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hansolmates · 3 years

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shiver | 01 (m)

banner done by the wonderful @dnrequests

summary; jungkook changed since he moved out of his small town church community and attended college. when he returns for a christmas mass, you suddenly crave a taste of his fun and carefree life. in exchange, jungkook craves a taste of you pairing; bad boy!jungkook x church girl!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers, brief childhood friends to enemies, fwb!au, catholic guilt, jungkook is a meanie who eventually turns into a soft tsundere, bicuriosity, sexual exploration, virgin!oc, eventual smut—in this installment: touching over the clothes, mc is hornee, *pulls out cards against humanity* “a gentle caress of the inner thigh”, panty kissin, mc is a big ol’ pushover and hopeful for jkk:(( w/c; 1.9k a/n; it’s here! aaaaaa!!! i’ve been really eally realllyyyyyy nervous to post this. even though this is just a drabble series let me know how you feel about it! enjoy [shiver masterpost]

“Oh, you’re so dead.”

Jeon Jungkook isn’t thaaaat buff, he's more of a skinny kind of muscular. You don’t understand the hype, why everyone croons over Jungkook’s strength and physique. However, how else could you explain Jungkook being able to climb the currently dilapidated fire escape to the top floor of the chapel. The ladder is rusted beyond repair and is definitely a fire hazard rather than a fire escape. Yet he barely breaks a sweat doing it, and he wipes the minor sheen off his brow with the back of his hand. There’s some soot and whatever nasty residue from the fire escape that gets on his face, a black streak marring his already annoying face. He’s currently wiggling his fingers in a sarcastic “hello.” It makes you sneer, your two consciousness (inappropriate and appropriate) warring against each other to determine whether you still find this man attractive or not.

Convincing yourself that Jungkook is ugly is the worst quick-fix idea you’ve ever had.

The words of your Aunties, the family friends in the church, echo in your ears. Jungkook’s bad. They’d say over and over. It would cause you to snort and giggle, unable to imagine what sort of things he’s done to warrant such a cliché label. Yet some of the girls your age, girls that have gone off to college agree with sultry looks and longing eyes that yes, Jungkook’s bad. So bad, it’s good.

You haven’t a clue what he’s actually done to earn such a hushed title, his parents are lip-tight about his doings, unless it’s his achievements in the architecture graduate program. You hear things, though. Things that make you shamefully green with envy, envious of sin.

As soon as he finds proper footing in the storage room, he goes to the closet, immediately finding his backup clothes. They’re plain white button-downs, awkward long shirts with no shape or definition to them. They belong to the church, and no one ever uses them because they’re stiff and itchy. Yet Jungkook wears them like it’s tailored, and you have to look away when he quickly knots the bottom half of the shirt, fashioning it into a tasteful double knot in order to cinch his lean waist.

“Pretty sure it was just you that saw me,” Jungkook says dismissively, “so it’s fine.”

This bristles you the wrong way, and you put down the catering covers you were supposed to return to the storage room. You smooth out your Sunday dress, this shade of Boring Beige looking particularly pale in the morning sun. “How do you know I won’t tell?” you turn your nose up.

“Because I know,” he doesn’t even look at you, focusing on rolling the sleeves of his shirt. You weaken when you see the black shadowing across his forearm. That’s new, then again you haven’t seen him since last Christmas.

“Know what?”

“That you have a crush on me,” Jungkook says into the air like it’s common knowledge, adjusting the leather jacket on top of his outfit so the white-startched collar pops on top, “I mean, it’s hard for anyone not to know. You’ve been into me since youth group, Bunny.”

You hold your breath, counting to ten as you close the door behind you. A vision of you playing “Duck Duck Goose” as a five year old plays in your head, where you’d pick a bushy, big-eyed Jeon Jungkook each time, hopping over to him to pat his fluffy head so he’d chase you around.

It’s old news, your puppy love for Jungkook. How could you not like him? He's clever and sweet with his mother and always told the best stories in youth group meetings. Everyone thought your affections were so sweet, and while that attention weaned over time, your feelings have only increased the more self-aware you’ve become.

With a mind as open and honest is yours, it’s hard to ignore how well Jungkook has grown. What has also grown is your curiosities since the two of you have moved onto university. Jungkook goes to the university uptown, a far drive which only forces him attend masses during the holidays. You attended the local community college, wrapping up a bachelors in some vague major that you’re not attached to. You’re currently looking around for some graduate schools, but unfortunately you’ve been so wrapped up doing duties for Pastor Nina that you haven’t been able to look around properly.

Jungkook’s probably living a fun life, with the way he’s grown rough and loose, you resent him.

When you turn back around, Jungkook’s right in front of you, trapping you between his body and the door.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Bunny,” you furrow your brows, nearly growing cross-eyed when he leans in. “I think your crush is cute.”

You’re not sure what he thinks of you. Sure, he considered everyone a friend when you two were in youth group, but that was youth group. Premeditated, parents forcing other children to do the same things with each other for years upon years in the hope they’ll practice together forever and ever. Jungkook did not want that, evident from the way he dipped his duties as soon as he got into university.

You hate how easy he dips back into it though, calling you Bunny and making you feel like a little girl all over again. Bunny, because you’d hop around to him whenever he was in sight. Bunny, because Jungkook had been fondly compared to the wide-eyed, diamond-toothed creature. It was cute when you were five. Now, it’s just discomfiting.

“Don’t call me that,” you bite, “and I don’t like you anymore.”

“Sure you don’t,” he rolls his eyes, and you flinch when Jungkook’s hand rests on the curve of your waist, fingers slotting themselves between the pleats of your skirt. “That’s why you’re not moving away when I’m about to put my hand under your skirt. Because you don’t like me.”

You press yourself further into the door, your skin hot and vibrating. So warm, you feel like you could melt through the door and escape from Jungkook’s gaze. Sure, the young ladies in the congregation talk. Maybe you’ve heard a story or two about Jungkook being seedy, a result of being repressed after years and years of stiff routines and expectations thrust upon him. You could care less about Jungkook’s sexual appetite, until this appetite has reached you.

“Mm, you’re pretty,” Jungkook’s eyes roam your form, the daisy white blouse doing nothing to barricade Jungkook’s sudden interest in you, “you’ve never been touched like this, have you?”

“I’ve touched myself like this,” you hiss in defense, and it’s more out of anger than in pleasure. You don’t need a man to comfort you, but Jungkook’s eyes sparkle in mirth at the new information.

“That’s really sexy,” Jungkook slips down, roams his fingers down to your ankles and plays with the silver buckles of your Mary Janes. You shiver when his hands trail up up up to your knees, the swell of your thighs, and catch right under the elastic seam that holds your secrets together, “but I’ll have you know, it’s different when you have someone hold your pleasure in their hands.”

You’re in the storage room of your church, fifteen minutes before the Christmas mass, with Jeon Jungkook’s head between your legs. Your skirt is long, and Jungkook doesn’t bother to ride it up your waist.

It feels more forbidden that way, Jungkook hiding under the fabric of your skirt to get to your honeyed center, sneaking his way in with rough hands and soft touches.

“J-Jungkook,” you whimper, pressing your full spine against the wooden door, “we shouldn’t. N-not like this.”

What is wrong with you? Is it sheer curiosity? Do you just want to know what it finally, finally feels like? You should be pushing him away. There’s red lights flashing back and forth in your brain like sirens. Yet, do you really want to turn away the attention you’ve been aching for years?

You imagined your first time to be relatively special. The bare minimum, a bed, a talk, and a partner you’re mutually committed to. None of those things are met. Now you understand why all the young women in church whisper about sex like this. It’s a spur of the moment, it’s an unbridled pleasure you don’t want to stop, no matter how forbidden and sinful the act is.

“How else then?” you feel his deep voice straight through your panties, his lips whispering between the pink cotton like he’s sinking liquid heat into your skin. “I can’t sink my fingers into your sweet cunt during the candle lighting. Or when we open presents with the family after. That would be inappropriate.”

Your replies come out in breaths, puffs of air that conceal the moans you so badly want to let out as Jungkook pokes and rubs at you. He does nothing beyond the cotton fabric, only slides two fingers up and down your slit as he gathers the arousal between his digits.

“So wet already, that’s so sexy,” he’s kissing your core, and you sigh fretfully at the pleasure that feels so close yet so far away.

“P-please, Jungkook…”

“Please what?” Jungkook teases, fingers slipping back and forth between the elastic of your underwear, “please stop? Please touch me? Please fuck me?”

The church bell answers that, and Jungkook’s nose knocks right into your bud at the sudden intrusion. You yelp at the jarring stimulation, pulling him from under your skirts as the loud noise echoes in the room. Both of you wince at the pain, the moment interjected.

“You first,” Jungkook casually opens the door for you, as if he didn’t have you ten seconds away from begging him to make you come.

You don’t even look at him as you dash away, not bothering to take the elevator in favor of running off the heat. Two minutes before the procession. The church is packed to the brim, only the back seats left. Your family probably gave up on waiting for you up in the front. As you sit down in the corner, you’re momentarily distracted by the beauty of a decorated church on Christmas. Even though you’re part of the decorating committee and commanded most of the design, seeing the stained glass lit up with fairy lights and the poinsettia plants blooming burgundy on the altar, you’re impressed.

“There’s a draft here, you must be cold.” Jungkook talks to you so politely, a perfect picture of a gentleman as he drapes his leather jacket over your lap. He speaks as if it’s a pleasant surprise, a childhood friend he hasn’t seen in nearly a year.

You can’t tell him to move when people are watching and Jungkook is seconds from interrupting the procession, so you reluctantly scoot over so he can sit next to you. His scent overwhelms you even more now that you’ll have to sit next to him for a whole hour, lavender and vanilla overtaking your pew.

The jacket is heavy and heady on your lap, and you force yourself to stare straight ahead. Jungkook cannot weaken you like this, not anymore.

Thirty minutes later, his fingers are hovering at the start of the homily, caressing your thighs under the jacket with his big hands. A draft? Please. You clamp your thighs together, knocking your knees and hoping they’d lock together for the rest of the mass. Jungkook’s a master key, easily parting his way as if your muscles are pure jelly. You turn your head sharply, glaring at him with all the fire in the world.

“Careful,” Jungkook mouths, eyes flickering to the symbol atop the podium, “he’s watching.”

His fingers finally brush the damp blush cotton of your panties, and you shudder.

#ficswithluv #btsguild #btswritingcafe #kwritersworldnet #btsghostie #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #bts smut #bts fic #jungkook angst #bts angst #kpop fic #hansolmates

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zukump3 · 3 years

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first time showing your legs || hcs

anon asked: I like to wear giant robes (like Harry Potter giant robes situation) because i'm very sensitive to the cold, and today i didn't wore it and my best friend was like "wtf u got legs... And they fine" (i have thick thigs) so, how would Tamaki, Deku, Kirishima and Denki to a s/o who does the same??

warnings: fluff & suggestive content, reader has thick thighs here lol, fem!reader

a/n: i can relate to this cause i also have thick thighs n never show my legs lmao

izuku never questioned how you never showed your legs

you were always in jeans and sweats

and even with the skirt ua girls wore, you always wore tights underneath

he never noticed until mineta ew pointed it out one day

“i’ve yet to see y/n’s beautiful legs, i wonder why.” he would say, his tiny fingers stroking his chin. “we’ve got to see them!”

“maybe she’s got a lot of marks on them or something?” kaminari would suggest. “or! maybe they’re really hairy. like, so hairy you can’t see her skin!”

“or she just doesn’t show her legs, dipshits.” kacchan would spit out at them. “how about you think about how you’re passing the math quiz tomorrow and not some dumb girls legs, yeah?”

ever since that day, which was about two weeks ago now

he’s been more curious than ever to see your legs

he was an over thinker, so his mind went to many possibilities of how your legs looked

maybe they were skinny and slim? maybe your knees had faces in them? maybe they really were as hairy as kaminari said...

but nothing could prepare him for the chill saturday class 1-A was having in the common area

and suddenly seeing you come out of the elevator in some black shorts, your legs exposed

and... wow.

his eyes instantly shot to your thighs

were they always that full? and... jiggly?

he can’t even look away when you sit next to him, thighs pressed right next to his

“h-hi, y/n!” he would tell you in a constricted tone, his cheeks flushed

“are you okay?” you would giggle at him and he would just nod, holding up an “ok” sign with his fingers

“perfectly fine.”

denki would probably be one that would always press to see your legs

“oh cmon, y/n! jeans again today?”

“ahhh, you’re really wearing ripped jeans? quit teasing me babe!~”

he knows you’re a bit more sensitive to cold weather than everyone else in the class and your entire body is covered whenever it’s cold

but he still just wanted to see

even when you guys studied together your legs were covered

he would literally walk around in his underwear to hopefully shed a piece of clothing from you

but you never budged.

like the kind of boy he is, he would eventually forget all about it

and get used to the sight of your legs being covered like everyone else in class 1-A

on sunday, the day right before your math test

it was particularly hot in the dorm

denki expected nothing different from you

but when you came to his dorm in nothing but one of his shirts and matching yellow shorts...

he’s never moved across the room and grabbed you that fast.

“denki?! what the fuck-“

“holy shit, you’ve been hiding that?!” he would shout at you, which would obviously fluster you

he would be playing with your thighs for the entirety of the study session

another one that wouldn’t notice at first

when the weather was cold, he expected you to be all dressed up

he would compliment you whenever you wore pants, even if u wore the most basic of sweats

“loving the grey today y/n! wait, i might have a pair that looks just like that!! wanna match?”

yes. he’s definitely gifted you crimson riot sweatpants that he bought for the both of you because he just loves you sm

when the weather starts getting warmer though and your clothing choice doesn’t change, he’d be a little worried

“y/n... do you really wanna be wearing black jeans today? the sun is out,, and beaming!”

the fact that your boyfriend cared so much and worried so much about you really warmed your heart

you appreciated his concerns too

“aww, don’t worry about me kiri. i’m fine!”

from then on he concluded that you must’ve been insecure about your legs

all the girls would be wearing shorts in the warm weather, even jiro

and you’d be the only one in pants

even if you wore baggy jeans with rips in the thighs, he still really worried for you

it wasn’t until he cornered you in your room did he actually ask

“y/n...” he would frown.

“do you feel bad about the way your legs look?”

“...huh?”

“it’s just... you never show them. and it’s getting pretty hot in japan. i don’t think it’s healthy to walk around in pants all the time...” he would say sheepishly, then widen his eyes. “it’s your choice though! i’m just—saying. not trying to police what you wear or anything! that’s definitely not manly.”

and you couldn’t help but just laugh at how endearing he was 😭

“i’m just comfortable with pants, kiri. if you wanna see my legs so bad, you could’ve asked.”

his mouth probably dropped open when you slid your sweatpants down and showed your legs

his eyes instantly shot to those thighs

and he decided that would be his favorite part of you from now on

he napped between your thighs after that <3

our quiet little baby

would always notice that you wore pants and covered your legs on a day to day basis

would he say anything about it though?

no. no he would not.

1). he didn’t feel like it was place to point it out and 2). you wore what you wanted to. who was he to question it?

but he couldn’t help the curiosity that always lingered in the back of his brain whenever you wore tights to school under your skirt

the more time he went on, the more he wanted to see what was underneath all those pants you wore.

it was a subconscious want though, so he would show it in hidden ways

resting a hand on your knee when you two would sit together

playing with the rips in your jeans whenever you wore them

or scanning your body from head to toe when you walked towards him—his eyes focusing extra long on your legs

stuff that he didn’t notice he was doing but you definitely noticed

tamaki was fun to tease, so of course

that’s exactly what you did.

you invited him over to a study session one day and he accepted

when you opened the door to your dorm, he nearly fainted

you weren’t wearing any pants.

none. at all.

he couldn’t even concentrate on what you were saying as you led him into the room

drinking up the sight of your backside, and your plush thighs...

but then you both sat in the bed and you

you covered them.

with a blanket.

he wanted to scream

the entire session he was fidgety, barely paying attention to what you wear saying

he asked you to repeat something about fifteen times

you were having entirely too much fun

but when it got the point where he could barely function you just huffed, sliding your body into his lap

“if you wanted to see my legs so bad, all you could’ve done was asked, tama.”

commence a heated make out session with his hands cupping your thighs the entire time xp

#hot #bnha x reader #bnha x poc!reader #mha x reader #mha headcanon #mha headcanons #izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #kirishima x reader #kaminari x reader #tamaki x reader #tamaki headcanons #midoriya headcanons #kaminari headcanons #kirishima headcanons #bnha headcanons

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dreamescapeswriting · 3 years

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Our Good Girl ~ KNJ & KSJ [M] [Request]

WORD COUNT: 4.4K

PAIRING: Seokjin x Fem!Reader x Namjoon

WARNINGS: degradation, humiliation(maybe not so much), breeding kink, aftercare, swearing, smut, from fluff to hard smut. Dom Jin, Dom Namjoon, Sub Reader, unprotected sex [wrap it before you tap it] birth control, cum play, thigh riding, “good girl”, pet names, spanking/slapping of breasts and cheeks all consenual,

GENRE: Non!Idol!AU, Poly, SMUT, established relationship, aftercare, rough.

DON’T READ IF YOU’RE UNDERAGE.

The restaurant you were sitting in was loud since it was packed full of people, luckily for you and your boyfriends, you were in a booth on your own secluded away from everyone. Also lucky for the boys, they weren't the best at controlling how jealous they got of people around you and tonight you looked especially good. A custom-fitted black dress that clung to your body perfectly, showing off all of your favourite aspects about yourself as well as the boys favourite parts about you as well without being too revealing.

"I made sure to book months in advance," Namjoon chuckled as he poured you another glass of champagne while Jin anxiously bounced his leg up and down on the spot. This was your favourite place because of how pretty it was inside. The interior of it was decorated to look as though it was inside of a fairytale-like forest and there were fairy lights all over the ceiling to look like stars. The three of you had gone out for your birthday tonight despite your best efforts in telling them that you would have been fine staying at home with take-out food and a movie. They wanted to do something special for you, something that would be meaningful to you. It wasn't often that you got to get all dressed up like the way you were tonight and do what they were going to offer to you. The three of you had been together for almost four years and it had been one of the best relationships of your life, while many people didn't understand why you were with the both of them and not just one you ignored them.

"We got you some presents princess," Jin said as he looked at you, he didn't want to give the presents here but Namjoon insisted that it would be more special to give the three presents here. Jin slid the bright pink bag over to you on the table and smiles, as anxious as he was he couldn't wait to see your eyes light up when you realised what would be happening later that night.

"Start with the smaller box," Namjoon suggested as he could see you trying to process which of the boxes to open first as you looked inside the bag. It wasn't often that you would except gifts from either of them as you hated people spending money on you but it was a special occasion.

"I told you that you didn't have to get me anything," You whined out as you took the smallest box from the bag and saw that it was from Jin,

"Technically the third present is for all of us," Jin smirked as he watched you opening the smallest box,

"What's the third present?" You questioned as you ripped the wrapping paper off from the small box to reveal a navy blue velvet box inside but Jin and Namjoon hummed at you wanting you to open the first ones before you thought about the last one. Sensing you weren't going to get told anything you opened the velvet box to see a silver bracelet laying on top of a black cushion,

"Jin, " You gasped out as you released it was one of the bracelets you'd been admiring for weeks before this. Only there was an addition to it, along the chain there was a small silver heart with something inscribed onto it.

"3 words, 8 letters, 1 meaning," You breathed out as you looked at it, staring at the small bracelet and back up to Jin as you let tears stream down your cheeks.

"It's perfect," You choked out, inching closer to him so you could kiss him softly on the lips, grinning wildly as he began to blush from the small action.

"Mine next," Namjoon chuckled as he pulled out the next box from the bag, sliding it over to you and letting you rip the wrapping paper off as you did with the previous one. Revealing yet another box similar to the previous but inside of this one was a silver necklace with his, Jin's and your initials engraved into a silver heart matching the one on the bracelet.

"They're stunning," You breathed out as you stared at both of the items in their boxes, too scared to ever wear them with how pretty they looked but you knew the boys would want you to never take them off.

"Guys, I don't know-"

"Open the last box kitten," Namjoon's voice was dark as he spoke to you giving a hint as to what was in the final large box in the bottom of the bag. Gulping to yourself you opened up the box, trying to ignore the fact that Jin and Namjoon were sitting close to you. Their hands were on either of your thighs as you shakily removed the box from the bag.

"We've been thinking about this for a while princess," Jin told you as he watched you begin to rip the wrapping paper away from the box to reveal a black box behind in.

"We know you like the thought of both of us at the same time," Namjoon whispered in your ear before biting down on your lobe making you let out a shaky moan as you lifted up the lid of the box. Inside was black lingerie set with a matching choker sitting on top, you slammed the box shut and stared at the boys with wide eyes. Your head flicking between the two of them and then around to make sure that no one had been passing your booth at the time and caught a glimpse.

"Oh look, we made her all embarrassed," Jin smirked and you stared at him, wondering where the sudden darkness in his voice had come from. His eyes were darkened over and you could feel your body begin to heat up.

"We know you want us both princess, we figured tonight should be the night you get what you want," Jin explained as you felt his hand raising higher on your thigh until it was under the skirt of your dress and just brushing against your clothes core.

"Y-You mean-"

"A threesome, yes kitten." Namjoon finished for you as he raised his hand at the waiter so he could bring the bill over for him to pay for. The two of them hardly had a threesome with you, it wasn't that they didn't "like" it but they prefered having alone time with you but they knew how badly you wanted them together with you.

"C-Can we get home fast," You giggled as you bounced up and down in your set, biting down on your lip when Jin squeezed your thigh softly and smirked at you.

"So eager I see, you have to change into the lingerie when you're home, Princess. With the matching choker of course," Humming at him you nodded as you thought about everything that was going to happen that night.

After rushing home and showering quickly you changed into the babydoll lingerie that they'd gotten you, it was lace with a v-neckline and a sheer dress half making the black thong that went along with it visible to the boys.

"Doesn't she just look perfect," Namjoon chuckled darkly as he looked at you from the bedroom door, you'd been waiting for them in the main bedroom of the house when they came up to see you. Both of them wearing their boxers as they watched you sitting on the bed waiting for them, squirming a little with anticipation which didn't go unnoticed by the boys.

"Look at her Jin, already squirming for our Hot cum," A shiver ran down your spine from Namjoon's tone, it was rough and dark as he stared at you. Licking his lips as he watched you clench your thighs together,

"Rubbing her thighs together as if that would bring her any satisfaction," Jin chuckled this time making a pool drip into the thong you were wearing. They stepped closer to you and Namjoon ran his fingers on the leather choker admiring his handiwork. They'd had it made custom for you.

"Did you like the presents that we got you, kitten?" You nodded at him, knowing not to speak unless told to use your words directly by him but with Jin it was different. He wanted you to speak whenever you wanted to speak as long as he could hear you. Without a second thought, Namjoon yanked you towards the edge of the bed and spreads your legs open for him and Jin to see you.

