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velvetures · 6 months

Note

Heya I absolutely adore your writing and I would looove to request something like the “vulnerable” fic you wrote about ghost, but for könig instead. So much fluff and so many praises for our pretty boy, since I feel like he would show us his face but he’d be really anxious and self conscious about it. Feel free to decide if u wanna add nsfw content or not, I’m happy with whatever :))

Touch starved, intimacy craving cod boys will be the death of me 😔

Thank you in advance c:

Defenseless

a/n: so sorry I'm answering this so late, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless 🩶 this isn't the most in-depth... but I really tried to get the feels of it. summary: The Colonel has been stated as having something up his ass for nearly a week. no tw's that i know of...

The Colonel had been unusually insufferable for over a week at this point.

Barking demands, snarling at everyone in his path, making a total bloodbath out of the one mission assigned to him, and practically punishing all of his men during the two training sessions he’d deemed mandatory. He was on a tirade unlike anything you’d been witness to before, and there was hardly a place to escape from him. That only place being the garage which you had not-so-coincidentally been holed-up in after receiving a vehicle that was for less of better description… utterly fucked. But budget apparently didn’t allow for a replacement, so you’d been sent out to fix the helpless machine.

You didn’t necessarily consider yourself “co-workers” in the normal sense. You didn’t share office memos, or even work in office cubicles that shared a flimsy divider. The majority of your work with him came down to managing the transport to and from the base to their mission insertions. Be it helo or armor-truck, you were licensed and proficient. It gave you one of the most important jobs on base… Transporting the most dangerous men that KORTAC could throw at an enemy. And their massive, intimidating, hooded Colonel was included.

“I heard him chewing into a private’s ass for standing in front of his office door while he was sitting inside… with the door shut.” You overheard one of the mechanics chuckling from underneath of an LUV that had a leaking brake line.

A couple of the other guys joined in the conversation, ignoring your presence for all intensive purposes. You could only imagine that they were doing so simple because of how well attached you were to König in a more personal relationship. It had been nothing but professional and regulatory, but the sight of you lingering around the Colonel for more than absolutely necessary raised plenty of eyebrows around base. It just worked out that you had your entire top half of your body twisted in the engine bay of an MMPV that had taken enough IED damage to need a lot of maintenance and replacements. A pain in the ass you had been fussing over for hours just today; not even thinking about the fact that you’d been engrossed in the job for nearly a week.

“What’d you think Major?” One of the men calling out to you brought your attention away from a replacement coil-on-plug system sitting in a box, not touched yet on the wheel well to your right.

“About what?” You feign interest, not wanting to be caught listening in on conversation.

“The Colonel,” He clarified. “You seen whatever it is that has a stick up his ass sideways?”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t make a habit of checking the Colonel’s asshole…” If it’s not clear in your tone that you’re quite finished with the conversation, he doesn’t take notice.

“You’re pretty close with him aren’t you? Can’t you put in a good word for everyone on base… he’s practically frothing at the mouth!”

“I’m not a damn veterinarian either, Johns.” You warn, losing a bit of your patience.

It was one thing for König to swing his weight around like they were suggesting… it was another for him to have been struggling with something far more stressful than normal. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time a soldier took out frustration of the job on his fellow officers. Especially if he got a reality check that displayed just how fragile the system really was in times of actual strain. Not that you’d even had the chance to see him since this “tirade” began, but you could only imagine that something more than the obvious was going on behind that bleach-stained hood over his head.

Girly gossip from the small group of mechanics went on long into the evening. Theories stretching from a mission gone bad to some kind of personal insult from a superior. While the solutions to his “problem” oftentimes resulted in some kind of reference to his sex life being dry, or outright nonexistent. It all sounded ridiculous to you between cranks of your socket wrench or the occasional shrill of an impact drill.

Thankfully you could shut out the sounds for the most part, but by the time you’d found a decent stopping place, the sky outside the hangar had blackened for the night and the temperature dropped far enough that your breath misted in front of your face. It was plenty late enough to head back to your quarters and get enough sleep before being right back under the hood at first light without feeling totally miserable. You didn’t expect to run into the Colonel on your way back to your room.

From the way he walked alone, you could tell that he was exhausted. The toes of his boots skimming the ground a little more than normal, as well as the slight hunch is his typically unforgiving posture. König looked like he’d had his ass kicked before being asked to dig his own grave and crawl out of it. Hearing everyone complaining about his sour mood made even more sense than before, and you couldn’t blame him for sharing around the misery. Besides, he was one of the highest-ranking people on base… it was his reluctant responsibility to deal with people almost every second of the day.

He deserved a damn break…

“Hey! Colonel!” You called out just loud enough to make him stop. Begin careful enough to not just call him by his first time in the case that someone was listening in. His head snapped in your direction and he stiffened for a moment before recognizing you in the dark shadows of the night and parking lot lamps.

“Major…”

Chills rose on your skin hearing his roughened voice rolling your title off his tongue. He wasn’t the slightest aggressive, and you couldn’t quite decide if he was just sparing you his anger, or just worn himself down too much to care. You jog the distance between you, feeling some tension in your lower back from being bent over that damn truck all day. Hopefully it wouldn’t make König’s notice… he was always very particular about injuries or overuse with his direct-connection officers.

“Wie war dein Tag?” His eyes crinkle at the corners like he’s smiling under his hood.

At least that’s what you imagine he’s doing.

“It was alright,” You nod giving him a smile. “Working on your MMPV. It’s in a hell of a state, and I’m not sure I can fix her.” You mutter a bit quieter, mind drifting to the vehicle and the limited amount of actual repairs you could do without needing some additional parts or funding allotted for the repairs. König seemed to pick up on it for a moment, but he also ended up having half of his mind somewhere else for the time being.

“I understand…” You couldn’t be sure if he meant simple exhaustion or a shared feeling of being much in the same state as your armored car. “I’m certain with your attention, it will do more than survive the blow.”

You giggle softly, resting your hands on your hips and digging your thumbs into your lower back as nonchalantly as possible to hide the way your digits pressed and rubbed at the immense pressure building right above your hipbones. Your shared mental and physical abuse wasn’t the slightest bit new. It always felt like when you got to see König for any respectable amount of time something was wrong with one or both of you. Normally, it made for plenty of good jokes and light teasing. A good one didn’t come to mind, and the Colonel didn’t appear in the mood for banter either. Really, his voice didn’t even sound like it wanted to be present. Fading in and out of gravelly and growled tones between German-accented syllables.

“Are you retiring for the night?” His blonde eyebrow raised up above the ripped eyehole of his mask. You spared a glance at the roof which shielded your quarters from the elements. Damn near two-hundred yards away, as well. You hated thinking about the walk.

“Yeah, I figure I should head that way. It’ll take me fifteen minutes to get there if I don’t drag myself across the concrete like I want to.”

König chuckles lowly, bringing another smile to your face. You hoped it was a decent relief from what was bothering him so badly to make base feel like a war zone. The thought of being his first sign of something positive in days only intensified your joy of the thought. He takes his own glance in the direction of your rooms and then looks back to you with something of an appraising edge. Even scanning the immediate area for good measure before visibly losing some of the façade hiding his exhaustion.

“Drill in the morning?” He asks quieter, nodding his head for you to follow alongside him.

“No. Just working on that damn truck…” He chuckles again, giving you a softer look out of the corner of his eye.

“You can always stay with me,” He says quite a bit more offhanded than the offer really was.

There was no fucking way regulation would stand for it even if it was nothing more than a platonic pajama party. The mere thought of “the Major” and “the Colonel” being spotted leaving the same bedroom after a night alone would have them both court-martialed and discharged. Yet König handed out the offer easier than he could hand out candy to small children on Halloween. It spun you for a loop. Resulting in your feet welding themselves to the ground and your eyes widening as you turn to look up at him in question as to if you’d actually heard him correctly.

“Stay with you… stay… like, overnight?” The sentence alone felt so forbidden yet enticing in your mouth. König shrugs. A little more of his tension developing in his shoulders as you visibly see himself second-guessing such an intimate thing quite randomly.

“It was just an offer, Major.” He clarifies. “My quarters are much closer to your garage… and I’ve got everything you might need for one night away from your own bed.” He added with a soothing kind of tone.

But it left you just as anticipatory. He wasn’t this forward. At least, not in such a personal way. He didn’t phrase things this… domestic, directly and he sure as hell hadn’t ever thought to try it on you above all others. There was something more to this, and it wasn’t just due to the distance to your own quarters compared to his. A benefit for him lingered somewhere just below the surface of truth he’d been willing to speak about. Naturally, you weren’t about to take the first step in pushing him. So instead, you took the choice of playing the long game and allowing him to take the lead.

He is your superior officer, after all.

“You know… I might just take you up on those amenities, Colonel.”

His eyes crinkle again, giving you a second opportunity to wonder what his pretty mouth must look like when he smiles.

“If you stay, my rank stays outside. I don’t prefer answering to a title in my own home.” His low voice rumbles with an affectionate tone. One that makes you nod your head automatically, like he’d whispered some spell over you.

“Of course, sir.”

His quarters weren’t what you expected.

Instead of the typical grey walls and standard furniture, he’d went about the process of either collecting some more personal things or brought them from wherever he’d lived before now. The bed was actually massive, swallowing your position that a king size bed was more than large enough. The four posts around it had been stained a dark, ash kind of color over heavily grained wood. A desk sat over against the wall underneath of the one window in the room and while it was stained the same color, carved designs on the drawers and feet were different from the bed frame style. The walls were void of any pictures or art, bit there was enough personal touches scattered around that it pieced together a bit more of the mystery behind the Colonel’s personal life.

“It’s really nice,” Your compliment falls into the room softly, almost like you’re attempting to keep the atmosphere untouched by your presence. “Where’d you get all of your things from?” It wasn’t until after asking that you realized it might be too personal of a question considering his attitude.

He looked around and shrugged. “Antique stores,” He ran a gloved hand over the top of a nightstand next to him. “I liked the idea of fixing things… and I had the knowledge of how to do it.” Your insides twisted in interest at the idea of König being well-versed in woodworking. Images of the massive man knelt down with sandpaper and reaching the smallest nooks in the carved wood. Meticulous. Unwilling to take a shortcut… it made more sense the longer you thought about it. He walked up behind you and rested his hands on your shoulders gently, letting out a deep breath.

“I didn’t… invite you here just for convenience.” He admitted a bit shyly, fingers twitching to squeeze your shoulders just a little harder.

Ah, there it is…

“What did you let me in for?” You reply, turning to look over your shoulder and up at him with a friendly little smile. “Because I know it wasn’t for chocolates on the pillows and breakfast in bed when I wake up.”

Those big, dark, eyes glittered a little. Framing just a small bit of humor in an otherwise dark, painted and highly guarded expression in a well-defended man. It was one of the things that had drawn you to him in the first place. Hs ability to find some softness in an otherwise harsh and cruel world of voluntary service to country. A damn shame he’d found this world instead of another one that would be more welcoming… less bloody… but then again. You’d also found this world too, even if it was your pathway to simple drive into warzones instead of running into them with a rifle and a desire to be the last man standing.

“I need some… help.” He could see the question and concern on your face, but instead of even uttering a single word, he just moves away from you and sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes polarize away from you and down to the gloves that he began struggling to get off with slightly trembling hands.

You debated. Tossing around so many ideas in your head that you began dropping them. Juggling too many problems and possible solutions all at once. Hoping that he would speak up, or give you some sort of help. König wasn’t the best talker. Never had been really, but often he’d give away something that let you in on the issues in his mind. He was a stone wall tonight. Sitting like a marble statue with nothing more than softened eyes looking away from you with a palpable desire for help; yet no ability within himself to say how. The first thing you didn’t like was that he still had on all of that gear. Between the flak jacket with all of his spare mags, the helmet, steel-toed boots, multiple holsters and a slew of other things, there was far too much on him for you to get close enough to finding a crack in that armor.

“Can I?” Stepping closer, and pointing towards his helmet you ask gently, testing his comfort. He just nods, not even willing to look up at you to check what you were even wanting to do.

You unbuckle it carefully, not wanting to tug on his hood and sit it down next to him on the bed. But right as you sit it down, you see him reach up and tug the material off to drop it down inside the helmet. His blonde hair is a mess. A bit sweaty and matted down from a days work, it falls over his forehead and down to his nose. It softens the stark color of black face paint smeared over the whole top half of his face. The process of breaking down the soldier piece-by-piece takes less than five minutes, and that even included a small fight over whether or not you should be allowed to take off his boots due to how “demeaning” he felt it would look to have you kneel down in front of him like that. Thoughtful as you found the idea, you still pointed out he was your superior officer and it only made sense that you take care of the “unimportant” tasks for him. What you really didn’t know what that he watched you unlace his boots with every intention of letting you know that it felt even more intimate than letting you be one of the few people who could see his face in typical circumstances.

“That’s better… right?” You murmur, running your fingers through his hair to try and unstick the hair stuck together with sweat.

He nods. “Ja, viel besser.”

You smile at his German, sitting down next to him close enough that your thigh presses against his and your shoulder rests tightly next to him. “How about you take shower? I think washing off the day might help out a bit.”

König shakes his head no and quickly decides on a better idea. One that ends up with you laying flat on your back and a 6’10 man laying with his head on your stomach and his body nestled between your legs. His arms stay bent by his sides, resting weight on his elbows to resist laying his entire weight on you but his hands palm both sides of your ribs intentionally. His fingertips pressing between the dips of your ribs and the warm exhale of his breaths fanning against your stomach. It feels uncommonly desperate. Sensing the undeniable behavior of a man needing touch. Closeness from another human instead of the victory of a battle alone, or the knowledge that he’d lived another day without dying a horrible death. That thought alone has you wrapping your arms around his head and holding him tightly. Cradling him as well as you can to make him feel safe and protected even though his feet are hanging off the bed. Your heart pinches in regret that you’d not thought of coming to see him sooner. At least defending him in front of the others who’d been hellbent on making him out to be an asshole for having such a rough week.

Fuck.

He’d almost groveled like a puppy on its belly for you to touch him.

“You smell like cinnamon,” He mutters with his mouth slurred in the extra fabric of your shirt. “I like that… reminds me of my mother’s cinnamon rolls.” The memory is audible; softening his words and making that German accent thicker with exhaustion and comfort of being wrapped up in your arms.

You giggle very softly, pushing his hair off his face. “I’m surprised I don’t smell like grease.”

“Nein… du riechst wie zu hause.” His reply is gravelly and warm.

You close your eyes and settle back against the bed. “You know I don’t know German well enough to understand that…” He laughed softly, squeezing your sides with his massive hands.

“Do you think I’m not aware?” A laugh escaped you and as a retaliation you tapped the top of his head in a small, soft, shun. “I like saying things to you in German… it makes saying the truth easier sometimes.”

When his hands slid further under your body to fully encompass your waist, he buried his nose into your stomach and took a deep, relaxed breath. Nuzzling tighter into you and rubbing his face into your shirt like he was attempting to rub his scent and face paint off on your shirt. Neither option sounded the least bit bad. Wishing that he would fully immerse himself in you if it would make him feel better. Ease that misery festering in the back of his mind. Beginning to settle in, you started running your fingertips up and down his back. Smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt as you went, and tracing out the defined lines on his shoulder blades and rippled lats stretching over his ribs. Each pass either smoothing the pads of your fingertips, or giving him a slight scratch with blunted nails. Earning some German mutters and contented grumbles vibrating against your stomach.

“Du kilngst… wie ein… bär.” Your German feels quite juvenile, but König’s short huff of amusement gives you enough satisfaction that the lighthearted jab had reached him. He nips at your hip with his teeth, making you jump in surprise and giggle nervously.

“Isn’t there a saying… ‘don’t poke the bear?’.”

“I thought you were a King, not a bear?”

He shakes his head, a little slow on a comeback. “Either way, I’ll prove my dominance.”

You chuckle softly. “Don’t bother, I’m more than content to stay just like this.” You hum, returning to the smooth up and down movement of your hands on his wide expanse of a back.

“I’m happy to stay like this as well,” He mutters, stretching out a bit more. “However, I don’t like where you are.” Suddenly a bit nervous that you’d not been playing this situation properly, you freeze for a moment.

“I can move if you’d like?”

Suddenly a bit nervous that you’d not been playing this situation properly. He shifts a bit, putting more weight back onto his knees with a small grunt before snatching you up far enough to roll you onto your side and settle himself behind you as if you weren’t any bigger than a teddy bear meant for pure comfort and warmth. A muscled and tattooed arm vicegrips your chest and the other arm slides under your head to prop up your head. Instantly turning the role of comfort you’d been happy to provide into a much different situation.

“Can’t do much laying like this.” You protest a bit, attempting to turn over to face him so you can at least return to touching him.

“No, you fit right… shaped to me.” He slurs; tightened his grip and shook his head, resting his nose right in the crook of your neck. One hand slides under your shirt and reaches up far enough to rest his forearm against your chest and make a half-collar around your neck with his hand. He feels hot to the touch, and while you would’ve shied away from any other man touching you in such a way, König doing it felt right. As if there was something connecting you to him other than a simple recognition of the desire for a human connection that wasn’t painful. A different kind of dominance, creating a safe place for himself, but also for you in the way the curve of his hand fit right at the base of your throat.

“Touching you like this… it makes me feel more powerful than any firefight I’ve won.” He states, further resting his upper body against your back. “Like all of the mistakes i’ve made were worth making; just so I could have a moment to feel invincible laying in my own bed.”

It’s deep. Touching. Reaching right down into the bottom of your soul and wrenching it with an iron-grip so warm that you feel a heat rise in your throat.

“That sounds like something you should tell a woman you love, not just me.” You whisper, sliding your own hand under your shirt to hold his hand.

As if he could, he attempts to pull you tighter against him.

“I just did.”

reblogs & comments are appreciated <3

#könig #könig x reader #kortac #konig mw2 #konig cod #anon ask #anon answered #anon <3 #velvetures #velvetures writes #anon request

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satorhime · 2 years

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!thirst alert! imagine yourself totally composed telling gojo with a calm, emotionless voice "get on your knees, satoru” and he hesitantly complies totally in awe, with a submissive glint in his eyes. you come up to him catching his chin in your hand saying "open up for me" and he does while pulling down your panties. you pat his cheek carelessly "use your tongue, pretty boy" and he goes completely feral hearing you call him pretty, wanting to please you now more than ever before.

DESSERT !┊꒰ gojo satoru x female reader ꒱ content ༄ minors do not interact, smut, sub!gojo, pussy drunk!gojo, praise kink, cunnilingus, panty stuffing, not proofread. note from satorhime ༄ tbh i don't write sub!characters unless it's the reader but this thirst was hot so i had to :( the title is lyrics from eat it by megan thee stallion bc i was listening to it when u sent this in. thank u for sending this thirst in my love !! i wrote this so fast and idk if i like it but TAKE IT ANYWAYS.

he underestimated you.

fuck, he underestimated you. gojo satoru used to find your attempts to top him in bed amusing and adorable. you were so small, too pliant and weak to tame a brat like him. giving it up to him easily, conditioned to let him talk his shit into your ear and fuck pleasure into your body as he pleased.

but now... now, his enemies would love to see him right now. the strongest sorcerer shaking like a dainty leaf in a breeze, under your thrall because you sashayed into his classroom during lunch hour, bold and beautiful, demanding his obedience— long legs folded to his knees in front of the sticky desk of one of his students you hopped onto, all because you called him pretty.

"you'll be really good for me, won't you, pretty boy?" you coo to him, and there it is again: the pet name spoken softly, spun sugar on your tongue, and his reaction is instantaneous— his eyes dimming, pupils blown as his entire chest heaves with the weight of the effect it has on him. he dips between your parted thighs, pussydrunk before he's even had a taste, nuzzling his cheek against your inner thigh with a deep inhale.

"mmm, no promises," gojo tries to wink at you to offset the shiver zipping down his spine, to fight the headspace he's slipping into, but his haughtiness is squashed like a cigarette under the heel of your command. you give him one narrow look that settles in the pit of his stomach like lead, blood rushing to his cock so the weight of it sits fat and uncomfortable in his pants. what are you doing to him? "s-... sorry, babe- ma'am?" he sputters, and you smile slowly.

"good boy, you're learning your place," the praise slides into his veins like adrenaline, preening him like a peacock. he hates it, a little. hates you, a little more. "now do as you're told."

he really is pretty like this, putty in your hands, heart beating against his ribs in an aroused beat. he nods, snowy lashes fluttering over the strawberry cream blush dusted on his cheeks as he slips the soft lace of your panties from your hips. the heady, musky scent of your sex tickles his nostrils, burning his throat with hunger and he swallows— jerking his head forward as if to dive right in, taste you just a little, but you steady him with a finger to his forehead, kissing your teeth.

gojo satoru is not calling the shots.

"in a hurry?" dainty fingers trail down the sharp contours of his face while he stares at you, doe-eyed and sparkly as you curl a finger under his chin, thumb petting his glossy lower lip in a way that makes him melt. throwing his best moves, his tendency to tease and talk shit before he gives you what you beg for, right back at him and it's working. "open that pretty mouth for me, hmm? show me your tongue."

what the fuck are you doing to him? and why are you so good at it?

"yes, ma'am," the words feel odd in his throat, dancing on defiant but he'll do anything to earn a little more of your praise, win his rightful place of his tongue buried in your pretty cunt. he lolls his tongue out, red like a cherry, and you clench your thighs to his shoulders in want. it would be so easy to give in to him like you usually do, but you have a game you want to play.

"i'm going to put these in your mouth so you can't taste me," you pout meanly, presenting the pair of panties he slid from your ankles just a moment ago. "i don't want you to get full, baby, you can be greedy sometimes. objections?"

it pleases you to see his jaw twitch and grit up, and you just know his fingertips are burning. you're no actual match for him— he could flip you over, push your head down, and stuff you full of his cock. but if he does that, what will that solve? he looks ready to cry about not being able to taste you properly.

"f...fine, you think i care?" he grunts out, and you snort.

