do. Heroic, so inherently…false. No one is like that.
The neighbors next door have decided to prove her right. It’s six in the morning, and it seems like the couple is still on their honeymoon phase. Her bed’s headboard slams against the wall when she hears the first few moans and whines, the neighbor’s old bed squeaking with each word that escape the couple’s lips.
“Oh fuck, right there—”
They’re on their fifties. Maybe, they don’t know it’s six in the fucking morning.
“Harder!”
And the headboard actually slams harder against her wall.
Who would have thought old Mr. Lim still had it in him?
“Har…der!”
Okay, time to get to work earlier.
She grabs her hoodie, pulling it over her head and pushing her phone inside her pocket before getting out of her apartment. Even in the hallway, consisting of equally as small apartments, she can hear the Lim’s going at it like rabbits. Good luck for the other neighbors who have to wake up to realize that Mr. Lim doesn’t have an erectile disfunction. Not yet, at least.
That dick is up-and-at-them.
The book was left behind, because if life was like a book, someone would have already come save her—or there would have been some nice man, looking like he is Leonardo DiCaprio’s long lost relative, telling her that he’ll pay her whatever thousand or million dollars just to pretend to be his girlfriend. Life would be good then, because she’d have a happy ending and she wouldn’t have to worry about putting bad food on her plate.
But it’s not how life works.
Luckily for her, she doesn’t have to wait long by the bus stop, getting inside it to greet the driver. From then on, she concentrates on the atmosphere, the most dangerous part of the city melting into the center, far more packed and prepared for the day. From then on, she has to get off and walk towards Chanyeol’s rich neighborhood. The muscles of her thighs thank her for the workout but it’s damn right exhausting—this routine, that is.
Crisp air wraps around her arms, moving her hair when she finally crosses the gates to Chanyeol’s neighborhood. Fifty minutes later, but she’s there. The neighbors are not more normal than others, even when they are rich, living in their grand mansions. A woman is taking the sun in in her front-yard, pinned back hair and almost nonexistent bikini cladding her body.
Good for her, she looks nice.
Kids are rushing in mini cars. Men are working out where everyone can see them. It’s all about image in this place.
The white walls of Chanyeol’s spacious mansion finally welcome her, sweat pooling at her forehead when she wipes it off and greets the guards by the entrance. She doesn’t even ask if Chanyeol is here—of course, he is not going to be here. A ghost in his own home, he probably exaggerated when speaking to her yesterday.
So, she opens the doors of the mansion, inviting herself in when Messi comes rushing towards her.
“Hello, my boy—” Her voice heightens because he may be a headache and the devil at the same time, but Messi looks cute with his big chihuahua eyes and his swinging tail early in the morning. “I need to find your leash first, babe. Follow me.”
He does as she says, at least, he seems to be happy today. She moves towards the main living room, humming a song under her breath. Some rock tune from the eighties that she can’t quite recognize, but she doesn’t pay much attention to it, getting to the corner of the expansive living room and opening the drawers to get one of the many leashes out.
She feels like pink today. Perhaps, she needs to feel like she’s the main character of Legally Blonde today.
Yet, when she closes the drawer and she turns around, she hears a guttural groan. Mr. Lim is nowhere in sight, and he would kill to sound like that, so that only leaves her with a few options.
A man lays on the couch, half-dead, maybe, he doesn’t move much, but she knows exactly who it is. One of his toned, muscular arms spreads on top of his eyes, covering the light that rakes through the glassed doors and windows, his dark hair done a mess on top of his head, lips plump and swollen from the amount of alcohol he had taken. Shit, it stinks like whiskey or gin in here—
The empty bottle of gin on the table tells her it’s the latter.
Her eyes go towards his worked, toned stomach, uncovered…because of course someone like Chanyeol just had to sleep without a shirt on, and his long legs spread on the otherwise tiny couch—at least, for him—, cladded in gray sweatpants.
He opens one of his eyes, groaning at the sight of her once again and she closes her eyes tightly.
Forget the sound.
She’s not there to think as Chanyeol as anything other than fucking annoying.
“What are you doing here?” His voice has a rasp, barely lifting his head to look at his phone on top of the coffee table before dropping it again. “It’s seven in the morning.”
“I’m doing my job. I always walk Messi this early.” Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Messi rushes towards the living room, swatting his tail like a maniac. “Don’t worry, Mr. Park. You can keep sleeping, I’ll walk the dog and leave.”
But Chanyeol doesn’t take it, sitting up and running his fingers through his hair, and it takes all the will in the fucking world not to look at his contracting biceps.
“I said I’ll accompany you, and I will.” Though, when he stands up, something switches in Messi, barking uncontrollably towards the tall man. “Yes, boy. Who’s a good boy? You are!”
Even those words don’t seem to tranquilize Messi, and she does her best to kneel down and take it in between her hands, but he slips away easily. “Hey, come back here!”
Just like yesterday, Messi scavenges and she’ll give him something—
Boy got quick legs.
He runs away from the living room and towards the entrance. Her eyes connect to Chanyeol’s momentarily, rushing after him only to hear his loud footsteps behind her.
“See? He can’t see you because he already goes crazy!” Chanyeol exclaims behind her, and she swears she hears his little paws tapping against the flooring. He may be going to the entrance door, again.
“Excuse me?” She questions, seeing the swing of the dog door on the entrance door before shaking her head at Chanyeol. “He went crazy when you woke up.”
“Then, you plotted him against me!”
“I didn’t do shit, Mr. Park.” She opens the door before looking around.
Chanyeol moves quicker, thinks faster, asking the guards by the entrance of his mansion. “Have you seen Messi?”
One of them frowns. “…In Argentina?”
If she wasn’t so worried about the goddamned dog, she would’ve laughed.
Chanyeol spreads his hands on his hips, elbows crooked. “No! My dog!”
“Oh, by the pool!”
“Thanks!”
Her boss is already a few steps ahead, speaking to her as he waits for her to follow after him. Shit, some people just are really insufferable—
“Stop cussing me out all the time. You don’t know me.”
“Well, you don’t know me, either.”
“I know you don’t like me. I think that’s enough.”
“It wasn’t a requirement for the job to be your absolute fan, Mr. Park. I’m just not very fond of how you point fingers at everyone when—”
“Shh!”
Upon reaching the pool, they see Messi swimming with his little paws, the sun raking down his small body as he enjoys the summery day.
She spares him a glance, as if asking him if he thinks the same way as her, and he nods. Okay, so he agrees, she’ll be the one to catch him.
Only that when she moves forward to grasp Messi in between her hands, Chanyeol does so at the same time. And then, everything she feels around her is water.
When she rises up from the pool, she feels someone’s body pressed right to hers. In front of her, she realizes after pushing her hair away from her face, is Chanyeol, in all his half-naked glory, droplets of water clinging to his face and chest as he frowns at her.
“I was going to get him!”
“Sorry for not knowing silent language…” Asshole is how she wants to finalize the sentence, but when she sees Messi paddling away by their side, as if laughing at their antics and enjoying his time by the pool. Her hands wrap around his small body, caging him in between their chests. “Nu-uh, my boy. You’re not going anywhere else.”
Each breath Chanyeol takes connects to her body, moves her as he tries to catch his breath. Sooner than later, he’s no longer pointing fingers—at least, not directly, but worried over anything else he feels.
“Why does he keep running away?” In his voice, the deflated optimism is noticeable and she looks up at his eyes before sighing.
“I think he just wants your attention.” Prompting, she looks away from the man. It’s not the first time that she realizes Chanyeol is above average-looking people, but that doesn’t give him in the benefit to just barge into her head like that. “You know, you gave him a hard time by leaving him with the sitter for so long and now he wants revenge. Or, he’s holding a grudge. One or the other.”
Messi bites at her hair, pawing at it to see the wet strand of her hair.
“But what do I do?” A pout takes over his features when he leans forward and his dog bites at his finger. “Ouch, Messi, bad boy!”
She huffs. “Maybe, try changing his name? No one is going to take him seriously if you call him Messi.” With that, she moves towards the edge of the pool, getting out with the dog between her hands. “I think he senses you and feels like running. Maybe, you could leave us on our own? At least, until he gets used to you again.”
His wide shoulders deflate. “That’s it? I can’t do anything?”
“I’m not sure.” She answers, sitting at the edge of the pool and wrapping the collar around Messi’s neck. “I’ll go walk him now. Just…let me do my job?”
Though, once she stands up, her skin becomes aware of the fabric of clothing clinging to her body, uncomfortably outlining every curve and imperfection.
“You want to walk around the neighborhood like a wet dog?” A charming smile takes over Chanyeol’s features and all she wants to do is wipe it off. Get some Kleenex and poof, clean it away before he continues with that confidence that both irks her and interests her.
She lifts Messi up slightly, who is blinking back at him as if judging him. “That’d make two wet dogs.”
“No, no.” And God, he makes a show out of getting out of the pool, his arms flexing when he pushes himself away, running his fingers through his hair to push the strands away. “I’ll lend you some of my old clothes and you can leave after.”
“It’s not necessary—”
“I wasn’t asking. I was offering.”
“And I’m denying. Thank you, but no thank you.”
Chanyeol rolls his eyes, tugging her by her arm to pull her with him. She doesn’t hesitate to go after him, after all, she knows he could very well drag her away. “Pride, pride, pride. It’s a bad thing to hold onto that, you know?”
“…Are we talking about you or about me?”
The warmth of Chanyeol’s mansion makes her sigh in delight, briefly letting go of him to lock the dog’s door and let go of Messi. He shakes his body before sprinting away with his barking ways.
Sure, he’s not usual, but he’s cute in his own way.
Chanyeol goes up the set of curved stairs, too long for her own good, but perhaps one of the many reasons why Chanyeol’s legs are to die for.
“You.”
“I’m not prideful, Mr. Park.”
“If that lets you sleep at night…”
Gasping, she catches up with his steps, walking alongside him, cringing at the squeaking of her shoes. “I’m sorry that everyone but me would die to have your clothes on them, but I’m not sure I want everyone here to think I’m just wearing your clothes because we—” She stops herself then, pressing her lips together because she may be bantering with her boss, the man that signs her paychecks…and now, he’s chuckling at her words, low and deep and somewhat, alluring.
