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victoriasnook · 4 months

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Politico

Jungkook and you are staffers in the office of the Secretary of State. He's cut-throat, sneaky and goddamn it, everything you love about politics in one irresistible package. Ft Yoongi, Namjoon and Jimin.

Pairing: Jungkook x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Political satire, smut

Word count: 9.1k

Warnings: Explicit sex, swearing, lying, weak political satire, sex tape

‘Shit fuck cuntbucket,’ hisses Min Yoongi, running a hand through his already dishevelled, wavy, thick, hair, calling your attention to it. Like his stunning face isn’t enough.

You level a glance at him. ‘What’s got your boxers in a twist, Yoongi?’

‘Kim Seokjin’s on his way in. Right now.’

Yoongi’s already tucking in his shirt that he put on just over 24 hours ago, running a hand through his hair again, straightening his tie.

You brush his hands off, they’re jittery from the gallons of straight black he’s consumed since this time yesterday anyway.

‘Holy shit, sound the bat signal, he’s here,’ you murmur, dropping your hands.

Kim Seokjin strides into your office, a vision of stylish perfection in bespoke Savile Row, hair beautifully coiffed.

Behind him, a man you’ve never seen before. Younger. Facial piercings and tattoos peeking out from his sleeve. Gorgeous.

‘Who’s the millennial biker?’ you ask, watching as both men head straight for the Secretary of State’s office.

‘I never have any interest in minions,’ Yoongi says, dismissive, already on his phone. ‘I’ve told Namjoon to straighten himself out, just in case.’

Namjoon is your boss, the Assistant Secretary of State, the youngest man ever to hold that position in 50 years.

You doubt Namjoon needs to be told to ‘straighten himself out’. He’s political catnip. As Yoongi keeps telling you, he’ll be President in 15 years.

‘Also I don’t wear boxers,’ Yoongi says, brewing himself another coffee he really doesn’t need.

You raise an eyebrow at him. ‘Have you been freeballing in front of the Secretary of State, Yoongi?’

Yoongi gulps his coffee and doesn’t answer.

‘Jesus we met the goddamn war widows committee this morning Yoongi,’ you say, mildly scandalised. ‘You irreverent fuck.’

You’re still marvelling over Yoongi’s nihilism when Namjoon emerges from his office.

‘I heard Kim Seokjin was here.’

‘I just texted you that,’ Yoongi mutters, not looking up from his phone.

Namjoon catches you gaping at him and nods like he’s satisfied.

‘I use your reactions to me as a barometer of how I look,’ he says.

You close your mouth.

‘You look very smart, Namjoon.’

Namjoon smooths back his hair, forearms flexing under his rolled-back shirtsleeves. The waistcoat he’s got on over his shirt shows off his trim waist, the broadness of his shoulders.

‘Incoming,’ Yoongi says, smirking at you.

You turn to see Kim Seokjin heading straight for you, his minion trailing a little behind him.

‘Mr Kim,’ says Namjoon politely. ‘What an honour.’

Kim Seokjin’s official title is aide to the president, but he’s much more than that. He’s the president’s enforcer, with the entire cabinet at his mercy.

He wields his power like he wields his beauty - sharp and deadly.

‘Choi is out. You’re Secretary of State,’ says Kim Seokjin, without preamble.

Namjoon takes this in his stride.

‘It would be my pleasure to serve the president,’ he says, without missing a beat.

You flick your eyes to the minion only to find he’s looking back at you.

He smiles at you, and with the silver ring threaded through his lower lip it shouldn’t look as sweet as it does.

The sincerity in his eyes makes you think he can’t have been working for Kim Seokjin long. He’s still got humanity in him instead of being a crusted over shell.

You’re smiling back when Yoongi clears his throat, loudly.

‘Stop eye fucking the minion,’ Yoongi says, not bothering to keep his voice down. He glances at you. ‘That applies to both of you.’

Thankfully, Kim Seokjin and Namjoon have gone into his office to talk details.

‘My name’s Jeon Jungkook,’ the minion says, stepping forward, holding out his hand.

‘Y/N L/N,’ you say, returning his handshake. His palms are smooth and dry.

‘This is Min Yoongi,’ you say. ‘He has social communication difficulties.’

Yoongi snorts, still typing furiously on his phone.

‘While you children are playing happy families, I’m putting out a press release about Namjoon’s promotion.’

Jungkook holds up his phone. ‘The president’s releasing a statement of congratulations.’

You unlock your phone. ‘I’ll get Namjoon an interview on the 6pm main news.’

When Namjoon and Kim Seokjin emerge, your new friend steps forward so quickly you get whiplash.

‘Mr Kim,’ he says, shaking his hand. ‘Jeon Jungkook. I’m with the president’s office, I’ve got ideas for your new youth policy if you’ve got the time?’

Kim Seokjin steps back, lips quirking at Jungkook’s boldness.

Namjoon takes in Jungkook’s lip ring, his tattoos and his pretty face, and nods. ‘Sure. I’m free now.’

Yoongi laughs to himself as he watches Namjoon and Jungkook go back into the office.

‘The minion has ambition,’ he says, looking at you.

You’re staring bitterly at Jungkook’s back as the office door closes.

‘Didn’t see that coming,’ you mutter.

‘He’s the most ruthless intern I’ve ever had,’ Kim Seokjin says.

You’d forgotten he was still there.

‘They call him the barracuda,’ Kim Seokjin says.

‘What do they call you?’ you ask, curious.

‘Oh me? I’m a great white. We eat barracudas,’ explains Kim Seokjin, smooth as silk. He gives you an angelic smile and walks out.

‘Why don’t we have aggressive animal nicknames?’ you grumble to Yoongi.

Yoongi barely misses a beat. ‘We do. Namjoon and I call you the possum.’

You glare at him. ‘Shut up.’

‘We even have a symbol for you in the groupchat,’ Yoongi goads.

You sweep in and steal the coffee out of his hand.

***

You’re waiting at the youth centre, for Namjoon to meet a group of teens as part of a focus group for his youth campaign.

‘Where’s Namjoon?’ you ask, sighing with relief when you see Yoongi. ‘These teens are getting restless.’

‘Yeah, you’re gonna need to find something to distract them for another hour. Namjoon got pulled into a cabinet meeting.’

‘Wait. Why me?’

‘Because you are a teen?’ Yoongi suggests, deadly serious.

‘Fuck you, Yoongi.’

‘Just take your top off,’ he suggests.

You step forward, ready to tear him off a piece of your mind, when a familiar voice says, ‘I can take them through a warm up.’

Both you and Yoongi turn to gape at Jeon Jungkook.

‘Why are you even getting involved with this?’ you ask, huffing in annoyance. ‘Also why are you here?’

‘Namjoon wanted me to be involved in this campaign,’ says Jungkook, smoothly.

Both you and Yoongi watch as Jungkook slips his suit jacket off and rolls up his sleeves.

The tattoos you’ve noticed on his right hand carry on up his forearm. His very muscular, veiny forearm.

He laughs softly, and you realise he’s watching you stare at him.

‘I’d love to show you where my tattoos go up to, but we have a gymful of teenagers to entertain, so close your mouth and let’s do it,’ he says, so cocky your right hand itches to slap him.

Yoongi snorts. ‘Have fun, kids. I have a journalist to distract.’ He’s off, walking in the opposite direction down the school corridor, before you have a chance to reply.

When you turn back to Jungkook, he’s pulled his long-ish hair into a man bun.

Shit why is he so fine?

You remind yourself he’s not called the barracuda for nothing.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ you say, feigning impatience.

He laughs softly again and follows you to the gym.

There’s a silence as Jungkook arrives at the gym, as the teenagers clock how pretty he is.

‘I’m going to show you how to do some basic self-defense until the Secretary of State gets here,’ he says, clear, authoritative, to the group.

‘Y/N here is going to be my assistant.’

Your eyes fly to his. ‘Jungkook I really don’t think —’

He ignores you. ‘So if you’re walking along, and someone tries to grab you from behind —’

He stops, stepping close. ‘I’m going to put my arms around you,’ he says, quietly so only you can hear. ‘Is this ok? If not, just say.’

‘As long as you don’t mind me kneeing you in the balls,’ you reply sweetly.

Jungkook laughs. Then his arms close around you, one around your neck, the other across your breasts and upper arms.

In an instant you’ve turned in his arms and angled your shoulder into his chest and your hip into his, hard, in a throw you perfected doing judo growing up.

Jungkook lands on the floor with a grunt, and stares up at you, wide-eyed and winded.

‘Does anyone else want to learn this throw?’ you ask. ‘I’m sure Jungkook won’t mind being thrown.’

The entire class looks at Jungkook, then, tentatively, a girl with space balls in her hair steps up. ‘I’d like to learn.’

‘Perfect,’ you purr. ‘Come on up. Jungkook, ready for another one?’

By the time Namjoon arrives, most of the group have had a go at throwing Jungkook. His man-bun’s long escaped from the tiny hair-tie he put it in, his shirt’s lost at least one button if not three, and he’s gleaming with sweat.

His expression as he looks at you is murderous, but that doesn’t change the fact that he looks beautiful when he’s sweaty.

Namjoon and Yoongi eye both of you warily.

‘Mr Secretary,’ you say, smoothing your hair back. ‘Jungkook and I were teaching these guys some judo whilst we waited.’

‘A useful skill,’ Namjoon says. There’s a hint of a smile on his face, a flash of dimple as he asks, ‘did you mention to Jungkook that you were once the state judo champion?’

‘Jungkook knows now,’ Jungkook says, rueful.

Yoongi says, ‘why don’t you guys get going to the next venue? We’ll be right behind you.’

Once you’re outside the school you hand Jungkook his suit jacket.

‘We’re going back downtown,’ you tell him. ‘It’s a meeting with Han Minseok from the press society.’

‘Thanks,’ Jungkook says. He shrugs his jacket back on, and you both look at the expanse of his chest bared by all the buttons he’s lost.

‘I’ve got a spare shirt,’ he says. ‘I’ll change on the way.’

Jungkook climbs into the car after you.

‘What’s Han Minseok’s angle?’ he asks, casual.

‘Well everyone knows he’s trying to push through the tender for redeveloping Samo Hills,’ you say, carelessly. You’re not telling him anything that isn’t common knowledge.

You turn to Jungkook, and stop dead.

His shirt’s off, he’s unbuckling his belt.

You turn back to the window, trying to get his washboard stomach and muscular shoulders out of your mind.

‘It’s fine, you can look,’ he offers.

You can hear the smirk in his voice.

‘But what’s his angle, why is Namjoon even giving him the time of day?’ muses Jungkook.

‘He isn’t really, in fact after this meeting I’m going to suggest to Namjoon that he doesn’t meet him again,’ you say. ‘Are you done changing?’

‘I’m decent,’ Jungkook replies. You can hear him rebuckling his belt.

You turn back warily and turn away again.

‘You’re not decent!’ you squeak.

‘It’s only a bit of nipple. You can show me yours if you want,’ Jungkook replies.

He sounds amused. This fucking guy.

You stare pointedly out the window the rest of the way.

By the time Namjoon and Yoongi arrive, you’ve read every single notice on the posterboard outside the press society meeting room, have answered all your emails and are drafting Namjoon’s speech for the media address tomorrow.

Jungkook’s mainly been taking selfies of himself, as far as you know.

He spots Namjoon and Yoongi before you do, getting up to greet them. ‘I think there are quite limited returns to meeting Han Minseok,’ he says to Namjoon. ‘I think it would be prudent to not schedule any further meetings.’

The bastard stole your suggestion!

Even worse, Namjoon’s nodding agreement. ‘I thought the same on the way over,’ he says, low voice thoughtful.

Jungkook blinks at you after Namjoon and Yoongi go in, feigning innocence.

‘That’s for getting all the teenagers of this community to throw me onto the floor for an hour,’ he says, smug.

You burn with the fiery rage of a thousand suns, but you do your best to wipe your face of all expression.

‘Oh Jungkook,’ you say, voice dripping with honey. ‘Is that all you got?’

He stares at you, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Oh it’s on.

***

After the success of Namjoon’s youth campaign, Jungkook was hired to be on Namjoon’s permanent staff.

You’ve grown used to seeing him opposite your desk every fucking day, but so far you haven’t butted heads again.

You’re sitting across from him at a meeting, trying not to stare at the way his sky blue shirt strains across his chest and shoulders, when Namjoon clears his throat.

‘The clean energy bill’s causing a bit of a stir. We need Ramona Lee to sign off on the panel for the water amendment,’ Yoongi says.

‘We know Ramona Lee is oil, right?’ Jungkook asks, raising his brows in confusion.

‘Thanks Captain Obvious,’ you say.

‘I’m more of a Captain Korea.’

‘Captain Crunch?’ you suggest.

Yoongi snickers but hides it in an exaggerated clearing of his throat.

‘We’ve got to find something she wants,’ Namjoon says. ‘Come back to me with solutions before panel tomorrow.’

You file out of his office.

‘Should I order something in? We’re gonna be here all night,’ Jungkook says, over your shoulder.

‘I have a date,’ you reply, briskly.

‘Wow. Is it a cousin?’

‘Ha.Ha. Ha,’ you say, sourly.

‘Text me so I know where to send the police if you go missing,’ Yoongi says, already heading out the door.

‘It’s like he cares,’ marvels Jungkook.

‘He just wants to know in advance before he calls my replacement in,’ you say, absently, as you straighten your dress.

‘See ya tomorrow, JK.’

***

You swipe your badge on the door and blink blearily as the green light flashes.

The office is dark, but you spend so much time here you don’t need to see to make it to your desk.

You’re fumbling with the light on your phone when you sense movement out of the corner of your eye.

‘Jesus fucking Jungkook!’ you yelp.

‘I’ve been told I make women see God,’ Jungkook agrees. He pats his hand on his desk, turning his lamp on.

You stare at each other in the pale light.

‘What are you doing sitting here in the dark?’ you ask.

He yawns. ‘I fell asleep trying to solve the Ramona Lee problem. I thought you had a date?’

‘He was a douche. Remind me to never date anyone who works for finance ever again,’ you reply.

There’s a pause.

‘You must be pretty good at dealing with douchebags,’ Jungkook observes. He smiles at you. ‘You deal with me pretty well.’

‘You’re level zero douche,’ you tell him.

He laughs. ‘Level zero?’

‘Yoongi trained me. He’s mastered the douchebag game. Killed the big boss. Conquered all the levels, even the bonus ones.’

You smile. ‘He’s a sperm whale.’

Jungkook laughs. ‘Are you drunk?’

‘He’s not scared of a barracuda. Or a great white.’

You pluck your apartment keys off your desk. ‘See you tomorrow JK.’

‘Wait. Let me give you a lift,’ Jungkook says.

You look at him suspiciously. ‘Why?’

‘Because you’re tipsy,’ Jungkook says, holding out his arm.

You frown at it for so long he laughs. ‘Because you’re cute and because I’m only a level zero douche.’

‘If you give me a lift you’ll fall even further down the douche scale,’ you say, worried.

‘I can stare at your tits the whole way if you want,’ Jungkook offers.

‘There you are,’ you say, affectionate. ‘Sure, give me a lift in your chariot, douchebag.’

Jungkook’s car is flashy, kind of how he looks but with wheels on.

He turns on the underseat heating and sets the gps to your address.

You stare out the window as he drives.

‘She has a son around our age,’ you say, thoughtfully, as the car glides though the darkened streets.

Jungkook puts some music on, soft, unobtrusive. ‘Yeah?’

‘Edison Lee,’ you muse. ‘He played football in college.’

‘I know an Edison Lee,’ Jungkook says, frowning a little. ‘We played football together for a bit.’

You sit up. ‘Got a picture?’

Jungkook tosses you his unlocked phone and you scroll through his contacts to find Edison Lee.

‘Jesus fucking Jungkook,’ you breathe. ‘That’s him. Are you on good terms? Can you call him?’

‘Yeah. We dated the same girls a few times.’

‘Jesus fucking Jungkook. Those are nice tits,’ you say, as a message flashes on his screen.

‘Stop swearing my name,’ Jungkook complains, grabbing his phone back.

‘Looks like Hyejin wants to meet up,’ you observe, dryly. ‘Do you have to send her a dick pic to reciprocate?’

Jungkook looks offended. ‘I don’t send dick pics, what do you think I am?’

He parks up outside your apartment building.

‘Call him,’ you say. ‘Get him to speak to his mom. That’s our in.’

Jungkook’s already dialling.

***

You wake up the next morning to a pounding headache, a mouth that feels cottony and a duvet over your head.

You shove the duvet off and fear chills your bones when you see how light it is outside.

You bolt upright, trying to think.

You’re searching for your phone when Jungkook walks in, fully dressed, fresh as a daisy.

You stare at him, then both your gazes fall to the torn condom wrapper on the floor at his feet.

You close your eyes. ‘Joseph Mary and little baby Jungkook. Please tell me this isn’t happening right now.’

You think furiously. What’s the last thing you remember?

You massage your temples.

There’s a weight on the bed, a cool glass of water pressed into your hand.

‘As much as I like to see you spiral, I think I need to do some damage control.’

You open your eyes to Jungkook’s very pretty face.

‘One, we didn’t fuck.’

‘Two, Edison’s gonna convince his mom to sign off on the environmental protection amendment before the panel.’

‘Three and arguably most importantly, I didn’t know you had a tattoo.’

You suck in a breath, and Jungkook gets up. He tosses your fully charged phone onto the bed next to you.

‘If you want a ride into work you’ve got fifteen minutes to get ready.’

You let out the breath you were holding, slow, and look him straight in the eye.

‘You have three seconds to get out of my apartment before I castrate you,’ you vow.

Jungkook just laughs. ‘A dolphin, huh? I didn’t think you were the type —-‘

You’re still fumbling around your bed for something to throw at him when he smirks at you and strolls out of your bedroom.

Your phone rings as you’re on your way in. Jungkook had waited for you despite saying he wasn’t going to.

You cast a sidelong glance at Jungkook as you answer.

‘Yoongi,’ you say politely.

‘I don’t know how you kids managed it, but Ramona Lee’s signing off on the EPA as we speak,’ Yoongi tells you in his dry, deep voice.

‘Turns out Jungkook used to play football with her son,’ you say.

‘Ah, so it was the barracuda who did it,’ Yoongi says.

‘It was my idea. Also I was the one who put the two together,’ you tell Yoongi.

‘Where the hell are you? Jungkook’s late too. I had to speak to a magazine editor this morning and frankly, that’s below my pay grade.’

‘We’re on the way in,’ you say, before realising your mistake.

Yoongi starts to say something, then cuts himself off. ‘Just. I don’t want to see any fucking hickeys, ok? Jungkook seems like the kind of guy who’s into that shit.’

Jungkook’s looking at you enquiringly, and you gulp back the response you wanted to give, instead settling for a ‘yes, Yoongi.’

‘We work for the fucking highest department for this despotic and corrupt clusterfuck of a government, Y/N, we have a reputation to uphold,’ Yoongi warns.

‘How many coffees have you had already?‘ you ask, sliding out of the car as Jungkook parks up.

Yoongi hangs up on you unceremoniously.

***

You’re editing a press release on the environment protection amendment when a shadow falls across your desk.

Yoongi taps your laptop screen. ‘Checked your emails lately?’

You look up at him. ‘Could you one day just tell me what you’re gonna say without the passive agressive overlay of also telling me I’m inadequate?’

Yoongi laughs. ‘Fair. We’re —-‘

He breaks off as Jungkook comes up to both of you.

‘There’s a problem with a few local councils on the clean energy bill,’ Jungkook says. He brings up a screen on his phone. ‘Should I call my friend in treasury?’

‘Don’t fucking call treasury,’ you and Yoongi say at the same time.

Jungkook blinks. ‘Wow. Did you rehearse that?’

‘Treasury live to make other peoples’ lives as miserable as theirs,’ Yoongi explains. ‘Any two bit just out of college embryo who works for this staff knows that.’

He grabs Jungkook and leads him away.

You consider hoping Jungkook’s had lunch because once Yoongi goes off on one of his rants he can talk for literal hours. Then you decide you don’t care about Jungkook’s empty stomach. And now you’re thinking about his abs.

And the mystery of the condom wrapper on your floor. You hadn’t found a condom, used or otherwise.

You go back to your press release and are distracted again, this time by a smart-looking older couple.

‘Excuse me,’ says the woman. ‘We’re looking for Jeon Jungkook’s desk, we were told he works in this office?’

You stand. ‘Yes of course, I’ll text Jungkook and let him know he has visitors.’

‘We’re his parents, we were hoping to take him to lunch,’ Mrs Jeon tells you, rather sweetly.

‘Sounds lovely,’ you reply politely, smiling.

Her gaze falls to your desk, the manila folder with your name on because the department for social affairs insists on hardcopies instead of moving into the 21st century.

Her expression changes. She beams at you, and in that moment you see where Jungkook gets his prettiness from.

‘Are you Y/N?’

‘Yes,’ you say.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ says the smartly dressed man, stepping forward to shake your hand.

‘Jungkook’s told us all about you, how you’ve started to date,’ Mrs Jeon says.

You choke on air.

‘What?’ you ask.

‘Don’t be embarrassed. We’re very happy he’s got someone to confide in who understands his job,’ Mrs Jeon says.

You look around wildly and spot Jungkook coming back in the door.

His expression when he sees you standing with his parents tells you all you need to know.

***

‘You told your parents you were dating me?’ you ask Jungkook, incredulous.

‘They wouldn’t get off my back about settling down!’ Jungkook protests, like it’s your problem too.

‘So you made up a relationship? With me?’

‘I was trying to be vague on the details,’ Jungkook mutters. ‘It took me by surprise when my mom asked what my girlfriend’s name was.’

You blink at him.

‘We work together every day! You’re the top contact on my phone! It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ Jungkook says. He almost sounds reasonable.

‘And now they’re expecting us both at dinner tonight?’

‘You don’t have to go,’ Jungkook says. ‘Look, I’m sorry I pulled you into this.’