"then why do you look like you're about to cry?" you goad, but you don't wait for an answer. you push the panties past his plump lips slowly, feeding him the fabric until the lace scratches the soft pink of his inner cheeks and he fights the reflex to gag when they stuff to the back of his throat. would it be desperate if he sucked on them to soak your taste into his mouth? maybe. "comfortable? can you swallow?"

he nods, and you smile proudly, "you're even prettier when you're quiet, satoru!" giggling, you reach down to poke his cheek affectionately. "i should stuff your mouth more often, shouldn't i? okay, baby boy. you can start now, i miss the feeling of your tongue on my pussy.."

the panties in his mouth combined with your teasing gives him enough humiliation to make shame burn all the way to his cock, and he can already feel it leaking fat beads against the fabric of his boxers. his mouth is dry, but he settles his big hands on your plush thighs and gratefully leans in—

only to be stopped by you again.

"w-why-" he gasps out, hoarse. he's scared to take his eyes away from you, but they flicker down to the sight of your pussy in front of him; glossy with slick and so close to his lips and he wants to fuck you with his tongue so bad, he wants to please you even more, but you're denying him and he— he feels pathetic, he feels weak.

he fucking loves it.

the deep whine that chokes off in the back of his throat sends a gush of arousal to drip out of your small hole, and gojo eyes the sticky strings of slick like a starved man.

"look at you, so greedy. where are your table manners, satoru? what do good boys say before they eat? it's hard to talk, but you're so strong, aren't you? you can do anything. try for me," you coax him in sweet tones and he's gone for you, the praise you're bathing him in settling over his skin like a weighted blanket. he feels crazed for more of it.

gojo wracks his brain for the information, combing through the haze of the space he's dropped into, fear in his gut that if he answers wrong, you'll deny him a little longer. when he takes too long, your fingers shift to grip his puffy cheeks— pursing his pretty pout before you give him room to talk.

"ita.. itadakimasu."

"good boy. you can eat now."

he wastes no time, gripping bruises into your thighs as he drapes your legs over his shoulders and licks a broad stripe up the seam of your pussy with so much vigor, it catches you off guard; the two of you sputtering out whimpers in tandem that are so ruined, it makes your ears ring. it's harder with the panties stuffed to the back of his mouth because he can taste you, but he can't swallow you down like he wants, long lashes wet with frustration.

"don't pout," you tell him, "i-it feels so good. you're doing fine without that big mouth of yours."

your praise does wonders for him. on any day, no one can hold a candle to the way gojo satoru eats pussy, but he's competing like a champion for your sweet words. then he slips up, but you don't scold him for it as he grabs your hand to sink them into his sweaty white locks before he steadies you on the shaky school desk, tilting his chin and swirling the tip of his tongue under the hood of your clit.

"oooh- oh.. fuck, satoru- suck it into your mouth. i-.. you're so good, baby. so perfect for me," you whine, thighs locked around his head and he's in heaven, slurping and choking around the panties, pursing his lips to suck the swollen nub into his mouth and draw you in, rigid and wet between his lips. you fall back on your elbows, tummy caving in with the pleasure he licks between your legs. hot vibration humming against your pussy from the breaths and mumbles gojo whines out. "the prettiest boy who eats pussy like a champ."

she thinks 'm perfect, she thinks 'm pretty.

like a mantra, like a spell, it repeats in his mind until he's dizzy, until the only thing he cares about is servicing you. he won't stop until your froth is on his nose and chin, wet and swollen on his lips, splashing against his chin as you writhe and cum on your pretty boy's tongue. until you scratch your fingers through his scalp and maybe, just maybe, suck his leaking cock into your mouth as a reward because he’s a good boy.

#jjk thirsts #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojo thirsts #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru thirsts #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo x reader #jjk x reader smut

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sprout-fics · 11 months

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I have a soft Thursday thot to throw out of my brain:

I feel like Ghost would actually be the best at comforting someone if they had an anxiety/panic attack. Like, the lot of them are spending time together, and something happens— someone slams something, someone breaks something, whatever.

One of them (e.g. ME, it’s I, I’m the problem) stops dead in their tracks, blood drains from their face, tears almost come out, and he’s there to gently pull them outside, away from everyone. He just talks. Maybe wipes away any tears that come out. But just gently soothes them; you’re safe, breathe with me, everything’s alright.

He understands all too well the fear gripping tight at their throat, the dread that sinks into their bones, the sheer panic that threatens to make them collapse from within. He’s there to pull them back down to earth. No one fights alone.

Hi anon, I'm sorry this took me so long to answer but it really spoke to me. I agree that once Simon figures out what's going on he'll try his best to help, knowing he has gone through the same thing. He's maybe a little abrasive at first, but in the end he knows what it's like to be a victim of fear, so he'll do what he can to bring you down.

Tw: Panic attacks, mentions of captivity and torture, hyperventilation

It’s your first deployment since your rescue. It had taken time to build back up your strength and heal your injuries from the interrogation that occurred while you were in captivity. The weight of your plate and gear feels oddly foreign to you, removed from your memories. Even the weapon in your hands feels heavier than you remember, sluggish as you aim and fire at approaching enemies.

Ghost is at your side, a mammoth figure that keeps you in his shadow, takes point as you move through the abandoned village. The fabric of his scarf wafts softly in the sandy breeze, the town silent except for the suppressed gunfire that echoes out with every shot.

You’re trying to ignore the stammer of your heartbeat, trying to will your breath into steadiness despite the trembling grasp on your rifle. Ghost doesn’t seem to notice you behind him, doesn’t turn to see the wild, fearful look written across your gaze as you desperately try and swallow down panic.

This was a bad idea. You aren’t ready. You should have stayed behind. You can’t-

Something clatters at your feet.

Your eyes fall to it at the same time as Ghost, but unlike him you don’t move out of the way, staring at the grenade with a horrible, rotten dread that freezes you to the spot.

There’s a hand that seizes you by the back of your vest, hauls you backwards so abruptly you nearly lose your weapon. Ghost’s voice is a roar in your ear, words you can’t hear, blood rising and panic overtaking you as you try again to swallow it down, down, down-

“DOWN!!” He bellows, and you’re pressed behind a wall, into the soft dusty earth with his form splayed heavy atop you. The grenade explodes a split second later, shaking the entire earth around you like it’s fit to crumble. You don’t even scream, eyes wide as dust floats over you both, entire body rigid and frozen. Even when Ghost rises off of you to fire at whoever threw the grenade you can’t move. You try, but your body stops responding, mind filling in the emptiness where movement should be, racing and spreading sickly heat pulsing through your chest.

You can’t breathe. Oh god, you can’t breathe.

“Alpha team, how copy?!” Ghost snaps into his comms, irritated.

There’s a crackle of the radio as the other team answers.

“Alpha all clear. Bravo how copy?”

“Clear.” Ghost responds after a moment of scanning the surrounding buildings for any other hostiles. “Move down range, we’ll RV in five.”

“Copy that.”

You listen to the exchange as if you can’t inhabit your own body, and you try to imagine yourself sitting up, standing, following Ghost as he moves forward. Yet you can’t move, can barely breathe, hands trembling and eyes wide, unseeing. There’s a horrible nausea that rises in your stomach, makes you want to crumple over and retch into the sand, but you can’t even manage that much.

“Sergeant, what the bloody hell was that?!” Ghost spins on your, hissing, only to find you face up in the sand, a white knuckle grip on your rifle as you try to remember the bodily command to breathe.

“Sergeant?”

It should be so simple. Inhale, exhale. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in-

Two large hands grab you by the straps of your vest, and the air comes rushing back all at once. You struggle, a desperate, cracked protest releasing in a whoosh of air as you try to scuffle backwards.

“Hey. Hey.” Ghost grunts, trying to keep a hold on you. “Kid, look at me. Look at me.”

You do, stare past the charcoal around his eyes and into his stare, trying to remember his name amidst the madness of your mind.

“G-Ghost.”

He exhales through the mask, the hands on your shoulders relaxing at they pin you seated against the crumbling stone wall.

“That’s right. Just me.” He tells you, gentler now that he’s realized what’s going on. “You’re having a panic attack. Try and breathe.”

You’re trying, you’re trying, but when your breathe still comes in uneven, gasping inhales Ghost draws you back to him, locks eyes with you as you shudder.

“On me.” He tells you, and you hear him take a deep breath. You follow as he holds, exhales, and then again when he counts. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. It’s hard, but you manage to follow along through some miracle, and eventually Ghost’s voice drops to silence as you continue to steady yourself.

“That’s it.” He rumbles, voice softer, sympathetic. “You’re alrigh’. Keep breathing.”

There’s a copy of the radio as Alpha team checks in, and Ghost is quick to dismiss it.

“Medical emergency, standby.” He tells them, and there’s a pause when they ask if they should send a medic or call of exfil.

“No need.” Ghost responds. “I’ve got it handled.”

You let out the breath you had been holding when Alpha sends an affirmative response, feeling the tension unwind from your shoulders under Ghost’s palms.

There’s a pause then, as you sink into yourself, feeling the pulsating fear begin to ebb bot not vanish completely. Your eyes fall to your lap, to your trembling hands and sand coated greaves.

Ghost seems like he wants to say something, form tensing as he tries to find the word, at last providing: “You aren’t…there anymore.”

You look up at him then, blinking at his words. Ghost’s eyes are half-lidded as they look down at you, as if he himself is lost in his memories just like you. For a moment, it sounds almost as if he’s speaking to himself.

“They’re dead.” He tells you, voice a little distant, quiet. “They can’t hurt you anymore.”

They’re dead, you remind yourself. Your captors, the ones who kidnapped and tortured you, they’re dead. Ghost helped see to it himself, had been the one to carry your limp body to the medics, had held your hand for just a moment before you were pulled away.

He’s right, and as you close your eyes, feel the weight of the memory and the fear fade, you remember not the feeling of fear, but of safety.

With him. With Simon.

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #requests #x reader #reader insert #gender nuetral reader #simon ghost riley imagine #my writing #my fic #my stuff #we're...going to conveniently ignore that this was sent in December #I'm so so freaking sorry anon

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dickmedowndc · 3 months

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Heart Stops - Bart Allen x Meta!Reader

Word Count: 1,731

Summary: The last anyone sees of you, it isn’t good. The fight goes south and any communication with you goes dark the moment the ceiling caves in on top of you. Bart is fast, faster than anyone on his team, but with a bum leg he feels like he won’t be fast enough as he searches for you among the aftermath.

Notes: The request from an anonymous user was for a Spiderwoman like character, but I do not do crossovers or gender specific (if I can help it). So, I gave the reader Spiderverse like powers and made them a meta. There was no prompt after that, so I used another “100 kisses” prompt: #86; “reunion kisses, “I thought you were dead.’”

…★…

It was supposed to be an easy mission. That was what had been murmured between the two of you as you had loaded up alongside your teammates and taken off for your mission. A soft squeeze of your hand in his was the last bit of physical contact that you had with him.

It was supposed to be easy.

It never was.

Granted, you thought as you saw the ceiling give way and come rushing towards you, things never seemed this bad. You tried to move, weaving through jagged stone that cut at your suit and skin where it came in contact with you, but you just weren’t fast enough. The injury to your knee and upper leg significantly slowing you down. As if your entire body wasn’t screaming at you from how you had been tossed around like a rag doll by the enemy between leaping from one wall to another – using an excess of webs and movement.

Everything was autopilot by this point. The aim of your arm and wrist, the twist of your hips. The world was hazy behind your mask, eyes bleary and unfocused. It was all you could do to just keep chanting to yourself, a repeat reminder that you just had to make it to the entrance of the collapsing building where you could already see the rest of your team. You focused on Bart the best you could, your heart twisting at the state he was in. One of his arms was slung over Wondergirl’s shoulders, supporting his entire weight as his head hung and he limped beside her, glancing around. You weren’t sure what he was searching for until a moment later when he looked in your direction and stopped, leaning forward like he was going to take off running and come get you.

There was a voice, rasped and worn, yelling out for him to stay put. A moment later you realized it was your own. A desperate plea to try and keep your partner safe. He was in no shape to run, and if you were going to get caught under the rubble, you were going to make sure that he was a safe distance away. He wouldn’t be fast enough like this, you knew it, especially not if he was dragging you out with him.

All you could think of was the one last swing you needed to throw yourself out. Just before your wrist was yanked back violently and your whole body lurched backwards, right towards the center of the chaos. One of the men you had been fighting earlier hadn’t escaped, too focused on taking one of you down with him – and since you were the only one left, his sights were set on making sure you would never walk back out alive.

It was terrifying, you thought, mind spinning too fast to really comprehend that you needed to move from the building raining down upon you as your body hit the stone floor and metal scraps.

It was terrifying to watch, and Bart had ripped himself away from Wondergirl before the stone had even encased you. But with his leg busted all the way up to his hip he collapsed almost immediately, grabbed by Beast Boy just in time. He wanted to scream your name, but his voice was caught in his throat, and nothing more than a garbled cry came out.

Everyone stood still for a moment, but that was all the time to pass before everyone who could move was lunging forward and heading for the rubble. Nobody said a word. Nobody needed to. They had all seen roughly the last spot you had landed, and really it was all the information that they needed.

Someone, Terra, Bart realized absently, was putting in a call for backup. “One down” was all he heard before he limped forward, determined to find you, even if it meant he would have to dig all night.

He would. Without a second thought, Bart would. Just like he knew that you would do the same.

It quickly became frustrating, however. His arms and hands could move just as fast as before, but he couldn’t get his feet to work alongside him. Barry was off world, so that wasn’t an option at the moment, and Jay likely wouldn’t be told. But this was time sensitive. You could take a beating, Bart knew that, but you were already so tired.

He had kept an eye on you through the fight, moving you himself when he could. But it was clear just how quickly you had been injured and worn down.

And Bart feared that if they couldn’t move the stone fast enough, that super strength wouldn’t matter. If it even mattered now.

It was a thought he wanted to tear apart immediately. It sat like bile in his throat. That devastating little whisper of “it’s too late.”

But he wasn’t going to accept that. You had a family to go home to. The two of you had a date that weekend – watching bad retro movies and eating junk food until the morning light streamed in. You had things that you wanted to do. And Bart wanted to see them happen. So that voice in his head was just going to need to be wrong. He was going to be fast enough. And you were going to be okay.

You had to be.

Bart didn’t even register the arrival of Superman. Not until the first boulder went crashing down behind them; it startled him as he looked up, bewildered just like the rest of his team. It seemed to be the call just before the rest of the League arrived. But as much of a blessing as it seems to be, Bart finds himself being pulled away by Black Canary a short few moments later to tend to his leg before it has time to heal back fully, before they can set it right.

So, Bart can’t see you, can’t see anything outside, when he hears over the commlink that they found you. That you’re unresponsive. And after that everything seems to go by in a blur as they rush you back to the medical wing through boom tube, because your chances are slim without immediate intervention.

That is how the next three days go. Bart barred from the room while you recover, still in critical condition. It doesn’t stop him from camping out in front of the door, however, his own leg long since healed and nothing to keep him on bed rest.

Unable to convince him otherwise, and your status slowly ticking upwards, the Leaguers charged with your recovery finally relent, allowing Bart at your bedside where he promptly refuses to move, keeping a hawk's eye on your vitals. This at least placates the speedster, for the time being, but everyone knows it won't be better until you finally wake up.

You’re still a long way off from being better, so when Bart feels you squeeze his hand, waking him from his half-asleep state, he thinks little of it. Until you do so again, this time refusing to let go as you let out a pitiful groan.

He’s sat up straight in an instant. “Take it easy, hot shot.”

His voice is enough to stir you, but you still look comical squinting at him in the dim lights. In your defense, you felt like you had just been hit by a truck. Or had a ceiling collapse on top of you. “I feel terrible,” you groan, your one free hand barely working enough for you to cover your eyes.

“You’ve had better days.”

You can hear the way Bart’s voice cracks, that little sniffle – and light be damned – you pull your arm away to take a good long look at him. He has dark bags under his eyes, and you can see old tear tracks on his cheek. More importantly, you can see the fresh ones threatening to fall. It has you breathless for a moment, your heart tight as you take in the way your partner looks so small in front of you. A rarity. One you’re happy to not subject him to on a regular basis. “That bad?”

Bart sniffles once more, looking down at where your hand lays in his before he covers your own completely with his other. “You gave us plenty of scares these last few days. I couldn’t even come in here.”

It breaks your heart to see him like this, and you do your best to add a bit more pressure where your hands are linked. “I’m awake now though. I’m gonna be okay.” Your words don’t seem to get through to him for the moment, so you tug at his hand, trying to get him to look you in the eye. “Bart, baby, what’s wrong?”

The breath he lets out is choked, and it takes another minute before he can get his words out, practically spilling onto the bed next to you as the relief finally takes hold. “I thought you were dead.”

It catches you off guard, but despite the pain you never even consider shoving him away when he drapes himself on top of you. It feels right. Feels safe. Even if you can feel the way he tenses, trying not to shake. “Bart?”

“I really thought you were dead. When nobody could get to you.” His voice raises for a millisecond, but when you flinch from the way it makes your head throb, he manages to get it back under control. “When I couldn’t get to you.”

All you can do is hold him for a moment and let him get himself under control – he hates crying in front of others and you know it, so you pretend that you don’t see it. But when the shaking has subsided, at least for that second, you manage to catch his eye. “I’m not going anywhere now.”

Bart stalls for a moment before flashing that loving little grin that he gives you when he’s trying to make you both feel better, before nodding his head in agreement and leaning forward.

You might be sore, but you waste no time in closing the distance to kiss your speedster. After all, you have a few days' worth of kisses to plant on him, until you really see that sunshine smile you love so much.

#nicole writes #dc x reader #bart allen x reader #impulse x reader #kid flash x reader #young justice cartoon

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fatasmagoria · 1 year

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Author’s Note: I have 202 followers now which is frankly insane. I decided to write a little something to celebrate with you all! This idea has most likely been done before, but I wanted to put my own spin on it.

The Five Stages of Fatness

Denial

You sit on the edge of your bed, frustrated as you attempt to pull the flaps of your jeans together. They are separated by a generous handful of pudge that pooches out from your otherwise toned midsection. Lousy fast fashion. It must have shrunken in the wash already. Or maybe it was water weight. Or bloating from the fast food order you just inhaled? You scoop up the jeans and throw them over to the corner in a heap.

You grunt as you stand up, the heaviness of your body subtly weighing you down. You retrieve a stretchy pair of joggers from your wardrobe that slide up your thickened thighs and bubble butt with ease, although the waistband can’t stretch any further. But you don’t notice that. You’re already thinking about dessert, and the cinnamon rolls baking downstairs, the dough rising just like the numbers on the scale.

Anger

You slam the door shut behind you, rage barely contained. You were on a date with a cute guy, but he ditched you halfway through because you were catfishing him, or so he claimed. Your pictures didn’t match up to what was in front of him, of course. He was expecting a skinny person, but he was instead given a chubby piglet. You strip your tight clothes from your wider body. Your belly is laden with stretch marks and it has started to split into two rolls, with your tits sagging on top. Your thighs cover your genitals now, and your out of breath just from standing there.

You squeeze yourself into pyjamas and let your anger consume you as you, in turn, consume all the junk food in your kitchen. By the end of it, your body is screaming in pain, and when you slap your belly, it causes you to belch. But you’re too angry to really care. You spend the rest of the night feasting and burping, and you delete that stupid dating app too.

Bargaining

The scale read “300”, causing you to blush. Had you really gotten that big? You stare at yourself in the mirror and grab a handful of jiggling flesh. You look more rotund than human, and your face is red simply from the exertion of standing there. Your gut is hitting mid thigh. You know you have to get on a diet, and get a gym membership too. You tell yourself you’ll start tomorrow, and spend the entire day feasting to “get rid” of the snacks in your house. You even order pizza as your last meal before salads and smoothies became your food source. You’d go out for a run tomorrow, eat well tomorrow, lose weight tomorrow…

Tomorrow came all too soon. You wake up feeling sluggish from yesterday’s binge. You can’t even roll yourself out of bed. You tell yourself that the diet will start on Monday instead, given that it’s the start of the week. But Monday ends up being just as fattening. You eventually forget about your diet plans altogether.

Depression

You were let go from your job for breaking company property. You had sat down at your desk, only to have the armrests fly off and seat splinter as your saggy ass hit the floor. You were a liability to the company. You were simply too fat.

Tears and sobs force their way out of you as you collapse onto your sofa, bags upon bags of fast food surrounding you, giving you a small modicum of comfort. Food wasn’t the enemy, it was your friend. At least you’d get a generous payout after losing your job. At a whopping 450 pounds, your body took up most of the couch. You looked like a pile of flab. Your face, which had once been pretty and inviting, was swallowed up by a double chin that was quickly turning into a triple. You turn on some trash TV and let your brain turn to mush. Food was your friend. And now there was no reason to be separated from it.

You wipe your tears with a meaty forearm as you bite into a burger.

Acceptance

Corrupted by gluttony, your daily routine revolves around food and mind-numbing entertainment. Yesterday was a milestone; you’d hit 500 pounds and your feeder (a handsome man who loved to wait on you) celebrated by gifting you an entire wedding cake. You sit on the bed dumbly, licking frosting from your fingers. The skinnier version of yourself struggling to get their jeans pulled up may have screamed, but you knew that eating and growing was a perfect life. No need to worry about clothes or dating or work. You lived to consume.

Your whole body almost swallowed up your bed. You were likely still mobile, but there was no reason for you to walk when your feeder insisted on providing all your meals. Your whole body was cellulitic, covered in dimples as well as stretch marks. Your runny cheeks jiggled as your forced more cake into your mouth. Your tank of a belly growled with hunger, and your feeder set down another tray of cinnamon rolls on the bedside table, giving your heavy fat a good slap.

This was your life, and you couldn’t be happier.

#fatty #feedisn #female wg #wg teasing #male wg #mutual wg #wg text #nonbinary wg #fat belly #ssbbw feedee #wg stuff #make me fatter

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finniestoncrane · 7 months

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In Your Name

Arkham!Penguin x GN!Reader, word count: 1k commission: giveaway commission for @lovesick-on-the-loose because she is the sweetest thing in the world and deserves all the penguin love i can throw her way💜🐧 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: fluff, injury, mentions of blood, i wrote oswald's accent into this so if you find that jarring, be warned!

