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after-witch · 1 year

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Love is the Honey [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Love is the Honey [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You were kidnapped by Chrollo Lucilfer, and truth be told, things aren’t exactly terrible. You don’t have to worry about bills or paying for groceries or appeasing a shitty boss. It’s come at the price of your freedom, but it might be worth it. There’s only one thing you can’t accept, and it’s the one thing Chrollo won’t stop trying.

word count: 5417

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader

Outside, the city lights are all whites and reds and greens, twinkling and glistening amidst the darkness of the night sky. But from up here, you hear nothing of the bustling night outside.

No sounds of half drunk friends giggling with arms linked, traveling from bar to restaurant and back to bar again. No car horns laid upon by impatient drivers, eager to get home after a long day at work. No quarrels, no compliments, no queries about what you’re doing later tonight.

Nothing at all.

Up here, in this hotel room, there is only you and the quiet hum of the air conditioner--and of course, Chrollo. Better known as your kidnapper, who is (at least for the moment) blissfully quiet. Minus the sounds of turning book pages, but those hardly register. Not when you’re absorbed in your own book, and not when you take a break and stare out the window at the city below.

Far, far below. He tends to book rooms as high as he can get them. You’ve wondered if he does this on purpose, a deterrent, since you can’t hope to escape out the window. Or if he simply prefers to be up and above everyone, literally and figuratively. But maybe you’re overthinking it.

Maybe the luxurious rooms he prefers to book tend to be on the higher levels. Above all the noise of the city, of the restaurant on the first floor, of the laundry that churns out fresh sheets and towels, washing away dirt and fluids and whatever else someone has left behind in a hotel room.

Did the workers ever wonder about the people behind those dirty towels, those rumpled sheets? Did a bellboy ever see you, your tired expression, and think, Hm, I wonder if she’s all right? Did the maid who turned over your hotel room see the stacks of books piled up near the window, the blanket and pillow stuffed on the chair, and wonder: But aren’t they a couple? Why would she be sleeping on the chair and not the bed?

Truth be told, there’s only two things that infuriate you about your current situation. One, that Chrollo repeatedly tries to put the moves on you. And two, that he insists on trying to make you sleep with him in the same bed. Keyword being, of course: trying. You’ve yet to give in.

The rest of it? The rest of the life that came with Chrollo, you can accept. It’s almost cathartic. Sure, you don’t have freedom of movement, of choice, of life.

But you have freedom from so much else.

Freedom from having to work day and night just to make enough money to pay your bills, and sometimes you still got behind on them. Freedom from worrying about whether or not the funny sound your sink made was an issue with the plumbing that would drain your savings and rack up more debt. Freedom from your friend’s drama and your mother’s exacting expectations that you could never meet.

Besides, the lifestyle he forced you into gave you opportunities you’d never have otherwise. You usually stayed in high-end places, fancy hotels and condos; there was the occasional ramshackle safe house, but they were few and far between. They were always just the right temperature with just the right amenities, keeping you safe and comfortable.

You got to do whatever you wanted, within reason. You could read as many books as you could get your hands on; you could ask for crafts and hobbies, and he typically indulged in.

You ate good food every night and never wondered where your next meal would come from, or debated skipping meals to save money. You’ve tried dishes that you only read about in books or saw in films about rich people. Sure, some of it you couldn’t pronounce, and there was an air of superiority in the way Chrollo explained them to you. The taste, however, was completely worth the pompous comments.

And Chrollo himself could be tolerable. Sometimes. He was always up for a discussion or debate. You didn’t mind the traps he set, the way he tried to worm his way into your psyche at unsuspecting moments. Because what did that matter, when you knew you weren’t likely to get away from him unless he happened to die. Your life was this now, so who cared, really, if Chrollo wanted to psychoanalyze you because you wanted pizza for breakfast three days in a row?

Sometimes you wondered what it said about society that you felt genuinely relieved to be kidnapped away from it all. The financial obligations. The social stress. All of it replaced with near constant indulgence in your personal whims and your mind’s lovely but strange ability to relax despite what should have been a high-stress kidnapping scenario.

But… the damn bed situation.

That’s one thing Chrollo refuses to do--accommodate your desire to sleep separately in any reasonable way. You’ve given up asking him to request two beds, you’ve even stopped asking if you would call room service and have them bring up a cot for the floor. But it would be nice if he would at least book a room with a sofa, and not simply a chair, which no matter how expensive the room is, is never comfortable enough for sleeping.

He won’t, though. He’s nothing if not persistent in his romantic pursuit of you, outlined in little touches, the way he likes to lean in close to speak with you, voice hushed and husky and flirtatious. He’s offered to kiss you, flat-out, sometimes. You refused. He continues to offer, continues to touch, continues to want.

He’s stubborn, in that respect.

But so are you.

Which is why you don’t put up with it, don’t indulge in it, and ignore it as best you can.

He may have kidnapped you. He may have taken away your freedom, but he wasn’t going to force you into a relationship. That was the one thing he wouldn’t take from you.

On that, you stood firm.

You just hoped the ground would never crack underneath the weight of his expectations.

“Dearest,” Chrollo says, and you don’t bother hiding the way you roll your eyes. It’s a pet name for a lover, and you are not a lover.

“Mm,” you respond, non-committal. You keep your eyes laser-focused on the coloring page in front of you. It was something they sold at a gas station gift shop, one of those books with complex lines and fanciful illustrations, aimed at adults with nothing better to do. Which, it so happens, turned out to fit you just fine.

There’s a pause. And then the shift of his clothing as he gets up from the queen sized bed and pulls out the chair across from you. He leans his elbows on the tiny side table, and you’re forced to scoot your book onto your lap to avoid it getting creased. Jerk.

You flit your eyes up to him.

“What’s up?”

At this, he exhales through his nose, almost a snort. Not quite as inelegant, you suppose.

“You’ve been behaving rather well these past few weeks.” He considers. “Months.” He considers, again, this time tilting his head in what appears to be an exceptionally practiced gesture. “You’ve always behaved well, actually, haven’t you? From the start. From the moment you woke up in my…” He seems to reach for a word. “In my care.”

You purse your lips.

You remember the first day well.

You were walking home from work, feet aching, mind thinking of a million obligations you had to get done before the week was out. That’s when you heard footsteps from behind you.

You immediately froze. The footsteps stopped when you did. Slowly, you turned around, and there was a man standing there. An attractive man with a wrap around his forehead. When he saw your stricken expression, he smiled.

“I apologize,” the man said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

You pressed your lips down. “It’s fine.” Your heart raced, because you weren’t stupid, and strange men coming up to you at night was iffy at best and dangerous at worst. You were going to cross the street and head into the closest diner, just to be safe. Or that’s what you planned to do, before it went sour.

Before you could do anything, there was a terrible pinch in your neck and you saw his arm pull away just slowly enough to spot the needle in his hand. Everything went hot and blurry and when you woke up, you were in a hotel room bed with silk sheets underneath you and Chrollo Lucilfer standing above you.

“Good morning,” he said, and smiled.

Had it really been months since you were taken? You don’t exactly keep track of time, unless you’re eager to catch a certain movie on TV or you’re tracking the release date of a new book. You remember when you had to keep track of time for other reasons--making sure you got just enough sleep to avoid collapsing, calculating your work hours so that they would cover the bills, stretching your food budget thin enough to last the month.

Now, all you have to worry about is convincing Chrollo to head out to the bookstore on release date to get you what you want.

“Okay,” you say, after he’s been waiting long enough. “I don’t know why you’re bringing this up.”

You feel like a teenager being praised by their parents. The praise he gives is unwanted, confusing. You don’t know what to do with it, so you stare down at the book in your lap, and let your mind wander to more fun things. Maybe you should have used a darker green for the leaves--

“I’m curious as to why you’ve behaved this way.”

You shrug your shoulders without looking up. You’d like to get back to coloring, but if you tell him that, then he really won’t leave you alone.

“You haven’t tried to escape,” he continues, leaning in closer. There’s mint on his breath. He sometimes crunches them, and the sound irritates you. When you tell him so, he seems to do it more, but you genuinely can’t decide if he does it on purpose to piss you off or if he’s that damn addicted to the little candies and their breath-pleasing effect.

“You don’t try to ask anyone for help. You don’t put up a fuss when we move from place to place.” One of his hands reaches forward and rests on top of yours. When you move to pull away, he interlocks his fingers with yours. His skin is warm and the intimate contact is unpleasant.

It’s this gesture that irritates you, finally, and you tug on his hand. He doesn’t relent and you huff.

“So what? Do you want me to act like that? Do you want me to start screaming at the hotel concierge, “Help, I’ve been kidnapped!’?”

He chuckles. “There wouldn’t be a point, dear. No one would--”

“I know,” you interrupt. “No one would be able to help me. That’s not the point. I don’t ask anyone for help because it would be pointless. I don’t try to run because it would be pointless.” The edge of the coloring book suddenly becomes very interesting, and you bend the corner back and forth as you talk. “So why not take what’s good here and run with it? Unless you want me to start clawing at you every time you put your fingers near my thigh.” You let yourself grin, however empty it may look. “Actually, that sounds like a good idea.”

“You don’t fight me,” he muses, more to himself than to you. “But you do have a mouth on you.” His lips twitch, almost an imperceptible annoyed gesture, before his expression smooths back out into familiar calmness. But you saw it, and it makes something in your gut feel tight. He normally doesn’t care if you get snarky, but what if…?

His grip on your hand relaxes and he lets you pull your fingers away.

“You’re being annoying, and I’m going to color over here.” If your words are a little slower than usual, you can’t blame yourself for feeling nervous. But the half-smile you get in return is familiar territory, and the anxiety in your gut eases up.

You sigh through your nose and scoot your chair backwards, taking your book to the room’s large windowsill and pulling yourself onto that instead.

“Can we get takeout tonight?” You ask, without looking up. The light by the window is nicer for coloring, you decide, if a little bit more uncomfortable for a long coloring session.

“We’re going to cook tonight.” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s watching you, still sitting at the table. He leans his cheek against the palm of his hand. “The grocery delivery came this morning.”

You pout, all worries from the odd conversation gone. What little storm clouds that do show up in your life are, almost always, easily pushed away. “I really wanted takeout from the place we got the other day. Can’t we do groceries tomorrow?”

”No. I don’t want the meat to spoil.” His voice is firm, and he doesn’t respond to your pouting or the whittling, vaguely cloying tone you’ve taken.

You let your body sag in defeat. Oh, well.

It’s one of the few instances in which you know you can’t, and shouldn’t, push him. Chrollo has always been very particular about food. Or food waste, you suppose, is what he’s most particular about.

You learned your lesson on that months ago, when he insisted you finish the last bite of a meal you’d ordered, admittedly, out of spite. The stomach ache was not worth whatever triumph you imagined you’d get from sticking something in his figurative craw.

You take up your colored pencils again and start to fill in yet another empty space.

“Fine,” you mutter, determined not to let it spoil your otherwise relaxing evening. “But go easy on the garlic this time. It makes your breath stink.”

“Duly noted,” he murmurs. And there’s something almost wistful in his tone that catches your chest for a moment. But you push it away.

Doesn’t matter, nope. What matters is the coloring page in front of you, the relaxing motions of gradually filling in each space with your desired color, the ability to focus on nothing but this activity and not have to worry about anything outside the walls surrounding you.

You don’t look up.

Days blend into weeks blend into the blurry, vague--mostly comfortable--existence that is your life.

Or it used to be comfortable. Lately, very lately, Chrollo has become a bit stranger. It’s almost as if he’s on edge about something, which naturally puts you on edge. If he has something to worry about, then it must be serious, indeed.

But it’s bothersome. Because not only has he been behaving as if something big is on the horizon, he’s gotten a lot more insistent on his desire for something more with you. Maybe his nervousness is making him less shy about approaching you and your veneer of coolness towards any affectionate gestures.

This morning, when you stepped out of the shower, the chair you’d pushed up against the window, also known as your bed for the past two weeks, was gone. Not moved, but simply gone. You didn’t bother asking him where it went. The cool smile on his face as he pulled his change of clothes from the hotel drawer was answer enough.

Maybe you should have yelled at him. But thoughts of his glances lately, the tentative way he’d begun to talk with you, the gut-roiling fear of something happening, stopped you.

And that’s why you’re here, now, sitting in the same bed as Chrollo Lucilfer despite swearing to yourself that you’d do everything in your power to avoid this moment.

That’s why you’re enjoying the moment so fully right now, despite his proximity to you. He’s just… sitting, for once. Sitting and reading, or pretending well enough to fool you. Doesn’t matter, as long as he’s not trying to make a move.

But of course, he speaks, and breaks the peace.

“Are you enjoying the book, love?”

You turn the page.

“Not your love. But yes.”

You glance over and see him set his own book down on the side table. No bookmark in sight. You wonder if he was actually reading it or if he was just pretending tonight. You’re not sure which would annoy you more.

It doesn’t matter, because while you’re considering how you’re going to put off going to sleep for as long as possible, you feel the unmistakable sensation of his hand on your thigh. Your muscles tense immediately, and your brain seems to simultaneously.

“Perhaps,” he says, shifting closer to you on the bed, “you can take a break from your book.”

“I’d rather not,” you reply, biting, and try to shift your thigh away. But his tender touch becomes a firm grip on the meat of your thigh. You make a strangled noise and he leans in, voice irritating in your ear.

“You look beautiful tonight.”

Your book gets set on the bed, half-open, and you swat at his hand. He doesn’t budge.

So you try something else.

“What’s most beautiful about me?” You glance up at the mirror on the other side of the wall, above the faux fireplace. “The sweatpants that I’ve worn two days in a row, or that piece of broccoli stuck in my teeth from dinner?” He finally did let you get takeout, after the groceries were used up. “Thanks for that, by the way.” It’s not entirely sarcastic.

“You’re welcome,” he says, voice all silk. You wonder, briefly, if he’s ever entranced anyone with that soft, low tone that should drip charisma but instead makes you want to poke him in the eye. Maybe it would have entranced you, if he didn’t take you forcibly. But you’ve sworn to hold onto the one thing you can keep--your consent--and you’ll be damned if you shrug that off like you have everything else he’s taken.

He brings his other hand up to trace the top of your ear and you flinch.

“Stop.” You sound for all the world like you’re fighting with a sibling who has decided to irritate you deliberately on a very long car ride. “You’re being--” Irritating? Pushy? Creepy? A little of all three? “You’re in my space and I don’t like it,” is what you settle for.

It takes a few moments. But Chrollo does shift himself away from you, slowly removing his hand from your thigh, resting back in his previous position which was close but not unbearably so.

“You’re quite stubborn.” It’s said in a quiet tone that makes you want to think; it makes you want to wonder why he’s being so much more insistent lately, why he got rid of your chair when it’s something he’s indulged (not without complaints, mind you) for months.

You pick up your book with an overly dramatic, obvious gesture, hoping it doesn’t look as false as it feels.

“Well,” you tell him primly, resolving to get through the night with your dignity intact. “So are you.”

To say that you were surprised the rest of the night passed uneventfully would be an understatement. It took you hours to fall asleep, because you were sure--absolutely sure--that Chrollo would take advantage of the nighttime proximity to slide his hands around your waist or kiss your neck or something else unwanted.

But he didn’t. If anything, he was quieter than normal. There were no honey-laden queries before you went to sleep, his usual attempts to drag something personal out of you; all he did was bid you goodnight and rest his eyes.

It was enough to make your stomach churn.

And here you are, picking at breakfast. You weren’t in the mood for eggs--because of how restless you felt? You weren’t sure--but that’s what he gave you, and it’s what you were going to eat this morning.

The breakfast table is unusually quiet, almost taking on a veneer of domesticity, until he speaks up.

“I’m taking you to meet someone today.” You look up, genuinely shocked. He continues, ignoring the wary, uncertain expression on your face. “Several people, in fact.”

The runny yolk clinging to your fork seems suddenly interesting. It makes a little pattern when you scrape the fork against the bottom of your plate, dragging gooey orange with it.

Your voice is thick with sarcasm, a tone you often take with him when the subject gets uncomfortable.

“Soo… is this a ‘I’m taking you to meet my parents’ type of thing? Because I don't think t hey’ll--”

“No,” he says, interrupting. Something in his clipped tone makes you immediately clam up. There might as well be a red sign above his head, flashing, DANGER, DANGER, DO NOT ENTER. So you drop it.

“Companions,” he continues, more calm and routine now. He begins to butter your toast for you (a gesture he insists upon, and which you hate) as he speaks, and you shove a piece of warm egg white in your mouth. “The closest ones I’ve had.” He pauses. “Except for you, of course, dearest.” He says this last bit to soothe your ego, as if you were offended--you weren’t.

You eye the toast he drops on your plate and pick it up. Maybe if you eat faster, you can get some reading time in before you go… wherever it is he’s taking you. Thinking about it too much makes you feel a little sick.

“What’s the occasion, anyway?” The toast is warm and perfectly buttered and delicious. It annoys you, that he knows how to butter your toast so well. It’s such a stupid, small thing--but it’s grating, especially right now, with things so out of sorts. “You don’t normally let other people near me.”

He smiles, and you could swear it’s wistful. “No, not normally. This is different. It’s customary to introduce our companions once they’re… settled.”

You don’t like how he says the word settled. You don’t like how he says the words companions, either, for that matter. You’re about to tell him as such, when he speaks up, asking a question that raises your alertness even higher.

“Are you going to be good today?”

Your lip quirks up, mouth still filled with toast, when you answer. This morning, the sass feels forced.

“Am I ever bad?”

He hums, and sips his coffee. “That depends on the perspective, doesn’t it?”

You don’t respond, and the two of you eat in silence that doesn’t quite feel companionable. There’s something in the air. Thick and buzzy. You can’t shake off the feeling of dread that’s building inside you, and it doesn't get any better when Chrollo finishes his meal and stands to go clean up the dishes.

Or when he leans over the table and places his hand on your hand. His favorite gesture. Your fingers twitch but you resist the urge to smack him away today. It feels like the wrong move right now.

“Really,” Chrollo says, adding your name with a seriousness that you’ve rarely heard. “Do behave yourself today.”

You swallow the toast and pretend the knot in your stomach is from the eggs.

Suddenly, Chrollo seems far more normal than you’ve ever viewed him before. Far more safe. And it’s this newfound perspective that keeps you almost clinging to his side.

You forget the names of the people in front of you as soon as Chrollo introduces them. You hope it doesn’t matter . You’ll probably forget their faces, too, if you don’t see them often enough. But you won’t forget the absolute power that radiates from them, even standing here simply and casually. You feel this with Chrollo, too, but never to this degree. Is it because Chrollo turns himself down for you, or because there’s only one of him?

After, it’s time to introduce you. Chrollo has the decency to keep holding your hand--you don’t want to be separate from him for once, at this moment--as he nudges you forward just enough. He tells them your name--you wonder if they care, and then doubt it.

“And it goes without saying,” he continues, some sort of soft pride in his tone, “that they’re my--”

Christ, you’re scared of the people in front of you, and maybe it’s the terror that pushes forward that impulsive, intrusive desire to keep Chrollo from telling his companions that you’re dating or in a relationship or whatever he had in mind.

“We’re roommates,” you blurt out, loud, obtrusive. “Just roommates.”

You’re proud of yourself for saying this, as you are every time you manage to keep the only thing you have left intact. Proud and relieved and feeling high from the adrenaline of it all.

But oh, the way Chrollo grips your hand tighter. Oh, the way the expressions on the people in front of you shift in varying degrees, eyebrows raised, expressions disbelieving. One of them, impossibly huge with a matching mane of hair, snorts out a laugh that he smothers when Chrollo inclines his head just a fraction toward him.

Oh, you have fucked up. You have fucked up in a way that makes your stomach drop, makes your hand begin to tremble, and not just because of Chrollo’s increasingly uncomfortable grip on your hand.

The lock clicks behind you and it seems to resound louder than ever before. Was the hotel room always so chilly? Maybe the heat wasn’t working.

Or maybe it was the fact that Chrollo said not a single word on the ride home, or on the way into the hotel, or in the elevator on the ride up to your room. You thought he might have calmed down on the way home, but no such luck. On the way, you tried to think

You drop your coat on the bed and resolve to hop in the shower, to get away from him for a bit, to hopefully let things get back to normal. But he says your name, almost too quiet to hear, and you slowly turn to face him.

“Chrollo?” Your throat feels tight and you swallow against it.

He’s staring down at his hand. At his finger. Then he looks up at you.

You’re about to make an absurd joke about a wedding ring, anything to ease the tension, but the deepened look in his gaze stops you. Deep and dark and almost frenzied. Your heart suddenly feels like it’s leaping. You pissed him off, you really did, and he didn’t have to say a thing for you to know it.

“Roommates.”

He takes a step toward you. You take a step back. He takes a step forward. And you go back, until you’re against a wall. The shell you’ve made around yourself, carefully laid with quips and smirks and endless distractions, cracks with each of his footsteps.

”Listen,” you say, voice light and wobbling. Maybe you can save this. Maybe. “About tonight, I know I shouldn’t have said--”

“Be quiet,” he says, firm, unrelenting. You shouldn’t push him, and your stomach drops to the floor as he presses himself against you.

In a moment, he’s not just against you--but kissing you. It’s not a nice kiss, nothing soft or sweet. There’s frenzy in it, desperation, frustration. You don’t know if lips can bruise but if they do, yours surely will. You keep your teeth clenched but it doesn’t stop him, licking and biting at your lips as your stomach flips horribly.

It’s too much. You don’t want this, not like this, not him, not here--

After far too long, he slowly pulls himself away from you. The dark expression in his eyes has only deepened.

“You’ve really never seen it,” he says, breath warm against your cheek. He sounds as if he’s finally realized something important. And he has.

“What?” You blink, you shake your head, you want to get away. You turn your head away from him, anything to stop seeing that look in his eyes, but his hand grips your chin and turns it back. “I’ve never seen what?”

“The red thread,” he murmurs, the words soft against your lips.

“What are you talking about?” You don’t hide your confusion, voice cracking and airy.

The hand holding your chin relents and he trails his thumb over your sore lips before pulling away entirely.

“The red thread,” he tells you, and instead of anger in his voice there is only a deep indulgence. It scares you far more than the chilly atmosphere in the car ride back. “Why do you think I chose you, hm?” His voice drops lower and the words are too close, too intimate, too much. “We’re soul mates.”

Your brain scrambles, but not a single snarky word comes to mind. You weren’t… completely oblivious to the concept of soul mates. You knew people who swore they could see a connection between them and someone else. Red threads, sure, and sometimes other things. Names etched on skin. Symbolic tattoos. But you had never seen anything like that on your body.

Was there really a red thread connecting the two of you? It would explain a lot of things. Like why he took you. Like why he put up with you.

“I don’t want to be soul mates.” You don’t mind it, the freedom from all those burdens. You will pay the price of captivity if it means release from all that, but this last thing? Your ability to be yourself, to be separate from him in some way? You won’t give that up. Not willingly. Never.

He only chuckles, short and dark, at your words. There’s something bitter in it.

“It doesn’t matter what you want.” His hand comes up to caress your cheek again, and the unwanted touch seems to remind you of everything he’s taken from you. You’re starting to feel sick. “The thread that connects us was pre-destined. You could hate me, dislike me, all you want and…”

“I don’t hate you,” you interrupt, blunt, blurting. Intrusive thoughts win out again.

He raises his eyebrows and his eyes widen and in that, there’s a fraction of vulnerability. Like a tiny fissure.

“No? Then why do you persist in refusing me?”

Looking at him is hard, but this time, he lets you turn your head away, dropping his hands to his sides. You’re stuck right in front of him, regardless. It’s the least he could do.

“I don’t like you… like that.” You bite on the inside of your cheek. “I mean, well. You kidnapped me. I don’t think that’s unreasonable to say.” You glance at him, but he doesn’t look angry. Merely interested.

You take a deep breath, and a confessional sigh escapes your throat. “But I can live with this.” You gesture towards the room. “With being kidnapped, I mean. It’s not all bad.” You think about how you no longer rip your hair out from stress or cry yourself to sleep wondering how the bills will be paid this month. “As long as you’re not trying to do… the relationship stuff.” You drag your teeth over your bottom lip. You can still taste him, insistent and firm.

Tentatively, you let your gaze return to meet his. Behind his eyes, you can practically see the clockwork and cogs moving.

“I see,” he says, slow, thoughtful. “Thank you for the clear explanation.”

“Are you mad?”

He smiles. It looks like a weight has been taken off his chest, and that scares you.

“Of course not. Apologies will be in order for your behavior earlier today. But as for the rest? I’m not angered in the slightest.”

“Why not?”

The hand, the one he claimed held the red thread, catches against your own. His fingers interlock with yours and you feel too numb to pull away this time.

“Simple, dearest.” He pulls his fingers tighter and somehow it feels like your hands will never part again. It’s a ridiculous thought, childish, but it makes your heart quicken anyway. “Since you are so prone to acclimating to your… situation in other respects, I feel confident that you will not always feel so negatively towards a relationship with me.”

You want to protest. You start to, but you can’t find the words–sarcastic or otherwise.

“After all,” he continues, voice low and smooth and confident now. His other hand returns to your chin, tilting it up as he stares at you, assessing, greedily taking the sight of you in. “I have the rest of our lives together to change your mind.”

#yandere chrollo #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere #yandere chrollo lucilfer #afterwitch writes

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maskedtruths666 · 1 year

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Part 4 of the paid story. Denise goes overseas with her company on a work conference.