“You don’t want anyone to think you’re fucking me?” Chanyeol questions, and she hums. Then, his shoulders lift in a shrug, moving through the hallways to get to his walk-in wardrobe. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing someone could think of you.”
She breathes out, almost wheezing: “Over my dead body.”
He opens the doors of the closet then, turning to look at her. “Is that really what you think? Am I the most undesirable man in this world for you?”
Okay, she really does try to not swallow thickly when he says those words, because one thing is difficulty—and another thing is having Chanyeol, shirtless, asking her if she deems him attractive.
“Yes.”
His eyes inspect her features, walking into the closet with a waltz on his steps. “Lies.” While he mutters that simple word, he looks through his clothing, racks after racks of fabrics pushed around by his big hands.
“Think what you want.” Tiredness takes over her mind because she’s damp and smells a little bit like a dog. All she needs to do is finish her job.
“I just know you’re lying.”
“I’m not.” She bites back through gritted teeth. Chanyeol snatches something away from a hanger, then something else from his folded clothing before tossing it her way. Quite a master looking through this closet when it’s three times bigger than her apartment.
“Either you lied or you had a basketball in your throat. That swallowing ain’t covering up well for you.”
“I have a sore throat.”
“May want to get it checked up.” With that, he moves towards the door, taking the handles between his hands and only closing them when he says: “I think it’s an allergy. It only happens when I am the one around.”
With that, he’s gone.
And thankfully, he’s not there when she goes out wearing one of his black sweatpants, tied around her waist, and a violet hoodie, miniscule scarlet letters reading out ‘sexual fantasies’. The worst part? It smells like him.
She walks seven blocks wearing an outfit Park Chanyeol may have sported some other time, with his dog and his scent lingering on her.
What a curse.
###
“Your friend is a feisty one, isn’t she?”
What the hell is Chanyeol doing thinking about his employee? He has no idea, much less when the question lingers with a hiss when his physiotherapist bends his knee to the side slightly, having him curse and lull his head back. The pain takes his curiousness away for once, too early in the morning for him to even be thinking about the woman that has been the reason behind his headaches for the past five days.
Worst part is that his dog, sleeping soundly on his bed as Junmyeon works on his knee, is tranquil before his walk of today. Messi always picks her instead of him, rushing away whenever she passes by those doors.
Junmyeon looks up from his knee, one that isn’t entirely injured…but Chanyeol overworks himself with practices at times, much more with the latest championship that had taken place.
“She kind of has to.” He describes, simplistic as ever and guarding a few secrets, shrugging his shoulder when he folds Chanyeol’s long leg and brings it up to his chest, then extending it and repeating the process. A huff leaves his lips when he tries to get used to the pain, worrying his bottom one between his teeth.
“Why?” He questions, and he swears he is just trying to concentrate on something else. It isn’t like he’s curious—
Because he isn’t.
“Lives in a bad neighborhood, I guess. She’s tough as bricks if you ask me, but she’s gotten tougher this past year.” Those words have him frowning. Sure, her paycheck is not the best…but it’s enough to live somewhere in the center of the city, like the rest of his workers.
Truth be told, Chanyeol feels bad at times. He was recruited for soccer since he was a child—grown and prepared to be one of the best players in any team he found himself in. Never alone, always cheered on for, Chanyeol knows what difficulty means—but the conceptualization is different from one person to the other.
“Really?” Chanyeol questions, looking up at the chandelier in the ceiling before he frowns. “Is the paycheck not enough?”
“…Chanyeol, if you’re really curious about her, maybe try to be more approachable and ask her yourself?” Junmyeon retorts, shaking his head as a laugh leaves his thin lips. “Seriously, you’ve been bitten by your dog enough times for it not to hurt if she does decide to bite back.”
“She doesn’t want to talk to me!”
Junmyeon sighs deeply, putting his leg down on the soft mattress of Chanyeol’s bed before rubbing his hands together. He seems to be finished with his therapy. “She doesn’t know you…and what she knows is that you’re here, and then you’re not.”
“And that’s bad?”
“Not really. It just isn’t her cup of tea, I guess.” He shrugs his shoulders, putting his equipment inside his spacious dark leather bag before turning to look at Chanyeol. “If you really want to know why she doesn’t like you, don’t ask me. I can tell you the path she walks every day to get here…but nothing else.”
Chanyeol purses his lips, looking over to the side before extending one hand to try and pet Messi. He’s asleep, so he probably won’t even bite him. “I don’t want to know.”
Then, the small dog growls and grasps one of his long fingers between his teeth.
“Okay, I’ll leave now.” Junmyeon instructs, moving towards Chanyeol’s bedroom door until he hears him speak again.
“Wait—!”
He stops on his tracks, turning around to quirk one of his thick eyebrows. “You want me to tell you where to find her?”
“…If you don’t mind?”
Okay, so maybe his vacations are boring and he just needs a distraction. One with a bite in her tone, amusement in her pretty lips and that will help him not lose a finger to Messi’s bared teeth.
###
The day is perfect for a cup of tea under an umbrella, cladding her from the sun as she reads a book. Instead, she’s jogging down the sidewalk, late to her job and now she knows Chanyeol is waiting for her at home. Her chest heaves up and down as her shoes clank over the pavement, the wind and harsh sun clashing against her hair and skin, highlighting in her most atrocious stance.
Turns out that the Lim’s work for something. They are helpers for when her alarm doesn’t even dare blast off in the morning, but they had either fallen asleep today or, for some reason, sex wasn’t on the table today.
Or, they took it to the table, just it wasn’t on the bed.
Whatever. She doesn’t think she has ever been this bummed about being late to work.
Though, just as she is starting to lose her footing, far too tired to continue, she hears the sound of a car honking by her side, loud and clear. She would’ve continued with her stance, forgotten all about the eyes inspecting her, probably some creep trying to get a hold of her, but when she sees that charming smile that she has tried to erase from her brain the past week, she really stops on her tracks.
“Chanyeol?!”
She’s not in his neighborhood yet, but she’s well into the city, his Ferrari blending into the gray buildings surrounding him far too well. One of his hands rests on the steering wheel, the other spread on the seat next to him, his striped shirt clinging to his chest when he lifts his dark eyebrows up.
“Come on, get inside. Someone is going to crash my car if I keep standing here.”
“How did you know I was here?”
Chanyeol sighs, looking up at the ceiling of his car. “Certain bird called Kim Junmyeon told me you took the bus and then walked all your way over here and I felt bad.” He tilts his head to the side, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smirk before he adds: “And then I remembered that you would probably die to ride on my Ferrari, so I took the chance.”
She scoffs. “Get a grip, Park Chanyeol. I wouldn’t die to ride on anything that belongs to you.”
She knows how to stand up against people. Debt had brought her lower and lower, from one bigger apartment to a medium one and finally, the lint she dares call a home now. With neighbors that fuck like rabbits and one or two robberies happening once a month, she acknowledges that Chanyeol is just…annoying. Not bad. Not malicious. Just plain out stupid.
He opens the door of the car then, a barking dog seated on the passenger seat, practically jumping at the sight of her. Messi. “Do it for the kid.”
And she looks around the sidewalk, thinking about all the kilometers she has to walk just to get to Chanyeol’s place, and there’s air-conditioner in his car. Definitely so.
So, she takes Messi in between her hands and takes a seat on the warm, soft leather of Chanyeol’s car. A smile taking over his features when his fingers spread on top of her head to pat her hair. “That’s it.” He replies, only starting the car when she crosses her seatbelt on top of her body, sparing one glance at her before chuckling. “You know you just called me Park Chanyeol, right?”
She stops for a moment.
Get a grip, Mr. Park. No, that’s not what she said.
Oh fuck.
Her hands come cover her mouth, as if stifling what had already been told. “Oh shit.”
“And that you wouldn’t ride on anything that belongs to me.” Then again, maybe that was a bit too harsh. If Chanyeol dared pass in front of a group of people, there would be at least one person who would jump on his lap if he dared invite them. Though, she’s not quite accepting of the idea that crosses her head—the one that tells her that if he asked nicely enough, maybe she would think about it.
“I—You have to understand me here.” She replies, petting Messi’s fur as the dog lulls into a deep slumber on her lap. Today, he’s tranquil. “You like teasing me a bit too much.”
“Because your replies are good.” Chanyeol announces, turning on a corner away from the road towards his home. “I’ll take you to some breakfast before we go home, though. I think Messi doesn’t mind the ride.”
Pensive, mindful and a little bit of a charmer, Chanyeol seems to have it all together this morning. “Thank you.”
“Continuing on…” Chanyeol trails his voice, looking over at her for a fraction of a second before returning his gaze to the road. Everything about him is polished, relaxed, tapping his free hand against his thigh to the rhythm of the soft song on the radio, the other driving them to whatever place he had deemed welcoming for breakfast. “I have the feeling that you hate me.”
“I have the feeling you reciprocate it.”
“Something that soccer teaches you,” He starts, a smile on his face. “If someone fights you, you fight them back. And you fought me first.”
“You were the one pointing fingers!”
“You were talking shit about me.”
Well, guilty as charged.
She looks down at the dog on her lap, rubbing her lips together as she voices out the one thing she would have never imagined herself saying:
“I think I’m envious of you.”
The world clashes in so much silence that it almost echoes around her. Envy, a sentiment that lingers within us, inside of her, burning and snatching away the pretty parts of her. There is always one lingering look, a diamond too bright, a sigh too loud that takes her attention away from her own road and she sees the mud in comparison to the complete cleanliness of someone’s life.
Chanyeol has it all together, and maybe, that made him pompous inside her head. Privileged, and the worst kind at that.
“…You are?” Chanyeol breathes out, a confused frown taking over his otherwise dulcet yet attractive features when she sighs.
“It’s one of those things I can’t explain.” She tells, scratching the back of her head. “You spend so much time in debt that you look at everyone who is rich as the same thing. I’ve had people take me away from my home, give me deadlines when they know I’m unemployed. I’ve seen the divisions of class, and I guess I just assumed you’d be the same.” A scoff leaves her lips. “You told me I made your dog have anger issues, and that was enough to make me lose it. I had made a mistake once and you immediately lashed at me—”
His fingers hook around the steering wheel a little too tightly, smiling in the process. “You know, it’s one of those things…” His grin is not similar to the ones he sports. This one is uptight, as if forced. “When…When everything goes wrong and you want to lash at the first person you see.”