The dull thuds of blows being landed were all you could make out for a while, that and the grunting and heavy breathing from two well-matched opponents taking it in turns to beat each other. You knew who would win the fight though, even if he had some disadvantages. Height and weight and age wouldn’t stop him though. Oswald Cobblepot might hire people to do his dirty work, but it wasn’t because he couldn’t do it himself. It was because he liked to keep his hands clean. And he kept them clean solely for you. As he put it so many times before, there was no point in having something sweet and beautiful, and getting it all dirty. Except, in certain situations. That final statement always accompanied by a wink and a playful grab at your waist to bring you closer to him.

You weren’t adverse to getting your own hands dirty though. It was only fair that you contributed something to Oswald’s business efforts, given that you were on the payroll. Skilled, tough, and completely unassuming behind the soft and overly feminine exterior, you could handle yourself just fine. In most circumstances. Unfortunately, you’d found yourself in one where your opponent was just that bit better, and you’d paid for it.

Stumbling back to Oswald, collapsing in a pained heap on the floor by his desk, he’d barely finished making sure you weren’t at an immediate risk of dying on him before he was out of the door, meeting face to face with those that had dished out your beating. His enemies, bursting through the door of his club, intent on finishing you off. Only to come face to face with the short-statred crime boss himself. Not a good ending for them.

Oswald walked calmly back into his office. The wailing on the other side of the door could still be heard, but was now muffled slightly. Whatever had transpired beyond where you could see had been rough, terrifying. And it sounded like a lot of it was down to Oswald himself, and not his goons despite them being taller and stronger than him. No, this was a message he had delivered personally.

Breathing heavily, he steadied himself against the wall. The bandages wrapped around his hands were stained with blood, and he was slowly removing them. With a tentative tap, he pressed two of his fingers against his lip which was bright red and definitely swelling. He’d taken a beating, a spectacular one it seemed. Though you could only imagine that he’d given just as good as he’d gotten.

“Oswald… look at you. Your lip. Your hands!”

It was taking everything in you not to cry, knowing how much that would upset him or stress him out. But he could hear the quiver on your voice and immediately moved to placate you, reassuring you that he was fine, if not a bit bashed and bruised.

“Oh, love, if you fink this is bad, you should see the other guy! In fact, a delicate fing like yourself shouldn’t have to look at something so ‘orrid.”

You wanted to reach for him, to grab him and hold him and soothe him, but unfortunately you were entirely unable to. Noticing the way you shifted and winced, your movements painful over your entire body, Oswald quickly shuffled over and sat down on the floor beside you. With a warm hand, still streaked in blood, he stroked your cheek.

“How’re you feeling, love?”

Taking stock of everything you had gone through, you weren’t quite sure how to answer. You could fight, yes. You often took people by surprise with your skills, given they assumed from the look of you that you were just a ditsy little thing. But you were still a lot weaker, physically, than most of the people you came across in your line of work. And sometimes they got the better of you. However, despite your beaten body and broken nose, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit giddy. This was a chance for Oswald to do what he was best at, what he loved doing: doting on you.

“I don’t know, Oswald. I’m hurting a lot, but nothing a few expertly placed kisses wouldn’t help.”

He chuckled, which brought out a cough, which had him wincing in pain as his muscles tensed. Despite your own agony, you brought your body around him, acting as a weighted blanket, and grabbed him, holding him tight, squeezing him.

“Oh, my poor Pengy. You are my hero though.”

“Fanks, princess. You fink you could let go of me now, or maybe just loosen up on the ‘ug a bit. I’m worried you’re gonna break the final rib that ‘asn’t quite snapped in two yet.”

Settling back down beside him, you took one of his swollen hands delicately in your own, lifting it slowly and steadily to place a kiss on it. Even with his lip morphed completely out of shape by the bruising and swelling, you could still make out his smile.

“Y’know something, sweet’art? It does a fella good to ‘ave someone like you around to make ‘im feel better. To dote on ‘im.”

Finding what little strength and will he had left, Oswald squeezed your hand once, dropping it to the floor and using it to push himself back up onto his feet. Standing over you, feeling bolstered in his bravery after his fight by the fact that he felt statured above you, he offered you his hand to help you up beside him.

“You sure you’re alright, love? Because I’ll go back out there and finish ‘em off.”

You offered him a silent nod, smiling as best as you could. You could have been limping, head hanging on by a thread, and still seeing him fight for you would have you feeling fit as a fiddle.

“Alright then. As long as you’re sure. Now, how about I ‘elp you get out of them tattered clothes and into somefin’ that suits a pretty fing like you a bit better?”

#penguin x you #finnie writes #oswald cobblepot #the penguin #batman fanfic #oswald cobblepot x reader #oswald cobblepot x you #arkham!penguin #arkham penguin #arkhamverse #arkham!verse

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randomwriteronline · 28 days

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The sound of waves is soothing and irritating all at once. It almost drives him mad, and then it calms him down again. His heartlight pulses a little quicker than it should. A sense of anxiety gives his rocking motion a strange apprehension.

The sea bears life.

The sea bore us.

His sister's words make him feel sick in his chest.

"Pohatu..."

His head raises suddenly to the grey sky, smiling: "I'm here."

"Where are you siblings?" asks Teridax's voice with a windy whisper, slithering around him.

"Trapped underground."

"Very well," the Makuta's voice purrs; bashful pride swells in the Toa's chest. "Where is the Mask of Light?"

"With Akhmou, to be melted down in the forges."

"Very well," another rumble in the protodermis sea, another caress from the howling gale. "Where are the Turaga Metru?"

"If they haven't been caught already, on the way to me."

"Very, very well, my Toa." Pohatu grins, basking in the quiet praise - but his heartlight stills a moment later as the sky sighs: "And yet..."

Has he done something wrong?

Something bad?

He tried to do everything right, as right as he could.

Did he waste too much time?

Cold winds wrap around him; the ground beneath him seems to sink a little more under his weight, the air curls heavier around his limbs and head, and the entire universe seem to close in on him, to observe him more intently.

He's not scared by this.

He knows Teridax would never hurt him.

He's just trying to understand what he did wrong.

The sounds solidify in the shape of a well-known claw to trace the maskless face he cradles in his arms: "He is still here."

Pohatu looks down.

Takanuva remains unconscious.

"Pohatu..." Teridax asks sweetly, rumbling like a thunderstorm, "You do remember what I've told you... The Toa of Light..."

"But it wasn't his fault!" Pohatu interrupts him. His hold on his little brother tightens slightly. "You said it yourself, Takua has nothing to do with this. If it wasn't for the Turaga, for that mask - he's innocent."

"He is, of course," the Makuta growls, "But danger lurks within him."

The Toa curls around the much larger body in his lap: "But he hasn't done anything wrong," he continues to defend him. "And without the mask he can't do anything, he's just like a Matoran again, without any powers - so I thought... I thought..."

"You disobey me?"

"No! No, no, I'm not disobeying, I don't want to disobey!" he's quick to reassure his master. Nothing frightens him more than the quiet heartbreak in his tone - he's good, he's good, he wants to be good, he wants to be good and useful and someone to be proud of, he doesn't want to make him upset, he doesn't want to disappoint him, it's just... It's just... He looks down, to the closed golden eyes of Takanuva. His shoulders close around him tenderly, to shield him from the cruel world that saw it fit to throw him into such a terrible life. "But he's... He hasn't done anything... He thought - they made him believe he had to, that it was his destiny, it wasn't his fault... He's just Takua... He's just..."

"Your little brother," Teridax finishes for him.

Pohatu nods.

The waves recede until the seabed is almost visible; they crash once more against the cliff with a long, gentle sigh.

"You have much too big a heart, Pohatu," the Makuta tells him, willing the salt in the air to cradle his puppet's head as though it were his palm. "And though it is an admirable thing, it still sometimes blinds you from what must be done - especially when it is in your little brother's best interest."

The Toa looks up, into the sky, to the spectral light of the twin suns. He has no trouble imagining the deep crimson of Teridax's eyes in place of their thin silvery shine.

"He has been turned into my enemy against his will, that is true," the usurper continues, voice low and sweet: "And I cannot execute him for being guilty of a crime others forced him to commit without even knowing what he was truly doing. But he must die regardless, Pohatu - not because he must be brought to justice, like your siblings and their mentors, but because he deserves to be given mercy."

"Mercy?"

"Yes, my Toa, mercy... The very same thing the Turaga denied him. Reflect well: the Avohkii has mutated him, tearing his previous careless, happy existence from him, staining him with the irreversible mark of its blinding light. No matter how far he may run, Destiny will always hound him, chasing him into his demise."

Pohatu hugs his brother closer, as though Destiny was a beast standing right before them in this second, hissing and writhing as it eyes Takanuva with a hungry gaze.

Loving claws of frigid wind soothe his head, caressing it slowly: "Do you see, then?" the waters churn below him, "Death is not a punishment; it is a kindness. Free him from such a horrible fate. Put a gentle end to the life of strife and agony he has been sacrificed to."

This -

This is the only time Pohatu laments following the code.

He would. He would kill Takanuva, right here and now, in his own arms, while he's still unconscious - so he could die loved and safe, without even noticing, drifting into even softer, even deeper sleep.

He would do it for him, so he doesn't have to suffer, so he doesn't have to be torn apart by something else, something so much more terrible than a brother who honestly, honestly loves him, a brother who loves him enough to spare him from something as horrible as a life he should not be forced to live.

He would, he would, he wants to (Teridax is right - what a fool he was for doubting him, when Teridax is always right and always good, and he even talked back to him and argued with him - oh, a fool, a fool, an idiot, a cretin, a worthless mindless sack of rocks - he is so lucky Teridax is so patient with him even when he's this incredibly stupid, so lucky he still cares about him enough to call him dear), but he can't. He can't. He can't.

He rocks Takanuva slowly, for no good reason, and he thinks.

He thinks as hard as he can.

"There's a cave in Po-Metru," he mutters - half to himself, half to the universe, "By the docks - the Visorak horde opened it with a tunnel, but the rest of it caved in... It's under the sea, I remember, with an entrance that can only be found underwater... Getting there was a mess. But I remember the way, I could do it. And the adaptive armor would make it easier. With some luck, the high tide would catch up to him before he could wake up. He wouldn't feel a single thing."

The ground beneath him rumbles: "There," Teridax praises him, "How clever you are, when your mind is clear."

The fear and guilt and worry are washed away from him completely in the mere fraction of a second, like a bad dream chased off by a gentle embrace: Pohatu smiles, embarrassed and flattered.

"Although, just in case luck does not favor us - perhaps, a shackle or two... As he would not understand your act of mercy..."

Of course, of course: "I'll make sure he's secured, Great Spirit."

The grandiose title makes the cliff on which the Toa sits stand even taller as the Makuta preens himself. Great Spirit - yes, of course; that is his name, now, and this is his universe; and oh, it is with such reverence that Pohatu says it, such conviction, such blind all-consuming devotion...

His claws in the shape of the winds lift the Toa's chin up to the sky, his brilliant eyes so eager to make him proud: "Well done, Pohatu," Teridax croons; with another gust of gale he presses against the forehead of his mask to push it down again, in a show of obedience: "I knew you would not disappoint me."

Pohatu never disappoints him.

Pohatu craves to be loved too much to disappoint him.

"Now run along, my dear Toa of Stone. You have a brother to save, and six traitors to imprison."

Pohatu nods, brimming with purpose and quelled anxieties.

Then he disappears, an orange flash beneath grey skies.

The waves keep crashing against the small cliff.

Under it, Hewkii shakes, breathing too fast.

#bionicle #pohatu #makuta teridax #takanuva #hewkii #random writing #orpiment au #mercy killing tw #discussions of it #emotional manipulation tw #me while writing: hehe :) hehehe!!! ohohoho!! >:D yippie!!!!#me while re-reading: oh. oh no. oh fuckin- oh yikes #back to pohatu being nice for a change but also unfortunately we get to see the depths of the chokehold teridax has on him #and ill be fuckin real with ya i got uncomfortable at a point #he is. so desperate for his approval. and so consumed by said desperation. that he will completely change his view of a situation #if teridax presents it to him with the right words. and teridax ALWAYS know how to present it to him with the right words.#that last line wasnt planned but it was a great idea. putting him in the fucking blender. enjoy hell my lad

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thatbiologist · 1 year

Text

Oxventure/DCOM Homebrew Subclass

ORDO BUTTERFLY (Rogue Subclass)

In antiquity, the Elves of G’eth founded a deadly group of assassins that would combine druidic magic with their lethal precision, they would become known as the Order of the Gold-spotted Skipper. The Ordo Butterfly is a rogue who has embraced the esoteric ancient traditions, as no one suspects a butterfly. The Ordo Butterfly was thought to be extinct for a millenia; however, they are emerging again like butterflies from a pupa.

BONUS PROFICIENCIES

When you choose this archetype at 3rd level, you gain proficiency in the Animal Handling and Nature skills.

BUTTERFLY SHAPE

Starting at 3rd level, you can use your action to magically assume the shape of a butterfly. You can use this feature twice. You regain expended uses when you finish a short or long rest.

You can stay in your butterfly shape for a number of hours equal to half your level (rounded down). You then revert to your normal form unless you expend another use of this feature. You can revert to your normal form earlier by using a bonus action on your turn. You automatically revert if you fall unconscious, drop to 0 hit points, or die.

Butterfly

Tiny beast, unaligned

Armor Class 18

Hit Points 1

Speed 5 ft., fly 40 ft.

STR DEX CON INT WIS CHA

5 (-3) 19 (+4) 13 (+1) 3 (-4) 14 (+2) 16 (+3)

Senses passive Perception 12

Languages —

Flyby. The butterfly doesn't provoke opportunity attacks when it flies out of an enemy's reach.

POISONOUS CLOUD

Starting at 9th level, your butterfly shape gains a new ability to shed toxic scales from its wings. As an action, while in your butterfly shape you can scatter toxic wing scales in a 15-foot cube centred around yourself. Each creature (besides yourself) in that area must succeed on a DC 15 Constitution saving throw or take 2d12 poison damage and be poisoned for 1 minute. If a creature fails its saving throw by 5 or more, it is also paralysed while it is poisoned.

LEPIDOPTERA MUTATIONS

Starting at 13th level, your butterfly shape starts to change your typical body. You can choose to keep two of these mutations.

Beautiful Irradiance. You can proficiency in the Persuasion skill.

Blindsight. You can perceive your surroundings up to 60 feet by your sense of smell alone.

Camouflage. When you make a Dexterity (Stealth) check, you can make the check with advantage. You can use this trait a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus, and regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest.

Flight. Giant butterfly-like wings sprout from your back, you have a flying speed equal to your walking speed.

Natural Armour. Pieces of exoskeleton erupts through your skin. When you aren’t wearing armour, your base AC is 13 + your Dexterity modifier.

Proboscis. You have a retractable proboscis that can emerge from your mouth that you can use to make unarmed attacks. When you hit with it, the strike deals 1d10 + your Dexterity modifier of piercing damage.

METAMORPHOSIS

Starting at 17th level, if you drop to 0 hit points and you haven’t been killed, you can begin a metamorphosis.

A metamorphosis takes 8 hours (a long rest), in which time a pupa encapsulates your entire body, as well as, the clothes that you are wearing and any items in your possession. The pupa has your character’s base AC, and your character maximum hit points. However, any attacks made against the pupa have advantage, and attacks made against the pupa at a range of 5 feet or less automatically become critical hits. If the pupa is reduced to 0 hit points you die.

After the 8 hours have ended, you can emerge from the pupa with any changes you want to your appearance; you can change your character’s age, sex, weight, height, skin colour, hair colour, eye colour, etc. However, your character’s ancestry remains the same (humans can only metamorphose into a human). This effectively provides your character with a new identity.

#oxventure #homebrew #dnd 5e homebrew #homebrew subclass

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randomshyperson · 3 years

Text

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Seven minutes of truth and dare

Summary> You and Pietro have been friends since elementary school. On his 18th birthday, you try to socialize with his twin sister, Wanda Maximoff, who never seemed to like you very much.

Warnings> (implied) Enemies to Lovers/ Fluff and Smut/ Vaginal Fingering/ Boys Kissing/ Girls Kissing/ Underage Drinking/ 18+/ implicit sex/ swearing

Words> 3734k (Oneshot)

Read on AO3

It took little time to get to Maximoff's house, considering that you had to walk to the residence, since your ride - Natasha Romanoff, best friend, currently on the run together with her boyfriend Bruce Banner - just stood up to you. You were lucky to live only a few blocks away.

The noise of the party could already be heard from around the corner, and you wondered how long it would take for one of the neighbors to call the police. At least it was the weekend, and you remembered that Pietro had commented that the Parkers would be traveling on their honeymoon, being the only neighbors of the house. Pietro was always lucky for things like this.

When you finally arrived at the house, the sound of some electronic music was much louder. You greeted a few people with a nod, the vast majority classmates, who were actually more Pietro's friends than yours, and then you went inside.

The Maximoff residence was very nice, but at this moment it was full of teenagers drinking and dancing, many glasses and bottles lying on the floor.

Looking for Pietro, you found him upside down, drinking directly from a beer tank that was set up in the outside yard past the kitchen. You frowned slightly, hoping your friend didn't have an alcoholic coma, as you walked up to the group of teenagers who cheered and encouraged the challenge.

When he finished, the two boys holding him by the ankles helped him to balance again, laughing and patting Pietro on the back. Your friend staggered a bit, but then he saw you, flashing a smile before hugging you.

- You stink, birthday boy. - You teased, and Pietro just rolled his eyes humorously.

- You took your time. - He remarks as you release from your embrace. You shrug.

- You know this isn't my thing. - You remark, referring to the party. Pietro smiles.

- Yes, yes. But I'm glad you're here. - He replies and then takes your hands, lifting them a little and looking down your entire body. - And look at you, you even dressed up to come! Are you trying to have sex with someone?

You laughed, letting go of Pietro's hands to push him gently, which made Pietro laugh too. Soon you were surrounded by other friends, but not being very good with crowds, you said you were going to get something to drink before you left.

In the kitchen, you tried to find something that didn't have alcohol in it. You ended up grabbing one of the bottles of soda from the refrigerator, hoping that none of the Maximoffs would mind.

Someone changed the music and turned up the sound, so you heard the excited shouts of several people, who began to move into the room and dance around each other. You laughed at the image, walking upstairs.

A few people were scattered on this floor, mostly trying to smoke pot in hiding, or to have some privacy from the noise. A few others were just making out in the corners. You walked to Pietro's room, checking his present in your pocket.

He would be too busy being the popular extrovert he was tonight, so you thought it best to leave the small gift you bought for him on his bedside table, he could appreciate the gift when the party was over.

You closed the door on your way out, and frowned as you looked down the hall, a couple of strangers kissed passionately while one of the boys groped the walls for somewhere to go, you watched as he found one of the unlocked doors and went inside. You sighed, hesitating to make a move. You knew very well that this was Wanda's room. You figured that no one would want to know that strangers were screwing in their bed.

Hurrying inside, you opened the door.

- Sorry, boys, this one's off limits. - You warned them as you entered, noting that they were already almost naked. Grabbing the fallen clothes from around the room, they looked at you angrily, but then left the room.

You shifted the weight of your feet, realizing where you were at last. Looking around, you bit your lower lip as you observed how everything was just so Wanda.

The color of the walls, the sheets, even the way she organized the books and records. You ran your finger between the shelves on the wall, smiling at the collection of music she had in vinyl record format. And then you looked at the collection of dvds, compilations of old American sitcoms.

You walked over to the study table, a picture of Wanda and Pietro as children caught your eye. It was Halloween, and they were dressed up adorably, Wanda as a witch, with horns and a red cape, and Pietro as a superhero. You put the photo back, running your fingers through Wanda's notes displayed in the notebooks she left open on the table. On the few occasions you saw her at school during the past year, she was studying. Pietro had commented that she was going to apply to the best colleges in the country.

- What are you doing here? - A female voice sounded behind you, and you stumbled with fright, turning around quickly.

- God, Wanda, you scared the hell out of me. - You grumbled, but she continued with a look of mixed annoyance and curiosity. You looked away before speaking. - Sorry for snooping. I just came here to keep some boys from having sex in your bed.

Wanda blinked with confusion, but her expression softened. You noticed how beautiful she looked, and scolded yourself for thinking that the next second.

- Oh right. Thanks, I guess.

You nodded slightly, not being used to being alone with her.

- I didn't know you liked sitcons. - The words escape your anxious brain, and Wanda blinks in confusion. You thought she would throw you out of the room right away, but she just smiles, shrugging.

- You never asked. - She says, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

- Yeah, I didn't know you wanted me to ask. - You retort, your voice coming out almost in a whisper. Wanda looks away, twiddling her fingers.

You were silent for a moment, and Wanda looked like she was about to say something, but then the door opened again, and you raised your eyebrows as you watched two girls snuggled up to each other and stumbled into the room, unaware of your presence. Wanda made an impatient expression.

- Get out, now! - she warns, and the girls part in shock. You raise your eyebrows as you realize that you knew them.

- Damn, we didn't know it was taken. - Carol grumbled, and when she looked at you her expression changed from embarrassment to happiness. - Y/N! I didn't know you were coming.

You nodded at her clumsily, and she just smiled, apologizing again as she dragged Maria out of the room, closing the door. You didn't even want to think about what you two were going to do.

- Maybe you should lock the door. - You said, and Wanda looked at you with a raised eyebrow, a tone of surprise and malice in her gaze. You blushed as you realized what your speech implied. - I-I mean when we get out of here.

Wanda laughed, and you tried to cope with the butterflies in your stomach that seeing her laugh gave you.

- I think I will stick around here anyway. - She comments after a moment, sitting up in bed. - Parties aren't really my thing.

- Yeah, I know how it is. - You add, a little awkwardly. - I only agreed to come because Pietro really wanted me to.

- You stopped coming here at home. - Wanda says with an expression you don't understand, it was as if she wanted to read you. - Are you two all right?

You look at her with mild surprise, not really expecting her to have noticed you anyway.