“Hey honey, I’m going overseas with my company for a week. We are headed to Las Vegas for a conference and we are leaving at the end of the month. Do you want to join me? My boss said we could bring our partners as long as they pay for their own flight ticket. I was thinking that you could come along because we haven’t had a holiday trip in forever and I’ll pay for your ticket.” Denise said to Jared over breakfast the next day.

“But it’s going to be expensive there and I want to grind hard and make money for us.” Jared said, disappointing Denise because Denise really wanted Jared to go with her.

“But I really want you to come with me. Please?” Denise said, puppy eyeing him.

“My love, an air ticket there is at least $1,000. If we include food and other expenditures, this trip is going to set me back about $5,000. I don’t have the luxury to spend such money.” Jared said.

“It’s okay my dear. I can cover all expenses. Company’s paying for food. It’s really only air tickets that is out of company expenses.” Denise said.

“Alright, I’ll go with you. Thank you my dear.” Jared replied. He thought that if he went with her, she would not be able to cheat on him with her bosses or colleagues for money. Oh how wrong he was.

They each begun their respective day and during mid day, Henry asked Denise into his office.

“By the way, our trip is from 22nd to 29th. I’d like you and I, with a couple of colleagues to head there on the 20th so we can prepare for our conference ahead of schedule and make sure things work smoothly.” Henry said.

“But I just told my boyfriend that we are going on 22nd and he’s coming with me.” Denise said, slightly panicky that the schedule has changed and she already booked the tickets which set her back $1800, way more than her estimate.

“Well, what’s bothering you? Are the tickets expensive?” Henry asked as he noticed Denise’s demeanor changing.

“Yes and if I have to change it, it’ll be more expensive.” Denise said, slightly pouting.

“I’ll pay for your boyfriend’s ticket in full. I’ll even book him a business class ticket to sit with us.” Henry suddenly offered.

“What? That is very kind of you. But boss, I ain’t fooling around with you during the trip. If you want, I can thank you right here right now.” Denise said, smiling cheekily at him.

“I’ll take that as a yes and I’ll take you as and when I want to on the trip and your boyfriend will never find out.” Henry said in a super confident tone that made Denise anticipate it.

“Well that sounds fantastic, if I’m being honest. Thank you.” Denise said to Henry.

“Now get on your knees and suck me dry. I’ve got a meeting to attend to in 10 mins so make it quick.” Henry said as he begun unzipping and Denise, like a good slut, walked towards him and got down on her knees.

As Denise got on her knees and started sucking Henry off, her mind wandered and fantasized about the different possibilities that Henry would fuck her whilst Jared was with her on the trip. The obvious possibility being in office and before or after meetings during the conference.

As she kept sucking him off, Henry tried to keep himself from losing control and fucking Denise on his desk. She was in a tight figure hugging dress which he loved and her cleavage was showing. Denise kept bobbing up and down, sucking him with a passion that was unrivaled. The way her tongue licked his dick and the way she looked up at him when the tip of her lips are at the tip of his cock, nearly drove him mad. Denise swapped from sucking to stroking to furiously jerking him off and Henry was at his limit.

“I can feel your cock throbbing. It’s so massive.” Denise said, as she slowly jerked his cock up and down.

“Ah yes, fuck, your mouth skills are fucking amazing.” Henry groaned as he tried holding it in for more pleasure.

“I’ve only every sucked Jared’s cock and yours. Not much to practice on so I’m glad you like it.” Denise said as she starting stroking faster.

“Ah fuck I’m going to cum.” Henry announced as he grabbed her hair, tilted it back and unleashed his hot load all over her face, messing her make up with thick lines of cum. As the streaks of cum lined her face and started dripping down, Henry got more turned on. He instinctively took out his phone and took a few pictures of her despite her trying to stop it. As he put on his pants, he sat there on his chair as Denise was cleaning up, much to her annoyance.

“For your troubles, I will buy you a new dress you can wear to the airport. I will try to not mess up your make up in the future.” Henry said as he started envisioning Denise in the dress he wants to fuck her in.

“Okay, and it better be nice.” Denise said as she walked out of his office.

Next part coming soon!

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kaunis-sielu · 1 year

Text

Payment: 14

“Mr. Malik, this is the best that I can do with the budget you gave me.” You tell him for what feels like the 4000th time this month.

“Well that’s not acceptable.”

“Then up your budget.”

“I can’t.”

“Then I’ve given you the best option I can.”

“That isn’t good enough.” You sigh closing your eyes and rub your forehead, you’re going in circles and have been for the last three days. If only this man knew who you really where, and who your husband was, you wouldn’t be in this mess.

When you’d told Steve about it he’d reminded you that if you wanted to quit you absolutely could. You’d be a liar if you said the thought didn’t cross your mind. But then what the hell would you do all day?

“Mr. Malick, I have given you all of the options that I can, if they aren’t good enough you can find someone else to work with.” You tell him giving him a final ultimatum. You’re done going in circles with this ass hole. Your phone is ringing and you glance at it, “I have another call so I’ll let you think about the options and talk to you tomorrow.” You tell him before hanging up on him. Men. You answer the phone with a smile.

“Hey.”

“Hi Honey. I have a surprise for you.” Steve says and you can’t help the small smile on your face.

“Oh?” You fucking miss him so much, it’s been almost a week and you want him home.

“Yea, it should be at the front door any minute.”

“Should I go downstairs?”

“If you have the time.”

“Yea, just got done dealing with Malick. Excellent timing by the way.” Steve laughs softly, “How are things going?”

“Alright. Could be worse, could be better.” You know he’s not getting into specifics because he doesn’t want to endanger you and because he’s walking, you can hear the wind.

“I miss you. When do you think you’ll be home?” The doorbell rings and you head down to the front door. Lance moves into the room and you give him a little smile, “sounds like my surprise is here.”

“Sounds like it.” He agrees and you unlock and pull open the door to find Steve standing on the porch with his phone pressed to his ear and a wide grin on his face. “Surprise.”

“Steve.” You breathe before dropping your phone and launching yourself into his arms. He catches you easily and walks you into the house as you kiss him soundly. You don’t stop until you need to breathe. You feel Steve move but you don’t give a shit where you’re going. You feel him sit and the couch cushions hit your shins.

“Good surprise?” He asks when you finally come up for air. The front door is closed, your phone is on the table by the door and both Bucky and Lance are gone.

“A wonderful surprise. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Wasn’t sure when I’d be back and didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Can we just, make a quick dinner then spend the rest of the night curled up and watch a movie or something?”

“If that’s what you wanna do that’s what we can do Sweetheart.” He agrees and you hum happily before swinging one leg off of him and standing. Steve follows you into the kitchen and the two of you cook tacos while chatting. You tell him about your week dealing with Malick and his bullshit but Steve doesn’t tell you about his week. Which you understand but don’t love, you’re part of this life, you’re part of his life, and you’d appreciate knowing.

You don’t broach the subject until you’re curled up in bed with him. You’ve got a movie playing but you’re not paying attention.

“Honey, I can feel ya thinking from here. What’s bothering you?”

“Where did you go?” Steve sighs, “I know you said you couldn’t tell me but I’m kind of invested here.”

“I went down south to meet with another mob boss.”

“And you couldn’t let him know you were married because?”

“Her.”

“What?”

“The boss I was dealing with is a woman.” You don’t love this little development.

“Steven.” You say through clenched teeth before you take a deep breath, “why couldn’t she know you were married.” When he doesn’t answer right away you yank away from him and sit up. “Steven Grant Rogers. Why the fuck couldn’t she know?”

“We used to date.”

“And?”

“Peggy is difficult.” He says sitting up and reaching for you. You scurry out of the bed and he looks like a kicked puppy.

“Did you fuck her?” You demand, your heart in your throat. He’d said he’d be faithful to you, and he’d expected you to be faithful to him.

“No, Baby no of course not.”

“Don’t of course not me! Why the fuck couldn’t she know Steve?”

“I need her on my team Queenie.”

“I am your fucking team Steve!” You yell, and his gaze darkens,

“Do not yell at me.”

“Fuck this. Get out.”

“What?”

“You can go sleep on the goddamn couch until you decide who’s team you’re on.”

“No.” The calm way he says no should cause you some concern, but you’re so mad that it doesn’t register.

“Fine.” You snap grabbing your pillow and heading for the door. He moves so fast you don’t even register it before he’s in front of the door.

“You’re not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere. It was business.”

“Oh fuck off Rogers.” You snap and he laughs humorlessly,

“I’ll fuck you but I won’t fuck off.” He takes a step toward you and you take one back away from him.

“Peggy always needs to feel like she has the upper hand. If she knew that I’d moved on and married someone while she hadn’t it would cause problems.”

“I don’t care. I am your wife. Your other half, you’re supposed to have my back and this feels like some bullshit.”

“There’s nothing I can do about it now.” You glare over at him but he just stares back “Baby.”

“Do not. You owe me a huge fucking apology.” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes,

“You’re right. I didn’t think it would bother you if it meant getting rid of your father and brother.”

“Of course it would bother me. How would you feel if I went and met with an ex of mine and was like oh hey have to take off my ring so he thinks he has a chance?”

“That’s not what it was.” He argues but you glare at him so furiously that he actually has the good sense to stop talking. You turn and curl up on the chair, Steve sighs heavily before crossing the room. He sinks to his knees by the chair but doesn’t touch you. “Sweetheart, what can I do to make this better?”

“Put your fucking ring on and don’t take it off.” You grumble,

“It’s on. I put it back on the minute I left.” He does seem sorry and you don’t want to go to bed mad at him but this fucking stings. “I’m sorry. I love you and I’m sorry.”

“I’m still upset.”

“That’s okay.” He assures you before gently taking your hand and kissing the back, “come to bed?”

“Fine.” You allow him to pull you out of the chair and to the bed. You curl up with him and he rests his hand on your cheek and he slides his thumb gently over your cheekbone.

You fall asleep quickly, you didn’t sleep well last week with this stupid asshole gone. Someone knocks on the door, Steve is awake and alert immediately a knife in his hand.

“It’s Bucky. We have a problem.”

“I’ll be right back Baby.” Steve murmurs before kissing you, “go back to sleep.” So you do but it’s a shitty sleep, the kind where you don’t really fall into a deep sleep.

You wake to the smell of smoke, you blink several times then bolt upright. The house is on fire. You grab your robe and head for the door, the smoke is pouring in from the hallway so you do a quick pivot and crouching under where you can already see the smoke gathering you move to the balcony doors and out onto the balcony. This cannot be happening. You’re going to have to climb down the support of the balcony and it’s not going to feel good. You climb over the railing then ease yourself down to a crouch and wrapping your feet around the post your arms burning you slowly slide down the post of the balcony. You hit the ground harder than you’d hoped and knock the breath out of your lungs, you lay there for a second before you hear squeal of tires in the front of the house and you force yourself up. You don’t want Steve to think that you’re still in the house.

“Steve!” You cry the second you round the house and see him tearing toward the front door. He stumbles to a stop at the sound of your voice and turns running to meet you. You collide with him so forcefully that you’re surprised that you don’t get the wind knocked out of you again.

“Fuck Honey. Are you okay?” He murmurs into your hair, his arms are so tight around you that it’s almost hard to breathe but you’re not going to ask him to let you go.

“Yea.” You breathe back and he lets out a stuttering breath. “Lance was with you right?”

“No.”

“But you saw him?”

“I’ll get him.” Steve says before moving away from you. He looks down at you and gives you a little smile before crushing his lips to yours then he takes off at a sprint into the house.

“Steve!” You scream, agony tearing at your throat, you try to follow him but a pair of arms wrap around you.

“Queenie.” Bucky says his voice low, you try to break free but he only holds you tighter. “He’ll be fine. You can’t.”

“Please, he can’t leave me. I can’t lose him too.” You sob as you watch for Steve, tears streaming down your face as the home you share with him goes up in flames. You can hear the sirens in the distance but you know that they won’t get here in time. You can’t stand anymore, you collapse in Bucky’s arms but then the door flies open and Steve comes stumbling out, Lance is over his shoulder.

“Help him.” You tell Bucky who doesn’t need the prompting as he rushes to his best friend. He helps ease Lance to the ground and then checks Lance for breathing and you rush to Steve. “What were you thinking?” Throwing your arms around his neck.

“Couldn’t,” He coughs, “couldn’t let him die.” Steve coughs again as the first fire truck comes screaming down the street. Steve goes to stand but can’t due to heavy coughing that shakes his whole body.

“Don’t you dare die on me Steven Grant Rogers. Don’t you dare.” You warn him and he kisses you soundly.

“No gettin’ rid of me that easy Sugar.” He says before passing out.

The rest of the night is a blur, two ambulances come and one takes Lance and the other takes you and Steve. You request both men in one room, you tell the doctor that Lance is your brother and when Bucky comes in you look up at him.

“Bucky, find out who did this.”

“And kill them?” He asks and you look up at him slowly, with cold, furious eyes,

“No, bring them to me.”

Tag list:

@andahugaroundtheneck @connie326 @also-fangirlinsweden @lumar014 @loving-life-my-way @pagina16ps @emdying @dumblani @valsworldofcreativity @blackwidownat2814 @sky0401 @dontbescaredtosingalong @abschaffer2 @patzammit @inkedaztec @newdaynewyearnewlife @sophham @sass-masterkittenmama @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

#a payment story #steve rogers x reader #Steve rogers x reader imagine #mob boss!steve #mobster steve rogers

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smallblueandloud · 11 months

Text

“Hi,” says Jean, leaning against the doorframe of the headmaster’s office.

Ororo doesn’t look up from her desk. “Hey.”

Jean takes that as the invitation it is, dropping down onto the blue office couch. As an afterthought, she wiggles her fingers and the door closes.

“What’s up?” asks Ororo, still scrolling through something on her computer.

“It’s raining outside,” Jean says. “I was going to work one-on-one with that new telekinetic, the one we’re worried about breaking the gym? But I’m not going to make anyone work outside in the rain.”

Ororo seems to finally register the drumming sound on the roof, tilting her laptop screen down to give Jean her full attention. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. Should I fix that?”

“No, don’t worry about it.” Jean doesn’t like how tired Ororo looks. “Aren’t you always saying that it’s good to let nature do its own thing?”

Ororo says, “That’s true.”

“Although--” says Jean. “Something about this storm feels...” she makes a gesture she hopes is illustrative. “Feelings-y.”

Ororo winces. “Does it?”

“Yeah, that’s my professional opinion, as a professional telepath.” She leans forward. “What’s bothering you, honey?”

After a long moment, Ororo takes off her glasses and presses her hands to her eyes. “I looked at the news.”

“Oh shit,” says Jean, moving from the couch to one of the guest chairs, in front of the desk.

“Yeah.” Ororo’s voice is muffled by her hands. “You know, sometimes I expect the news to be a reassuring thing. Telling us about all of the good things that’ve happened recently.”

“We should make that news network,” muses Jean. “I bet we’d get a lot of viewers. Good for ad revenue.”

Ororo peers up at her. “Since when are you thinking about money?”

“Well, something has to replenish the uniform replacement fund.”

Ororo snorts. “Always practical, you are.”

“That’s me,” says Jean, trying to smile winningly. There’s still sadness leaking off Ororo in waves, and she’s not sure what to do about it. “Do you wanna-- talk about it?”

“No,” says Ororo, dropping her head back into her hands. After a moment, she reaches out to grab Jean’s hand, keeping her head down. “Just stay here with me?”

“Of course,” says Jean. She squeezes Ororo’s hand. “We’re doing the best we can. You’re doing fucking amazingly.”

Ororo chuckles darkly. “Uh huh.”

“I mean it.” Jean squeezes her hand again. “And we all have your back. We’re all working together.”

Ororo peeks through the hand still covering her face and says, “It isn’t enough.”

“We’ll do more,” says Jean. “I don’t know how, but-- we’ll figure it out, I promise. We should ask people to give more interviews. We can interface with the New Mutants, see what networks they think we can make use of.” She cracks a small smile. “We’ll even set Emma on the warpath.”

Gratifyingly, she gets a quiet smile in return. “Well, if Emma’s on our side.”

Jean brings up Ororo’s hand and kisses the back of it.

“I just...” says Ororo. “We have a job. We have a responsibility. And there are still people suffering.”

“I know,” says Jean.

“What if we’re wrong? What if this isn’t the best way?”

Jean says, “That’s why we haven’t forced Mystique to join the school, isn’t it?”

Ororo meets her gaze, flat. “If I wanted Scott’s advice on this, I’d ask him.”

“Touché,” says Jean, flushing. Scott’s teased her about using Ororo’s phrasings, too. “What I mean is-- we could be wrong, yeah. But that’s why we’re not the only ones. Erik’s out there, doing his own thing. Mystique is out there, doing her own thing. One of us has to be doing something right.”

“In the meantime...” says Ororo, “we do our best, I suppose.”

“All we ever can do,” says Jean, lightly, as she stands. The sun is starting to pour through the windows again, and her student is wondering if they’re allowed to ask for extra lessons. “On that note, I think my smoke break’s ending.”

“Smoke break?” asks Ororo, folding her arms over the desk.

“Yeah, my boss barely gives us a break.” Jean winks at her. “She’s really hot. Sorry, did I say hot? I meant not. Not nice.”

“Come here,” says Ororo, standing and crooking a finger to get Jean to kiss her. After a long moment, she pulls back, smiling in the satisfied way that Jean has loved for twenty years. “What were you saying about the headmaster?”

Jean grins. “I was just saying,” she says, “that this school’s headmaster is wonderful. I can’t think of someone I would rather be helping to make the world a better place.”

Ororo’s smile softens, turning into something more genuine. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Jean. “Never doubt it.”

(read this fic on ao3!)

#sb and l writes #xmen #jean x ororo #fic: gettin' good and steep #i know i usually just post the ao3 link but this one's so short i thought it would be fun

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jumblejen · 1 year

Text

We Were Always Going to End Up Together - Ch 20

Suptober 22, Day 20: Spa Day

On AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42237885/chapters/114094975

(Or read from the beginning: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42237885/chapters/106051008)

“Dude, this was such a good idea!” squealed Charlie as they waited outside by Baby. Eileen was supposed to meet them any minute now.

“It was, wasn’t it? Gotta say, did not see a spa day from Eileen coming as a holiday gift.”

“I’m just glad you weren’t weird about it.”

“What? I mean, sure, it’s a little strange that it’s me and you and Eileen, but everything she put in that package thingy sounded nice.”

“Even the mud masks?”

“I heard they are soothing and make your skin look ten years younger,” Dean said primly. “What’s to be weird about?”

Eileen walked up to them, smiling broadly. Dean gave Eileen a big hug, resisting the urge to pick her up while he did it. She was small enough that he’s always had to fight the impulse. She’d probably kick his ass if he tried to though.

Charlie and Eileen also hugged, but it was a little more restrained. They’d been gradually getting closer in the last few months, but were nowhere near as comfortable with each other as Dean was with each of them. He hoped today would help change that. He loved when his favorite people all got along. At the very least, a spa day sounded like a welcome change to the cold monotony of mid-January.

It didn’t take long for the three of them to be out of their regular clothes and into plush robes, their faces coated with the promised mud, feet soaking in bubbling footbaths. They’d all declined coverings for their eyes so that they could still talk with Eileen.

“I could get used to this,” sighed Dean as a staff member handed him a mug of steaming honey-lemon water.

“Me too,” agreed Charlie. “Thanks for inviting me along,” she said to Eileen.

“I thought it would be good to get together just us.”

“Mmmm,” said Dean. “Not complaining about that.”

They sat in silence enjoying their pampering for a few minutes.

“How’s work going Dean?” asked Charlie. “Adler still your favoritest boss ever?”

“Ha ha. He’s being his usual Adler self. I swear he would have withheld my bonus if he could’ve come up with a way to wiggle out of the contract.”

“Are you still enjoying the work?” asked Eileen.

Dean sighed. “Not as much as I used to. Used to be I got a lot more variation in what I had to do. More challenging projects type stuff instead of just data entry. Last few months has been pretty boring. And Adler seems to think he can make whatever ridiculous demands on me and I won’t do anything about it.”

“Are you thinking about doing something about it?” Charlie was much more serious asking that question.

Dean hesitated. He wouldn’t have said anything if Sam were here, but Eileen’s always been more on his side. Hasn’t she? He decided to chance being totally honest. “I’m not sure. I don’t like how much he’s trying to nickel and dime everyone. And there’s been rumbling about upping the amount of monitoring we’re all going to have.

“That sounds less than ideal,” added Charlie dryly.

“Yeah there’s that. And Adler keeps talking about big things for me and how if I just put in extra hours I’ll see all sorts of benefits.”

“But that’s good, isn’t it?”

“Only if he isn’t just blowing smoke. Say I work a ton of extra hours, that I don’t get paid extra for, by the way. What’s to say he actually comes through with these benefits?“

“What type of benefits is he talking about?” asked Eileen.

Dean barked a laugh. “Oh he hasn’t said a damn thing about any specifics. No numbers. No quantifying what kind of extra hours he has in mind. Just vague comments about being a team player.”

Eileen and Charlie both wore identical skeptical looks. Eileen looked at Dean. “That doesn’t sound very promising.”

“I know,” said Dean. “And maybe six months ago I might’ve been interested in more hours just to see what came out of it, but I don’t see an upside right now. Especially now that I have Cas. More work for the same money, plus I can’t see my boyfriend as often? Sounds like a sucker’s bet.”

“Are you going to look for something else?” asked Eileen.

“I dunno. Getting Adler out of my life sounds like a great idea. But doing this, just somewhere else? Not sure it matters. The work will still be the same.”

“You don’t know that…” started Charlie when Eileen interrupted.

“What about the garage?”

“What?” asked Dean in surprise.

“I heard Bobby talking at Christmas. He was talking about you towing that woman’s car at Thanksgiving.”

Dean blushed a little. “Not sure why everyone thinks that story is all that interesting.”

“Bobby was more complaining about how he wished you’d come back and work for him full time again. Might be a good change for you.”

“Yeah, he said something about that at the time.” Dean paused for a second, before deciding to ask what he really wanted to know. “Did uh, Sam hear him say that?”

“He was in the other room.”

Charlie looked between Eileen and Dean. “What does Sam have to do with it?”

“You know how he is,” said Dean.

“I know he gets a little weird about your job.”

“Not just weird,” cut in Dean. “He wanted me to make something of my life, and I got that degree and everything. And I did it, and it’s been going pretty well. He wouldn’t want me to throw all that away.”

“How is working for Bobby throwing anything away?” asked Charlie incredulously.

“Sam can be a little…rigid in how he sees the world,” said Eileen.

Dean snorted. That was an understatement.

“But you shouldn’t care what he thinks so much,” she added firmly.

“He’s my brother.”

“He’s not always right.” Eileen smiled at Dean a little sadly.

Dean was no longer as relaxed as he had been before the topic of his employment had come up. Wouldn’t it be a waste for him to trade in his white collar for a blue one? Sure, he’d worked for Bobby for quite a few years part time, on top of school and other jobs to help make ends meet. And then to help pay off school for him and Sam, and his dad’s bullshit. He’d spent all that time and money getting his life banged into shape. But…the idea was tantalizing.

Thankfully the topic was dropped as Eileen and Charlie began discussing what color they wanted to have their toes painted. Dean was happy to chime in on that, saying that he wanted something dark red, almost black. They both tried to argue Dean into a lighter color, but he’d been mesmerized by the idea, and was sticking to it. The women were both leaning towards sunnier colors to combat the wintry weather. Then the conversation moved onto other topics, such as the new movies they were excited to see in the coming year and Charlie trying to convince Dean that he should have an epic birthday party at the Roadhouse.

While Dean was fully enjoying the pampering and the talking, the idea of quitting his job to go work for Bobby full time never really left him, though every time he tried to imagine what that would be like he felt a wave of guilt wash over him. Adler wasn’t so bad, and Dean was pretty good at what he did. The job paid well enough too. Maybe he should just focus on being grateful that his life had ended up in such a comfortable place.

#destiel #suptober22 #fanfic #spa day #charlie & eileen & dean #hanging out at a spa

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angelamajiki · 3 years

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐧

PAIRINGS: Yandere! Fatgum x Female! Sidekick! Reader

CW: noncon, voyeurism, bell bulge, size kink, praise kink, breeding, cunninglingus, bondage, dumbification

AN: This is a piece for Fern’s 1k Event! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE ! Read the intro and first piece before reading this one! Ty <3 P.S. the italicized quotes are Nighteye’s and reader prior convo

Gluttony: The Second Circle of Dante’s Inferno

“What I like about gluttony,' a bishop I knew used to say, 'is that it doesn't hurt anyone else.'”

You hadn’t the faith to believe him when he said it.

It was hard to call the exchanges that occurred between the two of you a conversation. More or less, he spoke the truth of your reality and you simply didn’t have the gall to question it.

The elevator he thrust you into was cold and unnerving despite the cheesy jazz music that thankfully filled the void of silence you were sure would have deafened you if it prolonged itself. It gave you time to think on his words, more so than you would have liked to.

“The flesh endures the storms of the present alone; the mind, those of the past and future as well as the present. Gluttony is a lust of the mind. It is a poison that is all-consuming of the senses.”

Gluttony was the next trial, so it seemed. Lord knows what lies ahead for you, leaving you foolishly clutching to the notion that this circle couldn’t possibly be worse than the last.

The abrupt halt to the elevator allows the gravity of the situation to sink in fully. The inescapable horror was creeping in through the crack in the door, especially when it opened to find a man waiting for you.

And what a man he was, standing at nearly eight feet.

“Just the gal I was lookin’ for! I was worried my favorite lil sidekick had run off right after quitin’ time.”

An enormous, gloved hand clapped down on your shoulder, lingering far longer than you would have liked.

