#The pool ball (I think it’s a pool ball?) atop of my head isn’t my oc! It belongs to the person I tagged :3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mercy-burning · 4 years ago

Text

Your Favorite — Part 1

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: When Y/N comes home from college for the summer to meet her mom's new boyfriend, she finds herself in a rather tough spot when she can’t stop thinking about him— And it seems he feels the same... Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Adults w/ age gap, masturbation (female and male), minor exhibitionism kink, oral sex (male receiving), penetrative sex, breeding kink (kinda? i think? 😅) Word Count: 7.3k (do you see now why I had to make it a miniseries? alsdjfdk)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | MASTERLIST

DISCLAIMER: In this story, Spencer is dating Y/N’s mom while also having a sexual relationship with the reader herself. Because of that, there are obvious undertones of cheating, alongside some perv-y tendencies when it comes to a partner’s daughter. That being said, Spencer and Y/N’s relationship is consensual. However— If any of what I just forewarned is something that you think will make you uncomfortable while reading, please do not read! If there are any more disclaimers you think I may have missed, don’t hesitate to tell me! There is another post I made HERE with some disclaimers as well if you want to know more about what this story will entail.

NOTE: This intro is already too long, so I’ll just get this out of the way: you can find visual nsfw inspirations for this story over at @mercy-midnight, I’m working on a playlist for this story on my Spotify @/mercyburning, and I don’t know when part 2 and 3 will be out, but you can assume they’ll be here within the next few weeks.

———

JUNE 5th

I hate my mom's new boyfriend.

For the past three months she'd been telling me about this new guy who's "The One" as if "The One" hasn't been like four other guys in the past two years.

And as much as I'd love for my mom to find someone to spend the rest of her life with, I don't believe she'd ever find Mr. Perfect at this rate. Unless she spent more than a few months with them at a time before dragging me home from college for a weekend to meet them, I really don't see it happening.

It just sucks. Because every time she does this, every time I return home, I see the glimmering hope in her eyes and the diminishing spark in his, and I know. I know it won't last, and her heart will be utterly broken within the span of a few months.

I always thought maybe she just had terrible taste in men.

But this time around, when I begrudgingly walk through the door of my childhood home for the summer and see my mother clinging to a man who returns that glimmer in her eyes, I know she's picked a good one.

And I hate him.

His name is Spencer Reid, and he's a retired FBI agent who teaches full time at local colleges now.

He greets me with a bona fide, radiant smile, unlike all the others before, and it sets my insides on fire. And when we sit down for dinner, he's polite (but not in a fake way,) and he seems genuinely curious about my studies and my personality and my relationship with my mother. And when dinner is finished he offers to clean up while Mom and I settle in the living room.

I see the way he looks at me as I leave, a gentle, closed-mouth smile and eyes that linger a little too long on my exposed legs before averting, a glint of shame pooling within them, and it only spreads that fire in my belly.

Maybe I'd been imagining the whole thing, because deep down I wanted him to look at me the way he had... But it's hard to tell when my brain is mostly setting off sirens, blaring "THIS IS WRONG! THIS IS WRONG!" on a loop with blinding lights.

And they're even louder when my mom wraps her arm around me and lays her head atop mine. "Well, what do you think? He's great, huh?"

She's so lovesick, it hurts. It hurts even worse knowing that all I can think about is his big hands wrapped around my throat while he fucks me into the squeaky twin-sized mattress in my bedroom upstairs.

But I can't tell her that, obviously.

And so I decidedly hate him. And I have no choice but lie to her face, embracing her joy and hoping that I'll be able to survive this summer.

"Yeah, Mom. He's really great."

JUNE 19th

It's been two weeks and I can barely stand to be in the same house anymore.

I try to keep myself busy by going outside, to the beach or for long walks in the park; but it's too hot for my liking, and our town is so small that unless I want to spend my time in the grocery store or one of the three bars on Main Street...