- Me and Pietro? Yes, we're fine! - you affirm, putting your hands in your pockets. - I guess the exams have been keeping me busy. And well, Pietro has lots of friends now, it's not like I'm missed that much.

You looked at the floor, not noticing Wanda's frown. You didn't want to think too much about Pietro replacing you, not today.

- I don't think that's true. - Wanda says after a moment. - Pietro likes you very much.

Wanda's tone is almost hurt. At first you thought that maybe she was thinking that Pietro enjoyed your company more than hers, which was absolutely ridiculous, but then you understood the tone of the insinuation, and laughed lightly, attracting the other girl's attention.

- You know we're just friends, right? - You start to explain, the idea of dating Pietro is so absurd that your voice comes out in a tone of debauchery and humor. - He has never looked at me like that! And I always thought he was like a little brother.

You laugh at the possibility, but Wanda looks at you intently.

- Would I be like your little sister too? - She replies in a low tone, and you feel your smile drop and look away, completely embarrassed.

- No. - You deny it, a little breathlessly. - I don't see you as a sister.

- And how do you see me?

Feeling your heart race, you force yourself to look up, looking at Wanda. She has a glint in her eyes that makes you want to kiss her.

Before you can answer, the door opens again, and Pietro stumbles inside.

- Great, I found you two! - He looked drunk. - We're going to play seven minutes in heaven, come on, come on!

Giving you two absolutely no chance to respond, he pushed you through the house, leading you to the basement, where your group of friends were waiting for you.

- Hey guys. - You greeted awkwardly seeing everyone standing there.

- No fucking way you two are at a party together! - joked Tony Stark, smiling at you. Despite the teasing, the others were genuinely happy with your company. - And they're still going to play with us? This is legendary.

- Why don't you just fuck off, Stark? - retorted Wanda as she entered. You knew they didn't get along very well, but Tony just shrugged, laughing at the other girl's aggressiveness.

- Come on, guys, do the circle! - asked Steve, who was already sitting in one of the armchairs. He put a bottle in the middle of the group. - Are you sure you want seven minutes?

- We start with truth and dare, Rogers. - said Tony as he sat down next to Thor, one of Pietro's soccer teammates.

- All right, all right, let's just play this game once and for all, - said Pietro impatiently. When everyone was sitting in a circle, Steve touched the bottle, smiling at the group.

Turning the bottle, everyone looked forward in anticipation. The tip stopped at Sam, one of his closest friends, who seemed confident to respond to anything.

- Truth or dare, Wilson? - Steve asked.

- I'll go for truth.

- Boring. - Grumbled Tony, but Steve just laughed, and assumed a thoughtful expression.

- Who was the last person you kissed?

Sam bowed his head, a smile on his lips. You frowned, he was not the type to be shy. Tony noticed as well and assumed a curious posture, looking at Sam intently.

- The last person I kissed... - Sam began, pausing, as if wondering if he was really going to say it - Was Bucky.

The whole group exclaimed in surprise, and Tony burst out laughing. You looked at Bucky, who just seemed too embarrassed to respond to the jokes.

- Okay, let's pretend this isn't the biggest sex scandal in school, and move on. - Pietro said in an amused tone. Sam laughed at his comments, and turned the bottle, which stopped at Thor.

- Dare. - Said the blond man without even waiting for Sam to ask. Sam laughed and thought for a few seconds before saying:

- Okay, everyone will need to put their cell phones on speaker for this one. - Sam said and nodded, waiting for everyone to obey. The group laughed, but followed his lead. - Well, my challenge is very simple. Send a message to the person you want to make out with from here. Everyone will know who.

- You are terrible, Wilson. - Thor commented, ignoring the sighs of excitement that the group shared.

It took a moment for Thor to pick up his cell phone, and type something. He took a sip of his beer before pressing enter, and the next second, Valkyrie's cell phone rang.

- This is not at all surprising, actually. - Steve joked, making everyone laugh.

Valkyrie gave Thor a surprised and mischievous look, but said nothing. Thor looked slightly flushed.

- If you guys are lucky, you can win seven minutes. - Sam teased.

Thor laughed but said nothing. He stepped forward to spin the bottle. Tony let out a pleased exclamation when he saw the bottle stop on him.

- Fuck, finally! - He said, and raised his hand to interrupt Thor, who was probably about to ask the choice. - No need, darling. Of course I want a dare, this game is no fun without it.

- Fine, Stark. - Thor laughed. - Since you love to show off, I dare you to give Rogers a lap dance.

The group burst into laughter, but Steve seemed considerably anxious. Tony laughed, a little awkwardly, and then stood up.

Thor was quick to get some music playing, and everyone was quiet in anticipation. When Tony started to perform, you blinked awkwardly. You had no desire to see Anthony Stark do a lap dance on someone's lap. You pulled your cell phone out of your pocket checking for messages, and smiled when you saw that there was a message from Nat, just a picture of her and Bruce, smoking together in what you thought looked like the Skateboard Court near the school.

The group laughed again, and you lifted your head to see that Tony was riding on Steve's lap, with his shirt off. Steve was very red.

- Okay guys, I think that's good enough! - Thor laughed, and Tony stood up. The group laughed at the visible erections on both of them, before continuing the game.

- Can you keep up, Stark? - Thor sneered, pointing at Tony's pants. He gave a lopsided smile, and pointed a middle finger at Thor before picking up the bottle.

You felt your stomach flip with nervousness when the bottle stopped on you.

- Well, well, this should be interesting. - said Tony looking at you mischievously. - Tell me, kitten, truth or dare?

You considered your options for a few seconds. If you asked for truth, Tony would not only tease you, but also find a way to make you confess something embarrassing. At least with dare, it would be quick and without much impact on your post-party life.

- Dare. - You say simply, and Tony looks surprised.

- It's been a night of surprises. - he scoffed. - And I think it's time for us to start the seven minutes in heaven.

- Damn it, Tony. - You mumble clumsily. Tony laughs and then flashes you a smile of fake kindness.

- I'll be nice to you. The bottle will choose your partner. - He says, and you cover your face with both hands for a moment before grabbing the bottle.

- I hate you, - you mutter to Tony before swirling the bottle around. With luck it would stop at one of your friends, and you would spend seven minutes talking.

- No fucking way! - shouted Tony excitedly as the bottle stopped at Wanda. You felt your stomach drop. - I always knew you'd end up with a Maximoff, I never thought it would be with the most gothic of them.

The group laughed, but you were feeling extremely anxious. You felt your legs tremble slightly when Tony pulled you off the couch, seeing your lack of reaction. You tried to smile, but it must have come out as a grimace, since Tony laughed.

- Remember girls, no cheating. - he warned, opening the closet door. You went in first, and then Tony closed the door when Wanda came in.

The closet was completely dark, and you could only distinguish Wanda's silhouette by squinting your eyes. You leaned your body against the wall, your breaths were the only sounds in the room, since the noise of the party was muffled.

- That's awkward. - You said trying to ease your nerves.

- Why is it awkward? - Wanda replied. The closet was small, and looking at the floor, you noticed that your shoes were only inches from touching.

- I don't know, I guess I never thought I'd be in a closet with you. - you confess humorously. But with Wanda's lack of response, you bite the inside of your cheek, not knowing what to say next.

- Who did you think you would be stuck with? - She says after a moment, sounding as if she is trying to prolong the subject.

- I don't know. - You say, looking at your shoes again. You think you're imagining that the distance between you has decreased. - I don't really think about being stuck in closets.

Wanda laughs at your statement, and you feel your heart race at the sound. You count twelve seconds in silence before she speaks again.

- I never understood why we didn't become friends. - Wanda confesses, and you look up at her silhouette.

Because I've been a gay disaster in your presence since I met you. You think, but think it best to just shrug. Then you remember that she can't see the gesture, and try to think of something to say.

- Different political views. - You joke, and Wanda giggles.

- I like your humor. - She says next, and you feel your cheeks heat up, and look down, only to see Wanda's shoes signaling that she has taken a step toward you. You press your back against the wall, watching her move closer in the dark. - And honestly, I've always liked you a lot.

- W-what? - You ask breathlessly, feeling Wanda's presence right in front of you, your noses touching.

- I always noticed you, you know. - She says, drawing her face closer to your neck, inhaling the scent of your hair. You were thankful that there was a wall behind you, serving as a support. - I would see you around the house. Playing in my yard. And the jokes at the dinner table. Always so quiet and shy at school, so behaved and obedient. - Wanda whispered, and then she brought her mouth close to his ear. - Tell me, did you notice me too?

- Yes. - You confess breathlessly. And ignoring the uneven beating of your own heart, you continue. - I have always noticed you. Ever since middle school, when you started wearing leather boots, and painting your fingernails. Or when I was at your swimming pool and you sat quietly with a book. I noticed you.

Wanda lets out a sigh, bringing your foreheads together.

- Tell me to stop if you don't want this. - She whispered against your lips. You would have laughed if you weren't so anxious.

You didn't answer, and wanting her to know how much you wanted her, you moved forward, pressing your lips together in a tender kiss.

Wanda took a step back in surprise, separating your mouths. You were about to apologize, thinking that maybe you had got it all wrong, but the next second she moved against you, her hands on your neck as your mouths joined in a firm, passionate kiss.

Bringing your hands to her waist, you pressed her against your body, and you gasped against each other's mouths. Wanda asked for passage with her tongue running over your lower lip, and you opened your mouth, gasping as you felt your tongues come together.

Kissing like this for a moment was enough to warm your whole body, a familiar discomfort forming below your belly. Having Wanda moaning against your mouth was not helping.

You slowed the kiss, stroking her tongue with yours slowly. Wanda pressed herself against you, one knee coming up between your legs. With the new friction, you felt your body tremble in anticipation, delighting in pleasure.

You were startled when you heard a noise, someone must have knocked something over outside the closet. And then you remembered that you were in a closet, with your best friend's sister, who was in the next room with six other people, with no idea that you were about to fuck Wanda.

You began to slow the kiss until you separated the two of you. Your chests were rising out of rhythm as you were breathing heavily

- We only have seven minutes. - You whispered out of breath, feeling Wanda nod her head slightly as you stood there with your foreheads pressed together.

- We can go to my room. - She spoke in the same tone. You nodded in agreement, beginning to miss the taste of Wanda in your mouth.

- Should we wait until the party is over?

Wanda let out a breathless giggle.

- Tell me. - She whispered, and removed her hands from your neck. With one hand she lifted her skirt, while with the other she took your hand from her waist and guided it down between her legs. You trembled as you touched her, pushing the fabric of her panties aside to feel her wet pussy. - Do you think I can wait?

- Fuck, Wanda. - You spoke breathlessly, and felt her moan as your finger moved against her clitoris. She squeezed your shoulder, closing her eyes. - You're so wet. So fucking wet for me.

You began to move your finger, penetrating her shallowly. Wanda buried her head in your neck, moaning against your skin.

It takes all your mental and physical control, but you withdraw your finger from inside her, while with the hand that was still on her waist you move up and down her back, stroking to calm her down.

- I want to feel you in my mouth. - You whisper to her. - I want you to come for me with your legs spread wide open on your bed.

Wanda nods against your neck, trembling slightly. And then the door opens. You barely catch Tony's joke, feeling disconnected from everything that isn't Wanda.

And before you can say anything, Wanda grabs your hand, pulling you out.

- Where do you think you're going? - You hear someone shout, but neither of you even bother to answer.

You can't help but smile when you reach the second floor, and Wanda pushes you into the room, locking the door as she brings your mouths together.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda imagines #high school au #marvel imagines #oneshot #wanda x reader #wandaxreader

1K notes · View notes

miraeluc · 3 years

Text

you have an eating disorder

prompt: “you never had issues with food - that is until your boyfriend makes a remark about your weight.”

pairing: katsuki bakugo x female! reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: MAJOR TW!! anorexia, there’s swearing

genre: fluff, angst

NOTE: this is not proofread at all and it’s kinda short, i was struggling to finish it a lot, sorry :(

you were never one to pay special attention to your diet or anything

life is short, why spend it worrying about how your body looks?

food is food man, and you need it to live

there was no fun in dieting either, it’s not like you were ever fat anyway - with daily training you were in shape!

sure there were thinner girls, but like i mentioned, you just liked enjoying food without having to worry about losing weight all the time

your boyfriend, bakugo, just does not know how to express himself

he’s not the type to really pay any mind to your figure, he finds you pretty anyway

and its a plus anyway - whenever he feels full he can just push his plate towards you and you’ll gladly finish it for him

that is until one day

you were sitting with the baku squad at lunch

mina was telling you about a new tiktok trend she had stumbled upon and found hilarious

denki was currently fighting for his life against bakugo after saying his hair looked like he was just hit by an electricity quirk before he proceeded to zap him lightly

kirishima was regretting all of his life decisions when he decided to try and help denki

sero was just sat there,, recording it so he could show them just how stupid they looked afterwards

kirishima finally managed to pull said angry-boy away from kaminari

you always said he’s like a little angry pomeranian when angry lol

back to the plot omg i got carried away

after bakugo was calm enough to take his initial seat beside you, he was already too full and just overall not hungry

so he pushed his plate towards you

“eat up, fatass.” he grumbled out

you just looked up at him with wide doe-eyes, not expecting an insult to slip off his tongue

it was bakugo, what’d you expect lmao

you looked down at the plate, suddenly feeling very not hungry anymore, instead pushing the plate away as you grabbed your bag to stand up

“actually, i’ll head up to my room, i feel a bit sick”

you immediately left after that, not seeing the confused glances the table exchanged, mina smacking bakugo’s head

you went to your room and laid down, not knowing why bakugo’s comment had made you feel upset

you never get upset when he makes dumb remarks!!

so why now!!

you realised it when you were stood in front of the mirror, shirt lifted, staring at your own body

you did gain some weight.

you were upset at yourself because you usually didn’t mind!!

you know weight fluctuates, you know the small amount of chub you have will eventually pack it’s little bags and leave again

but it hurt because you wanted to be pretty for your boyfriend.

how could you be when he says you’re a fatass?

eventually, you ended up scrolling through your phone, looking at thin girls all day

you also looked up a few diets that worked very fast

by the time bakugo was aggressively knocking at your door you had closed all of the pages you were previously looking at

as soon as you swung the door open he strutted in, seating himself on your bed

“what was with you running off at lunch today?” he looked at you

you were still stood at your door like.... mm ok i guess make yourself at home

“huh? i told you, i felt a little sick.” you mumbled, closing the door again, it was getting late and you were not looking to be beheaded by aizawa

he scoffed “if you say so.” he laid down, kicking your blanket to the side

“i brought you some snacks - incase you got hungry..” he said, his face looking like >:(

he didn’t get them because he knew you liked them and wanted to make you happy! not at all!!

he just didn’t want to put up with you being whiny

that’s for sure the reason

you giggled, throwing yourself ontop of him - sounds of protest coming from him but he did wrap his arms around you

“since when are you so nice, katsuki?!” you teased

lol wrong move

in 0.01 seconds you were flipped over and held down as he started tickling you

“i’m not nice!”

the next morning you left extra early to avoid getting breakfast with bakugo

he didn’t seem to be bothered by it, he also has days where he just doesn’t feel like eating early in the morning so

it does start to bother him when that one day of skipping breakfast turned into every day

his google search bar is like

‘why does my gf not eat’

‘do girls not eat breakfast’

but this bitch is also too scared to approach you at first because he doesnt want you to know he truly cares

his ego is still too high for that

but you know better

you know he cares but sometimes you don’t feel good enough for him

you can’t help but compare yourself to other girls at your school

you distance yourself unknowingly, lost in the counting calories and exercising every day

everyone but you notices that you’re literally spiraling

you don’t notice that you look sick, skin paling and cheekbones getting more prominent every passing day

you don’t notice the growing eyebags under your eyes

all you notice is other pretty girls and how you want to look like them.

at first, your friends decide to give you some space, thinking that maybe you have to fix this within yourself and need space

and you do, but someone needs to snap you out of your little bubble

that someone is bakugo

so it goes like this

during training, he noticed your legs being a little more wobbly than usual

and he noticed that you were unfocused, not being able to dodge all of the enemies attacks

but something inside of him snaps when aizawa has to stop the fight because you were not even fighting back anymore

before aizawa even arrived in front of you, your world went black and you collapsed

bakugo was so angry at your training enemy

didn’t they fucking see your struggle??

did they really have to be stopped by their teacher??

would they even have stopped if it werent for aizawa??

probably not

but he didnt have time to go and yell at them because he was running towards you

aizawa let him pick you up

“bring her to recovery girl.”

of course he did

everyone watching was so shocked

because bakugo didn’t let out a sound the entire time

his face was pulled into a frown, as usual, but he wasn’t speaking- no, yelling

he showed past his classmates, walking towards recovery girl’s office

“ribbit, why was he so quiet?”

recovery girl was like ?!?!?! what the fuck happened when was the last time she ate

she had to give you a total parenteral nutrition

(that means nutrition/fluids are delivered into your body via a catheter placed in a vein of your body, usually lower arm)

when you woke up bakugo was sat next to the bed, reading the back of some medicine bottle he found there

when he noticed you awake he perked up a little, shoulders visibly relaxing

“what happened?”

he narrowed his eyes, wondering for a second if you were serious

“you’re starving yourself to near death, that’s what happened.”

you immediately grimaced

“did i pass out in front of everyone?”

“is that seriously what you’re worried about?!”

you remained quiet, looking away

“y/n, look at me.” he gently guided your head to face him

“i don’t know what drove you to do this to yourself, but i need you to stop. you’re going to die if you don’t stop. what idiot made you think you need to do this to yourself?! i’ll kill them!”

“you told me i was a fatass”

his jaw dropped

fuck

“you know i don’t mean when i insult you! i hide the fucking fact that i WANT you to eat by using insults! i’m so sorry..”

his voice went soft at the end

he truly felt so bad :(

he was the one that was supposed to protect you from others hurting you yet here he was, being the one that caused you to hink you weren’t worthy enough

“i know, but there’s so many much more prettier girls than me, i was afraid you’d lose feelings if i wasn’t thin enough.”

“are you kidding?! you’re the only one i have eyes for! all those other extra’s can fuck off, i don’t give a single shit about them!”

you were kinda tearing up

“do you promise?”

god, he felt so bad.

he sat on the edge of the bed, reluctantly pulling you in a hug

“i promise”

from that day on he made sure to remind you to eat meals, even if it was just something small

he ripped everyone’s heads off if they made a comment about your eating habits and/or weight

and he made sure you were the only one he loved

the day he saw you collapse something broke inside of him

it opened his eyes that hiding his emotions from you wouldn’t help you in your relationship

so while he supported you to build your feelings of self-worth and eating habits, you helped him start to open up, teaching him that showing emotions wasn’t embarassing

no one else knew how soft he could get with you and it should stay that way

you had a long way to go but it was all worth it in the end

he was your little angry pomeranian <33

requests: open

read rules before requesting.

#bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #eating disorder #eating disorder recovery #bnha fluff #bnha angst #denki kaminari #eijiro kirishima #mha fluff #mha angst #bakugo angst #bakugo fluff #bakugo drabble

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fullfiresiren · 3 years

Text

beauty of the dawn

jujutsu kaisen

fushiguro toji x reader

The notion of a loving family was something foreign to Fushiguro Toji. Family, to him, was a bitter word -- full of hate and abhorrence. Abandonment and fear were a commonality in his own childhood. But in you, he finds a warmth he didn’t think he deserved – a home he craved, a love that makes him feel safe; full of gentle touches and soft kisses. But he’s scared. He's broken, and angry, and he knows the threat of his family is always lurking close, snapping at his heels, ready to devour. You bring the notion of family to his doorstep, and he spooks. He panics. He can’t let them find you, he can’t and he has to give up the only feeling of warmth he has ever known to do so.

It haunts him forever – leaving behind the only woman he ever loved, and a child he will never know.

word count: 3.8k.

notes: *inhales* ANGST— lmao but really, I live for it. Toji may be a bad person, but I suck dick, not morals, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ bro I fr don’t even know what came over me. This has been like the smallest headcannon for me and somehow it turned into this horribly sad piece, and although Toji is a dick, I also think he is an incredibly complex character that, at the end of it all, was just a desperate father trying to look out for his child. I think he deserves much more than he got, and he kinda gets shat on in this fic lmao I'm so fuCKING SORRY FOR THAT--

warnings: nsfw/18+, angst, hurt no comfort, abandonment, unplanned pregnancy, pregnant reader

“Take me,” he prays, panting secrets that fall from his lips onto your soft skin; promises of pleasure as he breeds you deep. “Take all of me.”

And you do – over, and over, and over again.

Hilting him to the deepest part of yourself, and holding him close, so close, his breath a hot ghost across your face as he leans his forehead against yours. You keep him there until he is finished, taking his seed like it was sacrament. He gives you everything he has to offer, and only when you have slipped into a light slumber does he pull away.

He never strays far, though, and he cannot stay away for long. You are like sweet honey and warm sunsets; the breathing embodiment of a life he was never before privy to – the promise of something better; a miracle. Far from the cold depravity and sharp pain of his own family, in you, he found only warm touches, and words of tender affection. Toji feels so overwhelmed by the amount of love he has for you, that sometimes it’s unbearable. He feels so happy he could die.

He is not an honest man, by any means. He kills for a vocation -- and enjoys it, too. It’s something he’s good at. It’s an easy way to make money, and it helps him pay for his half of the rent on the meagre apartment you share. It also lets him keep the fridge full, make sure you’re always warm, and that you’re never without. He doesn’t really care about himself or what he has to do – so long as you’re happy.

The weight of his body is always heavy between your thighs, his chest solid, thrusts slow and deep, stretching you, making a perfect fit for himself inside you. He likes drawing it out – each time he takes you. He enjoys seeing you beg for release, relishes the way your tears slide down your flushed cheeks, because he likes being the one to kiss them away, knowing he is the only one who ever makes you feel this good. His name sounds so perfect when it falls from your lips at your height of ecstasy, and the way you take him in has him swearing he can see heaven.