“Bad days for both of us?”
“I guess.” He replies, humming at the sound of the song on the radio for a few seconds before looking at her from his peripheral. The day is gorgeous, matching him in every way, beaming sunlight and growing flowers. He blends well with summer, makes his skin shine brighter, his eyes look fuller. “I don’t want this to be a bad summer…but I don’t know what to do in that goddamned house.”
She turns on her seat, her cheek pressed to the leather as she hears his every word, inspects his profile with utmost interest. “You want someone to live there meanwhile? Because I could get used to a mansion, for sure.”
That steals laughter away from him, but she knows better than to poke him. Even with his money, he must have some issues of his own. “The championships went terrible. I was…I guess I just wasn’t in the best mood and got three red cards.”
“Oh yes!” She widens her eyes, reminiscent of the days she spent laughing at the pictures she had seen on her phone. “With your face all red and all.”
“You find it funny?”
“Hilarious, but go on.” She swats her hand, only to have Chanyeol breathing in deeply.
“…I’ve lived in Barcelona for well over a year. I thought I wanted to keep this mansion because Sohyun wanted it. I did everything I had to just to keep it to myself. I didn’t sell it, didn’t have anyone else live in it, just because I wanted to have something she didn’t.” The revenge in his tone reminds her of that name. Sohyun, she has heard it before.
“Your ex?” A model passes through her head, but she isn’t quite sure she remembers her features to utter perfection.
He nods. “She cheated on me a bunch of times. With my friends, my publicist, people I didn’t know about. All in that mansion.” The somberness in his voice is different, deep and tranquil, as if he has learned to live with this. “So, when I came back, I expected it to be all glued together. For my heart to be back, for my dog to love me, for every memory to be trashed away…and…you were there at the wrong time.”
“As per usual.”
Chuckling, he says: “Maybe, I’m the right-timer between the two.” Pointing with his long fingers in between their bodies, he explains. “I came to pick you up when you were Usain Bolt-ing that sidewalk.”
“Right time, right moment, wrong guy.” She replies, turning around on her seat to stare towards the road ahead.
With his lips pursed, like she has learned he does when he pretends to be angry, he asks: “Who would be the right guy?”
“If you get me his number, I swear you’ll be the best boss ever.”
“Who is it?” Chanyeol questions.
“Son Heungmin.”
“No.”
“Wait, why?”
“Because…no.” He replies, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to be with Heungmin.”
“He’s hot, successful, kind, a soccer player. Got legs for days…”
The man in question squints his eyes, parking in front of a very famous, yet unvisited by her café before unhooking his seatbelt. “…Are you sure you’re not describing me?”
Therefore, more words can’t leave her lips when she realizes that the descriptions fit him a little bit too well.
“Get a grip of reality, Park Chanyeol.”
###
“I’ll teach you how to kick some balls today.”
“Oh,” Placing her hands on her waist, she quirks her hips to the side, smiling at Chanyeol’s presence in his own wide field for practicing at his home. “I know how to kick some balls. Want me to show you? I’m not sure about soccer-balls, but the hairy ones, kind of soft? Those, I do work well with.”
Trees swish around him, blotches of red appearing on his cheeks and ears thanks to the harshness of the sun, holding a soccer ball in between his expanded hands. Though, he rests it against the hard surface of his abdomen, chuckling at her words.
“You work well with them?” He asks, inspecting her features up and down. “What kind of working are we talking about?”
“Definitely not the kind you’re thinking of.”
“Bummer.” Chanyeol rests the ball on the grass in front of him, trapping him with his Adidas shoes before sighing. “I’ll try to score a goal and you have to stop me, I want to see what you’re made of.”
“Isn’t it enough that you drag me for coffee every morning?” She wants to continue fronting, pretend that there isn’t a small, numbing warmth that has her staying in the same spot by the sidewalk for him to pick her up in. Maybe, there’s spot for friendship in whatever mess they have been part of for the past two weeks. “I don’t want to.”
“I’m training you.”
Her hands clasp together, a faux smile appearing on her features. “To meet Heungmin?”
His jaw tightens, a frown appearing on his features. “I am not introducing you to him.”
Though, he moves towards her side, sprinting with the ball and catching her off guard, her hand extending in the air as she exclaims his name. “Hey! Stop! I need to keep up with you.”
“If you really want to meet Heungmin, you better start getting in shape.”
One would never think about it, but Chanyeol is more than the pictures catch of him. He’s not the competitiveness or the frown that overtake him on the field. He’s not the polished suits he wears or the tight smiles he sports when taking pictures with people equally as rich as him. The beam on his face when he scores goal after goal, even breaking some of the rules of real soccer to let her have fun, is exactly what she would imagine the real Chanyeol is like. Far away from the own judgement he has of himself or the way he has fitted his big frame into a tiny box of misconceptions and pretentiousness.
Time is one of the most beautiful things in life. We fear it, but who doesn’t? It’s in the wrinkles around our smiles, in the weight of our shoulders, in the imminent fear of an end that is not as happy as we want it—so unknown that it makes us scared, but it’s the only thing that is promised. Time with another person, whatever short or long, is important…and she notices that with the time she spends with Chanyeol every day. That his banter makes her feel lightweight, and his instructing ways bring something out in him. Something that even his dog manages to realize.
For the first time in a year, Chanyeol is not thinking of the time he lost. He’s thinking of the time he has left. Of enjoying the ‘now’.
Limbs spread on each side of her body, she lets the sun engulf her when her lungs expand to take a breather. Chanyeol remains fresh, a shadow cladding her body when she looks up at him. Her eyes don’t squint, but they almost burn at the harshness of his beauty. The raw side of what is left within him that still palpitates with hope. The child in him that had all this as a dream, not as a job.
“You’re not as bad as I thought you’d be.”
“Compliment?”
His dog steals a breath away from her when he plops his tiny body on top of her abdomen, her fingers absentmindedly coming down to pet him. “Pretty much, yes.” Chanyeol comments, his hair falling on top of his forehead when he asks: “Why Heungmin?”
“What?” She asks, a smile appearing over her features. “Are you really asking me that?”
“If you want his number, I’ll really give it to you. I’ll set you up, even.” Chanyeol’s voice becomes tranquil, hitting her bones in soft trembles, making her shake underneath him, eyes widened, smile dulled. “…But why him?”
Because he’s not you.
Because everyone is not as dangerous as you are, as close as you get, as burning as your smile.
Because it feels impossible, but you’re right here.
“Because I like to tease you.” She sits up then, fluttering her eyelashes to him before looking to the side. “He—He’s not really my style, I guess.”
“He’s not? You just said—”
“I know what I said.” With that, she stands up, giving Messi over to Chanyeol before shrugging. “I guess he’s not really my style anymore. I want more bite, less boy-next-door.”
She wants more of Chanyeol, but she won’t ever admit that.
###
“You have to take five things with you to an island. Just physical matters. What do you take?”
Pouring rain flashes against the windowsill, down to the glass, hammering their way down until they fall into a puddle. It’s well over the afternoon and the pet she should be taking care of is long asleep on Chanyeol’s lap, on her third week spending every day with him—and the rain has come, made a home out of this mansion to keep them trapped, seated with warm mugs in between their fingers, staring at the perfectly ruined day of summer.
He’s there, pensive, trailing after his train of thoughts to organize them, with his hair recently washed, raking the scent of jasmine and vanilla, sweetening her. She would’ve never thought she’d get used to his presence, his existence, the way he breathes in before answering:
“Three survival kits, my guitar…and a blanket.”
“You’d die of starvation.”
Chanyeol’s eyes twinkle when he looks at her, nudging her side as they sit close together, the wood creaking under the weight of fire in the fireplace. “Good thing I’m not being left on an island, isn’t it?” He questions, falling into silence when he licks his plush lips. “It’s…I don’t know. I would’ve said my phone before, or asked to have some sort of entertainment…but physical matters are not as important to me anymore.”
She chuckles, taking a sip of her warm drink. “Because you have it all?”
“Because having it all never made me better, or never made me feel less lonely.” Chanyeol confesses, looking into her eyes before giving her a small smile. “Without knowing, you’ve made this summer one hell of a lot better.”
“I know I have,” She tries to shrug it off—pretend that she doesn’t care that he is saying those words, but each one pierces through her with more force, claiming a spot for Chanyeol inside her brain, her heart, the core of her being. “…But why?”
The question is so small that it feels like a whisper between their bodies, a hum leaving his body. “Because I’ve gotten to know someone who doesn’t care about who I am, but cares about me enough to stand going out for breakfast with me every morning.”
Coffee cups shared along with stories, Chanyeol’s puzzle has started to take some shape—to rearrange itself into something she wants to know. “…Well, that’s going to change once you leave.” Once again, she stares at the droplets of rain, watching them fall…like how she doesn’t want to do with Chanyeol. It’s an abyss, and she doesn’t have the sources to put herself together. “You will have someone else to have breakfast with.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not…they are not like you.” He instructs, putting his cup down in between his crossed legs before sighing. His hand splays behind him, his vision burning the side of her face. “They won’t bite me in the ass if I do wrong.”
“And you like that?” She questions, a smile appearing on her features before she sighs. “Chanyeol, you’ll leave to Barcelona once this summer is over…and…and I don’t…I don’t want to get attached to this, you get me?”
Chanyeol shrugs his shoulders, biting his bottom lip as he thinks of his words. “You know what’s magical?” He says. “Trying. Living. It’s a thing we just…don’t think about. We’re so set in our routines, in the things we know and what we think is fitting for us that we never try. Shit, I thought Sohyun was worth giving it a try—and maybe, I’m damned, I like trying things, like a new drink or a new meal…but I don’t want to go one day thinking: ‘I wish I had been better. I wish I had done that. I wish I had made that mistake so I would have learned’. I want to think I always do my best to live the life I want.” Chanyeol answers, extending his hand towards her and planting his palm on top of hers, warm skin scalding her own, leaving her breathless at the mere touch. What’s with him today? “And I want to try, having breakfast with you until we get tired of it, get to know each other so much that we never stop bickering…I want to get a grip of what reality is like…just for once.”