He smiles at you. ‘Thanks for not blowing my cover when you met them earlier.’

‘They seem nice,’ you say, truthfully.

‘I’ll just tell them you had to work late,’ Jungkook says.

You look at his face, backlit in the light of his phone, and sigh.

‘Where are we going for dinner?’

***

Jungkook looks good in casual clothes, you think to yourself, as he pulls up outside your building.

He’s in a soft looking jacket over a loose tee, his hair falling around his face instead of styled back like it is for work.

You slide into his car, and he turns to you.

‘You look very pretty. And I mean that in a non douchey way,’ he says.

You can feel your skin warming at the frank admiration in his eyes.

‘Thanks, you look nice too, Jungkook.’

He smiles at you and prepares to pull out onto the road.

‘We’re going to this restaurant my family likes,’ he tells you. ‘They do great seafood, is that ok?’

‘I like seafood,’ you reply.

‘Also.’

Jungkook reaches in the back and presents you with a small bunch of flowers.

‘These are for you to say thanks.’

You search his gaze.

‘They’re lovely. Thank you.’

He nods and goes back to concentrating on driving.

Mr and Mrs Jeon are big fans of seafood, and by the time the main course is served, big fans of you.

You’re talking to Mr Jeon about fishing when he asks, ‘did you ever go with your parents?’

‘I went with my dad, before he died,’ you reply. ‘He had his own boat and everything.’

‘Ah I’m sorry,’ Mrs Jeon says, putting her hand on yours.

‘It’s ok. He died a long time ago,’ you tell her.

You look at Jungkook in surprise when he puts his hand on your back.

Is he trying to comfort you or stab you in the kidneys?

You give him the tiniest frown and he chuckles.

‘Should we get dessert?’ Mrs Jeon suggests.

***

Jungkook drops you off at your apartment after dinner.

‘Thanks for dinner,’ you tell him. ‘Your parents are very nice. How did you turn out like this?’

He smiles, lip ring flashing in the slanted beam of light from the streetlamp just above.

‘Hey, I really appreciate you doing this for me,’ he tells you.

‘Not a problem, I had a great time,’ you say, unbuckling your belt, hand on the door handle.

‘I just appreciate it a lot. There’s not a lot of people you can trust in our jobs,’ Jungkook says.

He says, ‘just. Wait a sec.’

He fishes out his phone, teeth in his bottom lip as he scrolls quickly.

A moment later your phone pings.

‘I already have your number,’ you say, jokingly.

He looks a little nervous now.

‘Just. To show you how grateful I am.’

You open up your message thread with him and look quizzically at the video.

‘Jungkook?’

‘You can watch it here, with me.’

‘This better not be a sex tape,’ you say, rolling your eyes.

‘It’s a sex tape,’ Jungkook confesses. ‘But not just any sex tape.’

You stare at him.

‘Just watch it, you’ll understand.’

You hit play and turn up the volume to be greeted by a grainy video of Jungkook and a female figure.

It’s dark, you wouldn’t be able to make out it was him if you couldn’t see the distinctive pattern of his arm tattoos. You can’t make out any of her features.

There’s heavy breathing, some giggling, as they kiss and cuddle, some murmured words you can’t quite catch.

Then, Jungkook sits up abruptly. ‘But we are privileged,’ he says, in the irritated tone of voice you know so well.

You glance at Jungkook and shake your head

‘We’ve worked hard to get where we are,’ the woman replies, trying to pull him back down.

‘Yes, we did but that doesn’t deny our fundamental privilege,’ he insists.

There’s quiet for a moment, then the sound of kissing and gasping breathing starts up again.

‘Is this your USP?’ you ask laconically. ‘Sex and politics?’

Jungkook rolls his eyes. ‘Just keep watching.’

You almost laugh as video Jungkook rears up again.

‘It’s the fucking capitalist society we live in,’ he protests.

You can’t believe your ears. ‘Wow. Really JK? You don’t quit even when you’re balls deep?’

There’s the sound of a slap, and you see video Jungkook’s face snap to one side.

‘Ooh,’ purrs the woman in the video. ‘You liked that huh? Your big fucking dick just got so fucking hard.’

‘I didn’t ask her to say that,’ Jungkook tells you, unable to hide the smugness in his voice.

You drop your phone in your lap.

‘Wow. I do you a favour and in return I get —-‘

‘A preview of my stroke game?’ Jungkook suggests.

‘A fucking socialist sex tape,’ you counter.

Jungkook cringes. ‘It’s my thank you. If you ever showed that to anyone my political career would tank.’

‘I think you’re overestimating how much impact a sex tape of you spouting anti-capitalist views would have,’ you say, dryly. ‘But I appreciate the gesture.’

You’re about to get out of the car when you remember something else.

‘Hey, I did have a question though.’

Jungkook waits, hands still off the steering wheel.

‘Where’s the condom?’ you ask.

Jungkook’s eyes are wide, innocent.

‘What condom?’

‘The condom that was in the wrapper I found on my floor,’ you say, patient. ‘You said we didn’t fuck. So where’s the condom?’

‘I’d stretched it,’ Jungkook says, tight-lipped.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean it was already on my dick —-‘

‘We got that far?’ you ask, surprised.

‘Yeah I’m sorry. We were both pretty drunk after we went to meet Edison, and you started kissing me, and then you felt up my tits and then —-‘

‘Then what?’

‘Then I realised how much more drunk you were than I thought,’ he finishes.

He looks at you. ‘I’m sorry. I stopped the instant I realised, I promise.’

‘So where is the condom?’ you prompt.

He laughs, running a hand over his face. ‘I tossed it in your neighbour’s geraniums. The ones he has on his balcony.’

‘Fuck. Jungkook!’

‘There wasn’t any cum in it!’ he protests. ‘Although it was close, the way you kept touching me.’

You lean back against the seat. ‘Wow.’

‘Yeah.’

He smiles. ‘So now you know everything.’

‘Well I mainly know that you cockblock yourself,’ you tease.

He laughs. ‘Hey don’t forget your flowers.’

You accept the bouquet he reaches into the back to hand to you.

‘Hey, Jungkook.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Wanna make a sex tape?’

***

Jungkook’s clothes are soft, but his body underneath is all hard planes, flattening the curves of you.

He laps at the skin of your neck, grazes it with his teeth.

God he’s so warm and he smells so good.

He pauses in the middle of kissing a spot near your ear.

‘Are you sniffing me?’ he asks, amused.

‘No. Yeah. Shit you smell good.’

‘You just made my dick jump. Damn, your voice.’

You slip your arms around his neck, pulling him close. He comes willingly, nuzzling your neck, seeking your lips.

He’s good at this, you think distantly to yourself, pleasure melting through you as you kiss.

He slips a hand over the fabric of your dress, rucked up around your thighs.

His hand slides over your bare thigh, then he stops, leaning his forehead against yours.

He takes a shuddering breath.

‘Can I touch you?’ he asks.

You pause with your hand palming his cock. ‘Shit. Sorry. Yeah. Can I touch you?’

He nods. ‘Please don’t stop.’

You help him hike your skirt up, baring your panties.

He tugs your panties off, giving your ass a squeeze as he does.

Your yelp makes him smile.

‘You make so many noises,’ he observes.

You stop in the middle of uncovering his dick. You’re so close, you’ve got it down to his thin boxer briefs.

‘You can shut me up if you like,’ you say, suggestive, stroking over his cock.

Jungkook laughs darkly as he tugs his boxer briefs down for you, freeing his cock.

‘It’s fucking cute,’ he tells you. His fingers slip between your legs, thumb going confidently to your clit. He strokes over your clit, moves his hand. His fingers slide into your cunt, and he groans at the feel and sound of you.

‘Wet,’ he grunts.

Your fist is tight around his cock, his pre cum slickening the glide. You run your thumb over his slit, and to your pleasure he groans again, spurting a little more onto your hand.

His hand leaves your cunt, comes back with a condom. ‘Can you put it on me?’

‘Have we done this before?’ you ask, jokingly.

His grin is lazy, devastatingly gorgeous.

‘Don’t worry, baby, you’ll remember this time.’

He grinds his cock into your hand. ‘I’ll make sure of it,’ he promises.

His cock’s hard and full enough that you’ve got high hopes.

He nudges it into your hand again. ‘Ready, baby?’ His thumb finds your clit, and he leans forward a little to kiss you. ‘Your little clit’s all swollen for me.’

You unroll the condom onto his length, and he bucks it into your hand again for good measure.

He slaps your thigh. ‘Spread.’

He sinks into you with a groan deep in his chest, the stretch of his hardness exquisite.

He nudges your clit with every stroke, encouraging you to ‘just take it, baby, you’re good at it.’

You’d be infuriated if he wasn’t making you feel so good.

As it is, you’re wet, slick for him, and two tiny steps from cumming on his cock.

He knows, the asshole.

Jungkook uses your body like he knows exactly what you like. The sweat he’s worked up gleams on his bared throat, exposed as he arches his head back, finding traction on the mattress to fuck you deep into it.

‘Jungkook!’ you cry, breathless.

‘Yeah. That’s who’s fucking you like this,’ he agrees.

He reaches down, runs a finger over your rim. He presses, teasing, eyes sparkling as you moan and dig your heel into his back.

‘Like that?’ he asks. ‘Shit, I knew you would, dirty girl.’

‘Jeon,’ you say, in as stern a voice as you can muster when you’re within reach of the biggest orgasm you’ve had lately.

‘Yeah. Hurry up, baby, I’m gonna cum and I don’t think I can wait for you.’

He speeds up, fucking you hard, fast.

You cry out, and he pushes a finger into your ass. ‘Gonna fill all of you,’ he grunts.

You want to protest but you’re cumming all over his cock, so hard you can’t even see him for a few blinding seconds.

Jungkook pulls out, voice breathy, desperate. ‘Can I cum?’

‘Yeah.’

You can hear him ripping off the condom.

‘Where can I cum?’ he asks, voice slurred in his hurry.

‘Anywhere,’ you mumble, floating in a haze of pleasure.

Half a second later you feel a hot spurt of cum across your cheek.

Jungkook groans, loud, fist working over his flushed cock as he cums all over your face.

You want to tell him he’s an asshole but he’s kissing the cum off your lips, pulling you to him, and you don’t quite manage it.

***

Jungkook’s got your skirt hiked up over your ass, slapping it leisurely as he fucks you over your kitchen counter.

He pulls out and drops to his knees, pressing his face into your ass, licking up your slit.

‘Jungkook!’ you moan.

He snickers into your cunt and laps again, tongue firm against your folds.

‘I think you can cum like this,’ he taunts, ‘but I think you need my cock more.’

‘God, Jungkook, just fuck me,’ you complain.

‘You’re not as adversarial in the bedroom as you are in real life,’ he remarks.

You turn around and glare at him.

‘You want angry sex, Jungkook?’

He’s got his cock in his hand, angled like he’s about to try and enter you again.

‘How bout we table this for after work.’

Jungkook stares at you, aghast.

‘Don’t be like that, baby, I’m just teasing you.’

You’re still wet, cunt throbbing, but you shrug, nonchalant. ‘Or maybe not. I have another date.’

Jungkook looks thunderous. ‘What?’

You shrug again, refusing to let your eyes drop to his pretty cock.

If there’s one thing you know above anything else, it’s how competitive Jungkook is.

You’ve been competing with him for the past few months, after all.

You reach down to tug your panties back up, and a second later Jungkook’s hands have grabbed your hips, spinning you around so fast you’re dizzy.

He flicks up your skirt and enters you in the same movement.

You can feel how hard he is, pressed against your walls, and you moan.

He pulls you tight to him, arm around your torso, dick pulsing hotly inside you.

‘Are you challenging me?’ he asks, voice velvety against your ear.

You moan again in response, and he bucks his hips against your ass, hard.

His free hand slides between your legs, fingers splitting into a ‘v’ over where you’re joined, palm against your clit.

‘I’m gonna make you cum in less than ten seconds,’ he tells you.

He pinches your nipple with the arm around your torso.

‘Count for me, baby.’

His fingers work you over as he slams his cock into you again and again.

You lose track counting down to six, and he pinches your nipple again.

‘Come on,’ he goads.

‘Jungkook,’ you moan. You look down at his hand over your cunt, his other forearm pressed hard against your tits, curved flesh spilling over, and count down the rest of the way.

He gets you to cum before you get to two, damn him.

Then he spanks your ass, hard, and cums all over it for good measure.

You can’t say you didn’t enjoy it.

***

You’re on the phone to a journalist from the Herald when you sense a commotion from the main annexe.

You look up as Kim Seokjin sweeps into the room, this time flanked by two staffers.

You grab your phone to text Yoongi and realise he’s already next to Seokjin, along with Namjoon.

You reach them just in time to hear Kim Seokjin say, ‘the President favours you as his deputy.’

Namjoon nods like he hadn’t expected any less.

‘They’ll announce the resignation today,’ Kim Seokjin says. He sighs. ‘Fucking vice presidents these days - less longevity than a goddamn head of lettuce, and less personality too.’

Whilst you’re all formulating appropriate responses to that, the staffer next to him nods at you, all slicked back hair and glass skin. His ID badge says ‘Park Jimin.’

You’re nodding back when Jungkook steps between you.

Kim Seokjin’s gaze falls on you, Jungkook and Jimin. He raises an eyebrow, murmuring something about ‘the possessiveness of children’ as he turns and exits your office as quickly as he entered it.

Yoongi turns to Namjoon. ‘Congratulations, Joon, looks like you’re in.’

Namjoon tilts his head. ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’

‘You’re the most viable candidate for vice president,’ Yoongi says, matter of fact.

‘Seonghoon’s a buffoon and Kijung —- well,’ Yoongi breaks off, and he and Namjoon nod.

They do this a lot, half sentences and loaded pauses. You think it’s a side effect of having worked together their entire lives.

You’re still thinking about it when Yoongi says, ‘put your alpha pheromones away, Jeon, we’re not in a young adult romance novel.’

He turns to you, and you brace, but all he says is, ‘I’m gonna need a rundown of all of Namjoon’s current causes and how they’ll fit into his vice-presidency campaign.’

‘Sure. Jungkook and I will get right on it,’ you say, quickly.

Yoongi nods. ‘We’re in the big leagues now, grasshopper.’

‘Wow. Bastardising a Karate Kid quote. That’s a new low, even for you,’ you observe.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, but his lips curl slightly. ‘Get out of my sight, don’t come back until you have quality.’

***

‘Fuck,’ Jungkook breathes.

You bolt upright. ‘What? Now?’

Jungkook looks as tired as you feel. Work’s ramped up since Namjoon was announced as a candidate for the vice presidency.

You can’t remember the last time you slept in a bed, let alone fucked in one.

Although there was that little encounter with Jungkook in the unused office yesterday.

Jungkook turns his screen to face you, and you both sigh as the faulty cable to his monitor fizzes out again.

‘I thought you had that replaced,’ you complain.

‘Yeah, me too,’ Jungkook replies. He slaps the flat of his hand against the screen and it comes back to life.

‘You can always come sit on my lap and we can watch it together,’ he suggests.

Tiredly, you shuffle over and plant your ass in his lap as you wait for the video to load.

‘Mmmm,’ murmurs Jungkook into the back of your neck.

‘Don’t fall asleep again,’ you warn.

‘But you’re comfy,’ he says, muffled.

As the video loads, you read the rest of the blurb. ‘An expose on the future VP? What’s your source?’

‘I used to fuck someone at the Herald,’ he mumbles into your neck.

‘Date?’

‘No, fuck,’ he clarifies.

‘Like we’re fucking?’ you ask lightly.

‘No, we’re dating,’ he says, drowsy, whiny. ‘You’ve met my parents and everything.’

You’re thinking about his words when the video finally loads.

Oh fuck.

Behind you, Jungkook’s sitting up, awakened by the throbbing beat, by the laser lighting, by the low rhythmic growl of a man spitting out a verse.

Your boss, current Secretary of State and Vice Presidential candidate Kim Namjoon.

‘This is ok,’ you say, trying to convince yourself.

I’mma beat that pussy like you never ever felt before.

‘Fuck. I’m calling Yoongi.’

***

‘This better be good,’ Yoongi says, terse. ‘I woke up Holly on the way in.’

‘Ah sorry how’s Holly? Kiss her for me,’ you say.

At Jungkook’s confused look you explain, ‘Holly’s his dog.’

‘Holly’s my life,’ corrects Yoongi.

‘I didn’t know you were capable of caring for another,’ Jungkook says, in an attempt at humour.

‘Let’s put it like this, junior. If you and Holly were in a fire and I could save both of you I’d save Holly twice.’

Yoongi pauses, meaningfully.

‘And then pay the fire department to let you keep burning.’

You wince.

Jungkook pouts.

You say, grimly, ‘anyhow, Jungkook’s source sent us this. It’s going out with the news first thing.’

Yoongi watches, straight-faced, as the video plays.

‘Can we squash this?’ he asks.

‘Negative.’

Yoongi runs a hand over his face.

‘Damn. That’s a banging tune but the lyrics aren’t gonna play well. And that’s not even the most scandalous of his songs.’

‘Fuck, there’s more than one?’

Yoongi picks up his phone. ‘I’m calling Namjoon. Both of you, start drafting a reaction to this.’

‘It’s 2am!’ protests Jungkook.

Yoongi doesn’t even dignify him with a response.

***

A muscle in Namjoon’s jaw ticks as he watches the footage.

‘You’ll get totally drenched, so bring another pair of panties’

‘Bitch I’m your man, 10 out of 10’

‘Good flows,’ mutters Yoongi.

Namjoon shakes his head. ‘Fuck. They’re tearing apart my lyrics, calling me a misogynist.’

‘They’re also calling you on cultural appropriation,’ you say, quietly.

Namjoon sighs. ‘I’ve moved on since Rap Monster.’

You don’t doubt it.

You’re scrolling through the comments on the news clip.

‘Hey, check this out, it’s not all negative reactions,’ you say.

Jungkook frowns over the screen.

Yoongi reads, ‘I have three holes and two hands and they’re all ready for Kim Namjoon’s dick.’

‘Thirst tweets don’t count,’ Namjoon says.

You’re sitting up. ‘Don’t they?’

‘He can choke me with those arms,’ you read.

You all look at Namjoon’s biceps, flexed with his elbows on the desk.

‘You still have that magazine editor in your contacts?’ Yoongi asks.

‘Even better,’ you reply. ‘One of my exes works at Esquire.’

***

The issue of Esquire with ex-college rapper, lyrical genius (their words) and certified thottie vice presidential candidate Kim Namjoon sells out within 12 hours.

The Esquire site registers a spike in hits exceeding their top-selling January bumper issue.

The phone won’t stop ringing, emails are pouring into your inbox and Kim Seokjin’s already visited you once today and it’s only 9am.

Yoongi strolls in and looks, disgusted, at you and Jungkook sprawled over your desks.

‘Jesus fuck, when’s the last time either of you had a shower?’

‘With water? Or with baby wipes?’ you ask blearily.

‘I just keep layering deodorant on,’ says Jungkook.

Yoongi runs a hand through his beautifully fluffy, clean-looking hair.

‘Go home. I’ll man the fort. Don’t forget the Christmas party tomorrow.’

You say, concerned, ‘I don’t know if my key still works. I haven’t been home in a while.’

Jungkook pulls you into his arms. ‘Come on we can go to mine. If my car’s still here that is, I can’t remember the last time it left the car park.’

Yoongi shakes his head.

***

It’s the evening of the office Christmas party.

Your door buzzes and you press the button to let Jungkook in.

When you open your door, he’s standing in your doorway, shoulder braced against the frame.

His black suit’s fitted beautifully, the hardware in his face gleams in the harsh hallway lighting, and his smile is as devastating as it ever was.

What really stops you, though, is the look in his eyes as he gazes at you.

‘Hey,’ he says, voice low. ‘You’re going to have to do all the talking tonight, because I’m gonna be picking my jaw up off the floor all night long.’

‘Yeah?’ you ask, flattered despite his cheesy line.

‘Yeah,’ he affirms. ‘You’re kind of fucking perfect.’

You step forward, and he lowers his head to meet you in a kiss.

His hand drops to the small of your back, low, and he murmurs to you. ‘Ready, baby?’

‘Yeah,’ you say, looking up at him.

He looks at you for a moment, thumb coming up to brush over your cheek. ‘I feel like jizzing on your face right now.’

‘And there he is,’ you say, affectionate.

Jungkook laughs. ‘You look good with my cum on your lips.’

‘Your aim is shit,’ you inform him.

‘Let me practice until I get better,’ he returns.

You give him a quelling look.

‘Shit, I love it when you get stern with me,’ he says, unrepentant.

‘Shut up or I won’t let you see my underwear.’

He mimes zipping his lips and locking them with a key.

You can’t help it. You laugh despite yourself.

‘Come on. We’re gonna be late.’

***

Jungkook’s gorging himself on mini chicken potpies and salmon blinis whilst you sip your wine.

‘Where’s Namjoon and Yoongi?’ Jungkook wonders.

You glance at the clock on the wall. ‘Well, it’s midnight, so they’re in the situation room. Which reminds me, I need to check on them.’

Jungkook looks confused.

‘They do this every Christmas. They lock themselves in the situation room and get lashed. I just pop in on them once and leave them to it.’

‘Want me to come with?’ Jungkook asks.

‘Yeah. Bring the potpies. Sometimes they get the munchies.’

Outside the situation room, you turn to Jungkook.

‘You never saw this.’

You pull out your second ID badge and swipe in.

‘You have clearance for the situation room?’ Jungkook says, amazed.

‘Yoongi got it for me. He said, and I quote - ‘you’d be better than Namjoon at covering all our tracks if anything happened.’’

You push open the door to a blast of deafening hip hop and find Yoongi and Namjoon on the oval mahogany table, rapping.

Namjoon croons a verse, Yoongi following up with a rap so quick you’re a little impressed.

Jungkook watches open mouthed, tray of chicken potpies in his arms forgotten, stars in his eyes.