“Follow me to my office, yeah? I got something I wanna discuss with ya.”

And just like that, the string of fate slipped around your neck like a noose and pulled you along down the empty hallway, save for you, the man, and the numerous amounts of plaques, awards, and other celebratory memorabilia decorating the agency halls.

Judging by the pictures you saw yourself in, you were a hero of sorts, working alongside the unnamed man and two others you had yet to meet. Hopefully, your paths would never cross.

Even inside his office, you could see the remnants of what your life would be in this circle of hell. Whoever was with you seemed to be very fond of you, given the number of photographs and newspaper clippings adorning his desk and walls of the office.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking about you a lot, and not just your fantastic work as a hero. Been thinking about what a fine woman you’ve grown to be.”

Those large hands found your shoulders again, stroking and rubbing to set you at ease in his grasp.

“Strong.”

One dipped down to your waist.

“Sweet.”

The other onto your arm.

“Everything a man like me needs. You sure fill my appetite in more than one way.”

Finally, the rest on your hips, thumbing circles into the soft flesh he took purchase in there.

Ah, so this was the glutton in question.

“I’m not sure I’m following what you mean.”

Just play dumb, maybe this circle will have mercy on you.

“Oh, don’t play coy with me, honey. There’s no reason to get all shy on me; I promise I don’t bite-”

His hand slid up to your neck, resting comfortably while enveloping the entirety of it with just his palm.

“Unless you ask for it.”

The whisper in his voice sent shivers down your spine, leaving you frozen in his grasp. It was undeniable that you would never beat him, no matter what your power may be in this world. Hell, if you even had one, how certain were you that you could use it?

Your options were far and few between, but laying down and taking it like some pathetic little bitch was not going to be an option for you. Not here, not now.

The shrill sound of your own voice even hurt your own ears as you cried for help, thrashing wildly in the grip of the man.

Your cries for help should have been chosen more carefully, seeing as when your two apparent saviors sped into the room, they opted to help the man pin you down even further.

“Damn, she’s being a feisty little thing-”

“Fatgum, let go of her neck! You’re gonna hurt her.”

“S-Should we really be doing this?”

And so you were left bound against the top of the desk, shrouded in a swarth of tentacles pinning your legs open and your hands above your head.

“Thank you, boys. Didn’t realize she would cause such a stir.”

So Fatgum was his name, or so it appeared to be an alias of some sorts.

“Fatgum, please-”

His smile was sickeningly sweet as he towered over you.

“Awe, no need for formalities with me, sugar plum. Just call me Tai, yeah?”

The two other men stood beside you, watching their boss closely as he dealt with you.

“Curiosity is gluttony. To see is to devour.”

Damn that cursed man for sending you down here in that goddamn elevator. This journey alone made it nearly impossible to keep this strength to see your mother again alive.

“Tai, please. I don’t-” His hearty laugh cut you off. “Begging already, sugar? By the fight you put up, I’d almost thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

“I don’t!” You protested, squirming in your slimy bonds before they tightened uncomfortably around you.

“Don’t yell at him like that. It's unbecoming of you.”

The raven-haired man snapped at you, looking down with a blush seared across his face and up to his ears.

“Relax, Tamaki. She just needs a reminder of who she belongs, ain’t that right? But, he’s right, I can't have you mouthing off like that, now can I?”

Slipping his black mask off his eyes, Tai fastened it around your mouth and head, loosely gagging you.

“Yeah, you belong to us!”

It was the redhead’s turn to pipe up before Tai shushed the pair of men.

“Now, now, I know you’re fond of our sweet little sidekick here, but this?”

He clapped a hand over still clothed pussy, rubbing gently.

“This here is mine; you boys can’t have this. But you’re more than welcome to stay and watch as I indulge myself.”

You whined into the gag, looking at him with teary eyes as he ripped a hole in your bottoms and panties.

“Hey, hey, hey. No need for tears, honeybun. You're safe with me, okay? I’m gonna take such good care of my little sweetheart, don’t you worry about a thing.”

His large fingers stroked over your clit slowly and tenderly, kissing your salty tears away as he shushed you with praise and loving words. Thumbing your clit, he pushed his middle fingers into you at a slow pace, grinning softly when you bit back a moan.

“Come on now, girl. We wanna hear how good I’m makin’ ya feel, ain’t that right, boys?”

Their collective groans of pleasure gave you all the response you needed; those sick fucks were getting off on you being harassed by your boss.

His finger sped up in pace, making you squeal once he curled his finger in an upwards motion. “Can’t wait to hear what you’ll sound like on my cock, sweet girl. Gonna sing us a nice song?”

Another finger slipped in as his free hand pawed at your tits, fondling and groping as he finger fucked you a new sense of vigor.

“As much as I don't want to hurt you, sweetheart, I’m just itching to get inside you and feel that pretty cunt around me. You understand, don’t you? I just can’t help myself when it comes to you.”

His lips continued to litter your skin in kisses to your face, licking at the tears that fell from your eyes when he added a third finger into your tight, wet hole.

“Mhm, you won’t mind if I have a taste, do ya?”

You could only whine in response.

“Of course you don’t, my good girl never says no to me.”

A hot mouth sealed itself around your clit as three fingers pumped in and out of you steadily, hitting all the right spots repeatedly. You squealed and shook in your binds, feeling your orgasm approaching hard and fast with the aid of his tongue lapping and suckling at you.

“Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”

That was all you needed to feel yourself reach that blinding peak, sobbing and writhing as he rode out your ecstasy. His tongue continued to work at you far after you were finished, overestimating you without a care in the world. Your whines of protest fell on deaf ears as he just pulled your body closer to his face.

“Taste so good, sweetheart. I’ll stop when I’m finished with my meal, y’understand? This is my pussy, and I’ll do what I want with it.”

Leaving you twitching and sobbing, Tai finally pulled away and stood up, pulling his cock out and stroking it above you.

“Can’t wait to breed my pussy. Gonna make you my cute little cream puff.”

Both of his massive hands circled around you waist, pulling you flush against him as he sank all the way into your tight heat. The stretch of his girth was quite nearly unbearable as he pushed himself to the hilt inside of you, rubbing the small bulge in your belly with fondness while peering down at you.

“You feel so good, sweetheart. I knew you’d be so good for me. Yer takin’ me so well.”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he slowly pulled out, leaving your legs twitching wildly when his thumb found its way back to your clit before he sank back in all the way. You could snark about how courteous it was of him to allow you to adjust, but the thread of consciousness was hard to grasp onto as he completely dominated your mind with numbing pleasure.

“You were made to take my cock, sweet thing. Let me give you a treat for bein’ so obedient for me.”

His praise went straight to your gut, as much as you hated to admit it, leaving you feeling pliable and soft under his demanding touch. Those hands around your waist pulled at your body, bringing you back and forth on his cock like you were a goddamn fleshlight.

“Ah, ” he grunted. “I don't think I can hold back much longer; you’ll let me be selfish, won’t ya?”

With that, all sense of tenderness and gentleness was thrown out the window as he picked you up from the desk, holding you against his chest as he jackhammered into you with an impossible pace of his hips.

“Shit! Squeezing me so tight, bein’ such a good little fucktoy for me.”

The sounds of skin slapping and the collective sounds of pleasure rang heavy in the room as he used and abused your throbbing pussy, feeling his grip on you tighten when he was reaching his own high.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum, gonna stuff my pussy nice and full!”

The bulge on your stomach grew even more as he came, stuffing you to the hilt with his cum and his cock. Ropes of it leaked out of your hole, even as he stayed inside you, panting and kissing at your sweaty forehead.

“Gave ‘em a good show, didn’t we, sweetheart? Say thank you, boys.”

Their thanks were mumbled out as they too had exhausted themselves just from the display of your pleasure. Tamaki’s tentacles retracted themselves from you, allowing you to stretch and return feeling to your arms and legs.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart. We’re - hey, are you with me? I’m gonna clean you up and take you back home with me, okay? No more hero nonsense for you, ya hear me? All you need to do from now on is stay home and keep that pussy warm for me.”

Like hell you were going to stay for another damned second in this realm, not after being violated so horrifically.

“O-Okay.”

Play it cool, play it cool.

“Let me go to the bathroom, then.” You swallowed, hoping to fool the men. “A-And I’ll get my change of clothes and we can go home.”

You didn’t wait for a response, hobbling out of the office before making a break down the hall for the elevator. Their shouts echoed off the hallway walls as you ran with all your strength left back into the safety of the elevator, leaving them running after you before the door shut on them.

“Gluttony is a great fault; but we do not necessarily dislike a glutton. We only dislike the glutton when he becomes a gourmet-that is, we only dislike him when he not only wants the best for himself, but knows what is best for other people.”

— tagging: @sightoru @anarchicmartyr @natsuonii @whumperooni @viixens @lunar-nebula @trafalgar-temptress

#yandere fatgum x reader #yandere fatgum #fatgum x reader #fatgum #yandere mha #yandere bnha #yandere my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt

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missskzbiased · 3 years

Text

The Things We Don’t Tell

Summary: You were sure your life was written and directed to fit a sketchy Rom-Com and nobody could convince you otherwise. First, your boss was too hot to be true, and burning with desire didn’t even begin to explain the tingling sensations he left on you. Second, your coworker (a.k.a. Ex-About-to-be-FWB) insisted in turning your life into a living hell, which wasn’t the exact kind of hotness you were into. And if having these two hot men around you every single day of your life wasn’t enough to prove it, maybe the threat of your slutty secret identity about to be busted would be… But you couldn’t let this happen.

WC: 7,5 K

Genre: Smut, Humor (?)

AUs: Office, Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin X Fem!Reader X Bang Chan

(Not really a love triangle as Hyunjin is the Lead. However, Reader wants to Bang Chan)

Rebloggable Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Tag List

Warnings: Language, Thigh riding, Public space (Office), Exhibitionism, Possessiveness, Pet Name (Baby girl), Sir Kink

[If I forgot anything, please let me know! I’m kinda sleepy right now]

Notes: There will be at least one more chapter but I won’t do a tag list post for now, only if someone wants it, cuz I’m too lazy to think about doing it right now. This fic is an attempt to experiment with some writing style things that I’ve been wanting to try. I don’t think it worked, tho SUHAHUSAUHSUHA But that’s life

- I’ll quite possibly change the title in the future-

///

You are a superhero.

Okay! To be honest, you may be exaggerating a little bit ─ a tiny harmless little bit ─ but that was how you felt every single day of your life, alright? You had this glorious and mysterious side of yours that you hid from everyone else in the world… That mask that you couldn’t let come to the ground and would fight for dear life to protect… That side to your persona that no one was allowed to meet… The fierce, bold, and dark aspects of your soul that—

“Y/N! I want those papers on my table!”

“Yes, sir!” You shrieked in an embarrassing (not even slightly bold) way.

— That you couldn’t show at your work.

Yeah… So maybe no one actually thought of you as a superhero, but you really believed someone should start to. Was there something that different between your life and those low-budget TV shows people seem to enjoy so much? You didn’t think so.

To be fair, sometimes you felt like someone wrote a questionable script and poorly directed your life to fit you as the leading lady of a sketchy rom-com. As if they just focused on checking out every point on a bullet list made up with rules for a successful superhero office drama that wasn’t even that good…

… And speaking of which…

Rule Number One: The stern (maybe kinda attractive) boss!

If you had to define Bang Chan with a couple of adjectives, you would choose undeniably beautiful ─ extremely professional of you because the right words to describe him were fucking hot ─ and committed. Fortunately, it wasn’t an “I have someone waiting for me at home and a bunch of kids I must put to sleep” kind of commitment, which would destroy your hopes of having this man one day. Unfortunately, it was an “I’m better than the header and gonna run this company by tomorrow night” kind of commitment, which destroys your hopes of a peaceful day at work.

Now, it’s not like you don’t want to do your job! It’s just that you didn’t sign up to be Bang Chan’s perfect little toy ─ definitely not the better words to describe it ─ and you didn’t expect to be joined by the hips ─ really? ─ with him or any of your coworkers. The thing is that Bang Chan wants to be on top ─ someone has to stop you ─ and he believes the only way to get there is to work as a team and be as perfect as one can be. In other words, Bang Chan wants absolutely everything and everyone to be neat, tight, and ready to be used ─ again… Not the better way to put your thoughts into words ─, but this just wasn’t who you were.

It also wasn’t the point right now.

The point right now should be the fact that Bang Chan was striding to his office looking like he owned the whole damn place… If this was a movie, the camera would be focusing on his expensive, black leather shoes before scanning all the way up to his waist in slow motion. The scene would zoom in on his fine ass only to go a little bit up and catch the shiny, black belt wrapping around his figure. The outfit didn’t leave much to the imagination, but you had a hell of a productive mind… You could think of a few things you shouldn’t really be thinking about right now.

Bang Chan didn’t seem to understand he was at work either.

He rolled his sleeve up in a sexy motion that should be illegal. It isn’t. You can tell by the way there are no cops bursting inside the building and arresting this gorgeous son of a bitch.

The lack of any authorities to stop this atrocious moment had you lowering your gaze to your desk ─ a vain attempt to ignore the way his forearms flexed as he gestured and ordered people around. If you were a little bit less professional, you would have some ideas of how he could do it in bed. With you. But you weren’t some kind of creepy perv who would be fantasizing about riding your own boss from dusk till dawn.

Not at all.

“Do you need me, Sir?” His secretary asks politely.

A question that you would love to ask him too… In a totally and strictly professional way, of course.

Rule Number Two: The (extremely unnecessary) nemesis!

The shiver running down your spine could mean only one thing: Hwang Hyunjin ─ your obnoxious coworker ─ was standing right behind you, just like a bloody damn ghost. There was no need to turn around. You knew he had his mocking eyes glued on Bang Chan’s figure, and you could feel the air shifting as he tilted his head in a silent sneer before leaning on your desk.

You refused to turn around and acknowledge his presence; painfully aware that he would flash a wide grin while looking at you with a knowing glint in his eyes. You wouldn’t give him the taste of seeing in your face that he was right; that you were staring at your boss as if you were a starving vulture. So you did the only thing you could do in this situation: You started to work. The sheets scattered over your desk wouldn’t walk by themselves to Bang Chan’s room, right?

And neither would you if it depended on Hyunjin.

The attempts to swipe the papers in your direction and gather everything you needed ─ to finally get rid of Hyunjin ─ proved to be vain as his hand took root on the desk. You pursed your lips in annoyance while glancing at his prominent knuckles and slender fingers; wondering if he would be so collected if he knew you wanted to crunch them. Probably not. But he gets off so fucking much on upsetting you that he might just want to take the risk anyway.

“What do you want, asshole?” You hissed; stopping your motions before turning around to stare blankly at him.

The face of an angel was the most accurate way to describe the sight in front of you. Plump, pink lips molded into a sweet smile and dark brown eyes morphed into cute crescents. None of those features fit his true self, though. Underneath the angelic façade, there was a demon called Hwang Hyunjin ─ who was resting his free hand on your shoulder for no reason besides driving you crazy.

It would be easier if he was just a pretty face, but Hyunjin had a good body too. The guy looked just like a model ─ slim, tall, and classy ─, and even though only his collarbones peeked out from down his shirt, you knew that there was much more than the eyes could see.

Well, you never saw it, but you had felt it.

As far as you could remember, each curve on Hyunjin’s abs was craft by God himself. The way his chest was built for you to caress would be forever craved on your mind. You might never forget how soft his lips were in contrast to his lap… How his thighs flexed just right when you pulled his hair… How reactive he was… How his moans sounded… And how he put everything to waste.

“Oh, nothing” He shrugged. As usual, his voice was just like sweet, hot honey; still, you could wipe the poison dripping down his chin, “I was just wondering if you had enough time to do your job while fucking your boss inside your head” He clarified sarcastically, cracking you a smile.

Sometimes you regretted not putting his mouth to good use… He really needed to learn how to shut up for a while and stop being so… Unbearable. The silence he met had him scoffing; body leaning even closer to the point his face was practically hovering over yours ─ smugness plastered all over it. You held his gaze to confront him; breathe mingling with his in a heated mix that matched the anger under your eyes.

Was he licking his lips as he stared at yours? Oh boy… He definitely wanted to get laid. It was your time to scoff as the frown on your lips turned into a smirk; eyes twinkling mischievously as you looked into his in a silent teasing. As if sensing that he was in trouble, Hyunjin tilted his head to look even more obnoxious than he was; face coming closer to yours to defy your newfound confidence.

“You know what? If you stared at him any longer, I think his balls might have fallen off…” He whispered in a tone loud enough for just you to hear “Unless he saw the way you were looking at him… Then I guess his dick would go straight up” He assured you with a ‘friendly’ pat on your shoulder as he finally let go of your papers and straightened his back.

“Are you saying it from experience?” You sneered; grimacing at him.

“Are you telling me that you want me to fuck you too?” He retorted gibingly; not even thinking twice about it.

“No” You tilted your head, trying to stay composed, “I’m reminding you that you couldn’t even kiss me without getting a boner… Just like a teenage boy” He arched a brow at your statement; pursing his lips as he hummed in wonder “I’m surprised you never came in your pants like the pathetic thing you are” He laughed; poking his cheek with his tongue before squeezing your shoulder in a silent warning.

“I must have been quite a sight if you can remember it so vividly” You pretended not to notice the way he sniggered, pushing away the urge to punch his face.

Nemesis was just a classy way to call him a pain in the ass.

Rule Number Three: The (plain and uninteresting) secret identity!

It would be impossible to miss the moment Hyunjin’s devilish smirk morphed into a bright, friendly smile. The snarky comment on the tip of your tongue was swallowed back in a bit; grimace dissolving into a wide grin as if you weren’t about to throw your fists at him. He giggled as his arms spread open before snaking around your body to pull you into a tight hug; holding you close and rocking your body side to side as a soft huff fell from your lips.

If you didn’t know any better, your knee would be buried between his legs.

“Way to go, Y/N!” He chirped, loosening his grip to take a better look at your face; eyes smiling as if the both of you were the bestest of friends in the entire world, “You’re awesome! I’m so proud… I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you as my teammate” He pursed his lips; dimples showing as he offered you nothing but affection in his gaze.

You did know better, though, and it wasn’t too hard to figure out who was standing behind your back as you opened your mouth to answer him: “There’s no one I’d rather be with!” You reassured Hyunjin in a sweet, mirthful tone; tilting your head to return the fondness in his look in an act worthy of an Oscar “We’re a team, you know? You can’t get rid of me so easily” He laughed wholeheartedly at that; ruffling your hair before leaning closer to you again, resuming the hug.

“We’ll see about that” He whispered in your ear, making you scoff.

“What are you gonna do? Cry to Daddy so you won’t work with me anymore?” You hissed back; breaking away from his hug with a tight grin before turning around to meet Chan’s gaze.

The surprise plastered over your face was millimetrically calculated; just like the way you pretended to be flustered as you stared into your boss’ eyes to see the pride shining on them. You brought the papers closer to your chest in what was meant to be an innocent, coy way ─ a technique mastered over the months you worked for him ─, and Chan seemed to fall for it as he giggled in delight. The poor guy had no clue all of this was as fake as your camaraderie towards Hyunjin, and he wasn’t about to discover it anytime soon if it depended on you.

Luckily, it did! You had taken some acting classes; just enough for your next words to be naturally convincing: “I’m so sorry, Sir! We’re just so happy that –” The words were deliberately drawled to give him enough time to interrupt you. Just like you knew he would. And it was a good thing that he did because you had no idea of how you were supposed to finish that sentence anyway.

You were a good actress, not a professional improviser.

“Don’t mention it” He cut you off giggly; detaching himself from the doorframe he leaned on as he watched the friendly scene taking place.

The amount of cuteness this man could deliver in his smile wasn’t fair, and it didn’t match the sensuality a simple gesture of his overflowed with, enchanting you. You gulped down as he gave both of you a silent order to follow him into his room, wondering if the duality he had in the office was remotely similar to what he could do in bed ─ a thought that shouldn’t be having a place in your mind right now.

Hyunjin seemed to pick up on it pretty quickly too, and as soon as Chan turned around to head to his office, he bumped his shoulder onto yours. The obnoxious action was followed by your elbow diving into his ribs; a retaliation that took you less than a second and, luckily, Chan ─ or any of your coworkers ─ didn’t seem to notice. Neither of you gave away your silent quarrel as Hyunjin closed the door behind him, smiling at you when Chan finally took his seat.

“It’s good to see that you guys have such chemistry” He confessed, and you had to suppress a scoff when you looked into his eyes. He had no idea… The chemistry between you two was enough to make you want to blow each other, “You know what I always say, right?” He boasted on a sing-song; much more at ease than he seemed to be earlier.

You weren’t about to put that on the line, though.

“You can’t have teamwork if you don’t have a team!” You warbled in unison.

“That’s the spirit!” Chan gurgled, heading to his desk in a visibly good mood.

What was going on? He wouldn’t be so happy just because you and Hyunjin were being friendly… Were you missing something? He didn’t seem in such a peaceful state of mind when he came in… It had to be something that happened after that. Perhaps he got some good news from his secretary? Or maybe… You narrowed your eyes as you caught a glimpse of Hyunjin’s hands fidgeting in front of him; his foot tapping the ground rapidly but quietly before moving slightly to step on your toe.

Or maybe Hyunjin had something to do with it…

“As I said in the email, Sir, I happened to hear some stuff around and… KQ managed to get an exclusive with Han Jisung” The sentence sounded just like a normal introduction to a report, but you knew it wasn’t. Hyunjin’s eyes darted to meet yours, glinting with anxiety and despair. He was informing you of what was going on, not Chan, “And as we all know, Jisung is a rising producer star, which is bound to raise their sales and might get in the way of ours…” He continued, swallowing dryly and widening his eyes ever so slightly.

He was definitely trying to warn you of something.

“Yes, I read the e-mail, Hyunjin” Chan agreed sternly; smile disappearing as his fingers intertwined to serve as a support for his chin. He looked classy and incredibly sexy, but your mind couldn’t afford to focus on it right now. You had to figure out what the hell Hyunjin suggested to Chan before blowing everything up, “You also said that Y/N might have the solution for this…” Oh, so that was it, you thought when Chan arched his brow; eyes connecting to yours.

And now what?

“So?” He encouraged you, detaching his chin from his hands so he could rest them on his desk “I’m waiting” He smiled gently; a closed-mouth smile that was supposed to calm your nerves, even though you could see how tumultuous his gaze was right now.

It was practically a silent threat.

In a normal situation, the predatory way he was looking at you ─ resembling a wolf when you were nothing but a sheep under his radar ─ would get you… Thinking.

Your job wouldn’t be at stake in a normal situation, though.

The pressure on your toes increased; the subtle way Hyunjin found to snap you out of your mind, despite your silence hanging in there for just a few seconds. It was obvious that he was freaking out just as much as you were, and you couldn’t help but blame him for this. Couldn’t he have told you about it earlier? What the hell was going on inside his mind?! Instead of taunting you about wanting to fuck Bang Chan, he should have warned you about that shit!

That’s not the time for this, Y/N.

The muscles on your face tensed as you tried to not give away everything going through your mind; lips twisting in a tight smile as you looked at Hyunjin: “Yeah, he was right” You answered calmly, even though your stomach was settled on becoming an Olympic athlete right now, “As I was telling him before coming here, Sir, I have someone in mind…” The relief washed over Hyunjin’s face; a genuine smile adorning his features as he withheld a sigh, “I happen to know I.N, and I think I can get us an exclusive” You confessed, shifting your gaze from Hyunjin to Chan.

“The writer?” He blurted out, astonishment plastered all over his face.

“Yeah… They’re a friend of mine…” You trailed off, embarrassed to say it out loud “They’re in the top trending now since their novel will become a drama and…” You cleared your throat, lowering your head to avoid his gaze. There was just so much of acting you could handle for a day, “I mean- It’s… Adult stuff, right? But they never—”

“I know! That’s perfect!” He beamed, getting up from his chair to walk your way “They’ve never been seen! Nobody knows anything about them, Y/N” He laughed ─ he genuinely laughed ─ while clasping his hands together “Han Jisung is good, but I.N is better! This is hot news… FrontPage… How come you never told me about that?” He chuckled, placing his hand on your shoulder “Rest assured that when I get my promotion, I’m gonna have you right here in this room” He promised you in such a serious tone that a shiver ran down your spine.

Rule Number Four: The (kinda horny) true self!

There was not a single soul in the office as you made your way down the hall; eyes focused on the mesmerizing view outside. The sky was colored in purple shades, so deep that you would have mistaken them for black if it weren’t for the dazzling, sleepless city and its dozens of skyscrapers lighting everything up. Not even the full moon would be able to compete with such a beautiful brilliance, but it wouldn’t be necessary either as your gaze was abruptly torn away from the night.

The darkness surrounding you didn’t allow your brain to connect the dots immediately, and you couldn’t help but wonder what happened when you bumped into something. The surface was much softer than a wall, yet firm enough to have you wincing for the impact; eyes snapping to meet the unlucky bastard that stayed until so late. The moonlight kissed his skin just enough for you to recognize the sharp features of your boss; clenched jaw revealing popping veins that distracted you for a fraction of a second.

Your eyes trailed the path from his jaw to his neck, and you couldn’t help but wonder how it tasted like; if you could savor it like the sins you wanted to commit with him. The closeness didn’t work in your favor, and the hint of his scent intoxicated your senses as you connected your gazes. Something must have given you off ─ maybe your hesitation, maybe the lust glinting in your eyes ─ because the next second, Cristopher had his hand placed on your lower back.