You see a side of him that no one else does, but he’s dark, he’s toxic. The amount of sadness in his soul is challenged only by the sheer force of his anger. He's sure that he wasn’t always like this, but... he can’t really remember a time when he wasn’t. Everyone and everything was his enemy. He’s never really told you much about his family, or his past. His childhood had been dark, you assumed, based on the way he flinched around children, and steered clear of any conversational topics that included them or parental figures.

Toji Fushiguro was untouchable to everyone, and only just tangible to you.

He wants to be able to give you everything. He wants to lay his head on your chest in the depths of the night when he’s feeling lost, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat to guide him home. He wants to come home every night, no matter what happens to him throughout the day, and be able to feel the brush of your soft lips; to taste your tongue with his – god – he wants to. But he’s afraid. He’s scared. If he gives you everything... if he shows you who he really is... what happens if you see something you don’t like? Will you pull away from him? Will you cast him out and abandon him – just like his family did? Toji isn’t feeble by any sense of the word, but he thinks that would be the one thing that would break him.

That’s why he’s only let you see glimpses... and only every now and then.

He’s just so miserable when he’s alone. He’s angry at the world, and you’re the only thing that soothes him. The only thing he has ever loved.

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror when he comes home, locked away in the too-small bathroom. You hear the keys turning in the lock; a signal of his arrival, and the door to your apartment opens, bringing with it sounds of paper bags crinkling, keys being tossed into their bowl, and huffing exhales as he struggles to kick his heavy boots off.

“Toji?”

“I’m home!” he calls, his voice a deep timbre in his chest, smooth like rich oak.

You follow it, leaving the safe space of your bathroom to find him, and when you pass the threshold into your small kitchen, he’s lifting bags of fresh groceries onto what little counter space you have. The movement carries with it droplets from an October rain that had caught him by surprise on his walk home, ones that hang from the edges of his black hair and drip down onto his damp black shirt.

“Toji,” you repeat, beaming as you bound into your small kitchen. “I have wonderful news!”

He spares you a glance between unpacking vegetables, dark eyes tracing the curve of your face, hands grasping at packets of food that need to be tossed in the fridge, and cans to be stacked in the shelves.

“Hmm?”

He offers you his face, leaning in close, pausing in his task to receive a small blessing of affection from you — a soft kiss against the scar on his lip that has his eyelashes fluttering closed, and then one more fully against yours – always greedy for any love you bestow, always chasing just one more, just once more, just another, my love, just one more...

He continues with his chore, but only when you giggle at the fluttering of kisses he peppers across your face, your jaw, suckling at your neck, your hands against his chest pushing him gently, urging him to finish his task – but not before you give him another deep kiss, all giddiness and mirth swimming in your gaze. He can’t help the deep chuckle that spills from his lips at seeing you so happy.

“Toji,” you begin, and he’s rummaging in the paper bags, brows furrowed because he could have sworn that he bought three carrots, and not two -- “I’m pregnant!”

He stills.

He can sense your beaming smile, almost feels the warmth of it on his cold skin, and it only makes him shiver.

The seconds tick by without any form of reaction, and the atmosphere grows horribly tense. Toji doesn’t look at you, but he can see from his peripheral vision that your smile slips at the same time that your shoulders round and you make yourself smaller, unconsciously closing off. You’re twisting something in your hands, suddenly nervous, and he has a nauseating feeling that settles in his gut, because he knows exactly what it is that you’re holding.

It’s proof.

“Are you... happy?” you ask, and you hate that you have to. It’s like a punch in the gut, and you’re afraid. This was not the reaction you were expecting at all.

“Are you sure?” he doesn’t know why he asks that.

He isn’t looking at you, and he isn’t moving – he’s not even blinking. You feel your hands becoming sweaty as you clutch the positive pregnancy test, mouth dry. A quickly increasing panic creeps over your skin, gripping you by the throat, and you honestly have no idea how to traverse this kind of response to your news. In the bathroom you only practiced scenarios in relation to a beaming, positive reaction.

Which room should we make into the baby’s room? Our baby can always sleep with us, though, and I know they’re definitely going to prefer you – I'm hopeless with kids... but I hope they look like you, Toji – a perfect combination of everything I love about you!

Do you want to pick names out? I hope it’s a girl... but a boy would be wonderful, too! I know the baby will adore you, no matter what! Do you have any names you like? We can name them after someone you love? If it’s a boy, I want to make his middle name yours...

Why didn’t you think he was going to show apprehension or reluctance? Why were you so idiotic to assume this is something he desired when he’s never given you any signs of wanting to start a family? He’s probably feeling entirely overwhelmed – and no wonder – you have no tact about this. Fuck, you’re stupid. You fucking idiot. Pathetic, dumb, worthless--

“Y-yes,” you reply, and your voice is a shadow of its former self. “I took three tests. I have one here--”

“How.”

You flinch a little under the curtness of his words.

“W-what—?”

“How did this happen?”

“Uhm...” your voice sounds so frail when you speak, and you can't help it. He’s making you feel like you’ve committed a horrendous sin. You’ve managed to combine the epitome of affection between the two of you into the creation of what will become a child – a perfect mix of the two of you, and yet, you’re beginning to hate yourself for doing so. You didn’t mean to... it was an accident... “We don’t... you know... use protection... and we... have sex... a lot...”

“I thought you were taking the pill.”

You feel like you want to throw up.

His entire body is unnaturally still, and he’s not looked at you once since you’ve told him. You are pretty sure that the can in his right hand is warping under the violent pressure of his grasp, and you wring your hands around the test nervously, the weight of it somehow heavy against your palms.

“I... don’t take the pill...” you remind, and then as an afterthought, you add, “I’m sorry.”

Words you never thought you would say in relation to this. You never though you would have to apologize in this kind of situation. You exhale a shaky breath, and it seems to bring him back to reality. He sets the can down on the countertop with more force than needed, and you try your best to blink back tears as you ask, “You’re... not happy... are you...?”

It’s more of a statement than a question, and it hurts to say – god, it hurts. The words sting when they leave your mouth, like a hard slap against your face, but the ache is not nearly as bad as the way his silence is wounding you. You feel like you’re about to collapse from the amount of pain you have in your heart.

“I need to go somewhere,” is the most he offers you, before he’s turning on his heels and striding past you, leaving the apartment you share.

The noise of the front door slamming shut echoes in your mind long after the sound itself has gone.

He never did come back.

— — — 5 years later — — —

In the end, you were blessed with a baby girl, all chubby with round, rosy cheeks. Dark hair and eyes like her father, but soft and gentle like her mother. She was an almost perfect child. She never cried, and she never fussed, content in just being close to her mother. She listened when you spoke, and learned fast, growing just as quick, and you would die for her. She was your blessing; Akemi – the beauty of a new dawn.

You’re sure that he would have loved her more than life itself, but you try not to spare any thoughts his way anymore.

Toji gambles his life away, blowing through anything he earns as quickly as he makes it, drowning himself night after night in heavy alcohol to dampen his senses until they are nothing more than a faint hum in the back of his brain.

With any luck, those things will kill him long before the guilt does.

He fucks faceless women, drunk beyond sense, and when he finishes, he leaves before they sleep.

“Hate me, (y/n),” he sneers, turning sharply to vomit up onto the wet asphalt, breath a shaky exhale as he stumbles into the cold night, thoughts only on you – only ever on you – unaware that he’s crying. “Hate me. I fucking deserve it.”

His face is smeared with bile and tears, and he is so fucking angry -- so desperately sad, and he cries, and cries. He wants to go home. He just wants to go home. He wants to meet her – his darling daughter – he wants to hold her, and kiss her forehead, and tuck her into bed. Fuck everything that he thought – he would have been a great father, he knows it – and you knew it, too. He’s so lost without you, and he wants to lay his head on your chest in the safety of your bedroom, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat to guide him home. He wants to feel the brush of your soft lips again; to taste your tongue with his, moan your name into your parted sigh, make you feel him again.

He screams, but it catches in his throat before he can, and he splits his knuckles open when he sends a furious punch against a brick wall.

He can protect you from a lot of things – but not the power of his family. Not that. He’s just one man, and they’re so many. He has a heavenly restriction, and they are all blessed with both innate and inherited techniques, passed down through eons. He knows what they’ll do if they ever found out about you – about the child, and Toji swears on everything he has, that he won’t let them touch you – or her. Even if he won’t be able to. Even if he’ll never be able to hold his daughter, to thank her for being born, to cradle her against his chest and feel her wrap her small fingers against his – he won’t let the Zen’in have her. He won’t.

But that doesn’t mean that he deprives himself from watching over her – or you. Eyes follow the two of you home from her pre-school, singing nursery rhymes to your hearts content, watching as she orders “up, up, mommy!”, squealing happily when you lift her onto your shoulders. He imagines himself in your place; lifting her to higher heights, hearing her giggle a chorus of happy songs as your hand finds his, lips on his scar as you tell him how much you love him.

But he always keeps his distance, dark baseball cap shielding his features, and leaves before you feel someone following you.

It becomes increasingly hard to keep it at that. He starts pushing the boundaries, testing how close he can get. He knows he shouldn’t -- he has no right to – but when she dropped her stuffed toy one time in the supermarket, and you were oblivious to it, he finds himself bending down to grasp the too-soft toy in his calloused hands, dropping it in your basket when your back is turned, and your brows are furrowed as you regard the price difference between her favorite flavor of juice compared to the off-brand ones.

The thrill of being so close, of doing something, anything fatherly, was like a fix – a short relief from the aching despair and loneliness constantly plaguing him, and he finds himself doing it more and more – always pushing, always testing the waters. He even smiled at her once when she caught him staring, and she sent her own toothy grin back at him. His heart soared.

His daughter’s name was Akemi, and he first heard it when it fell from your lips one warm afternoon. He wants to write her name on his heart – right beside yours.

He wants to give her something – a pretty gift, but he doesn’t know what. He was never good at buying presents, and would only ever bring you flowers, since it seemed like something that could never go wrong, and would always bring a bright smile to your face. Flowers would be strange for a child, though. He twists the dainty silver bracelet between his large fingers, thinking bitterly that this was the same way you held the pregnancy test all those years ago. He didn’t really care how much it cost him. He’s sure that the salesman added unnecessary tax and extras to the price just to give himself more commission, but Toji doesn’t care – he just wanted something pretty to give to his daughter.

When he finally sees her enter the park, small hand tugging yours happily, his mind goes empty, and he can’t stop staring. You are as beautiful as ever, and it’s no wonder his daughter is so ethereal when she has you for a mother.

She is perfect, he thinks -- too good for this life -- and even though it’s the worst thing he has ever done, he is reminded that pulling away from you was the only way to save her from his family. It looks like she escaped the curse of inheriting any of his bloodline's techniques, and what’s more so – it seems like she, too, is oblivious to curses; skipping past them as she chases leaves that skit about the dirt path of the park, her teddy in her arms. Toji dips his head down when she draws near the bench he’s sitting on, the brim of his baseball cap keeps his face hidden, and his sadness known only to himself.

“Excuse me?”

He bristles when her voice floats past his ears, so gentle and sweet.

“Hey, mister,” she pokes his knee with her slim finger, so tiny compared to the size of his body, and he jerks at the contact. “Is this yours?”

She’s holding the bracelet in her small hand, the silver glinting in the morning sun, offering it up to him with large eyes, so close to him. At this distance, he can see the true color of her eyes – exactly like his own – and the small freckles that dot her skin. The longer he stares, the more his chest constricts painfully, tightly – he’s finding it hard to breathe, and he exhales suddenly, sharply snatching it away from her.

The force of the movement causes her to stumble a little, tripping over her feet, and before she knows it, the man who was once sitting before her has entirely caught her in his large arms, scooping her up before the ground has a chance to harm her.

She blinks once... twice... swaddled in his arms, sitting against his broad chest, and Toji frantically looks for you, finding you caught up in talking to another mother, too busy to notice. He knows he would scold you for it if he was still in your life, but when his daughter laughs, he snaps his head back to look at her, forgetting what thoughts he had in his mind at the glinting sound of her happiness.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, “You’re fast! Thanks for catching me!”

He doesn’t know what to say – if he should say anything at all. His plan was to give her the bracelet, telling her that it was a late birthday gift from someone that loves her very much, and walking off before she (or you) has the chance to catch on or respond. But now that he’s inches away from her, holding her close as she peers up at him, he’s lost again. He’s lost, and he can’t breathe. He needs you to steady him, but you aren’t here, and he doesn’t know what to do, what should he do, what should he--?

“Where did you get that scar from?” she asks innocently, her large eyes suddenly trained on the mark beside his lips.

“F-from an accident,” he mumbles, “a long time ago.”

“Oh,” she hums, hands splayed against his broad chest, looking around her, swaying her legs absentmindedly. “Wow, you’re really tall! I can see everything from up here!” she exclaims happily, “My mommy’s not as tall as this, so when I sit on her shoulders, I can’t see nearly as much as I can now!”

“Oh,” he mutters, not really knowing what to say, “is that so?”

“Mhm,” she nods, “Mommy’s not as big as you are either.”

At this, he gives a genuine laugh – a sound he hasn’t heard fall from his lips in a long, long time, looking at her with quiet adoration.

“She’s not as fast as you either,” she continues, “you were super-fast!”

“She’s strong in her own ways, though,” he mutters, offering her a soft smile.

“Do you know my mommy?”

He bristles, actively avoiding her gaze. His heart is racing from this much interaction with his daughter, and he’s sure she can feel it under her small palm. It beats for her – if only she knew, and Toji contemplates, for the briefest of seconds, just telling her. The thought leaves his mind as soon as it enters. He doesn’t have that choice, and he doesn’t deserve it.

“Not really,” he mutters, dipping down slowly to set her footing on solid ground once more.

“She’s really pretty,” the little girl continues, playing with the soft fabric of his t-shirt in a small moment of fondness and familiarity, “and nice – and she makes great food!”

Toji realises only after the fact that his hand had settled on top of her head, and he’s stroking her hair softly, thumb caressing her cheek when he moves to cup her face. She doesn’t seem to mind at all, and Toji is overwhelmed with a plethora of emotions. Pride in you for doing all this by yourself and raising such a wonderful child, shame for abandoning you and his daughter, mirth, anger, warmth, sadness, love--

“Akemi!” you call, seeing her lift her head at the sound of your voice. “This way, honey!”

“Oh, I have to go now! My mommy is calling me!” she perks up, gripping her teddy a little tighter and offering the man a smile. “Bye-bye!”

“W-wait!” he calls, thrusting the gift into her small hands. “This is for you, uh... f-from me...”

She looks down at it, before her whole face lights up, and Toji is suddenly breathless – she looks so much like you when she’s surprised, happiness blossoming over her face the same way it would on yours.

Toji feels a deep-rooted emptiness inside his body when he watches his daughter retreat away from him; a living embodiment of all his failures to you, and yet, as he sees her long, black hair whip out behind her, he realizes something else — she was your promise delivered; a combination of everything good between the two of you, in itself a miracle. He might not be in her life, but he was also partly responsible for creating something so beautiful, so ethereal.

He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but if he was ever fortunate enough to be granted a second, it would be a miracle; a holy gift.

A blessing that would accompany the beauty of dawn.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x you #fushiguro toji x you #angst #pregnant!reader #abandonment #dilf toji

1K notes · View notes

dreamerstreamer · 3 years

Text

Telltale Talent

Pairing: Dream / Clay x gn!reader

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] When Dream tries to teach you how to spar, he learns that you’re more than what meets the eye.

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: this was requested by an anon who wanted a fun sparring practice with a surprise! here’s to the first fic of 2021, and i hope you enjoy <3

Clay stared down at the map on his desk, his fingers curling tighter around the quill in his hands. A mess of scribbles and circles gazed back up at him as he made another mark. He bit back the sigh that threatened to escape his throat, his brow twitching.

You were doing it, again.

He could feel your eyes on him from the other side of the room, practically boring a hole through his skull. He clenched his jaw, chewing on his lip as he tried to focus his attention on the map lying before him. If you were going to do what he thought you were going t—

At that exact moment, you opened your mouth, but he spoke before you could.

“No.”

Almost immediately, a whine flew from your lips, and you thrashed your legs in annoyance. “What?! Why not?” You frowned, determination etched into your features. “It’ll be a good experience!”

This time, he actually did sigh, lifting his head to look at you dead on, balancing his quill between his fingers. “For one, it’s not like you’re not going to go into battle, anyway.”

Your frown deepened, a line forming between your brows as you shot him a longing look. “That doesn’t mean you still can’t teach me how to spar.”

He pursed his lips, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. “There’s no need to.”

For a few seconds, you simply stared at one another, your eyes swimming with resolve as he grimaced. Then your face lit up, and you shot your arm into the air, making him jump.

“Self-defence!” you shouted, your entire body practically glowing with hope. “If you teach me how to spar, then I could use it for self-defence purposes.” Before he could open his mouth to retort, you cut him off with a cold look. “Clay, you can’t tell me that there’s no chance that I won’t ever have to defend myself—you just can’t.”

Clay blinked at you, glowering. You weren’t wrong, per se. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, but there was still a very real possibility that at any point, you could be in danger, regardless of whether or not you were on the battlefield. It wasn’t that he didn’t think you were capable of keeping yourself safe, but teaching you how to fight would mean having to admit that there may come a time where he couldn’t be there for you.

The mere thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He stared at you for a long moment, taking in the sight of your pleading face and clenched hands, your eyes desperately searching his. Then, he sighed once more, setting his quill down in its holder. “Fine.”

You let out a delighted squeal, springing to your feet before bounding over to his desk. Bending over, you pressed a quick peck to his cheek. His heart skipped a loving beat in his chest, and his cheeks flushed pink.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Clay!” you cried, flashing him a bright grin as you pulled back. Your eyes curved into crescent moons as you giggled with glee. “You won’t regret this, I promise!”

He rested his head on his hand as he watched you cheer to yourself, pumping your air in a successful dance. A small smile flitted across his face, his emerald eyes crinkling at the corners as his map lay forgotten on the desk.

Oh, who was he kidding? You were far too cute to say no to, even if he wanted to.

“So, what’s first?”

He hummed, tucking a hand under his chin. Above you, the midday sun beat down on you both, the clouds watching with eager eyes as Clay paced around the clearing.

He was lucky to have found a spot within the forest that was both open and had plenty of soft grass. This way, you’d have a proper spot to practice while also having some semblance of cushioning beneath you in case you fell. As much as he wanted to simulate a real fight scenario for you, he didn’t want you to actually get injured. He could hardly manage to keep his cool when you got a simple scrape on your finger—there was no way he’d remain calm if you got hurt in a fight, practice or not.

His steps suddenly came to a halt, and he turned on his heel to look at you with a thoughtful glance. “Before we even properly start practicing,” he began, raising two fingers, “there are two things you should know and remember.”

Your eyebrows knit together as you let out a small whine, your shoulders sinking at your side. “Aw, is this a lecture?” You frowned. “I just want to skip to the fun part, already.”

Clay rolled his eyes as shook his head, but you didn’t miss the tiny smile on his lips as he wagged his fingers at you. “Ah, ah, ah. I’m the teacher here, so you better pay attention.”

You shot him a sour look, then quietly grumbled, “Well, you’re not a very fun teacher.”

He scowled at that, placing a hand on his hip. “We’re getting there!” His gaze softened, and his tone grew gentle as he offered, “Let’s just do this first, okay? I promise I’ll keep it short, and you will get to try a real spar, today.”

Your frown was slowly replaced by a smile, and you sent him a keen look, shifting forward onto your toes. “Okay.”

He grinned, taking a few steps back from you until he was standing on the opposite side of the clearing. “Good. First,” he said, pointing his two fingers at his eyes then to yours, “never take your eyes off your enemy.” He cocked his head as he lowered his arm. “It may seem obvious to you, but you’d be surprised by how often people forget in the heat of the moment.”

Your gaze was serious when you nodded, and he was almost taken aback by how quickly your demeanour had changed. “I can do that.”

He blinked for a second, then sent you another encouraging smile. “Perfect. Second,” he carried on, pointing downward, “remember that your feet exist.”

“Okay—wait.” You froze, your eyebrows furrowing together as confusion flickered across your face. “What?”

He chuckled at your confused expression, dropping his arm. “I know it sounds dumb, but it’s true! You see,” he explained, tapping a finger against his temple, “the human brain is kind of dumb, and a lot of the time when it comes to fights, a person’s first instinct is to focus on their enemy’s hands and immobilize them.” He raised his hand toward you, curling it into a tight fist. “After all, they are pretty effective weapons. But your feet can be just as, if not more, powerful.” His gaze darted back to yours. “Do you follow?”

Slowly, you nodded, your eyes staring directly at his knuckles. “In the same way,” he continued, “it’s also good to remember that your elbows and knees are two of the strongest parts of your body.” He raised one hand, the other reaching over to tap his elbow. “Don’t be afraid to use them, because they can be especially useful.”

Your lips parted as you bobbed your head. He could practically see the gears churning in your head, and he almost wanted to coo at how focused you looked. “Feet, elbows, knees,” your murmured quietly to yourself, huffing. “Got it.”

He dropped his arm, his lips quirking. “Awesome.” He turned slightly to the side, shifting his weight onto his back foot. “Now that the so-called boring part is done, do you just want to give it a first go and try a practice fight? First person to knock the other person over wins.”

Your eyes lit up, and for a split second, Clay could have sworn he saw something dark flicker through your gaze. But it was gone as soon as it had appeared, and he was soon blinded by your dazzling grin. “Sure!”

His expression mirrored yours as he brought his arms up in front of him, his hands forming fists. In front of him, your eyes quickly scanned him up and down, and you slowly moved to copy his stance. He felt a tinge of satisfaction shoot through him. You were a fast learner.

“I’m ready when you are,” he called, cracking his neck with a grunt.

Your eyes narrowed, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, and for a moment, all was still.

Then, in a flash, you were charging toward him, stopping only just in front of him to throw your fist at his skull. He smiled at your earnest effort, quickly twisting to the side. You nearly toppled forward when your fist met empty air, and he reveled in your widening eyes. A split second later, you leapt back, swinging your left leg up and into his side. But just before your shin made impact with his hoodie, he lifted his arm, his hand quickly latching onto your ankle and holding it in place.