"Stupid piece of fabric," Jin scoffed as he ripped the thong away from your body discarding it somewhere in the room so they could see what belonged to them.

"Now tell us, Princess, who does this pretty little pussy belong to?" Jin hummed as he ran his fingers through your wet folds, humming to himself in delight when he felt just how wet you were.

"You," You answered him breathlessly,

"We've barely started and already you're a breathless mess, what a little slut." Namjoon smirked as he ran two fingers over your clit rubbing softly as he kept his eyes locked with yours.

"A clever little slut though, knowing just who she belongs to." Jin corrected as he looked at you, your eyes dancing between them as you let out a small whine. Desperate for them to touch you more than they were, you'd been needy from the moment you'd opened your present at the restaurant but you knew what they were like. They liked to take their time with you when they could but you were desperate for the pleasure you knew that they were both capable of. Namjoon pressed hard against your clit as he began to rub vigorously, you covered your mouth to stop a loud moan from escaping and he growled at you,

"Don't hide your moans from me whore," Degradation, and humiliation was nothing new when it came to your sex life with either of them so you giggled in response to the name he called you. Already high from what you knew you were going to experience for the night.

"Oh? Does my little princess like when Namjoon calls her a whore?" Jin questioned, turning your face to look at him roughly as Namjoon continued to rub your clit roughly. You let out a weak moan as you nodded your head, your eyes never leaving Jin's for a second as he began to rub himself through the boxers he was wearing.

"You could probably cum just from his fingers, couldn't you? Wouldn't even need something stuffed inside that tight cunt of yours," Jin hummed as he opened your mouth pushing two fingers into it and demanding you to suck on them.

"Just like you suck my cock princess," You smirked at him around his fingers and began to suck softly, lapping your tongue in and around his fingers while letting out small moans as Namjoon continued to bring you close to your euphoria. Your breathing began to get out of control as the pleasure began building between your legs, your head rolled back making Jin's fingers all from your lips.

"P-Please," You begged as you panted out, rolling up your hips.

"Please, what?" Namjoon's voice came out stern as he continued to rub your clit for you, watching the way your face contorted as you fought back the urge to cum without his permission.

"Please, may I cum!?" The words stumbled out of your mouth as your back arched up and Namjoon rubbed faster until his fingers were soaked.

"You're going to ride my thigh first. Show us how badly you want our cocks," He ripped his hand away from your core as you switched positon. He sat on the bed as you straddled his thigh, he flexed his muscles making you moan out as you ground down against him.

"Look at Jin while you cum," He ordered, so you did. Locking eyes with Jin who was already rubbing his cock through the thin material of his boxers. Groaning as he watched you riding someone else's thigh, moaning out as your mouth fell open.

"Cum all over my thigh kitten," Namjoon whispered in your ear as you continued to rock your hips on him.

"I said cum you little slut," He growled out and as if on cue you did. You came over his thigh as your legs shook, moaning out his name as you clenched around nothing.

"Such a mess, lick it up," Jin smirked as he noticed our cum glistening over Namjoon's thigh. You slid down onto the floor as you looked at Joon's leg, biting down on your lip as you crawled over to him. Sticking out your tongue as you began to slowly lick your cum from his thigh, whing out as you looked at them both.

"There's a good girl," Jin smirked as he got down onto his knees in front of you, running his thumb along your bottom lip and smirking as you tried to suck on it.

"Someone is getting might desperate," He chuckled, glancing up at Namjoon to see what their next move was going to be. Namjoon nodded at him and he raised up onto his feet once again,

"Are you going to keep being a good little slut?" Jin asked this time as he looked at you, you nodded desperately and he stepped closer to you, pushing a finger into you making you whimper out. Digging your toes into the carpet as he continued to thrust one finger into you,

"Words," He said in a stern voice not moving his eyes from yours as you continued to let out small whines as he curled his finger up to your g-spot.

"Yes! Yes, I'll be your good slut," You cried out as you began to squirm against his tongue.

"Just his? What about me kitten?" Namjoon sounded condescending as he rose from the bed and looked at you, reaching down t rub your clit while Jin thrust his fingers into you. Gasping loudly you braced yourself for another orgasm,

"B-Both. I-I'll be a good slut for both of you," You whimpered out as you continued to buck your hips but Jin's finger was pulled out of you abruptly and he smirked as he saw your legs shake.

"Such an obedient cock whore. Desperate for both of us at the same time." Jin said as he began to kiss down your body, kissing the exposed skin of your breast through the v-neckline of the babydoll dress.

"This dress is in the way, Namjoon, remove it," He exhaled as he dropped to his knees. So close to your core you could feel his breath on your clit as he spoke to Namjoon. The dress was lifted off your body leaving you completely exposed while they were still in some clothing.

"Such hard nipples," Namjoon approved as he took one of your breasts into his mouth and began sucking on it while his other hand rubbed and pulled on the other.

"You're going to stand there and beg for us while we make you feel good princess. Understood?" Jin slapped your ass making you buck your hips towards him, he smirked as he looked at you.

"Y-Yes Jin," You breathed out moaning out as he bit down on your outer labia gently while smirking at you. Jin dove his tongue between the lips of your pussy and you yelped out, bucking against him as he continued to eat you out where you stood.

"Look at you, shaking when Jin has only just started." Namjoon chuckled as he switched from one breast to the other, biting you wherever he could. Your hands gripped Namjoon's biceps as you tried to keep your balance, your knees shaking as Jin continued to moan against your clit.

"Cheating skank," Namjoon slapped you across your left breast and you moaned out loudly.

"W-Wasn't cheating," You whined out as you tried to straighten your legs, looking at Namjoon who was smirking at you.

"Maybe I should stuff that little mouth, would you like that?" Namjoon questioned as he roughly pulled on your other nipple. Your eyes grew wide at the thought of it and you nodded your head desperately.

"You heard the little hussy Jin," Jin chuckled deeply as he did the final lapping of your pussy before pulling away and patting the floor.

"On all fours like a good little bitch," Namjoon pushed you down roughly and smirked as you let out a whine from the carpet grazing your skin.

"Beg," Namjoon smirked as he took his cock out from his boxers and knelt in front of you. Jin was behind you as he began to drag his tongue through your folds again and dragged it down the length of your slit moaning against you.

"S-Stuff my mouth Namjoon, please, I want your cock in my mouth." You moaned out as your body began to shake as Jin continued his actions of lapping your pussy as though it was something he'd been deprived of for months. Namjoon smirked as he ran the tip of his cock along your lips, your tongue poking out as you tried to get a taste of his precum.

"Such a pathetic little slut," He moaned out as you managed to lick his slit moaning out from Jin's actions.

"You're going to cum all over his tongue while you suck on my dick," He told you as he gripped onto the choker around your neck and pushed his large length into your mouth not caring if you couldn't handle it yet. Now you understood why they'd gotten you the choker. You gasped for air around his cock as he continued to fill your mouth.

"Does this make it hard to breathe?" Namjoon quizzed with a condescending tone as he continued to slowly thrust in and out of your mouth as you gagged around him. Struggling to answer him he pulled you off him and watched as a string of saliva connected your lips to his cock,

"Y-Yes," You moaned out still feeling weak from Jin as he continued to eat you out roughly. The building of your orgasm rushing over you as you whimpered at Namjoon.

"I think someone wants to cum, doesn't she?" Namjoon smirked as he slapped you across the cheek waiting for you to answer him. Everything was purely for your pleasure and they knew if they went too far you had safewords or taps to use if they did something you weren't ready for.

"Y-Yes! Please let me cum!" You cried out as Jin wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you back against him.

"Then cum all over his cum and you can make us both feel good with that mouth." Namjoon moaned out as he began to massage your saliva into his cock watching as you let out desperate moans for Jin.

"Jin!" You mewled out as your head rolled back, filling the room with loud screams of his name until your cunt spasmed out of control. Your knees shaking as he continued to eat you out through your second orgasm of the night, humming against you as he licked you clean and then stood beside Namjoon.

Looking up at both of them you took Jin into your mouth first, gagging around him as he moaned out your name and thrust into you.

"You do look awfully pretty when you're stuffed like this princess," Jin moaned out as he looked down at you, pulling out and pushing back into you as you gasped around his cock. Jin was the gentle one out of him and Namjoon which you felt glad for right now, it gave your throat a mini-break from Namjoons rough thrusting from before. Namjoon grunted as you reached up to begin pumping him while you took Jin in your mouth, staring into his eyes to let him know he wasn't left out during this.

"F-Fuck," Jin moaned out as he shook his head, stilling his thrusting as he pulled out of your mouth.

"If I keep going I'll blow," He mumbled not wanting to cum in your mouth and you bit down on your lip.

"Fill me up," You begged him shocking both Namjoon and Jin at the same time. The two of them knew of your breeding kink but they never would have expected you to bring it out while they were both here.

"What did you say, whore?" Namjoon asked as he looked at you, stunned as he watched you lick your lips and stare at them both.

"Want you both to fill me up," You whined as you nervously looked at them. Feeling a little vulnerable that they had this much control over you but you loved it at the same time.

"Good girl, asking so nicely like that." Jin hummed as he walked behind you and slapped your ass cheek before grabbing onto your skin and moaning out. Jin teased your opening with the head of his cock while you tried to wiggle backwards earning another slap across the ass from him.

"She's so desperate Jin. Pathetic little slut," Namjoon spat out as he made you look up at him, tapping the head of his cock along your bottom lip as he waited for you to part your lips for him.

"You're going to suck his cock while I fuck my load into you darling," Jin praised as he pushed his hips forward sinking into you making you moan out loudly. Namjoon took advantage and pushed his cock into your mouth, grunting as you moaned around his length sending vibrations through him.

"Fuck, you're not even moving and she's crying out around me," Namjoon laughed but Jin began to thrust into you roughly, putting his hands on your hips as he began to powerfully slam in and out of you. His cock sending your head into a mind-fog at how incredible it felt to feel him stretching you out. Namjoon gripped onto the chocker again and began pulling you around his cock, watching as you began drooling down yourself as you moaned out. Eyes filling up with tears as you did your best to please him to the extent that he loved so much.

"Don't cry slut," He moaned out as he continued to push into you, pulling out for a couple of seconds to let you catch your breath. You moaned out breathlessly at the overwhelming sensations you were getting and Namjoon pushed back into your mouth, groaning loudly when you began sputtering and coughing trying to catch your breath.

Jin slammed into you as he slapped you across the ass, smirking as he watched what Namjoon was doing to you. The sight of it alone bringing him closer to his edge.

"How does this feel, slut...Have two cocks in you at the same time. Filling up two of your holes." Jin chuckled deeply as he continued to fuck into you. Vigorously thrusting as he thought back his urge to cum in you right away. You were clenching around him so tightly it felt as though you had a vice around his cock, he could feel every inch of you.

"So good!" You screamed out as you pulled Namjoon's cock out of your mouth to let out a high pitched whimper.

"So good!" Namjoon mocked as he thrust back into your mouth while Jin laughed at your desperation. Slamming into you as he pushed his cock deeper inside of you, each of his thrusts getting stronger than the last one.

"J-Joon, I can't," Jin panted as he continued to slap into you, Namjoon nodded his head at Jin knowing that meant he was close to his release,

"The little whore is going to get so filled with cum, she won't know what hit her." Namjoon chuckled as he pulled his cock out of your mouth and pumped himself. Wanting you to enjoy the feeling of Jin cumming into you while you cam around him.

"You wanna cum for me princess?" Jin hummed as he reached under you to rub your clit roughly. Moaning out his name all you could do was nod as your eyes began to roll back. The pleasure building up inside of you as Namjoon watched the both of you fucking.

"Squeeze nice and hard around my cock with that slutty pussy princess. Cum for me right now." He grunted as he continued to pound into you from behind, grunting loudly as his balls hit your skin. You cried out his name as you dug your nails into the carpet, roll your head back as your chest fell down against the carpeted floor. The feeling of Jin's cum spilling out of you made you whimper but not as much as when he pulled out of you.

"Now, now slut. You won't be empty for long." Namjoon knelt down behind you and sat you back against him on his length. A loud scream leaving your throat at the sudden stretch of his cock throbbing inside of you.

"N-Namjoon!" You mewled out as you began to slowly rise and fall on him. His breathing began to get heavier as he guided your hips up and down on him. You knew he wasn't going to last long from the way he'd been fucking your throat.

"Cum whenever you want baby," He breathed out as he continued to pull you onto him. You clenched around him squeezing him the way he like and whimpered as another orgasm ripped through you so soon after the previous one. You screamed out his name as you orgasm ran over you and you squirted around his cock. Crying out when you felt him cum into you and he held onto you tightly so you couldn't move.

"We're right here baby," Jin whispered as he laid you down on the bed. Your breathing was erratic as you tried to come down from your highs, Namjoon snuggled behind you and pulled the sheets over your body.

"Nice and slow, kitten. Take a deep breath." He whispered in your ear, taking your hands in his as you squeezed his fingers. Looking at Jin as you tried to bring yourself down, breathing in slowly and deeply as they told you too.

"You were such a good girl today," Jin complimented as he cupped your face in his hands and made you look at him

"Our good girl," Namjoon whispered, kissing your skin softly as he began to hum to you, both of them waiting for you to cool down before they took you for a nice long bubble bath where they could give you the proper aftercare you deserved.

Tagline: @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @rjsmochii @fan-ati--c @taestannie @kneel-begyourpardon @bisexualmess007 @sw33tnight @sweeneyblue1 @jin-from-the-block

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lockefanfic · 3 years

Text

The Girl with the Purple Hair

A/N: No smut here, guys, sorry to disappoint you - just some fluff. I wrote this fic literally four (!) years ago - one of my first k-pop fics and my first non-smut fic. I never reposted it here for some reason, but an ask I received recently got me to re-read it and I remembered how proud I was of it when I wrote it, so here it is. Please don’t judge me :P

---

Purple.

It’s the first word that comes to mind when you see her. And how could it not be, given the color of her hair? It’s not like purple hair is a common thing - not like there are other people in the noisy, crowded bar that have purple hair. In fact, this is probably the first time you’ve seen someone in person with purple hair. Normal people had normal colored hair, like black or brown or blonde. Her hair isn’t some lazy dye job, either, with shades and highlights and a gradient to the violet strands.

You don’t want to be caught staring, and so you steal glances at her every now and then, and every time you look her way, the first thing you notice is the wavy strands of purple as they play about her shoulders, falling lazily down like a waterfall on an alien world, where the water happens to be purple.

Beautiful.

It’s the next word that comes to mind, because were anyone to look just a little past the eye-dazzling color of her hair, they’d find a beautiful face, made with delicate, small features. She is traditionally beautiful in the sense that any man or woman would agree with you if you said “here is an attractive human being.” There is a timelessness, a universality to her beauty. She could have been born a hundred years ago and still be considered pleasing to the eye - purple hair aside, she could be a painting of a woman from a time gone by, dressed up in the fashion of a model from the magazines of today.

There is a playfulness about her features at the moment, as she indulges in conversation with the three other girls at her table. Her three friends are nothing to sneeze at, but she makes them all pale in comparison - part of it is the ridiculous, daring color of her hair, but there is something more than that. She possesses a magnetism, an allure that makes her stand out amongst three girls that, were they anywhere else, would easily be the most attractive girls in the room.

You’re not alone either, sitting as you are with a few of your friends at your own table on the other side of the small bar. It is Friday evening, and as is custom with your co-workers, you all headed to the bar to celebrate another week gone by. But they are currently immersed in a conversation about some work-related topic, some absent co-worker or client (you weren’t really sure anymore) that was frustrating them. Uninterested in the topic, you found your attention drifting, naturally, to the girl with the purple hair.

You notice that she has a certain aloofness about her, a certain detached nature from the conversation her three friends are having, and for a moment you wonder if perhaps she is in the same boat as you - stuck at a bar with friends who are babbling about co-workers or video games or guys or shopping or cars or clothes or those girls in the random k-pop video playing on one of the big screen TVs, when clearly you’d rather be anywhere but there.

The other three girls seem like average girls, typical of the type you’d see at a downtown bar on a Friday night, out to have a good time with friends whilst under the influence of perhaps one too many alcoholic beverages. They are the type that would head to a club after they are sufficiently liquored up at this bar, spend the night dancing, post a group picture on Instagram when the night is at its peak, and then make a post on Facebook about how awesome it was the day after.

But the girl with the purple hair seems different from the other three.

She lets her gaze wander, and for a split second you are afraid again that perhaps she would catch you staring, but thankfully her eyes drift in a direction opposite from you. She lets a small, almost imperceptible sigh escape her lips, and you wonder if perhaps she would rather be somewhere else, perhaps at home on the couch binge watching some random show on Netflix, or playing Overwatch, or indulging in some random artistic pursuit that you didn’t even know existed.

She seems like the type that would play Overwatch. She seems like the type that paints, or makes her own earrings that she sells on Etsy, or likes to watch movies in foreign languages. Maybe she watches them with the subtitles off sometimes, just to see if she can understand what they’re talking about simply from the universality of gestures made by foreign hands and the tones of foreign voices coming from foreign mouths.

The sudden realization that you are framing this random girl in your mind rattles you a bit, and you smile to yourself as you shake your head, as if to rid those stupid, childish thoughts. You didn’t know this girl, not even in the slightest, and it was wrong of you to impose a character, a personality, on someone you knew nothing about.

You play idly with the small glass of whiskey in your hand, watching as the amber brown liquid swirls about. You take a sip and appreciate the warm taste of it in your mouth and down your throat, appreciating the soft burn, the soft warmth it leaves behind.

You take a moment to try to tune back into the conversation your friends are having, but they are knee-deep in a conversation about a Super Nintendo game. You loved vintage games - there was something about the original plastic in your hands, and the classic, blocky pixels on your screen, that made it feel more authentic in the way an emulator on a modern console could never be.

You are about to join in on the conversation, about to tell your friends about some random game you picked up online, when a movement on the other side of the bar catches your attention - the girl in the purple hair is raising a glass. One of her friends is speaking earnestly, it appears, and after finishing her little speech the brunette girl next to her gives her a hug - perhaps it was a toast? Perhaps it is the brunette’s birthday? It probably was. Either way, the girls clink their glasses together, and down their shots in one gulp.

The girl in the purple hair scrunches her face as she forces the strong liquor down her throat. Immediately you think that perhaps it the cutest thing you’d ever witnessed, and you find that a small smile has appeared, unconsciously, on your lips.

The four girls share that wonderful post-shot reaction with each other, complaining about how awesome that small bit of alcohol they just had was. Together three of them tease the orange-haired, thin girl who is struggling with the alcohol and having a coughing fit. They laugh and one of them grabs her phone to take a picture of the poor girl, who, to her credit, is laughing along with them, probably out of embarrassment.

The girl with the purple hair joins in on the fun, saying something that must have been hilarious, for all three of her companions burst out in laughter - including the thin girl struggling with the shot. The girl smiles, and her eyes narrow to thin half-arcs. In that moment she is the picture of happiness and joy.

She says something else to her group - you assume it is her declaring that the next round is on her. She stands, and the girls make way for her to leave their table.

For the first time you get a glimpse of her from head to toe. She is wearing a short, black dress, and what appears to be a grey patterned collared shirt beneath it. The dress is plain and relatively short but not overly so, showing off her long, slender legs without being improper or overly suggestive. It’s an interesting outfit; classy enough to be worn to work, whilst casual enough for a night out with the girls.

Here again she differs from her compatriots, who appear to be dressed in typical club girl outfits, with short tops and skirts, heels and small, glamorous purses and accessories. If ever there was a club girl starter kit, they were perfect models.

But the girl with the purple hair, as you’ve come to see, is a little different from her friends.

You watch as she approaches the bar. There is an elegance in the way she walks, which is admirable considering the alcohol you presume she’s consumed thus far this evening.

Later on, you’ll wonder where your sudden burst of confidence came from. But at that moment, when the girl with the purple hair reaches the bar and tries, unsuccessfully, to flag down the overly busy bartender, you see an opportunity.

Hastily, you mumble something to your friends about grabbing the next round, and step away from the table. Out of the corner of your ear, you hear one of your friends wonder where you’re going, and another say that you still have an almost full pitcher at your table - but they are irrelevant now. Nothing else exists aside from the thirty feet between you and the spot at the bar next to the girl with the purple hair.

Where did this come from, this sudden burst of confidence, this sudden need to get up and go over to this girl to talk to her? Was it the liquor, the liquid confidence coursing through your veins? No. It was the desire, nay, the need to speak to this girl, the need to see if she really was everything you’d built up in your mind. You needed to speak to her, to ask her her name, maybe find out a little about her. Even if she shot you down before you could get a sentence out, well, at least you had tried. You couldn’t bear the thought of wondering what might have been had you not done something.

Ten feet away. You take a deep breath, and ready what you are about to say in your mind. Some comment about her hair? A stupid, corny joke, just to break the ice?

Five feet away. Maybe some witty comment about bad bartenders?

Two feet - and suddenly your thoughts disappear, and your mind goes blank as the girl with the purple hair turns her head and makes eye contact with you. Later you would realize that moment seemed to go on forever. You were hardly the mushy, sentimental type, but you finally understood why the movies slow that moment down, why the soft music plays in the background during those scenes. You wonder if this is what it feels like when someone who will be important in your life looks at you for the first time.

You are relieved, beyond words, to see a smile appear on her lips.

You smile back, although you wonder if perhaps the nervousness coursing throughout every fibre of your being is having an effect on your smile, and if you are actually grimacing oddly at her instead of smiling. But your mouth and lips miraculously follow the orders sent to them by your dazzled mind, because her smile widens a little bit in the way that smiles do when they are returned.

It is just a second, maybe two, of the many billions of seconds in your life, but it felt like an eternity.

You reach the bar, your legs - your wonderful, reliable, stable legs - by some miracle not failing you and delivering you safely to the bar without collapsing due to sheer nervousness. You remember who you are, what you came here to do, and you try to act as casual as your nerves could allow you to. You make a show of trying to flag down the bartender, but he is busy on the other end of the bar catering to some especially loud patrons.

Your mind is racing, trying and failing to remember what it was you were going to say to the girl with the purple hair, your nerves suddenly afire at the mere proximity of the young woman you’d been stealing glances at all night. You were far from inexperienced with the opposite sex, far from being some timid fool when it came to approaching them. But this one was different. This one was special.

Maybe you should just say hi. Start simple, y’know? But dammit, that never works. You needed something witty, something memorable, something that would make her laugh and giggle and think ‘clearly this man’s shirt is made of boyfriend material and I should throw myself into his arms posthaste.’ You don’t get that with hi!. No one gets that with hi. Girls want someone cocky and confident and sure of himself. No one ever just says hi! You know who approaches girls and says hi? Single guys, that’s who! Don’t just say hi!

Dammit! What were you going to say? Your mind races, tries to think back to other times you’d approached girls, tries to remember what you said to them when you were successful. Gah! Your mind fails you, returns only a simple blank slate, as though your mind had put on its hat and jacket, hung up a sign that said “you’re on your own, kid,” and then started to walk home.