The warm sensation grew to a burning feeling as his eyes darkened while diving into yours; his stern, cold gaze contrasting to the feeling of his touch and sending a shiver down your spine. Could he have noticed the way your legs trembled as his grip tightened around you? The look on his face was indecipherable, and the intensity of his gaze made you feel too exposed and vulnerable to keep looking for an answer, so you averted your eyes away from him.

“Weren’t you supposed to come as soon as you got his answer?” The way his voice made its way to your senses had the embarrassment washing over you. The huskiness in his tone made you gulp down ─ throat dry from thirsting over him ─ and the calmness in his sentence alarmed you as it didn’t match the disapproval in his eyes “It’s so late that there is no one else here anymore” He added nonchalantly; mixed signals getting you confused to what he meant by it.

Was it just a way to scold you or was it an invitation?

“I’m sorry, Sir” Despite not having anyone around, you whispered the words as if you could be caught at any moment now, “It took me longer than expected, but we—”

“We?” His eyes were sharp enough to cut you off but the real reason why you couldn’t manage to finish your thoughts was the way he pulled your body impossibly closer to his “Were you with him this whole time?” He hissed right into your ear, letting his hot breath fan over your cold, sensitive skin in a silent threat.

“Working” You corrected, even though he didn’t say anything.

“Working” He hummed in agreement; hand going to tuck your hair behind your ear “As in how we work late at night?” He sneered, manhandling you to press your back against the cold surface of the glass wall that separated his office from the rest of the place “Or is it as in how he wants to work you on his desk?” He scoffed; soft huff almost as degrading as the way he held your cheeks with one hand and guided your eyes to his.

“Neither” You guaranteed breathlessly; voice quivering in excitement.

“Are you going to pretend that you didn’t notice his looks?” He narrowed his eyes at you; his knee making its way to the gap between yours before slowly rising to your thighs, “That you don’t know how much he wants to fuck you?” He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head in disbelief, “You better not, ‘cause I know you love it” He warned as he kicked your legs apart.

“He could never fuck me as you do” There was such seriousness in your tone that it had him chuckling, and he nodded in approval before burying his nose in your neck, “I-I’m yours only, Sir… I know my place” You promised quietly, trying not to give away how aroused his jealousy made you feel.

“Yeah…” His raspy laughter tickled your skin, and you muffled a whine as he grazed his teeth over your neck teasingly “But you like being reminded of it, don’t you?” He taunted, taking in your scent in a way that made you feel too small and helpless. He groaned as soon as you let a whimper fall from your lips, and you couldn’t help but struggle to stay still while knowing what was about to come, “Do I have to spell it for you, baby girl?” He snickered before sucking on the tender spot of your skin that he knew too well at this point.

“N-No” Somewhere inside your head, you acknowledged that your reaction was insanely humiliating. He just needed a couple of words spoken in a sultry tone and you couldn’t even form a proper sentence. That was the power he had on you. And you loved it. “Only yours” The rushed tone made him smirk against your neck, stopping his path of kisses for a second to look into your eyes “Sir” You panted; returning his gaze with just as much intensity as he had on his.

“Claim your place” His order was so tantalizing that you didn’t even blink before you finally let your knees give away, losing the support of your legs to earn the support of his thigh, “That’s right… You do remember your place” Somehow, this sounded like the best praise he could ever offer you, even under his amused tone, “But you have been such a bad girl lately…” He pouted as he caressed your cheek; hand stopping to grab your chin gently “And I don’t like bad girls… You know that, right?” He let his thumb reach for your lower lip, fiercely staring at it before grazing his finger on your teeth.

Your answer was as silent as his request; tongue welcoming his thumb before you sucked on his digit. He hummed in appreciation, pushing it inside your mouth as you looked at him with big doe eyes to show a coyness that wasn’t really there within you. The action was followed by a swirl around the tip of his finger; as if to leave in his mouth the taste of what he was missing and prompt him to give you what you really wanted: Him.

If he picked up on your plans, he showed it by giving like for like.

He didn’t say a word as he pressed his thigh against your heat; leaning closer to let his breath fan over your neck once more. He stood like that for what could have been seconds, maybe minutes, but nonetheless time enough for his warmth to creep into your senses. He was like a poison to you; the intoxicating presence clouding your better judgment and destroying any will you had to have him losing control. You didn’t even mind the way he scoffed as you started to grind his leg; brows twisting to shout out a needy plea for release.

“That’s a good girl” He approved, catching your earlobe between his teeth. The moan that fell from your lips was muffled by his finger and he didn’t seem to appreciate it, “I don’t hear you, baby girl” He complained, moving on to your jaw with a path of open-mouthed kisses that weren’t enough to distract you from his other hand “There’s no one here… Be loud for me” He allured you as his hand found its way under your shirt.

The temptation was great… Scream his name as he fucked you senseless in the office... No risk of being caught… Just you, and him, and your dirty little secret…

Your thoughts were all around the place, and you had no hopes of grasping them back as his cold hand brushed your side, contrasting to the warmth under your clothes. The way he touched you made shivers run down your spine; his slow, delicate motion enhancing your senses to every single second of his caresses. You held your breath when his finger finally managed to reach its destination; grazing over your nipple to have you succumbing to his wishes.

You fought it as you could, but you were never much of a fighter.

It was too easy for him to have you under his control, and he knew it. You could tell it by the way he chuckled as soon as you gave away how lost you were at this point. The moan that left your lips came all the way up from your chest, sounding crystal clear in the room as you let your mouth fall agape. Sucking on his finger and following his orders were the last concern you would have for this moment. The only thing worthy of your attention right now was the fact that you couldn’t get as much friction as you needed, and you had to do something about it.

So you grind on his leg for dear life.

“You’re so needy” The mockery didn’t have much effect on your mind anymore, so you just kept sliding up and down his thigh as if that was the only thing that could keep you going “You’re not even listening to me, are you?” He huffed in disbelief; thumb leaving your mouth so he could cup your face “That’s all you can understand, right?” He taunted, pinching your nipple to get your attention again, “Are you still there, baby girl?” He leaned closer to whisper in your ear.

“F-Fuck me” Was the only answer he would get.

“Manners” He warned; licking the sweet spot next to your jaw.

“Fuck me, Sir” You corrected yourself; wrapping your arms around his shoulders to look for some support as you practically bounced on his leg, “Please, fuck me, Sir” You repeated, forehead resting on the crook of his neck as you clawed his back, trying to bring him as close as possible to you.

“Louder” He demanded, and you didn’t need to look at his face to know that he was grinning, “Louder…” He instructed in a tone so low that you could barely hear him over the rustling sounds of fabric against fabric. Your breath hitched as his hand gently caressed your hair; moving some strands away from your face to take a better look at you. However, he didn’t get to see your teary eyes, “Come on, baby… Look at me” He asked in a tantalizing tone, alluring you to try and meet his gaze.

There wasn’t much you could see through your hooded eyes; vision too blurry for you to grasp what was going on inside his mind. You could tell he enjoyed it, though. He always did. That moment when he could pinpoint you had given up on your control, that you weren’t yourself anymore and would be willing to do whatever he asked… He lived for it, for that rebellious flame of self-control extinguishing from your eyes.

For who you become when lust overcomes you.

The grip on his hair wasn’t unexpected, and Cristopher offered you a small, wicked smile before you connected your lips. The kiss was messy and hurried; tongues exploring every corner they could find while your hands were occupied on getting rid of your clothes. Neither of you cared about anything else but feeling each other’s bodies as you ripped your shirts. The cold breeze hitting your bare skin wasn’t enough to cool down the heat consuming you, but it was enough to have you squirming and whining.

“Beautiful” Was the only thing he said before pushing your back against the glass and adjusting his grip to take your nipple between his teeth. The groan that escaped your lips was almost animalistic, prompting him to answer with a grunt of his own as he sucked on your skin. The vibrations ran from your flesh to your core, enticing another moan that seemed to fall into deaf ears, “Louder, baby… I want him to hear you…” He pleaded, letting go of your breast just to grope it and give you a kitten lick on the next second “To know who made you like this…” He added before sucking on it again.

Perhaps it was the fact that he thrust on you, just to tease your senses and make you thirstier. Perhaps it was the fact you had to support yourself on just one leg as he pushed his hips against yours and you tried to seek for your balance by involving his leg with yours. Perhaps it was his hand sliding to meet your clothed core; finger pressing against your clit to add a delicious, needed stimulus for your orgasm.

Perhaps it was the words that slipped through his lips.

“W-What did you say?” You panted; hips faltering as you tried to keep riding him, but steading their pace as his finger circled your clit to goad you “M-Mhm… S-Sir” You cried; hand burying in his hair to pull it and translate the utter bliss waving down your body. The string of mewls and urgent pleas spilled from you like a chant, getting him more eager than before, “P-Please” You whined, even though you weren’t sure what you were asking for.

“Hold it” He ordered; straightening his back to look right into your eyes, but failing as yours rolled back to your head. His hand made its way to squeeze your cheeks, forcing you to look at him with a soft shake to catch your attention “Look at me” It sounded like a warning; stern enough for you to try your best to focus on him, “You’ll only cum when he walks right through that door… Do you understand?” He searched for any signs of stubbornness in your eyes, but his smile showed he didn’t found any.

“W-Who?” You managed to ask; body trembling as you tried to hold every single string inside your mind in place, even though each one of them was ready to snap and unravel the crashing pleasure that was building up.

“Why does it matter?” He scoffed, quickening his pace as the unmistakable ring of the elevator sounded on the room “You love being seen, don’t you?” He chuckled, watching as your body shook violently and your knees started to give away to the sensations running down your body.

“Y-Yes, Sir” You could bet your voice echoed inside the building, and Christopher seemed to agree with you as he grinned in approval.

“So look at your guest, baby… And scream my name” He instructed, pushing your face to the side. The doors opened slowly, revealing the lights inside the small cubicle right in front of your eyes “Let him know who you belong to” He whispered in your ear; hand pushing your underwear aside so his finger could come in contact with your core.

The mysterious figure detached from the corners of the metallic walls to finally reveal himself. You met his eyes for a half of a second; enough time for you to recognize the one who worked with you every single day of your life. For the past few years. Someone who would be your partner for years to come, and who would witness and engrave your face in your most vulnerable moment.

You came hard; probably the most overwhelming orgasm you had ever had in your life. It was impossible to hold back your voice, and you couldn’t help but howl his name; legs shaking and body collapsing into your boss’ arms. You squirmed and whimpered as you tried to recompose yourself; letting him help you ride you out of your orgasm and occupying yourself by staring into your coworker’s shocked eyes.

“Thank you, Sir…” You breathed out, gripping his arms for dear life while the shame sank into your soul.

Rule Number Five: The (grateful and satisfied) fans!

And… Post.

Oh, well… You did it. Again. There was something about displaying your deepest fantasies for anyone to see that was kinda thrilling to you. Your heart raced inside your chest just like a drum ─ well, if a goddamn drummer decided to do a solo but was too offbeat, to begin with ─ and you couldn’t help but stare blankly at the page without a clue of what to do now. It was out there… Why didn’t anyone say anything yet? Was it that bad? Should you delete it?

Well… People have to read it before commenting, you know?

Yeah, right… You just posted it.

Chill.

You licked your lips before biting them; feeling the rush that was posting about your boss online when no one else knew about it. If you were being honest, the best part of this wasn’t having the chance to live your fantasies throughout your writing. No. The best part was knowing that only you knew the true identity of Christopher… Or what you really wanted to do to him while he walked down the hallway. The best part was that no one would ever figure out that you were the author of the bestselling novel of the moment… That this steamy romance between boss and employee was nothing but your rawest desire.

Who would think that the boring, shy girl from the office would be a smut writer? Who would think that you would have a horny, interesting secret identity? No one else but you.

And this was priceless.

Or maybe… It was priceless.

As far as you knew, every single thing you cherished about being a secretive horny bitch could go down the drain tomorrow. It would be all fine if it was just a… Well, actually everything would suck. How would you look at Chan’s face if he knew you were writing about having sex with your boss while he was your boss? What would you do if they decided to fire you because of it? What would you do with your life from now on?!

Don’t panic, Y/N.

You had everything under control… Tomorrow morning you would be going to Jeongin’s house and interview him as if he were you. No one would ever suspect you after that. You would save your ass, Hyunjin’s ass, and Chan’s ass. And that was it. The perfect plan. Nothing to worry about. Just trust Jeongin to follow your script and make sure everything would go as planned.

Flawless. Totally safe. Perfect.

That’s right…

You just need to take a deep breath and rela—

The sudden sound caught you off guard; eyes focusing on the screen once again so you could understand what was going on. All of your worries vanished away as soon as you saw the notification on the top of it; announcing that you had just got a message from a fan.

Finally!

The weasel icon was so familiar that you chuckled while opening the message; a smile plastering over your face as you let your eyes wander around the words. There was nothing more fulfilling to your writer ass than seeing the way Weasel always had something to say about your story. Sometimes, he’d give you some feedback on your style. Other times, he’d freak out about how much he wanted to “try those things out”, as he usually said. There were also times when he’d just get excited over the characters and their conflicts, which always got you laughing.

It was fun to talk to Weasel.

He was just as mysterious as you… There was no name to his face, and also no face to his icon, but both of you were friends anyway. He had been keeping up with your stuff from such an early stage that it felt natural to have him around and getting his feedback. It was so comfortable, that you didn’t even mind when he slid in your DMs, embarrassed to let anyone else know that your smut made him… Feel things. There was no need to elaborate on what he did about those feelings or those things. But it was kinda hot to know he enjoyed himself throughout your fantasies.

His fantasies.

Well… For the number of times that you used them to write your stories, it was some sort of shared fantasies by now. As a matter of fact, you never intended to make Christopher a jealous character but Weasel made the idea seem too hot for you to ignore. Sometimes, he’d open up about that girl from his work that he really liked and how jealous he was of the guy she liked and then… Well, it felt… Interesting.

The thought of being desirable to the point a guy would want to claim you as his like this? Not that Weasel did it. He actually just mentioned that he hoped she was into this as a kink. You couldn’t help but picture the way he would touch her in such a greedy way… The possessiveness blinding him for a second… The grip tightening… The mean words and the humiliation… Oh, the sweet humiliation that would crush you as he whispered how much you would cum for him… How he was the only one who could make you like that… How he would ask you to say his name… To tell him that you were his…

You could drink holy water and still be shaking just by picturing it.

“That was such a good chapter… I didn’t expect you to use her friend like that. I thought it was a given that she’d end up with Chris” You read out loud, chuckling when he reached for your DMs to talk to you “Will we get a threesome or something, miss? 😏” He joked on the next line and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at this “I’m waiting for it”

“You’re just a horny bitch, aren’t you?” You typed, smirking as you stared at his messages “No spoilers for you, though, baby boy… You’ll have to wait like everybody else” Teasing him was always funny, and he never failed to amuse you.

“I’m not the one writing porn online” He pointed out, and before he could write anything else you shot him.

“Yeah but you’re the one getting off to it” You retorted, getting a whole set of gasping and shocked emotes that had you laughing.

“I have no words to express how offended I am” You chortled, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Alright, Drama Llama” Why was it so fun to mock him? You wished you could actually meet him offline and banter like this in real life “To fill your horny ass, I might write a dom!reader next time… I was thinking about torturing the 2nd lead a bit”

“First of all… I don’t think I want my ass filled, thank you for offering tho” Why was he like this? “And I was just joking” You frowned at that, confused by what he meant “Don’t you think that a threesome doesn’t go along with the characters? Her friend likes her a lot and Christopher is just a kinky son of a bitch… I thought he’d just show him that she was his and be an ass as usual”

“What do you have against Chris, dude?” You rolled your eyes, although he wouldn’t be able to see it, “He’s way better than her friend! At least, he does something about her”

“I have the 2nd male lead syndrome! You know that!” You chortled, very aware of this, “And isn’t that the perfect opportunity for him to do something about it?! I mean… I don’t want to be nosey but having a threesome is way out of character for them” He pointed out, and you had to admit he was right.

“No, you’re not nosey…” You sighed; shoulders dropping for a second “It’s just that I’m upset about something that happened at work today and you know that projecting my problems on those characters is my thing” You pursed your lips, staring at the keyboard for a few seconds before deciding to continue “Besides, I’m about to spend an entire day with a guy that kinda inspired the 2nd lead and… I don’t really want to think about a sex scene with him, you know?” You confessed.

“But thinking about torturing and having a threesome with him is easy” He mocked you.

“That’s because that threesome would never happen” You sent it before you could think about what you had just written.

“Ooohhhh!” Holy shit… The amount of emotes he had just dumped on that chat couldn’t be a good sign, “So having sex with this guy is something you want?! And that could happen?! ” Great, now you would have a Drama Llama-Weasel trying to get some juicy gossip about your inexistent sex life… WORSE! Your sex life with your nemesis! “Why don’t you go for it? I’m sure he’s into you if he’s anything like his character” Poor thing… He had no idea.

“Shut up, it’s not like that” You brushed it off.

“If you say so” You could almost hear him snickering, even though you didn’t know how his voice sounded like “I’ll just have you regretting this for the rest of the night” You snorted, shaking your head in disbelief. He was unbearable! “I have work early tomorrow but I’m gonna come back with questions, Miss… Wait for me”

“What I meant is that it’d be easier to happen than having a threesome, not that I want it to happen, moron” You defended yourself but he didn’t even get to read it as he logged off right away.

Great… He would never let you live it down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rebloggable Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Tag List

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donutloverxo · 3 years

Text

Forever

*gif is not mine*

Note - this is for @buckyownsmylife 's 2k celebration and birthday. Congrats and happy birthday! I've never done a breeding kink so it's very new to me but I hope you like it.

Dividers by @whimsicalrogers

Summary - You've been in a secret relationship with Steve for two years. What happens when he tells you he wants to be with you forever?

Warnings - 18+ ONLY PLEASE, smut, breeding kink, sir kink, cum play, anal play, d/s relationship, deepthroating, boss/employee relationship, loosely edited.

Pairing - CEO!Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 2.6k

You watched him carefully, on the edge of your seat to see how he’d react, although you had a pretty good idea of what he’d say.

“Mm,” Steve made a face, scrunching his nose up, “What is this?”

“Why, it’s pumpkin spiced latte!” you gushed, “Starbucks most popular drink,” trying to hold in a giggle to not give away your little scheme of annoying him.

“I--that’s not my drink, doll,” he frowned.

“Yes! I remember, your drink is iced black coffee, no sugar or cream. I’ve been working for you for two years, sir, it'll be pretty hard to forget.”

“Then why did you get--whatever this is?” he put the cup on his desk, too disgusted to even hold it in his hand.

“I thought you’d like to try something new! Be a bit more adventurous!”

It’ll be pretty hard to get your sir to be anything like that. He has always been so uptight and set in his ways, he had a rigid routine, a clean and proper house which was frankly kinda boring looking which is why you refused to live with him. He had asked you so many times. But you always refused. There’s no way you could live in a house that looked like it was taken out of a magazine catalogue. Where you’d be afraid to even eat anything on or near his expensive and spotless furniture. You’d probably murder him in a month or so.

But maybe he can be more open to other possibilities, he was with you, he should adopt maybe a little bit of your personality as you had done his.

“I’ve got all the adventure right here,” he smiled, wrapping a hand around your waist and pulling you into him, putting his cheek on the softness of your stomach.

“Hm, your next meetings in thirty minutes,” you hummed as you felt his fingers massage your hips, tempted to run your hands through his golden hair but not wanting to mess it up or make him look sloppy for his important meeting.

“Well, princess, I didn’t have my coffee so now my days off to a bad start. How will I sit through a meeting with Tony Stark? It’s impossible to keep up with that man.

“Um...” you bit your lip, “I didn’t really think of that... maybe I’ll go run and get you a new one right now!”

He chuckled, shaking his head at your naiveté, you were too innocent for you own good, even after being with him and doing the most depraved of things for so long.

He leant back in his chair, spreading his legs, “There is a way you can make it up to me and help me clear my mind.”

You blinked for a moment trying to process his words, “Oh,” you let out when you realised what he meant. “I’m, but...”

“What?”

“My implants expired. I need to get a new one, I’ve got an appoint in two days and I don’t want to take a chance...” you trailed off. There was no way you’d make him come in a condom or anywhere that wasn’t inside you either. So sex was off the table.

“Doll, you need to use that brain of yours sometimes, I know you can, you’re so much more than a pretty face,” he taunted you.

His harsh words really shouldn’t make your panties wet, so much so that you could feel slick running down your thigh but they did.

“You act as if you’ve got just the one hole,” he gave you a faux pout, a hand trailing up your thigh, up your skirt and past your stockings, “I can just use your mouth

....or your ass.”

“What? My ass?” you jumped, wanting to get away from him but he firmly held onto your hip.

You were well aware of his unhealthy obsession with your ass. He had ate it and fingered it, made you wear all sorts and colors of butt plugs so many times, sometimes even in the office. But you absolutely refused to take his dick up your ass.

Nope. Never. Absolutely not. No. Nada.

No matter how many times he’d ask for it, you were not taking his nine inch dick up your poor small ass.

“Relax, doll,” he grinned, “Get to work. I don’t have much time,” he motioned to his bulge.

You simply nodded, quickly scrambling to get on your knees. There were many ways to have sex than the good ol' penis in vagina--even if that was your personal favorite. You could just blow him for the next couple of days and ride his face.

It was honestly ridiculous how you literally couldn’t go just two days without his dick.

You were using your hands to pump his throbbing shaft, giving light kitten licks to his tip to rile him up and to maybe get a taste of your favorite creamy goodies.

“No hands,” he commanded.

And you almost whined. He always does this! Ruins your fun by taking away control from you.

“Not fair!” you mumbled, putting your hands behind your back as he held onto your face to properly use it.

“I decide what’s fair and what’s not, princess,” he stated, pushing your head down on him.

Lifting his hips up, cooing when you choked on him, tears streaming down your face and ruining your sweet makeup.

He tutted, brushing them away with his thumb, “Look at me, doll,” he told you and like the subservient secretary that you were, you immediately looked up. “What the fuck do you spend thousands of dollars on Sephora for if you can’t even get waterproof makeup?”

You frowned in confusion because you didn’t he if he was seriously asking or not. Did he expect you to answer? With your mouth full of dick?”

It wasn’t surprising that he knew what you spent money on, he let you spend as much money as you wanted on anything you liked, but he insisted on having a joint account so you both could be transparent with each other.

He shushed you when you tried to speak--to explain that you’ll try a better mascara next time.

“You look so pretty with your face stuffed,” he groaned, his hips stuttering as he emptied his load in your mouth.

You swallowed it all, knowing well and good by now that sir didn’tlike it when you let anything go to waste, “Thank you, sir,” you smiled up at him as you popped his dick out of your mouth. “I’ll go clean up.”

“You go do that. And remember to be at my place at seven sharp for dinner.”

“Yes sir,” you answered as you tried to stand on wobbly legs.

💍💍💍

He looked at the ring in the turquoise blue box, so bright and shiny and beautiful, so much like you. A big diamond with smaller ones on the band. He was sure you’ll love it. With the fortune that he had spent on it--you have to.

He just wasn’t sure if you’d say yes.

Or how he should go about asking you.

He couldn’t do it at a public restaurant. Even after all this time your relationship was still very much a secret. If people found out you’d have to stop being his secretary. And he wasn’t sure he could bear going so many hours everyday without you. YOU were his life now. How did he ever even live without you?

“Guess who,” he smiled when he heard your sweet voice, and felt your soft hands over his eyes, closing the box in his hand on instinct.

“Oh my god!” you squealed, removing your hands and jumping up and down in mirth, “Is that Tiffany’s?! Is it for me!”

All the screeching and the screaming made him flinch, he got up from his chair, turning around to see you, “Who else would it be for, doll?”

You squealed again, clapping your hands, you tried to snatch it away from him but he held it away, making you frown. You whined like a petulant child when he held it above his head, too tall for you to get your hands on.

“Sir!” you stomped your foot.“Please give it to me! What is it?” you jumped, hoping to snatch but with Steve being over a foot taller than you, it proved to be difficult.

“Uh... honey, you’ll have to wait a bit...” he had planned on cooking a five course meal for you and asking over candle lights, but you decided to show up over an hour early.

You stopped your ministrations, your lip wobbling, “Why...”

He sighed, his heart breaking at the mere thought of upsetting you, “You just have to, princess. Do you trust me?”

You nodded without a second thought. You most definitely did.

“Then you’ll just have to wait.”

💍💍💍

“Oo sir...,” you moaned, pushing on his wide shoulders when you felt his tip brushing against your pussy lips, “Not on birth control. Remember? Just... um.. just.”

He released your nipple from his mouth with a loud, obscene pop, his elbows on either side of your face as he looked down at you, “Just what, princess?”

“Just... um... well could you just eat my pussy tonight? I was so good in the morning to you!” And you missed having his talented tongue on you. Even though you were pretty sure he made you pass out by eating you out just two days ago.

“Of course I can, princess, you know I love the way your cunt tastes.”

Your cheeks heated up as he moved you onto your stomach, propping your hops up with a pillow.

Shivers running down your spine as he pressed kisses to it with his soft lips, over your butt before biting it and making you gasp.

“Love how I can pull all those sounds out of you,” Steve mused. There was no way in hell he could ever be with anyone who wasn’t you. He looked up at your empty hands, how he should have out a ring on it ages ago. He can’t let you go.

He wanted to do this forever. To be with you forever. What was he even waiting for?

“I want to give you my name,” he blurted.

You looked back at him over your shoulder, meeting your lust blown dark eyes, “Huh?” you asked, not sure that you heard him right.

“Mrs Rogers. It has a nice ring to it don’t you think?”