“You’re serious?” Her voice becomes vacant, soft in its approach when Chanyeol wraps an arm around her shoulder, bringing her closer to his chest. Sturdy, tranquil, there for a moment but then gone—it’s in the magic of trying, of letting the flame die down if it has to…feeling something real and raw for once, though unexpected. That’s the magic of the world.
“Why not?” Chanyeol asks, leaning his cheek against her head before pressing a kiss to her hair. “If it rained during summer, why can’t we try to go out on a date? The world is filled with impossibilities, let’s be one.”
###
Chanyeol doesn’t leave with the passage of the harsh sun of summer. Time passes by and falls like the leaves of the trees that scatter around the mansion. One she’s staying in at the moment, reading a book with Messi laying somewhere on the bed that she shares with Chanyeol.
Some would call it quick, unexpected; they would say it’s an atrocity for opposites to be together, but they don’t feel what she feels with him. Confidence, control, warmth, even with the patter of the rain right outside the mansion.
The world is tranquil, only cutting through the silence when her throat gasps out at the words written on the last page of the book, scribbled in black ink. Fuck Park Chanyeol and his ways of always ruining her books with some words of his own.
This time, it’s a romance. He bought it for her when they were going out on a date last month, right before he left for another soccer event. Now, he’s miles away, but she swears she can hear his voice, right next to her ear, thanks to his messy handwriting.
“I hope our romance makes you swoon like this one day. Love you, Chanyeol.”
Little does he know, it already does.
#chanyeol scenarios#chanyeol#exo scenarios#exo#kpop scenarios#writing#exo fluff#exo angst#exo au#chanyeol fluff#chanyeol angst#chanyeol au#soccer player!au#dog walker!au
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shut in [3]
Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)
Warnings: cursing, implied abuse, ptsd, fighting over beds
Word count: 2.2k
A/N: every part i introduce more anonymous characters smh.
i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.
here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333
Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist
“Don’t make me shoot you, Wilson.”
“It doesn’t have to end this way, agent.”
“How’s it looking out there?”
“There’s been some talk. Apparently Serpentine isn’t very happy that their intel is dead. They’ve got people looking out for you everywhere.”
A frown adorned your face. Sam was leaning forward on his arms, head turned down as he listened to Ransone.
“How dangerous is it?”
“I would say that everyone’s a little wound up. Best not to go anywhere even a little populated.”
“Noted.” It would blow over in a while. The media coverage of Pierce’s assassination would die down with the changing news cycle soon.
“I can have someone pick you up wherever you are. Just tell me where.”
“Don’t bother. We won’t be here for too long,” you responded, Sam nodding in agreement. Once it quietened down you could leave, go back to Ransone without blowing your cover.
“Whatever makes you happy. Just let me know when you’re out.”
The click of the call ending took with it the only noise in the room.
Sam picked up the phone to remove the battery, discarding it to maintain your security. Burner phones were useful, but you didn’t want to take any chances.
“Wait,” you cut in, holding your hand out for it, “I need to make another call.”
The both of you were seated at the dining table. A piece of paper lay in front of you, playing the dangerous role of being the mediator.
You were trying to ration out your supplies and create a schedule as a way of finding middle ground. Things were more or less calm for the last two days, but the fight over the bedroom was wading into territory that could only be solved by a good old middle school fistfight.
Currently you were figuring out a meal plan so that you could establish some kind of routine. With bread as the only uniting factor, the other three components were going on a rotation. You had reached all the way till Saturday before running out of possible combinations.
“I’m just saying-”
“Don’t.”
“We’ve exhausted all edible options, it’s the only combination left-”
“I will not hesitate to fatally wound you.” You were only half kidding. The ridiculousness of the ideas he was proposing was entertaining, and you knew he wasn’t being serious. It was hard to catch a moment where he was.
“Fine. But in case we get to the point where peanut butter and jelly is the only thing that’s left, don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”
“I would rather die than shovel spoonfuls of plain jelly and peanut butter into my mouth.”
“Your survival game is weak,” he chided, tsk-tsking at you.
You only rolled your eyes at him, moving on to the next subject.
Bed.
“Easy, we just alternate days. You got the last two days, so I get the next two and then we just switch everyday.” Sam eased back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head leisurely.
“How long do you think we’ll be here?” you asked, writing down the plan he had just presented. The bed wasn’t queen sized with memory foam or any kind of privilege like that, but it definitely beat the couch with its odd lumps and depressions.
“A week tops. Anything more is just excessive.”
“Hello,” you said, voice low, even though you were well out of earshot of Sam. He was eying you from the living room window. If he was as good as he claimed he was, he’d know how to read lips and you couldn’t afford to have him do that.
“Code?”
You turned your back to the window, facing the large trees that loomed before you. “1993. It’s me.”
“Y/N?” He sounded suspicious, a little shocked, and you understood why he would be.
“Living and breathing.” You toed at a rock that lay ahead of you.
“Word on the street is that you’re dead,” he pointed out dryly.
“Not me; Pierce. I escaped. It was a trap.” When the rock you were playing around with escaped after a particularly hard kick, you started pacing up and down instead, “Ransone put a hit out on him because he thought he was leaking information.”
“How on earth did he come to that conclusion?”
“Don’t know. He was dead before we got there.”
“Who is ‘we’? You got someone there with you?” You didn’t realise it had slipped out during your conversation.
“Another one of our guys. Apparently I was a backup in case he didn’t show up, but he did, so now we’re stuck together.” You averted your gaze to Sam who was still observing you from the window brazenly, intently.
“Where are you?”
“We’re safe.”
“Alright.” He sounded like he understood, albeit not entirely convinced. “Stay low.”
“Will do.”
With that you hung up the call, dropped the phone to the ground and crushed it under your boot heel. When you were convinced that it was sufficiently useless, you turned on your heel, making your way back.
You walked back into the house, beelining to the kitchen to make up for your missed lunch, only to be greeted with Sam sitting on the couch looking at you inquisitively.
“Who was that?”
“Nobody,” you answered straightforwardly, opening the cabinet to get two slices of bread.
“If it has somethin’ to do with this situation we’re in then I need to know who you’re talking to.”
“Just drop it. It has nothing to do with you.” You found the jar of peanut butter he had already opened, using a butter knife to spread it along the bread.
“Somehow I’m finding that hard to believe.”
“Believe what you must. I’m going to take a nap,” you answered evasively, chewing absentmindedly on the sandwich you had just made. You didn’t bother to look at him as you headed towards the bedroom.
“Hey now, hold on a minute. Who said you had bedroom privileges? You’ve been using it for two days.” You stopped in your tracks, face scrunching in annoyance. “If you’re keeping vital information about my life from me, then I think I deserve to not have a fuckin’ backache when I wake up in the morning.”
You quickly weighed the pros and cons in your head, imagining how the next few minutes would pan out if you just said ‘no’ and left. But in every imaginary argument you proposed, the bottom line ended with him prodding at you until he either got the information that he wanted or the bed.
Frankly, the bed was something you were willing to sacrifice to get him to stop meddling in your business. It seemed like the only reasonable way to get him off your ass.
“Fine.” You spun around to face him. “We’re making an arrangement.”
“Whoever has the bed has to forfeit TV privileges for that day.”
“Sounds reasonable. None of those three movies can be played more than twice in a row.”
That was more to preserve your sanity than anything. You had already seen each of them once, bordering on thrice for Die Hard. Sam’s fault, not yours.
“We should have a codeword. In case there's danger or something. Or maybe if you just want to be left alone,” Sam suggested, finger pointing to the blank space left at the end of the paper. “But it’ll be like solitary confinement since it’s so fuckin’ quiet here.”
Almost on instinct your mind flashed to images of dark cells. Quiet sobs. Blood stains on the wall, originating from clawing at it. Sunlight through one small window at the top. Utter loneliness except for yourself.
You could remember the soreness in your legs from curling up into a ball for hours, rocking back and forth. The smell of drain water collecting in the basement where the cell was.
Isolation.
“You got any suggestions?”
“Huh?” You forced yourself back to the present. Your knuckles had a dull ache in them from holding the pencil too hard.
“Do you have any ideas for a codeword?” Sam repeated, looking at you intently.
“No, nothing off the top of my head.” You shook your head, trying to regain focus. You loosened your grip on the pencil, letting it fall to the table.
“We’ll just leave it at ‘Brooklyn’ for the time being.”
“Yeah, okay,” you agreed to whatever he was saying. It was just a precaution in case something major happened. It was rather unlikely that you were going to use it anyway.
Codewords weren’t uncommon in your business, but it was mostly used for missions or other professional standings. Regardless of being less adventurous than what you tended to work on, this was work at the end of the day.
“Is that all?”
“Yeah, I think we’re done.” His chair scraped loudly against the ground as he got up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going out for a while. Need to shake off the possible osteoporosis.”
You didn’t bother asking where he was going, ears following his footsteps as he walked down the hall to the bedroom, probably to get his jacket that he hung up in the drawer.
You left the paper on top of the mini fridge, alongside the car keys and a few dollars you had nabbed in the hurry from Pierce’s house.
Staring around you at the silent room, you realised that there really wasn’t much to do. It wasn’t like you to have so much time on your hands. You could always go for a run or test out some of the weapons hidden here.
You had the rest of the house to explore, plans to draw up, a post mortem to assess what went wrong on the mission, even though the last option wasn’t possible without Sam’s cooperation.
Fuck it, you decided. Couch it is.
Kicking your feet up, you grabbed the TV remote to flip to the news station. The town rarely had anything to report on but it would be worthwhile to know what exactly was available around. Possibly assimilate in the crowd in case you wanted to be hidden.
It took you a few minutes of mindless surfing through static channels till you found it. It seemed like a scene right out of a Hallmark movie; the reporter was holding a microphone to a child who looked like he understood nothing of what was going on.
You were barely paying attention as it flipped from segment to segment, other things taking precedence in your mind even though you willed yourself to relax. There really wasn’t much to make a note of other than a few good samaritans and how utterly boring the lack of content was. A few occasional glimpses of stores and other resources available in the background were the only interesting part.