You’re trying to gesture to him to leave the fucking potpies and back out of the room when they notice you.

‘Shit in a bucket,’ you hiss, grabbing Jungkook’s arm.

Jungkook’s confused but he puts himself between you and Yoongi anyway.

‘It’s the children!’ slurs Yoongi in the kind of jovial manner you only see when he’s three sheets to the wind.

‘We brought you potpies,’ you say cheerfully. ‘And a magnum of wine.’

‘I’ve got a magnum for you,’ Yoongi says, lifting a brow, and you don’t know whether you’re aroused or terrified.

It’s both.

‘We’ll just be going!’ you trill. ‘Don’t forget to drink water!’

‘Why did you let Jungkook come inside?’ Yoongi asks, frowning.

‘I bet she asks herself that every day,’ Namjoon snickers.

You hear a sound from Jungkook that sounds suspiciously like a laugh that he quickly muffles.

‘As much as I enjoy your drunken humour,’ you say, sternly, ‘I just came to check you were both still alive. Now say thank you and I expect apologies in the morning.’

‘Thank you,’ Namjoon and Yoongi chorus. You try not to shiver at how sexy their voices sound blended together.

You grab Jungkook’s arm. ‘Come on, baby, take me home.’

Yoongi and Namjoon fall on the tray of potpies like starving animals.

‘She’s sexy when she scolds us,’ Namjoon observes, between mouthfuls. ‘I like it.’

You shut the door firmly behind you before you hear Yoongi’s response.

The next morning your desk is covered in peonies when you arrive, your favourite flower. There’s a card stuck into them but you don’t have to read it to know who they’re from.

Yoongi and Namjoon approach you warily.

‘Were we terrible?’ Namjoon asks.

‘Pretty bad.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Yoongi says. ‘For what I said about your ass.’

You stare at him. ‘You didn’t say anything about my ass.’

‘For what I was thinking about your ass,’ Yoongi amends, quickly.

‘I’m sorry too, for all my misbehaviour, both verbal and in my head,’ Namjoon tells you.

You sigh. ‘It’s fine. This wasn’t your worst year.’

‘Yeah,’ says Yoongi a little dreamily. ‘2019 - the year of the shrooms.’

‘That was bad,’ you agree. ‘Are we done here?’

You stare at their backs as they leave and wonder what the hell Namjoon meant by misbehaviour in his head.

You decide you’re better off not knowing.

***

Jungkook’s on the phone when your inbox pings.

You wave at him as soon as you read it.

‘There’s a red situation in the entry hall,’ you tell him. ‘The building’s gone into lockdown.’

Jungkook frowns. ‘A red situation? That’s only for terror attacks.’

‘It’s a bomb threat,’ comes a voice from the door, a uniformed guard. ‘Stay put until you get further instructions.’’

‘Damn I really wanted a wrap from the deli for lunch,’ mumbles Jungkook.

You roll your eyes. ‘Guess that stale croissant’s gonna be your last meal then,’ you say, referring to the breakfast you’d picked up on the way into work.

‘So what do we do?’ Jungkook asks, leaning back in his seat.

‘Wait for the bomb squad?’ you suggest.

Jungkook grins at you.

‘Want to blow off some steam in that office again?’

Which is how you find yourself, back against the wall, Jungkook unbuttoning your blouse, feeling up your tits plenty as he does it.

‘Love your tits,’ he tells you, leaning down to kiss the tops of your breasts exposed by your balconette bra.

He tugs a cup down, and you watch as he fastens his lips over your nipple. He sucks until your nipple’s full, perky and hard for him.

You moan as he does the same to your other nipple, laving with his tongue, suckling.

He comes off your breast with a pop, hands squeezing gently, plumping your tits until you’re so wet you think you’d cum at the faintest pressure on your clit.

He unzips your skirt and kneels in front of you.

The sight of his dark head poised at the apex of your thighs, coupled with the bright sunlight streaming in through the window, arouses you even more.

Jungkook slips a finger under the crotch of your panties, humming his approval when he feels how slick you are.

‘Your clit’s so swollen, baby,’ he croons. ‘You need relief, don’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll help you, ok?’

He tugs your panties to one side, thumbs spreading your cunt, and licks up into you, slow, warm.

Fuck.

Your legs tremble as he suckles at your clit, jaw working, mouth opening wide like he’s feasting on you.

‘Touch your tits for me,’ he says, muffled by your cunt.

He waits until you’re moaning and flicking your own nipples before he continues.

Fuck, his tongue.

Jungkook licks up into you like he’s ravenous for you, lips smacking, tongue delving deep inside.

When your legs shake even more he lifts your thigh to his shoulder and buries his face even deeper in your cunt.

He knows you’re close without you having to say it.

Jungkook slides his fingers into you, curling them, pressing hard as he suckles your clit,

You cry out into your fist as you cum.

Jungkook keeps going until you’re sagging against him, hands on his shoulders.

He hoicks you onto the desk, hand on your sternum, pushing you down flat.

‘Fuck,’ he says, breathing hard. He stares at your tits, nipples still hard, at your glistening cunt, and his hand closes around his cock.

‘Spread for me, love,’ he says, voice so thick you can barely make out the words.

You tuck your hands behind your knees and spread yourself for him.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ Jungkook groans. His hand, furiously working his cock, stills, and then he’s spurting his cum onto your cunt, streaks of white against your swollen folds.

He leans over the desk, breathless, pulling you to him, whispering praise with his lips on your neck.

By the time you get back to your office, you can hear Yoongi’s voice, terse, furious.

‘Where are the children?’ he demands of a hapless intern.

You run up to him. ‘We’re here!’

He turns to you, relief blooming on his face.

He pulls you into a hug. ‘Thank fuck you’re ok.’

He holds out his other arm to Jungkook, pulling him into the hug too.

‘Hyung,’ says Jungkook, emotional.

‘I’ll allow it just this once,’ Yoongi warns, but there’s no heat in his voice.

***

It’s election night. Namjoon’s vice presidential campaign’s gone swimmingly, his numbers are promising, and you have every reason to believe he’ll triumph tonight.

He’s promised you and Jungkook positions on his team, under Yoongi as his chief of staff.

You’ve been watching the numbers for hours, so you leave the office for a break.

You’re sitting on a grassy slope outside the office, enjoying how the city looks under the night sky, when you hear footsteps approach.

Jungkook flops onto the grass next to you, arm behind his head.

The night sky’s stunning, but Jungkook’s not bad to look at either.

His hand reaches for yours. He brings your hand to his lips and kisses it.

‘I can’t wait to get into bed with you later,’ he says.

‘Me either.’

‘Do you think Namjoon’s got it?’ he asks.

‘If he doesn’t then he’ll get it next time,’ you say.

You’re pretty sure he’ll be all right whatever happens.

You’re pretty sure you and Jungkook will be all right too.

‘Everything goes,’ you say, optimistic.

Jungkook looks up at you, eyes twinkling.

‘Everything goes,’ he agrees.

He holds your hand until the fireworks begin and then, you go back inside.

©hamsterclaw 2022

#bangtan political satire #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut

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victoriasnook · 6 months

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victoriasnook · 6 months

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cameras flashes, that's how we crashed

battinson!bruce wayne X reader

part 1

summary: on a press conference, bruce finds a journalist who's up to his standards

warnings: usual gotham violence, quick discrimination of a serial killer, not actually smut in this, but in the future so NSFW MDNI

a/n: forgive any grammatical mistakes, english is not my first language!!! Bruce lives in the manor instead of the Wayne Towers cuz I like the manor vibe more, also I kinda picture Jim Gordon from the Gotham Tv show, cuz I love that version but it doesn't really matters lol. (nothing said above is useful for this reading but I just thought you should know) also, this takes place one year after the movie

Bruce sat quietly on the car, the ride was awfully short. He wished he had more time to mentally prepare to his first press conference. He was a recluse for most part of his life, but after the scandal about The Gotham Renewal Program, people deserved to know the truth. And the idea of continuing his family legacy of charity and philanthropy wasn’t all bad and kept Alfred out of his nerves for a while.

And even tough Bruce Wayne could crack a fake smile to the cameras, throw charity galas and events, the true help came at night. The only possible salivation Gotham could have, the real way he could help the city was as Vengeance. The Batman. He didn’t think of himself as a hero, or a vigilante, more of a necessary evil; all the violence and anger, the rage and the darkness of his work, his project; people would be outraged if they found out they were the same man.

“We’re here, Mr. Wayne” The driver announced.

Alfred, who as sitting across from Bruce on the limo closed the papers he was reading and smiles softly.

“Ready, master Bruce?”

Bruce sighs.

“Not really”

The car parked inside the underground garage of the Wayne Enterprises, Bruce and Alfred made their way to the elevator, not a word was said.

Bruce stole a glance at his reflection on the mirror. A black suit Alfred picked for him, a W embroidery on its lapel, his hair was short now, shorter than he liked, all slicked back by hair gel, but nothing could hide the dark circles under his eyes or the lack of sun colour on his skin. Sometimes, just sometimes, Bruce wishes he didn’t have to wear normal clothes, to comb his hair, ties his bottoms; he wishes he could live inside the Batsuit. He felt like the suit was his own skin, her armour, him and Batman were on, there was no Bruce Wayne without Vengeance, they were bonded forever and could never be separated from each other. He wish they could, he wish he could be Batman alone; no press conferences, no reports, paparazzi, no “Bruce Wayne crowned prince of Gotham.”

The elevator stops and the door open. Alfred goes our first and greet some people outside, telling them where to go.

“You have 10 minutes, Bruce.” He warns, “I’ll get them stared and you wait here till I call you”

Bruce nods.

He sits down on a leather couch and waits, starring at the glass doors. All the reports and journalists waiting for him, men and women, from Gotham and other places of the world.

He’s nervous. Not nervous like he is before a fight, nervous he will be put on a corner, that he’ll be catch on a lie, nervous someone knows. It’s like someone in the next room it’s just waiting for him to appears, to stand up from their chair and ask ‘Are you the Batman?’

“Ladies and gentleman, Bruce Wayne” Alfred announces from the stage and glances at him.

Bruce works on his better smile he can put on and enters the stage; he’s received with thunderous applauses and blinding cameras flashes. He waves and sit on a chair, in a wooden desk in front of him is a glass of water and a microphone.

“Let’s get, started then” Alfred said, pointing to a woman in a grey dress standing with a microphone in her hand.

“Mr. Wayne, why did you decided to throw a press conference after years of reclusiveness?”

Bruce leans into her direction a bit.

“Well, I think all the events of the past year made me realize how much the Wayne Foundation means to Gotham and I’ve been a little reckless with that matter”

It was a good answer, he thought.

The following questions were easy too, “Mr. Wayne, how do you plan on taking care of the raised money? To prevent anything to happen again”, “What’s the difference between the Wayne Foundation and the Gotham Renewal Program?”, “What projects do you have in mind?”, and of course, some shallow questions, “What brand is your suit?”, “What car do you drive?”, question he almost laughed at. Did people actually wanted to know that?

Bruce was thinking how the conference was going well, easy, almost, not as he had pictured it before. Until…

“Mr. Wayne, what do you think about The Batman?”

He flinched for half a second, he opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Another woman asked something he didn’t quite hear with all that was going on inside his head, but the word Batman was also there. And then another, and another…

“Mr. Wayne, what do you think about The Batman?”

The room turned into a complete circus. Grown adults talking over each other, fighting for a turn on the microphone.

You rolled your eyes. This happens every time, someone thinks about the name Batman and suddenly everyone has something to say. What does it matter Bruce Wayne’s thought of the Batman? There were so much important questions to be asked, so much more to discover about that man’s life and projects than a simple opinion.

You were begging to regret the moment you accepted the offer to come to this conference. You weren’t a regular journalist, you didn’t know how to write an article about the weather, fashion trends, social events, you wrote about thing most journalist didn’t want to, thing that most people were scare to read. People scared of the truth. You weren’t. You would dig and dig until the raw verity came to surface, it didn’t matter where or who you had to dig.

The man who had introduced Mr. Wayne appeared again and announced the press conference. No fucking way, no without the answers you wanted, you didn’t take this job to watch other people ruin it.

Slowly, you got up from your sit and walked towards the person who as holding the microphone and gently pull it away from his hands.

“Mr. Wayne…” but the voices around you were too loud.

You gave the head of the mic a flick, the loud keen sound made the room come silent.

“Sorry.” You apologized. “Mr. Wayne, why did you felt the urge to re-open the school project at the marginalized neighbourhoods of Gotham after your father failed attempted?”

The men was halfway leaving, but he turned around reluctant, staring right at you. Those piercing blue eyes roaming your face.

“Well, I believe the project needs a second chance. Children and teenagers should be given a chance to have a good education, it helps getting them out of the streets.” He answered, without the microphone his voice was low, but the silence of the room let you hear him loud and clear. “Who do you write for?”

“The Gotham Gazette” You answered proudly.

Mr. Wayne whispered something to the other man and sat back at the chair.

“Do you have any more questions, Miss…?”

You smile politely and told him your name.

“Would you say that the Wayne Foundation has an impact outside of Gotham?”

A ghost of a smile appeared on the man’s lips. You shook the urge to smile back at him.

You could tell he was a bit nervous, but he had answered the questions with manners and the right words, maybe he didn’t notice, but he’s quite good at it.

“Yes. I think the work we do on the Foundation inspires people to do the same. If it works out, we can show the world that if there was hope for Gotham there’s hope for them too”

“Do you think there’s hope for Gotham?” You asked, out of spite, because you didn’t write it down before the press.

His lips contracted to a thin line and he thought of it for a few seconds before answering:

“Yes. As long as people like me and you care about what happens here, there’s still hope for the city”

You smiles.

“People like me?”

“You seem to know a lot about the charity work, and you care enough to show it to the world”

Your smile grew bigger and you felt a hint of warm rushing through your cheeks.

Mr. Wayne answered a few more of your questions before the press conference was over.

You were, oh, so proud of yourself. The information you gathered was perfect for what you had in mind and for sure, you could make it a good article. An admiring of the Wayne legacy, that’s what you called yourself. It has always called out to you what that wealth family did; they had no obligation to do it, to donate not just money, but time and resources to help those who couldn’t have what they did, to make Gotham something to be proud of. It’s a shame they never lived long enough to cure it, to heal it. However, you hoped that, maybe, Bruce did. At least he sound determined to.

You gathered your things and your purse, but as you made your way to the elevator, a woman dresses on formal clothes approached you with a clean, sharp smile that made her look like a dental paste commercial.

“Excuse me, miss. Would you mind, following me?”

You frowned.

“Ahn…What for?”

“Mr. Wayne wishes to speak to you” She explained and her smile somehow grew wider.

Standing there for a few seconds, all you could do was nod as you followed her through a long corridor. What was happening right now? He wants to speak to you? Bruce Wayne wishes to speak to a journalist in private? And more important, to you.

She opened a door to a breath-taking office.

Right in front of you was a full wall window, a panoramic view of Gotham in all its “glory”, skyscrapers, apartment buildings, the clock tower, the bridge of the river, the field behind the road, you could see everything from up there. There was a wooden desk in front of the window, quite empty, and a chair that looked more comforting than any other you had ever sat.

When the woman closed the door behind you, your attention changed to the man standing on your left. Bruce Wayne was staring at you dead in the eyes with a facial expression of someone who just saw a ghost.

This guy seriously need some sunbathing. You shook that thought out of your head.

“Mr. Wayne. You wanted to speak to me?”

“Yes” His raspy voice responded. “Sit, please”

You took a seat on one of the chairs in front of the chair and he sat opposite of you, behind the desk, diving completely into the velvet chair. He crosses his fingers and stares at you again. It made you a little uncomfortable, he did that a lot, like a hunter watching its prey.

“So…”

“I’ve searched your work. You’re really good.”

“Thank you, sir”

“You won a Pulitzer, am I right?”

“Yes, a few years ago”

When did he get the time to read all this information? It’s not like you’re super famous, even the Pulitzer wasn’t a very known prize if you didn’t know the industry.

“For a book about a serial killer in Detroit” He said, a voice that verged into an interrogation tone. “The Divine Move?”

You blinked a few times.

“I…Yes. Nathan Walters.”

He lifted his eyebrows just an inch, telling you to continue the story.

You cleared your throat.

“He uh, he used to be the altar boy of the neighbourhood church and he chose his victims based on the sins he supposed they’ve committed.” You’ve shorten it, you couldn’t understand why a billionaire was asking you about the modus operandi of a criminal who was thousands of miles away. “Why are you asking me this, if I may ask, Mr. Wayne?”

“You’re an investigative journalist. Why are you attending press conferences of a random billionaire?”

You supressed a laugh. Random.

“I grew up here, sir. I’ve always admired your family work, I took the opportunity when it was offered to me.”

“You seem to know a lot about my family history.”

“Like I said, I’m just an admiring. Although, I once thought of writing a book about the Wayne Legacy. Your legacy, sir.”

“Your legacy, sir”.

Bruce looked down at his cufflinks, the W prominent on a silvery material.

His legacy.

He once thought the Wayne Foundation was his legacy. But now he knew, his true legacy came in a bat shaped suit and sleepless nights; it came on purple coloured bruises and blood stained clothes.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well…it’s very hard to write about something when you only get superficial information.”

You were nervous, he could tell. You kept staring at the view behind him, or at your shoes, tanking a little too long to answer his questions. He wondered how could a journalist gets nervous, almost shy.

He gave you a puzzled look, not using any words to express his question. But you understood it.

“Using material that was wrote by someone else. All the records and stories about your parents have already been wrote by someone else before me, so I couldn’t say it was my work, could I?”

He hummed.

Bruce took a sigh. Maybe. Maybe this was a good idea, it could keep him in a good status with the press, plus, he’d be able to hide even further down his secret identity, having a journalist with him every day? No one would suspect his the Batman.

“There are stories and details that haven’t been told.”

You bit your lower lip.

He stared at you.

“What are you implying, sir?”

“If I tell you the stories, would you write it?”

You almost passed out.

Would you?

Who could say they had a proposal like that? Dig into the secrets of the Wayne family?

“Yes”.

___________________

a/n2: aaaah this is actually so boring I'm so sorry, also I think I made bruce a little more talkative than I would've but anyways I may change it yet.

a special thank you to @preciouslandmermaid for inspiring me to finally write this!! <3

#bruce wayne #battinson!bruce wayne x reader #the batman #battinson

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victoriasnook · 6 months

Note

I’m dying for the next chapter of The Other Half. How is shop girl’s job going now that her coworkers know she dating Bruce Wayne?

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Warnings: Light angst; mostly fluff

“Don’t move.”

“I have to.”

“Nope.”

You grin as Bruce’s insistence is punctuated by him drawing you into his chest. You wriggle for effect for a moment before you lean back against him. He lets go just long enough to reach around you and whack the snooze button on your alarm before he settles down again with a mumble of, “Five more minutes.”

“You said that ten minutes ago.”

Still, you take hold of his hand, intertwining your fingers and letting your eyes slides shut again. It’s a trap, one that you fall for almost every morning. Bruce cuddles you in, leaves the blackout curtains down, and makes it so, so easy to slip blissfully back into sleep. But you can’t be late to work—especially now that everyone knows what they know about you and Bruce. You yawn widely, then smile as Bruce presses his face into your neck.

“You alright?” You murmur. Bruce doesn’t answer right away, and you for a moment, you think that he’s fallen back asleep. Then—

“‘m fine.”

“Are you sure—?”

“Ssssssh.”

Your smile widens as he brushes a kiss against your skin. You hum softly as he shifts against you, sliding a leg between yours and untangling your fingers, smoothing his hand over your belly. The brush of a kiss presses more firmly to the hinge of your jaw, and the smoothing of his hand gathers and urges the fabric up, up, up over your belly—

“Nn-nn,” You warn, resting your hand on his wrist to still him. He groans, head tipping to rest against your nape for just a moment before you finally pry yourself from his arms and push yourself out of bed. You roll your shoulders back, yawning again as you tuck your feet into your slippers and groggily stand. You reach out, pressing the button to raise the blackout curtains, and grinning as Bruce moodily grunts and pulls the covers up over his head.

“You’re such a baby,” You tease, heading for the bathroom. You take a long, leisurely shower, fully expecting Bruce to still be in bed when you get out. You’re surprised to find the bed empty when you head back into the bedroom, but you’re not at all surprised the find the clothing that you’d laid out the night before neatly pressed and on a hanger. Alfred does it every night—even if you’ve already ironed it. You have to ask him sometime how he gets the pleat in your pants so dang crisp.

You dress quickly and head out into the kitchen. You’re surprised to see Bruce there. He’s half-asleep, half-slumped over the counter with his hand curled around a hot cup of coffee. You open your mouth to tease him, and then close it again as Alfred passes you a cup of coffee as well.

“Good morning, Alfred.”

“I trust you slept well. Now, what would you like to eat?”

“Uh…” You glance toward the time on the stove. “I don’t have much time.”

“You should eat something,” Bruce mumbles. You fight down a smile, glancing toward him.

“Maybe just, um—Scrambled eggs and toast?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” You round the counter, sitting on a chair beside Bruce. You rub your hand between his shoulder blades gently, chuckling as he leans into you. “You didn’t have to get up, you know.”

“Wanted to.”

“I sincerely doubt that, but I appreciate it. You getting up to anything today?”

“I have to head into the office, speak with Fox.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Sure, just need some…Upgrades.”

It’s all he says, because that's all you want to know. You nod, taking up the coffee cup and taking a pull.

“What about you?” Bruce presses, tipping his chin up to look at you.

“I’ve got a few meetings.”

“Anything fun?”

“Not sure I’d ever call meetings fun.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell your boss.”

“Thanks.”

“Even though, technically, I am your boss.”

“Not funny.”

“Hilarious.”

“Alfred? Tie-breaker here, please?” You ask, looking up as Alfred sets your breakfast down in front of you. He smiles, shaking his head a little.