“Um, yes, maybe,” you immediately pushed your head into your pillow, too shy to even look at his beautiful face.

You had thought about being Mrs Steve Rogers the moment you met him. You loved the idea of being his wife and bride. You liked practicing your signature with his name, write your name along with his whenever you wanted to doodle or pass time. He had caught you more than once but never mentioned it.

Since he didn’t even want to tell others about your relationship, you doubted he’d want that kind of life long commitment.

Which was okay. For now.

It sucked but you were never going to beg him or even ask him to marry you.

“Are you just teasing me? If so... then that’s very cruel.”

You knew he wouldn’t play with your feelings like that but then why would he bring that up out of nowhere?

“You know I never lie, sweetheart,” he said, spreading your cheeks to reveal your glistening cunt and your small hole to him. “In fact I think I should prove it to you. Pump you full of my come tonight and knock you up.”

You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked back at him, stuttering over your words and gaping at him like a goldfish.

“What? Are you serious?”

“Hopefully I can we can conceive tonight itself.”

“I – uh – I don’t wanna be pregnant on my wedding day, I don’t want anyone thinking that it’s a shotgun wedding or that I’m trapping you,” you stammered.

“Then we can get married in a month, or even a week. I can’t wait anymore. I want a family with you, I want the whole world to know that you’re mine.” What better way to do that then to literally make you round with his child?

Before you he hadn’t really given having kids any thought. But now he knew he wanted to have a little you. He imagined having just one kid with you. He wasn’t too keen on sharing you so maybe one would be more than enough.

But he hadn’t thought about this aspect of it. The trying phase. How he'd get to keep you full of his cum till you got pregnant.

And how much more beautiful you’d look when you were round with his child, carrying his seed.

“Uh, okay,” you whispered you couldn’t really think straight, it was all happening so fast, but there was one thing you knew for sure--this was all that you ever wanted. To be married to the love of your life and to have his kids.

“What? You’ll have to speak up, doll.”

“Yes, sir, I want to have a baby with you. I want us to be married. Please make me yours,” your eyes watery as you bore yourself to him.

He smiled, moving up to press a kiss to your temple, “That’s all I needed to hear,” he promised.

Turning you to your back, “Wanna see your face when I come in your pussy, doll.” He told you.

Your face was heating up, with the way he was looking at you--as if you were the most precious thing he had ever seen, you couldn’t bear to keep facing him but decided to look into his eyes, dig your nails into his biceps as he entered your channel.

“You’re squeezing me so tight, doll, will make me come, ugh,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours once he was completely sheathed in you. He wrapped you up in his strong arms, slowly rocking into you.

“Steve,” you whimpered, “wanna come...”

“I got you, baby,” he hushed you, pecking your lips before being his hand down between your bodies to roll your bud, which had you squeezing him even tighter.

Your entire body quivered as you clenched around his length, gushing all over him. Laying limp in his arms as he started fucking into you.

“You’ll make such an amazing mother... your titts,” he looked down at them, bouncing due to the force of his hips driving into yours. He latched his lips onto a hardened nipple, imagining them fuller and heavier.

“They’ll be even bigger, your hips too...” he whispered against your skin, his nails digging into your skin, sure to leave scars.

“Oh... you’d... you’d...” Make good dad too. He had all the qualities it took to be a good father. And where he lacked you flourished.

You sighed, feeling his warm cum fill you up, he stayed inside you, a leg between and under yours as he laid on his side.

Wiggling his hips to make sure his softening cock was as deep as it could be, so his spend would stay inside you. He collected some that leaked out of your joined sexes with his fingers, bringing it up to your mouth, “Don’t let it go to waste, sweetheart.” As you eagerly sucked his fingers clean.

“Hopefully it takes,” he said, drawing random patterns on your stomach.

“Mhm, guess I can cancel my appointment...” you murmured before drifting off to sleep.

💍💍💍

You yawned widely, sitting up and stretching out all your limbs, aching so painfully since Steve was hell bent on keeping you full of his seed, you could still feel it seeping out of you, he made love to you three more times before he finally let you get some shut eye.

Something sparkly caught your eye, you looked in at your hand and the diamond on it. Smiling in awe at just how lucky you were.

“Wonder if it worked,” you said to yourself, rubbing hand over your tummy.

Tags will be in the reblog! Click the link in the bio to be join the taglist or shoot me an ask/dm.

Comments and reblogs are really appreciated! ❤

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

#steve rogers x reader #chris evans x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x you #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #chris evans x you #ceo!steve rogers x reader #ceo!steve rogers

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nightowlfandom · 3 years

Text

PROMPT LIST 2021 EDITION (X RATED VER)

Hi, if you want a fic with no filter with nasty shit all over the place, this is the prompt list for you. These are a little more broad so I need more a storyline with these ones, alright?

If you want a more tame prompt list/Less ‘nasty’ ver., YOU CAN CLICK HERE! (The rules are there too, so I would really recommend looking over there anyways because I won’t reiterate here because it would just be too long)

This is a no filter, no kink left behind, free for all, dirty over the top prompt list...am I getting rid of the other one? Nah. This is just the X rated version. If you want a mixture of both, be sure to specify which numbers from which prompt list purdy please?

Okay enough talking. Let’s get started,

...

1. Look at me when I fuck you!

2. Oh, you’re so cute with my cum in your mouth...don’t spill it, darling...swallow it all.

3. I said FUCKING BEG!

4. You’re a fucking slut you know that? But I fucking love it. I love you.

5. Bend over the counter and stick that ass out, baby.

6. You’re gonna be a good cock-sleeve, right baby?

7. You like when I choke you don’t you?

8. Who told you that you could talk back to me?

9. You’re so slutty for me...touch yourself...that’s right.

10. What if I just leave you here with this vibrator on your clit, huh?

11. Oh god, Y/N...Those sounds you make are so fucking hot

12. I can’t believe you’re sucking my dick in front of our friends.

13. Do you wanna play with daddy’s friends? Hm?

14. I think it’s time I teach you some discipline little girl.

15. Whose gonna stop us? I own this fucking place, baby.

16. I love this...pussy...you like it when I say that?

17. I’m gonna overstim the fuck out of you and you’re gonna like it.

18. Do you like being used like a ragdoll? I thought so.

19. You think I can’t fuck you romantically, you think all I do is one night stands? Think again.

20. Don’t you ever hide your beautiful body from me, doll.

21. That’s right, you fucking worship me don’t you? Look up at me like I’m your god.

22. I have feelings for you, I just can’t get them out the right way...so let me love you in my own way.

23. Backseat. Now.

24. You look so cute tied and gagged, hon.

25. How about we skip introductions and just get to you riding my cock, hm?

26. If we’re gonna do this, you have to be quiet. Don’t make me cover your mouth.

27. I always thought (insert favorite color) suits you.

28. This? Oh...This here is a belt, my dear...What am I gonna do with it? Wouldn’t you like to know.

29. Nothing like a good fuck after a workout, right babe?

30. I don’t give a fuck that you’re on the phone, I want a taste right now.

31. Something tells me you don’t care where we do it, you just want some cock don’t you?

32- Have I ever told you how sexy you look when you’re angry?

33. I really wanna fuck the innocence out of your eyes, cutie.

34. I feel like the angrier you get at me, the harder I fuck you.

35. I wanna try something new...I wanna be gentle with you.

36. That’s it, grab my hair. Yank it, pull me back into your pussy.

37. I want you to be in charge tonight. Show daddy whose really in charge, here baby.

38. No matter how much I order you around. you have the keys to my heart...and cock.

39. If you moan any louder we’re gonna wake you’re parents.

40. How do you ride me so good? God damn, you’re gonna break me!

41. Awww, baby. Did daddy make it hurt? Good.

42. I have such a nasty slut, I love it.

43. Do your friends know just how much of a whore you are, doll?

44. Let’s play hide and seek, the winner get’s to fuck the loser senseless....yes I know I always win.

45. Why be on video call when you could be hopping on this dick, baby?

46. Daddy had a hard day and work, you’ll make him feel better, right?

47. Give your master a proper greeting...yes I’m aware Master’s coworkers are here.

48. Aww, you’re trembling. Wouldn’t want to attract attention to us, would we?

49. I said I would fuck you just about anywhere, the gas station chip aisle is no exception.

50. Can those little fictional characters you simp over FUCK you like I can, doll?

51. Shit your so wet, did I do that to you?

52. Just because you have that pussy over my face doesn’t make you in charge of shit, cutie.

53. Aww, is my pretty baby shy? Our friends came here just to see you. They’ve been waiting to meet my cute little slutty baby.

54. Let’s play a game...it’s called *holding a blindfold* Fuck and Seek.

55. Don’t think, just focus on me. My fingers, my touch.

56. Fuck you’re dangerous, but so the fuck am I.

57. Fuck! You’re mine. You’re fucking mine and I’m fucking yours.

58. Everywhere you go, magic follows. You don’t see it, but I do. So let me worship you. Let me show you just how much I’m devoted to you.

59. Why read fanfic when you can have the real deal right here.

60. I found that little journal you made about me. I think it’s so cute how you fantasize about me, darling.

61. I know you and my friend have a thing going on...you wouldn’t mind if I join the party right?

62. What a gorgeous dress...but it’d look better torn to ribbons don’t you think?

63. Remember what lying does, baby girl...that’s five minutes you aren’t allowed to cum.

64. What? I’m just having my breakfast...move those covers.

65.I heard makeup sex was supposed to be super hot...why don’t we skip the arguing and hop right into the fucking.

66. I’m gonna corrupt your mind. I love to play with you like you’re a fucking violin.

67- You’re like a drug to me. I’m addicted to feeling that pussy wrap around my dick, doll.

68. There’s a huge difference between “I love you.” and “I love Fucking You”?...No, not really.

69. You never told me you were such a perverted slut...I’m dying to know more.

70. You know...it’s dangerous being out like this. A pretty little sla- I mean thing like you out here all alone.

71. I’ll fuck you on this table in front of all these people, and no one will say a think about it.

72. I love looking at you while you ride me...go ahead...show me whose boss, baby.

73. Defiance will get you punished.

74. I didn’t know you were into such lewd acts, honey. Show me more!

75. What’s a cutie like you doing being so sexy?

76. I love it when you’re dirty, baby.

77. Bend over and show me that ass, cutie.

78. I can’t show my love the way I want...I need you for more than just sex.

79- Stay the night with me...I don’t care if it will ruin our friendship.

80- Damnit Y/N, you’re gonna get us caught!!

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years

Text

Cherry Bomb - Sebastian Stan smut

The one where your mob boyfriend will do anything to get you pregnant - including fucking you in front of his friends

Warnings: smut, exhibitionism, kind of praise kink, breeding kink, mob au, daddy kink, mention of diabetes in dirty talk? I swear it makes sense, squirting,

A/N: Thank you to my love, @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog for reading this over for me. This is for my own birthday celebration challenge! Like I explained here, I’m going to try to fill every single AU I listed with the characters I picked for the challenge, and since the deadline if May 27, these fics will be posted randomly, as I finish them, instead of on Thursdays, which are my usual one-shot posting days. Hope you guys like it!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Baby, come here.” The sound of his voice surprised me, almost making me drop the tray of cookies I was carrying. When Sebastian told me he’d have a meeting in his office for the better part of the evening, I’d anticipated a pretty boring day by myself - hence the idea of baking to try to occupy my mind with something.

I definitely didn’t expect to be called into said meeting, and couldn’t think of a good reason why that was the case. Still, I didn’t have any reason to disobey him either. In fact, I knew it better than to do that, by now.

So my feet took me in the direction of the only room in the house I didn’t get to spend much time in: his office, my curiosity driving me as much as my eagerness to see him again. It didn’t matter it had only been a couple of hours, I was always desperate for him and his touch.

Thankfully, it seemed like he felt the same. Upon seeing my face appear on the threshold of the door, his usually mean demeanor changed to welcome an excited - if not slightly mischievous - smile, and he reached out to me, almost anxious to feel me near again.

“There you are.” Once on his lap, I relished on the sensation of feeling safe and cared for. This man, who was the cause of so many people’s nightmares and shivers, only ever meant peace and bliss to me. “Where are your manners, honey? C’mon, greet my friends like the good girl I know you are.”

Startled, I took my face out of its preferred hiding spot - the crook of Sebastian’s neck - to finally take notice of the other men in the room: Chris and Anthony, my boyfriend’s closest associates.

“I’m sorry,” I was quick to retract myself, opening up a smile that I hoped would be enough to get me to be forgiven. “It’s nice to see you guys.” The men in question chuckled, and thankfully my minor misbehavior didn’t seem to have affected the atmosphere in the room too badly.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Anthony nodded towards me, his eyes glinting with something I didn’t quite understand. “We all know how you can get when Sebastian calls for you.” My face warmed up with this acknowledgment, and I fought the instinct to hide it against my boyfriend again. Meanwhile, said boyfriend just chuckled lightly, rubbing circles on my back as if he knew it eased my embarrassment somewhat.

“You know I’m just as crazy when you’re around, princess.” That did make me feel a little bit better, and the comments from the other men only helped me further.

“Crazy, possessive, insane…” Anthony counted, his head tilting from one side to another with each word that fell from his lips.

“When she’s around and when she isn’t,” Chris added. I didn’t have to look at my boyfriend to know that he was steaming as he stared his friends down - the fingers that were possessively pressing down on my hips told me as much.

“If you’re done trying to get a kick out of me…” He warned, finally turning his attention completely to me. “Baby, it’s almost time.” I glanced at the clock before realizing that he was right.

Ever since Sebastian decided he wanted to impregnate me, he’d been fucking me around the clock, paying attention to what the doctors said about fertility cycles and prime mating hours, never letting me spend more than sixty minutes without his cum deep inside of me.

“Okay…” I agreed, trying to understand what was his plan, since the other mob bosses’ stances made it pretty clear that the meeting wasn’t over and Sebastian didn’t seem to intend to call it off either.

“Then I think we better start now, huh?” His hand squeezed my thigh, just as a pang of arousal went straight to my already overflowing cunt when his words finally made sense. “Get to work, honey.”

It was an order I’d be stupid not to follow - but I didn’t want to disobey it either. With trembling fingers, I slowly unbuttoned my dress and let it pool down on the floor until I was standing in my underwear in front of my boyfriend and his closest friends, trying to unclasp my bra despite my nervousness.

But Sebastian wasn’t a patient man. Which is why I was hardly surprised when he pulled me to him again, quickly getting rid of my undergarments as he chuckled upon seeing just how damp my panties were from the mixture of both of our cums.

“Such a good little whore,” he whispered, almost to himself - but I heard it, and it prompted a new wave of wetness to flow from me. I made it a point not to look at Anthony and Chris, even though I knew they were staring at me, taking in my body with all of the bite marks and love bites that my boyfriend kept me decorated with, but as I was climbing Seb’s lap, it quickly became clear he wouldn’t allow me the blissful ignorance of his friends’ presence.

“No, no, princess,” he spoke, quickly manhandling me into turning around so I’d sit on his lap with my body turned towards the other men in the room. “Like this.” I gasped when I took in the way Anthony and Chris were looking at me, their eyes dark and lustful - I couldn’t deny that.

My entire body tingled, and I knew my wetness was now dripping from me, running down my thighs. I could feel it. I’d never been this aroused, as humiliating as it was to admit it. Absentmindedly, I started rubbing myself against the head of his member, my eyes glued on both men in front of me, but quickly, Sebastian made sure to get his way again.

“Now it’s not the time for teasing, baby.” That was all the warning he gave me as he started to pull me to sit down on his cock, the thick member stretching me even after all of the times I had it inside of me.

“She’s so wet already,” Anthony commented, eyes glinting dangerously as his tongue swiped over his bottom lip. I didn’t know what to say, but thankfully, my boyfriend took over for me, letting me focus on his cock and the way it was filling me completely.

“Yeah.” He squeezed my hip, and I could hear the pride just in that word, making me melt against him. “You’re always this way for me, aren’t you, honey?” He wasn’t wrong, so I wasn’t about to lie to him.

“Y-yes.” My fucked-out voice had all three men chuckling. Sebastian took advantage of my sitting position to pull my head back and press a kiss to my temple. I relished in it. I loved the gentle caresses he gave me whilst doing the nastiest things to my body.

“Yeah, I fucked her nice and deep already,” my boyfriend informed his friends, the tone sounding almost nonchalant, like it was no big deal. “Besides, she’s always ready for daddy to take, huh? Whenever I want to, you’re always wet for me, aren’t you, princess?”

I must have babbled some sort of agreeance, since he didn’t push me to say anything else. He had started to move me by then, forcing my hips up and down to ride his dick, and my moans took over the silence of the room.

“I bet she’s sweet as candy,” Anthony’s voice broke the tension once more. Behind me, Sebastian laughed, much to my surprise. I was used to his possessive persona, the one who couldn’t deal with anyone staring at me for too long, much less exploring my naked body with their eyes while commenting on the way I tasted.

“Oh, yeah… could make a diabetic die of pleasure between these thighs.” The comment, paired with the hand that found my clit and started rubbing, had me whining in need, already so close to cumming.

“Shit, the sounds that she makes…” That’s when Chris finally joined in on the debauchery, his hand curling over the prominent boner poorly hidden by his slacks. “And here I was, thinking she was this innocent little thing…”

I wanted to say something. I really did, anything to defend myself - even if I wasn’t really being wrongfully accused. It just felt like I should - like, for whatever reason, there was something wrong with me, if I allowed my boyfriend to do this, fuck me in front of his friends, take me for their eyes to see.

But I didn’t. Because one thing was obvious, and I’d never be able to deny it: I liked it. So when Sebastian answered, keeping the conversation going like I wasn’t even in the room, like he wasn’t buried balls deep inside of me, I just kept moaning and mewling, trying my very best to keep myself from orgasming before he allowed me to.

“Oh, but she is,” my boyfriend informed his best friend, and I could feel his proud gaze settling over me once more. “She gets so shy about what I ask her to do, still. But she does it anyway, don’t you, baby? You’re the best girl for daddy, aren’t you?”

I could only nod, particularly since his arm snaked to the front of my body, easily locating my clit so he could start rubbing it. “You know you need to get off first, honey.” His tone was almost disappointed, like he was scolding me. “It helps with the conception.”

I knew that, and as much as I could feel it - the orgasm rising inside of me, threatening to take over and take me to bliss - I didn’t feel like I’d be able to stumble over that edge. Not with so much happening, so many gazes settled on me. It was too much pressure.

“C’mon, you can trust them,” Sebastian tried to convince me, his stubbled jaw rubbing against my naked back. “Show them how cute you look when you cum all over my cock.” The words made me whimper.

I wanted to, I really really wanted to. And I was so close, but I could feel it slipping away, almost out of reach - “Don’t you want to start our family, princess?” He pressed on, trying to get me to tip over the edge. “Gimme my baby, c’mon.”

And just like that, he coaxed an orgasm out of me. Wetness flooded from where we were joined - he’d always been able to make me squirt so easily, I didn’t even know I was able to do that before we got together.

I could hear Anthony’s “damn” and Chris’ “oh, shit”, but they sounded distant, almost underwater somehow. All I could focus on was the feeling of Sebastian’s fingers bruising my hips as he filled me with his cum, making me moan out loud at the warmth that took over my lower half upon feeling so stuffed.

“There ya go, baby.” I felt my boyfriend press a soft kiss on my temple, as he tucked me against his chest. “Go to sleep now, honey. I know how tired you get once I fuck you throughly.” He wasn’t wrong, I was already yawning. “You’ll stay here for the night.”

And as I felt his cock keeping me plugged, his hands caressing my back while he went back to talk to his partners about business deals, all I could think about was how happy and safe he made me feel.

Especially in front of everyone else.

#my fics #my 2k challenge #sebastian stan smut #smut #sebastian stan #mob au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan reader #sebastian stan reader insert #sebastian stan reader inserts #sebastian stan fanfiction

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chiwhorei · 3 years

Text

gun bunny

pairing: mafia!s. aizawa x fem!reader

genre: mafia!au, quirkless!au, smut- 18+ minors dni

word count: 2.5k

warning: somnophilia, voyeurism, violence, attempted kidnapping, attempted assault, mentions of blood, mentions of guns and knives, degradation, age-gap (reader is 19 and aizawa is 31), spitting

a/n: hello! this is my contribution to the smut pile mafia!server collab, this is both my first smut pile collab (this is so late i am so sorry sksksksk) and my first full-length bnha piece, be sure to check out everyone else’s amazing work here! thank you to @10millionyearsdungeon and @messwriting for your constant support while i trudged through sad pal hours for a fucking month and crawled out of the pits of writer’s block

hymns: hayloft by - mother mother, i’m on fire - awolnation cover

Blood pours over decades like syrup, the tinny-sweet smell was distinct but all too familiar. A muffled gun’s buzzing frames 19 years of life. The barrel feels cool, sitting precariously by the highest angle of your cheekbone.

“I told you not to cause trouble, brat. Now I have to clean up your little mess.”

Aizawa’s body is tall and broad above you, holding you against him with a protective grip on the small of your back. Every word is sneering, punctuated with a growl-- you feel it reverberate against his chest.

The bullet is resounding even through the silencer; a deafening sound, final bell tolling next to smeared streaks of mascara.

Aizawa Shouta has always been around-- whether bringing your dad a hefty stack of reports to thumb through or loosening his tie in the parlor and toasting him to another job well done. A carousel of chauffeurs and bodyguards encircle you, but all are nameless faces except for the man that can make people disappear in an instant: Eraser.

Otsuka y/n, the only daughter of the most powerful man in Japan, is a weighty title against your shoulders. Your father’s reputation has cradled you for almost two decades, keeping you draped in fur and balancing on red-bottoms. He has more money, more power than God. To most of your father’s inner circle, you are the dutiful, angelic heiress to his blood-soaked empire. You play the part well enough, polite, temperate- your hands are painted red in culpability, but perfectly manicured.

Your father’s business isn’t a secret, no matter his attempts to shield you over the years. There’s only so many nights spent humming to the tune of cracking skulls in the next room before “investments in oil” starts to lose its validity. Whenever you ask him, he pats your head, smoothing stray strands of hair, “I do it all for you, bunny. Everything is for you.”

You decide not to think about rouge splatters of blood and bruises against his knuckles, ignoring the clicking of a loading gun before he leaves for the office.

It’s better this way.

“You can’t be serious, Otsuka.” Aizawa paces across the hardwood, heel to toe with Italian leather from one large bookshelf to the other. A familiar habit, you’ve seen the contemplative marching before and know it to mean one thing: Aizawa is pissed.

“Have you ever known me to joke around? Especially with y/n?” Your father’s elbows hit the table in front of him, the jagged scars lining his face seem even more intimidating when coupled with a harshly set frown. You perch on the side of his large desk, swinging your feet lightly.

“Oh daddy, I’m not a child. I don’t need Eraser to babysit me.” You huff, crossing your arms and providing a pout to your father’s hard expression. You hear the mumbled, “Don’t call me that,” from behind you, but decide against a response.

“He’s going to look after you while I’m in Musutafu. I have to handle some…” he trails off slightly, one of his hands coming up to rub against his bald head, “noncompliance, but I shouldn’t be gone for more than a few days.” His disfigured fingers curling around yours, you look up to meet his eye, “Be a good girl, bunny.”

You give your father’s temple a kiss, pulling back to smile sweetly. Your next words have Aizawa snorting, rolling his eyes far enough into his skull to be painful.

“I always am.”

A bend downwards at the hips frames your ass perfectly, the lace of your panties curls around your pussy tightly, hooking against the lips and showcasing your soft skin. Questions swirl in the bowl of cereal in front of him, all but forgotten as soon as a cup“fell” from your fingers and clattered to the floor. The taste, the smell, the feeling of--

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Aizawa is ripped from the reprehensible desires of his senses to meet your eyes, your form still folded over on itself and displayed for Aizawa in the otherwise empty kitchen. You giggle at his scowl, snapping back up and smoothing out your skirt. Aizawa bites down on the spoon in between his teeth, he swears he can feel his teeth cracking. Better his canines than his will.

This only marks the beginning of a long week for your father’s right-hand man. The proceeding days turn to nights at a snail's pace. The past week has been inching towards disaster with every minute of alone time you could steal with Aizawa.

“Eraser, what are you doing up so late.” Your voice curls around his shoulder, the whine tugging him towards your open bedroom door. It’s late, far too late for you to be up to anything good.

You always like to push your luck, playing a game you know Aizawa won’t let himself win. Pressing firmly against the line but never pointing your heel across. Maintaining your immunity, feigning innocence behind a soft pout. Your appointed guardian isn’t fooled by any honeyed façade you build around his associates. He knows what you are at the core.

He tries to shake off your pull, but the way your voice lilts against the long hallway is magnetic. The past few nights have been the same song and dance, your disarming call to him as he trudges to one of the many guest bedrooms. Every night he gets closer, heavy feet and tense nerves guiding him towards your warm voice. He’s weathering a sea, you’re the siren hell-bent on his drowning.

“I told you not to call me that, little girl.” His response to your wanton call is shallow, the nickname is one he hates the sound of, especially rolling past your lips.

“Do you like what you see?”

Aizawa’s brows set harshly as he looks on to where you lie nestled in pillows and silk. You have nothing but a loose, light pink camisole to cover your body, cotton panties pulled down to your ankles with shameless intent. Your legs are spread wide for your viewer’s pleasure, two fingers brush against your lips, dragging lazily- up and back down.

Aizawa knows what you really are, a petulant brat.

You pull at the soft skin, spreading yourself to unveil the tight, clenching hole. He leans his shoulder against the jam, eyes drinking you in where his body shamefully wishes to be. The groan aching deeply in his chest is not lost on you as your other hand pulls the hem of your shirt upwards to catch in between your teeth.