You tap your fingers nervously on the bar surface, trying, and perhaps failing, to appear as casual as possible as you stare, blankly, in the general direction of the too-busy bartender as he struggles to pour the correct kinds of alcohol in the correct kinds of glasses in the correct proportions.

Clearly you needed to make some witty comment to break the ice. A small joke, perhaps? A corny one, or a genuinely funny one? What was a good joke… dammit! Damn you, mind, and your vacation time! Perhaps mention something… about… sports! Yes, it was a bar, and there were sports playing on the TVs. Maybe she was a hockey fan? Or soccer? What if she liked one, but not the other? Which sport had the highest proportion of purple haired fans? What if she thought sports were stupid, a male-dominated dick measuring contest that wasn’t worth her time or attention, and she thought less of you for liking them? Dammit!

Maybe you should comment on her hair? Maybe something along the lines of… perhaps… using her hair to get the bartender’s attention? Then segue into how it got your attention. That’s it. Hahahaha, you laugh nervously in your mind’s eye. Then she would say how she was hoping you’d come over to talk to her, and you’d say she was awesome and you’d go on a date the next day and get married a month after that and later you’d have kids and live happily ever-

There is a soft tap on your forearm. You turn, nervously, to the girl with the purple hair, and the sight of her face, her eyes locked on yours, that bright smile once again on her lips, causes your heart to skip a beat like it was a crack on the sidewalk.

The next day, when you’d recovered from the whirlwind of the night’s events, you’d realize that her first words to you, the first sounds you’d hear from her voice, would sound like music. And it was crazy, considering it was just a single syllable, a single word, but someone could have told you that the entirety of Beethoven’s works were held within that syllable, and you’d have believed it.

The girl with the purple hair’s mouth opens, her lips part, a she leans towards you with a soft smile and says:

“...Hi.”

#kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #male reader #blackpink jisoo #Kim Jisoo #fluff

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mosswillow · 3 years

Text

New Year. - Mob boss!Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: 18+ adult content, Dark!!!, Noncon/dubcon, manipulation, smut.

Summary: A New Years themed dark Cinderella story.

A/N: this is another quickly written one shot that I threw together today to post. I may revisit this in the future and expand the story a bit but wanted it out today for obvious reasons.

Word count: 1.7k

“You have until midnight and not one second longer.”

You dart across the street recklessly, not caring if you’re hit by a car. Time is running out. You enter a dimly lit pawn shop and sprint to the counter, slamming down a ring. A shady looking man picks the ring up and examines it, grabbing a magnifying glass and holding it up to the light. He reminds you of a lizard, long and lean. He wears a green suit and his eyes are almost completely red, probably from drug use you decide.

“Where did you get this?” He asks.

“It doesn’t matter.”

The man thrums his fingers on the counter and makes a clicking noise with his tongue. “I’ll give you three hundred.”

“I need four.”

“Three fifty.”

You pick the ring up and turn your back, walking confidently away.

“Fine.” He calls out.

You stop and turn on your heel, holding the ring out for him.

“Make it quick, I have somewhere to be.”

One year ago - New years eve

You attend the annual new year's masquerade every year. The exclusive ball is filled to the brim with wealthy, well connected individuals, most of whom are alleged criminals. You always feel nervous going but go nonetheless. Your father took you several years ago shortly before he died and now you go in his memory, hoping to maybe feel just for the evening like he’s still with you. You put on your dress, a thrifted gown that you were lucky to find, and look at yourself in the mirror.

You look beautiful. It’s rare these days that you feel good about yourself but today nobody can bring your mood down. Today you’re Cinderella, dancing the night away before returning to your ordinary life after midnight comes.

You walk downstairs to find a note left for you. Your step mother and sisters have left without you which is to be expected. You’re thankful for the place to stay and never ask for anything more. They’re not your family and only tolerate you because of your father. Once you find a way out of New York you’ll leave and never look back. You make your way to the street, calling a cab. It’s a little splurge but you don’t want to risk ruining your dress on the subway and tonight is about living luxuriously.

The cab takes you to a decadent hotel and you walk in, marveling at the sheer size of it. Despite growing up in this world, it still feels overwhelming. Someone hands you a glass of champagne and you take a sip, savoring the taste. You make your way across the room, taking it all in when you bump into him, or more accurately he bumps into you.

“I’m so sorry miss, I didn’t see you there.”

Your eyes meet and there’s a spark, a feeling of intense attraction that you can’t ignore, and you know he feels it too. The noise and movement throughout the room fades and it’s just you and him.

“I’m Bucky,” He says, holding out his hand.

The world comes crashing down as you realize who he is, Bucky Barnes, the most notorious man in the US. He’s young, probably only a few years older than yourself but he holds himself like someone who’s lived a long and difficult life.

“It’s not a problem sir, I’m unharmed.” You smile politely.

He puts his hand up to your face, gently brushing his thumb over your cheek before tearing off your mask.

“What’s your name?” He says, taking a step towards you.

“Beth.” you say the first name that pops into your head.

“Beth…”

“Smith, Beth Smith.”

Bucky smiles “Nice to meet you… Beth Smith.”

You nod and grab your mask away before escaping his company. You keep your distance the whole night despite Bucky’s multiple attempts to corner you and by midnight you’re ready to leave. You hear the countdown as you run from the building, looking over your shoulder nervously before getting in your cab.

Present.

You check your watch as you leave the pawn shop. You have twenty minutes, twenty minutes to make it to bucky’s penthouse or it’s all over. You barely got all the money you needed. You even asked your step mother to help. She refused, unsurprisingly. You were forced to sell everything you own, even the ring your mother once wore, your last keepsake of her.

Six months ago.

You write the order on a cup and hand it to your coworker before turning back to help the next customer. You’ve worked at the coffee shop for years now. You have a college degree but jobs are scarce in your field and you need the money. You’ve sent applications out across the entire country and hope to one day get hired somewhere and move off.

“What can I get for you?” you say before realizing who’s standing in front of you.

“I don’t like being lied to.” Bucky taps your nametag.

“I…”

“I’ve been watching for a few months, making sure you’re the one.”

He grabs the menu off the counter, looking through the different options.

“I want you,” He says nonchalauntly.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Marry me.”

“I don’t know you.”

“If you come with me you’ll live a life of luxury. You won’t have to work places like this.” He sets the menu back down and smoothes his hand over it.

“And what does this marriage entail?” You ask.

“Complete obedience and devotion. You’ll do everything I say, have my children and keep my bed warm. In return you’ll have more money than you know what to do with, more luxury than you could fathom in your pretty little head and my loyalty. You will be my love and my obsession. I will never leave you and never let you go.”

You look at him like he’s crazy, which he most definitely is.

“Thank you for the offer but I’m going to pass.”

Bucky slams his fist on the counter suddenly, making you jump.

“I always get what I want.”

You take a small step back.

“Not this time.”

Bucky stares at you for several moments before taking a deep breath and ordering a drink. You serve it to him and watch him walk out of the coffee shop.

Present.

You jump on the subway and make your way towards Bucy’s penthouse, running like a madwoman trying to make it on time. You look at your watch again and have one minute. Time is running out. You run full speed towards his building, ignoring the ache in your lungs and cramp in your leg.

Three months ago.

“Bucky, stop buying me stuff, I said no already and nothing’s going to change my mind.”

You throw a box of chocolate in Bucky’s face and he scowls at you. He reaches forward, grabbing the back of your head and pulling you forward, whispering into your ear.

“I tried to show you what you could have, how much I could give you. I guess I have to try something different.”

He lets go of you.

“I won’t bring any more gifts.”

“Thank you.” you say quietly.

Present.

The seconds tick away and you finally reach his door. You bang your hand over and over while checking the time again on your watch.

12:02am

One week ago

“Bucky, I know you’re the one who set this up. I didn’t do it, I’m being framed.”

You yell at him, not caring who hears. The police showing up to your apartment with guns and pulling you into the station for hours and hours has left you without any fucks to give. You were about to leave town. You have a ticket ready to leave and start your life over somewhere new. Now you have to turn down a dream job and stay in town due to an ongoing murder investigation of someone you’ve met only once in passing.

“I can cover it up for you… for a price of course.”

You start to turn around and he grabs your arm, pulling you back.

“Here’s the deal. You bring me twenty thousand dollars before midnight new years eve. If you can bring me the money I’ll cover it up and leave you alone forever.”

You look down.

“And if I don’t get the money I go to prison?”

“No baby, you go to prison if you leave this room right now. If you bring me the money you’re free forever but if you don’t I own you. That’s the deal, take it or leave it.”

Your body slackens as you realize you don’t have any choice. Your only chance is to get twenty thousand by next week.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch, I’m a fair man. I could just kidnap you but I want you to come willingly.”

You sigh.

“I’ll bring the money as long as you promise not to interfere.”

“It’s a deal,” Bucky smiles.

He lets you go and walks over to a small couch, taking a seat.

“You have until midnight and not one second longer,” he says as you close the door to his office.

Present.

You fall to the floor and start crying. Bucky crouches in front of you and puts his finger under your chin, pulling it up so that you’re looking him in the eyes.

“You were so close.”

“Please Buck, it was two minutes.”

Bucky grabs your arm and pulls it up, dragging you into his home.

“A deal is a deal baby, I wouldn’t be where I am now without honoring deals.”

He takes a box from the coffee table and opens it up, showing you a huge diamond ring.

He fixes the ring on your hand, a perfect fit. You stare at the stone, a reminder that it’s all about Bucky. You don’t even like diamonds and you’re sure he knows that. He knows everything about you. From this point on you’re his. He takes your hand and kisses it before grabbing the back of your head and bringing you forward for a kiss. He slides his other hand down between your legs, pulling your skirt up and grabbing your pussy.

“I’ve waited so long for this.”

He pushes you down onto the couch and you take a deep breath before opening your legs, giving him access. He fucks you relentlessly, pushing you toward your own orgasm. Fireworks go off outside the window and you hear the celebrations as people welcome the new year.

“That’s my girl,” Bucky whispers as he pulls you into his embrace.

You listen to the fireworks until they fade and you drift off into a dreamless sleep.

#dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #dark!mcu #dark!bucky x you

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seokustic · 3 years

Text

➝ three months into working for min&kim, coming across the forged company audit is the last thing you’d want in your plate. and min yoongi isn’t convinced that you’d keep your mouth shut.

➝ yandere!ceo!yoongi x secretary!reader

➝ 2 242 words

➝ warnings: dub-con, blackmail, coercion, unprotected sex, stockholm syndrome

➝ author’s note: read the warnings. don’t proceed if those elements make you uncomfortable.

―

“please, i won’t tell anyone,” you can taste the fear on your tongue as you gaze into yoongi’s unbending eyes.

“i understand i’m not in any position to make demands but please let me go home and i’ll forget this ever happened,” words of desperation and submission leaves your lips faster than the ‘sorry’s you owe every possible colleague that works under you.

“self-aware. i like that,” he husks, tossing the sleek black blazer of his onto the couch as he begins to undo the buttons of the cuffs around his wrists, “no wonder namjoon’s eager to keep you to himself.”

at the mention of that name, a bleached blonde haired man with the kindest dimpled smile flashes at the back of your mind. you remember shooting up from your seat and bowing as he passed by you whilst words of “have a good evening, mr. kim,” leaves your pretty wine red coated lips.

‘will i be able to meet him again?’

the thought chills you to your bones.

‘why wouldn’t i meet namjoon again?’ you internally laugh. if it was an audible one, it would have sounded pathetic yet hopeful.

to think you’re worrying about the future when your present is shriveled with uncertainty.

you watch as the man he calls his brother and partner amble towards you with leisure but dominating steps. like a hunter sizing up his prey.

if yoongi was black leopard, you’d be a white little bunny who’s trapped between the recliner and the glass desk, unable to move even though you’d spot him in your line of sight.

“i-is it money you want?” the words slip past your lips before you can even register them.

when you’re mentally hitting yourself for asking the co-owner of the firm you’re working at if he wants what little savings you have in your account, yoongi is already chuckling. it sounds melodic for someone who looks like he’s about to eat you alive.

“you and i both know i’ve got more money on my wrist than you do in your account.” he stops in front of you, feet wedged between your heeled ones.

as if on cue, the rolex on his wrist glints. as if mocking you as he pulls open the top most drawer, pulling out a miniature tripod with a phone readily attached to it. all you can do is continue to watch as he unlocks the screen.

the sound of you sucking in a sharp breath is the only thing that fills the silence when you see yourself reflected in the square frame. the time played over your wide-eyed gaze begins at 00:00:01.

“oh, that? don’t mind that. i like to look back at the time we’re about to spend together and... reminisce.” he wears a smirk on his face and pushes the hem of your dress up with his hand.

yet the billion dollar smirk you’d be dying to see and would fawn over with krystal from afar now makes your stomach knot with disgust. your heart’s palpitating but the sweat trickling down the side of your face is cold.

“please,” your head shakes, as if that little gesture could touch his heart and make him stop what he’s doing.

the metallic sound of his belt clicking as he undoes it drums it your ears, “get on the desk, sweetheart.”

when silence and your disbelieving stare is all he gets as a response, yoongi’s voice rises higher than the usual smooth, husked tone you’re used as he passed you and bade you good morning these past three months since you started working and min&kim.

“fucking do it!”

you scamper to hoist yourself over the flat surface of the table. both your ass and palms feel ice cold against the glass material.

“spread your legs.”

the tip of your heels teeter on the edge of the desk as you force your legs apart, gaze thrown to the pen holder on the opposite side of where the camera phone is set to capture every angle of your disgraceful position.

a whimper escapes your mouth when you feel something touch you through your panties.

“i must say, i didn’t peg you for a lace girl, ___.” gone is the rage in his voice once you did what he asked and in its place, a deep, appreciative purr. as if it’s supposed to be a compliment.

“won’t you even look at me?” he sounds almost devastated, as if your silence and refusal physically hurts him.

“look at me!” he roars a second later, giving you no time to ponder nor prepare yourself for it.

you meet his gaze with furrowed brows and bitten lip, trying hard not to show how much they’re trembling.

“pretty,” he holds you by your jaw, turning your face to the left and then right, as if conducting some kind of observation, “if only i didn’t take rose as my secretary... we would’ve had so much fun, you and i.”

“i can ask to be transferred here! i’ll keep your secret. just please... don’t do this.” gaze boring into his with sheer disgust while you beg with desperation while the cold nips on your exposed legs.

at your words, his hand seems to stop just millimeters from your clit. as if he’s truly considering the offer. the heart that blooms with hope gets crushed in that same instant as a smile stretches across his face.

“you really think you’re in a position to be negotiating?”

nimble fingers pulls your panties to the side before you feel his digit teases you, “sweetheart, you’re dripping wet.”

as if only realizing the juices leaking down your ass and the full view he has, your legs start to close, only to be tightly gripped by his free hand. you wince. that’s going to leave a bruise.

but before you can think of what excuses you’d use to wear skirts longer than your usual mid-thigh ones, the sound of the zipper grazing as it gets pulled down - brushes your eardrums.

“no, please! i promise i’ll do anything! everything you want! just please! don’t!” s series of pleas pour out of your lips like a broken tap. you don’t realize you’re crying until yoongi’s tall, lean figure becomes blurred from the tears.

“shhh,” he coos, sweet as honey but pushes himself in to the hilt.

the sigh the leaves yoongi’s lips makes your stomach twist.

‘how can he enjoy this?’

your palms clasp over your face and eyes as tears wet your skin. your back is cold as you lose all energy to hold yourself up. your body shifts upwards with every thrust.

but it’s the way he slides right into you that burns you with self-loathe. the way the discomfort you felt in the beginning gradually morphs into flames of wonton as you taste blood in your mouth, biting on your lower lip as hard as you can to not make a sound.

because you’re not sure if it’s a plea for him to stop or a plea for him to fuck you harder that will come out.

and you silently sniffle as yoongi turns you on your side, bent over to hold your body that’s wrecked with sobs and pleasure. the groans that brush your ear sickens you to your stomach but makes you clench around him harder as you near your climax.

“don’t be shy, moan for me, sweetheart,” he says grunts, tugging on your wrist as if trying to get you to stop covering your face.

as if he wants to see you break. see the tears cascading down your cheeks. see the shamelessly pleasured face you’re making as your heart beat to the staccato of his thrusts.

“stop...” you whimper, “stop, please, don’t- stop- ah! oh!”

“what’s that? don’t stop?” he laughs, “i’m not wearing a condom though. you sure you want me to but a baby inside you?”

“fuck, just like that. yeah- yoongi-ah right there- oh!”

you should’ve kept your mouth shut. because once the moans pour out of your lips like an open floodgate, there’s no stopping the salacious sounds from filling the room.

you don’t even realize yoongi pushed you to lay on your back again. don’t even realize how your legs clench around his waist whilst your ankles lock together on his lower back as he fucks you raw like he’s never fucked a woman in a long time.

you don’t even realize your lipstick smudging that area on his shoulder as you bite into his flesh, unable to take the surge of ecstasy coursing through your veins before a scream scratches your throat, your back arching as you see stars behind your eyes.

the warmth of his cum spreads through your lower belly as you lay limply on the desk, muscles still twitching from the sparks of electricity of your after orgasm. your legs dangle off the edge of the desk, still parted and in full view of the cum that pours out of you and onto the carpeted floor.

it takes you what feels like hours to push yourself up. gather your broken pieces, put your panties back on and pat down your skirt, feeling the warm, sticky cum drip down your legs and soils your skirt.

the heat of yoongi’s gaze digs into your pores. even when you’re all dressed up like the way you first walked in and saw the open email of the files of the unaudited expenditure of the firm’s income and the forged one. underneath the email, signed victoria song, the head accountant.

“come on, i’ll drop you home.” he says, the blazer he tossed now draped over his arm.

it’s as if he didn’t just smirk as he rewatched the first few seconds of the video. the sound of your desperate pleading commanding the silence while you laid like a lifeless corpse on the desk, trying to make sense of what just happened.

he’s acting as if nothing happened.

“i’ll take catch a cab,” you send your thanks to the gods for venom in your voice and the glare in your gaze.

“i said,” his husks, ever so gently with a threat that he will have no problems executing, “i’ll take you home.”

the whole ride is silent save for the sound of your sniffles yoongi pretends not to hear.

how gentleman-ly of him.

when the car rolls to a stop in front of your apartment building, you meet his gaze with round, terrified eyes. heart palpitating uncontrollably as he smiles like he’s dropping off his girlfriend after a date.

“how do you know where i live?”

you were too busy wiping away stray tears and gazing out the window to worry about giving him directions.

supposed he doesn’t need it after all.

yoongi doesn’t answer. he dodges it as smoothly as he dives in for a kiss. you recoil, pushing yourself up against the door and as far away from him before realization hits you like a pang of ice cold water in winter.

the glint in yoongi’s eyes is telling enough that he isn’t pleased with the trick you just pulled.

even if it was no trick at all. even if you truly only want to leave.

but there’s a video of you in a phone stored inside his desk 20 minutes from here. and you’d be a fool to think he didn’t airdrop it to his personal phone when he was rewatching the video after that.

who knows how long it’ll take for it to hit the internet if you so much as piss him off more than you do now.

the answer is a no brainer.

in a matter of seconds, min yoongi could ruin your life and rebrand you as a licentious woman who sleeps her way to the top.

those pleas for him to stop?

easily overridden by the way you clung onto him like you don’t want to let go.

“sorry, i was just... surprised,” you blink back the tears, lips curling into one of your professional smiles, heart thumping at the way his expression lightens into a pleased one at your own change of expression.

with a trembling hand, you touch his cheek. it feels soft under your fingertip. you wonder how it’ll look if you’d graze it with your fingernails.

your lips brush his and your stomach knots in discomfort. he deepens the kiss, pulling you by your hair, tongue slipping past your lips, tasting the fear that lingers like an unspoken truth on your tongue.

but it’s the way your arms involuntarily wrap around yoongi’s shoulders, kissing him back without even a word of command - that’s what makes you want to hurl your insides out.

it’s the moan that slips past your lips that makes you push him away. eyes wide. you look at him like a deer caught in headlights.

“i-i’ll see you tomorrow.” it’s almost as if waiting for his reaction has become an instinct to you too fast and too soon.

“yeah, see you tomorrow,” when yoongi reaches out his hand and wipes away the corner of your mouth that might’ve been lipstick that got smudged from the kiss, you grope for the door handle.

and you slip out of the car and walk to the entrance of your apartment building, not looking up even when you hear the amicable “good evening, miss ___, working late, are we?” from the security.

you keep walking until you’re inside the elevator.

and only then do you let out a breath you didn’t know you’ve been holding. then the sob wrecks through your cold body.

funny how being trapped inside a metal box gives you more security than any human could provide.

#bts smut #yoongi smut #yandere yoongi #yandere bts #bts yandere #yandere smut #bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi fic #yoongi scenarios #bts scenarios #bts x you #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #bts x reader

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serenasoutherlyns · 3 years

Text

Not a Summer Crush Part Two

a/n: enjoy part two I hope! any feedback will make me fall in love with you 12 times. this one features much hijinks!!

Part Two

Immediately after you hopped on your bike, you began to regret your most recent conversation, your tendency towards flights of spontaneity. It hit you that you had not only turned down drinks with Cabot and Novak's important friends, you had invited them to watch you get your boogie on with all of your airhead dance friends at a somewhat raggedy club in Brooklyn.

What. Had. You. Done.

With any luck, Alex would not mention anything to Casey and the two of them would go to whatever wine bar the other senior ADAs and fancy defense attorneys hung out at with Gillian Hardwicke and whoever else, tell them how weird you were being, and never look you in the eyes again. You tumbled into your apartment, raining papers, carabiners, chapsticks, and hair ties as you hung up your bag and helmet. You made especially sure to hang up the key to your bike lock because four times in the last month had seen you frantically biking back to your apartment for it and countless more had featured you searching through the jungle of tiny bowls full of coins and wires and keychains before you left. When you made it into your living room, two little hands wrapped around your leg, tripping you. Your fall was cushioned by your fluffy area rug, but you were startled enough to yell "fuck."

Leaving no time to spare, you heard a high-pitched voice behind you yell, "Auntie, that's a bad word!" You got up and scooped the little home invader into your arms.

"Léa," you said, "how did you get into my apartment?" The six-year-old giggled as you tickled her.

"I left Mr. Cuddles on your couch. Papa gave me the key."

"Well, did you find Mr. Cuddles?" You asked, and Léa held the teddy bear out for you.

"Yeah, I did, but then I heard you and I got so happy because Auntie is home!" You melted at that, grateful to have the girls in your life, without having children of your own.

"OK, sweet girl. Thank you for the welcome. Why don't we go surprise Papa?" You picked up the laughing kid and slung her over your shoulder, walking down the stairs to your best friend's apartment.

"Ash," you said as you opened the door. "I think I found an alien in my apartment. I don't know what it is but it's very silly." Léa protested, saying she was a girl and not an alien. You plopped the pile of giggles on the couch and greeted Ashley with a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Are we still going out tonight? The babysitter's still coming?" Ashley was juggling the two-year-old and a pot of spaghetti at once, trying to get the girls fed so he could have a rare fun night out with you and the others.