“I learned a long time ago to stay out of lovers' quarrels. Excuse me.”

You chuckle softly, calling your thanks out after him as he goes. You take your fork up, shoveling some of the eggs onto a piece of toast.

“Are you busy tonight?” Bruce asks.

“Maybe. Why?”

“Can’t remember the last time I took you out to dinner.”

“Well,” You mumble through a mouthful, “Thought that was part of the plan.” You glance over to find Bruce pouting. You reach out, booping his nose before you shove some more eggs onto your toast. “Don’t give me that look, it is and you know it.”

Liz and Grant had given you a few tips for the coming months, things that would keep you out of the papers. Bruce didn’t drop you off to work, or pick you up. The two of you weren’t seen in public together unless it was absolutely necessary—and that included going out with one another. If you went to parties, you arrived and left separately.

“I’m starting to not like this plan,” Bruce reaches out, snagging one of your pieces of toast.

“Why?”

“Because, it makes it seem like I’m ashamed of you.”

You balk, brow furrowing, mouth going still mid-chew.

“I don’t feel like that,” You insist as Bruce catches your eye.

“No?”

“No. And besides, the almost complete lack of coverage has kept things quiet at work. Not like they’ve forgotten, but like…I don’t know,” You shrug, looking back down at the plate guardedly, “It seems like it doesn’t matter to them.”

“It shouldn’t anyway.”

“No, it shouldn’t, but that doesn’t change the fact that your name is over the door.”

You turn to look at Bruce again, remorse prickling your skin as you see his pouting deepening. You reach out, gently resting your hand on his nape.

“It’s not like either of us can change it,” You point out softly, “Not that I’d want it to.”

“No?”

Bruce meets your eye and waits for you to argue. Maybe you do wish it a little, sometimes. It would be easier if Bruce wasn’t…Bruce. But then again—

“No,” You shake your head. “If you weren’t who you are, we may never have met. I prefer it this way.”

Bruce’s smile widens as he leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I had no idea I was dating such a sap,” He murmurs. You snort, whacking his arm.

“Shut up—Shit,” You glance toward the oven. “I’ve gotta go if I’m gonna get to the office on time.” You dust your hands clean before you reach up, grasping his jaw and drawing him in for a peck.

“Can we do something tonight?”

“Well,” You slide off of the chair and grab your work bag. “I’m not busy, so if we’re both around, I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“I’ll text you the particulars.”

“Oh, there are going to be particulars?” You waggle your brows as you walk backward toward the elevator. “Mr. Wayne, I’m flattered.”

“Turn around,” He chuckles. “You’re going to walk right into the doors.”

You reach back, blindly whacking the down button before you hold your hands up. “Impressive, I know.”

“That’s a skill you can take to the bank.”

You snort, stepping back onto the elevator as the doors open. “I’ll see you later, babe.”

“Alright. Love you.”

“Love you, too!”

You do still get glances. You’re not sure that that’ll ever really go away, not for as long as you’re with Bruce. If…Well, you don’t like to think this way, but if you and Bruce ever split up, you're fairly certain that you would fade into obscurity. In that case, you’d be more than alright with only showing up in the paper now and again. Hell, if you're lucky, you'll never show up in the paper at all. Michelle hasn’t sent you a new article about you and Bruce in nearly two weeks; Liz and Grant have been keeping an eye out for any stories that may slip through the cracks about you in particular. Things have been quieting down at work, falling into a fairly regular cadence.

You’re getting comfortable.

That makes you nervous.

“Do you wanna grab lunch?”

The question catches you off-guard. You’re in the middle of picking up your things, getting ready to head back to your desk, but you go still. You hesitantly meet Rose’s bright eyes, brows raising as you glance toward where your coworkers are leaving the room. She’s already gathered her things, hugging them to her chest as she waits for you.

“I, um…Me?” You point toward yourself.

“Yes,” She chuckles. “Did you bring something to eat?”

“Oh…No,” You shake your head. “What were you thinking?”

“There are a few good places around,” She shrugs, “Salads, Mexican, Chinese…” She trails off again, and you realize that she’s waiting for you to say yes or no.

“Salad would be good,” You nod. “I’ve got a block of meetings this afternoon and I don’t wanna fall asleep in the middle.”

“Oh, girl. You wouldn't be the only one.”

“How’s it been for you so far?”

You poke at the arugula in your bowl, then spear a piece of chicken as you consider.

“It’s been alright, I guess? The work’s been, like...Not quite what I thought it would be. I’m definitely interested in what we’re doing,” You insist. “But I thought I’d be doing less admin stuff.”

“They’ll phase you out of that once you get used to the processes,” Rose rests her chin on her hand, flicking a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes. “They did the same thing to me.”

“Okay, that’s actually pretty reassuring. I don’t mind taking it slower, either. I’m not used to this kind of work.”

“No?”

“Nn-nn. I was in retail before this.”

“What made you leave?”

“Uh…” You pissed off your manager, went on a Valentine’s Day trip with the Prince of Gotham, and she fired you—“It was just time for a change.”

“So it wasn’t…”

“Wasn’t…?” You raise a brow, meeting her eye. You find guilty intrigue there, and it makes your stomach flip. You clear your throat. You were waiting for this.

“No,” You answer flatly. “It wasn’t his idea, and definitely not his decision.”

Rose nods hurriedly, gaze dropping back to her food as she pokes through it almost studiously. You lean back in your seat a little, nerves beginning to rise. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea—

“We don’t have to talk about him,” Rose offers, “And I’m sorry I brought it up.”

You bite your lip. You’re surprised she gave you that, at least.

“S’okay,” You shake your head. You’re just desperate to change the subject. “So, what do you do for fun?”

“The usual stuff, you know. I like to read, I like movies, I like…Okay, this is gonna sound kinda dorky,” She shifts in her seat, “But I like quilting.”

You grin. “My mom loves quilting. What are you working on right now?”

“Okay, so it’s called a strip and flip? And I made the mistake of putting that on my Tinder profile.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yeah. Kind of the best mistake I’ve ever made.”

“Do you take the train home?” Rose sidles up to your desk as you close your laptop for the night.

“Yeah,” You nod. “Do you?”

“Mhm. Uptown? Downtown?”

“Depends on the day,” You admit, glancing down and doing a double-take at the sight of Bruce’s name flashing up on your ringing phone. You smile sheepishly, muttering, “Sorry, can I just, um—”

“Yeah, course!”

You reach down, taking up the phone and answering the call:

“Hey there. I thought I'd be texted particulars.”

“Go to P3.”

“Why?”

“There’s a surprise waiting for you.”

“That sounds terribly suspicious.”

“You trust me?”

“Of course.”

“P3. I’ll be waiting.”

You bite back a wide smile as you lower the phone.

“I don’t think I’ll be taking the train, sorry. Something came up.”

“No worries. Maybe tomorrow?”

“I’d like that, yeah. Get home safe.”

“You, too!”

You draw your bag up over your shoulder, heading for the elevator. You can see a couple of photographers outside of the lobby doors—the few that have taken to lingering on a daily basis, and seem entirely unable to take a hint. They seem to perk up as Rose comes out, and then again as another employee leaves.

You step off of the elevator, raising an eye as you see an almost entirely empty parking lot. Bruce is just a couple of spaces away, leaning back against his Benz.

“Did you reserve the entire parking lot?” You tease, waving toward the empty space.

“I don’t like to brag, but I have some pull around here.”

“Mm, I’ve heard. Big man on campus.”

Bruce chuckles, grasping your jaw and drawing you in for a tender kiss. You hum softly, resting your hands on his chest.

“Was Alfred busy or something?” You ask.

“No.”

“No?”

“I wanted to come get you myself.”

“Why? Is something wrong?” You frown, reeling back.

“No.” Bruce shakes his head. “I missed you, that’s all. I feel like I've barely spent time with you lately.”

You melt a little, relaxing against him and eyeing his chest.

“It’s been busy,” You excuse.

“It’s that stupid plan.”

“That stupid plan has been keeping my mother from calling every other day and insisting I move to Metropolis with them, so. It’s a good plan. I like the plan.”

“She’d been saying that?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, nodding. “At first, yeah. She was worried about the coverage.” You glance guardedly Bruce. “And you know she’s been trying to get me to move for a while, anyway.”

Bruce purses his lips before he gives a small nod of concession.

“C’mon,” You urge. “Are we getting dinner or what?”

“Alfred is making it back at the manse.”

“Oh, well excuse me,” You straighten up, rounding the car to the passenger side. Bruce opens the door for you, pecking your lips before you slide in, settling down. It’s just a moment before Bruce is climbing into the driver’s seat beside you.

“So,” He shuts the door, “How was work?”

You consider for a moment, resting your hand on his thigh.

“Pretty good. I think I made a friend.”

Next Part

#bruce wayne x reader #bale!batman x reader

461 notes · View notes

victoriasnook · 6 months

Text

Spellbound Part 2 - Geralt of Rivia

Authors Note: Sorry it took so long, I just really had no clue how to do the first part justice

Word Count: 3,876

Warnings: reader is a brothel worker

Description:Part two to the first. FIRST PART HERE

Enjoy!

There were many times in Geralt's life where he felt an undeniable rage, and there were many times that he let that rage affect him until he was forced to suffer the consequences of all his actions. He had learned over the years that there were ways of handling his rage, there were ways of dealing with sadness and pain.

He had been through so much, and yet he stood, and he always told himself that it would be worth it. Soon enough he would find something that would make it all worth it, and he had found that in you.

Your soul matched his in a way he never thought possible, and though you didn’t have the same physical scars you had both been through more than you can imagine. And he always found himself gravitating to you, the one person in the world that he felt never judged or expected anything from him.

Sure, he obviously did not know how to deal with this. He never knew how to talk to you, what to say and when to say it, and he really did not know how to seem casual just as Jaskier always could. Not to mention he was constantly worried about losing you. He felt like a flame, loving something so much and trying to engulf it into warmth only for it to burn and vanish.

You had been through so much, he never wanted you to burn and he couldn’t imagine a life without you.

So, even if he couldn’t show emotion or manage to properly show his love, he allowed Jaskier to grow close to you. Geralt made sure that you were physically safe, warm and fed. It was the least he could do.

He never wanted to leave you wanting for anything, and he desperately tried to find ways to show you yet nothing ever worked.

But then you were his, for one small moment he had you and he felt as though everything was worth it again. He would burn the world down for you, slay any monster and batter any mortal. It was all yours for the taking…

Until you burned.

How ironic, how hard he fought to keep you at arms length only to lose the battle in a split moment, and be proven right just like that.

Now you were gone.

He knew exactly where you were, had already tried to get you, only to be stopped at the door each time. Each time he was stopped he wanted to crush their skulls, storm up to wherever they were keeping you and try to explain.

He would drag you out the door himself just to make sure you never had to do this again. But there were laws, as well as contracts. He would never be allowed to see you unless he could pay the fee, and you would never be allowed to leave unless you could buy out your contract.

If he managed to get to you and help you escape there would still be the hassle of everyone hunting you down, and word spreads from town to town quickly when it comes to Witchers.

“How much?” He growls, keeping his eyes narrowed in on the older woman before him, watching her lean back on her chair and fix her dress. She was unlike any other brothel owner he had come across, the others always had a protective notion for the girls. This one seemed vindictive in every word she spoke.

“Witcher, I have told ye the last 4 times ye have been here that she is not for sale.” She laughs, reaching a foot out to kick the pouch of gold he had laid on the table in front of her. Her dress rides up exposing a very scarred leg, and his stomach tightens at the atrocities you must be going through with this hag and any man she rented you out to. “Y/n is the emerald of all brothels, before she came upon mine she was already widely known for her beauty, not to mention her time with the Witcher? Men are practically killing themselves to have a moment with her. I stand to make more keeping her than I ever would selling her back to you.”

“Her contract-”

“Has another 4 years under my roof. By the end of that I could be far far away from this continent. Don’t you understand?” She leans forward, knocking the satchels down and watching all the gold pieces fall on the ground.

That had been 4 months work, 4 months of Geralt working himself to the bone and saving up in a chance to save you. He hadn’t eaten properly or slept more than 2 hours a night in that span of time.

Images flash through his mind, him ringing this wenches neck in or slamming her head into the fire. Maybe he could slice her head off in one clean motion.

But he doesn’t, because he understands the consequences. So he bites his tongue and stands straighter. “I just want to see her-”

“Then you pay, just as everyone else.” The Madame sneers, leaning across the table. “I don’t give a fuck if you love her witcher, though I don’t believe you are even capable of that, my rules stay the same. You want to see her then you pay for her time.”

He leans forward, smirking a bit when her attitude drops in fear for a moment, before tilting his head. “Then how fucking much?”

“I really do not believe you were worth 230 gold pieces-” Lord Servail huffs, struggling to shove himself back into his trousers. You struggled not to roll your eyes as you sat up, pulling the sheet to cover yourself and looking at the floorboards of the raggedy room.

You had learned that the men of this village did not like to be watched, most of them married and most of them carrying guilt. You had merely assumed Lord Servail to be the same.

“Have you nothing to say, whore?” He bellows, walking across the room to grab at your chin. A moment of panic sinks in, one hand holding the sheet tight while the other grabs at his wrist in an attempt to free yourself.

“I do not understand what you mean, sir-”

“You are boring! You just laid there like a fucking corpse-”

“That didn’t seem to stop you from finishing within a minute-” The slap sounds out and for a second you wonder what he hit, then you open your eyes and feel the stinging on your cheek to realize it had been you.

A bitter laugh slips past your lips as you taste the iron.

Blood trails down past your lips as tears spring up in your eyes, the sheets under you stained and ripped from the past month. You think of Geralt in this moment, wishing that you were near him even if he ignored you.

There had always been a calming factor to the witcher that you never understood, maybe it was a feeling of safety or maybe you just liked that he never showed much anger. He took anything that affected him and made a rational judgment.

He was a man of trust, and he had never let anything harm you. Sure he yelled at you when he thought you stupid, and made condescending remarks, but you never felt as though he would lay a hand on you.

“Is that all?” You sniffle, reaching a hand up to stop the blood as he steps back. The man stares at you before yelling out and storming out of the room, shirt untied as well as the trousers. You hear him yelling at your Madame before he leaves and you move over to the basin in the corner to clean yourself off.

You clean your nose before moving to clean your legs, letting the tears fall freely as you hear her heels come down the hall.

“You’ve just cost yerself yer pay, I’ll tell you that much.” Madame snaps, the door swinging hard enough to make the wall shake as she marches in. “I told ye that Lord Servail was a valued client and you-”

“Smiled pretty and let him cum. He really didn’t complain much until it came time to pay.” You snark, watching her face pull up. “Have I any news? Anyone come to see me?”

It had been a month, and you had kept hoping that maybe Geralt or Jaskier would come to see you. At least try to get you back, but nothing. No letters, no visits, nothing.

“Yer Witcher isn’t comin for ya’. So I suggest you fix yerself up and get back to work.” The Madame snarls, tossing the silk robe at you before storming back out.

That lonely feeling that clung to you the day you left never seemed to fade, it folds in around you now as you pull into yourself. Knees hugged to your chest as you hide your face and cry.

Truly what did you expect? That he would come pounding on the door? Try to save you? The salty taste of the tears mixes in with the iron as you sob. You had been foolish, so very foolish.

Geralt must be at least 6 towns away by now, barely even thinking of you.

“I am terribly sorry to inform ye, Witcher, that my emerald is stacked up for the next week and a half.”

“Bullshit.”

She snarls at him, standing quickly and snatching a heavy book from the desk behind her before slamming it on the table. “Take a fucking look then.”

He doesn’t waste a moment, snapping through the pages one by one until he reaches your ledgers. Your handwriting is at the top, neat and clean from the ink, dated that day you dashed from the tavern.

The very same day he had raced over here to see you.

The day after he had you in his arms.

The memory of it flashes through him, the way he snatched you like a caveman. He tries to reason with himself that he believed it to be consensual, that he hadn’t realized you were under a spell. But it didn’t matter.

He treated you in a way he swore to himself he never would, and he made you so uncomfortable that you ran.

Bile rises in his throat as embarrassment and guilt claw through him, he snaps through your pages to see dozens of signatures on each page. “You have her seeing twelve clients each day?”

“This is a busin-”

“Is she eating enough? Sleeping enough? Are you giving her proper time to rest?”

“I’m not a fucking babysitter-”

“If you are abusing your contract then she has a right to leave!”

She stares at him, watching for a moment with wide eyes as her cheeks go red. Then she fixes herself, clearing her throat before shouting out loud. “BOYS!” He doesn’t fight it as they grab both of his arms, instead he lets them carry him to the door and throw him to the mud below.

“Guessing she didn’t take it?” Jaskier asks, watching Geralt pick himself up, checking to make sure he still had the satchel of gold. “Surprise surprise.”

All Geralt could do at this point was grunt, moving towards Roach as the barb fixes his coat.

“I have another job, heard whispers of a screaming creature in the woods not far off from here. Figured you’d want to go out and make more gold so we can do this all again over and over and over.”

“She’s overworking her, I just know it. Not enough time to eat or sleep-”

“Geralt, as much as I love Y/n, I think we need to….evaluate our current situation.”

“I NEED TO -”

“Get to her. I know. I’m not saying anything otherwise. I just want you to think about whether you want her to see you like this.”

“I want to see her safe.”

“And Y/n would want the same of you. Besides, we obviously have no power against the brothel system.”

“I have fought countless beasts-”

“And I am still your only friend. It’s time you admit it Witcher, humans aren’t your best expertise.”

If this was any other moment Geralt would ignore him, hop onto Roach and pretend the worm didn’t exist. But he was tired, so tired he truly didn’t think he could even climb onto the horse.

“Then what do you suggest?”

“First? Sleep. Then? We find an outside source.”

Two months in and winter had finally come.

You found yourself huddling together with Snae, a brothel worker that had been here a little longer than you, but hadn’t been that much older. This had been the first night you both had off this entire time, and it hadn’t been a purposeful thing.

There had been a ball in the village, apparently a beast had been slaughtered and most of the nobles and rich men left in their carriages far away. Which meant you were free to huddle close to your friend for warmth as you tried to fight off the winter air.

“I imagined this brothel warmer.” She sniffles, pressing her forehead to your arm as you shiver. “I was told this was one of the best-”

“It is….. To their guests.” You laugh, tired and aching. Honestly you could barely move, and you hadn’t managed to make it at dinner hour since you had been with a client. But Snae was nice enough to sneak you in a roll of bread.

“I want to get out of here.” She admits in a quick breath, and you can’t help but smile at the admission.

You had often imagined ways you would escape, but the truth was you had nowhere to go and no one to leave for. What would you have if you left here? Nothing.

So instead you close your eyes, and lean into her as you whisper. “Where would you go?”

“Home. To find my sister.”

“You have a family?”

“A little sister, it’s why I am here. I wanted to make sure she had something to pay for food.” Something tears at your chest, and within a moment you think of a plan.

“Then let’s get you out of here.”

It takes a mere 30 minutes to pack her a travel pack using a sheet from the bed, rushing to your room to pick up the floorboard where you keep the little pay you make, 10 silver coins. Tossing them in her satchel before tiptoeing to the attic where the largest window was.

“Shhh.” You whisper when she slips, the wood beneath her scraping under her shoe. Helping her stand before moving to the window. Unlatching it was easy, the winter air covering both of you in a moment. “You swill slide from this section to the next. Until you make it to that tree.”

“You go first.”

“I am not coming.” You laugh, clearing some of the snow from the sill.

“You must.”

“No, I have nothing. Besides, one of us needs to stay and give you time.”

“Y/n-”

“If she begins hunting you then go and find the witcher. Do you hear me?”

“He wouldn’t help someone like me.” She laughs, and you merely stare at her.

“I think you would be surprised of just how good of a person the Witcher is, though he likes to pretend he is not.”

“What should I say to him if I must find him?”

“That the Geralt I know would keep you safe. Now go.”

You help her climb up the sill and onto the roof, watching her slide down in the flimsy robe Madame forces you to wear and make sure she makes it to the tree safely before closing the window.

You allow yourself one moment to press your forehead against the cold glass of it, your breath hitting the glass to form a smudge. You imagine escaping yourself, maybe going out to find Jaskier.

But that was unrealistic.

And you were obviously unwanted.

“Please, it’s very important-” A strong female voice fills the air as Geralt breathes in the scent of roast and ale. There was also smoke from the fires but he was far too hungry to admire that scent on it’s own. “They said that he was here and-”

“First round of ale on me.” Jaskier sings out, moving to the counter as Geralt rolls his eyes. Jaskier was carrying his gold sack so truly the first round was on him.

He was six villages away from you right now, landing at a cheap tavern for the night before they set up camp. They were here to listen for jobs.

The plan, as terrible as it was, had been to travel to find Yennefer and along the way they would earn some extra gold. That way when they go they can send the witch in to make the deal, or at least pretend to make the deal as she can try to sneak you out.

It was a terrible plan……. Because it was Jaskiers plan.

“Please, I need to find the witcher.” That draws Geralt's attention away from the hearth he had been glaring into, head whipping to spot the young woman clutching the shoulders of a little girl as she begs the man once more. “If you could just tell me where he would be staying-”

“Witchers aren’t allowed in the fucking taverns here, so shut yer trap before I put it to work-.” Before Geralt could stop himself his hand is shooting out, catching the man by the back of the neck. At his movement the hood he had been wearing falls and the people around him all quiet down.

The womens eyes fall to him, widening. “You are just as Y/n described.”

Something tightens in his chest at the mention of your name, and he finds himself nodding to Jaskier to lead the girl outside. The air hits him, the warmth gone but there was nothing that would hinder him from the conversation.

“You know Y/n?” His voice is rough, the heat traveling his skin hiding him from the cold. The woman's eyes are filled with tears and the young girl is shoving her face in the smallest scrap of dress he had seen, so in one quick moment he rips his hood off to hand to them. “Is that what you wear in this cold?” “Please, I… I’m from the same brothel as Y/n and she helped me escape. All my money has gone to keeping my sister warm….. Y/n said that you would help. She said the Geralt she knew would help.”