I'm stuck either outside where it's hot and uncomfortable, or in the house where it's also hot and uncomfortable.

We have air conditioning, of course, but that's not the problem.

It's Spencer.

I thought by now my little crush on him would have gone, but the longer he hangs around the house, the stronger my feelings for him grow. They're not romantic—nor do I think they ever could be given the fact that if anything serious really were to ever happen between us, my mom would disown me for the rest of my life and murder Spencer with her bare hands—but that doesn't make it any easier on me.

Every day he just exists, right in front of me with that tug-able mop of hair, those warm honey eyes, and his hands that never stop moving. I swear, it's like every time he breathes, his hands are breathing too, challenging me to try and stop them.

But I refuse to touch him. Because I know the moment I do, all will be lost. I won't be able to control myself anymore. And if I don't drop to my knees and try sucking his dick at the dinner table, I'm sure I'll blurt out how I can't handle it anymore and that I need him, and either way I'd be royally fucked.

Right now he's in the dining room, teaching my mom how to do a disappearing card trick. She thinks it's utterly charming that he can do it at all, but mostly that he's patient and willing enough to teach her. And normally I'd agree, but I can barely look at them without wanting to waltz over, grab his wrist, and suck his fingers into my mouth.

It's truly pathetic.

So I try to focus on the television just a few feet away. It's one of those rare instances where I wish our house was bigger, because while I don't mind having less wall-space between rooms, I do mind not being able to watch TV without the kitchen table in my periphery at a time like this. And I think about going up to my bedroom instead for a moment, but I'd have to go past the kitchen, and I just know Mom is going to ask if I'd want Spencer to teach me his magic trick.

And I most definitely do not want that.

In another life, maybe, where he isn't a hot professor and rather an average-looking dude who's way too into fantasy football... But not in this lifetime.

So there I sit, concentrating so hard on Family Feud that my face hurts.

When I hear a flutter of cards and joyous giggling from the other room, it's more than my face that hurts.

It's also my chest, churning and tensing at the hands of the green devil.

Fuck!

I barely even know this man... I haven't really talked to him because I'm afraid that if I try to hold a conversation I'll snap. He's literally just some hot older guy who's dating my mom, and still, my whole body twists and aches with envy when they do anything together, and it fucking sucks. Not only because of the jealousy, but it's also the fact that my mom deserves to be happy.

This time it's different. This time, she's really found someone who returns her every loving gaze, who makes her laugh, who's kind and genuine and not a total douche. She's happier than I've seen her in years.

And the one time she finally finds "The One", every waking second of my life is spent longing for him fuck me.

But it's only been two weeks.

And it's also been nearly two years since I got laid, so maybe that's just my issue...

I figure it can't hurt, so in a spur of the moment decision, I turn the TV off and sprint towards the stairs, right past Mom and Spencer before they can ask questions.

———

I hardly even register the dimness of the light inside the house by the time I glide up the steps, fumbling with the key and trying to make my entrance as quiet as possible. Though, because I'm so used to the dark by this point, the light—no matter how dim—nearly blinds me. The door shuts louder than I'd have liked, and I cringe inwardly, pausing as if that will keep anyone from seeing or hearing me. Not like it'll matter, considering Mom and Spencer are the only ones that are staying here and they'd also been the only ones aware of my plans for the evening.

Well, somewhat, anyway. I told them an old friend invited me out and I probably wouldn't be home until late.

Regardless, that instinct of trying not to get caught coming in late at night is stronger than common sense. Throw a little cheap beer and some shots into the mix, and it almost feels like I'm a teenager again.

The only thing different now is that I have a pool of some stranger's cum soaking my underwear and a man in front of me who stands like an angel. An exhausted, almost scruffy-looking angel more like, but my point still stands.

"You're up late," Spencer observes. It's a simple enough statement— not really judge-y, but I can tell that regardless of his knowledge of my coming home late, he seems shocked to see me coming through the front door right now.