The soft plush of your breasts bounces slightly, nipples peeking out from the folds of fabric, now fully exposed to the inky-black stare of your voyeur. There’s nothing left to his imagination now, the question that haunts sleepless nights, palming a large hand up and down his cock and imagining something softer and smaller. The picture of what his boss’s precious daughter would look like squirming under him becoming clearer beyond all reason.

Aizawa should turn heel and walk away, he should slam your bedroom door shut and count the days until your father’s return with a measured distance. He should walk away. He should-

A soft whimper drags him from contemplation and back to the writhing succubus center stage. Your fingers move quickly against your aching clit, drawing out babbled pleas to hit harshly against the tall, brooding presence at your door.

“I’ve had about enough of your games, bunny. Your father tasked me to keep you out of trouble, but you are the trouble.” Aizawa’s words hit your ears mockingly, but they sound more like an invitation than a warning, especially as his body inches forward, breaching the threshold of your bedroom inch by inch.

Two fingers slip past your lips, pushing in and drawing back slicked with arousal. You repeat the action, slowly, ensuring the boring set of eyes are trained on where you clench desperately; wanting to put on a good show with your bodyguard in the front row.

Aizawa’s head is swimming, dizzy and drunk. He wants to tear you apart, to lay claim to the twitching prize between your legs. If you struggle around two of your own much smaller fingers, it would be nearly impossible to wrap you around his thick cock.

That is, not without breaking you.

The heated pants escaping you pick up in canter, your audience winding a tight cord with his presence alone. Aizawa is unrelenting in his deep, unblinking stare, stepping towards your bed slowly. Once his body is looming over you, the coil in your stomach has turned into a hair pinned trigger.

“Such a messy little slut. Getting off to the attention aren’t you?” You’re rendered dumb at his comment, Aizawa barely has to press his thumb into your chin before your mouth hangs open. You look up with glassy eyes, fingers sore from working against your pussy, chasing a high you can only imagine how fast Aizawa could steal from you. His expression is as neutral as always, but the despondency doesn’t quite shadow the fire burning in his eyes. You watch him lean forward slightly, a string of saliva falling downward to land against your tongue. His spit feels hot, you can taste the remnants of cigar and mint gum as you swallow.

You come undone in a litany of cries, pleading with your captor. His hold is passive as he looks at you, watching you cum against your fingers, the squelching sounds make his mouth dry. The only source of hydration is at the apex of your thighs. Visions flash before his eyes, images of what the curve of your breasts look like as he’s buried tongue deep, lapping you up post-orgasm and pushing you over once more for good measure.

Aizawa retreats, lest he pulls you against his mouth while your cunt is still pulsating, he needs to escape before your knees are pressed to your shoulders. He slams your door closed harshly, leaving you with the taste of his contempt for you on your bottom lip.

You’re quick to sleep, body falling into the warmth of unconsciousness coupled with dreams of what a certain set of fingers would feel like against you. How the scars and calluses would brush against your most intimate inches of spongy flesh, how he would stretch you.

You can almost feel the soreness in between your legs and the heavy slap of something against your stomach. You can almost remember the whispered confessional swimming in the back of your head, the soft grunts from above your sleeping form. As sunlight stretches across your sleep-stiff body, your hand trails down over your naked skin, maybe you aren’t the only one playing games this week.

You could have almost sworn you had gone to sleep with panties on.

The car ride to your father’s bar was filled with unflattering tension. You had protested in vain that going with Aizawa wasn’t necessary, but had been met with a dismissive, “I don’t trust you to behave.”

“I’m not a child, Eraser. I don’t see why I couldn’t just sit at home.” You wobble behind your escort, heeled boots clacking against the gravel.

As you enter the building, a young mop of violet hair flanks Aizawa down with a stack of papers. The man is nameless to you but is familiar enough to be assumed under your father’s thumb.

Aizawa looks over the document’s now held in front of him with care, rolling up the sleeves to his crisp dress shirt as his eyes scan the pages. You note the shimmering silvered skin of a scar under his left eye, pronounced by the harsh lighting surrounding you. His hair is held up partially by a tie, the loose strands framing his face.

“Are you listening to me, little girl?” You're snapped back from watching his mouth curling around syllables to actually make out what they’ve been saying.

“Go sit down, I’ll only be a few minutes.” You nod along and turn to perch at the bar, but stop at the grip pulling you back for one final order. “Don’t get yourself into trouble.”

Aizawa leaves you to stew in the subtle brush of his pointer finger against the tender skin of your wrist, he rubs the skin subtly before disappearing to the back rooms.

The minutes ticking by are agonizing. Aizawa, usually the epitome of brief, has been gone long enough for the condensation on your glass to mar the wood below it in countless ringlets. You twirl the straw against the strawberry liquor, willing time to crank by faster with the action. The drink in your veins isn’t nearly enough to get you drunk but does make the opening of the front door unnoticeable.

Your back is facing the heavy wood, unaware of the two strangers now approaching until the curdling sound of one man’s voice hits the shell of your ear.

“Well, well, look what we have here. Why don’t I buy you a drink, princess?” Each man steals one of your sides, enclosing you into a tight, predatory huddle.

“This is my bar. I don’t need you to buy me anything.” You try to shake off the nauseating feeling of their bodies so close to you, gut twisting uncomfortably as one man’s breath crawls across your shoulder blades. They’re both so close. Too close.

“Wow, this little kitty cat’s got some claws, don’t she?” You feel hands curl around each bicep, a bruising grip right below your armpits. Your body is hoisted up, your balance off at the jarring upheaval.

Possible escape routes flash across your mind but all seem impossible. Would trying to shake off the still faceless strangers even work? And even if you sprung free, would you make it to the back office before they caught up? Should you try to scream? Would Aizawa hear you?

Before you can make any moves, you feel the flat side of a knife at your collarbone. A chill rattles down your spine at the contact, two inches of metal keeping your entire body compliant.

Their intent is clear, you’ll be coming with them, and by the sharp point of a blade digging into the first layer of skin-- you’ll be coming quietly.

A mixture of shock and disbelief compels your body into compliance, dragging you to the front door and closer towards an awaiting trunk.

“Your carriage, princess.” You hear the shorter man on your right, his voice at your neck sounds waterlogged through the blood rushing in your ears. Any protests die at the knife against your skin, digging in shallowly and pricking a small trail of red along your clavicle.

A sharp snap sounds behind you, like a piece of thin wood under a heavy boot. One of your captors falls in a pile next to you. You’re turned around to meet a familiar pair of venomous, black eyes, Aizawa’s words roll from his tongue with a growl.

You’re pulled at the wrist, stumbling back into the strong chest of your appointed bodyguard.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing with my bunny?”

#aizawa smut #aizawa x reader smut #aizawa x reader #bnha smut #bnha x reader #shouta aizawa #tw: somnophilia #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: weapons

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omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts · 3 years

Text

A Siren Song

Pairing: Robert Dubois/ Bloodsport x Reader

A/N: so I just finished watching the new Suicide Squad for the second time and I’m even more obsessed now than I was the first time I watched it. It’s a brilliant film with actually good humor, a non-sexualizing and actually empowering view on Harley Quinn (that leg scene?? y'all-), the rats?? Rat-catcher 2?? THE SHARK?? FLAG?? Who looked really good in this movie, he might be another contender for a story as well as Harley Quinn so lmk ;) but Bloodsport immediately piqued my interest because it’s Idris Elba and he’s gorgeous, I loved the complexities of his character and I want to write for him and no one else has done it yet?? so shoutout to @honey-im-emotional for the support and push to do it! also love The Bodyguard movie, helped with the inspo <3 and i’m so sorry all of my stories are similar but I HAVE A TYPE enjoy and feedback is always appreciated loves and there will be SPOILERS so be warned, also if you want a Harley one next lmk ;) (it’s so long I’m so sorry lol)

Summary: You’re a highly targeted member of the royal family, the last in your line. Bloodsport is hired to be your bodyguard to both watch and assassinate the men after you. He believes it’s below his pay-grade, but reluctantly agrees, doing so to the best of his abilities. But the closeness brings more intimacy than you two expected, and sparks fly.

Warnings: foul language, sexual content, smut, choking, light bdsm, fluffy fluff, dirty dancing, dirty talk, violence and bad guys getting murdered, mentions of Harley x Reader (y’all sexy dance and kiss), reader likes women, dom! Bloodsport, age gap, alcohol consumption, jealousy, heavy kissing, slight angst, just a good time honestly

Word Count: 3,825

You dangle from the ceiling with your aerial silk, fitting your leg in the loop you’ve created, and dangling upside down. The rope wraps around your waist as you hang gracefully from your marble walls, flying. Your friend Harley Quinn taught you how to do this years ago, it now being your favorite form of exercise and relaxation when you need a moment to clear your head.

As you lightly spin, twirling and dancing in the air with your chandelier reflecting light everywhere, a dazzling fairy floating in a sea of stars. You hear footsteps approach and move to hang upside down, facing towards the grand door. Robert Dubois, a.k.a Bloodsport, walks forward to stand directly in front of you.

You have known him a few weeks or so now, him having to watch your every move and tracking down your family’s killers. He stands and meets your eyes as you dangle, hair falling below you.

“Hi,” you giggle, face flushed with heat. “I probably look ridiculous right now.”

He composes himself so he doesn’t crack a smile, but you see his lips twitch when he speaks, “No, Mrs. y/l/n.”

“I have a first name, you know,” you grin widely. “I’m younger than you, which hardly warrants such a professional title.”

“My apologies, y/n,” he fixes himself.

“It’s alright,” you ease, filling him with a sense of softness he hasn’t felt in a long time. You flip and land on your feet, letting go of your silks.

You don’t notice as his eyes glaze over your body in your sports bra and shorts, something his cold, calculated stare should never succumb to, but he does anyway and he kicks himself for doing it. You’re his client and should therefore remain as such, no conflict of interest or thoughts other than to protect. He didn’t want this job, hell, he still doesn’t know why he said yes. Maybe it was the money. Or maybe it was upon seeing you that first time, in that star-studded gown the night of a charity gala you were attending, the way the diamond littered fabric hung over your figure, absolutely dazzled. The way you looked at him and smiled, like you were used to with all the other nobles and adoring fans. But he let himself believe it was different.

He can’t do that anymore, however, because he can’t allow for any complications. And falling for his boss is certainly a complication.

You look at him and your eyes widen with realization, “Oh, I’m sorry. Let me cover up.”

You grab a tee shirt and toss it over your exercise clothes. He looks down as you do so and clears his throat. This brings a small smile to your face.

“You called me in here,” he gestures to the necklace charm hanging around your neck that you can squeeze and send an instant distress signal whenever you need it. “What can I do for you, y/n?”

“Wanted you to spot me,” you tease, a smile overtaking your delicate features. You have a sort of stunning beauty about you that takes him by surprise every time he lays eyes on you. Which is often. You lay on your yoga mat and sit up straight with that same damned smile.

“I’m here to do a job, y/n,” he says, his deep, honeyed voice coating the way he says your name like heat to sugar. “Not aid you in your workout routine.”

“What? Your assassin training didn’t include sit ups?” you smile, tongue in cheek.

“No, but if you need a way to kill a man with a book,” he presses a foot over both of yours as you begin to do sit ups. “Then I’m your man.”

“Yeah, you and John Wick,” you breathe out with a laugh. “And shouldn’t you be in here watching me already? Not by the door?”

“This room has no windows and no other door or entrance besides the one I was standing by. I thought you would want privacy,” he averts your gaze. “I’m sure it’s a hard thing to come by these days for a woman like yourself.”

You stop what you’re doing and look up at him, blinking, “Well, you’d be right,” you tuck your hair back. “So thank you.”

He meets your eyes, bordering on a smile, “You’re welcome.”

“Is that a smile I see?” you chuckle.

The smile shines, “It was a diversion. And you failed.”

You laugh loudly, “Will the next diversion be an actual laugh?”

“Wouldn’t be a proper diversion if you knew what it was.”

You tap his feet so he’ll get the hint and let you up. You rise to your feet and dust yourself up, “I appreciate your spotting.” You press a hand to his chest and hum. Warmth radiates from your palm and he inhales sharply. “For someone who wasn’t trained, you sure are a fast learner.”

He looks at your hand and back to your eyes, heat sprouting from where your hand touches. His hand flexes at his side as he looks around the room, to the door, seeing if it’s closed.

“I-” he cocks an eyebrow then settles. “I think I should go.”

He watches you look at him with wounded eyes, brow lowered, you open your mouth then close it.

You nod, moving away from him, “Right.”

You move to walk away when he stops you, mouth by your ear, voice dropping an octave when he whispers, “Just so you know-” you tilt your head up almost instinctively to hear him better. “-my assassin training did include reminding people who they are when they’ve forgotten their place.”

You look up at him fully now, “You work for me, remember?”

“I work for money. And you didn’t hire me. I was employed by Mrs. Waller to keep you alive,” he cocks his head slightly.

“So it would be frowned upon by her when you’re unable to walk if you touch me like that again.”

You couldn’t believe he had just said that. Your eyes widen and your cheeks once again heat up, blushing. Your chest gets hot when he doesn’t break the stare like he’s calling your bluff, and fuck, did he do just that. You turn away from him.

You can hear the smile in his voice, “That’s what I thought.”

~~~

“Robert said that!?” Harley exclaims, eyes wide. Her jaw is dropped as she does her mascara aggressively in the mirror. “He’s usually so...”

You tug down your tiny halter top over your head, your bright, flattering makeup complementing the colorful swirling pattern, “An empty void with no emotion?”

She nods emphatically, agreeing, “Exactly! I had no idea he had it in him?” she raises her brow and smooths down her leather black and red dress, “Or that he wanted to put it in you-”

You slap her arm, chastising, “You don’t know that. It might have been a threat to actually paralyze me in a very not sexual way.”

“I say both are arousing,” she shrugs, platinum curls bouncing.

You roll your eyes with a small smile aimed at the floor, “Anyway-” you slip a belt through your tight jeans, hitting at your waist when you cinch it in. “We should get going if we want to get to the club on time.”

She pauses. “Y/n. Are you sure we should be doing this?”

You do a double take, “You’re telling me that we shouldn’t sneak out and have a good time?”

“I know the irony is apparent,” she looks at you with a knowing stare. “But not if it means you’re in danger. Which you are.”

“I know,” you frown. “But I’ve been locked in this house for months, I miss going out and having a life. I’m tired of being coddled.”

“I know, sweetheart,” she sighs, looking past herself in the mirror to flash me a sympathetic smile. She thinks for a beat and finally spins around, “Alright, screw it, doll, let’s go paint the town.”

You buzz with excitement, grinning, “Yay! Thank you, thank you! I wonder who will be djaying...” you trail off.

Harley’s face falls and her mouth goes in a solid, straight line, looking past your shoulder, “I don’t think anyone will be.”

You laugh, completely oblivious, “Of course there will be. There has to be music. Dancing in silence would be pretty fucking awkward.”

“This moment is pretty fucking awkward.”

“What do you mean?”

A deep, irritated voice sounds off behind you, “Because you’re not going.”

You jump out of your skin, “Shit, Robert! You scared the hell out of me!”

“You’re not going to that club,” he folds his arms over his chest. You look over him and his casual, night wear: a loose tee and low hanging joggers. You almost wipe your mouth from salivating. Your outfit elicits the same reaction.

You pinch your eyebrows together, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Yes, I can. I’m tasked with protecting you.”

“Yeah. And nowhere on your job description does it say ‘become my parent’. There’s not an opening now just because I don’t have one. I am a grown ass woman and I have been a prisoner in my own home. The same home where...” you pause, a lump in your throat at the reminder of your family’s passing. You shake it off, “I’m just tired. I want a piece of my life back. You can either stay here or come. Either way I’m going.”

He gives you a quick once over and contemplates his options before dropping his arms to his sides and letting out a long exhale.

“Fine.”

You somewhat relax at his defeated tone, “Fine, what?”

He relents, “You can go, but I’m coming with you. But if anything happens to you, I’m not to be blamed. I will leave your ass in that club.”

You grin and jump up to give him a tight hug around the neck. He stiffens before slowly rubbing your back. You sink into his embrace, feeling like you were floating in water, now above the surface as he brings you back to oxygen. Harley smiles at the exchange and she winks theatrically.

He glares.

It’s not long before you three arrive at the club, music blaring and colorful lights flashing over the crowded floors. From his stare and intimidating aura, the club staff thought he was a bouncer and let you all in immediately. But before he was roped into working, the three of you bee-lined to the bar.

“The prettiest and strongest drink ya got, sugar,” Harley smiles at the pretty bartender.

“And what if that’s me?” she responds, ebony hair falling onto one shoulder.

“Then I’ll have to drink you later,” Harley gives her a flirty once over and you roll your eyes.

The bartender grins and gestures towards me for my order, I answer quickly, “Scotch on the rocks.”

Robert looks at you, poorly covering his shocked expression. “Really?”

“Yeah, why?” you look up at him.

“Didn’t peg you for a straight liquor type, Ms. y/l/n,” he finally lets his hidden laugh show through, butterflies erupting in your chest. The diversion definitely worked, whatever you were thinking about before this has immediately left you.

“Then this is going to be the first surprise of many tonight, Mr. Dubois,” you return the smug look as he orders the same thing. You both share a look.

The bartender slides you all your drinks, each of you taking a long swig for liquid courage for the night. Harley’s favorite Doja Cat song comes on and she gasps, clapping excitedly when she grabs you by the wrist, pulling you on the dance floor, “Come dance with me.”

You mouth a small ‘sorry’ to Bloodsport who you left at the bar, he shakes his head with a smile over the rim of his glass, watching you guys’ drinks.

She dances wildly, jumping up and down, spinning to let her hair fall in many beautiful angles. She’s a powerful force and your greatest friend. She puts her arms around your neck and the two of you move in time with the music.

“So...” she motions to Bloodsport who’s being forced into a conversation with a woman at the bar. The woman puts her hand on his and he visibly shrinks back and whispers something to her that causes the most horrid look from the woman and for her to walk quickly away. You smile at the relief that interaction has brought you.

“So what?” you spin her around and pull her back.

“Quit with the good dancing, or I’m gonna fuck you myself,” she teases with a lightheaded giggle.

You smile, “We’ve tried that already, remember?”

“Too much history, I know, I know. Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be nice...” she whispers into your neck, kissing the soft spot under your chin. Your skin heats up under her touch as she drags her hands down your sides, pulling you close to her so that you’re flush against her chest.

You give into her and kiss her slowly, her soft lips melt into your own when her hands tug in your hair. Harley and you have always had a complicated friendship, with enough sexual attraction to fuel a nuclear bomb, but not enough romantic. You love each other but not in the way you both need. You were in love with Robert and she is continuing to explore her sexuality because she likes women and so do you. So as she trails her hot mouth down your neck in the middle of dozens of bustling bodies and you lock eyes with an angry Bloodsport, you knew exactly what she was doing.

You whisper, out of breath, “Are you trying the jealousy trick?”

“It worked in college, didn’t it?” she kisses your cheek, smiling gently against your skin. “And it’s working now.”

“I think you’re just obsessed with kissing me,” you kiss her back.

“It was a win-win situation, doll,” she grins devilishly and you can’t help but agree. “So when you’re done with him, come see me. But right now, I have a sexy bartender lady to drink up.” You grip her hand and let her make her way to her next conquest.

Robert had seen the tail-end of your kiss, his deft fingers clenched around his whiskey glass. He knows he shouldn’t let this sort of thing affect him, something as juvenile and simple as jealousy. But he couldn’t stop that feeling of being stuck, unable to think about anything except the fact that it wasn’t him with his hands on you like that, lips marking you as much as he pleases. Sadness washed over him in a tidal wave and he set his glass down, about to get up to leave when he spotted a man eyeing you from the door. He looked familiar and it wasn’t just attraction he sensed in his eyes but something far more sinister.

A few more men followed suit and began making their way to you in the middle of the dance floor. He had no time to consider the facts, just to get you out of there as soon as possible.

You feel a rough hand tug your arm and turn to face who you think to be Dubois, you smile, “Enjoy the show?”

“Very much,” an unknown voice answers, and you look up, eyes wide. “Now why don’t you come with me for a little talk, beautiful.”

“Get the fuck off of me,” you yank your arm back, slamming your heel down into the perpetrator’s foot. More men surround you on all sides, making it impossible for you to escape or use your subpar martial arts skills. Aerial yoga was a very different ballpark than kicking ass. And you were just a beginner.

You poorly punch a man in the face, only making them all angrier when you’re grabbed from all sides, being dragged towards the exit kicking and screaming. You didn’t want to be that helpless damsel in distress, but as all of these men, men you recognized from your family’s death, were surrounding you, you couldn’t breathe. Their hands felt familiar, grabbing your arms like they’d done that night before you hid in the secret door in the dining room. You had watched these faceless men through a hole in that door, stifling your cries when bullets sprayed the room your family was having dinner in. So while they were coming after you and pulling you outside, it’s all you felt. That same feeling when he wasn’t near.

Drowning.

There’s a hand that pulls you back and you watch, dazed, as Bloodsport puts every man who touched you on the ground. It’s filled with swift yet aggressive and barbaric movements, controlled, expert chaos and it happens within moments. His chest is heaving when he looks down at you and scoops you up in his arms. You’d object in any other circumstances, but this time, head against his chest and tucked in his arms, you were okay.

His voice rumbles against your side, “We’re going home.”

~~~

Harley’s tears hit your shoulder as you sympathetically pat her back.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I shouldn’t have left,” she sniffles loudly. “I should’ve been there.”

You laugh softly, fitting your head into her shoulder, “It’s okay, Harls. It’s not your fault, there was no harm done.”

“There could have been,” she sighs. “I’m not letting you convince me to go out next time, you’re staying here forever.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, “Alright.”

She gets up and sniffs, wiping at her nose that’s now flushed from crying, “Good because I’m serious.”

“I know,” you laugh again, hugging yourself in a hoodie much too large for you, (because you stole it from Rick Flagg) swallowing you whole.

Your eyes wander down the hall to where Robert is no doubt pacing around in your bedroom, the only room not laden with cameras (ironically for privacy). You kick at the floor in your fuzzy socks and think of an excuse to go check on him, even though you’re probably the last person he wants to see right now. You, frankly, don’t care.

“I’m gonna go-”

“Check on Robert?” she finishes. “I know, honey. I was a psychiatrist, I’m not stupid.”

You crack a smile and grip her arm affectionately as you walk past her towards the bedroom. You don’t even take the risk of knocking for fear he’ll lock it and try your luck with just simply opening it. You see him, shirtless with a towel over his shoulder, a low hanging towel wrapped around his waist, while nursing his knuckles. He looks you over once you enter the room, trained eyes on you and the intimidation is definitely working already when he takes the damp towel on his shoulder and dabs the cuts on his skin.

He remains silent and you move to sit down on your bed, the awkward squeak filling the already high-tension atmosphere, thick enough to make your ears pop like you’re in an airplane too far up in the sky.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, drawing his eye.

He hums and steps into your bathroom, washing off his hands.

You frown at his lack of response, “Are you really going to pout this whole time? Because honestly, it’s beneath you, Robert.” You lean forward, watching as he walks out of the bathroom, still half naked, still silent.

The silence is beginning to slowly kill you, especially when he looks this good, water droplets running down his chiseled torso from a hot shower. You didn’t let your mind wander because if the reaction your body is giving from the image before you was any indication, you want him. He walks in the room once again, mouth in an amused yet firm line.

In actuality, he was ashamed of himself. Not so much of you. He would’ve left as that despair overcame him back in that bar. He would’ve left you there and abandoned his mission, leaving you to be hurt. If it hadn't been for those men, you could’ve been killed and it would be his fault. He alerted Waller of the attack, making up a lie about the two of you going for a walk at night and getting ambushed there rather than at a club. There’s a hit on each of those men being taken out as we speak as well as a search for their boss. Even though that still got him chewed out. He couldn’t imagine what she’d do to him if she found out the truth.

Robert walks slowly towards you, leaning against the bed frame, gesturing for you to continue. You watch him, distracted, as he wraps a bandage around his knuckles.

“I shouldn’t have kissed her to get a rise out of you, that was hurtful,” you exhale your words, quiet enough he wouldn’t be able to hear you if you weren’t within a breath of one another. You hang your head, “And it was stupid to go out in the first place when I am in this much danger. I could’ve been killed, and you could have been hurt. I’m sorry.”

He represses a laugh at the idea of him getting hurt, when the two of you both know that would never happen. But as the silence from him grows thicker, the more you start to ramble.

“Okay, this silent treatment isn’t going to work for much longer. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you need to stop.”

He gives you a look that says ‘make me’. But you both know you couldn’t if you tried, and vice versa. He thinks of you as a siren, one of those alluring creatures in old sailor tales that lured unsuspecting men to their painful deaths. As if he has no control of the way he feels about you. Which in a way he does, but he knows better. He knows better than to fall under your enchanting song, but he can’t help but be pulled beneath the surface of the water.

Robert tenses when you move forward and the hoodie falls off one of your shoulders, revealing more of your chest, the smooth skin that lays there.

His chest tightens when you look up at him and sigh.

“But thank you for saving me,” you say, both because you think that’s what he wants to hear but also because you mean it, you wouldn’t be here at all if he didn’t come with you.

He licks his lips and nods his head in simple recognition. He appreciated the apology, truly he did, but a part of him enjoyed the way you continued to ramble on, so he remained silent. This was an old interrogation tactic he learned when he served, keeping quiet always got people talking. He looks down at you and leans to meet your face, hands on either side of you.