“Where is she?” His heart is thundering through his ribcage at this point, and he can see Jaskier emerging from the tavern. “Did she make it-”

“She didn’t come.”

“Why?”

“Probably scared she wouldn’t make it out. Or might believe she is all alone and has nothing to escape for.” The feminine voice makes Geralt jump through his skin. Suddenly she is there, smelling of smoke and lavender.

“Yennefer.” Jaskier gasps, but Geralt hadn’t needed him to let him know.

“Tell me, Geralt of Rivia, about the woman who broke the witcher.”

You were no longer tired at this point, truly you were nothing.

You didn’t speak, missed more meal times than not from being stuck with clients and at this point you didn’t seem to care. You were just breathing, and that was as much energy as you can muster.

Three months into this place had truly broken you.

Yennefer thought this place smelled of urine and death, and though she respected the females brave enough to work here she had absolutely no fucking clue why any man would risk stepping in here.

One look at the young girl passing her with a bruise on her cheek told her all she needed to know. The men that came here didn’t care about anything but getting themselves wet and letting off some steam.

“I have a room upstairs, I charge 50 a month in rent, half your earnings are to the house and the rest belong to you.” A voice sounds out, drawing Yennerfers attention away from the young girl with the bruise, back to the raggedy woman sitting at the counter.

“Excuse me?”

“I have a room for ye-”

“I’m not here for a room. I’m here for a girl.”

“Really?”

Yennefer slaps 2 gold coins onto the counter, a smirk crossing her face as the woman's eyes widen in greed. “I was told you had an emerald here.”

“You’re here for Y/n….only problem there is it’s double for her time.” Yennefer sighs, taking out one more coin and slapping it down. “I said double.”

“And I am willing to go and tell the town that your girls are sick.”

“What do you want with Y/n?”

“I figured you wouldn’t need me to explain how your business works but if you need a lesson in fucking then you would have to pay ME double.”

“She is in the top room. Don’t bother knocking.” And just like that Yennefer is moving, picking up her skirts to walk up the steps, trying not to breathe in the smells as she reaches your room.

Just as the brothel worker said she doesn’t bother knocking, and it was clear why when she walked in.

The beauty Geralt had described last night was still there, just one look and even Yennefer was nearly at a loss for words. But the spark, the light of you was gone. You stared at the wall before you, empty and gone.

“Y/n?” She calls, closing the door behind her. “Y/n…”

“I can’t….she said I’d have a day.” You sob, pulling into yourself.

“You’ll have more than a day, I can promise that.” Yennefer smiles, moving closer slowly. “Your witcher has sent me.”

“My witcher?” There it was, some of that spark. “He’s gonna be mad at me.”

“Now that I can swear on. Come.”

Geralt stood pacing back and forth on the pathway as he waited for Yennefers portal to open, his heart in his throat and his eyes glued to the space before him.

Jaskier waited at the inn they had found with the girl you had saved, Snae. But for now it would just be him waiting for Yennefer, far enough from the town that they would have a head start if anyone went looking for you whilst the rest would cause a stir and send them on a chase.

They had learned from Snae that Madame had sent a bounty out on her, so Geralt could only imagine what she would do to you. ‘Her emerald’.

Then it was there, forming like a cloud at first until it got bigger and bigger until it began showing like a mirror.

Then Yennefers hand came through and Geralt found himself launching forward as she stepped through, both arms wrapped around…..you.

He was there, his hands on you as soon as he could, keeping you upright as Yennefer lets go. “Y/n.”

“Please don’t be mad.” You whisper.

“What has she done to you…..”

Part 3 on October 30th

@sagelovesreading

@lashipperrubia @freyafriggafrey @cookielovesbook-akie @whatishappeninghere81 @livesinfantasyland @multiifandomhoe @amara-75 @unfxrgetwble @vlynccx @redlovett @yorkeylover @mxtokko @readinggirl29 @mollymal @fullmoonshadowwrites @rileytwenty @glasschampagne @caffieneaddictt18 @kittiowolf210 @purple-blommie @abrunettefangirlnerd @babezawa

#geralt x reader #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia #the witcher

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victoriasnook · 6 months

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Love this series

Surely, You’d Burn the Same (Batman/Bruce Wayne x fem!reader)

PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: smut, sexpollen (dubcon), explicit language, handjobs, oral (both male and female), vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, mentions of violence, brief mention of an IV/needle, Bruce is touch starved lmfao (lmk if I missed anything please!!)

a/n: ok while consent is given on both parties, it’s has sex pollen-esque features so it is dubious consent!! just be aware of that! ANNYWAY PLEASE ENJOY (also thank u sm to the lovely @jango-fettish for helping me come up with this idea)

Fuck Lieutenant James Gordon.

Fuck him and his stupid penchant for glorifying vigilante justice. And fuck yourself for coming back here in this shithole of a city called Gotham. You’re a goddamn forensic analyst. You’re not supposed to be involving yourself with shit like this.

But alas, trouble always has a way of finding you.

It nears six months into your job when you start to hear the rumors. Missing money from evidence, smudged fingerprints, evidence destroyed. Staff meetings about bribery, pay-offs to cover up the ferocious criminal underbelly of Gotham. The list goes on and on. Half the CSI staff eats out of the hand of some crime figurehead. The Penguin mostly—dude’s got a thumb in every pie scattered across the city. You don’t entirely blame them—the pay is shit and the job shittier. If you didn’t have the familial ties that you do, you’d be in the same bind as them.

You keep your head down. You don’t want any part of it.

Keep reading

#batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #battison #Bruce Wayne x crybaby! reader

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victoriasnook · 6 months

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The CUTEST BW series😭🥰

mr. and mrs. wayne (series) - updated 12/17/2022

snippets of bruce and y/n’s life as a married couple.

pairing: bruce wayne x f!reader (I interpret Mrs. Wayne as Latina but you’re welcome to picture her as you’d like!)

Mr and Mrs Wayne Playlist - Spotify

(will be tagged as ‘mr and mrs wayne’)

Headcanons:

They Get Interrupted™️

Surprise! It’s a Baby!

One-Shots & Drabbles: (in chronological order)

Falling for U

they first meet in college, and then again years later.

Secret

bruce is keeping something from y/n, who is determined to find out what it is.

Yours

it was only a matter of time before y/n ended up falling for bruce, once again. so she decided to do the next best thing - move on.

Marry Me

in which bruce realizes something and decides to ask an important question

I Do

mr. and mrs. wayne get married.

Lovesick

in which mrs. wayne has a crush on mr. wayne

Dark Knight

at that moment, it wasn’t bruce who was speaking. it was vengeance.

Bump in the Road

mr. and mrs. wayne meet up at the hospital after an argument the night before.

Cherish You

definition: protect and care for (someone) lovingly. synonyms: adore, love. (alfred makes bruce realize something.) (second part of bump in the road)

So Damn Charming

in which mrs. wayne doesn’t want to admit that she’s jealous, and mr. wayne doesn’t realize how attractive he really is.

Alone With You

in which mr. and mrs. wayne wake up during a much needed vacation.

Mini Wayne

the wayne family prepares for the new arrival.

Perspective

alfred and dory just want mr. and mrs. wayne to make up already. (companion piece to ‘The Kiss’)

The Kiss

mrs. wayne extends an olive branch. (companion piece to ‘Perspective’)

Content

mr. and mrs. wayne enjoy some quiet time alone.

AU’s:

Soulmates

y/n just wants to know what her soulmate does in their spare time.

Dr. Wayne

dr. wayne gets a visit from her favorite patient.

The Detective and The Bat

she wonders why those eyes and that jawline look so familiar.

join the taglist here!

request here!

buy me a ko-fi!

#bruce wayne x reader #battinson x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #Bruce Wayne x wife! reader

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victoriasnook · 7 months

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Moon Dust |Din Djarin, *ongoing

*Explicit, minors DNI // AO3 | Wattpad | MASTERLIST

Sum; You need transport to escape your planet and your clan. Although the man in beskar don't do this kind of work anymore, he's ready to make an exception. Who knew that keeping you safe was going to be a challenge?

Tag; Fluff, shy/insecure Mando, smutt, slow burn, mando is obsessed with you, voyeurism, mandorbation, never been touched/ touch starved mando, mando have angst and ptsd, protective Mando, he needs a hug, feelings, you’re scared of the big bad bounty hunter, plot with p, soft Din Djarin, no y/n, female reader, reader doesn't have a name

1. The Bounty -I'm not really doing anything right?

2. The Cargo -You only see silver metal in front of you. Feeling an arm grabbing your waist.

3. Breathe -He can’t help but think about your perfect skin beneath his gloved finger. Wishing it was bare so he could feel you.

4. The Promise -You want more from him, everything really..

5. Compulsion -Urgh, I wanted you too.. I, I still do.

#din djarin x reader #the mandolorian x reader #mando x reader #the mandolarian #future read🧚🏻

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victoriasnook · 7 months

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A Ripple In Space |Kylo Ren, *ongoing

*Mature, minors DNI* Canon typical violence, smut.

AO3 | Wattpad | MASTERLIST

You have been kidnaped and brought on the finalizer where you meet the famous Kylo Ren. The one who brought so much fear and destruction to the galaxy. Not being able to know the truth about your identity, he keeps you imprisoned on his ship. How will you go back home? How will you escape? Are you sure you want to escape?

[Kylo Ren x femReader] *Canon Divergence, slow burn, softdom, hurt/comfort **Kylo is supreme leader, Rey? we don't know her..

Tags; slow burn, fluff, smutt, angst, comfort, touch starved kylo, fools in love, insecure kylo, he needs a hug, feelings, plot with p, top kylo ren, reader insert, no y/n, female reader, pet names.

1. More Air -Silly girl, I need you alive..

2.Black And Grey -What is this? What does he want?

3.Leather And Blaster Dust -This was a new kind of power, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

4.Viper -I just want to know you more.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren #ben solo #ben solo x reader #star wars #future read🧚🏻

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victoriasnook · 7 months

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after hours (battinson/female!reader story)

status: on going chapters: one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / (interlude) / nine / ten / eleven / twelve rating: mature for entire work warnings: stripping, violence, blood, light bdsm dynamic (blindfold), mention of past abuse and trauma summary: the nights in Gotham are always unforgiving, you, you strip for money, to feed your son and to forget some of your troubles. it’s easy, it’s simple until Vengeance appears in your night. current word count: 84,359

#batman x reader #the batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #battinson x reader

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victoriasnook · 7 months

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Cannot wait for this to be written 🤩

okay okay okay

Charlie's love story takes place after the books. Bella's all moved out and the house is too lonely, too quiet again. At that same time, Forks repairs/adds to the library, a new librarian coming in.

Enter Y/N.

She's intelligent, a little sarcastic, beautiful and sweet. After getting out of an abusive marriage, she's moved to a little town for a fresh start and Charlie is so fucking smitten from the first sight.

Like. This man is ALWAYS at the library now.

The flirtation, the banter, the stolen kisses from behind the shelves! All of Forks is gossiping about these two (little old ladies are loving it). He reads the books she recommends and she goes camping/fishing with him. They're just off having a little love story and it's perfect.

And then!!

Y/N, who was told that she could not conceive, finds out she's pregnant. They're both overjoyed and stupidly happy together, painting the nursery (a forest on the walls and the night sky on the ceiling) and just falling more and more in love with one another. After everything he's been through, Charlie Swan finally gets his happily ever after, sitting in the sun with the love of his life and singing lullabies. Also, Bella is gonna tease him so hard for all of this (but she's actually really happy because she loves him and wants him to be happy too).

Do they have a boy or a girl?

Will they get married??

Does the ex return and Charlie has to take care of business???

I'm going to write this man the fluffiest, sweetest, most smutty romance novel of all time they are gonna fuck everywhere.

#the twilight saga #charlie swan x reader #charlie swan fanfiction #charlie swan #twilight

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victoriasnook · 8 months

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Assembly Required

or - The Inherent Eroticism of Swedish Furniture

This started as a joke and quickly spiraled out of hand

pairing: carmy berzatto X female!reader

summary: What's a new apartment without a trip to Ikea? Building Ikea furniture with Carmy and christening a new apartment

word count: 3.8K

warnings: explicit content, 18+; oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it before you tap it), praise kink, hair pulling, dirty talk, mentions of carmy's gold chain, established relationship

There’s nothing quite as humbling as assembling Ikea furniture.

For such a young man, Carmy had already accomplished a lot more in his life than he ever really expected he would – not just graduating culinary school but excelling in it, working in some of the finest dining establishments in the world, winning a James Beard award, and reopening the family restaurant essentially from the ground up. But god help him if the assembly instructions for this Ingolf dining chair weren’t just going to get the best of him.

Over the course of the past several months, you and Carmy had been in the whirlwind process of moving in together. Deciding to get a place together was one of the easiest decisions he had made since returning to Chicago – he already essentially lived in your apartment, so it only made sense to find a place for the both of you when his lease was up. Apartment hunting had been something of a chore, and he shuddered to think of some of the places you’d seen in listings before stumbling across a shockingly spacious 1 bedroom with a decently renovated kitchen, a surprising amount of natural light, and a relatively easy commute to both the restaurant and your office.

House Hunters, eat your heart out.

As your move-in date came ever closer, every spare moment of your time together had become dedicated to preparing for the move. Many nights, the two of you had shared stories about your own respective days at work over piles of clothes to donate or cardboard boxes lined with packing paper and bubble wrap. Not exactly the sexiest of dates, but he knew that he’d have you all to himself before long.

The day of the actual move went surprisingly well, despite the long hours you’d spent moving boxes from one apartment to the other. Carmy already had very little stuff to actually move, and you’d talked him into hiring professional movers to take the furniture and heavier items to the new place. It left the two of you with plenty of time to methodically move from room to room, unpacking as many boxes as you could before absolutely running out of energy at the end of the day, collapsing on a hastily made bed. It was only at sunrise, when the light began to stream directly into Carmy’s eyes, that you realized you needed to buy curtains.

Well, you needed more than just curtains. In fact, you needed several pieces of furniture and had planned to use Carmy’s second consecutive day off as an opportunity to drive out to the Ikea in Shaumburg and check several items off of your shopping list.

You arrived shortly after opening, and Carmy sipped a gas station coffee lazily from a paper mug as the two of you wandered side by side through the store, occasionally sidetracked by a display featuring items you most certainly did not need. If he hadn’t been with you, he wouldn’t have necessarily enjoyed the shopping process – He had always chosen his furnishings based more on function than form, which he supposed was how he had ended up with a tattered, striped couch that you deemed “fit for a frat basement” and insisted was not allowed in your shared apartment. Still, seeing your eyes light up as you strayed away from his side to pinch the fabric of a throw blanket between your fingers or inspect a set of glassware was surprisingly endearing to him as you leisurely meandered your way through the labyrinthine showroom.

You returned home that afternoon with a bounty of flat packed treasures – four ingolf dining chairs, a Fjallbo coffee table, Hemnes dresser, plus whatever other odds and ends you had thrown into the bright blue and yellow canvas bag. The rest of the day had been spent assembling furniture, a growing mountain of cardboard and Styrofoam amassing along the outskirts of the living room with each item you constructed. The coffee table and dresser had come together with little difficulty, although now Carmy was suspecting that he had met his match as he struggled to comprehend just where exactly he was supposed to be placing a screw in the first of four dining chairs that remained to be assembled.

“You look stumped. Lemme take a look,” you offer, crawling across the new area rug to him.

“Take it,” he relinquishes the instruction sheet to you readily. “I think it’s scrambling my brain just lookin’ at this too long.”

You study the instructions for a moment before pulling the miscellaneous pieces closer to you, brow furrowed in concentration as you pick up the allen wrench and begin the assembly process

He watches in admiration as you work, the chair starting to take form before his very eyes as you hum along to the song playing on the Bluetooth speaker you had set on your newly assembled coffee table. You’re dressed in an Original Beef of Chicagoland t-shirt that you’d stolen from the back office at the restaurant shortly after the grand opening of The Bear, and your crossed legs were bare, save for a black pair of athletic shorts that left very little to the imagination. For a moment, he’s entranced by your thighs, the thought flitting across his mind how he wouldn’t mind being in between them right about now, when he notices a garish mark near your inner thigh.

“Hey, what’s this?” he asks, fingers automatically reaching out to brush across your skin where an angry looking bruise has formed.

“Hmm?” you glance away from your work, down to your lap. “Must just be from moving around all these boxes. It’s no big deal.”

“Sure it doesn’t hurt?” His hand rests on your bare thigh a moment longer and it’s practically Pavlovian the way his mind starts to wander, thinking of all the ways you still have yet to christen the new apartment.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” You’re hardly paying attention to him, your eyes glued once more to the page. “Do you see a screw laying around somewhere?”

His mind is lost in thoughts of you – your skin against his, your breathy moans in his ear – when he sees you looking at him expectantly. “I’m sorry, what?”

“A screw, Carm. Do you see one laying around here somewhere?”

Without waiting for an answer, you rock forward onto your knees, crawling all around the half assembled chair. He starts to look halfheartedly, idly picking up random pages and pieces of cardboard in search of the missing screw, but mostly he’s just eyeing your ass as you crawl around.

A part of him thinks that maybe he should feel just a little bad that he’s not being more helpful in your search – it had been a long weekend after all, and you still had a long way to go before you were fully unpacked and settled in. But on the other hand, he could easily count on one hand how many times the two of you had been intimate in the past two months – busy work schedules, packing lists, and the occasional bickering about what furniture to keep or sell always seemed to get in the way whenever you two had time alone. Or plain exhaustion – can’t forget about that.

Eventually, you give up, sitting back up with your palms pressed to your knees as you let out a groan of frustration. “I can’t believe we’re missing a fucking screw.”

“I think I know where you can get a fucking screw,” Carmy mumbles, not quite sure what devil on his shoulder has clouded his better judgement.

You look at him incredulously, immediately clocking the innuendo. It’s not like you two don’t talk dirty when the occasion calls for it, but damn Carmy can’t help the blush that creeps up his neck as he realizes how crude his thoughts sound when spoken aloud.

“Sorry, I’m as surprised by that as you are,” he apologizes quickly. With fidgeting hands, he starts to rifle through the debris on the floor again, struggling to meet your eye.

When he hears you start to laugh, he steals a look back over at you, noticing that the tension has left your shoulders as you melt into his side, squeezing his bicep reassuringly. He looks down at you and allows an uncertain smile to cross his face as he admires the way your eyes crinkle in laughter as you try to catch your breath.

“That has got to be the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said me,” you wheeze. “Please say more.”

You don’t give him the opportunity to say another word because you place your hands on his cheeks and pull him into a kiss, still giggling when your lips first make contact. As he wraps an arm around your waist to draw you closer, you melt against him, kissing him in earnest now. Something stirs in the pit of his stomach and he wants more – especially when he feels your fingers twist and tangle into the curls at the nape of his neck. He pulls you flush against him and you groan into his mouth, planting your knees on either side of his hips. You’re all warmth and softness in his lap, and he swears the very blood in his veins turns molten as he realizes how badly he wants you underneath him.

With a swift arc of his arm, he clears the miscellaneous debris from the rug before easing your back down to the floor. His lips are working their way along the line of your jaw when you hear the clatter of something small and metallic skittering across the hardwoods. And just like that, the spell is broken.

“Do you think that was the missing screw?”

“Hmm could be,” he mumbles into your skin, pressing his lips into that spot at the base of your neck that usually makes you squirm. Instead, you’re craning your head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the screw among the small mountain of trash, saying something under your breath about how you should check it out.

He inches away from you as you begin to prop yourself up on your elbows underneath him.

“The chair’s really that important right now?” he asks, just barely leveling the twinge of annoyance in his voice.

“We need someplace to sit, Carmy,” you counter.

He snorts just a little at your reasoning. “I can think of someplace better for you to sit right now.”

His remark earns him an eye roll from you, but you pause for a moment in hesitation. He takes that moment as leverage, gripping your hips tight in his hands and drawing them up to meet his, groaning in the back of his throat as your bodies make contact.

“You feel what you do to me right?” he asks, shamelessly incapable of stopping himself from rocking his hips against yours in a desperate search for friction. A small whine escapes the back of your throat and his gaze softens as he looks down on you. “I’ve been missing you like crazy.”

He strokes your cheek, fingers grazing down your cheekbone and along your neck, where he can feel your pulse fluttering rapidly. He knows you well enough that he swears he can see your thoughts happening in real time as realization washes over your features.

“We’ve just been so busy,” you offer weakly. “It’s been hard to make the time.”

“I know, I know,” he presses his lips to yours briefly. “Just be here with me right now, baby. I’ll build you all the chairs you want after.”

You nod furiously, balling his shirt up into your first as you pull him back down to you in a searing kiss. He slips an arm underneath you, pressing you ever closer as his fingers slip underneath your shirt, gliding against soft skin until you’re breathless underneath him. He feels you clawing at his t-shirt and together you both move in a flurry to discard your clothing onto the ground beside you. He’s planting open mouthed kisses onto every accessible inch of feverish skin until he has you bare underneath him.

Your fingers are fiddling impatiently with the zipper on his jeans, pushing them lower down his hips until he kneels back on his heels to finish the job for you. You sit up too, pulling his shirt over his head in a hurried motion before grabbing his arm and coaxing him over to the couch with you.

“Floor not good enough for you?” he asks, leaving a trail of kisses over your collar bones as he presses you down into the cushions.

“I’m just already sore,” you protest, your fingers tracing idly across his shoulder blades.

“But I haven’t even done anything yet,” he croons into your ear, bringing a hand up to knead at your breast.

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

And he does know – the subtle aches in the back of his legs and in between his shoulders have been present all day after the grueling hours of moving in the day beforehand. That’s not going to stop him now though, not as your legs fall open under his hands. His dick twitches at the sight of your pussy, evidence of your arousal glistening at the apex of your thighs and he’s like a man enchanted.