And it's hard to look away from him. Just like it has been for the past two weeks. Still, I try, just barely avoiding his eyes as I cross my arms and fight the urge to clench my legs together. "I'm a whore. What's your excuse?"

Maybe not the best thing to say. But like I said, common sense? Gone.

"O—oh... Umm..." Spencer stumbles through his words, obviously stunned by my response, and the look in his eyes kind of makes me want to curl up in a ball and die from embarrassment. Still, I stand my ground and wait for him to continue.

He settles on a short, "I can't sleep," and then there's nothing else.

"Ah," I express. One syllable. I don't draw it out, I don't exaggerate it... This is the first real conversation I've had alone with him, and I've made it extremely awkward, so I sigh and take a few steps forward, trying to walk past him. "Okay. Goodnight."

I only make it a few steps before he stops me, his hand reaching out to tap my shoulder. "Wait—"

The touch makes me jump, and he pulls it away immediately as I turn to face him. My heart is racing at the speed of light, my panties are soaked through, and if I'm not careful that whole 'no common sense' thing is going to bite me so hard in the ass I won't have one left.

"Can I talk to you?" His voice is barely audible, and the gentle rasp it has to it seems to make me even more wet.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

"Look, I um... Your mom has been totally transparent with me about her relationships, so I know that she's been through a lot of them in a short amount of time... And I know that must be a little difficult for you. Especially now that I'm here... And you've been... distant. And I know that I don't know you that well, so forgive me if I'm assuming anything, but I just want you to know that I don't have any intention of making things difficult for you and your mother."

Too late, pal, I think bitterly, the gentle authority in his tone setting my insides alight. I'm positive that voice could get me to do so many things...

That's the alcohol and sex talking, Y/N, just shake it and move on...

He starts again, but I cut him off with a short wave of my hand. "Look, I... I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I had a really long night, and I'm exhausted. I just wanna shower and go to bed."

I expect more resistance, but Spencer only nods. I still can't bring myself to look him in the eye, though this time I catch his hands clenching at the bottom hem of his shirt. "I understand. Sleep well."

Without another word I turn on my heel and walk a little faster towards the stairs, and I'm about to take my first step when I realize he's followed me. His voice calls out my name softly from a few feet behind, and it stops me in my tracks regardless of my desire to get out of there as fast as I can. And then I turn around and finally look directly at his face.

Big mistake.

His eyes are on my legs again, trailing slowly upwards until he reaches my face. The light over here is dimmer, barely noticeable at all, though I swear I can see red forming on his cheeks.

"I like your dress," he says softly. It's almost meek, like he'd been afraid to say it but took a chance anyway.

It's such a random, small compliment, but with the alcohol and endorphins flowing through my body after the night I'd just had, it nearly makes me quiver.

It also makes me incredibly stupid.

An amused, almost sensual grin forms on my face as I make eye contact with him, and I feel myself throb at the way I can just barely see his throat move. He looks like a deer in headlights, afraid to make one sudden move.

"Turning to flattery to try and win me over, are we?" I say slowly.

I almost think he'll stumble over his words once more, but again he surprises me with a full answer. It's only three words but it's clear, and his voice is deep, and I want to fucking jump his bones right then and there.

"Is it working?"

This has to be the alcohol making me imagine things... I swear I didn't even drink that much tonight, but it has to be an obvious lapse in judgement. The drinking mixed with the sex mixed with the dirty thoughts I've been having about this man lately have to be what's making this feel real. It's all culminating into this one big fantasy (or delusion, more like), and all I need is to shower and sleep it off.

That has to be it.

So because there's no other reasonable explanation that my brain can conjure up, I take a chance and throw Spencer a wink before turning and sprinting up the stairs.

And it's that same seemingly undeniable reasoning for this illusion that doesn't keep my hands from wandering in the shower. Even though those warning sirens in my brain keep blaring, telling me that the common sense is still there for me to utilize, they're drowned out by my thrumming heartbeat and the repetition of Spencer's soothing, authoritative voice, guiding my movements.