“Ooh, nice try, sweetheart,” he hummed, shooting you a crooked grin. He drank in the shocked look on your face as his expression grew a fraction darker and his grip on your ankle tightened.

“But not nice enough.”

He swiftly threw down your foot, watching as you stumbled back at the force. You didn’t get the chance to regain your balance before he was suddenly looming beside you, his fist flying toward your nose. With a yelp, you ducked, your arm shooting above your head to grab his arm in midair. He blinked as your fingers dug into his sweater, curling tightly into the fabric. Then, a devious grin crept onto his face.

As much as you may try, he had the upper hand when it came to brute strength.

But to his shock, he felt something sharp and hard slam into his gut, knocking the air straight out of his lungs. He quickly back-pedaled, but your hold on his sleeve didn’t let up. He only barely caught a glimpse of your kneecap before you stepped behind him, twisting his arm around and pinning it to his back. Just then, he felt something brush against his ankle.

No way.

In the blink of an eye, his legs were flying out beneath him, and he was flipping into the air. With a thud, he slammed into the ground, a dull ache shooting through his back as the grass cushioned his fall. Before he could even react, you quickly placed your foot on his chest, keeping him thoroughly pinned down.

His eyes were the size of saucers as he took in your half-shaking figure, your eyes trained on his fallen form. You panted above him, your fists slowly uncurling. “Was—was that good?”

Clay gaped at you, his head spinning with what you’d just done. You had just knocked him, a trained soldier and practiced assassin, flat on his back with practically no instructions whatsoever. He had only given you two—well, two and a half—simple tips before putting you on the spot, and you still managed to take him down.

There was no sugarcoating it—you were a prodigy.

If he wasn’t in love with you before, then he definitely was, now.

Pride swelled in his chest as he closed his mouth, swallowing. He stared at you for a moment longer before shaking his head free from his reverie. He couldn’t wait to teach you more.

“[Y/N],” he breathed, his lips stretching into an awed grin, “you’re amazing.”

You blinked, pointing to yourself in surprise. “I-I am?”

He nodded without even an ounce hesitation, his grin growing even wider. “Very.” With a small grunt, he pushed himself back onto his feet, dusting off his behind before turning back to you. “Now,” he said, “do it again.” His eyes glinted with something akin to mischief. “I won’t go easy on you this time.”

You tilted your head at him as a devilish smile of your own tugged at your lips. “In that case, neither will I.”

He raised a brow at you, but he couldn’t stop the affection bubbling up in between his lungs. He felt his heart beat faster as you settled into a fighting stance, your arms raised in front of you. “That’s the spirit.”

Your eyes locked onto each other, and for a moment, all was still.

Then, you came barreling towards him, your eyes glimmering in the sunlight. His lips curled into a smirk as he raised his foot.

Perhaps teaching you to fight wasn’t too bad of an idea, after all.

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silverdecepticon93 · 3 years

Text

Fantasies

♡Dolly's Note: This is my first time writing for Bane so sorry if it's a bit out of character, I just really love him. Also, don't tag as Gotham (the TV series) or the Dark Knight.

Eduardo Dorrance, more commonly known as Bane, was a very strong man but far from just dumb muscle. He was calculating, well-educated, and much smarter than people gave him credit for. He was a lot more human than people thought he was, as well and while he was far from a nice guy, it was still remarkable how despite his broken past, he became a villain but a villain with honor. You worked for the GCPD and, during your time there, you may or may not have taken an interest in the latino crime boss and become something of the leading expert on him.

You weren’t exactly sure what about his cases drew you to them. Maybe it was the fact that while he was the most fiercest of the Gotham Rogues, he also seemed to be the one that was most likely to reform considering his occasional team-ups with the Batman. Maybe it was how he was an impressive mixture of brute strength and intelligence. Either way, you had grown to revere him on most occasions.

And he had done the same for you.

Naturally, the Batman was still his main enemy on most occasions but with you, it wasn’t just a simple game of cat and mouse and good vs. evil, it was more or less like a competition. One that made you two better in your owns ways.

Bane learned never to underestimate an opponent, as tiny as you are to him, because you have gotten the drop on him more than once, which his more than he can say for the rest of your fellow brothers in blue, and how you never treated him like another dumb thug. You were civil, respectful, while also keeping in mind not to get too comfortable around him because he could still snap your neck as easily as breaking a twig. The Batman was a fitting opponent but you were an admirable one.

However, lately, he began to feel as though this rivalry had started to take a turn for something else. He slowly stopped fighting you and while he could be rough catching you after you evade his attempts to escape him, he’d press one finger on a special pressure point on your neck and leave you there for Batman or the others to find, avoiding attempts to physically hurt you unless he needed to. He also never let you get hurt during his battles with Batman, the both of them coming to a silent and uncertain truce as they gave you time to back away from the fight. He also couldn’t get you out of his head sometimes.

When he had time to himself to think, his thoughts would drift off to you. To the sound of your voice when you tried to be polite to him, the determined look in your eyes that never went out even if you haven’t managed to bring him in (no one expects you too but curiously enough, you still try too) and eventually would cross the line of more...fantastical things.

How your body would feel in the embrace of his large arms, how your lips would feel against his own, how he wondered how your smaller figure would fit against his as he laid alone in his bed. It took him a while before he realized that this competition was turning into something a little more. Something that made his heart, once broken and hardened from the abuse he went through most of his life, beat once more with a certain vibrance.

The moment he realized just how much he had grown attached to you dawned on him last night.

His usual rampage gone wrong in downtown Gotham, The Batman had interfered but he was out of commission on the count that Bane had refused to go down so easily this time and had broken the bat, as easily as he had broken the GCPD. Officers who wanted to be heroes shot at him but he barely felt their bullets and in response, started throwing empty cars at them. He already had the money, half of his henchmen were already on their ways to the various checkpoints, waiting for his orders to regroup elsewhere, and decided that now would be the best time to leave. Yet one cop, a pathetic little thing, decided that it was best to get in his way and shakingly aim a gun at him.

"S-sir, drop the bag!" They ordered, they couldn't even keep the fear out of their voice. How puny.

Bane merely raised his free hand and clutched it into a fist, ready to crush the rookie on the spot but as he went to bring it down it all happened in a flash.

"No!"

His fist paused mid-air, the feeling of a small and delicate hand holding onto his wrist firmly was evident to him but it was the sound of your voice that made him stop at once. Your (e/c) eyes meet his through his mask, bold and brazen, and it felt like everything else melted away as he stared down at your smaller form. Tiny. That's the first thing he thought as his heartbeat, quiet yet deafening, pounded against his chest.

If it were anyone else, he wouldn't have cared and would've just crushed them first for trying to get involved in the puny rookie's mess but it wasn't anyone else, it was you.

And that's why you weren't crushed into the ground. Lucky, huh? Well let's see if that luck continues.

"You can keep the money, Bane. All I ask is that you don't hurt him." Your voice, still so polite yet there was a tone that told him that this was the one time you were going to let him go without giving chase.

He stares at you in silence and there's a frigid tension that hangs in the air before he tightens his fist but then pulls it out of your soft grip.

"Thank her, Payasso, she just saved your life." He growls to the foolish officer that tries to stop, Bane wasn't sure if he found his meekness annoying or the fact he was willing to watch you get hurt instead of him for his blunder. But he pushes that out of his mind momentarily and walks past you, the need to steal you away as he passed you was strong but he couldn't do that, no matter how much he wanted too. However as he continued to make a few steps, you called out to him.

"Hey, Bane?" You began, your tone became light hearted, "This is the 7th time you haven't tried to crush me."

He stayed silent before he continued walking but you give a small smile as you hear his low and amused chuckle but what you didn't hear was the restlessness of his heart.

It antagonized him the entire day, flashing back to scenes of you, how your hand felt against his skin, how your eyes met his as usual, how your words echoed in his head. Eduardo laid in bed thinking about it before finally sighing in his empty bed wishing you were there.

At this point, hurting you just didn't seem to be appealing as it use to be when you two first fought and the idea of you being hurt caused a tightness in his chest. He wonders if there'll ever come a day where he can take you, where he can hold you close and keep you safe, where he can be able to enjoy your touch and he can caress you in his. He was doing it again, his thoughts turning into fantasies.

However, it really begs the question:

Is it really that much of a fantasy for Bane if you laid in bed as well, your hand clenched as you remembered the weight of his wrist and the low chuckle he let out as he left, wishing to yourself if only fate had let you two meet in less dramatic terms? Was it really too much to ask that he change for the good just a little, if not, so you two can be together?

Or was that just your fantasy?

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btswrckd · 3 years

Text

War of Hearts

Mafia Boss!Taehyung x Fem!Reader

Summary: Being in an arranged marriage with Kim Taehyung does not mean you have to be civil. Or make his life easy.

Warnings: mentions of violence, slight angst, mentions of weapons such as guns and knives, brief mention of smut, future smut

A/N: I wanted to post this as a one-shot, but naturally, I couldn’t condense it enough. There’s just too much that can’t be left out. But the good news is that I’m about 90% done with this fic and should be able to post it in maybe 3 parts. Enjoy guys!

Also, title is inspired by War of Hearts by Ruelle. Go listen to her music, it’s amazing!

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“You’re asking me to do what, now?” you hiss through clenched teeth, fingers curling into the underside of the armrest of the boarding room chair. How your idiot cousins managed to both purchase a rather nice building in the middle of the city, and run a legitimate business as a cover to their true nature, is a mystery to you. Yet here you are, ten seconds from launching yourself across the table to strangle either one of them.

“I don’t believe I stuttered,” Joongki is confident in the way he answers you and buttons his suit jacket. “And I didn’t ask you to do anything, I’m telling you what’s going to happen.”

Your eyes flicker to Jeonghan as he stands by his brother and nervously stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He catches your eye, licking his busted lip as you raise an eyebrow, as if waiting for him to confirm what Joongki just said. You watch his hand come up to rub at his sore jaw and get some satisfaction as he works his jawbone back and forth.

Joongki lets out a heavy sigh as his brother all but whimpers under your gaze. He was well aware of how much you’d fight their men in getting you to the building, but he wasn’t prepared for the strong swing of your fist, or the nearly deafening sound of said fist cracking his younger brother across the face.

“We’re all each other has,” Jeonghan finally pipes up after deducing that his jaw was not broken. “This is for your own safety, Y/N. I don’t like it any more than you do but there’s no other option.”

“I will not be thrown under lock and key just because you two have enemies.” You’re standing before either of them can argue. “I didn’t ask for this! For you two to be who you are and making my life more difficult than it already is!”

Joongki scratches at his brow when a mop of messily done up chestnut hair pops up over the cubicle wall separating her from the boarding room. He waves his secretary away with a slight twitch of his lips, watching the flushing of her cheeks and bobbing of her head before it disappears. He’s too busy smirking down at his feet to notice the way you swing around the chair. Or the way Jeonghan desperately reaches to stop you from storming out. What he does notice is the small ‘oomph’ leaving your mouth when you stumble into somebody, and suddenly he’s brought back to the importance of the situation.

You don’t expect to be stopped, you certainly don’t expect to be stopped by a firm chest and steadying hand on your hip. When you finally catch your bearings, you blink up at the man that had somehow walked into the room without making a sound. It’s with a heavy heart that you recognize this man despite having lost contact with him years ago. You were children when you’d last met so it takes you a minute to see him clearly, your eyes roving all over his face. Starting with what used to be his bouncy black locks that were now replaced with slicked down hair, to the never changing intensity of his dark brown eyes, down to the defined jaw that used to harbor a little bit of cute chub, and finally back up to his plush lips that split into a grin.

“You,” you breathe airily and your stunned reaction only makes his smile grow wider.

“You,” he mimics and tilts his head playfully, eyebrows raised high in mock surprise. “It’s nice to see you too, princess.”

“Mr. Kim,” Joongki reluctantly smiles while extending his hand to greet his rival, fingers tensing around the man’s answering hand. “Thank you for coming. I’m aware that my brother and I are asking a lot from you and that this situation isn’t exactly ideal for either party, but I just want to thank you for helping us out.”

“I never said this situation wasn’t ideal for me.” Kim Taehyung gave one final squeeze to Joongki’s hand before slipping it into the pocket of his pants. His other hand remains firm on your hip, the heat from his palm burning through the denim of your jeans and making your breath hitch. “I believe my father’s been hoping to merge our families for quite some time. I look at this as an opportunity rather than a ‘situation’.”

“Yes, well.” Joongki shifts uncomfortably on his feet. The Kim family had great influence over 90% of the city and before your grandfather’s passing, Mr. Kim had high hopes of taking two entities and making them one strong force. With your grandfather’s death came the need for new leadership and it fell heavily on Joongki’s shoulders. To say he’d snubbed the Kim family when it came to working together would be putting it lightly. “It seems your father will be getting exactly as he’s always wanted.”

Jeonghan thrusts an elbow to his older brother’s arm. He may not understand the magnitude of being a leader, but he knows when to play nice, and this moment called for practically kneeling down and kissing the Kim family’s feet. He looks to the way you stand stiff in Taehyung’s arms and the curling of your fingers against his suit vest. For a moment, he considers calling the entire thing off and convincing his brother to find another way to keep you safe. He opens his mouth to do just that when Taehyung speaks.

“I have every intention of keeping Y/N safe, be it from whoever is threatening you, my own family, or even you two.” Taehyung’s deep voice rumbles in his chest as his hand pulls you ever so slightly closer. “My father may have wanted this for some time, but believe me when I say that I’ve wanted it longer. Nothing and no one will hurt her, I promise you that.”

Jeonghan and Joongki share a concerned glance with each other before your voice breaks the silence.

“Kim Taehyung.” His name sounds foreign coming from your mouth. The last time you’d seen him you were being carted away by your parents at the age of 10. The sudden announcement of your family’s move left you waving to a chubby cheeked, teary eyed Taehyung as your father pulled away from your childhood home. They died not soon after and you were taken under the care of your grandfather along with Joongki and Jeonghan. But even after your grandfather reestablished a relationship with the Kim family, you hadn’t seen Taehyung again since that day.

“Princess,” he husks out, eyes dropping to your lips and thumb stroking your hip in soothing circles as if it were going to help any. Something dark is swirling in your eyes as you regard him, and he’s sure you don’t recognize it as lust but he does. He sees it fester and simmer before you blink it away and sneer up at him.

You cousins simultaneously wince as you draw back and take one quick strike to Taehyung, kneeing him in the groin with a huff before you stomp out of the room. When Taehyung slumps to the floor with a pain filled groan, Joongki feels a bit of sympathy for him. Your temper and raging need to fight against anything and everything to do with this life will be a daily struggle. Jeonghan coughs to hide his laugh as Taehyung’s right hand man looks torn between helping his boss, or chasing you down to make sure you don’t get too far. This will certainly be entertaining to watch.

------------------------------------------------------

“Let go of me!” you grunt out as Taehyung adjusts your frame on his shoulder. You’re kicking and pounding against his back with the hopes of getting free and escaping, but those hopes are dashed when he tosses you on the mattress of the master bedroom. You scramble back against the headboard as he unbuttons the cuffs of his dress shirt and rolls up the sleeves. The frustrated roll of his shoulders and neck is undoubtedly sexy, but it also serves as a reminder that you aren’t meant to find him attractive. At all. As you curse yourself for even thinking as much, he’s snatching your ankles and dragging you down the bed.

Taehyung would never hurt you, he knows that you know that, but watching the small bit of fear flitting across your face has him smirking down at you. He plants both hands on either side of your head to cage you in, hips pressed to yours as you unconsciously widen them to accommodate his frame. “If you wanted to go out, princess, then you could have asked. Jungkookie and Jimin would gladly drive you wherever you want to go.”

“Even away from you?” You glare at him, panic washing over you when you feel the bed dip and he’s on his knees, the added weight pulling you closer to him. His arms slide forward until his nose grazes yours. He’s so close that he could kiss you and you think he’s going to until his nose skims down the length of your neck instead.

“There is no getting away from me, princess,” he whispers against your skin. “I’d think you’d know that by now. You’ve been trying to run from me for the last 6 months and it’s gotten you nowhere.”

You’d beg to differ, Being underneath him was surprisingly pleasant. The push of his hips against yours made you gasp and arch into his chest. You slam your eyes shut to get ahold of yourself, silently reciting your mantra of ‘I’m not a horny teenager, I’m a grown woman, and I am not attracted to my husband’.

Taehyung could smell the sweet scent of berries on your skin from that damn bottle of lotion you love so much. He didn’t think it was possible to be jealous of an inanimate object but he is. He’s also tempted to throw the stupid thing away and burn down every Bath and Body Works store so you can’t get another one. The image of your hands slathering the cream up and down your smooth legs makes him groan and push against you a little harder. He likes to think he isn’t some creep who forces himself on a girl, and if you weren’t so responsive, he wouldn’t even touch you without permission.

A lot of men in their line of work didn’t think consent was an issue, some of them even found the fight to be a turn on, and you’re grateful that Taehyung‘s not that kind of man. In fact, he’d said on several occasions that he wouldn’t come closer than necessary if you weren’t okay with it. He even went as far as sleeping in one of the many guest rooms in the house, dropping the one and only key to the master bedroom in your hand so only you had access to it. This went on for 2 months before you’d lashed out and tried sneaking off for a night out with friends. Naturally Taehyung had hunted you down and dragged you back to the house, lecturing you on the dangers of leaving without telling anyone where you’d be. The next morning his things had been moved into the room and he invaded every inch of your space every chance he got.

You didn’t want to admit that waking up to his face inches from yours was something you’d easily gotten used to, but then again you didn’t actually need to voice it out loud. Not when you’d woken up one morning to find your legs tangled with his, your arms tossed across his torso, and clinging to him like a koala. You had squeaked and fell out of bed in your haste to untangle yourself from him. He had woken up in fear that something happened, but chuckled when he saw you on the floor, blankets and sheets raveled around your legs. Embarrassed and flushed, you’d shot him a glare as he’d gotten out of bed and strode into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

After that, you had made it your daily mission to see just how far you could push him to his breaking point. Little things such as “accidentally” walking away from Jimin or Jungkook in a crowded area, or turning down a meal that Seokjin had prepared because you were “exhausted” even though you’d done nothing that day, and even taking the hand of Namjoon or Hoseok once or twice instead of Taehyung’s when moving through a room full of people. You could see Taehyung’s frustration boiling beneath the surface and kicked it up a notch by giving your undivided attention to Yoongi during dinner one night. Yoongi of course, knew what you were doing and would have been scared of the repercussions of flirting with you if Taehyung hadn’t trusted him so much.

Yoongi played along with your little show, allowing you to lean in a little too close when talking, whispering in your ear about how much trouble you’d be in if Taehyung snapped, and letting you “subtly” run your finger across his knuckles. He had used his napkin to hide his smile when Taehyung had sprung up from his seat, snatched your wrist, and dragged you to the master bedroom. He had cleaned up the table and clapped Jimin and Jungkook on the shoulders, advising them to use headphones or sleep in the car for the rest of the night.

Taehyung had watched you stumble into the room, descending on you quickly when you had turned to yell at him. Whatever you were going to say had died on your tongue as he backed you against the wall, gripping your chin and hissing something about the possibility of killing Yoongi. You, equally as pissed, began to rant and scream about having your freedom taken away and wanting to teach Taehyung a lesson for confusing your already fogged up brain by being a gentleman rather than the piss poor excuse of a man most gang members are.

Taehyung had the audacity to smirk, fucking smirk, before crashing his mouth to yours and tangling his hand in your hair. He had tugged at the strands until you gasped and he slipped his tongue in to push against yours. He felt your hands wrenching the fabric of his dress shirt but he didn’t give you room to breathe, instead pressing you against the wall further. At some point he had started toying with the button to your jeans, waiting for your refusal, and when you hadn’t slapped him away, he popped the button open.

You had gasped loudly at the feel of his fingers, the rough pads running up and down your slit, stopping to press and rub at your clit before he was sinking his fingers in knuckles deep. You didn’t remember much else except for the overwhelming pleasure and the raspy sound of Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung echoing around the room. Afterwards, he had avoided you like the plague until you’d finally managed to corner him in the kitchen one night. You’d been huffy, demanding an explanation for his absence. Not that you’d missed him, of course. He’d said that he didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable that night and that he was sorry for losing control, to which you had scoffed. You clarified that discomfort wasn’t what you had felt, you were an adult, and just as willing as he was, and to stop tiptoeing around you.

“Princess,” the bane of your existence growls out, bringing you back to the present. He chuckles, deep and rich, and sends goosebumps across your skin. “For someone who wants to get as far away from me as possible, you don’t seem to be willing to let me go.”

You look down at your hands curled into his shirt and immediately release your hold. It seems you were too caught up in your trip down memory lane to notice. You drop your hands from his chest and avert your eyes to the door where two sharp knocks catch his attention as well.

“Boss,” Namjoon’s voice drifts through the wood, “your phone’s been ringing like crazy. Your father is trying to reach you.”

Taehyung sighs in disappointment and shifts away, pressing against your core one last time and you squeeze your legs together as if to keep him in place. He recognizes the faint blush on your cheeks as embarrassment and places a soft kiss to your cheek. “Be a good girl and do as you’re told, princess. I know you get a kick out of raising Jungkook’s blood pressure, but raising mine in the process will leave you widowed sooner than you’d think.”

You feel as though you’re finally able to breathe now that he’s out of the room and put a hand to your racing chest. It wasn’t just his blood pressure that’s been spiking lately. You sit up and tuck your arms beneath your legs, resting your chin on your knees. You really thought you were close this time around. The memory of being giddy as you tore through the airport to catch the plane to literally anywhere but here, only to freeze in the middle of the terminal as Taehyung stood in your way with his hands casually tucked in his pockets and his army of men around him. You run your hands through your hair and tug at the roots in anger, cursing your cousins and the day they were born.

Outside, Taehyung tugs at the buttons of his dress shirt while pressing his phone to his ear. “Dad?”

“Either your security system has gone to shit,” Mr. Kim calmly scolds his son, “or there’s a rat in your home. I’m looking through your camera footage as we speak, and unless I’m officially going senile, the cameras look like they’re in some kind of loop.”