“This all for me, baby?” he asks you softly, reaching out to stroke your folds, wetness gathering on his calloused fingers as you squirm into his touch.

“Yes,” you gasp, pleading with him as you grasp his wrist in a feeble attempt to guide his fingers where you so desperately want him. “Carmy, please.”

You don’t have to ask him twice as he sinks two fingers into your snug walls. He studies your face as he touches you – the way you bite back a groan as his fingers stretch you out, admiring the way you tilt your head back, baring your neck to him as the pad of his thumb brushes roughly against your clit.

“Fuck,” you groan. “Carmy.”

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this for me, baby.” It’s true, you do. He thinks you’ve never looked prettier than you do in this apartment, with your proudly thrifted couch, half-built Ikea furniture and granite countertops that he could fuck you on every night if you wanted. With his free hand, he palms heavily over the front of his Calvin Kleins and makes a mental note that the kitchen is next in line for christening. But he has something he wants to do first.

You whine when he removes his hand from between your legs, but before you can protest, he’s maneuvering your thighs closer to the edge of the couch and angling your hips toward himself as he sinks to his knees in front of you.

He can feel your thighs trembling already in anticipation around him and you’re swearing under your breath before he’s even had his first taste of you. He starts with a few furtive licks, allowing the smell and taste of you to invade his senses before delving in deeper, lapping at your drenched pussy with languid strokes of his tongue. Wrapping one arm around your thigh, he pulls your leg over his shoulder, causing a shift of your hips that has the tip of his nose nudging against your clit. He steals a look back up at you just in time for you to cry out in pleasure, hands reaching down to tangle in his hair. Increasingly frantic, you tug at the roots, guiding his mouth where you want him, hips grinding senselessly into his nose and wanting mouth.

“Oh my fucking god,” you groan above him as his lips close around your clit, humming softly. He glides two fingers back into you, thrusting them in and out of you in time with the tight circles he’s making around your clit with his tongue.

“Carmen,” you sob his full first name – not Carmy, not baby, not Chef – Carmen. “Don’t fucking stop. JesusfuckingChrist don’t stop.”

He doesn’t stop – wouldn’t dream of it. Even as your thighs clamp together around his head, he’s dizzy with the taste of you, groaning into your pussy as he pushes his tongue into you, big nose pressed into your clit in just the precise way that has you falling apart for him. You’re babbling incoherently as you cum on his face, and he doesn’t hesitate to lap up every wave of pleasure that rolls over you until you’re squirming, oversensitive under his lips.

“Too much, Carm,” you beg. “Please.”

He nuzzles a kiss into your inner thigh, lips pressed right above the bruise he noticed earlier, before crawling back up to you. Your chest is heaving against his as you limply wrap your arms around the back of his neck and he drags his lips along your throat.

“Absolutely insane that we haven’t done this in so long,” you pant, curling your fingers tightly in his hair to angle his mouth back toward yours. He swallows the groan you make when you taste yourself on his tongue and his dick twitches in his underwear at the sensation of your fingernails scratching at his scalp, raking down his back.

“C’mere,” you mumble against his lips, and in an awkward tumble of limbs, you both maneuver so that he’s laying prone on the coach with you sitting at his hips. He can feel the heat of your core so easily through his briefs that he thinks he may go insane. You drive a merciful hand under the waistband of his underwear and grab his aching cock so firmly in your hand that it makes his head spin just a bit as your thumb grazes over the tip. You pump the shaft expertly once, twice and he’s not even quite sure that he’s speaking English anymore.

“Wanna be inside you so bad, baby.”

“Sure you don’t want me to return the favor?” You’re easing his underwear down his thighs, all the while looking him directly in the eyes, your gaze heated. He knows right then and there that he wouldn’t last 5 seconds in your mouth.

“Another time,” he rasps, reaching toward you in a desperate attempt to feel your delicate fingers or the soft curve of your hips – he’ll take any little bit you have to give him. “Just want you now.”

You rock your hips against him, coating the length of him in your wet heat; a low groan in the shape of your name escapes his throat. He wants to chastise you for teasing him, but before he can find the words, you sink down onto him with a soft “Oh.”

There’s a moment of stillness and he drinks in the sight of you, eyes fluttering shut and lips thoroughly kissed and swollen. He can’t help the way the words tumble out of his mouth – “I love you.”

“But I haven’t even done anything yet,” you grin cheekily.

And that’s when you move.

You’re hot and wet around him and he’s absolutely mesmerized by the sight of his cock disappearing into you repeatedly as you move above him.

“Fuck, you ride my dick so well, baby,” he praises, cupping one breast in his hand, kneading the soft flesh there in time to the rhythm of your hips rocking against his.

There’s a slight tug at the base of his neck as the hand you’ve leveraged against his chest catches on his golden chain, your fingers curling around the glistening metal as if to tether yourself to him. Something flips like a switch then and he needs more of you.

He grabs your hips roughly on the next thrust, pulling you back down onto him so that he’s buried to the hilt. You cry out and grasp at the back of the couch for balance but let him continue to guide your hips, doing everything you can to keep up with the rougher pace he’s setting for you.

“You good?” He checks in, praying the answer is yes.

“Fuck, Carm,” you groan, digging your fingers into his arm and he can feel the stinging sensation of little crescent moons pressing into the skin. “s’good.”

He can feel how badly your legs are shaking as you match his every move. Heat pools in the bottom of his stomach and he knows he won’t be long now. Maintaining the pace as best as he can, he slides a hand between your bodies, swirling his fingertips around the swollen bud of your clit in a way that makes you swear out loud.

Your thighs clench hard on either side of him and it’s all he can do not to fall apart immediately. You’ve all but collapsed onto his chest and your breath is hot on his neck as you whine to him that you’re close.

“I gotchu,” he promises, fingertips still working in time with his hips. “Come for me.”

And you do.

The sensation of your pulsing walls around him is all at once too much and not enough as he digs his heels into the couch, thrusting erratically into you several more times, chasing his high. With a throaty groan, he screws his eyes shut as a wave of euphoria washes over him. For just a few brief seconds, it’s as if there’s nothing in his world but you.

Limbs heavy and bodies absolutely spent, you lay facing each other, just barely able to fit laying side by side on the couch. If he had the foggiest idea which box a throw blanket had been packed into, he would have pulled one up and around your shoulders. Instead, he settles for curling himself around you, skin still flushed and heated from moments before as you tangle your fingers idly in his hair, gazing at him through heavily lidded eyes. He kisses the tip of your nose and runs the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone as your eyes flutter shut.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he jostles your shoulder lightly.

“Mmmh,” you harrumph. “I know, I know. We should get cleaned up.”

“No, I was gonna say we have some chairs to build.”

The smack he receives to the chest is well deserved. Nevertheless, you allow him to coax you from the couch to a warm shower. Afterward, as you finish dressing and preparing for bed, he pads back out to the living room, sifting once again through the pile of cardboard until the glimmer of something silver catches his eye.

You step into the room just in time to see him setting the lost screw atop the coffee table.

“A project for tomorrow,” you promise.

“Tomorrow,” he agrees, pressing his lips to your forehead.

He thinks of all the tomorrows you have ahead of you – together in your shared apartment, in your shared lives. And he can’t help but be excited for every single one.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear

2K notes · View notes

victoriasnook · 8 months

Text

rating actual medieval names i have found as a medieval studies student but they get progressively more unhinged:

William de Appeltrefeld: 8/10 bc appeltrefeld sounds like a nice place to live. who wouldnt want to live in a field full of apple trees? points deducted cause there are like fifty bajillion williams in england

Luke de Luka, merchant of Luca: 6/10. ur parents really werent creative huh

Hugh de Wlonkeslowe: 7/10. looks like a straight person trying to keyboard smash. *laughs in english place names*

Roger Smert: 10/10 absolute banger of a name. does it make any sense? absolutely not! but you guys. i dont think you understand. smert!!

John de la Bro: 7/10. when ur such a bro that its literally ur name and 800 years in the future its all people know of u

Hugh Sad: 7/10. weve all been there buddy

Gaylarde de la Mote: 10/10. slay. i bet this guys mote was the gayest mote youve ever seen

Hugh de la Penne: 9/10. we stan a pasta man

Richard de Astlegh: 10/10. verily, he shall ne'er give thee up, ne'er let thee down, nor shall he run with great haste and desert thee, he shall ne'er cause thee to weep, ne'er bid you farewell, ne'er shall he speak wicked falshoods in thine ear or cause thee harm

Bindo Hug: 8/10. who is this man a hobbit???

Eudo la Zusche: 6/10. deadass sounds like something youd see in a really bad fantasy novel

William crisp: 7/10. w h a t.

Asser son of Licoriz: 7/10 there is so much going on here i dont even know what to tell you

Baldwin Panik: 10/10 cause this is a heckin mood

Richard Cok, aka Dick Cok: 69/10. nice.

27K notes · View notes

victoriasnook · 8 months

Text

[[and then I met you || ch. 2]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to protect his new family from not only Hell's Kitchen but from the world.

pt: 1

words: 6.3k

tag list:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen

"Mommy, look!"

Minnie calls out from the living room and you look up from finishing up an invoice. She is plopped on the ground, surrounded by a sea of crayons, proudly holding up her latest masterpiece: a series of different colored overlapping circles. You, as usual, have no idea what you are supposed to be looking at, but that doesn't stop the support you give your daughter.

"That's so good, Mouse. You picked such pretty colors." She beams at you and you return the smile, your heart feeling so full. You love her so much and you want only the best for her and you hope - pray - bringing her father into her life is the right choice.

Your meeting with Matt went so much better than you ever thought it could go. He wants to be in Minnie's life and that makes you nervously excited. You have absolutely no inkling of how things are going to change moving forward, and a huge part of you is terrified but another part can't wait for Minnie and Matt to get to know each other. You keep going over your admittedly short conversation trying to remember all the little tics you saw that reminded you of Minnie. You want to know what else she inherited from him.

You tell yourself those thoughts are for later and force them away so you can get back to work. It is getting close to bedtime and you have a few things to tidy up before you can clock out.

Luckily, Minnie has gone back to her drawing, scribbling away while Scooby Doo plays silently on the television and you are able to work in peace. Ten minutes later, you close out your VPN and leisurely stretch out in your chair, watching your little angel do her thing.

You are worried about her reactions to the change. Unfortunately, one of the things she got from you is your anxiety - your little one's nickname is Mouse for a reason. She is a quiet timid little thing who loves to watch and observe - like a little church mouse. You joke you need to put a bell on her because she can walk right by you without making a single noise. Her quiet nature doesn't mesh well with strangers.

You've been taking her to daycare more, hoping socializing will help, and it has, but that is worth other kids. You don't know how she'll react to a new adult in her life who she would have a more casual relationship with. You have no family and the few friends you have have known her since she was a baby.

Minnie knows what a dad is but she's never asked where hers is and you certainly haven’t brought it up to her.

But now you have to.

You need to figure out what the best approach would be. You know it has to be slow and steady, but you don't know if you should introduce Matt to her as her father or not. The biggest change she's been through is going to daycare and that took ages. She hated it.

She hates being around strangers for extended periods.

Out and about? She is okay. She's shy and likes to hide behind your leg instead of talking to people, but she doesn't complain.

But when she has to sit and interact with someone new? She can get fussy. It's not just her being shy, she gets physically uncomfortable.

She has no problems if it's just the two of you or someone she knows, but strangers? It can turn into a tantrum, depending on her mood.

You've discovered a few methods to make her more comfortable. You have about fifteen pairs of child sized noise canceling headphones, your bag is full of little things to distract her, and she has her Pig.

You think introducing her to Matt where she can sit and color and block him out if she wants is the best course of action and to achieve that, you don't think you can tell her the truth right away. She might feel some pressure to Behave because Dad is an authority figure. Not to mention what she would feel if she started asking questions; like why he hasn’t been around.

She's curious but she's also three and unpredictable.

She could immediately go into tantrum mode.

She could not care at all and want to color instead.

You hope Matt understands all of this and doesn't want to jump right into being a Father.

Whatever that entails.

A change in colors and tones on the television catches your attention and you push yourself away from your desk.

"Okay, sweetie, Scooby is over, time to get ready for bed."

Minnie finishes her scribble then drops the crayon on the ground. You wait as she climbs up into her feet and starts to pick up her mess - her crayons go into a pail one at a time. You don't know what goes on in her mind, but as long as she's doing what she is supposed to be, you don't rush her.

There's no lollygagging with your sweet girl, anyways. Once the crayons are in their bucket, she puts that under the coffee table, then picks up her drawing pad and brings it to you. You scoop her up and start towards the bedroom, as she admires her drawings.

"What do you want to read tonight?" You ask.

"Spot!" is the instant reply and you should have guessed that. You've been reading the same book for over a week now, but you don't mind. You'd rather read the same thing over and over than hunt for something she does want to read for an hour.

Getting ready for bed is something that usually goes smoothly and you are lucky tonight is no different. Minnie is already in her pajamas, so it's just turning down the sheets and getting her all tucked in before you start to read. You keep an eye on the time as you do - you have a half hour before Matt said he would call.

If he does call.

He said he would and you are trying to be hopeful that he will. You've been disappointed so many times in the past - not just by lovers but everyone. People promise to call, to text, to follow up and they never do. They say you can do something together then cancel at the last minute. You are used to that disappointment, but you don't want Minnie to experience that. You want her to feel loved and wanted.

You know it's not fair to Matt, but to you the call is a sort of test he doesn't know he is taking.

Will he call? Will he call on time?

The more you think about the call, the more anxious you get. There's too many thoughts starting to gather.

The meeting could have been a fluke and now that he's thought it over, he doesn't want to be a dad.

Or he wants to be a dad but not with You. What if you are the problem?

"Mommy," Minnie shakes you out of your thoughts, looking up at you with big brown eyes. "Next page!"

You nod and force your focus back to the book, turning the next page and letting your daughter open and close all the flaps that hide different elements to the story while you read. It's hard to get lost in the simple words and story, but Minnie is used to her routine and by the time you reach the last page, she's leaning heavier into your side.

You place the book on her nightstand, trading it for her sleep headband. She tilts her head forward and you help get the band on and snuggly over her ears.

"How's that feel, Mouse?"

"Quiet," Minnie replies, like she does every night, sliding down under her blankets. Her little hands tug at the band so the sleep mask part is over her eyes. You smile, forever grateful your little one likes to sleep. You wait while she settles, then kiss both of her cheeks.

"Sweet dreams, my little angel."

"Sweet dreams, Mommy," she replies, voice full of sleep. You triple check she's tucked in nice and snug and that Pig is within reach, then turn off the light. You leave the door open a crack, just in case, then return to the living room.

There's a small mess leftover from dinner and you start cleaning that up. Usually, after you put Minnie down for bed, you'd enjoy a few hours of television or catching up on whatever you needed to, but after finishing the dishes, you don't know what to do.

There's only a handful of minutes until the promised call time and all you can do is just stand in the kitchen. You debate going to get a notebook so you can keep notes, but you don't want to have the whole conversation about how you want to move forward over the phone. Maybe you jot down ideas of what you two want to cover in person? Matt might have questions you haven't even thought of yet.

You should find a pen and paper. It's better to be prepared than not. You tell yourself that but you still don't move. You just stare at your phone.

As the seconds creep by your throat starts to get tight.

What are you going to do if he doesn't call?

Would it be awkward to call him instead? Or is that overbearing? You don't want to come off as overbearing - that might make Matt view you in a negative light and that would definitely have consequences in his relationship with Minnie. You desperately want that relationship to be good and not be influenced by any issues the two of you might have. You would hate yourself if the reason Matt didn't want to be around Minnie was you.

The thought makes your stomach twist.

You're definitely not going to call him tonight if he doesn't call you. You can send a text in the morning - something with no pressure.

But he said he preferred calls instead of text.

Would a call be accusatory? You feel like a morning call would be accusatory.

You can push it to the afternoon, that would give him time to call in the morning, as well.

You're ripped from your paranoid thoughts as your phone screen lights up with Matt's name. Shock overtakes your system and it takes a moment before you scramble to answer.

You state your name as your greeting, totally trying to pretend you weren't just spiraling.

"Hey, it's Matt.. Matt Murdock."

His words are soft spoken, on the edge of shy, and it throws you. You understand why his nerves would be rattled but you didn't think he'd advertise that. Your brain screams at you to comfort him and you focus on that instead of your own panic.

"Hey…um, how are you doing?"

Matt chuckles into your ear, low and throaty, making the knot your stomach has become loosen a bit, "Adjusting." He pauses a beat, then adds, "I can't stop thinking about you and Winifred…Minnie."

Your cheeks burn.

You can't tell him you haven't stopped thinking about him either - that feels like a very weird thing to admit, even if it is the truth.

You don't know what to say, so your mouth decides for you, blurting out, "I didn't think you'd call…"

"You didn't…?" The undercurrent of hurt in his voice makes you feel like you've kicked a puppy. You quickly backtrack.

"I have a tendency to overthink and get in my head," you say, hoping you aren't coming off like an idiot. "I worked myself up."

You turn your back to the kitchen counter, then slide down the cabinets until you are sitting on the ground. You bring your knees up, using them to prop up your elbows.

"I'm glad you did call," you admit, asking your mind to please stop, "I'm sorry, this is awkward, can we start over?"

"Of course," Matt's voice is soft in your ear, but you can hear him smiling, "Should I hang up and call back?"

"No, no, not that far back," you practically mumble, biting your lip. "How about…was your meeting okay? Can I ask that or is it attorney - client privilege?"

Matt hums, sounding like he's thinking over the answer, before answering, "No, that's not covered. It was pretty standard for that client - whether that means it went okay is up for interpretation. No one is in jail, so I would consider it a win."

You aren't sure what that means, but you want to be supportive. "That sounds like a win."

"What about you, how was your evening?"

The question makes you laugh a little, only because you think you live a very boring life, "Very quiet and calm. No one ended up in jail on this end either."

"So not a family of trouble makers?" Matt asks, a slight tease in his voice.

You smile into your knees, replying with a shy, "No, I'm afraid we're rather boring. I hope that is okay."

"I think it's a win."

Oh, you forgot how charming he was.

He carries on, voice dropping back to a softer tone, "What does a quiet and calm night mean for the two of you?"

You consider the question with a little smile before answering, "We usually start with a nice walk to the park. Minnie likes to play in the afternoon, there's less kids to hog the see-saw."

"She likes the see-saw?"

"She loves the see-saw," you say, smiling at the memory of your daughter on the playground. "She likes to…bounce? The see-saw lets her go high. She's too small for bounce houses, so she gets her fix where she can." Matt huffs a laugh into your ear and you continue on, "After the park, it's standard toddler afternoon stuff. Dinner and a bath. Playtime and television before bed. I work from home, so I usually get a few hours in before Minnie gets put down for bed. Then, um, more work for me. Or paying bills. Online shopping. Adult things I can do from the couch."

"You work from home?" Matt asks and you can't remember if you had previously mentioned that. Your whole previous conversation is now suddenly a total question mark.

"Yeah, um, I work in billing. The company is in international shipping, so time zones aren't really an issue. As long as I log forty hours a week, I can break it up as I want. It makes being a working mom a lot easier." You nibble your lip, unsure about what to really say, so you say the obvious, "You have your own law firm?"

"I do. You met my partners earlier, Foggy and Karen," he sounds proud, just a little bit, and that warms your heart.

"I read about a few of your cases last night," you admit, "The papers said you help a lot of people."

Matt doesn't respond right away, but when he does, you find yourself smiling more. "We try to. People here are getting by paycheck to paycheck, they can't afford a lawyer when their landlords try to push them out so they can get someone in to pay higher rent. They need someone to fight for them, and this is our community - Foggy and I grew up here. This is our city." He pauses and you can picture him scrunching up his brow, "You said you saw the interview last night. You had time to read over our cases?"

Embarrassment courses through you.

"Only what was in the news and I didn't read in depth. I just…" You shrug, even though you are talking over the phone, "I wanted to make sure it was in Minnie's best interest to reach out." You bite your lip again then, wanting to be honest with Matt, you add, "I mean, we only spent one night together and we didn't really discuss…much. I knew you were a lawyer, but you could have been like…a lawyer for some awful celebrity or something. If you were out there and the papers were saying you were vile I wouldn't have just…shown up at your doorstep. Metaphorically. I only have your work address."

"That makes sense," Matt replies and you have the feeling he really does get it, "you want to keep her safe, to keep both of you safe. I'd do the same in your position. Actually…I guess I do need to do the same, because we don't really know anything about each other." He pauses, then teases, "Unless there's news articles about you I need to catch up on?"

You huff at the thought, "No, nothing that I am aware of."

"Then we will have to do it the old fashion way."

"Lunch." The words tumble out of your mouth and you resist the urge to bang your head against the cabinets. "We, uh, mentioned lunch. We could use that as a starting point? Give each other our People Resumes."

Matt laughs a little and it's warm, not mocking. You still bury your face into your knees.

"People Resumes - I like that. I have some pretty good references, if you need."

"I only have the one," you mumble, keeping your face hidden despite being alone. He laughs again.

"I think it's a pretty good one, though."

That makes you smile, "The best one around."

There's a beat where neither of you talk and you wonder what else to add.

"Will she be coming to lunch?" He asks, voice switching from confident and charming to slightly timid. Once again you are reminded of a kicked puppy and it makes your heart ache.

"I would like that," you start slowly and Matt seems to sense you have more to say, as he waits for you to continue. "I wanted to discuss it with you, first."

"Of course," his reply is so eager. "Anything."

"I was thinking…I think it would be best if Minnie gets to know you first before we tell her who you are. It's been the two of us for so long, I don't know how she'll react to a big change. I can introduce the idea to her over time, start talking to her about family and stuff while you two bond?" As you talk, the words start coming out a little faster as your nerves start to come back. "I think telling her up front might make her uncomfortable because like, you'll have a Title and Authority and that would override other things. I don't want to push her into anything she's not ready for yet."