"Yep, Emma is on her way right now. And we," he said as he took your hand, "are going to dance all night long." He turned you around in the kitchen, causing Yasmin to coo in his arms. "And you, my Meena-Beena, are going to be the best little dance prodigy in the world, aren't you?"

You took her from his arms and spun her around again, saying, "If I have anything to do with it, though, you're still going to college."

"Natch," Ashley agreed with you. The doorbell rang and Ophélie, the 12-year-old, raced to let the high school girl Ashley had hired to watch them in. Ashley explained where everything was to be found, then the two of you practically flew out of the door. You changed into more appropriate clothing at your place, then caught the subway. As you traveled, you broke the news to your best friend.

"Hey. So. I may have invited a couple newbies," you told him.

"Shouldn't be an issue, it's open night and there are going to be like, 20 teachers there."

"Right. Um. Yes. But."

"What, do you have a crush or something?" You hit him.

"No. But they are my supervisors."

"Both of them?" you nodded. "Well, it's a good way for them to get to know you I guess?" You laughed nervously.

"Hopefully, they don't even come," you said wishfully. Ashley changed the topic and the two of you rode the rest of the way without discussing Casey and Alex-- but they stayed in the back of your mind.

---

Casey walked into the darkened room first, holding Alex's pinky with her own, pulling her in behind. Casey had been reluctant at first, but now that the decision was made, she wasn't going to be bashful about the experience. Besides, she had danced before, unlike her wife. Alex's upbringing had been so very proper and protestant, about the only dancing she'd ever experienced was the waltz that she and her fellow wealthy little kids had been taught in cotillion, then told never to do again outside of a ballroom. Casey, on the other hand, had been raised around all types, and had gone to her fair share of swing nights as a kid. Still, nothing like the way everyone was moving in the little club. The band was on a small stage towards the back of the space, and the room was filled bursting with beautiful women wearing flowing sequined dresses and handsome men in crisp button-downs.

Standing just inside the doorway, Alex caught your form first. You were wearing your favorite dance outfit, a simple red crop top with a silver circle skirt. Your hair was secured in a casual bun. Your tall (and, curiously, male) partner's hand sat firmly pressed between your top and your skirt. She watched, transfixed (like many others there tonight, you were often the center of attention), as he lifted and spun you around, quickly and masterfully. What was most beautiful, though, was the unreserved grin that seemed stuck in its place, except when you lifted your head back and laughed after your partner whispered something in your ear. Alex and Casey made their way over to the bar and sat down with two mojitos (neither of their usual drinks, but half the people at the bar had them. It seemed fitting), and watched you whirl around with ease and clear pleasure. Casey thought she'd never seen you look so beautiful than right then, in your element, moving as naturally as anything.

"So," Casey remarked to her wife, "Either Ashley is a man or Haley's dancing with another partner."

"Or I heard it wrong," Alex offered.

"She's stunning, isn't she?" Casey said, a dreamy, captivated tone in her voice. Alex replied with a sigh and a hum.

The two women didn't get all too long to discuss you, though, before you saw them and came bouncing (Rita Calhoun doesn’t lie) to the bar, Ashley following close behind you.

"You two made it! Alex, Casey, meet my partner, Ashley Laurent. Ash, this is Casey Cabot Novak and Alexandra Novak Cabot, my esteemed supervisors from the DA's office." Alex reached out for a handshake, but Ashley made a "tsk" noise and pulled her in for two kisses on the cheek.

"We kiss on the cheek," he said, the smallest hint of his accent (French, Alex thought) showing through, then did the same for Casey. The way Casey comfortably returned it was adorable to you, as was how Alex tried her best despite her stiffness. You saw Casey rub her thumb along the back of Alex's hand in a calming motion, and without meaning to, you traced your left thumb over your right hand. "I've heard so much about you both," Ashley continued.

"All good things," you interjected with urgency, knowing Ashley's talent for embarrassing you in front of important people.

"Pleased to hear it," Casey said. You could tell that Alex was getting nervous, she had the same look on her face as she did before a difficult case. You felt a pang of guilt for having invited them, worried that you'd maybe pressured them into doing something they didn't want to do, or worse, that they'd come out of pity.

Ashley could tell you were overthinking and wanted to make it either worse (for his entertainment) or better (for your benefit). He took Casey's hand and told her, "You know, my partner here is one of the best dancers in the state. I'm sure she'd love to show you some of the ropes."

"Oh, Ash," you said, then turned to Casey, "Only if you want to. And he exaggerates my talents."

Alex spoke up, then, to say, "Not if what we saw earlier was any indication." You couldn't help but scrunch up your eyes and nose, flattered and flustered and a little embarrassed.

"I'd be happy to dance, Caroline, but I don't want to steal your partner, Ashley," said Casey.

"Nonsense," Ashley said, "besides, I need a break, the kids exhausted me today. I'll stay, keep this one company." You couldn't argue with him any longer, and as the band started up the next song, you took Casey's hand and led her onto the outer corner of the floor.

Your heart sped up when you noticed Casey's subtle signs of nervousness. "No need to worry, half the people in here have no idea what they're doing," you said. You placed your hand around her waist and put hers on your shoulder, keeping a friendly distance between the two of you. "The trick is pretending like you're confident, and people will think you are." Casey noticed the way your voice went up as you said it, like you knew how she was feeling quite well. "And I usually follow, not lead. So, I'm out of my comfort zone too."

You had no need to say the last thing, Casey thought, as you showed her the basic steps. "It's also, really, quite simple. When I step forward, you step back." She followed your lead. "Good! Yeah, that's exactly right," you told her. "I wouldn't even believe you were a beginner," you flattered her. It was a little choppy, but that didn't matter. As you felt her get into the groove of the movement, you let go of her waist and spun her under your other arm. She gasped, quietly.

"Now, the real key here is remembering to move your hips," you said, when you took her waist back in your arms. "You gotta let them guide you. You head should barely move up or down."

"I think you lost me there," Casey said.

"Here, feel," you replied, moving her free hand to your own hips. "Notice how I let them swing every time I move my feet?"

That seemed to work (though you saw a quick moment of an emotion you couldn't quite place wash over Casey), and she was soon dancing with relative ease for a newcomer. Of course, she was in good hands with you.

Alex watched the two of you as you led Casey along the floor. From work, Alex knew you were dedicated and thoughtful, but she'd always thought of you as shy and high-strung, despite your unguarded countenance. You had no problems in court, but outside of it, you would trip over your words, avert your glance at praise; you wore your insecurities on your sleeve. You were always vulnerable, too. More than once, she'd seen you get teary in your office or when speaking with a victim. You were never the first person to leave, and you took some of the most detailed (yet nearly illegible) notes she'd ever seen.

There was nothing shy about the way you moved, the way you showed Casey how to move herself. She found herself paying attention to the way your hips rolled to the music, how you never let Casey know when she stepped wrong. It put her at ease, knowing her wife was in good hands. Everything about you looked natural, comfortable, free.

"How long have you two been together?" she asked Ashley, sipping her drink (it was very minty). Part of her didn't want to know, but that part was overpowered by her curiosity.

"Ten years this fall. We met her first year at Stanford, at a ballroom rehearsal. She was so cute," Ashley said.

"Oh yeah?"

Ashley nodded emphatically, a nostalgic look in his eyes. "She grew up in a really intense studio. She was so strict about rules, and like, crazy competitive. I used to wind her up on purpose, messing with my technique to get a rise out of her."

"I really wouldn't've taken her for a big rule follower."

"It doesn't come naturally to her, but she got good at it," Ashley said. Alex thought he sounded proud of you, like something about you had come a long way. "She's so much more chilled out than she was at 17. But aren't we all?"

Alex was amused at the idea that anybody would call you “chill” and attempted to imagine what you would've been like at that age with little success. Then again, you kept surprising her. The way you seemed as you danced was very different to how you were at work.

"Now, tell me, Alex. Does she really have to put in all those hours? You don't seem like the kind of supervisor who completely disregards work-life balance."

She thought of how to reply to that, not wanting to get you in any hot water at home. Ashley was right. Now that she was older, married, and caretaker of a sizeable plant collection, Alex took a healthier approach to hours. She also remembered being your age and working every second that she could, every moment that it took to be as thorough as she could.

"No, she doesn't have to work so much," Alex ventured. "In fact, I'm not even technically in charge of her schedule. Everyone can choose how much they work, as long as they're meeting targets. Which, unfortunately, means that we sometimes get people who just do the bare minimum."

"I'm sure Caroline isn't one of those people," Ashley said.

"She's not. She's one of the most productive and successful in the office. With the younger ones, for the first few years, they either take a while to get acclimated to the work and need babysitting, or they work too hard and need someone there to remind them to breathe." Alex felt bad that Ashley had clearly seen some element of stress in you that she failed to pick up on. She tucked that away as a conversation to have later. "I was like her. So was Casey. We both calmed down a little, but it took some quite, uh, extreme events."

Ashley, for all his disregard for the norms of conversation, knew when not to push people, and could see that Alex was feeling a bit on edge. "Would you like to dance the next one with me?" he asked, but Alex's eyes widened as she adamantly refused.

"I'm happy to just watch, you don't want to see me try."

Ashley wanted to push more, but he didn't want to risk alienating your boss, so he filled the space by telling embarrassing stories about you in college. When the band began winding down for their first break, the bartender played some pop over the stereo as the dancing crowd made their way to the bar to rehydrate. You and Casey returned to the booth where Ashley and Alex were sitting.

Casey slid in beside Alex, giving her a quick kiss. You sat next to Ashley, leaning your head on his shoulder. You let out a sigh.

"It's been a minute since you taught a newbie, Bug," Ashley said to you.

"Hardly," you replied, shooting him a glare for using your nickname from your college team. "Casey's very capable." You couldn't resist complimenting her, the way she smiled at you was too precious. "You were great," you directed at Casey.

"Please," she said, waving a hand at you and taking a sip of her mojito, watered down slightly by the melting ice. The four of you managed a very engaging conversation (thanks to your partner's valiant efforts) for the next couple minutes, until Ashley's phone rang.

"That is the babysitter. I'm so sorry ladies, I gotta take this." Everyone at the table took the opportunity to check their phones.

"Hi, Emma. Is everything ok? What happened? Is she running a fever? The thermometer is in the bathroom cabinet, can you check?"

You pushed your glass away and rubbed Ashley's shoulder, knowing how upset he got when any of his kids were in trouble.

"No, 99 isn't technically a fever, but you said she threw up? On Yasmin? Well, that's certainly gross. Um, no I wouldn't make you deal with that, here," his brow furrowed, and you started to pack up your things and his, surely you, too, would be going home to help. "Emma, I'm coming home now, should be 20 minutes or so. Léa's lovey is on her bed, if you get her that and wrap her up in a blanket on the couch, she should be OK. Ask Ophélie to entertain Yasmin and stay with Léa for me, can you? You're a gem, kid. OK, I'm leaving now, see you in 20." You started to get up with him, Casey and Alex looked concerned.

"Casey, Alex, I am so sorry to leave, but it was great to meet you two," he said.

"Léa was fine two hours ago when she attacked me," you said, addressing Ashley. "Alex, Casey, I'm sorry I got you two out here and have to leave so soon."

"What? No, you stay here, love." You opened your mouth to argue, but he insisted. "You have guests, and I'll be fine alone. Léa's always sick, and Phélie can watch the baby for me." You tried to help him again, but he wouldn't let you. You gave him a hug and kiss on the cheek goodbye, and he waved kindly to Alex and Casey as he hurriedly walked out the door.

When he was gone, you said to the other women, "I think he does too much. I work all the time. I wish I was there more to help." You played around with a straw wrapper as you talked (Alex noted, you seemed to fidget when you felt guilty).

"He seems like he's OK," Alex said, remembering how Ashley had expressed a similar sentiment to her earlier.

"Do you need to work fewer hours?" Casey asked, "because you're doing more than well."

You sighed as you thought of what to say. "Ashley's a wonderful father. No questions there. But I do think he puts too much pressure on himself."

"There's one thing you two have in common," said Alex. You only nodded in response, looking around the room. This was your happy place, and Casey and Alex somehow fit perfectly in it.

---

You all left the club right before the crowd started to die down. You were tired, and you knew Ashley would need a hug once the girls were in bed; plus, you could tell Alex and Casey were wearing out (you couldn't get Alex to dance, but you and Casey were on the floor together about half the night-- an old student of yours pulled you away from your table as the band began again, but you found Casey another partner for a few songs). As you rode home, your nerves were completely calmed. You realized that you had nothing to worry about in the first place and felt pleased at how the evening had turned out.

As soon as they reached their apartment, Alex took Casey's hands and kissed her, lightly at first, deepening when Casey parted her lips. Casey moaned, muffled, as Alex threaded her fingers through her hair and gave it the gentlest of tugs.

"We have a bed, Lex," Casey said, pulling away slightly.

Alex hummed against Casey's jaw. "You just look so beautiful tonight."

"I don't always?"

"Oh, you do. I just kind of can't believe how perfect you looked dancing."

"Well, you really have Caroline to thank for that one."

Alex made a sound that landed somewhere between a whimper and a squeak.

"Am I wrong?"

"No, you're right," Alex said. "That's the thing."

"I know," Casey replied. "Too bad she's apparently both straight and taken."

Alex giggled. "I mean, how would that conversation even go."

Casey nodded in agreement, turned on her heels, and pulled Alex down the hall, pushing her onto their very fluffy bed.

"'Hey, I know I’m 15 years older than you, married to Casey, and we’re kind of your bosses, but do you want to have a threesome?'" Alex continued in a low tone of voice, comically seductive, running her hands under the hem of Casey's tank top, pulling her closer with the fabric.

Casey laughed into her collarbone, welcoming Alex's lips as she kissed down her chest.

---

The next week passed quietly. It was a two-case week for you, one of which ended in a plea bargain, giving you more free time than usual. Alex kept bringing you coffee, and you kept running with Casey, though the weather was beginning to be too hot to do so outside (Casey, who was raised spending summers with her grandmother in Georgia, didn't believe there was such a thing; but your poor bay-area body was not suited to temperatures much above 75°). Wednesday evening around 8:00, when you were working late, tying up the details of a sexual harassment case at Manhattan Arts High School, you knocked on Alex's office door, hoping she was still in and would be willing to give you some feedback.

You heard a noise from inside, an "mm-hmm" that you took to mean "come in." You didn't wait to open the door, thanks, again, to your already limited inhibitions and the focus you had when you got deep into a case like this.

It was slightly too soon.

You quickly turned around and all but ran away, apologizing with what felt like every word in the dictionary. That was it, you decided, you had to quit. It was a good run, you thought, but you now had no choice but to leave, change your identity, and move to Spain.

Or something. Why wasn't the door locked?

You made it back to your office, just down the hall. As you fretfully packed papers into your backpack, you heard the click of high heels approaching you, caught a glimpse of blonde hair through the window. Part of you wanted to hide under your desk, but you stayed standing, hoping that if you didn't move, she wouldn't see you (not unlike a child attempting to avoid a bee sting).

Alex tapped her knuckles on the glass in the door, not waiting for you to respond before she opened it and came in. You started to apologize again, but Alex held her hand (her distractingly pretty hand) up at you.

"I am very sorry," she said, "that you saw that. In our defense, we were only kissing, and you usually keep to yourself after about 6."

You had trouble making words come out of your head.

"Anyway, Casey feels horrible. So, I came to apologize and see what you needed."

You continued petrified, wondering how Alex wasn't livid. You noticed a deep red mark on her neck--You noticed her neck.

"Oh God, did we freak you out that much, Haley? It's ok, you didn't do anything wrong. We were the ones making out at work," she said, trying and failing to resist a smirk.

At that, you were able to break out of your overwhelmed silence.

"Uhm," you began, almost whispering. "It's the Manhattan Arts case."

Alex nodded. "That one's tough. That's why I gave it to you."

You nodded, suppressing a squeak.

"It is. I don't know what to do because the complainant is also a co-conspirator with the perpetrator in another case."

"Right. Why don't you come to my office, and we'll all look over it together?" Alex saw your expression fill with fear again, the same kitten-ish look she'd come to know and love. It was painfully cute. "You don't have to. But we do have leftover pad Thai." That was enough to convince you, though you were still taken aback and shaken up.

You went to Ashley's apartment first when you went home that night. He and Ramin (home from his business trip) were cuddled up together on the couch watching The Bachelor, the girls were long asleep. You greeted the men, slipped your shoes off, and padded into the living room, sliding onto the couch beside them. Ramin turned down the TV and slipped his free arm around your shoulders. Ten years of friendship between you and Ashley had made you more than comfortable with his husband, though you'd only known Ramin for four. You three didn't need words anymore, they could both tell when you were having a hard time. You were glad Ramin hadn't seen everything Ashley had-- while you weren't very skittish about sharing your personal life with the people close to you, you and Ashley had been there for one another's darkest moments.

Ramin patted your head, mussing your frizzy hair. "Wanna talk about it?" Ashley asked you, but you shook your head.

"Tea," you said.

"Fair enough," Ramin replied, amused, rising to put the kettle on. Ashley scooted over to give you a hug.

You were in a far better mood after a few pots of chamomile and a few episodes of The Bachelor when you went to bed that night (well, Thursday morning). You were still confused, though. Something in your core warmed up every time you closed your eyes, the image of Casey sitting in Alex's lap, her hair messy, their lips pressed against one another, was stuck in your head. You were still mortified, that was all.

---

Alex made good on her promise of drinks that Saturday. Things had smoothed over since Wednesday; she'd left a cookie and a note beside your coffee on Thursday morning that read: Consider this biscotti your olive branch, and, well, who could stay uncomfortable after that. As they left their apartment, Alex sent a text to their friends reminding them that they had a guest that night.

Alex: Everyone, Haley's coming out with us tonight.

Casey: That means best behavior. No being cruel.

Sophie: ...Rita.

Sophie: We were all thinking it.

Serena: ^

Rita: I'm a very sweet person!

Pippa: You made Gillian cry last week.

Rita: That sounds like a her problem.

Gillian: It kind of was.

Pippa: 💖

Casey: Just, be nice to her. Please?

Serena: We will!

Rita: Fine.

Satisfied, they walked the short distance to their regular bar. As they approached, they saw you standing outside, looking up the other direction of the sidewalk and fidgeting with your keys. Casey noticed what you were wearing first, a black A-line wrap dress that showed off your shoulders. Alex, on the other hand, noticed you were wearing your hair in its natural loopy curls when you usually straightened it.

The way the setting sunlight hit your face as you turned your head in their direction caused Alex's breath to hitch in her throat. The way you idly brushed your fingers along your neck as you tucked a curl behind your ear made Casey's mouth go dry. They shared a quick glance, their eyes talking for them, saying: we're in deep, aren't we?

The second you saw them coming towards you, you grinned wide and waved both hands, bouncing on your toes.

"Rita was right," Casey whispered to Alex, still out of earshot of you, "she's exactly like a bunny."

Alex squeezed Casey's hand tightly. You greeted them excitedly, resisting the urge to hug them both (where did that come from?) by holding your hands behind your back after you waved. They returned your greetings gracefully and led the way into their haunt, Casey, then Alex, then you.

Everyone else was already there, you were sure they must've gotten there before you. The bar wasn't quite what you expected; it had much more of a homey vibe than you thought it would. A mostly 30-something, professional-looking, crowd populated the place's tables, drinking mostly wine and whisky, talking over candlelit tables. You felt more at ease, now that you knew what you were getting into.

You were even more at ease when you realized that sat around the table you were approaching were all familiar faces. Honestly, if you had to pick which defense attorneys to spend an evening with, you could do much worse than Rita Calhoun and Sophie Devere. You knew Gillian would be there, and you were pleased to see Serena Southerlyn and Pippa Cox as well (you always admired the field of legal advocacy, you might've gone into it if the money wasn't even worse than prosecution. Pippa and Serena both clearly came from some amount of wealth-- you most certainly did not, and student loans called).

Pleasant hugs and hellos were shared around the table. Casey introduced you.

"Gillian, of course, you know ADA Haley, but for you others... Pippa, Serena, Rita, Sophie, this is Caroline Haley." Gillian raised her glass to you; Pippa gave a warm smile and a wave. Serena pulled out a chair for you, and you took it.

"Lovely to meet you, officially," said Sophie.

"We could use someone interesting," Rita added.

You had expected to feel anxious. You always did in social situations, and you had the Zoloft in your cabinet to prove it. And you did feel the familiar buzzing of worry in the back of your head. But something about the way Casey and Alex looked at one another and then at you made you feel safer than usual. It was a cozy, pleasant feeling.

Wait. Is that? Was it? No. Certainly not. Unless?

You let their conversations go on without chiming in much. Like you usually did when you met new people, you just watched and sipped your drink (gin and soda, your go-to. Serena had insisted on buying you a drink, Rita teased you for going with something so cliché but stopped after one jab. You'd seen Pippa give her a warning glare, thought you'd seen her squeeze her thigh as well, though that could just be your somewhat wonky eyesight). Noticing your anxiety, Alex gave you a friendly pat on the shoulder that made your stomach flip.

Eventually, at a lull in the talking, Alex turned her attention to you: "What's Ashley doing tonight, Caroline?"

Your expression lit up; you were always excited to brag about your best friend. "He's at the studio; he runs rehearsal on Saturday nights. His company is one of the best in the city." You could've said more, but you didn't want to ramble like you tended to when you were nervous.

"Oh. When do you teach? You're always at the office late." Alex asked.

You sighed. "I wish I had far more time than I do. I teach mostly workshops right now, one or two weekends a month." You saw everyone around the table react with some surprise.

"And you two didn't scare away the babysitter last week?" Casey added.

You chuckled in response. "I hope we didn't. The girls are usually very well-behaved, but poor Léa's always getting sick."

"How old are they, Caroline?" Pippa asked.

The only thing you loved more than bragging about Ashley was bragging about your nieces.

"Ophélie is 12, Léa is 6, and Yasmin is 2. I'm biased, but they're the brightest children on the planet."

The way you sounded when you spoke about the girls spun Casey's head. Alex had never wanted kids, and Casey had always been on the fence. But your clear pride had her feeling very drawn to you in that moment.

"Forgive me for saying," Sophie began, "But aren't you a little young to have a 12-year-old?"

"Or a 6-year-old, really," Gillian added. Alex wanted to say something, remind her well-meaning friends that, sometimes, people didn't want to discuss every detail of their personal lives with them, but she held back, knowing how composed you could be when you wanted. You paled, knowing where this conversation was headed.

"Oh, um," you said, "They aren't my kids, technically. Ophélie is Ashley's youngest sister, and Léa is Ramin's from his first marriage. Yasmin is Ashley and Ramin's only child together, but they have full custody of all three. But I've been in their lives since Ophélie was 4." You saw the confusion build on Casey's face, her brow furrowing like how it did when she was focused in on her notes.