“What kind of loop?” Taehyung is already making his way to the security room with Namjoon in tow.

“A car speeds past your security gate, seemingly at the same exact time every day, same make and model every time too. That’s not a coincidence, son, handle it quickly before it gets out of control.”

“On it.” Taehyung throws open the door to the security room, startling the guys watching the live feed from the cameras. “Where’s Yoongi?”

“Behind you,” Yoongi’s voice makes his presence known, trailing in and sitting at his personal computer to go through the footage Taehyung is there to discuss. “Everyone out.”

The other two men scramble outside with break neck speed. If Yoongi and Taehyung are here then something only they know about is going on, and nobody wants to get caught in the middle of it unless necessary.

“What’s going on with our cameras?” Taehyung looks over Yoongi’s shoulder at the computer screen.

“Nothing,” Yoongi sighs, pressing play on the paused screen while a miniature box with his personal coding pops up in the corner. “I noticed the same gray Tahoe driving down our street every day for the last week, and at first I thought somebody tampered with the cameras, so I built a code to filter through the system and push out whatever was installed to make this look like it’s on a loop. When nothing changed, I did some maintenance on the camera’s themselves, and still nothing. Someone is timing it just right to fool us, because check this out.” Yoongi pulls up another screen, zooming in on the corner of the frame where another car is doing a surprisingly good job of hiding. “So I can’t see who exactly the driver is, but I do know that they wait in this exact spot until the clock hits 3 on the dot. When that happens, they make a call, and out comes the Tahoe. Every. Single. Time.”

“One of ours?” Taehyung’s referring to one of the guys they keep on the property for extra measure.

“No one here did it. I rifled through their phones, computers, whatever I could and nothing popped up.” Yoongi confirms and points to the screen. “About an hour after the Tahoe zips by the screen, the car in hiding pulls out and goes the opposite direction, also part of tricking the cameras so we think there’s a glitch.”

“And the license plate?” Namjoon chimes in from the seat beside Yoongi.

“Belongs to a little old lady on the other side of the world. Looking for a date, Joon? She likes to read the same books you do and she crochets.” Yoongi jokes, “personally, I’d like a new sweater for Christmas.”

“Find out who it is.” Taehyung doesn’t laugh, not exactly appreciating the joke, and storms out of the room, throwing the door open so wide that it smacks against the wall.

----------------------------------------------------

You don’t recognize your own reflection. The woman in the mirror with foundation caked on much too heavily, curled and mascara filled lashes, and lips painted in a color that was meant to seem natural, did not look a thing like you. You’re close to wiping your face clean when the door to the room swings open and Jeonghan strolls in like he owns the place. It occurs to you that he probably does.

“What?” you huff at him as he comes up behind you.

“I know you’re angry,” he whispers, sadness in his eyes as he meets your reflection. “But we promised grandpa that we’d take care of you. Too much is happening for us to not take precaution. Everyone knows how much you mean to us and if they get to you, we’d be devastated.”

“Then why can’t I go abroad?” you ask, turning to him with pleading eyes and he takes a step back. You see tears building in his eyes as he takes in your appearance. He’s proud, you realize, as a smile spreads across his face. He’s proud of you, proud of who you are as a person despite the kind of business your parents ran.

“You’re gorgeous, little cousin,” Jeonghan lets out a shaky exhale, unprepared for the whirlwind of emotions slamming into him. “Grandfather, our parents, everybody would have loved to be here. To see you---.”

“Signing my life away?” you don’t let him finish whatever he was going to say. You don’t want to hear it. There was a time when you believed your wedding day would be a celebration, not a life sentence. You look down to the white of your dress, the gown suddenly felt too constricting and you wanted nothing more than to rip it off. “I don’t want this, Joenghan, please don’t make me do this.”

“If this were anyone else, I’d whisk you away without argument.” Jeonghan looks away from your face to keep himself from ruining everything. “But this is Taehyung, Y/N. You used to be friends and you cared so much for each other. We’ve known the Kim family for so long now that this would have happened eventually, don’t you think?”

“I would have still liked to have the option!” You stand from the chair and stalk towards him. “My friendship with Taehyung ended when we were children. I don’t know who he is now or what he’s done to get this far, but I do know that anyone willing to go to this length to get what they want is not someone to be trusted.”

“You’re being dramatic.” Joongki steps into the room and looks to his brother to find relief crossing his face. “It seems I got here just in time, little brother, you look like you’re about to hurl.”

“She scares me,” Jeonghan admits while moving for the door. “Men with guns, knives, even the occasional psychopath I can handle, but Y/N? Nope, that’s asking too much.”

You glare at your cousin slipping outside before you can say more, and you turn to Joongki. “I’m not being dramatic, you jackass, I’m being logical. You guys have hovered over me my entire life, is it so wrong to want control over at least this part of it?”

“I don’t need to remind you that this is for your own safety.” Joongki’s tone is harsh, a complete contrast to Jeonghan, but harsh was something you could fight against. Harsh, you could throw back in his face. The gentle lull of Jeonghan’s voice, you couldn’t, and often found yourself feeling guilty for hurting him.

“I don’t need to remind you that even if my parents were still alive, this isn’t the life I would have chosen,” you spit back at your eldest cousin, watching his shoulders tense. “Even if grandfather were still alive, I would have fought tooth and nail against this just like I am now. What the hell, Joongki? Weren’t you the one that was opposed to merging the families in the first place? And what, because you and Jeonghan pissed off some people, I have to pay the consequences?”

“Powerful people, Y/N,” Joongki hisses at you, “powerful people that wouldn’t think twice about torturing you to get to us.”

“So then this is more about protecting yourselves than it is me?” Your chest rises and falls with the building anger, and he looks at you with so much fire in his eyes that you’re sure Joongki would strike you at any moment. “This is about not having to babysit me anymore and dumping me off on some poor sack whose life I’m about to make a living hell!”

“It was always about you!” Joongki roars, the volume making you drop your eyes to the ground as you had with your grandfather and father. They’d never hit you, never even so much as raised a hand to you, but they were able to correct your behavior with their voices alone. “We didn’t babysit you, Y/N, we took care of you. We are still taking care of you not because we think we’re obligated to, but because you are our baby cousin. The only family we have left and someone is threatening that, threatening you, and if you think that doesn’t haunt us every time you’re out of our sight, then you’re wrong. I’d do this for Jeonghan too if I had to, I’d even do it for myself, as long as all of us are safe and alive. You want to make a mess of Kim Taehyung? Go ahead, turn his life upside down if you want to, so long as you stay under their protection.”

“I don’t want protection, Joongki.” You look back at his face with a trembling lip. “I want freedom. I want to walk down the street without your men trailing me or the fear of looking back and finding that someone else is. This is your world, not mine. This was our parents world, it wasn’t ours until they were gone. They wanted more for us, Joongki, don’t you remember that?”

“I remember their broken and bloodied bodies when they crossed the wrong person. I remember their pale, lifeless faces in their caskets as you curled up in grandfather’s lap and fought your sleep for weeks afterwards. I remember the way you screamed every time you shut your eyes because all you could see was ‘the bad man with a gun’. I remember promising grandfather that I would do whatever it took to keep you and Jeonghan from suffering the same fate that our parents did.”

You turn away from him to peer out of the window, seeing the guests that consisted solely of friends and family on Taehyung’s side. Children ran across the yard, parents scolded them for dirtying their clothes, and as you glanced around you spotted Taehyung. He was standing with Jungkook, a man he kept close to his side out of trust, nodding along to whatever Jungkook was saying. There was no denying how handsome Taehyung was, or the way it sent shivers up your spine when a little girl ran to him and he scooped her up without hesitation. You didn’t know what the little girl was excited about, but you could guess it had to do with your soon to be husband with the way she looked at him with stars in her eyes. His eyes were warm when he looked at her, accepting the little flower she’d picked from the garden around the side of the house. He tucked it into the pocket of his suit jacket, right where his heart was, and patted it gently in promise to keep it on. He set her down and she ran off with a giggle and a blush across her cheeks. You were staring too long, you knew, because he felt it. Taehyung peered up at the window in time to catch you moving away.

“Y/N,” Joongki whispers to catch your attention. “Please don’t be stubborn about this. Taehyung’s family may run in the same circles as our parents, but they’ve always been kind to us. My refusal to bring the families closer didn’t stop them from keeping a relationship with us.”

“Maybe it’s out of pity.” You try one last time to get under his skin, but you know better than anyone that he’s tired. Tired and defeated and hanging on by a thread.

“Even if it was out of pity, that’s something we can use right now.” He comes up behind you, smoothing down the back of your hair and leaving a kiss to the top of your head. He presses his forehead to the spot he just kissed and sighs. “Mr. Kim could think the lowest of me and the mess I’ve made of our family’s reputation, and I’d still take his help if it meant I didn’t lose you or my brother.”

-------------------------------------------------

“You know, eventually,” Jimin sighs tiredly, trailing behind Taehyung as they walk into the house, “people are going to call the cops for kidnapping.”

“The cops aren’t stupid enough to go against our family,” Taehyung grunts out, the squirming and fidgeting nearly made him lose his grip more than once. It was admirable, at first, when you’d begun thrashing against him, believing you could truly break free. Now, it was a nuisance, and he promptly drops you on your ass in the middle of the living room.

“Asshole!” You seethe, jumping back to your feet and wincing at your sore bottom. You have no idea what set Taehyung off at the mall, but you’re pissed that he ruined the first outing you were actually excited about. One minute, you were browsing through your favorite section at the bookstore, and the next, he was dragging you out by the hand. In the car on the way over, he hadn’t spoken a word, refusing to explain himself, so you refused to get out of the car when Jungkook pulled into the driveway. Apparently, Taehyung wasn’t so mad that he couldn’t throw you over his shoulder and march into the house.

“Jesus, Taehyung, what the hell is your problem?!”

“Who was he?” Taehyung demands, shooing Jimin and Jungkook to the other room. He grits his teeth when Jungkook hesitates to move. ”Jeon Jungkook, did I or did I not tell you leave?”

“You’re pissed, Taehyung, and look like you could tear someone’s head off,” Jungkook fires right back and looks past his boss to you. You may not be afraid of Taehyung’s temper, but Jungkook is. He’s seen what Taehyung and his temper could do to things and people, and he’ll be damned if you end up hurt because of it.

“That head could be yours if you don’t get the hell out of my sight,” Taehyung snaps, “go!”

“Go, Kook,” you agree with Taehyung. You’ve never seen him go at Jungkook like this and it isn’t helping if Jungkook keeps defying Taehyung, so removing him from the situation seems like the logical answer at the moment. “It’s ok. Just go, please.”

Jungkook clenches his jaw and turns to leave with much reluctance. He’s out of sight but not out of ear shot when Jimin meets him halfway. “He’s going to hurt her, you and I both know that.”

“It’s not as serious as you think.” Jimins pats his shoulder, reassuring him that everything will be fine. “You know that someone’s been circling the house, and had Y/N not insisted on going out today, then Taehyung wouldn’t have been so on edge to start with. There’s too many people at the mall, too many entrances and exits, too many cracks to be slipped through, too many opportunities for someone to get at Y/N if they tried. Trust me, Jungkookie, this anger that you think Taehyung has is actually fear, okay? So leave them be to hash it out and we’ll go running in the second something seems off.”

Back in the living room, Taehyung is pacing, running a hand down his face, and seeming like he’s having trouble putting into words what exactly he’s upset about. When he finally stops, it’s simply to stalk towards you and stand toe to toe. “Why are there rules, princess, hm? Why do I tell you to stick to Jungkook and Jimin like glue when we’re out? Why do you think I stick to you like fucking glue when we’re out?”

“Oh, so it’s ‘princess’ now?” you scoff. “A minute ago, you wouldn’t say a damn thing, but now you’re asking me to recite some bogus ass rules like I’m in primary school. You don’t get to be pissed in this situation, Taehyung, not when I’m the one who’s getting zero explanation for your outburst.”

“I don’t need to explain myself,” he raises his voice, not quite yelling. “I need you to fucking listen when one of us tells you to do something. The guys aren’t here for decoration, Y/N, they’re here to keep you safe, but they can’t do that when you insist on being a brat.”

“I’m not a fucking brat!” you screech loud enough for half the world to hear. It’s actually surprising that Taehyung’s eardrum didn’t burst.

“Well, you’re not exactly a fucking saint,” Taehyung counters and it’s your turn to start pacing, your hands gripping onto the roots of your hair.

“Oh, my God,” you laugh humorlessly, “Oh, my God, oh my God, oh my fucking God, Kim Taehyung! You irritating, overbearing, senseless piece of---.” You don’t know what possesses you to swing your hand out, palm open, and try to slap his face.

He catches your wrist, sees the immediate regret in your eyes, yet still hauls you to the nearby wall. He presses you to the plastered surface, using his free hand to box you in so you can’t run away. Truthfully, he’d let go the second you ask, but a line has to be drawn. You have to, absolutely have to start listening to him and the other guys, otherwise something could go very, very wrong.

“Want to hit me, princess?” he hisses inches from your face as he leans in. “Want to get violent because you can’t do whatever you want anymore? That’s pretty ironic for someone who cried at the mere thought of being hit. I can barely raise my hand to you, but you can swing at me all you want, is that it? That’s not how it works, princess, I suggest you learn that real quick. Now you owe me something for trying to hit me. I let that shit go when you first kneed me in the balls, so it’s more like you owe me two, but I’m nice enough to collect on just one. Tell me who your little friend was in the bookstore.”

You’d like to think you’re not scared, yet it was evident what Taehyung was really capable of when pushed too far. He’s been patient with you, far too patient, and willingly plays along with whatever bullshit you pull for the day. It’s amazing he hasn’t broken your wrist for trying to slap him. Especially, when you know good and well that you wouldn’t hesitate to break his if the roles were reversed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There was no friend in the bookstore.”

“The guy, princess,” he hisses, momentarily tightening his grip. “The guy in the store that was happily chatting you up. Who was he?”

You wrack your brain for this person he’s talking about and it’s like a cartoon light bulb goes off above your head. “The man who was talking to me about the book in my hand?”

“Yes, that guy.”

“He’s not a friend,” you insist, glaring at your husband, “just some stranger trying to hit on me. Is that what this is about? Some random guy trying to get my number? Your jealousy is really unparalleled, Kim.”

“I wasn’t jealous. Even if I was, you wouldn’t be the one I’d take it out on.That ring on your finger is there for a reason, anyone who can’t respect it or the boundaries it represents won’t live to see the next day. I’m asking about this ‘random’ guy because I don’t think he was random at all, I think he approached you with a purpose.”

“Contrary to popular belief, not everyone is afraid of you, Taehyung.” You relax now that he’s calmer than before. The grip on your wrist was loose and he was drawing patterns on your skin with his thumb.

“No, princess, they’re not afraid of me in front of you because they have a hard time believing anyone as gorgeous as you would have anything to do with someone like me.” He slumps against your frame, tucking his face into the crook of your neck. “I shouldn’t have scared you like that. I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” you ask with shaky breaths. It wasn’t easy to hold him up and he wasn’t even putting his full weight on you. “Better yet, why didn’t you ask him right then and there?”

“Where do you think he is now, baby?” Taehyung opens his mouth against your neck, working the flesh between his teeth and using his tongue to soothe the sting before he bites down again. He feels your fingers grip his hair, to hold him in place or tug him away, he doesn’t know. He just knows that you haven’t recoiled from his touch yet.

Your head lulls back and your eyes shut on their own accord. Your hand also has a hard time listening to your brain as it reaches out to hook a finger in his belt loop and pull him closer. He obliges, using one knee to part your thighs and press against you. The sudden feel of his muscled thigh putting pressure against your clothed core makes you jump in his hold. When he flexes that muscle, you gasp and buck your hips. So he does it again, and again, and again until you’re riding his thigh, and he’s moving his mouth to the other unmarked side of your neck.

You choose an awfully slow pace for someone trying to get off. Taehyung’s done marking up the skin of your neck with deep shades of purple and can finally pull back a bit to admire you. He presses his forehead to yours as you let out a breathless moan and your face contorts with pleasure. You’re riding him slow, but with a purpose, he realizes, intent on enjoying every single push and pull of your hips. Both of your hands lock together at the nape of his neck and you whimper at your building orgasm. You don’t recall the coil in your belly winding as tight as it is right now with anyone else. No, only Taehyung can evoke this kind of reaction.

You know he can feel the wet patch growing on his pants and you’re thankful that he doesn’t comment on it. In fact, he’s rather quiet for someone who’d been scolding you just moments before. You don’t look at his face, not purposefully ignoring him, but completely mesmerized by the deep onyx color of his pants growing even deeper the wetter it gets. You clench around nothing, nearly sobbing at the empty feeling and rocking your hips just a little bit faster than before. You want more, you need more, you need, “your hand,” you gasp out to him. “I need your hand, Tae, please.”

“I can’t do that ,baby,” he groans at having to deny you, ready to shoot himself in the foot for being all too in control. “If I touch you, I won’t stop.”

“You did before.” You want to cry. You’re probably going to cry soon if you don’t get what you want.

“Barely, princess. I barely controlled myself last time. If I do it now, I’ll take you against this wall, and then every other surface of this house. You’re not ready for that yet. You can do this. Cum against me like this, baby, I know you can.”

You’re close, so fucking close but then...

“Hey, boss-- oh shit, sorry!” Seokjin’s shoes squeak against the tiled floor as he quickly spins around to face literally anywhere but you and Taehyung. “Uh, Namjoon and Hoseok need you for something.”

“What?” Taehyung growls out, watching your entire neck and face flush a deep shade of red out of embarrassment. “What could they possibly fucking need in this exact moment that you can’t handle, Seokjin?”

“Uh, th-they didn’t say,” Seokjin stammers, silently cursing Namjoon and Hoseok for sending him to get Taehyung instead of doing it themselves. Those little bastards had to have known Taehyung was busy. And you. Oh, the look on your face when you saw him hurt his heart. He knows how mortified you feel at having been caught. He can hear the rustling of clothes as you gather yourselves, the panting breaths of two frustrated adults doing adult things, and holy crap Seokjin wants nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. “I can tell them you’re busy, if you need me to.”

“No!” you squeak, shoving Taehyung away harder than you meant to, and Seokjin jolts at the octave of your voice. “I mean, no. Tae’s not...Taehyung isn’t busy. I’m-- I have to be...anywhere that’s not here.”

Seokjin hears you run off, the patting of your shoes carries you across the house with speed he didn’t think anyone but an olympic track star had. He doesn’t want to turn around. He’d kill to not have to turn around.

“If this isn’t as urgent as they made it out to be,” Taehyung’s voice is steely, cruel as he approaches Seokjin, “then all 3 of you are getting tossed into the river, do you hear me?”

“Understood.” Seokjin holds his breath while Taehyung shoulders past him, ducking his head down and following close behind.

Yoongi is busy deleting all the footage from the past hour when Taehyung barges in. “I’m already on it, and no, I didn’t watch it. I’m not some greasy perv. None of the other guys were in here either. I kicked them out as soon as you had Jungkook and Jimin leave you two alone.”

“Right now, Yoongi, you and Jimin are the only ones safe from me.” Taehyung leaves feeling a little bit better knowing that you’d at least be spared from the entire house knowing what happened.

Seokjin stops in the doorway of the security room. “You little kiss ass.”

“Don’t get mad at me because I’m doing my job.” Yoongi smirks at him. “It’s not my fault Namjoon and Hobi threw you under the bus.”

“So they did know!” Seokjin has half a mind to pummel the both of them.

“Oh, they knew. Namjoon was actually on his way to the living room when Jimin and Jungkook stopped him.”

“I’ll kill them,” Seokjin swears, “I’ll kill all of them.”

“Seokjin, get your ass over here now!” Taehyung’s voice booms, making Seokjin jump and scurry in his direction.

Namjoon and Hoseok are in the garage, standing a few feet away from the poor bastard tied to a chair. When Taehyung had called them earlier to pick up the guy talking to you at the bookstore, they didn’t imagine he’d look like an average Joe. Guys in the mafia tend to dress nice, carry themselves a certain way, even walk and talk a certain way. But this guy. This guy looks like he could be an accountant or a librarian.

“Man, this is going to really suck if he’s not working for anyone,” Hoseok comments, almost feeling guilty. “He really could be just some guy who saw a pretty girl and tried to get her number.”

“I’d agree if he wasn’t carrying Cecil’s business card.” Namjoon hands the man’s wallet to Hoseok.

“It must be nice to have such a big ego that you’d make professional hitman cards and label them as ‘business’.” Hoseok rifles through the wallet, pulling out credit cards, debit cards, cash, a few photos, until he finally finds a little white paper with Cecil’s number scrawled across it. “I’d hardly call this a business card.”

“Hobi, focus,” Namjoon reminds him, tilting his head in the man’s direction.

“Alright.” Hoseok approaches the man and bends to his sitting height, producing an I.D. card. “Sunho. How do you know Y/N?”

“Who?” Sunho whimpers, blood seeping from his busted lip. “I-I don’t even know who that is.”

“Seemed pretty chummy with her in the bookstore this afternoon.”

“That girl?” Sunho is quick to shake his head. “I just thought she was really cute, that’s all. I didn’t know she was married.”

“Ok, then how do you know Cecil?” Hoseok moves on to the next question without missing a beat.

“I don’t, I swear!”

“Why else would you have his card?” Namjoon asks as the garage door swings open, a very pissed looking Taehyung strolling in a second later. He whistles low and grips the back of Hoseok’s shirt to haul him out of Taehyung’s path.

“Oh, hey, Seokjin.” Hoseok shoots him a teasing smile. “I see you were able to get Taehyung’s attention.”

“I swear to God, I will fuck you up right here and now, Hobi.” Seokjin glares at the younger man before turning his attention to Taehyung and Sunho.

“Sunho,” Taehyung sighs, rolling his neck and shoulders. “I was very, very fucking busy inside my home and I was interrupted before anything productive got done.” He shoots forward and braces his hands on the arms of the chair Sunho is tied to. “So you see, I’m not in the mood for playing games. I’m going to explain to you how this works very carefully. Ready?”