You press your face into your knees and wait for Matt's reaction. You can hear him breathing and the slight clinking of what sounds like ice in a glass and you hope he understands your concerns.

He says your name so very softly and a shiver goes through you. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip and wait for the ax to fall.

"I think that would be a really good way to do things," Matt practically breathes into the receiver.

You squeeze your eyes shut tightly and relief just washes over you. "I…don't want to scare her." He hesitates, then starts in a stronger voice, "did your articles mention that I grew up in an orphanage?" They did and you say as much. "I was older than a lot of the kids and the little ones were scared of that. Scared of being adopted by strangers. I remember being scared of that. I got placed in a few foster homes and I hated being around people I didn't know." He takes a breath and it's a little shaky, "I want her to want me as her father."

Your heart skips in your chest and you bury your face into your knees more. "I don't think you have anything to worry about, Matt. You have a good heart, that's what matters. You just have to get to know each other, spend time together."

Matt hums softly into your ear, "Not just her, you as well."

"Me?" You ask, confused.

"You," he repeats. "I want to know the mother of my child. Of course I want to get to know you. You're the most important person in her life."

You just hadn't thought of that at all - your concern has been over Minnie. It completely makes sense that he would want to get to know you. He isn't just now in Minnie's life, but in your life.

You chew on your lips in thought, "Is…um.. Is there anything you'd like to know?"

"How about," he says, after a moment of thought, "the equivalent of what you read about me? That way we are on an even footing."

That wasn't the answer you expected but it makes a bit of sense in your head. You think about what you learned in the papers about Matt Murdock.

You start off by saying where you were born then move onto simple facts, "We moved to Long Island when I was about five and I lived there until I was eighteen. I moved into the city for school - Empire State University. I didn't know what I wanted to do so I got a degree in business. I figured I'd have a good foundation with that, you know? I got a pretty decent job in accounting - I'm still there actually. I uh…am a billing administrator…"

"Your parents?" Matt asks tentatively, like he already knows the answer.

"Gone." You say quietly, but firmly. Your parents aren't something you want to talk about and you hope he understands that. "It is just Minnie and I. And now you..."

"And now me…"

You can hear the smile in his voice and it makes you start to smile.

"I have no idea how to be a father," he admits after a beat.

"It's okay, I didn't know how to be a mother. I'm still learning - I've read stuff and some things don't apply to Minnie. Or the opposite, she does something and I can't find anything that applies? And it's not like I'm just gonna drop her on you and disappear. It's…I want you to be comfortable as well? That's why I think just meeting each other will be a good start. We can go from there? Do little hang outs and stuff and build up, if that's what you want," you know you're starting to ramble but you keep going. "I think somewhere she is comfortable would be good? There's a diner in Hell's Kitchen she really likes - we could meet there for lunch? If she gets too overwhelmed, I can give her something to distract her, but you can still interact with her? She's a bit shy around new people and pressuring her to really…um.. engage might be a lot? A big thing for her is parallel play, so I'm hoping maybe just hanging out around you if she's nervous might help until she's more comfortable?"

You close your eyes tightly, a little embarrassed at your dumping of ideas, but Matt takes it all in stride, giving a curious, "What is parallel play?"

You lick your lips before answering, "Being in the same space, but doing your own thing? Like two kids coloring together but not talking."

"Ah, I got it. I didn't know there was an actual name for that." There's another pause and you can hear ice clinking against glass again. You wonder if you should get up off your kitchen floor and get yourself a drink, but you decide against it. The only thing you should be drinking is water. "What is the diner?"

You tell him the name of the diner and to your surprise, he chuckles, "I know the place. It's on the same block as Foggy's parents' butcher shop. She has good taste."

"When she gets fussy and doesn't want to eat anything, it's something I know she'll always eat. She'll have her own booth by the time she's five."

Matt laughs again and you can feel all the anxiety you had before the call bleeding away. He's been open to everything you've had to say so far and there's been no hint of negative feelings.

Maybe things will be okay.

"She can share Foggy's booth," Matt says, no idea your mind keeps trying to freak out over nothing. "We went there for lunch almost every day when we were working out of the shop."

"You worked out of a butcher's shop?" You ask, thinking you must be misinterpreting something.

"We did," he says, sounding a little sheepish, "I took a hiatus from…everything really and Foggy went to work for another firm. While we were reestablishing, his parents graciously allowed us to work out of their shop."

Part of you wants to ask about his hiatus, but the way he says it gives you a feeling you should leave it alone, so you do. You focus on another aspect instead. "So we've been going to the same diner, we just kept missing each other."

It is sobering to say - the father of your child was always right there, but fate let you skirt around each other for years. It hurts to think about, your mind whispering at you if you had just tried harder to look for him, you would have found Matt. If you had just seen him earlier, how different would things be? What if you had been there at the same time, but you just hadn't been paying attention to your surroundings? It isn't like he knew to be on the lookout for a fling from years ago - how would he have even noticed you?

You wonder if he is thinking the same thing - that you probably missed each other because you weren't paying attention.

"Don't do that," your attention is yanked away from your guilt by Matt's strong voice, "I can hear you thinking, blaming yourself."

"Is it that obvious?" You ask quietly, cringing just a little bit. Are you really such a mess he can tell over the phone?

"You said you overthink and work yourself up. You got quiet, so I assumed and I guess I was right. There's no way you could have known and why would you have been looking there?" He sounds so sure you feel guilty over feeling guilty.

"I know, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. There's nothing to apologize for."

You bite your lip then force your head up and away from your knees. You should get up and get a drink - change how your body is. Maybe it will help in keeping your mood from dipping back down. You take a breath and start to get up.

"Thank you…um.. What day would you want to meet?" You ask, trying to push past the awkwardness and into another direction. You hear him take a drink and decide you do want some water. You start to look around your living space, trying to locate your water bottle.

You spy it across the room in all its rainbow sticker glory and make your way across the room as Matt starts to speak, "I wish I could say tomorrow, but we have to meet with the D.A. tomorrow and I can't miss it. I hate that I can't miss it. But Saturday? Can we meet Saturday?"

You'd have a day to prepare. You would definitely need a day to prepare. "Saturday is perfect. Is 11:30 okay? That's when we try to have lunch."

"That is perfect," Matt replies, mirroring your own. "Saturday at 11:30."

A giddy little shock goes through you - it's not just an idea anymore. Minnie will be meeting her father and he wants to be in her life. He's eager to be in her life.

You never thought that would be the case.

"Saturday at 11:30," you repeat, just to confirm and because you can. It feels good to say.

"I feel like I should dress to impress," he says with a chuckle and you wonder if he is feeling giddy as well.

"I don't think she will care, unless you have a shirt with a cartoon character she likes on it."

There's a few seconds of silence, then Matt's soft curious voice is back, "What characters does she like?"

The question makes you laugh a little because your little girl changes her preferences at the flip of a hat, like any other kid.

"Right now? Scooby Doo and Oscar the Grouch."

"I don't think I have anything with those characters," he says with an amused huff, "but I'll see what I have."

You bite your lip, then let yourself be a bit teasing, "Do you have a lot of graphic tees?"

There's a long moment of quiet before Matt laughs. It's a deep rumble and you find yourself grinning as you grab your water bottle.

"I actually don't know. I don't wear a lot of t-shirts. I think a few have designs on them - at least a few Columbia ones. I wouldn't put it past Foggy to give me something with a cartoon on it, though," he muses.

"I'm sure she will not judge you on your fashion choices," you point out, "She's three and doesn't understand what fashion is. If she did, I would be in trouble."

"Do you have a lot of graphic tees?" Matt asks, throwing the question back at you. It is your turn to laugh.

"I'm the proud owner of many graphic tees. It's practically the only thing in my wardrobe, top wise. The benefits of working from home."

"Unfortunately, court has a dress code. Or so I'm told. I don't think I've ever read it."

"Jury duty has a dress code," you point out, "It was mostly show up clean and not in athletic wear. I didn't get a good look at the lawyers, but I'm pretty sure I remember suits."

"Would you trust a lawyer in a graphic tee?" He asks and you have to pause to think it over.

"Going into their office? I don't think so, unless it was like casual Fridays. But if I met a lawyer in the street on their off day and they had on a graphic tee? I suppose so. Depending on what they are telling me."

"Do you often get your legal advice from random lawyers on the street?" You can practically hear his eyebrows raising up and your cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling.

"Of course not. I get it from Google. I can't afford a lawyer."

That earns you another bark of laughter. "I don't think that will be an issue any longer."

That sets off a little anxiety in your stomach. You don't want to think about needing a lawyer, whether it be Matt as your lawyer or a lawyer against Matt.

He doesn't seem to notice your dip in mood, not that it is particularly obvious, and moves to the next topic.

"Speaking of, I haven't gotten the chance to look at the packet you gave me. It's there anything I need to get done before Saturday?"

You turn your mind away from the thoughts of lawyers and legal battles to something much more manageable: medical history.

"No, no, there's nothing that urgent. It's mostly just medical information - she's got some sensitivities and I want to make sure I'm prepared for anything in the future. The rest is just information for you."

Matt doesn't respond right away and you chance taking a swig of your water.

"Sensitivities…?" There is a thick undercurrent of concern in his voice and you feel a little guilty for making him worry.

"Fabrics and dyes and scents, that kind of thing? I haven't gotten her tested, but certain things just make her itch. Some foods, too. I try to stick to organic stuff and it seems to help a little. It isn't anything major, just a few changes when she lets me know there's something bothering her." You set your water bottle down as you talk, starting to walk around your small living room. "I read it's becoming more common in kids, because all the chemicals and stuff used in everything now. Some of the other moms at daycare have given me tips - laundry soap was the best one."

You are reminded you actually need to do some laundry and as you walk, you grab the various throw blankets littering your apartment.

"I see," Matt says slowly, still sounding concerned. "I actually prefer organic myself, I have some sensitivities as well."

"Any allergies?" You ask. You didn't have any yourself so it has always left you guessing what your little girl might react to.

"No, nothing that I know of. I'm not completely sure about family history, but it is something I can look into."

"I would appreciate it. I'd rather be overly cautious than not have anything," you say casually like you aren't completely obsessive about keeping your daughter healthy.

As you make your way to the bathroom to grab dirty towels, phone between your shoulder and ear, he hums into your ear. "I think that is a good way to do things. I'll try to get the information back to you as soon as possible."

You don't want to chide him, but you can't help but frown a little, "Matt, you don't need to rush. I…was worried you wouldn't be…interested. That is why I put the packet together. I thought you'd want to deal with that instead of going to a doctor's office?"

"I'll go with you to the doctor's," he says instantly, "And I'll fill out the paperwork. It's something I want to do."

You can't argue with that because you would be the same way. Still, you push, "I don't need it by Saturday. Please take your time?"

"Ok," he concedes but it feels like he is only doing so to appease you. But you will take it.

You dump your laundry into the basket stored in the hallway with a little grunt. Almost immediately Matt is saying your name and asking if you are okay.

"Yup, yup, just trying to get some cleaning done while I can. Sorry for doing that in your ear."

"Do you need to go?"

Your heart pangs with guilt at the question. You can feel the disappointment through the phone and you're quickly reassuring him, "No, I'm just picking up a few things, tidying up, you know. I will try to not -"

You are cut off as the door to the bedroom pushes open and Minnie shuffles out. Her headband is pulled down around her neck and she's rubbing at her eyes with one hand, the other limply holding Pig. You only just put her down so you are instantly concerned.

"Mouse? Is everything okay?"

Matt says your name again, "what's going on?"

You ignore him in favor of going to your daughter. She holds up her arms and you scoop her up, cradling her to your chest.

"There's a monster outside," Minnie mumbles, burying her face in your neck.

"There's a monster outside?" You confirm with her, still speaking into your phone.

"A monster?" Matt repeats, clearly confused, as your little one nods against you.

"Okay, let's go check," you tell her, before finally answering the questions coming through the speaker, "Something woke Minnie up. I'm sorry, I do think I need to go now."

"Is everything okay?" Matt sounds worried and something stirs in your chest at his concern.

"It will be, we just need to go tell a monster to go home," you say, gently bouncing Minnie in your arms to soothe her, "Isn't that right, baby? We gotta tell him to go home."

She nods against you again, parroting in a sleepy little voice, "Go home."

You hear some rustling on the other end of the phone, the clicking of a door opening and the rush of wind. Matt must have stepped outside.

"Are you sure?"

His distress is sweet, in a way. You remember being terrified of every little upset when Minnie was a baby, but now you have gotten your groove.

"Yeah, we will be okay. It's just gonna take a bit to get her back to sleep," you say, carrying her into the bedroom. "I'll…um..we'll see you on Saturday? At 11:30?"

"Saturday at 11:30," Matt confirms. "I…" he trails off, then clears his throat. "Have a good rest of your night."

"Good night, Matt."

Minnie mimics you again, mumbling, "Good night, Matt" just as you hang up. You wonder if he heard it, or if it was cut off.

You hope he did.

You drop your phone off on the bedside table and bring Minnie over to the window. You are a few stories up and your bedroom overlooks an alleyway, as most do in the city. You hold your toddler with one arm and carefully unlock the window to open it about halfway. On the windowsill, there is a yellow mini spray bottle, covered in stickers like everything you own - you pick it up and offer it to Minnie.

She takes it, turning her little body to face the window. She aims it at the window screen and squeezes the trigger, sending out a little stream of Monster Repellent.

"Go home, Monster," you say together. She gives another squirt before looking up at you.

"Is it gone?"

"Give him a few minutes and he'll be gone," you promise, taking the spray bottle and putting it back in its spot, "He's gotta pack up his Monster Suitcase before he goes home, but he won't bother you."

She flops her head back down on your shoulder as you turn to bring her back to bed.

"Do you want me to stay until you're asleep?" She makes an affirmative little noise

You start the process of tucking her back into bed with Pig, kissing her forehead before helping to pull up her noise canceling headband.

"Good night, Mouse."

"Good night. I love you, Mommy."

"I love you, too, baby. Sweet dreams."

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #dad! Matt Murdock

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victoriasnook · 9 months

Text

This was so good😭

burn your life down | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter ten

summary: you and luca spend the first weekend of september on holiday in skagen, and luca reflects on the impact your relationship has had on him.

warnings: smut (18+ only) fluff, eventual angst not use of y/n, conversations about divorce, slow burn, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, very little connection to the storyline of the bear.

word count: 3.3k

listen to: the official 'burn your life down' playlist

a/n: a shorter, smutty, yet pivotal little chapter to get us through the week, friends. let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist.

part nine | masterlist | part eleven

As the season begins to turn, Luca remains a constant in your life. It’s not like you expected anything to change about it. The relationship has been good – like, really good – and yet you somehow still find yourself surprised that he’s so easily woven himself into your life.

It takes you a few weeks to pull it all together: the time off, a trip, accommodations, like where you’ll stay. Change is in the air – a reminder of how far you’ve come – that a romance that started in the summer has flown so effortlessly into the beginning of Fall that it’s almost gone unnoticed.

You’ve been looking forward to the first week of September for almost all of August, eager to go on your first holiday with Luca. After suggesting the idea, you got right to work, pulling off some fancy footwork to get coverage between everyone else’s end of summer holidays, and now that it’s here?

What’s another five-ish hours in the car?

You can’t wait to get to Skagen, and at the same time, you want to savor every single moment of this, as you listen to Luca sing softly along to Elton John while he drives. It’s in the way the sunlight hits his golden locks so perfectly, the way the soft low hum of his voice reaches your ears with such a gentleness, the way his fingers fit so perfectly entwined with yours.

And five hours later, you arrive at your airbnb, a rented cabin designed for romantic getaways in mind, not too far from Grenen Beach. You and Luca take your time unloading the car, hauling your bags from the car port and into your home for the next few days. While you’re not in a hurry, Luca, for the first time all day, seems a little impatient, hasty to get the car unloaded as soon as possible.

You don’t blame him. He has done all the driving.

As part of the agreement you made, he proposed to do the drive on the way there (since he’s lived in Denmark for longer) if you did drive home.

“What do you want to do first?” you ask curiously, wrapping your arms around his neck as Luca sets down the last of what was in the car.

“Well, after five hours in the car with you, my love,” he begins with a sigh, as he melts into your touch. “I’ve only got one thing on mind.”

“Oh yeah?” you smirk, picking up on his more-than-suggestive tone.

“Yeah,” he grunts, hoisting you up off of the floor so that it’s all too easy to wrap your legs around his waist. You laugh, squealing as he does, ghosting your lips teasingly over his as Luca murmurs, “I can’t wait to get you naked, my love.”

And of course, you let him, giving him exactly what he wants as you strip your clothes off, letting him chase you upstairs and into the lofted bedroom. The hour spent in an unfamiliar bed making love to the man that makes your stomach flip, leaves you breathless, boneless, and bewildered that he’s yours.

It’s not until he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, that your eyes begin to flutter open, snapped shut in response to the way he made you come. You begin to come back down to earth, the reality that you have consecutive days of this to look forward to.

“You’re amazing,” Luca murmurs against your skin, watching your body react to the way his fingers drag across your skin in soothing patterns.

“I could say the same thing about you. I think I lost my mind for a second there,” you sigh, letting out a satisfied chuckle because you’re only half-joking.

He grins, letting out a small laugh as he shakes his head in pure disbelief that you’re here and that you’re his.

You swear you’ve got stars in your eyes as you look at him, as you open your mouth to ask:

“So… what do you want to do next?”

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

You had been antsy to get out to the beach, and who was Luca to deny you that?

Right before dinner, you’d discussed.

That’s when you’d go.

Luca watches as you play around with your film camera, the sleeves of your Northwestern University sweatshirt pushed up to your elbows as you mutter something about how perfectly the textures of the beach will work for what you’ve been playing around with: double exposure. With wet sand pushed between your toes, you direct your camera lens from the waves of the ocean over to Luca.

As soon as you catch him staring, a half smile spreads across his face as his eyes land on you, and with a click of the button, you’ve taken the photo.

“Watcha thinkin’ about, babe?” you ask curiously, looking up from behind your small film camera.

He shakes his head, the smile becoming bigger as he answers, “You.”

Luca’s heart pounds in his chest as he watches the wind whip through your hair, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore filling his ears as you smile back at him. Your eyes are filled with such love, such adoration, that he almost says it – almost blurts it out – the three words that have been weighing so heavily on his shoulders as of late.

Lost in a shared look of love, the feeling of the wild waves slapping against the cuffed hem of your jeans hits you, startling you as it soaks the denim material.

“Holy shit!” you shriek, taking a few steps back. As you run away from the wild and out of hand crash of the waves, Luca leads you into the other direction, realizing that you’re being chased by the ocean.

You giggle, because it feels playful, joyous, free, and as you jump a few feet, using the momentum of your running pace, Luca is there to catch you. Like earlier before, but under different circumstances, you wrap your arms and legs around him again, holding onto your film camera for dear life.

“You got me,” you grin, your voice soft as he holds you in his arms.

“Yeah,” he replies, certain as the word leaves his lips.

“It’s good to be gotten,” you say, knowing that the double meaning isn’t lost on either of you.

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

You spend your mornings waking up slowly, exchanging lazy kisses and soft touches, whispering promises to each other of ‘five more minutes’ that are more like thirty (but who’s counting, really?).

Your days are bright and sunny, spent exploring with Luca as you search for adventures: trips to the museum, walks along the beach, exploring the little downtown area.

And tonight, on your last night, you don’t want to leave.

Yes, you love the life you built for yourself in Copenhagen, and yes, of course, it’s not too far from what you and Luca do in your spare time when you’re home.

But there’s something different about the quiet beach town that’s left you devoid of any distraction. It’s just you and him and the love that grows between the two of you. It’s undeniable, unignorable, its sound like a siren in every silence, an alarm clock that wakes you in the middle of the night, shaking you to your very core.

It’s also a kind and a safe love – something you never knew could still feel this enormous, this all-consuming too.

Luca moves his lips over your jawline, nipping at the skin as his tattooed hands wander, sliding underneath your sweatshirt. You’re more than eager to help, slipping the knit material right over your head before you’re pulling him back down to you, your lips drawn to his like magnets.

He hadn’t bothered to put a shirt back on after your shower together, and it hadn’t taken long for you to push his sweatpants over his hips, knowing very well the effect his shirtless showboating had on you. It’s no surprise that you’ve found yourself here, underneath his body, gasping as heat pools between your legs.

Luca’s more than happy to discover that you’re not wearing a bra, groaning into the kiss, as he stacks his body on top of yours. Your legs wrap around his waist with practiced ease and you're left only in your panties.

You arch your back as his mouth continues its journey south, his blue eyes stealing a glance up at you as he takes one of your erect nipples into his mouth, earning a gasp that escapes your lips. You can feel him smile against your skin as you sigh his name, your body shifting underneath his.

“Luca,” you repeat, completely at his will as you let him consume you.

He gives equal attention to both breasts before leaving hot, open mouthed kisses down your belly. His hand with the ‘A’ tattoo slides into your panties, dragging two fingers through your slick.

“You’re so wet for me, love,” he coos, pressing his index and middle finger just enough into you before withdrawing them, teasingly. “Always so wet for me.”

“Yes,” you gasp, as you feel Luca’s steady hands dragging your panties down your legs, your wetness leaving a trail down your inner thighs.

You’re eager to kick off your panties, and as Luca tosses them behind you, his hands are back on you in an instant, smoothing up your legs and pushing them open so that he can fit between them. Your eyes flutter closed as he uses his skilled tongue to lick a broad stripe up your hot, wet heat. You cry out, bucking your hips up into his mouth as he eats you out. It’s like he’s memorized every single thing you’ve ever liked, every single thing that’s ever made you scream, that’s pushed you to pull at his hair while you came on his tongue, and created a cheat sheet of how to get you to your orgasm fastest.

“Baby,” you pant, your hands tangled in his hair as he drags his tongue over our clit, tracing tight circles over it as your body twists itself underneath his mouth. “Fuck, you’re so good at this. You’re-, OH!”