Keep rubbing your clit for me, baby... Just like that, nice and slow...

Warm water cascades down the front of my body as I lean back into the wall of the shower, but that's not why I'm so warm. This heat radiates through my insides, spreading like wildfire and bringing out small whimpers and mewls that I know I'll have to contain in fear of waking my mom from her bedroom right next door.

But then the thought of her hearing me next door as I cry out her boyfriend's name only excites me more. I keep it quiet still, but just knowing that someone else is in the house while I'm having these thoughts right now (one of them being the object of said thoughts) is what finally brings me over the edge.

I finish my shower on weak legs, definitely overstimulated now, but also feeling even more tired. I know that the moment I lay down on my bed, I'll be pulled into the sweet, soft surrender of a deep sleep.

Nothing else has ever sounded so pleasant.

———

When I woke up that morning after, I was feeling surprisingly calm. Realistically I knew that my whole 'this has to be an illusion' montage had been less truth and more inebriated babble, and the longer I sat on it the more I thought it'd all turned out for the better.

Turns out, tipsily masturbating in the shower to thoughts of your mom's hot new boyfriend was a surefire way to get it out of your system, right?

Wrong.

It really had been okay at first. I thought about Spencer almost immediately, and yeah, he was still hot as fuck—But there wasn't this overwhelming desire within me to jump his bones when I saw him that morning, his hair messy and his hands clutching a cup of coffee while Mom made breakfast behind him.

But that good feeling I had about all of this? It lasts only about a split second.

Because the moment he looks up and sees me, the mug falls out of his hand and shatters to pieces. His eyes stay glued to me, even as my mother darts over to pick up the pieces of the ceramic that are scattered about the table and the floor. And when she turns back to grab a paper towel, he still stares at me, once again at my legs.

It takes me all of four seconds afterwards to remember that not only did I talk to him briefly last night, but I also flirted with him after he complimented me.

That whole part seemed to have slipped my mind when waking up, and now that his gaze is bringing me back to that moment, that 'this has to be an illusion' montage is starting to become larger than I'd remembered.

It isn't until he finally snaps out of it and starts to help my mom clean up the mess that I snap out of it, too, going back upstairs to clear my head and cool the heat radiating over my skin.

———

There's a knock at my bedroom door about an hour later, and it sounds different than my mom's usually quick two-knock succession. That means it's someone else, and unsurprisingly, my stomach tightens at the thought of seeing him again.

"Yeah?" I call out, turning in my desk chair and meeting Spencer's figure in the doorway. He's changed, a rather nice pair of slacks and a white button-up shirt clinging to his limbs.

"Can I come in?"

"Mhm," I say. I still don't know if I entirely trust myself to say anything more than a few words to him, and as he enters the room and sits on the foot of my bed, I wonder if he can tell.

He tries, really tries, to look me in the eye, but I know that it's hard. I've been in the same spot. And then he takes a deep breath before folding his hands in his lap.

"Y/N, I want to apologize... When we... talked last night... It was kind of weird, and then this morning wasn't really any better..." He can barely get out the words 'talk' and 'last night'... And then he avoids my gaze altogether, staring at the floor and trailing off, trying to put his thoughts together it seems.

And that's when it starts to click into place.

There's one thing that both last night and this morning have in common, and I've noticed it almost every time I've caught him staring at me. At my legs. It's happened almost daily since I've met him. And then, the night I come home clearly having just been fucked, waltzing past him, entertaining his fascination with my legs and then masturbating to thoughts of him in the shower, he finally starts dropping mugs.

He must also really feel something here. Something similar to my own feelings. And really, that should be a red flag, because he's my mom's boyfriend, and it's a goddamned fucking mess...

But fuck, it excites me.

I'm still wearing my pajama shorts, silky and lavender in color, and I use them to my advantage, slowly crossing one leg over the other and just barely gaining Spencer's attention back.