"Who's Ramin?" She asked you.

"Ashley's husband?" You replied, "he didn't mention him to you? He usually can't wait to talk about him."

The subtle confusion turned to true befuddlement on the part of Alex and Casey, both.

"He didn't mention a husband," Alex said. "I actually assumed you two were together?" Casey nodded.The other attorneys watched with varying degrees of curiosity and chaotic joy. You swore you saw Rita cover a smile with her napkin.

You realized the place where things had gone wrong. "Oh, oh my gosh, I can absolutely see where you would get that impression if he didn't bring up Ramin. He was pretty out of it the other night."

"You said you'd meet him at home when he left, called him your partner, kissed him," Casey listed.

"He told me about your first date," Alex added. Their tones were humorously incredulous, teasing. You could feel your cheeks heating up. This hadn't happened in quite a while.

"Dance partner. We live on the first and second floors of the same building. And well, you know someone ten years, you build up affection?" you paused. "It's an easy mistake to make. Besides, did he tell you how said first date ended?"

"No, actually. You and Casey got back from the dance floor before he finished the story."

You hid your head in your hands for a moment. "Well, I'm glad he didn't, because I'm not sure I could've handled the mortification." Everyone at the table kept looking at you, expectantly. "It ended with me coming out to him, then crying into his shoulder about it. So, no second date."

"It's all good, Caroline," Serena said, helping your nerves. "I'm sure Alex just wasn't paying attention. She's like that."

Alex shot her a playful frown. You felt at ease, more comfortable and wanted to share more with the group.

"When Ophélie was in preschool, I used to take her to music class on the weekends. I was still a junior in college, so I would show up to these fancy Palo Alto mommy and me classes with my backpack full of textbooks," you told, reminiscing on your younger years with your niece. "I swear, every new session, I'd walk in and another one of my professors would be there with their kids, the looks on their faces were just so priceless." Nobody seemed bored of you yet, so you kept going. "That little girl is the reason I became a lawyer," you said, in a more serious tone.

"What do you mean by that?" Pippa asked, her passion for protecting kids showing through.

You took a deep breath, not having meant to get so deep tonight-- but you opened up whenever Casey or Alex was around.

"When Ashley sued for custody, he had just graduated and was working in the ensemble of a dance company. I was a couple years behind him, but we were super close, and I was there for every meeting and hearing." You tested the waters, looking around the table to see if anybody looked bored. Seeing no signs, you continued. "And I remember just thinking the attorney was just the coolest person on earth. She convinced a court that this 22-year-old contemporary dancer was more fit to raise a child than that child's wealthy mother. She would work on everything seemingly tirelessly... she eventually found a way to prove that emotional abuse was occurring in the birth mother's home and that Ophélie would be better off Ashley's. When he got custody of Ophélie, I knew I wanted to be like that attorney, prove the supposedly unprovable."

"Wow," Gillian said when you finished talking.

Rita gave you a raise of her eyebrows, said, "Well, you certainly are interesting."

Everyone looked at you like they were trying to figure you out. Casey seemed to be on the verge of tears, and you were holding back some of your own. You sipped your drink, still thinking about how proud you were of Ophélie and the other girls, how lucky you were to have them in your life. You knew it was time to change the subject.

"So, Serena," you said, "Casey told me you two used to play softball together back in the day?" The whole table erupted in laughter, apparently at Serena for being a terrible pitcher.

---

That night, while Casey and Alex dozed off holding one another, Casey murmured softly to Alex, "Baby, you know you'll always be enough for me, right?

"Of course," Alex replied, her voice sleepier than her wife's. "I love you, Case."

---

#svu fanfic #law and order svu fanfiction #alex cabot x casey novak #calex #calex x reader #alex cabot x casey novak x reader #calex fanfiction

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spiralhigh · 3 years

Text

ranking the sdr2 cast by how much their formal wear hits

this is just my opinion, but my opinions are great and i know what i’m talking about! this will be long so it’s under a cut

S TIER:

s tier is reserved for only the best of them all, the cream of the crop, the fit that i would gladly lay down my life for. s tier is the crown jewel. s tier is what everyone else should strive to be... but only one can take the prize.

#1: AKANE OWARI

the undisputed champion. this look is everything to me. EVERYTHING. the red-trim cape with the fur. the contrast of the airy, gathered blouse with those skin-tight shiny (leather? vinyl??) pants. the pumps. the belt that screams disco style. the necklace accentuating the tasteful titty window. the red white and gold color scheme are you FUCKING WITH ME miss owari this look could bring ARMIES to their KNEES in an INSTANT. whoever drew this deserves full creative control of the danganronpa franchise and i’m not kidding

A TIER:

a tier is for the fits that frankly own bones. they’re not as jaw-dropping and legendary as owari, but they’re still razor as hell and deserve to be met with riotous applause.

#2: KAZUICHI SOUDA

kazuichi, i didn’t know you had it in you, but this FUCKS. the character of the pins on the lapels, the sneakers, and the mispinned tie. the absolute CLASS of the suspenders, watch, and tiny round glasses. the handsome slick in the hair now that the greasy beanie is gone. the tasteful highwater. he looks like the host of the larry king show if the larry king show was exclusively about ska bands and he has never looked better

#3: HIYOKO SAIONJI

tell me this isn’t the cutest shit. the colors here are EXQUISITE. the bright notes from the blue on top, the way the soft pink is a perfect middle ground of the pink + white flowers on her sleeves, the subtle way the green in her bow matches the green in her collar, the white petals breaking up the sky blue that might otherwise look out of place? remarkable. stunning.

#4: PEKO PEKOYAMA

the ELEGANCE is EVERYTHING here. the monochrome is offset by just a splash of red that ties everything together with her eyes and the flower in her hair, the checkerboard pattern is visually interesting but not distracting, and her hair in that loose ponytail with the little white ribbon? ugh. ADORABLE! but most of all, look at those BOOTS. those CUTE LITTLE HEELS on those SICK LACE-UP BOOTS..... QUEEN shit!!!

#5: CHIAKI NANAMI

rounding out our a tier is chiaki in this adorable little dress just LOOK at her!!! she looks like a little rose, a perfect flouncy skirt with a glittery mesh overlay, a fun and fresh over-the-shoulder collar, a fucking big old bow tied in the back?? i can literally feel the way this dress would feel in my hands. it’s simple and perfect and frankly a GORGEOUS color on her this is flawless

B TIER:

b tier is a perfectly respectable place to be. these fits lack the lustre and flavor of the a tier entries, but they’re still dressed to impress and they still look fine as hell.

#6: TERUTERU HANAMURA

say what you will about teruteru (and i do) but this suit is ADORABLE and it fits in with his theme + talent better than any other mfer on this list. the tasteful white/brown/red palette gives it a flashy chocolate cookie look, which is amplified in the fun pattern on the jacket. the chef’s hat switching out for a little top hat and the way the cumberbund looks a lil bit like a chocolate bar is also VERY cute

#7: THE IMPOSTOR

now on its own, the suit is just alright. a vibrant pinstripe blue three-piece with the classic red tie wouldn’t land the impostor in b tier on its own... but that FUR COAT, LUXURIOUSLY DRAPED OVER THE SHOULDERS does WONDERS to pull this look together. not only is it worn with “yeah, it’s real mink, no, you can’t touch it” confidence, but it also ties the otherwise arbitrary white loafers into the structure of the look. it’s subtle and class as hell.

C TIER

c tier is full of looks that are... fine, but ultimately either are boring, lack cohesion, or have a confusing design choice or two that make it hard to get all that amped about. c tier is a passing grade, but nothing more.

#8: NAGITO KOMAEDA

there’s a lot that’s good about this outfit, but there’s also a lot that doesn’t really work. let’s start with the good: the slutty loose bowtie and collar, the tight-fitting vest that ends before the hipbones so you can see the belt, the cute little ponytail? (chefs kiss) exquisite, all of it. but the suit itself is boring as sing, and who the hell decided to put the t-shirt symbol on the sleeves??? was it to add visual flavor to an otherwise bland suit? this does NOT have the black/white/red elegance that peko had.

#9: FUYUHIKO KUZURYUU

the silver and gold mob-boss look, complete with matching shoes vest and fedora, are a nice nod to fuyuhiko’s talent! the plaid is teetering on the edge between fun and garish to me, but the fact that it’s consistent and the only pattern means it isn’t too offensive. quick question though: why are his pant legs rolled up like that?? this isn’t a cute “cuffed at the ankle” look, dude looks like he had to wade across a pond to get to the venue. what gives

#10: GUNDAM TANAKA

out of everyone here, gundam’s suit might be the most boring of all. the scarf is just his normal scarf. the red tie and trim don’t do anything to tie the look together. the only mild point of interest is the asymmetrical vest, and i can’t even tell if that’s intentional. simply put, this “““fancy”““ outfit isn’t even in the same ZIP CODE as the level of ostentatious chuuni that gundam serves us every single day in his casual wear. maybe even worse than being ugly... it’s disappointing.

#11: IBUKI MIODA

now, look. is this dress buckwild and ugly as hell? yes. but you know what else it is? it is IBUKI MIODA’S DRESS. there might not be a single cohesive thing about this dress aside from its color scheme. the huge poofy ruffles of the skirt and arm things with the spiked bow and corset are baffling. the artist somehow managed to draw the awkward, clumping shape of the skirt to make it look exactly like an emergency cosplay sewn four hours before a convention. frankly, i can’t justify ranking it as a c! but i’m doing it anyway, because the sheer level of craftsmanship demands it, and in this house we respect diy queens that are totally off the shits.

D TIER:

d tier is for outfits that aren’t offensive, exactly... but like, they sure don’t look good! d tier is not a respectable place to be. those in d tier won’t be laughed out of the ceremony in shame, but they should really run their outfit by someone else first next time.

#12: NEKOMARU NIDAI

now don’t get me wrong: i have nothing but respect for the titties-out look. keeping the shirt unbuttoned all the way down to where the lapels of the jacket end? that’s sexy as hell. however, this flawless idea has a confusing execution. why emerald green and orange? what’s with the... long-sleeved printed (hawaiian?) shirt? why the red pocket square? and the jacket itself, while fitted perfectly along the chest and midsection, has a weird, unflattering scallop shape flaring out at the bottom. i want to like this fit, but there are just too many bad choices.

#13: HAJIME HINATA

oh, hajime... literally nothing about this ensemble is it. the creamy manila suit might have had potential if there were literally any color variation in the vest (or potentially shoes) to give it a little more shape, or even if you just went with a white shirt underneath it! i could get behind a light, off-monochrome look! but that leprechaun-green shirt is downright perplexing to me. it looks like a mistake! did you get dressed in the dark? did you spill something on your other shirt? this is a mess.

F TIER:

f tier is inexcusable. f tier should never have happened. how does it get this bad. who did this? who’s responsible for this?

#14: SONIA NEVERMIND

y’know, the colors are pretty! i dig the white and teal! but... girl... what the fuck is this construction. the ruffles are all over the place. the bodice looks like it has less fabric than space it needs to cover. the bottom half of the skirt looks like it was sewn on as an afterthought because the top half was too short for dress code. what’s with the weird choker collar detached from everything else. why is the hairband a slightly different shade of green. so many decisions were made here and none of them are flattering

#15: MAHIRU KOIZUMI

yknow, i like the idea behind this. i can see what you were going for! the dress on its own might have worked, even! but everything else about it is just... so ugly. what the fuck is happening with those shoes??? the sheer black tights aren’t the sexy OL look you think they are. the collar of the dress looks like it’s... braided for some reason??? those earrings are so huge for no payoff, statement jewelry with nothing to say, and worst of all... that headband. GIRL. that headband and that belt...... there’s nothing here. also i love orange but it’s not her color.

and finally... the worst.

#16: MIKAN TSUMIKI

what the fuck. what the fuck is this. this is straight up cheap rubber fetish gear. why is the HAT rubber? that skirt ruffle makes this look like fucking polly pocket clothes. why the fuck is she wearing that. the clothes are so bad that it makes her hair look like rubber too. was she dared to wear this? is this some cruel punishment? i don’t even know what to say. this is the worst possible outfit. there is not even one redeeming quality about it.

#danganronpa #sdr2 #new tab

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jemej3m · 4 years

Note

Allison dresses Neil in a dress, thoughts?

can you imagine, though?

this boy, who is canonically pretty, an athlete, auburn haired and icy eyed. if he wore a dress, i am sure it would stop time.

excuse the shitty sketch, but here are the dresses I write about below (not necessarily in the right order):

its nearly 1am what am i doing with my life

The first time Neil wears a dress, Andrew thinks nothing of it

It’s a dark blue thing, with a stupid bow on the elastic around his shoulders. They’re just chilling in their dorm, Kevin still out at classes. Neil had disappeared to the girls’ room for about an hour and come back wearing something that was obviously not his, a strange amalgamation of expressions on his face. Pride. Curiosity (probably in Andrew’s reaction). Self-consciousness. Spite. Everything that encompasses Neil Josten, really.

It’s a nice dress. Definitely Allison’s. The material would crumple under Andrew’s fingertips if he pinched it, like tissue paper, like Andrew’s skin when Neil pokes and prods for answers. He wears it well, even if Andrew will never tell him that. It softens the scars and the muscles and the sharpness of Neil’s grin into something more playful.

Is Andrew aroused? He’s not really sure. This isn’t territory he’s approached. Enough time passes with Andrew just looking that Neil moves on, bored of standing still. He makes coffee in the kitchenette with the skirt swishing around his thighs, and Andrew thinks: maybe. Maybe he could be.

Neil’s clearly not wearing it for him, though, so he lets him be and goes back to ignoring the Exy run on the TV and reading his book.

The second time is unexpected. The second time has Andrew’s skin swelter and heart race.

It’s his last year at Palmetto. Everyone’s come back to get hectic at Eden’s and crash at the cousin’s place. Even Renee’s here, back from saving the world to see her family. Neil’s been nervous all week, without the league to distract him (at least they’d won finals, for the first time since Neil’s freshman year). He doesn’t like being alone anymore. Andrew gets it. He’s not exactly keen about long-distance, either, but they’ll make it work. They always have.

Because of flights and timezones and logistics, they all meet at the house. Andrew is coming back from Denver, flying against his will. Neil and the others will be at the house getting ready by the time he gets back: he’s given himself enough time to get the Maserati from the airport parking, drive around till he feels back in his skin, go home, have a shower and beready to leave by thetime. the others are too. He’s driving tonight, Renee hauling the others in Matt’s truck. Neil will drive Andrew’s car home. It’s an old routine. Andrew doesn’t hate it.

Everything he planned to do goes accordingly: the house is chaotic with pre-drinkers by the time he’s back. Erik is there, as is Katelyn, Thea, Wymack and Abby. The latter never come out to the club, but they always take advantage in seeing their Foxes all together again.

Neil is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Allison. Andrew rolls his eyes at his cousin’s teasing: this was normal, by now. Allison liked to play dress-up with Neil, putting him in fancy shirts and eyeliner and well-fitting pants. It was one of the only things that Andrew appreciated about her: that, and her seeming loyalty to Renee.

It’s five minutes past their due time to leave and the pair still hadn’t left Nicky’s donated bathroom. Andrew grabs his keys and makes for the door, desperate to just wait in the car. There’s some noise from the other side of the kitchen, so Andrew glances over his shoulder.

When he sees Neil, the room suddenly gets incredibly warm.

He’s wearing a skin-tight dress that barely makes it to mid-thigh. The sleeves are down to his wrists but the neckline is wide enough to see the gunshot wound against his collarbone. The material is thick enough to conceal the history of his torso, but tight enough to cling to every muscle.

Worst of all, he’s wearing garters. They’re attached to small shorts - practically underwear - underneath the dress. The garters aren’t lacy, just bands of black fabric around his thighs, but Andrew gets the nearly insurmountable urge to veto the entire night all together.

He leaves the house before anyone else can see his reaction, but Neil had already been looking: he was always looking at Andrew.

Nicky jostles Andrew for a reaction for the entire drive to Eden’s but Andrew remains still as stone. It isn’t until Neil sidles up to him by the bar and whispers “Do you like it?” that Andrew brushes his lips against Neil’s ear and says,

“Yes.”

The third time Allison wrangles Neil into a dress is unprecedented. They’re at Renee and Allison’s wedding. Andrew is Renee’s best man, which means standing at the altar for the entire ceremony. Luckily, Neil is Allison’s, and Dan is there for both of them, so he isn’t alone.

Renee doesn’t change her suit before the reception, but Allison being Allison has a full wardrobe change planned, so she drags Neil off when they arrive at the venue. Andrew nurses a champagne and listens to Thea complain about Kevin’s baby fever, whilst Wymack looks on in horror at the thought of being a grandfather. It’s mildly amusing.

When Allison and Neil arrive, he nearly spits out the wine.

Allison has changed into a red thing of silk and lace. He’s sure it’s very stylish, but he has eyes for no one but Neil.

The dress is backless. It’s dark grey, satin, and tied around the back of his neck. There’s a slit up one leg. Neil is ignoring the looks of Allison’s extended family as he walks her into the room and to where Renee is waiting for her, somehow able to glide across the floor in heels. When did Neil learn how to walk in heels?

Neil arrives at Andrew’s side, older, wiser, knowing exactly what this is doing to his husband. Andrew pinches the satin at Neil’s hip, admiring the drapery and the slant of Neil’s shoulders.

“I distinctly remember Allison threatening to cut your balls off if you upstaged her,” Andrew murmurs, letting Neil lean into him.

Neil hums. “Well, she picked the dress. It’s her own fault.”

“I hate it,” Andrew returns, tilting Neil’s chin sideways with two fingers for a kiss. The wedding is small, just their family and the irrelevant acquaintances Allison had invited. They are already out. Andrew doesn’t care. All he wants is to tear what little fabric Neil is wearing off and mail Allison the remnants.

“You can borrow the heels,” Neil whispers. “My neck’s already sore enough as it is.”

“Watch yourself, Josten,” Andrew retorts.

Neil’s smile is giddy. He presses one last kiss to the corner of Andrew’s jaw, steals his flute of champagne and saunters off, dress fluttering around his ankles.

And after all this time, Neil still makes Andrew feel like he’s teetering on the edge of the cliff.

Idiot, he thinks, stifling the slight twitch of a smile.

#andreil #neil josten #dresses #post canon #fluff #andrew minyard #all for the game #aftg #the foxes #allison reynolds #neil josten can step on me lmao

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yamithediaperdork · 3 years

Text

My Cousin is CRAZY! (Ben10 alien force)

My cousin is crazy

It was Saturday morning in Bellwood and 15 year old Ben Tennyson was slowly waking up to the smell of bacon and eggs. It was strange because his parents were on a vegan kick at the moment but he decided to roll with it and opened his eyes as he went to sit up. And then groaned out loud as he took in stock of his attire and what he was sleeping in. Not for the first time since Gwen had started working out hardcore last year the girlish Ben had found his cousin perv'ing on him and deciding he should be her sissy baby wife. Despite making his lack of interest in such plans clear MORE then once, It hadn't of stopped Gwen from snagging him up at random times and dressing him up. Case and point, he was currently in what he estimated as 5 princess reaz's diapers (he'd sadly become familiar with the different brands because of Gwen) and a dark pink top with lighter pink puffed out shoulders and a semi skirt that didn't even cover half of the diapers. The top also had a red heart on the front with white writing in cursive declaring 'i wove my mommy' going along with the top and diapers his hands were in locking mittens meaning any attempt to use the omnitrix was doomed to fail and his feet covered in booties with slick bottoms so Ben would end up having to crawl unless he wanted to fall on his ass every 12 steps. 'At least she didn't put the paci in my mouth this time.' Ben thought with a sulky though a pat on his head told him she had put the silly over sized bow in his hair again, the damn thing pink with white poka dots. As for what he was in, again this wasn't a shock to him as it wasn't the first time but he was still less then pleased to have gone to sleep in his own bed in a pair of boxers and wake up in the hot pink crib Gwen had built just for him during her wood shop class. And of course since she wasn't shy of telling people who it was for Ben had been forced to endure even more teasing at school though ironically just verbal, no bullies had darned to lay a finger on him and have to deal with Gwen's almost super human power and bulk. The last bully who had tried had been found hanging from a flag pole by a pair of Barbie pants. Struggling to get to his feet on the purple sheet covered queen sized mattress and ignoring the fuzzy white and pink blanket and pillows in the crib with him (not to mention a dolly or too) Ben took in a deep breath and then hollered at the opened door frame of Gwen's room. "GWEN YOU SICK BITCH! YOU'VE BEEN TOLD TO STOP KIDNAPPING ME AND DRESSING ME IN DRAG AND HUGGIES! COME IN HERE AND LET ME OUT OF THIS OUTFIT BEFORE I GET YOU IN SHIT WITH YOURS AND MINE PARENTS AND GRANDPA MAX TOO!" It was the only threat that normally worked as while they're parents thought it was mostly cute, they all agreed that Gwen kidnapping Ben crossed a line. other then that though it was fair game if he was out of the house. Grandpa Max was nicer about it in Ben's view as he made the rust bucket a official safe zone that even Gwen respected and so Ben found himself hanging out less with Gwen and Kevin and more with Gramps. Kevin for his part was all too happy to stay out of it, treating the whole thing as a bullet dodged when him and Gwen had never hit it off and a better Ben then him. Ben didn't have to wait long as he swore he could almost feel the food steps of Gwen as she made her way towards the room.

Between the insane amount of weights she worked and the reps she put into and a unexpected growth spurt Gwen looked like she could of been a WWE at her 6'10 height and 320 pounds of mostly muscle. She kept her Orange hair short and was wearing a pair of grey jogging pants and white under shirt that showed off her girl abs. "Awww is my darling widdle wife to be awake?" She coo'ed, cupping her hands together and flashing Ben a big smile. "Gwen, for the LAST time, I'm not going to marry you. I'm not going to be your sissy baby, now PLEASE let me go. I'm not joking, I'll call Grandpa Max over and get you in SO much trouble." Ben huffed, trying to look intimidating but his outfit made that all but impossible. "Awww such a silly widdle gurl! Did widdle Benny forget that this is our parents couples retreat weekend? And gramp's is off on Plumber work! That means I got widdle Benny to myself allll weekend." Gwen gushed and came over, lifting him out of the crib with ease and holding him up so she could give his padded rump a sniff. "Ah crap baskets..That was THIS weekend?" Ben whined, not even bothering to point out he would of said something if he had used the diapers. He'd tried to make plans to hang out with cooper for that weekend but had clearly gotten his dates wrong and was capital S screwed for the next 48 hours. "Hmm Doesn't smell like Benny has made me a present yet..but I know you will soon enough. you just love to make presents for your hubby don't you?" Gwen coo'ed and moved him down enough she could give him a Eskimo kiss. "Oh yeah. highlight of my weekend, fudging a diaper." Ben said sarcastically. "Now now, I know you're just grumpy because you didn't get to play with me last night, but I had to take care of a few things. But we have allll weekend sweetie. And if you promise to be a good little gurl for me I'll be nice and spoil you with all the junk food you want. After all you need to put on some baby fat." Gwen chuckled and kissed his cheek. Ben groaned, Gwen was always trying to chub him up, but given the fact he'd been subjected to the 'wonder's' of a baby food and formula weekend before, and the fact he was trapped regardless he just hung his head. "Fine, I'll play along. but for the record, you need help." Ben huffed. "Oh please, I can handle my widdle wife for a weekend!" Gwen chuckled and carried Ben off towards the kitchen.