“I don’t know what else you wish for me to say,” you admit quietly, fiddling with your hands.

He didn’t know either but whatever you would say, he would listen.

“So I take it you’re not mad anymore?” you infer from his relaxed posture, heart beating out of your chest, fast enough that it catapults to your throat.

He tilts his head down so he’s an inch before your mouth, breath fanning over your face. when he tugs you up to your feet, hands gripping the sides of your waist when he pulls you close. Your heartbeats began to sync up, chest to chest.

“I’m fucking furious, sweetheart.”

You meet his eyes, looking up in that seductive stare of yours you never knew you were capable of until him, and close the distance, kissing him lightly. His arms falter by your side and it’s the first time you’ve seen him hesitate, losing his cool. It’s the most gentle thing he’s ever experienced, everything in his life being forced, hostile, and malicious, while your soft lips against his are anything but. You kiss him like he’s not the monster he thinks himself to be.

“Then let me make it up to you.”

“Fuck,” he grips your sides harder, palm moving to push you closer with his hand flat against the small of your back. “We shouldn’t.”

You search his face for uncertainty, but all you sense is a profound sense of clarity, in the both of you. “I know.”

“Will you regret this?”

You shake your head, hand against his cheek, “No.”

His dark eyes fall to your lips, pupils filling his dark brown irises, lust blown, “You’re so good, baby. You’re too good for me.”

Before you can tease him about the new nickname and object to that, his lips have crashed against your own. His hand slides up to cup the side of your face, drinking you in with his intoxicating kiss. You hum, content, against his feverish mouth and he opens it, vulnerable and on display. You feel his guard still up, tense and calculated, so you rest your hand against his chest. You press a kiss to his eyelid, his cheek, his nose, his chin, his jaw, his neck. He softens beneath you, groaning aloud as his hands tighten.

“You don’t need to be afraid with me,” you whisper to him, tender fingers trailing down his shirtless chest, hot skin against hot skin. It’s enough to make you sweat.

He exhales and captures your bottom lip with his own, holding your face in both of his hands. The kiss grows heated and rushed, like you’re running out of time, as if at any moment those men would come back and find you and take you away from him again. His tongue expertly works with your own, licking the pout of your bottom lip, and coaxing you open. He slides his hand down between your legs, dipping his finger to find the slick in the middle of your thighs. You moan into his mouth, his other hand at the back of your neck when he buries his face in your shoulder. He kisses you there, the crook where your neck meets your collarbone, that damned sensitive spot. You succumb to his touch. His beard tickles your skin and you gasp when he sucks hard, a bruise forming.

You breathe a laugh, “Everyone will see if you leave a mark,” you tug on his hair when you thread it through his coarse curls.

He falls under your spell and there’s something so ironically beautiful about this trained assassin with a heart of gold and the scars to show for it, being so open with you.

His hands, his entire life, have been forced to be instruments of death and violence. But as they slide down your figure, holding your face, and pulling you into him, they’re his greatest gift. He’s surprisingly tender with you.

But then he has enough and pushes you down on the bed, arms trapping you on both sides.

He responds bluntly, “I don’t care.”

You part your legs for him and he releases a shaky breath. He slowly unzips your sweatshirt and it falls off you just as you do the same and tug his towel down. Both of you are bare before the other as you take a moment to drink each other in. You were just as, if not more, beautiful than he imagined you to be.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly as his hand drapes down the line of your figure. He touches you how someone would handle a glass vase filled with flowers.

You take his face in both of your hands and kiss him, “So are you.”

“I don’t think you know what you do to me, baby.” His hand finds your breast and squeezes while he kisses your neck.

You moan when he uses his other hand to grip your neck, thumb against your pulse point, “If it’s anything like how I feel right now, then yes, I do.”

He lifts his head up to watch your face as he chokes you, softly so he doesn’t hurt you but hard enough to play with your breath. His thumb opens your mouth and your legs tremble.

“So I take it you’re into choking, my love?” You nod excitedly, unable to speak, and his grip tightens.

You let out a squeak and he releases, face etched with worry, kissing your neck where he touched you. “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head and smile comfortingly, “No, baby, I’m okay. I’ll tap out if it’s too rough, I promise,” you tease.

His grumbling voice deepens, “Good... because, darling, right now all I want to do is bury my face in between those gorgeous thighs of yours.”

You inhale sharply when he opens your legs once again, looking up at you and you nod in consent.

“I need words, beautiful,” he smirks with his mouth just above your center.

“Yes, please,” you breathe out and he responds with a swift lick to your pussy. He looks up at you and when he catches your eye, it’s as if the sensation grows stronger and your head hits your pillow.

“I’ve barely even touched you,” he mumbles into you and you feel his smug smile in your thigh. His fingers dip into you as he flattens his tongue and crooks them towards himself, you grip your sheets.

“Don’t... flatter yourself,” you sigh out. “I-it’s just been awhile.”

He removes his mouth and fingers from you, “So anyone can make you feel like this?”

You enjoy the feeling you get when he looks at you like that, his eyes dark and dominant, so you play along and nod. “Yes, in fact, I’ve had better.”

He licks his lips and gets up from the bed. He opens his drawer and you sit up to look what he grabs: a belt. Your heart beats excitedly in your chest even though you know you shouldn’t be. He gets back on the bed and climbs over you.

Robert looks at you, “Hands.”

You extend them to him wordlessly, watching as he ties your wrists together and puts them over the bedpost so you’re trapped there, unable to move.

“Now,” he holds himself above you, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You’re to stay tied up until I say so, anything like that again and they get tighter. Nod if you understand me.”

You nod emphatically. You had never seen this side of Robert before, so in control and not afraid to go too far, it was so unbelievably sexy.

The best part was he didn’t tie it tight enough, afraid of hurting you, so you could easily slip out your hands at any moment.

He kisses, painfully slow, down your chest and wraps his lips around your nipple. He swirls his tongue around the erect bud and you gasp, desperate to touch him. He looks up at you from you chest as he switches to the other, massaging the unattended one as he sucks, the pleasurable feeling overwhelming you. So much so you have to clench your thighs together, longing for some sort of relief for the tension building in your abdomen.

“Baby, please,” you whine, squirming beneath him.

He shuts you up with a bruising kiss while his hand slips down to enter you, two fingers in already. He pumps them in and out of you before sliding back down the expanses of your body and letting his mouth latch onto your clit. He sucks hard and you stifle a loud moan that would surely alert everyone in the home of your arousal. He holds you down against the bed with a palm flat against your stomach as you begin to lift your pelvis. His tongue enters you while his fingers take over, stimulating you with gentle rubs and flicks. But just before you feel that euphoric release, his actions cease and you’re left hot and flustered.

“Robert,” you look at him with a deep frown.

He grins, “Y/n...”

You blow hair out of your eyes, “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He puts his lips near your ear, “Are you ready?” You nod as he pushes himself inside you and you bite back a moan into his shoulder.

You finally have enough, slip your hands out, and he pinches his brow, unable to hide his shock before you bring him down to press your lips against his. He melts into you, arms wrapped around you while he holds you close, filling you out in all the right places. He quickens his pace and you whine into his mouth, nails digging into his skin. You wrap your legs around his torso and he hits you so nicely. He was right, it’s the best you’ve ever had. He rises and looks at you, lips swollen and red from kissing, eyes clear and pupils large, and face flushed with heat. Your hair is in messy tendrils at all angles and you’ve never been more attractive.

“You’re doing so good,” he praises in your ear, placing kisses across your jaw. “Taking my cock so well.”

You whimper and his movements stiffen as he approaches release and so do you, walls tightening around him. He reaches down and rubs your clit with his expert fingers. You finish together, mouths open and hands all over each other’s bodies. It overcomes you in a tingling, perfect sensation, it continues on, leaving you aching and wanting more.

He rubs his knuckles over your cheek, softly and adoringly he looks at you. You tuck yourself into his arms under the blankets. Everything you both have wanted for a long time, laying right in front of you.

“Still want to make me not walk?” you tease, looking up at him.

He kisses your eyelids and you giggle, “Fuck yes.”

Part 2?

#harley quinn #harley quinn x reader #rick flagg #bloodsport #bloodsport x reader #robert dubois x reader #robert dubois #idris elba #suicide squad #suicide squad 2 #dc #dc smut #dc fanfiction #fanfiction #smut

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captain-barnes-writes · 3 years

Text

505

Summary: On her summer break from college, Y/N embarks on an affair with Lee Bodecker. But she realizes that not all that drips from his lips is honey.

Pairing: Lee Bodecker x reader

Warning: Age gap, language, angst, cheating, sexual content, unprotected sex (pls wrap it before you tap it, this work is fiction 😤), some dark Lee.

SMUT—18+ ONLY

Word Count: 5.7k NOT PROOFREAD. ( Comments, tips & suggestions are greatly appreciated!)

1962

She waited. Body plush on the bed donning the new satin burgundy lingerie Lee had gifted her. The only light in the room was coming from the lamp on her end of the table and she was grateful for it.With the curtains drawn, the room was dim and it depicted the mood she’d been in for the past week.

She should’ve loathed him, shouldn’t even have shown up to see him. But it would be the last time she would do so and she’d put her pride aside to be engrossed in him one last time. She would cherish the moment, cling to him like she never had before because she really would miss him. She knew she’d miss him terribly. Being far away from him would crush her heart, but she hoped the distance would alleviate the guilt.

What they were doing was so wrong. A betrayal that had her aching every single time they met and the following days she would wallow in guilt. Yet she’d do it all over again that one day of the week, at times even more, come back to the same room to be at his disposal. To be taken by him, pushed into the bed by his weight and fucked into a puddy mess.

She had deceived all those around her. So seemingly innocent with the way she carried herself in a manner that would never raise questions, that would never place faults on her family. With her pretty hair, the curl of her lashes and bright eyes she was the epitome of what all the girls in the town wanted to be. The daughter of the undersheriff of Knockemstiff provided her family with admiration from those in the town, it placed her family on a pedestal. It provided her with a fine education outside of her town in a nice college.

She should have been different, should have never involved herself in such destructive behavior. Actions that could very well place her family in an uncomfortable and embarrassing situation.

Her family, friends and especially Lee’s wife, Jane—they were all victims. Y/N couldn’t believe she had let things get so far with Lee. That she could ever betray her family by sleeping with one of their closest friends, her father’s boss.

She felt despicable, skin crawling as she felt herself get hot with shame all over again. It was a never ending cycle of self-hatred. It was especially so when she thought of Lee’s two children that her eyes were brimming with tears. She huffed as she thought that her last evening with Lee seemed to already be going downhill with the inundation of thoughts drowning her, never leaving her alone.

Her and the sheriff. They were forbidden fruit—they had sinned far greater than anybody. Betrayed those around them when they succumbed to their sweet desires.

Yet even with clear awareness of what she was doing, of what her actions could mean for those she was closest to she still went about doing it. Still found herself waiting for Lee Bodecker every Friday evening in the rundown motel minutes away from their families.

She deduced that it must have been her age, still young and lacking experience in many areas of her life. Lee had given her something she had never experienced before—exhilarating excitement. A type of excitement that kept her up most nights, thinking of how their next meeting would be like. What he would do to her next. It was the sneaking around, the long glances and especially the hours spent in room 505. A week ago, she had felt utter bliss being with him. Looked forward to falling into his arms, create crescent moons on his back with her nails and press their lips together in a matter only both knew how to.

She loved the domineering way he walked into their room with his dark leather jacket and sheriff’s uniform. The badge always seemed to do it for her. She was putty in his hands. Always.

She was so young next to him and had learned too much from him in such a short time as if she was his student. She learned what it meant to have her toes curling in pure content, to have her mouth hang open with no sounds coming out because the pleasure was that good. She couldn’t be blamed for putting herself in such a sinful disposition, he had unearthed a whole different side of life for her. The intimacy she had never experienced with anybody else. It was why she kept coming back.

Lee was far older than she was. A husband, father of two children and the town’s most important asset—the sheriff. Everything about him screamed authority. The way he walked into a room and without uttering a single word he’d command everybody’s attention. It was how he’d gotten to her so easily.

She’d grown up before his very eyes; transformed into a young woman and he had taken notice. How couldn’t he? She was so pretty. He didn’t feel an ounce of guilt as he took her and not even afterwards when they both went back to their respective families. He couldn’t feel the guilt when he was so utterly engulfed in her. When all he could think of was how her hair smelled like strawberries, how her small hands grabbed tufts of his hair all the meanwhile her legs wrapped around him. He was delirious with lust, seeing her and her only.

Y/N was on break from college and had more time to visit her father at the station. She’d drop off lunch a few times a week for him and when her father was out of his office to tend to last minute duties, Y/N would knock on Lee’s office and offer him her father’s lunch. It was kind of her, the way she thought of him. It was then when those kind gestures began to build on him, a type of effect that snowballed into yearning to have her.

Maybe it had been her velvety voice or the way she seemed to carry herself with such quiet elegance and a feel of serene ambiance. The clothes she wore were perfectly stitched for her. Bright high square neckline tops and high waisted cotton shorts with drawstrings. Her choice of clothing gave a peek to the silkiness of her legs and it wasn’t much but it had him hardening every time she walked through his office door.

He didn’t really know how he’d done it. He’d just talk to her, sweet talk his way into making her want him. He’d stare longingly at her, the blue of his eyes romanticizing whatever it was that he wanted from her. Had he been fully honest with her she would have never looked at him, never let him fuck her.

Jane and I are separated, Lee had told her. Deceiving her was the only way, Lee couldn’t have done it any other way. And she had eaten it all up. Believed him as his wife stayed at home more and more, limiting her interactions with him in public. It was a lie that had worked out until it hadn’t.

It wasn’t until a week back, Y/N had gone to the farmer’s market wanting to buy fresh produce. Upon entering the highly filled space of the market she noticed the back of Jane’s head. How couldn’t she? She was the only redhead in the whole town of Knockemstiff. She had almost turned back immediately, feeling nervous at the sight of the woman who warmed Lee’s bed every night. Jane had looked back suddenly and met her eyes within an instant and a smile formed on her lips. She turned, a moment still stuck in her head as if it happened in slow motion, and it felt like the air had been knocked out of her. The swell of her midriff was unavoidable, too obvious to tear her eyes away from it. Jane walked forward, hand on her belly.

“It’s so good to see you, Y/N.” Jane spoke, voice high pitched as always. She was always so cheery and kind, a smile on her face. And she stood ever so clueless in front of her, before someone who climbed on her husband as often as she could.

Y/N was speechless as the shock was evident on her face. Her stomach was large enough to be over six months and she was right when she was finally able to speak and ask her how far along she was and Jane had confirmed it. She had been on bedrest being a high risk pregnancy but was now feeling more herself, more able to be out and about. And it all made sense to her then.

The sweet and honeyed words that Lee had uttered to her about a separation between him and his wife. That they had drifted apart with time and were waiting for the right time to file for divorce, his excuse for not being able to do so was the upcoming election. It all made sense then. The intimacy they had shared created a blurred line for her, had clouded her thoughts when she was in his arms.

He was good at lying. Fantastic at it, she had to give it to him. He had used his wife’s ordered bed rest to his advantage, had used it to get his way with Y/N. Quench whatever thirst he felt that only she could satiate him.

It angered her, but mostly she felt a deep type of disappointment consume her. What he had done was unforgivable and she couldn’t come forward and say it. She couldn’t because she’d be burnt in the midst of it all too. But she thought of it again and again, went in circles around how he’d done such a thing. How the honey dripping from his lips had been venom in truth. It had all been lies.

It seemed as though decades of experience and a decorated career had given Lee a damned way of always getting what he wanted. Having the ability to twist the truth, to hide facts and move the pieces around to whatever was most convenient for him. He was astute that way. Giving her his absolute attention when he was alone with her, staring at her as if she was the only girl he ever wanted, as if she held the key to the world.

He whispered false promises into her ear, soft and sweet. Convenient. He would kiss her as if he had missed her, as if his day was suddenly a lot better because of her. As if she meant something. That she was more than just a distraction; an easy fuck. And she had fallen for it all, walked right into his trap.

And for Y/N, all of the sweet nothings he would say to her, the lust-induced promises he would make to her as they came down from their high always filled her with stupid hope. Clinging onto his every word, his every move. When she was in his arms, she felt the world and all its worries melt away. The blue of his eyes had hypnotized her, the bitter taste of his lips tranquilized her into believing everything he would say.

The door knob to the room began twisting loudly, breaking her from her deep trance. The sound of keys fumbling behind the door and a loud huff coming from the man that destroyed her. She swallowed thickly and wiped the end of her eyes to rid of the evidence of what she already knew. She would do this one last time with him. Succumb to him one last time before it all came to an abrupt end.

“Baby doll.” Lee grinned when he pushed past inside slamming the door shut behind him. His jacket was already on the floor and his harsh steps on their way to the bed. Y/N looked up at him, transforming her saddened look to the smirk she knew he liked so much. She pushed herself from her lying down position to her knees knowing he would love seeing her in the lingerie he had gifted her.

He did. His eyes perked up at the sight of the smooth flesh of her breasts that were almost spilling from the sheer balconette bra, the swell of them tantalizing him. The thin material of her panties, sheer and satin, too were captivating. It earned her a harsh bite of his lip.

“Look at you, doll. It fits you perfectly just like I knew it would.” He groaned as he placed a knee on the bed and grabbed hold of both her arms to pull her towards him.

He kissed her like he wanted to swallow her whole. As if he wanted to print his lips on hers, mark them for life. And she kissed him back with a ferocious need, desperate and sad all at once. Her tongue was swiping against his fighting for dominance. She knew he’d question it, the neediness of her movements. Of how her hands were already unbuckling his belt as she kissed him with seemingly all her might. It would be the last time, he just didn’t know it yet.

“What’s gotten into you baby doll?” Lee hummed as he pulled away. His lips red from her attack, the blue of his eyes gleamed as he felt the throbbing of his cock when she finally brought his pants down halfway. Her hand began palming the thick print through his boxers and she knew that even though he was questioning her, peering up at him and noticing the wild expression on his face, she knew he loved it.

“You missed me that much baby?” He swiped his tongue against his lips as she nodded all the meanwhile pulling him to lay down on the bed. His pants were a puddle on the floor with Y/N’s figure pushing him down onto the soft mattress. He was surprised at her taking the reigns of the situation, showing a dominance she never had before. He would always be the one to push her down onto the bed, attack her lips with a week’s worth of pent up frustration.

“I did miss you.” She whispered. The softness of her hands took hold of his briefs and pulled them down the extremities of his legs. He seemed needy as well, removing his tie and unbuttoning his white shirt. She felt her whole body on fire, needing to touch him and kiss him all at once; a feeling so overwhelming.

Her nimble hands grasped his cock, already hard and head swollen with pent up need. The mere feel of her hands had him groaning and when she began pumping him, his hands reached out to the swell of her breasts. Admiring them wasn’t enough anymore he needed to run his hands over them, cup them in his hands and flick the nipples under his fingers.

She was needy, he noticed from the very beginning. Her movements were eager yet well calculated, knowing what and how he liked it. He knew he would let her take control for the first half, but would make sure to take back the dominance he loved to have when he filled her up.

Her mouth came down on him, tongue flicking against the angry head of his dick before she came down halfway then came up again. Her hands were still pumping the base of his cock, never being able to take him all in her mouth. It made her slightly upset wanting nothing more than to feel him at the back of her throat.

Lee’s orbs glazed over as he watched his girth disappear inside his girl’s mouth. She was so talented that way, savoring him and trying her best to take him all. She was a fast learner. Learned to take him in such a short time, inside the crevice hidden between her thighs and the wetness of her mouth. This time, to Lee, she seemed insatiable. She was moaning, tongue sloppily swooshing at the head and the entirety of his cock. With her swollen lips, she kissed it as if he’d gifted her something entirely far too great and she was grateful for it.

He was a big man in all aspects. His soft belly had come into view as his shirt was discarded on the floor too. She had come to like it so much over the summer, love the fullness of it and the strength that characterized him. His arms were strong, shoulders broad and his piercing blue eyes were the gem she had never quite noticed before.

She never really paid much attention to him before, he was just the sheriff of Knockemstiff, a family friend and her father’s boss. That was all. Yet as the years passed and she grew up, he noticed it and when the time came he gave her the right type of attention—sweet and savory words that had her thighs squeezing together. She had fallen for a man who quite frankly was quite intimidating. Someone who was forbidden.

She took her time with him. Fingers wrapped tightly against his girth keeping a fair momentum all the meanwhile her mouth continued its exploration as if savoring him. Like it was their first time. He tasted so good, salty and just him. Her sweet assault had him groaning above her and one of his hands was still flicking her nipple, struggling to keep it there when her mouth was making everything difficult.

“Fuck baby get up here.” Lee breathed out, one of his hands pulling her hair up forcing her mouth off him. He was always rough with her and she’d grown to love it; learned to take it. To have her skin red and raw from his hands and mouth. Y/N swallowed thickly, knowing exactly what he wanted.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before climbing on top of him, feeling the stiffness of his cock at her clothed core. His hand tangled into her hair and brought their lips together in a sloppy kiss. He felt so good rubbing against her pussy, clothed or not, he was so hard she could every ridge and vein. Desperate to feel more of him, her hips began grinding against the place she wanted to sink down onto. She wanted him so badly but knew what he wanted from her, where he wanted to have his mouth.

When he pulled away from her, he gave her a knowing look and patted her arm. It was his signal for her to move up. She felt her cheeks becoming hot as her hands pushed the small panties down her legs and onto the edge of the bed. She climbed further up until her most private place was in complete direct contact with his face. He sighed at the heavenly sight of her pussy, her folds already glistening with her arousal and he felt even harder knowing his baby girl felt embarrassed. She was especially shy when he coaxed her into having her sit on his face. But why wouldn’t he want her thighs crushing his face, her pussy in direct contact with his mouth when she was so delicious.

The first swipe of his tongue on her folds had her moaning out loud into the silent motel room. When his tongue flicked against her clit in a torturous pace, she began panting feeling so vulnerable and overwhelmed in the position all at once. His hands were on both sides of her hips keeping her in place yet they were kneading the soft skin there, feeling the slight stretch marks that decorated her hips and ass. He was relishing the taste of her nectar on his tongue, salty and sweet all at once and he felt like he couldn’t get enough.

“Fuck baby girl you always taste so damn good.” He groaned as he gripped the sides of thighs tighter, the skin dimpling with the pressure. She looked down at him surprised, as she made sure to keep her balance by having her hands on the headboard and feet perked on the bed.

His hands grasped her hips tighter, fingernails digging into her skin. Her breathing was erratic, chest heaving harshly as his lips assaulted her folds. Sucking on the little nub that was making her toes curl. Overwhelmed with stimulation, it all came together building that familiar bubbling feeling inside her that had her gasping his name out. It spilled from her lips over and over again as he licked and sucked on her pussy lips at a pace that couldn’t have been more perfect.

With a cry, she felt her legs quaking as she reached her peak. It coiled inside her until it came loose. Her orgasm spilled onto the inside of her thighs and Lee’s tongue cleaned it all off her. The rumbling of his chest as his baritone voice worded out compliments to her. How she tasted so sweet and he couldn’t wait to fuck her.

“I need you to fuck me Lee. Right now.” Y/N commanded as soon as the filthy compliments slipped from his lips. She felt desperate to feel him inside her, to take her one last time. She just didn’t know what was waiting for her, of what he already knew. That he was simply entertaining her little game.

Her eyes were glossed over, still reeling from the overwhelming feeling her orgasm had washed over her. He looked surprised at her foul words. She was usually reserved, letting him do whatever he wanted with her and however he wanted to. Yet her taking control over the situation had him aching for her even more. The excitement bubbling and boiling over.

He patted her thighs again as her shaky legs managed to move over and sit on the bed. Confusion took over as she saw Lee scoot down and off the bed. He wiped her confusion right off as he grabbed her feet and pulled her towards the edge of the bed. He was more than ready to take her. His dick rock hard.

“Get on all fours.”

Her breathing still uneven from the remnants of her first orgasm, she pushed herself to her knees and hands both allocated on the bed. She felt his calloused hands on her ass and knew his eyes were devouring the view she was giving him. With her body perked up on the bed, ass in clear eye view to him she felt shy all over again. His hand came down onto her flesh harshly leaving behind a searing buzz. And he did it again and again until shrieks left her mouth.

His full lips kissed on the marks of her skin, leaving behind a trail of wetness before he stood upright again. Gripping his hardened cock in his hand and brought it to her core. Rubbing it on her silky folds, using the wetness from her opening to coat his cock to better prepare her for the stretch that always left her mewling.

Y/N gripped the sheets with her hands bracing herself for him and when he finally entered, her mouth fell open. He moved until she was fully filled with his cock, until his happy trail met the skin of her ass. And he began moving, not giving her time to adjust because he needed to feel more of her. To revel in the feeling of being inside her tight walls, to see her turn into nothing but moans and cries.

Her back arched as the pace of his strokes picked up. He felt deeper and deeper with each push. It felt like he was pulling her so far from herself as her eyes rolled back with the sensation he was giving her. This was her favorite position but they had never quite done it like this. Not with him standing on the floor and her body perked up on the bed. It gave him more leeway, more freedom to move at a faster pace. To roll his hips, to slam them down until her skin was red.

“You like it when I fuck you like this baby?” Lee asked as he came down and she felt the hotness of his breath on her back. A meek yes fell from her lips. His lips kissed the skin below her delicate bra, the burgundy color of it complimenting her skin tone so prettily. Lee nipped and bit on the skin leaving behind red marks in his wake. She shuddered with the fanning of his breath, hot and wet on the skin of her back and her sheets were gripped tighter on her fisted hands.