You shout in pleasure as he slides his fingers in and out of you, and Luca has to admit that he loves the way you feel squeezing around him. He’s rock hard, the sounds of your moans, of your cries, of his name on your lips, unbearably beautiful. He ruts his hips into the bed as he can feel you getting close.

He knows.

He knows exactly when you need two fingers instead of one. That when your voice raises in pitch, it means he’s found the exact right spot. That when a string of curses leaves your mouth because it’s all too much and not enough at the same time and that if he keeps going, you’re sure to explode, topple over whatever mountain you’re climbing, ready to fall off and fall with him.

“Luca, fuck, I’m coming, god, baby, don’t stop, fuck, it’s so good, you’re so fucking good,” you chant, lost in the pleasure he brings you.

You’re not sure that the string of words are even English anymore as they tumble out of your mouth. Luca takes you higher, then higher, the crest of pleasure peaking and crashing around you, as you cum on his tongue.

Luca takes his time, cleaning you up with his tongue before making his way up your naked body, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips. He kisses you with a passion, a fervor, a desperateness that tells you he needs you just as much as you need him.

“You are so beautiful,” he says against your lips. “When you cum like that.” Another kiss. “So out of control.” You reach up to catch his mouth once again. “So lost in how you feel.” His tongue slides against yours this time as he manages to complete his sentence this go round.

“And all for me.”

And with that you’re rolling him onto his back, your mouth trailing over his neck, his shoulders, his chest, and then the hard planes of his abdomen as you make your way down to the top of his briefs. You drag the waistband of his briefs down, up and over his hard on, tossing them somewhere on the floor after you finally get them off.

Your eyes meet his, catching his gaze as you look up at him, your tongue snaking out just over the head of his cock. Luca hisses, his hands propped up behind his head so that he can watch you as you take him into your mouth.

“My god, babe,” he groans, as you suck on the tip, sliding your mouth down a little further this time.

“Fuck.”

You take your time using your mouth and saliva to get him ready for you, bringing your hand up and around his shaft for what can’t fit in your mouth. You use your hand and your mouth to take him, setting a pace that Luca really seems to like.

You can hear it in the way he moans, the way he seems to be holding back, trying his best not to thrust his hips into your mouth, in the way that he gathers your hair in his hands, moving it all to one side so that he can watch you take him.

It’s not until you feel him tug at your hair, his hands used as a makeshift ponytail holder, that you lift your head to look at him.

“Get up here,” he rasps, and you’re more than happy to oblige.

Your mouth is on his instantly, swallowing his moans as you continue to stroke him in the palm of your hand.

“How do you want me?” you ask him, your voice low and desperate with need.

Instead of answering, he flips you over so that he’s on top again. You part your legs so that he can fit between them, and you feel him jerk your body down towards him, causing a small laugh to escape your lips. The laugh turns into a moan as Luca presses his thick tip at your entrance, pushing in. You both gasp, sharing a look, a moan, a breath as he stretches you open.

It doesn’t matter how many times you take him, you swear. You’re:

“Always so tight, fuck,” Luca murmurs, sighing out your name as he buries himself in to the hilt.

He pauses for a moment, his mind short-circuiting as he feels the way your walls pulse around him.

With each slow drag of his cock, you keen, feeling every single inch of him as he takes his time teasing you. Without setting any kind of pace, Luca lays one of your legs over his shoulder as he sits tall, grinding against you in a way that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He watches as he grinds himself into you, his gaze fixed to where you’re connected, unable to tear his eyes away from how you take him.

“So deep,” you mumble, lost in the way he feels inside of you. “You’re so deep.”

Luca begins thrusting his hips this time a little faster, earning another keening sound that escapes your mouth. And soon enough he’s folding his body over yours, testing your limits of flexibility as he keeps your leg bent over his shoulder, your thigh pressed towards your chest as he pounds away inside of you.

You can tell that he likes it – what you’ve said so far – so you decide to continue as he fucks you.

“I love it when you’re this deep. Inside of me,” you pant through each thrust, sure you’re so close to cumming again. “Stretching me.” Another moan. “Filling me.”

Luca can’t help himself. He pauses, wrapping both of your legs around his waist this time as he chases that high pitched gasp he knows means you’re about to come.

“You fill me so well,” you gasp, your voice getting higher as you squeeze around him, your walls contracting, building a tension that means you’re on the cusp of release. “Feels so good.”

“Luca, I’m gonna cum. Please don’t stop,” you beg him, as you hold onto his biceps.

And he wouldn’t dare.

With a few more deep thrusts, you’re cumming, squeezing around him, grasping at his back like you’re holding on for dear life.

Luca slows down his pace, giving you short thrusts as he stays deep, letting you come down from the pure euphoria you just experienced. He leans down, pressing a searing kiss to your lips as you catch your breath, your hands exploring his shoulders, his upper back, his arms.

“You like me deep, hmmm?” Luca asks, his voice low. There’s a quiet dominance – there’s always a quiet dominance – with the way he talks to you, the way he praises you, the way he calls you his.

“Yes,” you nod, your eyes glassy as you look up at him.

With a knowing shake of his head he kisses you once more before giving the order:

“Get on your knees.”

Your body shaky, still reeling from your orgasm, you nod in agreement. Your arms may feel like spaghetti, but you somehow make your way onto your hands and knees, immediately feeling Luca’s warm hands smooth over your ass. You push your body backwards, offering more of yourself to him as he sighs in pleasure, remarking once more about how fucking sexy you are like this before pushing himself back inside of you.

From this position, Luca feels unbelievably deep, and unbearably good. With his first thrust, you fall to your forearms, resting your head against them like all you can do is moan and push your ass back against him.

“Luca!” you cry out, as he begins to speed up the pace of his thrusts.

“You are so fucking sexy, baby,” he grunts, noting that he’d die a happy man with the view from where he kneels behind you.

Slow deep thrusts turn into fast jerks of his hips and yours, chasing your highs simultaneously. You know he won’t last long in this position – everything feels too good. Stilling his hips inside of you, Luca gently guides you so that you're laying on your belly while he lays on top of you. It’s his scotch bonnet hand that goes to your clit this time, reaching around your body to rub feverish circles as his thrusts become sloppier, more unpredictable, always a sign that he’s on the edge.

“Where do you want me?” he asks, his voice strained as he maintains his furious pace.

“Inside of me,” you managed to get out in between high pitched whines, moans, and heavy breaths.

“Inside of me, Luca.”

He grunts, because your words alone might get him off right here.

“Make me yours.”

“Yes, love.”

It doesn’t take long, just a few more thrusts before Luca is spilling himself inside of you with uneven breaths and tense grunts as you both cum, riding out your highs together.

Whispers of ‘so good’ and ‘incredible’ and ‘yes, baby’ are met with ‘unreal’ and ‘fucking beautiful’ and ‘my love.’

Luca leaves, only for a moment, to grab a towel and get you both cleaned up. You lay in each other’s arms for what feels like forever before you begin drifting off to sleep. Luca runs his fingers through your hair as he feels your body relax into his. He’s fallen asleep with you enough times to know that you’re probably no longer listening, off to dreamland.

As Luca watches the rise and fall of your chest, he smiles to himself, the words on the tip of his tongue. He’s known great love in his life: once in his early twenties and once more, a few years before he met you.

But nothing was this – nothing’s compared to this.

Almost as if it were a practice round, because he’s not sure whether or not you’ll even hear him, he opens his mouth, trying his best to formulate the words. He turns them over in his head, delicately, gently, then mouths them silently, before finally saying them out loud:

“I think you may be the love of my life.”

#chef luca #Luca x reader #the bear fx

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victoriasnook · 9 months

Text

Such a good winter soldier relapse fic 🥰

Welcome home... Soldat? | Part I

That time when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Summary: Y/N had make a habit of greeting Bucky a warm 'welcome home' everytime he came back from his missions, but there was one particular day when she unknowingly greeted someone else.

Navigation: Part I || Part II* || Part III (end)

Words: 2.9k++

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: implied 18+ content, implied smut, dubious con on groping reader's body, dark(?) possessive behaviour, google translated russian, our soldat is kinda cute(?) in his own twisted way, and well, basically fluffy times with the soldat.

P/S: Guys, I never planned this at all. I mean, who am I kidding? All of my fics are not planned and I clearly write things out of impulse. Therefore, this one don't have much of a story building/plot because it was born out of one scene that flashed in my head and has been replayed way to many times that I need to let it out. Anyway, I still hope you enjoy it, somehow.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N didn't know when exactly she started this habit but she swore to herself to never grow out of it.

It's been nearly 2 years since the fall of Hydra and the avenger has accepted the winter soldier under their wing. Begrudgingly by Tony, but the rest of them seemed like they're not against it.

Y/N used to be an agent from SHIELD but since the fall, she had been recruited under the avenger's programme and had been living in the tower since.

She remembered the day when Bucky first came in, he was quiet and weary all the time. Like an abandoned cat, picked up by a stranger to come to their home. And it took the whole team months before he slowly adapted.

Who knew he would morphed into a sassy, grumpy little shit, right?

Since the first day, Y/N had been making an effort to make him feel welcomed. Helped him to adjust to modern times. Though it was not regular but she's glad he came to her from time to time to ask about things.

Y/N only meant it to be casual when she greeted him back from his missions. Usually, it'll be something like,

"Oh you're back?"

"How's the team?"

"Good to see you well put together from such horrendous mission."

"God, you look like you fell from 5 flight of stairs."

"Are you even trying to fight back, Bucky?"

But one time, Bucky came back in the morning around breakfast, she wasn't feeling sassy or clever. So, instead of greeting him with playful remarks, in the glory of her messy bed hair and iron man pyjamas, she greeted him with a sleepy smile, "Welcome home, Bucky."

And that surely made the 6 foot, bulky hunk of a soldier paralysed in his spot. His ocean blues slightly widen, and his cheeks deepen in blush.

For a moment, he wondered if this is how he would feel if he had a wife waiting for him to come back from war back in the 40's. But, then again nothing can be compared to the sight he was seeing as he is now.

And Y/N didn't want to ever lose that memory of him.

Cute and flustered Bucky is a very rare sight to see. Perhaps, this was the only time she could witness it and she want to cherish it for the rest of her life.

Though Bucky never replied to Y/N's greeting, it didn't stop them from starting a whole new routine.

Y/N always knew that she had a thing for the sargent, but about 2 months from that moment, Y/N realized she was in love.

And she waited for him, every single chance she had for arrival of the team to come back. Just like she is now, at 03:45 in the morning, while scavenging for something sweet she can eat as she waits for Bucky's return.

When, she turned around she was not expecting to have her face into clashed into something, "Oww!" Y/N shuts her eyes close as she rubbed her aching nose to ease the sharp strike of pain.

For a moment there, she seriously thought she might have just bumped into some kind of a solid air that appeared out of nowhere, but when she opened her eyes, it was just Bucky who was standing rather ominously still.

"My god, you scared the shit out of me. I know you used to be an assassin but, you gotta announce yourself sometimes, man." She joked. Although she did find it impressive that he managed to silently sneak up on her with those thick, heavy combat boots he was wearing.

"Woah, someone's been having a field day kicking your ass, huh?" Y/N's eyes lingered a little longer on the wounds at the side of his temple that she didn't notice the void in his eyes.

"Anyway..." she continued as she shook of the thoughts of caressing the cut on the corner of Bucky's lip, before greeting him with a gentle smile, "Welcome home."

Bucky's unresponsiveness was nothing new to her. With the amount of silent glares and gruff eye-rolls that he had shot at her these past few months, she's used to it by now.

But, when she finally had the guts to look him in the eye, only then she noticed the underlying shift. Albeit, his signature frown was still as present as ever but, those eyes had made her questioned of the slight difference from what she recognized.

Bucky wordlessly step forward and cornered her until her back meets the side of the kitchen isle. He took his time assessing her, almost admiring the way her iris wavered in confusion.

Something is wrong.

Her guts were screaming at her to notice it but her body wasn't reacting accordingly. That's when the voice of the AI, Jarvis echoed through the walls.

"Emergency alert: Code Winter. Initiated by Captain Steve Rogers. All agent is advised..." The announcement went on based on protocol while the cogs in Y/N's brain finally moved, "Code Winter? That means..."

"...to be cautious of Sargent James Barnes; reprimand on sight however try not to engage alone. Agents is..." Jarvis voice in the background interwoven with Y/N's internal deduction, "...This is not Bucky?"

As she tried to put her own mind into perspective, trying to make herself believe that this man in front of her is not Bucky Barnes who she had been adoring over for these past few months, the soldat's hands reached the side of her neck, squeezing the softness of her flesh while his thumbs grazed the shape of her jawline.

His heavy gaze remained on hers, willing her to stay as still possible.

"Bucky...?" She called his name in hopes of triggering something, anything for within his controlled mind.

At end of the corridor leading towards the kitchen, Steve could see how the soldat had already gotten his hands on Y/N and panic strike him like lightning, he sprinted towards her as he despretely shouted, "Y/N! Stay away from--"

But Y/N was not able to render anything she heard from Steve, especially after a long silence, the soldat finally spoke, "Yes, I'm home..."

He carefully pulled her face closer to his as his lips planted on her soft cheek, "...мое cолнышко (my sunshine)" he lifted for a second just to kiss her again on her temple as he whispered lowly, "...мое Родная (my darling)"

Y/N's heart was beating madly for several different reasons. Parts of her was terrified that the soldat might break her neck within an instance, but it gradually changes into something much more confusing, a conflicted joy, when he keep on trailing his lips all over her face.

What is happening?

Both her and Steve was practically frozen in pure confusion.

Steve's mouth hanged open as words failed to form, while Y/N was unable to comprehend any sort of thoughts, let alone counter movements; when the soldat continue to whisper Russian endearments against her skin, littering sweet kisses on every part of her face, except for her lips as if he wanted to tease her.

His hands slowly travel down her back and stopped on the side of her waist, pulling her body closer until there was no space in between them anymore, before he wrapped his arms around her.

The drag of his stubble on her skin burned but it felt so good when he kissed it after.

Seconds later, Sam managed to catch up with Steve and his cautious approach fell as he witnessed the soldat's rather domestic actions towards Y/N.

Sam foolishly let his guard down as he approached with a question directed to Steve, "Is the tin man back?" That was when a bullet barely grazed the tip of his ear that then buried through the wall behind him.

Both Steve and Sam forced to stop any sort of movement as the soldat's aim was still locked towards their direction; his cold blue eyes pierced with a menacing warning, all the while posessively holding Y/N in his arms as his kisses trailed the side of her neck.

"Nope, not yet." Sam answered his own question as he waited for Steve's order.

Y/N felt like she have to do something to de-escalate the situation. After a quick deduction, and based on the soldat attitude towards her, she took the risk of believing that he would not do anything to hurt her, so she decided to play along.

Will it work though?

Well, she got to have to try for it work.

She gulped nervously before softly calls for him, "Soldat?" she looked up towards him.

When the soldat gave her his attention, she watched the loose strand of his hair fall down to his face. Her hand went up and reached for it, "How about we go back to your room and let me tend these wounds, hmm?" She cooed while tucking his behind his ear and briefly caressing his cheek with the back of her fingers.

The soldat didn't reply but instead silently process her proposition.

However, the hesitation only worried her more, so she continued to persuade, as she cautiously slide her hand, following his arm that was holding her teammates at gun point, "It'll be just the two of us. How's that sound?" She smiled warmly at him as she managed to lower it enough to grab the gun away from his grasp.

There was a glint of indecipherable emotion in his eyes when she mentioned that, which then he nodded in agreement.

"Okay then, let's go." She put the gun on the kitchen isle behind her and replaced her hand in his, pulling him towards his bedroom. The soldat did not protest to her lead, in fact her followed her obediently.

But before Y/N makes an exit, she looked back towards Steve and mouthed a reassuring message, "I got this."

The captain had all the rights to be weary but at this point, he just had to believe in Y/N's action plan. He nodded and replied, "Be safe. We'll be outside."

Along the walk towards Bucky's room, all she could think was that she can handle it and she got this under control.

But, does she?

Well, Y/N did have it under control, in terms of keeping the soldat from going on a berserk rampage but what she didn't think through was how the fuck she should handle his behaviour towards her.

After they arrived to Bucky's room, she had instructed him to strip off his tactical suit and leave him sitting at the edge of the bed, only in his short to avoid him reaching for any hidden weapons he had, all the while she went to grab the first aid from his bathroom.

Now that she almost done tending the small injuries on his face, it finally dawned to her that the soldat had her immobilized in between his legs as his hands rubbed the back of her thighs, occasionally squeezing the softness of her body in his tender grip.

His intent gaze waited patiently for her to finish and as soon as she did, he pulled her on his lap, making her to straddle on top him as he smushed his face on her chest, "Oh, Родная (darling)... I have missed you."

Her hands found her balance on his shoulders while the soldat roaming hands held her body still by the back of her waist.

It will be a lie if she said her heart didn't skipped when he confessed; even if it was still the soldat's thoughts and words but it was Bucky's voice.

The soldat pulled his other hand to play with the buttons of her pyjamas shirt, specifically around her chest area.

Part of him wanted to just rip her clothes off from her body but another part of him didn't want to. He didn't want scare her; and his precious little darling deserved to be pampered.

He had her buttons popped off; one by one, slow and almost sensual while Y/N was still in a heated debate with herself on what she should to next. She wanted the soldat to stop but god the temptation of wanting more was beyond her will power.

This is not Bucky.

She knew that. But, she had been bewitched by the look in those familiar blue eyes. So enthralled and so keen to unwrap her.

Y/N let out a low yet sharp gasp as her chest was finally revealed, "Soldat, what..." The soldat take a quick glance into her eyes, "...are you doing?" before trailing back down to the curve of her breasts, cupped so beautifully with a simple black bra.

His hands went back to grabbed her thighs as he replied, "Just wanna hold you." He leaned closer and left a lingering kiss in between her breasts, mumbling deep, " Wanna feel you, мое Родная (my darling)"

Fuck, it feels so good.

"Wanna feel you..." Y/N's grip on his bare shoulder tightened as he lips warmed the top of her right breast, "...here." An unexpected moan slipped out of her lips as the soldat latched his wet mouth on her skin, bruising it with his mark.

He groaned to the taste of her, so sweet and soft, he wanted to pull the bra off her and suckle on her nipple. He bet that they're perky and so sensitive. Bet he could make her cum just by playing with them.

He wanted to leave his bite mark around them, make them look much more prettier. But, he needed to be patient.

He brought his left hand up to hold the other side of her chest; pulling another pretty noise as the cold metal of his thumb gently stroked the exposed skin of her breast.

"Wanna feel you..." His flesh hand made its way lower and cupped her clothed sex, unexpectedly making her grind down to his hold, "...here."

She couldn't help to find shelter in the crook of his neck when he began to stroke her sensually.

This is getting out of hand.

Y/N doesn't mind to entertain him if the soldat only asked for him to hold her but it was clear that he wanted so much more than just innocent touches. Especially when he languidly rubbed his middle finger in between the slit of her pussy.

She hates how easy it was for Bucky's touch turned her on, his hands and his lips; regardless if his actions was someone else's.

This is wrong.

This has to stop.

"No... soldat." She whimpered in his ears as his finger drew slow circles on her clit, his mouth latched on her shoulder.

"I can't touch you here?" He murmured softly as he pressed harder. Even with the barrier of the cotton panties, she was so sensitive to his touch; he loves that about her.

"N-no. You can't." She choked back a moan as she replied.

God, what if he doesn't care?

What if he'll get mad and force it on her?

She can't imagine the guilt Bucky had to experience if the soldat take her right now. And all because her stupid little brain cannot comprehend a plan to stop him, all because she let the soldat touch her as freely, as willingly.

Salty tears started to blur her vision when she sniffled them back.

Much to his deperateness, the soldat pulled her away and watched as her tears spilled out, "Oh darling, don't cry." He leaned in and kiss the corners of her eyes, murmuring his words of comfort, "I hate to see you cry, мое cолнышко (my sunshine)." His metal hand slithered to her back and his palm stroked her lovingly.

"Okay, okay. I won't touch your sweet princess part, okay?" He patted her pussy one last time before reaching to swipe her tears away. "I promise." He whispered.

As much as he wanted to fuck her stupid, fill her hole full with his load; however the soldat does hold her very dear to his heart and hates to see her sad.

"Just let me hold you close, darling?" He cooed as he kissed the edge of her lips.

Y/N didn't know why but she trusted his words. Maybe it was because he was so gentle with her, that she was tricked into believing him.

She watched the soldat waited patiently for her response and when she nodded softly, he swiftly lifted her in his arms and lay her down on the bed.

He tucked himself in under the sheets with her and naturally rested his face on her chest. His fleshed arms wrapped securely around her waist and his metal one around her thighs, as he pulled her closer; almost suffocating himself in between her warm breasts.

It was like an instinct for Y/N to encircle her arms around his neck while her hands run through the thick of his hair, absentmindedly playing with the softness of it.

She almost giggle when the soldat let out a deep-throated sound of relieved sighs as she continued to massage his scalp.

As the soldat started to sail deeper into dreamland, Y/N thought that maybe this will be the only and the last time she had the chance to hold Bucky like this and she knew it was wrong to feel grateful to the soldat because had done nothing but terrible, despicable things in the past.

But when she thought about it, none of those sins was his choice to make. He was created to kill and nothing else.

But what if he had something to hold on to?

A hope to look forward to?

A person to protect?

Or a home to go back to?

Would he still be the same monster he had been before?

She have not a slightest clue.

But, what she does know that this soldat who's clinging in her arms, deserves something kind.

And she hoped that she managed to give him a sense of peace for once in his life.

Y/N nuzzled to the side of his tired-looking face and placed a sweet kiss on his temple as she whispered ever-so-softly, "Welcome home, soldat."

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: This is possibly part 1? I'm not sure either. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments! And reblogs is much appreciated!

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier #winter solider x reader #winter soldier au

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