You were starting to drift off by the time it reached the breaking news of the evening. Sam had already come back when the sky slipped into twilight. He barely acknowledged your form lazing on the couch, only offering you a greeting and a goodbye as he made himself his dinner to take to the room.
Your eyes were just about closing when the breaking news of that evening came in. It was all politics. People you knew from old missions waving and smiling their way to lead their country as if the dubious acts they committed behind the scenes to get there was erased.
Until you suddenly jolted awake, eyes wide open.
“Wilson. Wilson!” You hit the cushion furiously to get his attention when he didn’t respond the first time around.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
“What?” he yelled in response, mild irritation in his voice. You knew it sounded like you were shouting bloody murder even though no one was around other than you two, but you didn’t care.
“Look at this!” You couldn’t stop gawking at the screen. “Fuckin’ unbelievable.”
“What? What do you wa-” He stalked into the room, ready to tell you to stop yelling but stopped mid sentence when he finally saw what you were so concerned about.
“Reports claim that the victim was attacked early in the afternoon at his villa. Officers say they found multiple signs of a forced entry, following which he was shot dead. So far no arrests have been made but the police have since released photos of two suspects of whom, they claim, have reason to believe orchestrated the attack.”
On the right side of the screen flashed yours and Sam’s picture side by side. Old mugshots from a petty offence you committed years ago for which Ransone bailed you out.
“The pair are said to be on the run after escaping before law enforcement arrived. If you have any tips on the whereabouts of-”
You turned to look at Sam. His stare didn’t budge from the TV as they once again reminded the public what you both looked like.
Years of anonymity, working in the shadows and creeping around to avoid being recognised only to have the entire country know what you looked like.
“Well, shit,” he finally exhaled. “Somehow I think our stay here just got extended.”
Part 4
#sam x reader#sam wilson x reader#mcu fic#sam fic#sam wilson fic#sam wilson fluff#sam wilson angst#sam wilson series#falcon#falcon x reader#the falcon x reader#hitman!sam wilson#hitman!au#shut in fic#marvel fic#marvel#mcu#sam wilson#the falcon
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Beskar and Lace
Pairing: Mandalorian x female reader
Rating: Explicit, 18+ only
Warnings: SMUT! swearing, masturbation, voyeurism (just a touch), oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (be safe in the real world, people)
Summary: Mando takes issue with what you wear to bed, so you decide to show him some other options and spiciness ensues.
Word Count: ~8700
Author’s Note: This was an idea I had when I wrote Dress Code but I couldn’t find a way to make it fit into that story so I wrote it as a stand-alone. If you’ve read my other stuff, you should know this is the smuttiest thing I’ve written to date, but while it’s not the softer Din I’ve written in the past, he still manages to be romantic in his own way. In any case, I hope you enjoy!
“Do you always dress like that for bed?” Mando’s voice catches you by surprise. He sounds a bit incredulous and you’re caught off guard because usually you’re already in bed fast asleep before he’s down here. You look down at your simple knee-length cotton nightgown, why should he care what you wear to bed?
“Yes? It’s a nightgown,” you reply, unsure of his reason for asking.
“It’s rather skimpy.” His voice sounds gruff, and disapproving?
You just blink back at the visor in his helmet for a moment and then glance down at yourself again in confusion.
“Skimpy?” He must be joking. “This is just like a longer shirt? I know it has short sleeves but, really, skimpy?” Now your voice sounds incredulous. This nightgown doesn’t even have much shape to it anymore having been washed and worn so often. Mando is standing there rigidly though, seemingly serious. You watch him as he tips his helmet down and up as if he is looking you over thoroughly and you feel your skin heat up under his gaze.
“It’s skimpy. I can practically see through it.” He says definitively. “You should cover up more. Space is cold.” His voice is still gruff and his commanding tone is starting to irritate you a bit, although you do have to tamp down your excitement at the see-through comment. Who does he think he is? You’re not some bounty he can push around. And why are you interested in him seeing through your nightgown??
“I’ve been wearing this every night since I took this job, and I’m perfectly comfortable” you tell him “besides, I don’t see what business it is of yours.” You reply a little haughty in an attempt to keep this conversation somewhat professional, Mando is your boss after all. You’ve been caring for his foundling for about six months now.
“It’s my business if you get sick.” Mando retorts.
“I’ll be fine.” You roll your eyes at his suggestion. He’s being ridiculous. “You’re worrying about nothing.”
Mando lets out one of his long-suffering sighs as if you are the burden of his existence before telling you, “We’ll be in Canto Bight tomorrow. There are plenty of shops there and I expect you to buy yourself some new to wear to bed.”
“Alright, fine.” His tone implies that you shouldn’t argue with him about this. He turns abruptly and heads to his bunk, closing the door without another word.
What the hell was that? You stare after him, utterly perplexed by that conversation. Again, you look down at the nightgown, and while you have to admit it is looking rather old and maybe a little ratty, you would never see it as something skimpy or even something that Mando would see necessary to comment on. You wonder for a minute if something else could be bothering him, perhaps he was just taking a bad mood out on you? You rack your brain but things have been rather routine lately and you chalk it up to Mando being under a lot of stress as per usual. You head to your sleeping area, a little space you’ve carved out for yourself in a corner of the hull, and try to will your mind to sleep. Yet, you can’t stop replaying the whole conversation in your head. You also can’t stop the evil part of your mind that wants to jump for joy that Mando was looking over your body so intently. Ok, so maybe you have had one or two (or three or four) improper thoughts about your boss. I mean you’re not made of stone. He’s so tall and big and built it would make any woman a little curious. Then when you add in that constant bedroom voice that he has, it’s completely understandable. At least that’s what you tell yourself. Plus, he’s also a great father, so kind and caring towards his adopted son – your evil mind has no mercy on you. You roll over with a groan, mentally kicking yourself for your full-blown crush on the Mandalorian. I am an idiot.
I am a total idiot. What the fuck must she think of me? Din can’t sleep either; he is also plagued with thoughts of you. Not that this is anything new for him. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you for months and months now. Din knows that he needs your help to care for the little one and he has tried so hard to be professional around you and not scare you off. From the moment he hired you he thought you were way too pretty, but he was so desperate for the help that he told himself he wouldn’t become distracted. Clearly, that was a lie. Whenever he’s around you, he can’t stop himself from being distracted, watching you tenderly care for the child, listening for your laughter and happy words, and living for the moments when you turn towards him with a smile or a kind gesture. Oh and if he thought you were pretty when you first met, now Din realizes that you are the most beautiful woman he’s ever known. Everything about you seems to turn him on, the curve of your lips when you say his nickname, the scent of your hair when it’s still damp from the shower, the sway of your hips when you rock the baby to sleep, the few times you’ve touched his bicep between his armor, all of it.
Ugh, but tonight, tonight was the closest he’s come to losing control around you. Usually Din tries to give you as much space as possible, waiting until he knows you’re in bed before going to bed himself. Except tonight, he came downstairs earlier than usual, and saw you wearing that thin little excuse for a nightgown. His heart skipped several beats when he realized he could see the outline of your figure right through it. It had him hard and wanting in seconds and so, he had picked a bit of a fight with you to preserve some semblance of normalcy. He sighed to himself again, he had sounded like a prudish jerk. But it was the right choice, and besides, you should get new nightclothes, something that would cover you up and keep his eyes off you. Who the fuck are you kidding? You’re still going to look at her. He groans at himself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With the baby in tow in his little satchel, you explore the wealth of shopping in Canto Bight. Mando wasn’t kidding when he said there were plenty of stores here. It seems like the only things to do here are gamble, shop, and party. Mando is meeting with a client and for once, he’s given you some freedom to explore. You’re in one of the nicer casinos here and there are plenty of other tourists around, so you know that it must be safe or Mando would insist on accompanying you. Fortunately, you haven’t had to make many purchases in the time that you’ve been with Mando. He never lets you chip in for food or fuel, so you’ve mostly been saving your credits all this time. As you pass through the shops today, you marvel at the beautiful clothes, shoes, the fancy housewares, and so much more. You can’t resist buying the child a couple adorable plushy toys, including a frog that he immediately tries to eat before you gently explain to him that it is a toy. You decide to focus after that on your mission to buy a new nightgown and maybe some pajamas. You’ve made a few purchases, finding a couple soft pairs of pajamas that will be very relaxing and a very boring nightgown that comes down to your ankles, Mando’s style exactly, shows almost no skin. There’s no way he can find fault with these. As you continue through the shopping center, the baby suddenly reaches out as you pass a shop to grab something blue and silky. When you pry his little claws off the material, thankful that he hasn’t damaged it in any way, you realize it is a beautiful negligee. You look up at the rest of the store to see a lovely collection of mouth-watering lingerie. Evil You is back in a heartbeat. Maybe you should show Mando the true meaning of skimpy?
“Come in, come in!” The friendly sales woman sees you lingering at the entrance, “Everything is on sale today and we have so many fabulous items for you!” Her spirit and energy are captivating and you can’t help yourself. You follow her into the shop, letting your wicked thoughts get the best of you. You find yourself telling her that you need some sexy items for bedtime and the next thing you know you’re in the dressing room trying on increasingly delectable pieces of silk and lace. The baby has made himself at home in the waiting area sitting on a satin pillow and being fed fancy macarons by another sales woman, acting like the little prince that he is.
You admire yourself in the mirror, and although you have to admit that you look great, you can’t stop the debate going on in your head.
I am being ridiculous, buying lingerie to impress a man I’m not even involved with.
Yet! You’re not involved with him yet.
Shut up, I shouldn’t be thinking of Mando like this.
Why not? He’s hot, you’re hot, stop overthinking it.
I do look pretty hot in this.
Yes, you do! And you can buy it for yourself too. You deserve to look hot!
It’s ok if it’s for me. I can buy this for me. I’m a strong, confident, sexy woman who buys herself lingerie.
Of course you are!!!
And who is Mando to tell me what I can and can’t wear? If I want to wear something skimpy, I will.
That’s right, girl! You’ll show him!
You’ve completely talked yourself into buying several of the negligees, one of which is so sexy you’re not sure if you really have the confidence to wear it, but you’re feeling daring. You justify it in your mind by reminding yourself that everything is on sale, and who knows when you’ll have another opportunity to shop like this. You even end up getting a bottle of scented lotion that the saleswoman recommends as guaranteed to drive your man wild. Not that you care about that, you lie to yourself, it’s for you, the strong, confident, sexy woman.