His hands suddenly left another red mark on the skin of her ass with a harsh spank before they came up and took hold of her unruly hair. He grasped the hair tightly as he stood upright again and began a relentless rhythm with his hips. She couldn’t help but be loud, crying his name out loud over and over again because he was the only man who could ever make her feel such pain and pleasure all at once. It was overwhelming how the myriad of emotions and feelings conjoined together during their acts of passion and she could still feel the searing fire bubbling inside here yet again. She was closer every time his hips snapped against her core, pushing that one familiar toe-curling feeling from her.

“I’m gonna cum Lee oh my god.” She cried out, hair still in his grasp. It was uncomfortable but she could take it. The roughness of his movements, of his cock filling her up and her hair tangled in his hands. She felt it all as her toes curled in the shockwaves of her orgasm. It ripped through her in countless curses and jolts that Lee’s hand let go of her hair and her head fell onto the mattress. She felt weak, knees wobbly with the intensity of her shattering finite.

“I want you to look at me when you cum, Lee. Please.” She whispered, voice so low she thought he wouldn’t hear the softness of it. He did.

Lee held onto the flesh of her hips and flipped her onto her back. His body joined hers on the bed again, him on top of her. Lee noticed a thin sheet of sweat had built up on her chest and forehead, breathing still erratic from the aftermath of her orgasm. She looked so beautiful to him, completely fucked and disheveled because of him. Her request had his insides churning knowing why she was being so demanding this time around, why her movements from the beginning of the night had been quick to feel him, so desperate for him as if starved of his touch.

His cock slipped inside her folds yet again and they both groaned in unison. Their eyes met for what seemed only the second time that night and the intensity of what they both felt turned into thick tension. He wanted to fuck it all away, rid himself of the reality of their situation. Of the grimy situation they were both in, of what he had done. His lies had gotten him so far yet it all seemed to be coming to an end.

He continued his ardent stare, hips rolling against her core as if rushed. Wanting to sear their acts between her legs forever, never letting her forget that he was the only man who could make her feel this way. That despite what he had done, nobody would ever compare to him.

“I’m gonna cum baby, you’re gonna take it all?”

She nodded fervently, knowing that if she spoke her voice would break. Tears began wetting her cheeks, sliding down as the noises in the small motel room escalated. His hips were stuttering against hers already, almost reaching his peak, but still keeping the same harsh momentum that had her mouth falling ajar.

Chasing his own end. The wetness of her arousal was driving him insane, making the movements of his dick inside her much easier. He felt the warmth of her engulfing him, wrapping him up in such a delicious way he knew he’d finish inside her in no time. She was crying out, loud and soft all at once and he felt so pleased with himself as he stared at how angelic she looked. The youth so evident on her skin, the long lashes curled and her glazed eyes still connecting with his. The look on her face had his hips bucking against hers harder, wanting her even more even though he already had her and was already fucking her the way he wanted to.

He brought his face down to meet her lips, to kiss her with a need so strong it felt as if it was crushing him. He bit her bottom lip harshly before letting it go and sucking on her tongue. His movements left her breathless and gasping. His dick was moving inside her and she could feel the veins and rough ridges of it. It was deliciously painful the way their skin slapped against each other, harsh and sensual. It felt like he had reached places inside her she never thought to be possible, the sensation of being filled to the hilt. A fullness that had her aching.

With a string of curses and grunts, Lee’s hips bucked one last time and spilled his seed inside her. He bent down to give her a sweaty kiss before he removed himself from her and collapsed back on the bed.

“You’re amazing baby doll. We’re still on for next friday right?” He breathed out, head turning to look at her. Her eyes were turned to the ceiling and she forged a smile.

“Yes.”

Lee rolled his eyes at the way the lie rolled off her mouth so effortlessly. As if she had practiced it countless times.

“You think I wouldn’t know baby girl?”

“Know what?” Her head snapped to look at him. And as if suddenly feeling shy, her hands gripped the sheets beginning to cover the delicacy that was her body.

“Don’t play stupid with me. You think Jane wouldn’t run her big mouth to me about seeing you at the market? Or how your daddy is all sad about you wanting to leave back to college three weeks before your classes even start?”

“I-I’m sorry.” It hurt to apologize. The words were shaky and unbelievable as she had nothing to be sorry for. He had deceived her just as much as they had deceived both their families. Had lied to her about his separation from his wife in order to get her on her knees. Yet the wild look on his face and the rough tone his voice had taken left her feeling shaky. As if she was treading on broken glass.

“Don’t give me that shit.”

“You lied to me, Lee. You think it was easy for me to see Jane with a big belly? H-How shocked I was?”

“Would you even have looked my way if I told you her and I were still together?” He asked. The incredulous question came so easily, as if it wasn’t the craziest thing he had ever said.

“Of course not.” She muttered. Her voice broke as tears spilled from her eyes. It was the pressure of knowing the truth that made her body shudder. The man laying next to her wasn’t at all who she thought he was. She knew it yet still met him one last time. She wanted to show him what he would be missing when she was gone, of what he had lost out on. Yet the man had been a step ahead of her.

She scooted away to the edge of the bed ready to hurriedly put her clothes back on and leave him for good. The sudden movement had Lee in a panic and his hand yanked her back to the center of her bed. Her shriek was cut to a halt when his large hand wrapped around her throat constricting her breathing. Her glossy orbs stared into his in utter disbelief. She didn’t believe it was real. None of what was happening was registering for her because it couldn’t have been real. Lee couldn’t do that to her.

The disbelief slipped away slowly. Chipping away as the seconds passed. She shut her eyes tightly hoping that when she opened them he wouldn’t be there. Or that at least his hands wouldn’t be on her throat.

When she opened them again he was still there. Eyes wide with fury, rough hands still on her throat. The pressure was less than before as if he was realizing what he was doing.

“Fuck.” Lee griped. “You ain’t leaving yet darlin’. You got that?”

She nodded slowly, eyes still leaking with hot tears. All she wanted was to breathe. To get some air into her lungs. His hands stayed.

“You’ll come back here next friday or any other day I ask.”

It tightened.

“You got that?”

She nodded again, this time in a hurried manner. He let go. She coughed as the air began to fill her lungs once again.

She should’ve known not to mess with the sheriff.

Hope you guys like this. Not my best work but I tried my best 😅💀 Somewhat inspired by my favorite Arctic Monkeys song, 505!

Can you guys tell I love Lee? And age gap fics?😂 it is what it isssss. Posted this at 2 am in pure anxiousness lol

@jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @iheartsebandchris @captainkitteh @gloriouspersonbanditrascal @sillygamingartghost @han-xe @awesomerextyphoon @princessofdarkwinter @kenzieam @lalaparker @21stcenturywitchcraft

Divider by @writeyourmindaway !

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punemy-spotted · 3 years

Text

The Price You Pay Chapter 3: Counteroffer

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader, Senator!Andy Barber x Reader

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements, Dub-Con, Dark!Fic, Abuse of Legal System, Murder, Character Death (minor, possibly major), Love Triangle, Political AU, Mafia AU, Workplace Sexual Harassment, Abuse Mentions, Possessive/Obsessive Characters, Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply, Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat

Chapter Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Elements Continue; Dub-Con; Angst; Politics; Possessive/Manipulative Behavior; Spanking; Choking; Crying; The Dove is Probably Dead: Do Not Eat

Chapter Summary: The return of an old friend brings back the ghosts of old memories.

Chapter 1; Chapter 2

Notes: Shorter chapters my ass, these outlines are getting unreal. Andy Barber has arrived, Steve Rogers does not approve, the Reader bears the consequences. Things are going to be angstier from here on out and I can feel it in my bones. Please don’t yell at me — or do, your feedback is well-loved and appreciated even if it’s yelly.

Not beta-read, these sins belong to me and me alone.

You met Andy Barber fresh from the ashes of his divorce, escaping the gossip and scandal and pain of his past life only to dive into the gossip and scandal and pain of politics. Senatorial campaign, in need of an aide and a law student desperate to do more for the people than hours in clinics and mock trials. Hungry for something grassroots, angling for the impossible.

A match. Whether made in Heaven or Hell feels irrelevant now, long ago as it was.

It was then. This… is now.

Hey Sunshine, didn’t think you’d be able to make it.

He looks the same. Keeps the same beard. Same hair. It’s uncanny and familiar and safe all at once and you slide into the booth with your purse by your side and feel genuinely smiley for the first time in a long time.

It’s been a while since I heard that name.

Yeah? It’s been a while since I got to use it.

The silence is heavy, unwelcome, unwieldy, a reminder of the space between what was and what is.

How’re you doing? Last I heard you were making a name for yourself taking down the…

He trails off, eyes fixed on the slide of your gaze, the sudden interest in a drink menu you wouldn’t normally touch, the tremor of your lips. A man doesn’t serve as Assistant District Attorney for the many years he has without picking up tells.

Sunshine.

Andy…

It’s a warning, a plea, a… confession, all at once, and all the dogged determination in the world can’t hold against the break in your voice, in your control. You’ve cried more in the past few weeks than you can recall and now here he is, soulful eyes and a worried expression and he’s never hugged you really, but suddenly you might want it just that much more.

Don’t be an idiot.

It’s dangerous, your stress, and you know it.

Dangerous enough to send you into the arms of the next safe thing — this is why you don’t do this, isn’t it, this reaching out bit, but no advocacy group on the planet is going to save you from yourself today.

I saw… I saw you win that case. Pretty brutal, standing up to the Syndicate, and getting what you did. He steamrolls past the way you wince, his thumb on that metaphorical bruise and pressing, the Prosecutor’s dogged determination demanding answers, I have a friend in the office, he was convinced you’d be climbing the ranks.

Every word is a twist of the knife, couched in quiet concern, gentle admonition, a warm hug in a smoky tenor and you want to tell him everything, you want to break down in his arms and tell him every word, every buried piece of you he never learned, everything that’s led you to this.

You don’t.

You know better than to trust him too. No one’s going to take care of you but you so instead you shake your head and wave it off and Decided going into the private sector was the better option — one big win doesn’t really make up for the stress, you know.

Private sector. That’s what you’re calling the SHIELD Syndicate now? C’mon, Sunshine…

Look. It’s the Syndicate’s New York, when he made the offer it was… safer than saying no. It’s a cushy position anyway, and I didn’t want anyth—

He doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t believe you and you’re digging a hole trying to explain your way out of it so you just… shut up, shaking your head, It’s not important. I’m fine. I’m more curious about you — what year is it now, your fourth? What are you doing in New York?

The deflection works, but the look on his face is obvious — you’re not getting out of this so easily. He gives in for now, just for now, for you.

Almost fifth, gearing up for re-election. Had a meeting up here… about the organized crime situation for both states, and I remembered you were in the area.

Oh. You… it’s been a while since we talked, you remembered?

You expect me to forget you, Sunshine?

That stops you in your tracks, or whatever road your mind had been racing on, thoroughly not enjoying the defensive you’ve been on since you met with Steve, constantly under watch and waiting for yet one more shoe to fall on you.

That’s fear, sweetness.

Andy…?

You were the best campaign aide I had — I told you then too, I would have made you Chief of Staff if you’d let me.

It’s a good save. A clever save, and you want to believe it more than anything, want to believe it was all business and no pleasure because the alternative makes your nails bite into the table and want to turn tail before he can say another word and he… sees that panic flicker over your face so keenly it’s almost embarrassing.

You’re not used to this.

You’re not used to the warmth of his eyes when he searches your face for the answers you can’t give voice to. You’re not used to the way he reaches for your hand and rests it over your fingers, curling around your palm like he might actually keep you close and keep you safe and keep you free of the demons you made a part of yourself too.

Sunshine, why does his voice have to be so soft, why does it have to sound like molten honey on your senses, why does he have to say your name like it’s the very definition of the word hope, If you’re not safe…

No. No you’re not, tell him tell him the truth, tell him you’re atoning for the girl you could not protect tell him you aren’t worth it tell him this is your penance tell him you signed a death warrant tell him tell him tell him.

Andy, really. I’m fine. It’s a good job.

It’s a shit lie.

He drops it. Drops it just long enough for a waiter to finally come by, for his hand to leave yours while he talks through the wine menu. Drops it long enough for you to check your phone, realizing with horror that you must have silenced it absentmindedly sometime on your way here.

Ten missed calls.

All from Steve.

And one text, stamped from just five minutes ago.

[SMS] Either you pick up your phone or I pick you up, Counsel.

The next one comes right before your eyes, a picture of a map and a GPS pin. Your location.

You glance up at Andy, still talking to the waiter about the small plates options, feign a smile and Go ahead and choose, you have better taste than me, and return to staring at the picture and the three dots at the bottom of your screen, waiting to see his next message.

[SMS] Make your choice.

The haptic feedback of your keyboard feels like an electric shock with every letter, hurried fingers until you manage to tap out something that won’t immediately put the man in front of you in the crosshairs of the most dangerous organization in New York.

You can’t do that to him. You can’t.

[SMS] I’m at a dinner with a friend.

[SMS] And since I know there’s no emergencies pressing, I’d like my time, thank you.

You have the good sense to set it next to you this time, watching your screen light up with whatever furious response he sends next, glancing over only occasionally every time another one comes through. Don’t let him control you. Don’t let him think you’re at his beck and call.

You’re not.

You’re free, you’re free and you’re going to prove it.

Sunshine? What’s going on?

His voice cuts through the haze of panic like a knife and you swear you don’t mean to jump but you do and there’s no denying what he notices, eyes narrow and lips turned down in a sharp scowl, Sunshine…?

You are not that girl. You cannot be that girl, never again.

Steel. Steel yourself, flash him a smile, take a sip of the ice water left in front of you while you’d been checking your phone, reset yourself. Steady. Steady on.

Don’t let them know.

Nothing, nothing, just the boss — let him know I was busy.

Why is he texting you after hours? The Syndicate can’t be that busy.

He’s too watchful for your own good. Probably just making sure I’m staying out of trouble.

Are you?

Are you calling yourself trouble, Senator?

You like this. You can handle this, the trading of jokes, the crooked way he smiles. His eyes are a little more distant than you remember but you can still see them sparkle softly when he suppresses a laugh, lighting up properly when the joy reflects in them.

Briefly, you wonder when the last time he really laughed was.

By the time dinner is over, his hand, warm and steady, is back on yours as you talk — and for a moment you almost enjoy the way he runs his thumb over your knuckles absently, like he’s making careful appraisal of each one. Could use your skills for the re-election campaign, you know.

Really? You’ve got a gorgeous approval rating, what are you afraid of?

Not having my good luck charm on the staff.

Andy…

I’m dead serious, Sunshine, you ran that ship. You were what, a 2L? Rising 3? You had canvassing down to a science. We need that energy down on the Hill.

The curve of his fingers is a little tighter now, squeezing yours, like proof of his earnestness and oh, you want to keep believing him. You need to keep believing him.

There’s so much in New York I have to get done first. And besides, you know me. I want a life on the bench.

Justice Sunshine, and it sounds absurd when he uses your nickname and it sounds so real when he uses your nickname and in the warm smoke of his voice those contradictions can live together all at once.

That’s the one. Closest you’ll see me to Washington is when I’m appointed to the Supreme Court. It’s a dumb, arrogant, silly joke but it’s the same one you used to make with him over drinks, teasing him about his political goals and making him promise to “go easy on you” at your eventual Senate confirmation hearing.

It’s the one that makes him crack that too-beautiful crooked smile while he takes a sip of his drink — hiding the curve of his lips behind the rim of a heavy glass.

Well. If you ever decide to ditch—

Ever decide to ditch what?

The world moves in slow motion: hearing the low growl from behind you; Andy Barber looking up and rising to his feet, his hand slipping from yours with just the ghost of his comfortable touch to assure you; Steve Rogers coming into view as you turn, flanked by the not-entirely-unfamiliar faces of two of his enforcers — it looked like Wilson and Banner had been selected this evening — and the sudden pressure of knowing you’ve done something terribly, terribly wrong.

You stood me up, Counsel. Steve’s voice is a threat, a half-drawl as you stand up and face him, Andy right behind you, Something wrong with taking my phone calls?

She was busy, the sound of Andy’s voice is a balm to your soul and fuel to Steve’s fire, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he grits his teeth and resists the temptation to throw the first punch — you can see the fingers of his right hand curling into a fist, can’t you? The slow curve, the watching, wondering if you’ll make the right choice now that someone has chosen to try to lead you astray.

And who the fuck are you? If he can’t get you to respond, he’ll get something from the man talking for you, eyes trained on him like he’s debating whether his own frustration will make this interloper turn to nothingness and return you to his arms where you rightfullybelong.

Do you? Rightfully belong?

Senator Andy Barber. The title practically knocks the wind out of Steve’s sails and you can see it — he may be the Captain here, King of New York, ruler of his domain but he’s not stupid enough to openly attack a man with connections beyond the Syndicate’s web of influence. It’s a comfort and it’s not, all at once.

The room is still, vibrating with tension, the two men staring daggers at one another and you caught in the middle. I worked on Senator Barber’s campaign when he first ran for election, you manage out in some vain hope it might explain and mollify, only to be thoroughly disappointed — and judging by the way Banner winces, only to dig your grave further.

We’re talking about this later, Counsel. You’re coming home.

And what gives you the right to give her orders? You really are going to have to look back at Andy and beg him to not make this worse. You really are going to have to let him see your face, see that you’re afraid, sweetness. He’s not going to let you go easy and this should not terrify you as much as it does.

Senator Barber. It’s fine. Something must have come up,turning to face his burning eyes, until his face softens like he’s seeing you for the first time. And is he? Is he seeing how you just need him to let it go, let you go, drop the protectiveness and step back?

He has to, because he does, nodding before he grabs his coat and glances to the host station. If you say so, Sunshine. Take care of yourself. He doesn’t press, not knowing when he’s beat but knowing when you don’t want him to. When you’re not safe.

And Steve Rogers offers you his hand to walk you out.

And just what the hell did you think you were doing!?

Oh, and you control my time off the clock now too?

He dragged you back home.

No. Not to your apartment, that sanctuary away from all this you’d been allowed to keep as part of the “deal.” His home, the bedroom where you signed yourself away, the space he unraveled you and left you tangled in your new life.

He dragged you back home, in the grim silence of the backseat of his car and you waited. Waited for the inevitable explosion, the one prefaced by Wilson’s nervous looks and Banner’s cautious stare.

This explosion, where he rounds in on you, where livid is still too tame a term.

Meeting with a Senator? Ignoring my calls? I told you, you were mine tonight.

And I told you I had plans.

After I told you that you were mine, Counsel.

Okay. That’s true, even if you’re loathe to admit it.

Plans adjust. Andy wanted to—

Oh, Andy now? I thought it was Senator Barber? You’re really familiar with him, aren’t you, Counsel?

Just what the fuck are you implying?

Maybe you need a reminder of who you belong to.

He loves to do this. Wrap his big hand around your throat, remind you just how easily he can impose his power onto you, watch your protests die behind your eyes when you realize how useless words are in the face of his violence.

The furious look in your eyes is something to behold, the way you embed your nails into his wrist to try and drag him off you, all soft snarls and indignant huffs, You fucking asshole…

You’re mine, Counsel, and don’t you forget it. You gave yourself to me, remember?

Like I… like I had much of a choice, breathy, furious, and clawing at him.

Doesn’t matter. You’re mine, and clearly I need to make sure you know it…

Steve—!

Captain, sweetness, Captain, and don’t you forget it.

There’s a moment, when anger becomes transcendental, when it turns into something cold and calculating and prepared, when a plan forms behind his eyes and you watch as he looks down at you, so full of fury and fear all at once and you watch as he leans in so close and you feel his hand slide until he has you by the back of the neck, until his thumb is the thing pressing under your chin to keep your eyes on him, until the heel of his hand is the thing keeping you from shouting at him further. Such a stubborn little bitch…

You can almost see the words forming in his mind, the ones his mouth won’t say, I could be so good to you, but he doesn’t say them, sliding his lips over yours instead and it is… soft. A capturing of your mouth with his, not caring that you protest, only insistent on leaving you breathless and hazy-eyed from each tug of his lips on yours and there stokes the warmth of more than your rage, a different fire rising in your core, unbidden and unwelcome but yours to own and his to play with.

He can sense it, practically feel it, that mad serum racing through his veins and making his nostrils flare as he pulls back and watches you, lets the scent of your perfume fill his senses like a drug he can’t get enough of and, I should hate you too, for this, whispered low and hushed and you barely catch it, don’t you? Barely, but enough, enough to remember it was said just before he pulls you down with him into the depths of his own lust.

And into his lap, it seems, as he drags you down, sitting on the bed with you draped over his lap, an effortless shift in his skillful hands. You can protest, and you do, even daring to try to pull away with a kick of your legs and an indignant, What the hell do you think you’re doing?But you know it’s all futile, useless as he places one heavy hand on your back and lets the other slide over the smooth chiffon of your blouse, tracing a line along your spine with careful, practiced ease.

Would have preferred this with a little more… circumstance, sweetness, but you need to learn a lesson now and drastic times call for drastic measures.

You can turn your head slightly, to look at him, that wild-eyed fury so sweet on your face and you are still a wild creature he needs to tame but he is patient and he can do this for as long as it takes.

But you’re a sight like this, draped over his lap in a pencil skirt and blouse, so put together and proper and now so prone to him, helpless under the appraisal of his hands and the way he takes no time in hiking your skirt up around your waist. Captain! Your protest is met with a low chuckle, especially as he lets his palm curve around the round swell of your ass, before leaving a light swat on the soft flesh, to draw a yelp from your furious mouth.

If that’s all it takes to get you shouting, sweetness, you’re going to hate what comes next, smug and cruel, as you try to hold yourself up enough to look at him, met with his smirk and the simmering fury still bubbling in his eyes. To say you’re in danger still is an understatement, no doubt, and you know it.

I won’t make you count this time, but piss me off again, sweetness, and we’ll just see how much you can take, you hear me?

Oh you loathe him, really and truly loathe him, hissing with anger and embarrassment, so close to twisting in his arms and clawing at him but remembering his size and just how much worse it could get — but then there lies the undercurrent.

The one you loathe too, more than you hated him, that warmth. Seeping into your core, a low heat kindled by the sly softness of his lips on yours and the sure tenor of his voice, low and soothing even as he promised damnation. The one that — just like now — leaves you flushed and writhing while he purrs threats to you, massaging the soft skin and sliding the lace of your panties down to remove all barriers to the sex he owns so surely.

You open your mouth to argue with him but as you do, you feel his hand lift from your flesh and then the resounding SMACK of palm on skin, turning words into nothing but a sharp cry of pain, surprise, and lust. The heat rises just as your body tenses, reacting to the sudden attack on your delicate form, cheeks flushed. Even as your eyes well with tears your sex strives to betray you and — Oh do you like that, sweetness? — damn him for noticing.

Let me go, Captain, the threat is shaky, your voice wavering with something like want and panic all at once, and all it does is draw another laugh as he soothes the stinging mark left on your cheek, gentle as a lover and four times as cruel.

Do you know what I think, sweetness? And another raise of his palm, to strike you once more, listening to the way that cry of pain and surprise turns into a soft, involuntary moan the moment he begins to soothe the ache, I think you need this. Always so uptight, trying to be the head bitch in charge, aren’t you? Just looking for someone to take over, take control, remind you where your place is.

His fingers slip further, more interested in exploring the soft slickness of your sex, listening to your protests die in your throat with every press of his fingers into your plush folds. That’s why I’m here, to keep you in my lap, all fucked and soft, sweetness. Don’t you worry, I’m going to take care of you. Even if I have to teach you just like this.

You should hate the way he talks, hates how he finds your center with effortless ease, like he’s known your body for years. Holding you down in his lap still as he draws mewling moans from you with every curl of his fingers, finding the proof of his accusations in the slick need coating your thighs, soaking his fingers, You’re making such a mess of me, sweetness. Are you going to be good?

Hiss at him. Snarl at him, buck your hips and twist in his arms, push him away. Do something more than what you are now, with red-rimmed eyes and tears staining your face, do more than listen to him talk, feel his cock pressing against you as you lay in his lap, I’m going to ask it one more time, sweetness. Are. You. Going. To. Be. Good?

He punctuates each word of his question with a harsh smackagainst your ass, leaving little time for you to do more than cry out, until the last spank draws something like a moan from your perfect lips and therein lies your surrender for tonight, that soft mewl of pleasure born of pain and he soothes you again with soft shushes and gentle touches, back to inspecting the renewed slickness of your cunt, back to enjoying that plump tightness wrapped around his fingers and back to trying to control the shift of his own hips and you can feel him, hard against you, needing you as much as he is compelling your body to need him.

Captain… a low, desperate sort of mewl, the squirm of your body less to escape and more to enticeand he notices. Notices the way your fingers try to cling to him, notices how you look so very sweet when you’re so very desperate and in some way this is your own game of control, a push and pull and the curl of his fingers is suddenly so much angrier, driving you to the precipice of the fall and you are tumbling, tumbling down into a darkness of want you may never recover from.

Say it again. Tell me you need me, sweetness, tell me you need me and I’ll give you everything, and there’s an edge to the way he says everything, like he might meanit, like he might give you the world if you just gave in and you hate him, sweetness, you hate him but you need the things you hate once in a while and you can’t keep bearing his fury on your body and so you sob out your surrender and whine—

I need you, Captain, please…

And that is enough.

Let him believe you.

#steve rogers x reader #andy barber x reader #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #mob!steve rogers x reader #dark!fic #steve rogers smut #andy barber smut #this fic is murdering my ass

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