Strapped into a wooden but painted light pink high chair, Ben played along with his crazy cousin and held up his arms so she could remove his top and replace it with a hello kitty bib. "Now Benny, if I remove your mitten's and let you feed yourself, you're not gonna do something stupid and try and use your silly little watch now are you?" Gwen asked. Considering between her bulk and her magic Gwen out classed most of Ben's aliens anyways and she always made sure he was sorry for trying to go alien on her after he timed out, Ben decided that having the freedom to feed himself was worth playing along. "Yeah I'll be good.." Ben said and held up his hands. She studied his face for a second, as if deciding whether or not to trust him then smiled. "I believe you. I really hope we can have a nice weekend together and I don't end up having to spank you. it hurts me then it does you when I have to." Gwen said then moved to free up Ben's hands. 'Bullshit on that one!' Ben thought but wisely kept his thoughts to himself and just flexed his fingers, and looked at the watch. "I'm not going alien, I'm just checking to make sure no alien got primed to go while the mitten on so I don't accidentally go alien and get my cheeks tanned." He said, and then after getting a smirk and a nod from Gwen checked the watch. Thankfully nothing was primed and he made sure to show the psycho and then wiggled in the high chair as he waited on her to plate up some num nums for him. Everything else aside, Gwen really was a excellent cook and she didn't hold back as she put the piled high plate of scrambled eggs and Bacon and some pancakes down in front of Ben and handed him a baby fork and knife. She had also poured on the maple syrup and set down a one liter baby bottle full of chocolate milk for him and kissed his cheek. "Eat up little lady.Oh, did you want me to put a show or something on for you while you eat up? I think Sumo slammers is having a marathon on channel 6 today." Gwen asked, nodding to the Kitchen TV her mom had had put in back during the 90's. "..That would be agreeable yes." Ben said, trying not to break out into a silly grin before he started to dig into the food, watching as Gwen was proven right. 'you know.. the huggies and drag aside, I could get used to being spoiled like this.' Ben thought.

Gwen smirked as she watched Ben chow down and kick his legs ideally in the high chair. while she would of preferred he watch something a little less violent she had changed up her usual plan for weekend sessions with her soon to be sissy bride. Trying to enforce the baby food and sissy programs only made him fight it more so she was gonna meet him halfway and try to ease him more into baby gurlhood. One added bonus though she noticed with a big grin while she had her normal bowl of high protein gruel was that Ben was even more of a messy eater then normal as he watched his show, getting syrup all over his face and bib and eggs and bits of bacon were all over the place. 'He's such a big baby! I love it!' She mentally squealed. It only got better as halfway though his plate, he reached for his his ba-ba and held it with BOTH hands like a good baby gurl and she was fighting the urge to squeal out loud. Anytime she tended to praise him for his babyish behavior he always tried to cut it out. Finishing her gruel she washed it down with a protein drink and noted that Ben was squirming around lots in his high chair, with most of his food gone and the little sissy had packed away HALF of his milk already. "Doing alright over there baby gurl?" She asked. Ben seemed to snap out of his show induced trance and blushed. "I uh..I gonna potty..and I think I got a gas bubble stuck." He said, poking two fingers together. '..Is he asking me to burp him?' Gwen wondered but was ALL grin's "Well that's no good! here, let me help you out. whats a little gas between husband and wife?" She said. Coming over she grabbed a dish towel and a wet dish rag, putting the towel over one shoulder and then moved Ben's num num's and ba-ba over onto the kitchen table and removed his bib. washing the big baby's face and chest down she removed the tray and lifted him up, swooning as his legs wrapped around her and he helped her get his head over the towel. Rubbing his back she gave it all of three firm but gentle pats before Ben let out a massive belch over her shoulder and spit up a little bit of milk. "Uh...T-Thanks Gwen." A sheepish Ben half coo'ed and then switched shoulders and nuzzled into her. "Do you want me to set you down so you can go and hide while you make potty?" She offered, clearly trying to meet him half way was working wonders. "I..I Uh..no." Ben Mewed into her shoulder, which of course muffled his voice but she got the jest of it. "You wanna use your diapers while your bride to be holds you tight and praises you for being a good girl?" Gwen asked, grinning ear to ear and holding Ben close and rubbing his lower back. "I..I dunno..Maybe..I mean..If I can't use the potty..I guess it's.." Ben Mumbled into her shoulder, She could tell he'd of rather used the bathroom, which was a touch disappointing to her but still, with him willing to go in his pampers while she held him being his second choice that meant she was making headwind. "Do you wanna keep your face in my big strong shoulder or be turned around facing away from my?" She asked, then leaned down and kissed his neck, knowing from Julie (who had dumped Ben mostly because she shipped the pair) just how much he loved having his neck kissed and nibbled on. Case and point Ben didn't even really reply, just snuggled into her harder. Taking that as a answer Gwen made her way over to a kitchen chair and took a seat, Ben's legs on either side of her lap and his arms hugging her, while one of her strong hands rubbed and patted his pampered bottom. Her other hand was rubbing and pressing on certain spots on Ben's back and it didn't take loud before her efforts were rewarded as a muffled poot came out his backside, then anther and anther and she could feel him starting to push and grunt. "That's it baby gurl, let it all out. make me a nice big present." Gwen coo'ed sweetly in his ear and follow up with giving him a gentle start of a hickey on his neck as he began to fill his pretty pink diapers. "G-Gwen! Dun! N-Not while I'm pooping!" Ben meekly whimpered, though he tilted his head in such a fashion that he was offering her a even better shot at his neck. "Heh, Somebodies gonna be a tsundere diaper sissy for me huh? That's ok. I think it's adorable." Gwen chuckled, feeling the lumps of Ben's 'present' to her fill up the back of his diapers and mentally giving thanks to whatever mage had made the spell that allowed her to only smell strawberries in cream as Ben loaded his huggies. 'Maybe if he's a good gurl at our wedding, on our honeymoon I'll cast it on him too.' Gwen thought. Food for thought later, She had a good little gurl dumping his guts in his pampers for her and whimpering for his reward and as such, she leaned down and started to gently nibble and suck away on Ben's neck, smirking as the little sissy let out a soft "I love you.." as she did so.

The end

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years

Text

Something Just Like This - CH28

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

Warnings: NSFW but also so fluffy.

WC: 3533

SERIES MASTERLIST

Y/N’s kind of excited. She’s never been to a strip club before. Not that she ever had the opportunity. So when Dean asked, she was too eager to say yes, which prompted him to look at her funnily. But she was always curious how the clubs look from the inside.

Dean walks in when she applies some mascara in the bathroom and he watches her through the mirror. In fact, she thought that he just wanted to get something from the cabinet but he’s been standing there watching for an awfully long time already.

After another agonizing long stare, he grins and it kind of irritates her. “What?”

He chuckles, “Nothing. Just… do you really wanna wear a mini skirt?”

She looks down at herself, sees nothing wrong in wearing a mini skirt. She’s wearing a blouse too? It’s not like she wears the glittery tube top. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Dean opens the cabinet, and takes out his cologne, sprays some pumps onto his shirt and places it back before he looks down at her, turns her around so she’s facing him and his hands are on her waist. And that’s not fair because apart from looking good, he now smells delicious, too.

He pushes his fingers underneath her chin, making her look up at him. “It’s just… we’re going to a strip club. You don’t actually have to strip there, you know?”

She laughs a hearty laugh. “Are you jealous that they will take me for a stripper there? You really think so?”

He kisses her forehead and smacks her ass one time before he walks to the door and turns around, leans his head against the door frame and looks at her from that distance. “I know so.”

“Fine, I’ll change into pants.” She says, rolling her eyes.

“No, that’s fine. I’ll just have to make sure you’ll never leave my side.” He winks with that cocky grin and she hates that. Hates that cocky Dean does in fact, turn her on when it shouldn’t.

And then there’s the doubt again, the doubt that she sometimes has when Dean’s being particularly good to her. She does not deserve him. Why did he choose her when he could have anyone else?

They walk up to the apparent club but there’s nothing than a black door against a black wall. There’s someone standing on the outside, dressed in a black suit with black sunglasses.

“Who wears sunglasses at night?” She asks Dean as they walk closer.

“Douchebags and crazy people,” Dean mutters under his breath, she hopes that douchebag didn’t hear him because she thinks that it could get uncomfortable if he did.

Apart from the douchebag standing there and protecting what seems like nothing, no one would think that it was a strip club. There’s no line, no group of smoking men outside, no music coming out, nothing that suggests anything’s hidden behind that black wall.

“You sure it’s here?” She asks and Dean squeezes her hand.

“Trust me.”

They approach the douchebag who holds his hand out to stop them. “No girls allowed.”

“She’s with me.” Dean says calmly.

The douchebag eyes her up and down before he presses his hand to his ear and turns around to mumble something into his wrist.

“Okay,” The bouncer turns back and opens the door for them.

They’re in a black corridor, lit up by a line of LED lights on the ground and ceiling and Dean pulls her along until they stand in front of another door. There, Dean knocks four times.

The door opens and it feels like she’s sucked into another world. Dean tightens his grip around her and pulls her with him. “Here we go,”

They walk past the first floor and she’s pulling at Dean’s hand to stop walking so fast because she wants to see.

There are some girls dancing on stage, snaking their way around a pole. Some men have girls on their laps. She can spot a table where a blindfolded girl is lying and she let someone pour champagne over her naked body. Two thirsty men lick everything up and more, and she has the impression that the girl kind of enjoys it.

“You done looking?” Dean asked with an amusement tone in his voice.

“Wow.” She breathes out. “I thought it was only stripping.”

Dean chuckles, “Sweetheart, it’s Crowley’s club. What did you expect?”

And that’s true. Well, she didn’t know what she expected but it’s certainly not people having oral sex in the middle of a club.

“Not this!” She gestures widely with her hands and Dean can’t help but laugh out loud.

“Come on,” He says when he finds his breath back, “I wanna get this over with so that we can go home and finish what we started.”

“What did we start?” She asks like she didn’t remember that he ate her out just an hour before.

He’s only rolling his eyes, looks at her grumpily and pulling her along with him up the stairs, and she whispers to him, “You’ve been here a lot?”

Dean’s eyes stay focused, straight forward, not stealing glances left and right like she does. “Not more than I really have to be.”

She wonders if he’s been given a lap dance too. He must have had one. Or maybe even more than just a dance? She abandons the image that flashes up in her mind because the thought makes her nauseous.

He stops at another black door, places his hand on a scanner on the door’s right side. It beeps, a light flashes green, and the door opens.

She feels the humidity first, the heat comes after. It hits her like a brick wall.

Dean smiles when he sees her cheeks beginning to flare up.

They step through, the door closes by itself.

There’s a freaking pool in the room which is lit up in lilac. So, that’s where Dean’s been every time he came home smelling like chlorine. Now she knows and she isn’t sure if that makes her feel better.

He leads her deeper into the room with his hand steady on the small of her back up until they’re standing at a group of big bulky chairs.

“I’ll be right there!” Crowley shouts out and that’s when she sees the short man diving down in the water.

“I thought they were waiting for us? Seems like Crowley’s not even done splashing around.” She asks Dean and he just rolls his eyes. Obviously, this happens more often than not.

Dean takes off his suit jacket, rolls up his sleeves and unbuttons the first two buttons of his shirt before he sits down in a chair with a clear view to the pool and then he pats his lap while looking at her. “Come on,”

Y/N looks at him, completely baffled by the gesture. The crease between her eyes grows. “Why do I have to sit in your lap when there are chairs?”

“Come on,” Dean pokes at her tummy with his index finger, “If you don’t, someone else will and I’d like to avoid that.”

When she still doesn’t budge, he takes her wrist and pulls her into his lap. She’s sitting on one of his thighs, both her legs in between his spread legs.

“What do you mean someone else will?”

Dean sneaks an arm around her, pulls her body to his chest. “It’s a strip club,” He shrugs like it’s the most normal thing. “Someone will always find a way on my lap.”

“Ah, so, someone… even Crowley?”

Dean throws his head back, laughing so loud at the image she plants in his head that her whole body shakes with him.

When he catches his breath again he says, “No, but other girls.”

She looks around, some of them are even naked! She feels uneasy thinking about Dean with his lap full of a naked girl, but she doesn’t want to be that kind of girlfriend.

“Do you like it if they do?”

“Well,” Dean thinks for a short moment, “It depends. I have this agreement with some of the girls that they can sit but they’re not allowed to move or touch.”

“And you are allowed to touch?”

“I am, but I don’t.” It came out without even thinking. He doesn’t even have to fish in his brain for excuses. It baffles her.

“Did any of them turn you on?” She couldn’t not ask but she didn't really want to hear the answer.

He chuckles, pulls her closer, and wraps his arm around her middle. She’s almost on top of his crotch and he lays his chin on her shoulder, whispers to her. “You wanna know the truth?”

Not really, but she nods anyway.

Dean breathes out a smile, the air hits her ear, sends shivers up her spine. “Yeah, there were some who I thought were pretty.”

She bites her lips, doesn’t say anything.

He noses at the back of her ear now. “But that’s about it. And then, I think that I would be a fucking idiot if I would risk everything I have for a stripper when I have a beautiful girl at home. Someone who’s probably sitting in the tub right now, naked and wet. A perfect girl, who wants me to choke and spank her. Who wants me to fuck her fast, hard and deep because she likes it when it hurts a little. Someone who also likes it when I fuck her soft and slow. I call that love making but she thinks it’s cheesy. An amazing girl who blushes so sweet, her cheeks are as pink as her pussy. And then, what usually happens is that I would get half hard and the girl on my lap will think it’s because of her.”

“Like now?” She couldn’t miss his bulge if she tried.

Dean rearranges her, so she’s sitting right on top and she’s facing the pool, sees Crowley getting out. “No, now it’s definitely because of the girl in my lap.” Dean says, his big hands help her grind on it.

“Aaaand that’s enough. I need to talk business.” Dean laughs before he puts her back on his thigh and kisses her pout. “Stop that.”

“Look who we have here!” Crowley is cheery as always. “Are you doing better, darling?”

Y/N smiles, “Yes, thank you.”

“Good. I hope Winchester here treats you well. If not, you know where to find me.” Crowley winks and sits down, his thighs peeking out from under the robe. She’s trying not to look.

“Hey!” Dean growls jokingly.

“Yeah, yeah.” Crowley says and the guys start to talk when a waitress brings them drinks and asks her what she wants to drink. She opts for something light, something that doesn’t make her feel any hotter than she already is.

While they talk, she just listens with one ear while her eyes scan the room. She almost gasps aloud when she sees her. There she is. Meg. In a freaking unicorn bikini!

Meg sees her too, purses her lips and turns her head away, tending to a man on a lounger chair.

Ugh. Meg and her were never the greatest of friends after all. It’s a good thing that they both have something to lose if one of them should expose the other.

Later in the evening they began to talk about their decoy plan and this time, she listens closely.

It’s when Crowley suddenly asks about her thoughts that she speaks up, “If you’re willing to go that far with the trucks anyway, with the different banner of companies, I’d say that you might as well load everything onto them.”

“So, abandon the idea of rail completely?” Crowley asks.

“Well, keep it. But with empty wagons. A lot of people know about that already don’t they? Just keep the things with the decoy under wraps so if someone should talk, the authority would go for the rail.”

“Huh,” Crowley leans back, takes a sip of his drink and lets her words sink in.

“And everything should be at almost the same time so there won’t be enough people on the highways out of the city.” She adds and shrugs.

Crowley laughs, points his finger at Y/N, “I like her.”

Dean’s grinning too, wraps his arm around her middle and pulls her back to his chest, she almost spills her drink. “Thanks, I’m quite fond of her myself.”

“Three months. We have three months!” Crowley gets up, and unwraps his robe. “You guys want anything? Huh? More drinks? A girl? Private room?”

She cringes her nose, already wants to deny when Dean jumps in. “Actually, you know what? A private room sounds super good.”

The room is lit up by lilac lights, there’s a pole in the middle and one big comfy leather chair. The wall in the back is completely mirrored. Music is playing in the background.

“What are we doing here?” Y/N hisses at Dean.

He sits down, makes himself comfortable. “Duh, we’re in a strip club.” Then he points at her with his index finger, makes a little twisting motion. “Strip.”

She laughs out loud.

When she composes herself, she looks back at Dean who just shrugs and raises an eyebrow at her.

“Oh, come on! I can’t even dance, Dean!”

“Just try,” Dean says, “For me? Please?”

She buries her face in her hands. “Oh my god. I can’t believe you are making me do this.”

“Hey, you can stop anytime. Just try it. I wanna watch. I’m super excited by the way.” He leans back and just fucking grins like he owns the world.

“Ugh.. okay.” She walks to the pole, touches the cold metal, lets her hand get used to it.

She has both her hands on the pole now, rubs it up and down, pushes her hips up against it before she looks over to Dean. He’s still smiling stupidly.

“How am I doing?” As soon as she says it, she slips down the pole, almost lands on her ass and Dean lets out a hearty laugh.

“Yeah, uh, let’s just say that you won’t get a lot of tips.”

She rolls her eyes but tries to do something acrobatic again. “This is stupid, Dean.” She’s laughing too, it starts to be more fun but she’s so clumsy.

“You’re doing fine. Go on.”

She rolls her eyes and he shouts, “Less eye rolling and more hip rolling, sweetheart.”

Y/N lifts her leg to the pole, half straddling it and then she leans back, arches her back.

“That’s good.” Dean hums his approval.

She steps in front of the pole now, her legs spread, her hands behind her back as she crouches down slowly with spread legs, her skirt rides up to her hips and her panties are showing.

Dean licks his lips and it’s her turn to smile. She continues on all fours, crawls towards Dean and he goes from licking to biting his lips as she reaches him.

Placing her hands on both his knees, she pulls herself up, her face traces along his crotch, up his body to his face. Leaning in a little, she pretends to go in for a kiss and when Dean cranes his neck, she grins and turns around.

Her skirt is still ridden up, her ass is on full display because she wears a lace thong.

She places both her hands on Dean knees and starts to lower herself, grinds and rolls her ass in his lap. She can see through the mirror that he’s staring at her ass. Every now and then, she would brush it against his crotch and feel him hard in his pants. It makes her feel triumphant. Feels good that she can make him hard with a stupid lap dance she’s not even good at.

He touches her ass, lets his finger tips dig into her flesh, kneads them roughly before he spanks her.

“Hhm,” She hums, grinds down on him more.

His fingers find her pussy, strokes it through her thong. She’s awfully wet. It turns her on more than she thought it would. More than she would ever admit.

Dean’s fingers leave her pussy, and she whines.

“Shhh, I got you, baby.” He whispers and she hears his belt and zipper.

There’s shuffling and the leather creaks loudly.

“Come on, back up.” His voice is deep and low as he hooks his finger into the crotch of her thong, pulls it aside.

She still has her hands braced on his knees when she lowers herself, bites down on her lips when she feels his cockhead breaching her pussy. She’s pretty wet but it’s without prep, which normally burns a little more but she welcomes it nonetheless.

“You okay?” Dean asks as he’s halfway in and they both are breathing hard.

“Yeah,” She sits down further, taking him in slowly. Inch by glorious inch.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Taking my cock so well. Jesus, you feel so fucking perfect.” His hands knead at her ass as he watches the last inch disappear inside of her.

“Fuck,” She breathes out, as she feel him bottom out. “Oh, fuck.”

“Christ,” Through the mirror, she sees Dean biting down on his lips.

Slowly, she begins to move, bounces her ass on his cock between his spread legs. Grinds on him in between all the bouncing. And oh god, he’s so deep.

“That’s if, baby. Dance. Dance for me.” Dean whispers, his hands spanks her ass and then he rests them on her cheeks, helping her dance around on his cock. “Fucking amazing.”

Dean can’t resist for long, comes deep inside her and pulls her up a little by her hips so that she can lean her back on his chest. Up until her head rests on his shoulders and he rides out his orgasm while he tilts her head to the side to kiss her deep and demanding.

“Fuck,” He mumbles when he breaks the kiss. “‘M sorry. I meant to wait but you were so incredibly sexy.”

She laughs, lets him touch her all over, his hands are restless, kneading and stroking her everywhere. “That’s okay. It was for your pleasure. And it’s not like you haven’t given me a mind blowing orgasm already this evening.” Y/N can’t help but to blush a little when she thinks back to him eating her out on the dining table.

“Yeah,” Dean chuckles. “Never gonna have a meal there and not think about your sweet pussy ever again.”

His soft dick slips out of her, making both of them flinch. He smiles before pecking her nose. “I love you.”

Her heart races. It’s the second time he ever said it. They don’t throw the word around and that’s why it’s such a surprise to her not to mention super exciting.

Why? She wants to ask. Why do you love me when I can’t even love myself? I’m the worst and you love me. You wouldn’t if you only knew.

But instead she says, “I love you too.”

She smiles back, kisses him and nibbles at his bottom lip and he tightens his arms around her waist.

“Sometimes,” Dean whispers, “I love you so much that it physically pains me. It’s not necessarily the love that pains me but more the fear of losing you.”

She swallows hard.

“Sam once said that I’m not terrified of falling in love or being happy, for that matter. But he said that I’m terrified that it could be taken away from me.” Dean pauses to let her sit back onto his lap more comfortably and then he puts his spent dick back into his pants, pulls it up and zips up. “And I realized that it’s true. Sam’s right. I never told you but the day where you were shot, I prayed for the first time in years.”

Her eyes well up and she doesn’t know where to look anymore. She doesn’t want him to see her tears, actually didn’t want to hear all of this, because it makes it all so much harder.

She kisses him then, shuts him up and hides her tears at the same time. She hopes it’s enough, knowing that it isn’t.

After a while Dean nudges her cheek. “Come on, let’s go back to the cats.”

She grins at that, gets up and pulls her skirt down. She’s already leaking his cum. “They have names, Dean.”

“They don’t if I have a say in this.” He says and buckles his belt.

“I’m not going home unless you say their names.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Fine. Let’s go home to Cuddles and Bubbles. There, you happy now?”

Y/N grins wide. “Yeah.”

He opens the door, lets her slip out first, takes her hand and holds a tight grip on her while they walk to the front. “How did you like the strip club?”

“Not gonna lie, I kinda like it. You?”

He chuckles, and wraps his free hand around her waist, pulls her closer as they walk along, “Yeah. This club is awesome. I had sex with a stripper tonight!”

CH29

#something just like this #dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #mobster!dean #dean x reader #dean x you #nathalie writes

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thethistlegirl · 4 years

Text

Comfortember day 16 (Protective)

Here’s a little Wunderkind ‘verse Mac and protective Desi!