“That was completely necessary,” you tell the baby as you brush the cookie crumbs from his robe and resettle him in his satchel while the sales women box up all of your purchases. They even include a bag of macarons for the child for later; he’s thoroughly charmed the women working here, and gives everyone a happy coo and waves goodbye like you taught him. You head back to the Razor Crest, thinking that you should probably quit before you get yourself into too much trouble.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It takes a while to get the baby to bed that evening as he’s still wound up on all the sugar and is likely reacting to the buzzing energy you have going on. Evil You has decided to be sure that Mando sees you in one of your new negligees tonight. He saw all of your boxes and bags earlier and gave you a brisk nod in seeing that you followed his instructions. You even went so far as to pull out the modest nightgown to demonstrate how well you listened to him, all the while, Evil You was cackling about what you really have in store for him. While he’s still up in the cockpit, you take your time getting ready for bed. You moisturize your skin all over with your new lotion, it does smell divine, and then you put on a beautiful black silk chiffon chemise with pale pink lace trim. It’s sexy without giving too much away, but still the hemline reaches only to mid-thigh and the neckline provides a generous view of your décolletage. And unlike the shapelessness of the old gown, this shows off your figure flawlessly. Your timing is perfect as you are just coming out of the fresher when Mando’s boots hit the floor of the hull. When he turns and sees you he stops dead and is so still you’d think he’d been frozen in carbonite like one of his bounties except you can still hear him breathing, rather heavily, you think. You decide to feign innocence, blinking up at him to say, “Oh, good night, Mando! Just on my way to bed.”
He stares at you for what feels like an eternity, not moving at all, until he grits out, “What. Is. That.”
“Oh! It’s one of my new nightgowns,” you keep up the wide-eyed act, “The sales woman said it was one of the most popular styles.” You even give a little half twirl to show it off, oh Maker, I am too much. You desperately want to ask him what he thinks but something tells you that you shouldn’t push him anymore yet.
“That is not the nightgown you showed me before,” his voice sounds accusatory.
You give a dainty shrug and say, “I was feeling too warm for that one.”
Mando doesn’t respond, but you watch as his hands curl into fists making the leather of his gloves squeak with the tightness. He watches you for a few more seconds before he abruptly turns away from you and stomps back up the ladder to the cockpit. Uh-oh that wasn’t the reaction you were hoping to get from him. Should I go apologize? Did I offend him by flouting some type of Mandalorian modesty rule?
In the cockpit, Din is absolutely shuddering with the strength of his need for you. His beskar feels claustrophobic and he has to rip the helmet off his head just so he can draw a full breath. He throws himself into the pilot’s seat and is already undoing his trousers to free his rock-hard cock before he even knows what he’s doing. He pulls off his right glove and quickly licks his palm, before gripping himself roughly, so he can fuck his own fist at a punishing pace. Seeing you in that lingerie, Maker, it was better than anything his imagination had invented. Plus, the way you smelled, like some type of delicious fruit mixed with an earthy spice. He thought he was going to pass out from how fast all the blood in his body had rushed to his groin. As he pumps himself, Din moans your name and thinks about you wearing that negligee while riding his cock right here in his chair. He fantasizes about how he could tug down those delicate little straps and free your breasts with almost no effort, and how good that silk would feel swishing against his skin as he thrust up into you. It was enough to send him over the edge, cumming with another loud moan of your name. Does she have any idea what she’s doing to me?
Well, you had some idea now. Your entire body was tingling and hot after hearing Mando’s sounds of self-pleasure coming from the cockpit. After his abrupt departure, you had stayed dithering for a few moments in the hull, until you had started to climb the ladder with a plan to check on him and possibly apologize. However, as soon as you realized what he was doing up there you froze and remained out of view. You knew you should have crept back down and given him some privacy, but when you heard him call out your name, it was like nothing could move you from that spot. He wanted you. It made you giddy with desire and you felt a surge of feminine power that you could bring out such a feeling in him. Hearing Mando like that had turned you on like nothing before and you were eager to touch yourself too, but the shuffling sounds of his boots suddenly brought you back to reality and you dashed to your bed as stealthily as you could. You resorted to squeezing your thighs together under the covers and pretending to sleep as you heard him return to the hull. It wasn’t until you were certain he was shut away in his own sleeping quarters, that you finally allowed yourself to dip your fingers into your soaking folds. Holding your other hand over your mouth to stifle any moans, you drew rapid circles around your clit and remembered how Mando had groaned your name. You were so excited that all it took was one finger into your wet heat and you were seeing stars as you reached your climax. You fell into a blissful sleep, dreaming about what you were going to wear tomorrow night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next day you woke up cheerful, still high from your discovery the night before. You remembered that Mando had said his next bounty was far away and that you’d be in hyperspace for almost four days, which meant you would have plenty of time to spend with him. You practically bounded out of bed, eager to start your day.
Din noticed your happy mood right away as it was such a contrast to his own frustrated and grouchy disposition that morning. His dreams had been full of you, and he had woken up hard and needy but was too angry at his lack of self-control to let himself indulge in jerking off again. He had been banging around the hull like an angry bear for most of the morning, but when you softly approached him with a plate of food and hot cup of tea, and that beaming smile on your face, he felt himself give in a little to your positivity. Then, the friendly way you had patted his pauldron and wished him a good morning, had stifled any desire to grumble at you. It’s not her fault you’re like this.
The rest of the day had passed surprisingly well and Din found his mood lifting substantially. His usual plan to shut himself away somewhere hadn’t panned out as you seemed to seek him out all day long. First, you had him playing games with you and the baby, then, you had decided it was lesson time and you asked Din to help you with that (you were trying to teach the child colors), and then later when the child was napping, you had come to sit near him, drawing him into conversation. In addition to being around him, it also seemed like you couldn’t stop touching him. All day you had found ways to make contact, a small squeeze of his bicep to get his attention, a brush of your hand on his back as you passed him, a little pat on his knee when he praised the child for knowing what blue was, and a couple others that didn’t appear to have any particular meaning. Not that he was complaining; Din lived for those small touches. The day had turned out to be pleasant and he was looking forward to getting some better sleep tonight.
Din had just finished putting away his dinner dishes when he heard you coming out of the fresher and heading towards your sleeping area. He knew you would need to pass by him and he had steeled himself for seeing you. He felt confident that he could keep everything in check tonight, telling himself it had only been the shock of seeing you in such a revealing outfit that had provoked him so much last night. Now that he knew what you’d be wearing, he could handle it, he was prepared. Except you weren’t wearing the same thing, oh no, tonight you had some silky red number on that clung tightly to every curve and only barely covered your ass. To make matters worse, he could see your hard nipples right through the material.
“Dank farrik!”
“Excuse me?” You startled at the sudden curse being uttered.
Shit, he’d said that aloud, “I uh, I stubbed my toe” he lies to you, like an idiot. He tries to turn away from you in hopes of putting you off.
“Oh no, are you ok?” You head toward him with concern in your eyes. Fuck, fuck, fuck you’re getting closer to him and reaching out a hand like you intend to touch him again. If you touch him right now there won’t be any way he can control himself, he’ll have you up against that wall in a heartbeat, or maybe tossed over those crates, shit, get it the fuck together. He practically jumps away from you, mutters something about the fresher, and makes a mad dash to the shower. He turns the water to the coldest setting and rips off his armor and clothes as hastily as he can. The jolt to his system from the icy stream is enough to help his mind calm down a little but it’s doing nothing for his raging erection. He groans and reaches to stroke himself. Before he knows it, he’s painting his stomach with his release, coming so hard he pounds his other fist against the wall as he cries out your name. He’s thankful that at least the water should drown out any sounds.
Out in the hull, you’re lounging on your bed, trying to stay awake so you can see Mando one more time before he bolts away from you again. You know he has to have gotten a fairly decent look at you in tonight’s lingerie, but banging his toe seemed to have distracted him completely. Which was odd because you’d known Mando to sustain much worse injuries with little to no reaction in the past. Unless he was only using the toe as an excuse? Maybe he’s not really that into you? Had he dashed away to spare you any embarrassment? Perhaps last night had been a one off. But then today you could have sworn he was responding to your flirting. You’re going back and forth in your mind when you suddenly hear a loud bang coming from the fresher followed by a loud groan of your name that you can hear even over the running water. Oh, he’s into me. Evil You surges to the surface and has you readjusting your position on the bed to look as seductive as possible. When Mando finally comes out of the fresher, he is wearing nothing but his helmet and his trousers, giving you a fantastic view of his gorgeous chest and torso, bare and still wet from his shower. It’s the most of his skin you’ve ever had the privilege of seeing. You can’t keep your mouth from dropping open as you stare at him.
“You’re still awake,” Mando stops dead when he realizes you’re watching him.
“Uh, yeah, just uh, wanted to make sure, uh, you were ok?” You try to keep your eyes trained on his visor, but you keep failing, getting distracted by the muscles in his chest. Maker, looking up at him from this angle he is so tall and broad.
“I’m f- fine.” He pauses for a long moment remaining statue like, before saying, “Go to sleep. I mean, uh, you should, uh, go to sleep.” It doesn’t seem like he is going to move while you watch him.
“Ok, well, good night then.” You feel disappointed, but roll over and wrap yourself in your blankets. His sigh of relief is small but noticeable in the quiet of the hull. Mando switches off the lights and then you hear his soft shuffle as he heads to his own bed. He pauses though when he gets closer to you. It seems like he’s just standing there looking down at you in the dark, and then you hear his deep voice, “Good night.”
“I hope you sleep well,” you reply softly. He makes a slight sound that almost sounds like “yeah, right” but you can’t be completely sure before he shuts himself away in his bunk. Oh well, you’ll try again one more time tomorrow, you can wear the really sexy one, at least Evil You is still optimistic.
Meanwhile, Din is trying to figure out what the hell is going on. He can’t stop picturing the expression on your face when he was standing there shirtless. Had you been looking at him with shock or desire? It didn’t help matters that you had been sprawled out on your bed looking like the Goddess of Temptation making him painfully hard yet again. He isn’t thinking clearly, it had to be shock, you had never seen him like that, he was always covered, even if it was only in the clothing he wore under the beskar. But what if it was desire? He groans to himself. Even if it had been desire, he’d made a complete ass of himself, and what was he supposed to do now, go back out there and try to get into bed with you?