Sunho manages a pathetic nod and Taehyung stands straight while undoing the buttons of his shirt sleeves and rolls them up his forearms. He swallows the saliva gathered on his tongue, panic washing over him when Taehyung produces a crowbar from the workbench he’s only now seeing.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions,” Taehyung explains, pointing one end of the crowbar at Sunho. “If you answer me honestly, I’ll let you go. Pay for the hospital bill that’s sure to wrack up given what these two have done to you,” he pauses to point at Namjoon and Hoseok, “and set you up for life as an apology. Sound fair?” He doesn’t wait for Sunho’s reply before continuing. “But if you lie to me, this crowbar will be the least of your worries, definitely one of the less painful weapons in our arson. Now tell me, how do you know Cecil?”

Sunho’s face is covered in tears by the time Taehyung is finished talking. His body shakes with how hard he sobs. “He ap-approached me last month, p-paid me $3,000 to drive a gray Tahoe down whatever street his guys called from. I didn’t think anything of it, until it got really weird. I noticed they’d only call me once a day at 2 or 2:30, tell me to wait at the end of your block until it hit 3 on the hour and then drive past the gate. They gave me your wife’s picture and told me to keep an eye out for her. When I realized they were stalking her, I thought I should warn her.”

“So you followed us to the mall?” Taehyung asks, crouching down to look Sunho in the eye. He uses the end of the crowbar to lift Sunho’s chin up. “What did you say to her?”

“I didn’t know what I could say,” Sunho sobs harder. “I mean, I-I was helping them stalk her. She’d think I was crazy if I just came right out and said it. So, I just walked up and asked her about the book she had. I didn’t know what the fucking title was, I just knew she had to be warned. I didn’t get that far before you came up and took her away.”

“Did Cecil tell you what he wanted with her?”

“No. Just to drive the car and watch out for her.”

Taehyung looks back to Hoseok, taking the picture from his outstretched hand. He observes the photo quietly. “These your kids, Sunho?”

“Yes.” Sunho’s bottom lip trembles. “Please don’t hurt them! Please! They’re just kids to a shitty father drowning in debt. They didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Did Cecil threaten them?” Seokjin comes up behind Taehyung, scanning the faces of two kids that couldn’t more than 8 and 10 years old.

“He said I could either take the job willingly,” Sunho cries, snot and tears mixing together at his top lip, “or I could watch him torture my kids until I accept it.”

“Where are they now?”

“Their grandparents’ house. Their mother died 3 years ago, it’s just me and them. I gave them to their grandmother the same day Cecil came to me.”

“Why you?” Hoseok wonders aloud. “There’s professionals out there to get jobs like this done. Hell, even Cecil’s guys, as dumb as they are, could do a better job than you did. Their morality wouldn’t get in the way either, that’s for sure. So what makes you so special for a job like this?”

“My kids’ mother.” Sunho releases a fresh round of tears. “She was a girl he’d taken care of in her teenage years when she was a waitress at some dingy dive bar. There was an accident 3 years ago. A head on collision with a drunk driver. Cecil hates that I survived but she didn’t. This is his way of getting back at me, I guess.”

Taehyung stands, makes his way to the workbench, and drops the crowbar on it. He braces his hands against the bench as Namjoon steps up next to him. “Yoongi?”

“Pulled up hospital records, a death certificate, and foreclosure notices on the house,” Namjoon confirms Sunho’s story. “It all checks out.”

“Get the kids, take Sunho, and get them as far away from here as possible. We’ll clean up his debt and set him up with enough to get himself started again.” Taehyung nods at Namjoon, but stops him before he gets too far away. “You make sure he understands that he needs to get his shit together. And to call us if anything happens, we’ll move his family again if we have to. Go.”

Namjoon gestures Hoseok to follow his lead, untying Sunho and ushering him into one of the many SUVs in the garage. He slides into the driver’s seat as Hoseok jumps into the passenger side, and he backs out of the garage to start his orders.

“Think Cecil would know we’d look into Sunho and set up fake accounts?” Seokjin asks Taehyung, following him on their way out of the garage.

“Yoongi will catch it if anything is fake.” Taehyung undoes the top three buttons on his dress shirt. It’s late, he’s exhausted, and he just wants to climb into bed next to you as soon as possible.

“Do you think Cecil’s after Y/N herself, or just trying to get to the Seong brothers?”

“We’ll be finding out soon.” Taehyung claps Seokjin on the shoulder before going his separate way. “And yes, Seokjin, it was important, so you can sleep peacefully knowing that you get to see tomorrow.”

You’re sitting cross-legged in the middle of the king size bed, crossword book out, and pencil scribbling across the empty spaces, when Taehyung comes back into the room. You want to say something, want to talk about what happened, but it wasn’t the first time the two of you had gotten a little too carried away. Well, more so you than him earlier when you’d begged for his touch, and then Seokjin had walked in. You’ve never, in your entire life, been more humiliated and turned on at the same time, and some part of your brain insists that it really wouldn’t have been bad if Seokjin hadn’t interrupted. You certainly wouldn’t have had to take a cold shower, that’s for sure.

“You’re still up,” Taehyung comments softly as if he hadn’t seen the light peeking out from underneath the door. He’d dismissed Jungkook before opening the door, expecting you to have simply fallen asleep while reading as usual. He’s unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it from his shoulders when his ears pick up the rustling of bedsheets.

His back muscles flex with each move and you bite down on your tongue for composure. “You didn’t apologize to Kook for snapping at him earlier.”

“Jungkook understands that when he’s told to do something, he does it. If he wants to fight back against his orders and be a rebel, then he’s going to be treated as such.” Taehyung unclasps the watch on his wrist, setting it down on the dresser. “If sometimes I go too far, they don’t expect an apology.”

“Because you don’t know how to give one?” Your tone is sarcastic and it makes him smile even though you can’t see his face. “Or you just don’t want to?”

“Because I don’t need to.” His hands reach for his belt, unbuckling the leather band and sliding it out from the loops of his pants. “We’ve been a tight group for a long time, but I’m still their boss and sometimes I need to be more strict than usual. The fact that Jungkook hasn’t been strung up by his feet and left to bleed out for arguing with me earlier says a lot already.”

“I know,” you answer immediately, having seen that very scenario dozens of times before either by accident or because your grandfather wanted to remind you and your cousins of what happens to people that can no longer be trusted. “This is the only time Jungkook’s gone against you, Taehyung, you know that.”

Taehyung whirls around to face you, understanding and patience written all over his face. “I need to make sure that it stays the only time he’ll go against me. The only reason he isn’t dead now is because it was on your behalf, which is his job. Yes, it’s unfair of me to be pissed at him for doing exactly what he’s supposed to, but when you’re with me there’s nothing to be afraid of and he needs to understand that.”

“Something in you scared him today,” you argue as he turns back to the dresser, pulling out a pair of sweats and plain gray t-shirt. “Something in you scared me. It’s like a switch went off inside of your head and you became an entirely different person.”

“I am who I need to be when the situation calls for it.” Taehyung steps up to the bed and braces one arm on the mattress as he leans closer, touching his forehead to yours. “I didn’t mean to scare you, princess, that’s my fault and I’m sorry. I want to say you’ll never have to see it again, but you know as well as I do that it would be a lie. What I can tell you is that it won’t always happen, I swear that to you. Right now, with whatever Joongki and Jeonghan have going on, and the spike in threats against your family, the boys and I are on edge more than normal.” He cups your face with his other hand after dropping his spare clothes to the bed. “It won’t always be this way.”

You don’t know what you’ve done in your past life to have fallen into the Kim family, or what you did to deserve one of the rarer, kinder mafia bosses that is Kim Taehyung. You’ve come to realize that you don’t hate Taehyung or any of the boys, but you hate the circumstances behind your being in his home. You’ve always detested this life and after your grandfather’s death, you vowed to get away from it. You didn’t take into account how quick Joongki would jump to throw you under lock and key, only ever gifting the small amount of freedom that came with having to attend your full time job.

Taehyung hadn’t expected your kiss, the soft press of your lips against his and the touch of your fingers wrapping around his wrist has goosebumps rising on his skin. You don’t kiss him often, only when you’re out at a charity event or at dinner with his parents, and even then it’s a small peck to keep up appearances. You push your tongue against his and he groans, slipping his fingers into your hair and stepping back as you rise up to your knees. The soft pads of your fingers trace up the path of his jawline until they tangle in his soft black locks, and then you’re tugging on the strands to tip his head back.

His other hand is at your hip, thumb slipping beneath the hem of your pajama shirt to rub circles in your skin. He doesn’t know what brought on this sudden affection, but he isn’t complaining. Your fingers card through his hair, one hand tracing down the broad plain of his chest and bare skin burning the tips of your fingers as they reach the waistband of his pants. He hisses out a small ‘fuck’ against your mouth when your hand slips into his boxers, toying with the length of him. Holy shit, he’s huge, and you moan into another kiss as you have a hard time wrapping your fingers around his cock. He’s thick and long, you note, using the tips of your nails to gently trace the veins running along his shaft. Precum pools at the tip and you circle your thumb around him to gather enough of it before pumping your hand down, then back up, and then back down again.

“What are you doing, princess?” Taehyung nearly chokes on the words as he pulls away from the kiss. You’ve built up a steady rhythm and he’s very near collapsing to his knees if you keep this up. He grits his teeth as the hand in his hair dives into his boxers to join the other, pumping along his cock in tandem. His fingers tighten in your hair, twisting the locks at the base of your neck and you gasp gently at the feeling.

“Earlier, in the living room,” you whisper against his lips, “I was so close to coming against your thigh, but then Seokjin walked in.”

“To be fair,” he growls out and bucks his hips against your hands, “I threatened to kill him for it, so---.” He does choke this time as you squeeze him just a little harder.

“You know what happened when I came back to the room, Tae?” You give him a sweet smile, but you know he can see the devious intentions behind it. “I got stuck having to take a cold shower. I’d blame Jin, but you’re the one who started it, aren’t you?”

“Baby,” he groans, “please don’t---.”

You’re pulling back, taking your hands with you, and falling back onto the mattress before he can finish his plea. You bounce slightly against the bed as you giggle at the death glare he gives you, his chest is heaving and a thin sheen of sweat coats his brow. “Not so fun when it’s you, is it, Tae?”

Taehyung heaves out a shaky breath and runs a hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. I take responsibility for leaving you the way I did.” He snatches your ankles, chuckling at the yelp that leaves you, and drags you down the bed. He spreads your thighs to make room for his hips and rocks against you. The thin material of your pajama pants does nothing to shield the feeling of his hard on pushing against your clothed core. You still feel every inch of him and your mouth drops open as he grinds his hips. “But what you call punishment, I call a reward, princess.”

He’s gone in the blink of an eye, his laugh echoing from the bathroom, and you bolt up to hurl a pillow at the door. Why is he so much better at this than you are?!

---------------------------------------------

Taehyung’s home is gorgeous. Well, you suppose it’s your home now too, but the fact that you’re about to be thrown into a house full of strange men and monitored 24 hours a day, doesn’t take away from its beauty. You thought the security gates were a little much when Jungkook first drove through them, yet it’s clear now why they’re necessary. A two story estate looms over you as Jungkook opens the SUV door so you can climb out.

“Welcome home, princess.” Taehyung stands in the middle of the foyer, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his dress pants. He’d had every intention of being with you in that SUV after the reception, but his father had hauled him away for some ‘unfinished business’ with the Ahn family.

“More like a prison,” you mutter while Jungkook takes the backpack hanging from your shoulder. He hoists it over his own and grabs the handle of your rolling suitcase, waiting to see what your next move is. “The word ‘home’ doesn’t exactly come to mind, Kim.”

Taehyung hums, crossing the foyer in quick strides before he’s gripping your chin and pulling you so close that you stand on the tips of your toes. He feels the clenching of your jaw against his fingers and briefly worries that you’ll end up chipping a tooth with how hard you grind your teeth together. “Call it what you want, Y/N, but this is where you’ll be for a very long time. I suggest you get used to it.”

“Boss.” Jungkook clears his throat, eyes darting to the strong grip Taehyung has on your face before they’re matching his gaze. The slight tilting of his head serves as a warning and Taehyung nods in recognition before releasing his hold. When Jungkook had first been told that he would be your personal guard from now on, he vowed to do his best, even if it meant going against Taehyung from time to time.

You sneer at Taehyung when he smiles at Jungkook. Whatever passes between them in the look they share is unclear, and it bothers you. If Taehyung’s rough handling was meant to scare you, and Jungkook’s swift response to it was meant to deter that fear, then they were both failing. Miserably. It’s not that you’re afraid of Taehyung, that couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s how quick he can be at changing his entire persona in a matter of seconds.

Jungkook puts his free hand on the small of your back to guide you forward, leaving the foyer and entering the living room. He watches you scan the surroundings, gaze lingering a little too long on the loose objects Taehyung has chosen to decorate with. He makes a mental note to have those removed for the time being until you’re settled in enough to not try and kill Taehyung. It’s understandable that you’re frustrated, and angry, and hurt, but it’s also easy for those feelings to boil over and turn into something disastrous. He leads you through the room to the adjoining dining room, then the kitchen, and finally stopping at a door.

“It’s your room,” he explains as he opens the door and shuffles inside the much too big room meant for you. It’s bigger than the entirety of your last two apartments combined. He sets your backpack on the bed before rolling your suitcase over to the dresser in the corner of the room. Leaving the suitcase be for you to unpack at your leisure, he moves for the bathroom that you didn’t even notice was there at first. He comes out soon after and pulls open the doors to the walk-in closet, scanning it from top to bottom.

He’s checking for anything out of place, you realize, as Jungkook seems satisfied enough to make his way back to you. He isn’t anything like you imagined Taehyung’s men would be, the first couple of encounters with him should have been enough to tell you that. You had just been so adamant in hating this part of it to realize that Jungkook would most likely end up being your only friend. Your actual friends weren’t invited to the wedding out of fear of who may have been there. Exposing them to this life was never an option and you’d been doing a damn fine job of it since high school. Until Jeonghan had spilled the beans about your upcoming nuptials and the girls became giddy. Their faces had dropped when you lied that only a handful of people could attend, and they weren’t on the guest list. It took weeks of groveling for them to finally cave and forgive you.

“Y/N?” Jungkook’s voice snaps you from your thoughts. He quirks a brow when you shake your head in apology. “Are you alright?”

“I was just thinking,” you say, letting your eyes float around the room once more. “Thank you, Jungkook.”

“Of course.”

“Not just for checking the room,” you clarify, “but for not making me feel so out of place. I really appreciate it.”

“Jungkookie’s always been good at making people comfortable,” a voice has you spinning around quickly, a hand pressed to your racing heart. The owner of the voice beams like he’s just won the lottery, clearly amused at successfully scaring you. “Y/N. I’m Park Jimin. I’ll be accompanying you and Jungkook every time we leave the grounds.”

“Right,” you heave. Catching your breath seems to be a new level of difficulty for some reason. Well, there was one reason, actually.

Taehyung had been right behind you and Jungkook the entire time. Quietly observing you and the reaction you’d have to the house. He’d also been leaning against the doorjamb while Jungkook combed through the room. Which means he’d also heard your gratitude for the younger man and you pale at the thought of what might happen to Jungkook now. Not all bosses like when their wives become chummy with other men, especially if it’s a man they trust, and you fear you may have gotten Jungkook in trouble.

“Do you think of Jungkookie as comfortable, princess?” Taehyung pins you with a stare that you can’t quite decipher. He sees the look of panic in your eyes as you struggle for words. When you open your mouth to answer, he cuts you off with a stern, “Don’t. Lie. To me.”

“Yes,” you reply breathlessly, clenching your hands into fists. Fear runs down your spine when Taehyung pushes away from the door and draws near. You flinch when his hand reaches out, your body going stiff to brace for the sting of his palm against your cheek. But he doesn’t hit you, his hand frozen mid-air at your reaction. It’s when you feel the slight tug on a single strand of hair that you realize he’d meant to pet your head. You meet his eyes with tears welling in your own, chest rising and falling with short, rapid breaths.

“I’d never hurt you, Y/N,” Taehyung whispers, reaching out once more to graze the backs of his fingers against your cheek. The wet heat of a single tear sliding down your face catches on his knuckles and he grits his teeth. “Has anyone ever hit you before?”

Jungkook and Jimin immediately come closer to hear your answer. If anyone had ever laid a hand on you, they wouldn’t wait for Taehyung’s order to find and kill whoever it was. You aren’t just the boss’ wife, you’re theirs to protect now, and they intend on doing just that.

“No.” You turn away from Taehyung’s touch, drawing back to both create some much needed space, and to reel in the flood of emotions you didn’t expect to feel. Being a leader in a crime syndicate meant being vicious and violent, even to your own family if it proved a point. Taehyung was neither of those things, a heavy reminder of how gentle your father and grandfather would be with any woman or girl important to them. “No one’s ever...it’s just something I’ve seen many times before, is all.”

“To someone important?”

“To people who were people and deserved to be treated as such. Not like the punching bags they became because their boss couldn’t push aside his pride or ego.” You take another step back only to bump into Jungkook’s chest. Damn it. Too many people surround you, too many are witness to how easily you can crumble, and you want them out. You want room to breathe and catch your bearings. You also want the privacy to unpack your stuff.

“Out,” Taehyung demands from Jungkook and Jimin, neither men hesitate to do as they’ve been told. He moves for the door right after them, hesitating with his hand on the knob. Looking back over his shoulder, he sees you pulling a laptop from your backpack, along with a few romance novels and a jumbo book of crossword puzzles.

“Jimin isn’t the only one of the members you’ll be meeting today,” the softness of Taehyung’s voice makes your chest tight as you look up at him. “There’s 3 others roaming around here somewhere and another that’s away on an assignment, but he’ll be back soon.”

You nod your understanding, picking up a book to occupy your hands to keep your fingers from picking at the cuticles of your nails. It was something you’d always done when you got nervous, a bad habit that needed to be gotten rid of.

“I don’t want to do this to you, princess,” he states it like an apology as you draw your brows together in confusion, “but I’m going to take your laptop and phone.”

“Why?” One hand immediately falls to the computer he’s stepping back into the room for. You almost wrestle it away when his long fingers swipe it from the bed. “It’s important, Taehyung. I use it to edit my friend’s photos. She’s a photographer and I help her clean them up when she needs it.”

“I know you do, sweetheart.” He grips the computer closer to his side and holds his palm out. “You’ll get it back soon, I promise. I need your phone.”

“What if Joongki and Jeonghan call?” you scoff, because of fucking course Taehyung knows what you do in your spare time. “They’ll get worried if I don’t answer.”

“That’s a pretty weak excuse given how you tore into them after the reception. I might not have left with you, but I heard all about the way you swore you wouldn’t be speaking to your cousins anytime soon.”

“My friends will think I’m dead if I don’t answer their texts.”

“Your friends,” Taehyung steps closer and leans in, hovering inches away from your lips, “know that you got married today. They know that you’ll be occupied with your new husband. I can bet they’re wondering what you’re doing right this second, but can’t bring themselves to ask lest they interrupt what may be going on.”

Your back hits a wall you hadn’t realized he’d been backing you into. He’s not close enough to touch, yet that’s exactly what you want to do and find yourself pressing the book in your hand to his chest instead.

“I bet they’re wondering if you’re enjoying yourself,” he continues, pressing his forehead against yours. The back of your head thumps against the wall gently with the pressure as he uses it to keep your eyes on him. “They’re wondering if your new groom satisfies you enough, princess. If he’s kissing you like you deserve to be, touching you in all the right places,” his free hand clamps onto your waist, thumb dipping beneath the hem of your shirt to feel your skin, “if he’s able to hit that right spot inside of you over, and over, and over.”

Your breath hitches when his hand slides higher beneath the t-shirt you’d stupidly changed into before coming to the house. His fingers are hot against your skin as they’re splayed along your ribcage.

“I can do all of that for you if you’ll let me, princess,” Taehyung growls without meaning to. He’d only meant to distract you enough to take your phone. However, he’d somehow managed to arouse both himself and you with the way you clench your thighs together. Still, even knowing how turned on you are, he doesn’t press any closer than he already is. His hand doesn’t move any further up your torso though his thumb still rubs smooth circles on your skin. “I can make you feel so good, you’d forget your own name.”

You inhale sharply. You know he can and that he’d be the best you ever had. But giving in now, on your very first hour inside the new house, would be grounds for Taehyung to think you’re actually on board with this whole thing. So you do what you do best, argue. “You really think so highly of yourself, huh, Kim? I’m pretty sure I’ve had better.”

“Don’t push buttons when you don’t understand the consequences,” he whispers darkly, “or throw out empty challenges like that. I might be inclined to take them if you keep it up.”

You open your mouth to fight back, but a yelp comes out instead when his hand rips itself from underneath your shirt and is swiping the phone from your back pocket quickly. You aren’t prepared for him to reel back soon after, nearly losing your balance without him there to hold you up. “Taehyung, what the hell?!”

Taehyung smirks in victory, the phone and laptop in his hands, before he turns around and saunters to the door. “Disappointed, baby? All you have to do is ask and I’ll fuck you any way you want.”

Jungkook and Jimin are standing just outside, backs pressed to the opposite wall, and they both jump when the sound of glass shattering against wood follows Taehyung closing the door behind him. Jungkook wants to check on you, but the satisfied look on Taehyung’s face lets him know that you meant to break whatever had hit the door. “Uh, boss?”

Taehyung hands the laptop and phone to Jimin, who was looking at him with raised brows. “Give these to Yoongi, tell him to go through them, delete anything that can be used to track either device, and have him install the tracking app he created in her phone. I want us, and only us, to be able to access the app. If, for whatever reason, Yoongi feels like someone outside of the seven of us should be able to tap into it, I want to know who and why first. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Jimin disappears with the phone and computer, leaving behind a chuckle that has Jungkook rolling his eyes.

“Oh, and Kook,” Taehyung claps Jungkook on the shoulder with a mischievous grin, “buy Y/N a new perfume bottle. She seems to have broken her last one.”

#kim taehyung fic #kim taehyung smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts mafia smut #kim taehyung mafia smut

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