Desi hates parties. And not for the reasons everyone seems to assume. Contrary to popular belief, it's kind of fun to wear a ridiculously impractical dress (although there's a knife sheathed at her thigh if she has to cut off the skirt or slit it to run) and useless shoes (but none with straps so far up the ankle she can't slip them off if need be). It's like the fun of playing pretend as a kid. Except that instead of being the princess dragon tamer (when the neighbor's dog didn't eat the elaborate construction paper horns and spines she made for him) she's pretending to be normal.

It's not even the extremely bland small talk. There's usually Jack and Bozer to keep things hopping. No one wants Mac and Riley to be in charge of avoiding boring lulls. Riley hacked a sound system and made it play Jack's top Willie Nelson hits at full volume once, and there was that time Mac set the centerpiece on fire. Between Jack and Bozer, there's generally never a dull moment and also a notable absence of smoke alarms.

No, what Desi really hates is the way people assume that since she's single, she's available. Sometimes, she can snap wrists when someone lays a hand on her the wrong way. But times like this, she has to keep a lid on the simmering anger. She doesn't like assumptions.

And she knows Mac doesn't either.

Jack does a good job keeping Mac away from anyone who might make him uncomfortable, but tonight Jack is a little busy (by which she means he's currently trading fisticuffs with three armed goons in the basement under this gala's venue).

She'd be right beside him except that her arm is still healing from Kenya. Instead, she and Mac and Bozer are watching the guests while Jack and Riley break into the secured server room and get the data that will prove the host of this party is using it as a cover to smuggle huge amounts of confidential documents to a foreign operative.

So far, Dr. Wenger has showed no signs of suspicion that he's about to be exposed as a traitor. He's mingling with the guests and far away from the door Bozer's watching, pretending to be an indie producer scouting talent. Mac's been working on his little gadget that will knock out the power long enough for them to escape in the chaos. Or at least he was last Desi saw. She's walking the room clocking the guards and who has a sidearm.

She turns back to Mac and frowns. There's a brunette pushing herself up in his personal space, and his body language screams that he's uncomfortable. But she either is oblivious to it or doesn't care.

Desi walks quickly across the room. She can tell Mac is arguing, but in his own soft, reluctant way. He doesn't want to make someone else uncomfortable even when they're doing it to him, but even more than that, he's afraid of drawing attention. He's the one holding something incriminating.

Desi lets her heels click loudly on the floor as she approaches. She puts on her best threatening posture, the one that seems to make people instinctively sense that she's dangerous and not to be crossed.

"Hey. He's with me." Desi watches the moment the girl turns around and her face goes from petulant to genuinely scared. She turns as white as the silky tulle dress she's wearing and practically bolts, wobbling on her heels.

"Thanks," Mac whispers.

And then Jack yells into the comms that they're coming in hot, and Mac grabs his device out of his pocket and the room goes black. Desi leads the way to their closest exit, knocking down the guard at the door with a well placed leg sweep and an elbow to the neck for good measure.

It's not until they're back in the van that Mac says anything more.

"Thanks for the save back there. She wasn't going to take no for an answer and..." he sighs. "All I could think about was that I needed to be ready when Jack and Riley were. I didn't know what to do..."

"You did your job, I did mine," Desi says. "And...I'm more than happy to do it again if you need. Even if it's not mission critical. People need to learn that no means no, but they're a lot more likely to accept that if you have a fake partner, sadly. And until they learn otherwise, consider me a valid option."

She knows he and Riley have faked the couple thing before, but that's got to feel weird to him. "Trust me, I know what it's like to have what they want be the furthest thing from your mind." She's not sure if Mac's naturally not interested or if it's the trauma, but either way he deserves to be allowed his own choices and not pressured.

"Thanks. And if you want, I can...I mean, you're usually fine, but...I can..." She knows he's doing that thing he does where he starts trying to backtrack and the words don't come out right.

"I appreciate it. And I'll probably be taking you up on it." Maybe sometimes just to make him feel like he's not the only one who needs some backup, but...there are times when she'll legitimately feel better with someone by her side.

He smiles, holding up a paperclip in the shape of one of her heels.

#wunderkind #comfortember #mac and desi #protective desi #macgyver #angus macgyver #desi nguyen

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girlpornparadise · 4 years

Text

The Caged Bird Moans (pt 6)

Pairing: Diego Jimenez/f!Reader (Power - Starz)

Word Count: ~ 1700

Warnings: It’s a bit Stockholm syndromey, but that’s not a real thing anyway (look it up). Not exactly non-con, but it skirts the idea, so if power disparities aren’t your jam, please move along. It just real dirty. SMUT!

Personal ramble: Would anyone actually react like this to the situation I’ve set forth? No. But just as the pizza guy is never hot and doesn’t offer you his extra sausage, this is porn people! So suspend your disbelief and don’t hate on me for my bullsh*t.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

You know you’re betraying your family name, and you don’t care. They’re the reason you’re in this mess to begin with. You wonder why you are still his prisoner but don’t really mind at this point. The families must be in some kind of pissing contest, full of machismo fueled exchanges and threat filled arguments.

No matter. You have run of the condo with no real desire to leave. He provides you only with his shirts from now on figuring you won’t try to escape with so little clothing and no shoes. He loves to see you in his shirts because you are cloaked in him and are unmistakably his. He leaves a plush blanket on the couch if you get cold and when you wrap it around you, you imagine his embrace.

When it’s time for business to be conducted you hide in the guest room. You turn the TV loud to drown out the arguments. You occasionally hear Diego’s aggressive demeanor above the din and it sends a bit of a thrill through you to be chosen by a man who commands so much respect.

A few more days pass and you swim in the ecstasy of being with him. The demands to take you over and over, on any surface, at any time. The beauty you find in every detail of his body. The genuine affection you have for him, but that he can’t reciprocate.

He comes into your room in the evening as you read a trashy mystery novel he had brought to you. You put the book down and perk up, excited to see him. You feel your body begin to buzz at the thought of him claiming you again.

His demeanor lacks its usual bravado though, and you find yourself filled with concern. His posture is slightly slumped and his arms fall at his sides without their usual forced tension.

He sits down next to you on the bed and puts his hand over yours, both now resting on your thigh.

“Oh my good girl.” he sighs. “I go to finalize your release tonight.” He looks genuinely saddened behind his usually stone-faced facade.

You can’t help your sadness as tears threaten to well. He cups your face more gently than he ever has and looks deep into your eyes.

“I could never keep you, my caged little bird.” His voice as soft as his gaze.

He plants a kiss on your lips, wet but almost chaste. He caresses your cheek and as a tear rolls down it, his thumb firmly brushes it away.

When you open your eyes, he smooths his hand over your hair, and crooks a small smile at you.

You reach out to his chest as he leans in to kiss you again. You scrape your hands across the soft fabric covering his broad surface and his lips seek yours, hungrily massaging them. You smile into his mouth as you feel his gruff facial hair brush against your chin.

He tenses and relaxes beneath your roving touch, his heavy breathing betraying the desperation he feels for you and you feel his chest rise and fall beneath your hands.

He cups your breasts through your shirt, feeling their warmth and weight in his hands and kisses you once more.

He shifts his weight and he lays you down gently on your back. And for the first time, he makes love to you. It’s not his usual aggressive, lust fueled peepshow. This time it isn’t a conquest, but a goodbye letter in physical form.

His hands are gentle as he caresses your skin. The bare inside of your forearm, the nape of your neck, the ridge of your collarbone. He pecks gentle kisses along your neck and jaw, and you close your eyes in a waking dream.

He unbuttons the shirt you’re wearing slowly as he watches your movements. The heave of your breasts under his strong hands makes his cock twitch inside of his pants. He opens your shirt and takes your breasts in his palms as he rubs them, circling his thumbs slowly across the sensitive skin. He takes your nipple into his mouth and swirls his tongue as it hardens beneath his heat. You sigh heavily.

As he pushes himself up off of the bed, you reach for the buttons on his shirt and work them open to release him from its confines. You drag your hands slowly down his chest, his abs, to his pants. You remove the belt and undo his fly.

As you release his straining cock he reaches down and discards his remaining clothing. You feel the warmth of the skin on his legs brushing against yours and his erection grazing against you as he positions himself over top of you.

He slides his hand between your wet folds and pushes two of his fingers past your threshold. As he drags them along your walls you roll your hips to his rhythm.

He’s watching your face this time, reading your twitches and whimpers, trying to decipher the key to your ecstasy.

He removes his hand and licks the slick off of his fingers. He holds his cock firmly and glides it into you slowly, agonizingly slowly so you feel every inch settling into you.

He rocks slowly and deliberately this time, savouring every moment inside of you. You grab desperately at him, never wanting to let him go. You are clinging to the moment and all of the heat, sweat, fire and passion passing between you. This brief eternity being precious to you both.

As he presses his hips more firmly against you, lingering in your depths, your pleasure crests and you exhale his name. This sends him over the edge and he empties his body into yours with a gentle final push.

You reluctantly release your grasp on him and let him fall to your side. Your eyes study him, trying to memorize him in this moment. He’s unguarded and radiates a peacefulness his lifestyle so rarely affords him. You both lay still for a moment, lost in each other’s breathing.

“You’re not the monster everyone thinks you are.” You gently say as you reach over and stroke his jaw.

“That’s our little secret.” He replies, those cheeky dimples melting your heart.

He kisses your forehead and gets up off the bed. He pulls on his boxers and pants. You watch him zip them up then he retrieves his shirt, which he buttons up and smooths down until he decides himself presentable.

As he leaves, he doesn’t speak, but he pauses at the door and looks at you longingly. With the slightest of nods, he takes his leave. You lay back looking at the ceiling as you try to untangle what you’re feeling from what is rational and true. The impossible knot has manifested itself in your stomach as a mangled ache. You try to breathe steadily and drift in and out of a dreamless sleep for a few hours.

When you wake, you sit on the bed, waiting anxiously for the next move. You picture Diego and his henchmen taking you blindfolded to an alley for some kind of hand-off. You decide you watch too many movies.

Suddenly an uneasy feeling hits the pit of your stomach, and your heart beats faster. Intuition is telling you that something is about to happen and it isn’t what you’d just been picturing.

The elevator dings and you hear a major commotion as several men trample into the penthouse.

“Find her!” Says a commanding and somehow familiar voice.

In a panic, you back yourself into the corner of the room, next to the window and pull your knees up to your chest, hugging yourself into a ball.

The room’s door swings open and crashes into the wall as 3 men with guns enter. You tense at their sight, but when they see you and that the room is clear, they lower their weapons.

“She’s in here.” One of them shouts.

In rushes their boss, your grandfather. He sees you shaking and barely clothed and pulls the duvet off the bed to wrap you in it. He crouches down beside you as you’re swaddled by its warmth.

You’re relieved that it’s him, but still in shock.

“It’s ok, it’s going to be ok. You’re safe now." He reassures you.

You take deep, gasping breaths, still shaking.

"He can’t hurt you now. We’ve made sure of that.” In your addled state you look at him, confused.

“Diego Jimenez is dead sweetheart. He’ll never lay a finger on you again.”

Your heart stops and your body goes cold and suddenly you can’t hold back and the floodgates open. You sob uncontrollably into your grandfather’s arms.

He mistakes your tears for the tears of trauma, assuming your fear found its resolution. They are tears of relief he tells himself. The tears that will begin your healing from the whole ordeal.

You sob and heave and struggle to catch your breath and it continues for what feels like hours. He lets you wear yourself out, and when the sobbing subsides and your body stops shaking you are handed some warm clothes.You dress yourself and are escorted to the elevator.

Your grandfather wants a doctor to examine you, but you persuade him to let you go home instead. You’ve never felt so old or exhausted in your life.

“You are free now little bird.” You tell yourself sadly.

***

You return to your family and they coddle you for a while. There are big celebrations and intimate dinners, and you eat and try to laugh when you’re expected to. There are therapists to help you process the trauma, but despite the promise of confidentiality, you make up most of your harrowing ordeal. Anyone could be on the family payroll. Anyone.

You must conceal the sadness in your heart. At the loss of a man you were falling for, but could never be yours. You keep him as a secret, locked away from everyone you know, lest your family disown you.

You eventually leave the city and your life returns to normal. But when you’re alone, late at night, the intense passion seared in your memory and in the fibers of your body makes you wistfully smile and your heart longs to be caged once more.

#diego jimenez #maurice compte #starz power #fic #smut #moar diego #moar growly murder panther

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tuiccim · 4 years

Text

Santi (Part 8)

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Words: 3103

Warnings: Angst, violence, language

Trigger warning: Violence

Summary: The Caruso Op continues.

Santi Masterlist

Day 101

Everything was set. Vision was driving you and the cargo in the SUV to the meeting place. You pulled into the warehouse in Brooklyn you had previously scoped out and smoothly exited the car. Vincent was there waiting with his bodyguards and a few other people to take the cargo.

“Vincent.” You smile.

“Eve, is this everything?” VIncent asks.

“Your entire list, as promised. Did you doubt me?” You smirk.

“Of course not, darling.” Vincent says smoothly.

You spend the next 20 minutes going over the cargo and discussing future needs and shipments. When Vincent seems satisfied with everything he nods to the others.

“I have a gift for you in the office here. Will you join me for a drink?”

“A gift?” You say suspiciously.

“For our reunion.” Vincent smiles devilishly at you.

You look to Vision who immediately joins you, but Vincent turns back. “Leave the shadow. I’ll leave the guards. Just the two of us.”

You can feel something is off. Everyone is tense, which is normal in a deal, but there’s something different about Vincent and you can’t quite pull the emotion out that is making things feel strange. Knowing you can handle Vincent alone you decide to take the chance and follow him. Vision is obviously unhappy with the decision but he lets you go. You walk into the dim office with an old metal desk and little else in the room. The door closes suddenly behind you and that’s when you feel the needle in your neck.

You wake up what was only 20-30 minutes later. Your healing ability metabolizing the drug more quickly than average. You are in the backseat of Vincent’s SUV with hands cuffed behind your back. You moan as you are coming to and realize your surroundings.

“Awake already?” Vincents snarks.

“The fuck did you do, Vincent?” You try to sound forceful but it comes out slurred. The effects of the drugs still in your system.

“I have some bad news. I’m afraid your shadow is no more. My guards are dispatching him as we speak. You did say one lover at a time so I felt the need to rid us of him.”

You chuckle, “I doubt your guards can handle, V. He’s more than he seems.”

“5 to 1. I like my odds.” Vincent looks at you.

“Where are we going and why am I handcuffed?” You say.

“Someplace private. And it’s the first step in breaking you. I’m the one in control.” Vincent says.

“You think.” You know now that Vincents ‘never say never’ comment at the party had been a threat. His obsession had been rekindled and this time he had decided he would have you no matter what.

“I know. You are mine now, Eve. I’ll prove it to you.” He slides a hand to your thigh and rubs. “You’ll see, darling.”

You jerk your leg away from him and he chuckles. Looking outside you stare at your surroundings and realize you are no longer in Brooklyn. You assumed you were headed to the loft in the meatpacking district when you see the car is going the opposite direction. Away from everything you had shown Vision and Sam. A little panic begins to form as you realize they have no idea where you are being taken. You reach out to feel Vincent’s emotions but the drug in your system is making it difficult. Your head is pounding so you decide to just lay your head against the window and watch. You hoped Vision was okay. The ride lasts nearly another hour before you arrive at a beautiful house with extensive grounds. The car door opens and you feel another sting in your neck.

This time you wake up with a start. Something is being held under your nose. You shake your head to get away from the acrid smell.

“That’s it. Wake up, Eve. It’s time to play.” Vincent's voice is delighted.

You come awake but still feel sluggish. It takes you a second to realize you’re tied to a metal rack. Wrists are tied by your head and ankles tied to the bottom. Thankfully, you’re still fully dressed. The room is windowless and full of different weapons and equipment. This makes you more fully awake. “Enough, Vincent. Unchain me. This is not how it works.”

“So naive. You think all submissives actually start off wanting it?” Vincent says darkly.

“If you touch me again, you will die today.” You say.

Vincent slaps you across the face. “Speak when told.”

You laugh at him knowing you can’t let him break you. The longer you hold out against him the better chance he wouldn’t… He needed you to be submissive and there was no way in hell you were gonna break. “That’s cute, Vinny. You think I’ll actually listen to you.”

“Don’t call me that. You will. I think you are wearing too many clothes.” Vincent picks a knife up.

You simply stare at him with dead eyes. He takes the knife and slides it under the buttons of your blouse and pops them off. You never break eye contact with him. When the last button pops off he rips the blouse open. “Look at you. So pretty.” He slides the knife along your skin.

“I’m going to mark you. I think I’ll carve my initials right next to your bullet wounds.” He looks down for the scar and your heart accelerates. You hadn’t bothered with the fake scar as trust had been reestablished. Vincent stares hard at your stomach where they had been before reaching for the waistband of your skirt to pull it down further.

“Where are they?” He stares at you in disbelief. You just stare at him. Not saying anything. “Where are they?” he repeats more loudly and presses the knife into your skin where they should be. Your face twitches at the sting from the knife and he scrapes the blade across your skin raising a thin line that beads with drops of blood. You try to remain calm but the terror begins in the pit of your stomach. Vincent is about to realize what you are. You can already feel your skin knitting back together and his face is staring at the line as it is quickly disappearing. “What the fuck?” He says as he watches and then his eyes snap up to yours. There is pure glee in his face and you feel panic begin to rise in you. “You’re one of those! How far does your healing ability go, Eve? Secretive girl.”

You say nothing.

“Let’s test it out.” He makes a deeper stripe across your stomach and you keep your poker face on as best you can. He watches as the line recedes again and then rips a piece of your shirt off to wipe away the blood revealing the smooth skin underneath. Then he plunges the knife into your stomach fully and you grunt at the pain. He pulls it out and watches again as your skin repairs itself. He repeats the action eliciting another grunt and smiles at you wickedly, “You still feel all the pain, don’t you? I can hurt you and hurt you and you’ll never have a mark on you. You really are the perfect woman.” He laughs sickly as he plunges the knife in again.

“Where the fuck is she, Sam? Bucky is near out of his mind as the team scrambles to find you.

“Redwing lost them in the trees covering the road. We’ll find her. There are only two ways they could have gone. I’ve got another asset that was following her but he hasn’t checked in.”

“I’m gonna kill this bastard.” Bucky fumes.

Sam’s cell phone starts ringing and he picks up. ”Nate, man, where the hell ya been? Do you have her?” Bucky is looming over Sam.

The voice over the line is breaking up, “Sam, got shit reception out here. They’re in a huge house. No way to get in there without being noticed and he’s got several guards on the ground.”

“I’ve got his location.” Natasha says behind Sam.

“Let’s go.” Bucky bellows at everyone Vision puts a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. The quinjet is already heading the right direction.

You are panting from the pain. Vincent has stabbed you a dozen times and your skirt is drenched in blood. He was reveling in the pain it was causing you but was also angry because you wouldn’t scream.

“Scream for me once, Eve. Then I’ll give you a break. Just one scream.” He plunges the knife in again.

You hold in any sound. You can’t let him win. Once you catch your breath, you laugh. “Told ya, Vinny. I don’t break.”

“Bitch!” He screams and slaps you again. You just laugh maniacally hoping to unnerve him more. Between the drug still in your system and the pain, you can’t concentrate well enough to use your telepathy.

Vincent is suddenly calmer and your stomach clenches. “Let’s test something out. You heal, but can you grow back appendages?”

Shit. This was going to hurt. You had lost a toe once before and it had grown back but you’d never cared to test the limitations of the ability. He grabs your hand and then you hear the shots firing. Vincent looks towards the door.

“Ready to die?” You say.

Vincent picks up his gun and points it at your head. “We die together, Eve. Don’t worry.” He grins malevolently.

The door is kicked in and Steve and Bucky freeze seeing the gun pointed at your head.

“The Avengers. How interesting. I should have guessed with your abilities, Eve.” Vincent says before addressing Steve and Bucky, “Can she survive a head shot?” He grins.

“Shoot him.” You enunciate clearly and Vincent brings the barrel of the gun closer to your head.

“Lower the gun.” Steve says.

“I don’t think so. I’ll take her with me.” Vincent turns back to look at you and you wrench your head as far away from the gun as you can but the bullet still hits the right side of your forehead. Vincent drops to the floor dead from Bucky’s shot. Bucky runs to you immediately. You’re slumped over and not moving.

“Doll, doll, wake up.” He picks your head up to see the bullet hole in your forehead. “NO! NO! SANTI! Wake up, baby. WAKE UP, WAKE UP!” Bucky drops to his knees and screams. His jeans become stained with your blood that covers the floor. The rest of the team stand in the doorway taking in the scene before them.

Steve comes up behind Bucky and tries to pick him up. “Come on, Bucky. Come on, man. Let me get you out of here.”

Suddenly a small tink is heard and Bucky sees a bullet drop into the pool of blood. He looks up sharply and sees your head move slightly.

“Owwwww…” You say as a massive headache reverberates through your head.

“Santi!” Bucky is up in an instant and cradles your face.

“Vis?” You slur. Everything feels strange and you can’t seem to get your words out.

“He’s here. He’s okay. Help me get her out of this.” Bucky says.

Within a few minutes Bucky is carrying you to the quinjet. Natasha and Steve are checking you over for injuries which you find slightly ludicrous. You are exhausted and just want to sleep. Bucky keeps you cradled in his arms in the quinjet whispering to you, “You’re okay, doll. I’ve got you. Never letting you go again.”

“Bucky,” you curl your fingers into his shirt.

“Shhh, you don't need to talk. I’m gonna take care of you, baby.” Bucky reassures.

You can’t hold out any longer and pass out.

Day 102

You wake in the medbay of the tower and slowly look around. A monitor next to you shows your vitals. You see Bucky talking to one of the doctors. He turns to look at you and you lock eyes. He rushes to your side, “Doll, you’re awake.”

"Bucky." You reach out for him and he takes you in his arms. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s fine. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. How long was I out for?”

“It’s been almost 14 hours.” Dr. Miles says as she walks in.

“Hey Doc.” You say to your usual doctor. Despite your healing abilities you are still required to have regular check ups with the medical staff.

“How are you feeling?” Dr. Miles asks.

You look at Bucky’s face. His arms are still around you. “I’m fine. Nothing feels off. When can I get out of here?”

“All your labs are normal. I want to monitor your vitals and keep you for another hour or two.”

You groan, “Really, Doc?”

“Let her do her job, Doll.” Bucky says kissing the top of your head.

She performs a cognitive and neurological exam.

“Can you tell me what exactly happened? I need to do a full report of your injuries.” Dr. Miles says.

“Bucky, can you give us a minute?” You look at him.

“Sorry, Doll. Not letting you go. I need to hear it, too.”

“No, I… Buck.” One look in his stern face told you he wasn’t going anywhere. “Okay. Two slices across my abdomen. Around 20 or so full seated stabs to the abdomen. Bullet to the head.” You get a far away look in your eye. “Bullet to the head. I survived it.” A hand flies to your forehead.