Yes, do that, you idiot.
Why so she can punch me?
She might not.
Shut up, dumbass!
Din rolls over, sighing to himself, resigning himself to another long night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s your turn to groan under the water in the shower, but sadly not from pleasure. It had been a trying day. To say that Mando had been in a mood was an understatement. He had been downright grouchy bordering on sullen. To make matters worse, the child fed off his adoptive father’s terrible disposition and had been extremely fussy all day. You had poured enthusiasm into trying to rouse their spirits, but the more you tried, the more your two boys dug in their heels and refused to be cheered. Eventually, you had given up and just settled for quiet, but the baby had taken that as a personal affront and had a very loud tantrum that had included magically flinging things around the ship. Thank the Maker you still had the bag of macarons from Canto Bight, which you promptly bribed him with to get him to stop. You’d let him eat the entire bag and yeah, that was a parenting don’t, but you were at your wits end and would have given him anything to just make the screaming end. Of course, afterwards, you had the exhausting job of chasing after him all over the ship as he celebrated his sugar high, but at least he was happy. Mando, on the other hand, had taken to working on fix-it projects on the ship, which seemed to really be an excuse for him to swear and bang at something all afternoon. You’d hoped it might help him work out some frustration, but he seemed just as grouchy as ever, barely saying two words to you since you brought him his dinner. So yeah, you aren’t feeling stellar this evening.
The plans for your spicy surprise for Mando have all but disappeared. Before coming into the fresher, you had taken a long look at both the incredibly sexy lace lingerie and the ultra-modest, covers-everything, I-give-up nightgown. You had grabbed both before coming in here, but you still weren’t sure which one you ought to put on. As you turn off the water, you see them both sitting there, hot versus ho-hum. You know if you put on the boring nightgown, ho-hum is exactly how you are going to feel. Fuck that, I want to feel hot, even if Mando doesn’t care. Mind made up, you grab the new bottle of lotion with a smirk, rubbing the delicious scent all over your skin. Finally turning to the lingerie, you put on the gorgeous set. You weren’t kidding when you said this one was sexy. This negligee is black lace with a metallic silver thread sparkling throughout. The bodice consists of two lace panels that just barely cover your breasts and end in a deep vee right above your navel. The lace of the very short skirt is so sheer that if it weren’t for the matching panties you’re wearing, everything would have been visible. The whole look leaves very little to the imagination, but you don’t care, if this doesn’t get a reaction out of the Mandalorian, your only other option is to walk around naked in front of him. Hey, now there’s an idea! Evil You is ready to be unleased.
Din has been finishing up fixing some wiring in the hull and he is finally letting himself relax a smidgen. He’d see the bunch of fabric you’d taken with you to the fresher and he realized it had to be the modest nightgown. Finally, it seems like you’ve come to your senses. Nonetheless, he’d had to tamp down the part of him that was disappointed. This is for the best. He hears the fresher door open and before he can lift his head, he can smell that intoxicating fragrance again. It will be ok, he can get past that, he’ll just say good night and go to bed, that’s all, but then he turns and sees you. The tools in his hands clatter to the ground.
“Fuuuck” Mando swears like he’s in slow motion, drawing out the word in his surprise.
“Hi, Mando,” you say simply, but flirtatiously.
“Hi?!?” He sounds incredulous, “Is that all you- you just stand there, like that and just hi?”
“What do you want me to say?” You tip your head, coquettishly blinking up at him.
Mando makes a choking sound and then grits out, “I don’t know, maybe an explanation for how you’ve lost your mind, or at least your clothes.”
“You told me to buy something new for bed. This is definitely meant to be in a bed.” You gesture towards your lace-covered figure. “Plus, I do remember you using the word skimpy quite a bit during that conversation.”
“I meant for you to buy something that wasn’t-- hell, this isn’t even skimpy; it’s practically non-existent.” He sounds like he is in pain. “Maker, woman, how much self-control do you think I have?!?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to find out,” you retort with a little smirk. Apparently, you’ve reached the end of it with that statement, because suddenly he is advancing toward you pinning you up against the bulkhead with his hips pressed hard into you and his hands on either side of your head. You can feel the hot, hard length of him against your hip and you let out a little groan.
“Have you been taunting me all this time?” His voice has a dangerous edge to it that sends a delicious shiver down your spine.
“I wouldn’t say taunting, more like enticing you.” You drag one of your legs up the length of his until you can hook it around his hip and pull him in closer to you.
Din can’t believe you’ve been doing this deliberately the whole time. He also can’t believe he ever bought your whole innocent act. It’s clear you planned this out to get back at him for being an asshole about your nightgown in the first place. To be honest though the thought of you shopping for lingerie for him, has him so turned on he doesn’t really care. But that doesn’t mean he’s not going to have to pay you back a little for torturing him these last few days.
“Enticing me?” Mando repeats with a small snort, “You sure you want to do that?” His body doesn’t really wait for your answer though as his hand comes down to grip your raised thigh tightly and urge it higher while he grinds his hips into you.
“Yes,” you pant out, “yes, I want to do that.” His movements are making you hotter than ever as you can feel his cock rubbing against your core. Mando brings his hand back up so he can grope your breast, kneading it roughly before rolling the sensitive peak of your nipple between his fingers and then moves to give its twin the same attention. He leans in closer to you so he can speak right into your ear.
“Do you like this? Letting me rut up against you, touching you, squeezing your tits. Getting you all worked up.” He rolls his hips up to rub his cock right across your clit. You let your head fall back against the wall and you gasp out in pleasure. “Or were you already turned on from teasing me?”
“I like it,” you breathe out.
“And the teasing?” He pinches your nipple hard making you cry out. He’s turning you into a mess, but his voice sounds controlled.
“Wasn’t-- wasn’t trying to tease,” you try to sound convincing but it’s hard when he’s distracting you so well.
“I don’t know, I think you were,” Mando sounds smug now, “I think you were enjoying it. Maybe I’ll enjoy teasing you.” And then suddenly he pulls away from you completely, dropping your leg with a small thump.
“What? No, no don’t stop.” You can’t help the whine in your voice.
“Why? Too hot and bothered? Not so fun, is it?” He tips his helmet at you and it feels like he must be smirking under there. You’re a second away from just begging him shamelessly, but that head tilt does something to you; a spark of competitiveness flares within you. Evil You started this game and she’s not ready to back down now.
You roll your shoulders back, take a deep breath, and look at him, “Are you saying you’re not worked up?” You let your eyes flick down to the absolute tent in his trousers and then back up to his visor.
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Hell, what do you think I’ve been doing up until now?” Mando runs a hand across his crotch, palming himself, as if to prove his point and maybe hoping to shock you.
“Oh, I’ve heard.” He flinches at that, seems like you caught him off guard. You push ahead, “But what an excellent idea.” You flounce past him and climb onto your bed. You lie back into your pillows and then bring your hands up to caress yourself, your fingers trailing down over your throat and chest in a seductive fashion. Your hands cup your lace-covered breasts, slowly running your palms over them and pushing them together before letting your fingertips brush over your nipples. You look straight into Mando’s visor the entire time.
“Wait, what’re you doing?” It’s as if he’s on a two-minute delay and Din’s mouth has only now caught up to the scene unfolding in front of him. This isn’t what he wanted; he wants to be the one to pleasure you.
“Well, since you don’t seem interested, I guess I’ll just have to take care of myself, like you suggested.” You let your hand drift down your body and into your panties and you let out a suggestive moan. You exaggerate your movements, performing for him.
“I am, I’m interested,” Mando insists.
“Tell me what you want.” You’re not letting him off the hook yet.
“I want to touch you like that, I want to be the one making you moan, making you wet.” Oh, he’s good.
“Ooh, Mando, you’ve got me so wet already.” You let your fingers glide through your folds.
“Let me see.” His voice sounds gruff.
You pause, considering him for a moment, “Why don’t you come feel for yourself?”
With that, Din is pulling his gloves off and striding to bed. He settles himself between your thighs, and reaches for your panties, yanking the little scrap of lace down your legs. He pushes your hand away and then just stares at you, open and glistening for him. Finally.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he tells you, “every part of you. And I’m going to touch it all.”
His hands come to rest on your knees and he tugs your legs open wider before gently squeezing his way up your thighs.
“And how do you always smell so good?” Mando asks.
“I bought scented lotion too.���
“No, it’s more than that,” he says suggestively. You can’t respond though because Mando’s hands have finally reached their destination and the leisurely way he is just dragging his fingers against you has robbed you of all your breath. He’s gentle at first, exploring softly and driving you absolutely crazy.
“Mmm, you are wet, sweetheart,” Mando drawls out, pleased. He adds more pressure and starts to draw lazy circles around your clit making you moan his nickname. “And so responsive to me too.”
“Mando, please,” You can’t help the plea falling from your lips when he’s being so maddeningly slow.
“I like the sound of that.” The smugness is back in his voice. “Please, what?”
“More, please, touch me more” you manage to breathe out, and thank the Maker he complies. He rotates his hand so that his thumb is now on your clit and he increases the pace of those fantastic circles while letting his thick middle finger push inside your pussy. Meanwhile his other hand has been making its way up your body, caressing you through the lace, until he reaches your tits again. This time, however, he’s pushing the lace aside so he can tweak and tease your nipples directly.
“Man- Mando, feels so fucking good, wanted you to touch me like this for so long,” you say between moans.
“Could’ve just asked me, ‘stead of parading around in these flimsy little things,” he chuckles.
“You like these flimsy things though, I could tell,” you respond.
“Yeah, I do,” he admits, “Let me show you how much.” He increases his thrusts into you adding a second finger and then bending both upwards to sweep across pure bliss inside you. You feel like you’ve been on the brink of an orgasm for hours even though he’s only been touching you like this for a few minutes. You feel the waves of pleasure building up and your moans turn into cries of his name until finally the waves crest and feel yourself cumming all over his hand.
“Yes, that’s it, sweetheart,” Mando encourages you, “look so beautiful when you cum. Wanna see it again.” He doesn’t stop his momentum even slightly.