“You did and without any lasting damage it would seem. We did a cat scan while you were out and everything looks the same as the one we did six months ago.” Dr. Miles gives you both a smile and walks out.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you had to hear that. I’m sorry you had to see it. Sorry you had to do that.” You whisper to Bucky, pulling him tighter against you.

“I would do it all over again to keep you safe. You never have to worry about him again.” Bucky holds you tight. “I’m just so damn glad you’re safe. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Several hours later, you’ve been released from medbay, showered, spent some quality time with Bucky, and are now joining the team for dinner. When you walk into the room, your eyes immediately go to Vision. Letting go of Bucky’s hand, you rush to hug Vision.

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” You say as he returns your embrace.

“I’m glad you’re okay, too.” Vision says. You put your hands up to his face and look at him for a minute.

“I’m glad to see you, Vision.” You smile at him in his normal form. You move to Wanda and hug her fiercely. “Thank you. Without him… Thank you.”

“We’re a team. We will always look out for each other.” Wanda says.

You make your way around the room hugging everyone. You hear the elevator and see Sam step off of it with another man. He was wearing a cap and his head was down, but when he looked up at you a minute later you recognized him immediately.

“Nate?” you say in disbelief.

“Nate’s an old buddy. Pulled him in since he’s not a recognizable face. You did good, man.” Sam smiles at him.

“Hi, Agent Delarosa. Nathaniel Spencer, at your service.” He holds a hand out to you.

You shake it, “I take it you were how they found me.”

“Yeah, I was following. Sam wanted an extra set of eyes on you just in case.” Nate smiles.

“Thank you, Nate.” You smile at him and unable to contain yourself you step forward and hug him. “Thank you.”

Nate laughs, “Yeah. So, you’re not as mean as I remember.”

A laugh bubbles up, “I hope not.” You turn to Sam and pull him into a hug. “Thank you, Sam.”

“You got it, Santi.” Sam squeezes you.

“Okay, okay. Enough, Birdbrain.” Bucky says pulling you into his arms.

“I can’t help it if she’s grateful to me.” Sam smirks at Bucky.

“I’m grateful to all of you. I’m just sorry we didn’t complete the mission and find out who was being supplied. I didn’t realize how obsessed…” you trail off.

“You couldn’t know what he’d do, doll. You and Vision made it out alive. That’s all that matters.” Bucky says.

“I, for one, am both glad and jealous that you can apparently survive a headshot.” Natasha says.

Steve clears his throat, “I’m just glad we’re all back together. You need to take it easy for a bit though, Santi. Doctors orders. No mission for at least six weeks.”

“I know, Steve. Doc told me.” You smile at him. “Let’s eat. I’m starving!”

After dinner you asked to speak to Steve and Sam alone. Of course, that meant Bucky too. He hadn’t left your side since you woke up.

“Fury?” You asked simply.

“His only concern was getting you back. He knew Caruso was dangerous and unstable. No one could have predicted that he would do that.” Steve says.

“Figuring out who he was supplying for was the goal and now we’re back at square one.” You frown.

“Not exactly.” Sam says.

“What do you mean?”

“That house was a treasure trove of intel. It wasn’t on anyone’s radar. SHIELD got several leads to follow from it.” Sam says.

“So, it wasn’t a total bust?” Relief floods through you.

“No. SHIELD will be chasing everything down. Caruso had several links to HYDRA.” Steve says.

“It’s out of our hands now.” Bucky puts his arms around you. “You did more than enough.”

You lean into his touch. “Okay. We’re gonna call it an early night, guys.”

“Night.” Sam says.

“Night, Santi. Night, Buck. Get some rest.”

You lay on your side facing Bucky, studying each beautiful feature of his face. He is doing the same. His eyes keep wandering to a certain spot on your forehead. Your heart broke a little every time they did. Knowing the agony he must have been put through.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper with tears in your eyes. A sentiment you had repeated several times since waking up in the medbay.

“We’ve been over this. Not your doing, doll.” Bucky cups your cheek.

“I just…” You start sobbing again. It felt like the hundredth time you had that day. Everything replayed in your mind again and again. Bucky pulled you into his arms and held you. The mission was over but the effects had a hold on you. The damage Eve always left in her wake.

Part 9

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skinks · 4 years

Note

mr wentworth yes i help my son with his goofy voices yes i am a dilf tozier has the salt n pepper hair of god (oscar isaac) and the sexy librarian glasses to match

god I had never even considered that... the range of this...

Went starts going gray at 32 when Richie is 5 and it’s all the church women’s group can talk about... indirectly, of course. Oh, but he’s so young. Oh, he’ll be balding next. Oh I don’t know, doesn’t he look... distinguished? Mrs Nash from just down their street sees him doing rock-paper-scissors with his son Richard in the grocery store to determine whether or not Richard is allowed ice cream, and Dr Tozier is laughing because he’s winning, and he’s winning because Richard doesn’t know his father can see his little hidden hand reflected in the freezer cabinet, tucked behind his back. Richard’s laughing too, even though he’s losing, and bleats, “Again! Dad again,” eyes shining big as planets with coke-bottle rings.

“Don’t you know what best two out of three means? That was four draws ago.”

“No! No, I’ll win!” The boy shakes his head so hard his whole body rocks from side to side, then clings up at Dr Tozier’s middle with sticky hands. His very... trim middle. Helen’s own Rory, God love him, he enjoys a sudsy six-pack too much these days to keep a middle like that. “Two outta three! Three ice creams please Dad please please Dad please watch I can count to a hundred—”

“Well, we’re not playing hide-and-go-seek right now, Rich. And I beat you, didnt I?”

“Yeah!”

“Right. So why don’t you go get Dad six apples instead, alright? If you can do a hundred, six’ll be pie.” Dr Tozier claps his big hands gentle to the boy’s round cheeks, until they goldfish.

“Easy as,” they chant together. Helen props herself up with the handles of her own cart, the can of little hotdogs going slack in her hand.

“Six apples, then come right back. You got that, doc? You pick the color.”

Richard nods like he’s trying to detach his own head. Dr Tozier puts one hand just briefly on Richard’s dark mophead hair, like he’s giving the boy a blessing for his apple adventure. His hand is really quite broad, thinks Helen, popped out square at the thumb-joint. Matches that jawline of his, something whispers darkly in her stomach. Then the boy’s off, tearing down the aisle on a squeaking chariot of scuffed-gray sneakers and babbling what sounds like a Bugs Bunny impression, repeated on a loop. What’s up doc what’s up doc what’s up doc, fading around the corner to the fruit. Peculiar. Helen once saw the Tozier boy eat a worm at the park while pushing her youngest on the swings, after another solemn-eyed little boy with a faceful of freckles had carefully presented it to him in the sand box. Most peculiar.

Dr Tozier watches him go, then turns back to the freezer cabinet, and sticks two cartons of ice cream into his shopping cart—the very sugary kind. And the man is a dentist!

Helen puts her hand on her chest to calm the trilling schoolgirl rush of her heart, and then stops herself at the sight of her own wedding ring. Get a hold of yourself, Mrs Nash! For Pete’s sake! She trundles her cart over for some chit-chat. Afternoon, Doctor, she says, lovely weather. A perfect neighbourly opener. It is lovely; bright and warm and clear and golden, like honey outside. She’s quietly smug about her new blowout. Dr Tozier is wearing a crisp shirt with buttons like neat soldiers and short sleeves, exposing lean forearms. Yes, a lovely day. Helen swallows.

“Yes, good for the lawn,” replies Dr Tozier.

“We missed Margaret at book club this week,” Helen hedges.

“Oh, that’s right,” says Dr Tozier, and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes when he grins are even more distracting without the facemask he’s usually wearing, when Helen drops in for her check-ups. He pushes his spectacles up the strong slope of his nose. They’re wiry like him, steely gray to match his eyes. “She meant for me to tell you, or Diana. Maggie’s been in Skowhegan for the week at her mother’s. My mother-in-law is a woman of... nervous disposition, shall we say. Maggie didn’t think she’d cope with two Tozier men at once, now that Richie’s started losing his teeth.”

“Ohhh,” Helen coos. That must explain the ice cream. She puts her hand near to Dr Tozier’s arm, then away, then near, then away again for good. A neighbourly distance. Margaret is a lovely, lucky woman, even if she does wear flared pants. Hippie to yuppie pipeline’s alive ‘n’ flowin’, Rory always grunts whenever the Toziers come up in conversation. Helen imagines a picket fence between their bodies, and calms. “My Wendy was the same, I’m sure you remember.”

“Yes,” says Dr Tozier mildly. “You brought her in six times as I recall it, Mrs Nash.”

Mrs Nash. Honestly, like she’s his schoolteacher. It’s a little rude. Admittedly he does look quite, quite young with his faintly curling weekend-hair, if not for the new gray blazing a trail back from his temples like virgin snow. Helen is undeterred, even if something quivers inside at the thought of the word virgin in conversation with Dr Tozier. Music tinkles tinny through the ceiling speakers, and it puts Helen in mind of potted plants, or elevators. This is a lovely chat. “Well, you hate to see them suffer, don’t you? I’m sure Richard’s the same, lots of tears—”

“No, actually, Richie keeps on finding things to hit himself in the face with and knock out more teeth,” Dr Tozier interjects. He raises his eyebrows and speaks hushed, as if this is a secret for Helen’s ears alone. The thought makes her dizzy. “It’s my fault, I made the mistake of giving him a quarter for the first one. That’s why he’s not invited to Grandma’s. Lot of antiques.”

“Oh,” says Helen, taken aback. She has three girls; little boy behavior is as yet mystifying. “Well.”

“I’m joking, Helen,” Dr Tozier says cheerfully.

“Oh. I—I see. What a relief.”

He opens a freezer chest to examine a bag of frozen peas. “Maggie’s mom is deaf as white cat, she’d never notice.”

Helen tries to wipe her clammy hands on her dress without being obvious. Her face is hot, but she hopes her cardigan conceals the effect that the chill of the freezer aisle is having under her bra. She also hopes that it doesn’t.

He really does have such a slender, pleasant face, always with an air of casual, amused expectancy hanging around him. Haloing him, like that bright yellow light above the chair in his practice, blocked out when he leans over and slips his fingers inside. Helen supposes that’s what graduating medical school must do to a man, what marrying and fathering young and having one’s own practice by the end of such a turbulent decade as the nineteen-seventies must elicit. The ability to put people at ease, to—to say open wide and know the people of Derry trust him enough to comply. To open themselves. Helen’s breathing catches. Dr Tozier idly checks his sensible watch, still smiling the unhurried smile of a man who very rarely does his own grocery shopping anymore. Everyone knows you pick up the ice-cream last.

Helen gathers herself. This is the longest conversation she has entertained with Dr Tozier without children or the squeaking of latex gloves between them, and she’s gripped by the terribly silly need to be interesting. “Speaking of white cats, I couldn’t help noticing your hair, Wentworth—”

“DADDY!”

Dr Tozier blanches, whipping around to scan the end of the aisle. He is a long line of tense instinct tuned to thrum into action at one specific frequency, knuckles white on the cart handle. His cart bumps into Helen’s. It is thrilling.

“Fuck,” Dr Tozier mutters, and that’s thrilling too, he swore, oh, the boy’s probably fine Wentworth, don’t go, why don’t we just stay right here with the frozen goods and—

Then Richard comes barrelling back down the aisle like a colt on new legs covered in old Band-aids, with his arms full. The fluorescent strip-lights gleam white on Dr Tozier’s broad shoulders and he sags, like snow dropping from a branch, with relief.

“Hey, lunkhead,” he says, sounding shaky, but Richard is only five and would never know it. He’s babbling again. Seems to Helen like the boy’s as a hydrant overflowing on a hot day; entertaining and welcomed at first, until it becomes a nuisance when you begin to understand it won’t shut off, and have to call the firemen.

“Nyyeeeeeah,” Richard greets his father, tousled and bug-eyed with clear adoration, breathing hard from his Supermarket Sweep. Then he makes the carrot-noise. Looks like Bugs, Helen thinks of the boy’s new adult front teeth, the beaverish jut of them exacerbated by his missing canines on either side. Then she feels abruptly un-neighbourlike for being jealous of a child for his father’s attention, good grief.

Dr Tozier regards his son for a long moment. Then says, “What’s up, doc?” in a spot-on Mel Blanc whine. Richard giggles so hard his too-big glasses start slipping. “How many apples is that?”

“Gotta apples and I was gonna put ‘em in a bag but I forgot and Dad, Daddy look, s’a dinosaur on the box for my dinner when Mommy’s at Grandma’s—”

Dr Tozier sighs, putting one hand on his hip and dragging the other over his clean-shaven mouth, watching Richard drop his armfuls everywhere, scattering the linoleum. He has two apples, four boxes of brightly colored cereal, a handful of pencils topped with cartoon-character erasers, and a kiwi fruit. For a moment, Helen sees the shining enamel of Dr Tozier’s everything-will-work-out-with-another-cup-of-coffee amusement slip, wear away to worry underneath.

“Rich,” he says, interrupting Richard’s blabbermouth, firm and patient. Helen’s thighs burn suddenly under her skirts at the tone of his voice, and she looks down, rearranging her own groceries. She should leave them to get on. She could offer to help. Margaret’s out of town, poor things, they probably haven’t eaten a cooked meal all week!

“Richie,” Dr Tozier says again. “Listen and pay attention when Mom or me ask you to do something, remember? How many apples did I ask you to get?”

Richard has to crane his neck to meet his father’s eyes. Dr Tozier is one of the tallest fathers in the Derry Elementary catchment zone, Helen has checked. “Six!”

“And how many’ve you got, Elmer Fudd?”

“Um.” Richard’s pale little face creases in thought, then brightens. When he speaks again his voice is strange, accented. “Twooo.”

“Some apple hunter you are, huh.”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

“That’s fine.” Dr Tozier stoops to gather Richard’s detritus, and Helen knows she has something to contribute, watching the boy stick one of the pencils up his nose.

“You know, apples are very good for you,” she says. Richard turns to her, slack-jawed, as if seeing her for the first time. “You should listen to your Daddy, Richard, an apple a day keeps the doctor away.”

Richard stares for another few seconds. Then he bites down on his boogery pencil so that it threads through the gaps in his teeth, and hollers, “MY FRIEND BILL SAID THAT’S A PILE OF BULLSHIT.”

“No shouting indoors, Rich,” says Dr Tozier, still gathering. Helen rocks a step backwards, clinging to her cart like a life-preserver.

“Bill and my’s friend Eddie eats a thousand apples and sees the doctor all the time though Dad, and Miss Spiegel said if we eat apples we don’t have to see the doctors but Eddie eats them and—Bill said—”

“Pile of bullshit, yeah, I liked it. Bill’s an eloquent guy,” says Dr Tozier. This is the second time Helen has ever heard him curse in as many minutes. It comes out easy and amused as everything else does in his pleasant tenor. His legs and his jaw are so lean and angular that Helen can see the suggestion, the shadow of the shape of his perfect, swearing teeth through his cheek as he grins helplessly at his son, the fruit of his loins and someone else’s loins who isn’t Helen, and all of a sudden she feels a slick pulse of wet heat, up between her thighs.

She squeaks. Flutters her hand to her face without knowing why, perhaps to catch the noise before Dr Tozier notices, just another quivering Derry leaf tossed along by his breezy manner. He looks up anyway, with a frown.

“Everything alright, Helen?”

“Just—fine, yes,” she manages. Dr Tozier is still down on one knee, kindly face level with her skirts. She can see right down under his starched collar from this angle, a slivering glimpse of smooth, dark hair. No undershirt. Helen has lain naked against Rory’s nakedness before without feeling this alive, in every part of her body. She feels like a heart, beating.

“Oh, hang on.” Dr Tozier says, eyes widening, and turns Richard by the shoulders to face her. One pencil for each nostril, now. “Apologize to Mrs Nash for cussing, Richie.”

“Sorry!” Richard shouts, sounding less like he’s apologizing and more like he’s just deemed Helen it during a game of tag.

Helen is still floating in a dazed state of mild panic. Like a prey-mouse, bewitched into slack compliance by her own body’s snaking desires. “That’s alright, dear.”

F-word, Dr Tozier had said. Maybe cussing could be quite neighbourly when applied in the right context, thinks Helen.

“You mentioned my hair, earlier,” says Dr Tozier, straightening back up with a knowing sort of arch to his eyebrow as he smiles genially at Helen. He tilts his head down at Richard. “There’s the reason. Every last one, sprinkled onto my head at the tender age of thirty-two by the great salt-and-pepper shaker of fatherhood. Especially this week, with Maggie on sabbatical. Had to bring you to work with me, didn’t I, buckaroo?”

Richard bites and swings and tugs on his father’s long arm, a tearaway kitten with a much obliging scratching post. Dr Tozier hardly seems to notice. “Yeah! Daddy’s got fishes at work!”

Dr Tozier grimaces slightly at Helen, but also as if he’s seeing right through her to some past unnamable horror. “I liked those fish. Calmed down the nervy patients.” He sighs again.

Helen wonders briefly whether or not the residents of Dr Tozier’s waiting-room fish tank suffered the same fate as that worm in the park, and decides she’d rather not know.

“Well, you needn’t worry about it,” she says, gamely. She watches her hand reach towards Dr Tozier’s silver-black brindle, then snatches it back from his bland expression to brush the tips of her own feathered-out hair. “The gray, I mean.”

Dr Tozier blinks.

“It’s very—that is to say, you look, it makes you look, I mean, I think it’s—”

Dr Tozier’s left eyebrow joins his right, raised up high.

A tidy little jet of hysteria shoots up from Helen’s knotting stomach to spin like a top in her chest. She hears herself stutter out the word, “Dashing,” and immediately wishes to flee the store, leaving her cart abandoned like so much collateral damage.

But Dr Tozier only barks a laugh, a short, smooth hah like everything else he says. Entirely unperturbed. “Well, thank you.”

Too unperturbed. Helen is struck by a sudden bolt of terror, at the thought of the things Dr Tozier must surely hear every day, when people are lulled by the hypnotically intimate environment of a dentist’s chair and a touch of the laughing gas. Oh, this is terrible. Her face is on fire.

“But they—they make products for men now,” she says, and why, oh why can’t she stop talking? “Hair dyes, I mean, if it really does bother you? I’ve seen them in Keene’s.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” says Dr Tozier, looking down at Richard then with a soft edge, at his bouncing noise and scabbed knees and gently curling hair like a black spaniel’s. Like his father’s. “I find I’m rather grateful for it, truth be told.”

“Plus,” he continues, as if Helen wasn’t already melting harder than the Tozier’s ice-cream, as if Johnny Kitchener the shop-boy isn’t going to have to come along with a mop and bucket to clean up on aisle seven, “Maggie’d kill me if I got rid of it.”

Then Dr Tozier winks.

Oh Lord, oh Lord, Helen’s whole ribcage is so tight she can’t squeeze out a reply, because who could blame dear, pretty, annoyingly friendly, lucky, lucky, lucky Margaret for that when Dr Wentworth Tozier DMD is so—

So f—

So fffffff—

So fiddlesticksing handsome!

“Well, we’d best not keep you, Helen. This one is in dire need of a bath before his mother sees him, and hands me a divorce on the spot,” Dr Tozier says, when another few moments have passed and all Helen can do is try to desperately smooth the creases from her breathing. He’s humming mild interest at something Richard is saying, knelt back down to the linoleum to tie the boy’s loose-worm laces presumably before he gives himself any more skinned knees, and they’re leaving. Dr Tozier is leaving, and Helen hasn’t done anything but act like a ninny this entire time. She doesn’t want him to think her a ninny, a simpleton. She wants him to leave this bright, liminal church of bold colors and jazzy waiting-room music and return to his lemon-yellow two-storey house thinking my, what a lovely chat I had with Helen Nash.

She wants to linger, as he lingers. Like an amiable spirit hanging over the women’s group at church, waiting to be summoned at a moment’s eager notice. I bumped into Dr Tozier at Palmer’s on Saturday, she’ll say to the other jealous ladies, with triumph, and we had such a nice talk. He called me Helen.

“And when—when does Margaret get home?” she blurts. A very secret part of Helen wants Dr Tozier to leave this conversation with Helen and his wife both, entwined by association in his mind. She tries very hard not to think about the Toziers divorcing, because that is un-neighbourly, and feels least neighbourly of all when a dopey, dreamy look crosses Dr Tozier’s face like a brief sunbeam at her question.

“Ah. Tonight. Not too late, hopefully.” He jerks one of his knuckley thumbs at his shopping cart, licking the other to wipe something unidentifiable from Richard’s grubby face. “That’s why we’re here, stocking up for her miraculous return. Like a couple of noble emperor penguins in Antarctica, eh Rich?”

“Penguins like from Batman! Ka-pow.”

Helen takes a peek into their cart, curiosity getting the better of her now that permission is granted. Dr Tozier might not know it, but looking into another person’s cart is bad grocery etiquette, especially in a town like Derry, where gossip grows like a fungus in every sweaty and close little huddle of people. Not that Helen would know about that. Anyway, there isn’t much to gossip about besides the unfortunately liquefied ice-cream, the severe lack of crunchy vegetables characteristic of a young man in 1981 trying to provide for a tooth-shedding son, and—

A little cardboard box. Tossed unashamedly between the Wonderbread and a magazine about sports. Prophylactics. Rubbers.

36-pack. XL

Helen knows her jaw is hanging open and strains to close it, the back of her neck and her shoulders feeling hot and tight and shuddery. She kneads a fist into her skirts. Crosses her legs at the ankles as demurely as she knows how, because the very last thing she needs is for frank, sensible Dr Tozier to see right through her with that easy doctor-patient-confidentiality smile, and know she’s soaking through her underwear at the sight of his Saturday grocery run, and all it implies.

Dr Tozier is laughing, nudging Richard in the direction of the register, or perhaps the apples. “Ka-pow is right. I’ll make sure to use that on Mom, thanks. Say hello to Rory for us, Helen. Have a nice day,” he says from over his shoulder, startling her. Holds up one long hand in a wave with a grin, and is gone, shadowing the boy’s haphazard attempts to push the cart despite not being able to see where he’s going.

Helen stands amongst the humming freezers, trembling. “You too,” she rasps, but Dr Tozier has rounded the corner, and is evidently going to have a nice day and a much nicer night, regardless of whether Helen wishes it for him or not.

All the bright little branded characters are watching her from their shelves, a silent jury. Helen Nash opens a freezer cabinet with a weak arm, and stands there for a while, staring at a leg of ham and thinking cooling, neighbourly thoughts.

#long post #idk how to do readmores on mobile soz not soz #wentworth tozier #richie tozier #poor sexually unsatisfied helen nash #sometimes you just have to write the DILF went tozier fic you want to see in the world #stephen king: he was a pleasant looking man with a rather thin face #me cracking my knuckles: a l r i g h t #but what if... big dick richie was hereditary... what then 😳🤔👀🤔👀😳😳👀#ficlet

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