Din is enjoying watching you fall apart completely on his fingers; you’re so hot and soft around him. He knows you will feel unbelievably good on his cock, but he wants to draw out your pleasure as much as he can right now. He feels high on the control of being the one to make you feel like this.
“Mando,” you breathe out, “I- I don’t know-- if I- I can a-again.”
“You can, you can give me another one. You’re gonna give me another one, you little tease.” His voice is firm, but it’s so sexy when he’s demanding that you cum for him. “Besides, this cunt is so tight, need to stretch you out, get you ready to take my cock.”
Hearing him say such utter filth to you is such an incredible turn on that he’s right, you can give him another orgasm and you do. The second one hits you even harder making you clench tight around his fingers, gushing wetness all over as you collapse boneless on the bed.
“That’s it, good, that’s my girl.”
He finally slows his hand and pulls himself away from your dripping center. You watch as his fingers disappear under his helmet and knowing that he’s tasting you on them makes your already spent cunt clench again. He moves off the bed so that he can remove his armor and finally take off his clothes. You watch him, fascinated as more and more of him is revealed to you, until finally he’s standing in front of you naked except for the helmet.
“Oh, Mando, you are incredible; an absolutely gorgeous tank of a man,” you tell him, letting your eyes rake over his broad, muscular form. You see his cock twitch at your words and he seems to widen his stance as you watch him, making himself look even broader. You admire him further, “I love how strong you are, and how big.” As you say the last word, you let your eyes drop to his erection.
“Yeah?” Din asks. He loves that you are so turned on by his body, and your praise is making him blush so much he wonders if you can see it in his neck and chest. You haven’t even touched him yet and he’s aching for you.
“Mmm, yes.” You say appreciatively as you slide off the bed and take his hand, pulling him back to you with a wide smile. You maneuver him to the bed pushing lightly at his shoulders until he takes the hint and lies back. You slip the negligee over your head tossing it to the floor so that you’re naked too. He reaches out one of his large hands and tugs you down with him until you land on top of his body in a tangle of limbs. You push up gently so that you can straddle his narrow hips with your knees bringing yourself up over him to give your hands access to his beautiful golden skin. You let your palms run over his torso and chest, up across his shoulders, lowering yourself down on him as you go so that you can place kisses on his neck, collarbone, and chest. He tries to pull your hips down but you resist so you can take your time exploring him first.
As you make your way down his body, your kisses become more passionate, opening up to let your hot tongue run over his skin. He moans out at the sensation, encouraging you to do it more so you can hear him again. You kiss his nipples, letting your tongue flick each one into a hard nub and making him arch up against you. You continue trailing your lips down his torso, and when you dip your tongue into his navel, he cries out your name and you smile into his skin. Finally, you settle yourself between his legs, looking up at him as you take the head of his cock into your mouth. The sound he makes is somewhere between a groan and a whimper, making you feel a rush of power at being the reason for that sound. You swirl your tongue around the head adding a deliberate flick to the sensitive spot just underneath. You pull off him with a teasing suck before dropping your head back down to allow you to lick up and down his shaft getting him as wet as possible. Mando is practically writhing beneath you trying to get you to take him back into your mouth. You run your hands along the inside of his thighs, shushing him gently, before wrapping your hands underneath him to cup his buttocks. You bring your mouth back up to the head of his cock and then glide down taking him in as deep as possible. You keep your tongue flat and wide to aid you as you go, and give a little hum to help open your throat. You bob your head back up before doing it again and again, each time getting him a little deeper, until you are able to take all of him.
Din has never felt anything so incredible in his life. He’s enjoyed blowjobs before but they were never anything like this. How are you able to swallow him like that? Where did you learn to do this? The way you’re sucking him feels like pure heaven. And the way your tongue is just gliding along the underside of him on your downward stroke, ugh, he feels like he’s fighting off his orgasm the entire time.
“Fuck! So good! How? Shit!” Mando sounds like a complete wreck above you letting out a string of curses and garbled sounds as you continue your oral worship of him. You look up to see his helmet thrashing about in the pillows and his fists practically ripping the blanket underneath him as he’s pulling at it so tightly. It’s too much for him and he begs you to stop, almost shoving you off him.
“St- stop, please, stop, n- not yet.” You release him and he takes in a shaky breath, calming himself. You climb out from between his legs to lay next to him for a moment as he comes back down from the precipice of his peak.
“You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Mando says between breaths.
“I’d like to be full of something else,” you quip back at him.
“Oh I bet you would.” And lightning fast Mando is somehow towering over you on his knees, prying your legs apart so he can wedge himself between them. As soon as you realize what he’s up to you’re more than happy to help, bringing your legs up to hook around his hips. He rocks against you letting his cock rub up through your wetness. You’re still sensitive from your earlier orgasms and you’re even more turned on after going down on him.
“Do you want this?” Mando asks, teasing your clit with the head of his cock.
“Yes, Mando, please.” You lift your hips up in a vain attempt to get him where you need him most.
“Tell me again.” It’s a command but his tone is soft, sultry.
“Yes, I want you, Mando. I need you.” You look up at him, hoping that your expression can covey all that you feel for him, everything you’re not quite able to tell him yet.
“I need you too, sweetheart.” He says as he gradually starts to push into you, the blunt head of his cock spearing you open. He is only in about halfway when he pauses, letting you adjust to his size before he pulls out almost completely. He repeats with slow, shallow thrusts only giving you a fraction more of him each time.
“Your cunt is so amazingly tight,” Mando moans out, “feels so perfect.”
“I need more, Mando, please.” You try to keep from whining but he’s making you desperate for him. His movements are so languid and unhurried. It’s both fantastic and frustrating at the same time.
“Patience, my little tease, I know what you need.” Mando stretches down over you as he thrusts forward, gripping your hands to place them on either side of your head as he interlocks his fingers with yours. He’s still moving slowly, but this time he keeps going until he is fully sheathed with your tight passage. There is a slight burn as he stretches you open more than any of your previous lovers could, but the feeling of utter fullness is so wonderful any pain is quickly gone. Mando holds himself there for an instant before bringing his helmet down to meet your forehead in the only kind of kiss he can give you now. It’s a lovely moment, but after a bit you can’t stop yourself from grinding against him in a silent plea to make him move.
Mando chuckles at your attempt to move him, and then asks, “Are you ready, sweetheart?”
You barely get out a cry of “Yes!” before he pulls back and then drives himself up into you with such force it punches all the air out of your lungs. Gone are the leisurely teases from before. Instead, now he is moving at an inconceivable pace, fucking into you with abandon. Maker, he’s fast, and the way that he moves his hips is causing him to hit that magic place inside you each time. It’s all you can do to roll your hips up to meet his in counterpoint to his plunging thrusts. A constant string of moans is forced from your lungs along with occasional cries of his name.
“Oh fuck, you’re so good, taking my cock so well, like you were made for it.” You love hearing Mando’s filthy praise, his rich baritone voice encouraging you and making you gush around him with every word. And apparently he can feel that extra wetness, as he tells you, “You like it when I talk dirty to you, don’t you?”
“Maker, yes, Mando,” you respond breathlessly, hoping he’ll keep it up.
“D’you know how much I imagined fucking you? Taken you all over the ship in my mind. Gonna make it real. Gonna show you how badly I’ve wanted you.” The promise of acting out Mando’s fantasies pushes you even closer to the point of no return. The pleasure that has been mounting in you begins to burn white hot inside you. You wrap your legs around Mando’s waist lifting your hips up more, changing the angle just enough to let him penetrate you even deeper than before. You feel your thighs begin to quake, your internal muscles clenching down on him as your climax overtakes you in sparks of blinding ecstasy.
“That’s it sweetheart, cum on my cock, yes.” Mando keeps fucking you right through your orgasm, ramping up his speed even faster than before helping you prolong your high. It’s so good that you can feel another one building right behind it, crashing into you before you even realize that it’s happening. The pleasure is so strong your entire body is spasming with the force of your release and Mando sounds completely wrecked above you. His thrusts are getting erratic and you know he’s getting close.
You are clamped around him like a searing velvet vice, and Din is sure he has never felt anything better in his entire life. Each time you cum for him, you get wetter and the sounds of him pistoning in and out of you echo obscenely in the hull. He wishes this could last longer, but it feels too wonderful, and he can feel his balls tightening. He just wants to stay inside you as long as he possibly can. He begs you, “Please let me cum in you, please. Gonna cum, p- please wanna b- be in you.”
“It’s safe, Mando, you can cum in me,” you tell him, “I want you to cum in me, wanna feel you fill me up.”
That is exactly what Din needs to hear and he lets out a loud groan. He brings one of his strong arms around your lower back to hold you closer to him as he drives into you even harder. His entire body tenses and he cries out your name like it’s being ripped from his throat as his cock begins to pulse inside you and ropes of his cum explode out of him, covering your walls.
Mando tries to lower himself back down to you gently, but ends up collapsing a little on top of you as his strength finally gives out after the force of his orgasm. You don’t mind at all though and you wrap your arms around his back holding him close, enjoying the feel of him still inside you. He is content to stay like that for a few moments too, until he’s murmuring something about crushing you and is rolling onto his back, pulling you with him until you are curled up against his side. You cuddle with him for a bit before he gets up to get you a wet cloth from the fresher to help you clean up before you fall asleep.
When Mando gets back to you, he asks, “So, how many of those skimpy things did you buy?”
You smile up at him, “Oh there are several more,” you assure him, “Couldn’t think of anything better to spend my credits on.”
“Yeah? Good. That means I can get rid of this.” He holds up the modest nightgown you had left behind in the fresher.
You let out a laugh before asking him, “I thought you were worried about me being cold?”
“If you keep wearing those skimpy little things around me, you don’t have to worry about being cold. I’ll be in your bed every night keeping you warm.” His voice is rich with promise.
“Good. You can start now.”
---------------------------------------------
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!
Tag list: @mandosboobiez @tv-zepeda @remmyswritings @mudhornchronicles @hoodjarin @mackycat11 @sleepwithacommunist @haley7242 @boomtownboy @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @rueblogsthings
#the mandalorian fanfiction#the mandalorian x female reader#the mandalorian smut#din djarin fanfiction#din djarin x female reader
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