"Yeah, what was that, anyway?" I ask him, amusement dripping off my tongue.

I can tell from his reaction that he wasn't expecting me to ask. A few times he opens his mouth to speak and then closes it , stumbling before panicking. He's been pretty good so far at coming up with answers and explanations, so the fact that this time I finally seemed to have broken him down makes it all the more clear.

He must have heard me in the shower.

Right?

I'm almost completely positive that's what this is about. And there's one way for me to get the confirmation I'm looking for.

"So you heard me, huh?"

I try to keep my voice as plain as I can as not to give away my motives, and with my luck Spencer is so flustered that he probably wouldn't have even noticed it at all. He looks up at me, his eyes desperately trying to find something he can use to make up a lie, but in the end there's no use.

I've caught him. And he knows it.

"Yes," he whispers. He looks exhausted, guilty, and also a little like he wants to cross the barrier and kiss me.

Okay, maybe that part's just in my head. I really can't tell. But I do know that hearing me call his name out in the shower last night is what brought him to this point of severe distress. As much as that excites me, though, it also embarrasses me a little. Maybe if it hadn't happened we could have avoided further destruction.

It must read on my face, because Spencer perks a little. "Oh! Y/N, I'm not... I'm not mad or anything. I really didn't mean to overhear and invade your privacy... Really, I-I'm sorry."

The fact that he's apologizing to me right now, rather than acting all grossed out that I even did it in the first place, tells me he either feels guilty for not being able to help himself from hearing me, or he's just a good guy who loves my mom and doesn't want to ruin it because of a little mishap.

Either way, it's frustrating, because I don't know what to do.

Well, I know what I want to do, but I don't know if I should hint at it.

But then he does something. It's small, and no one would have noticed, but I've been fascinated with his hands since the moment I met him, so my eyes are instantly drawn there.

They're clenched so hard, his knuckles are nearly white.

He's nervous.

To ease his mind a bit, I hold off on poking the bear harder (though it's really tempting to see what will happen if I don't) and nod, trying to make myself look as apologetic and small as possible.

"It's okay... I... I won't make it awkward if you won't?"

His shoulders slump, and his body seems to relax. "Y–yeah. Yeah, deal."

He gets up off the bed and blurts one final apology before heading for the door, but that part of me that wants to poke the bear further makes me stand up and follow him.

"Spencer?" I call out.

He freezes and turns to face me, and I don't think he quite expected me to be as close as I am. I have to tilt my head up to look at him, and the angle gives me an added layer of this innocence I'm trying to achieve.

"I'm sorry, too..."

No the fuck I'm not.

Whether he can sense my lie or not, he doesn't show it. But I think he at least knows that I'm pitching my voice a little higher on purpose, and if that doesn't give it away, the way I'm staring at him sure should.

Still, he only nods and retreats.

All there's left to do is see what happens.

JUNE 25th

For someone who agreed not to make things awkward, Spencer sure can't keep his eyes off of me.

To be fair, I have tried to keep things fairly normal. I only really interacted with him if I had to, I kept my distance, and I saved my skimpier clothing for the strangers I was regularly going out to see almost every weekend.

My lustful feelings for him aren't as strong now that I've been getting some on a semi-regular basis and keeping myself occupied. I've been doing my part.

But I still can't shake him entirely.

Whenever he spends the night (which is surprisingly most nights), the occasional wet dream about him gets me frustrated when I know he's just down the hall and sleeping soundly next to my mom. On those days I try to cut as much interaction with him as I can, though it doesn't keep me from seeing the occasional stare he throws my way.

I wish I could say that I hate it.

But I don't, and it increasingly gets worse. It's only been a week, so there's still time, but honestly, I don't think there's any shaking him.

Today especially is one of those days where it's hard not to give into the incessant need to tease him and coax some stronger reaction out of him.

I talked to Mom earlier this morning about getting some new clothes, and she had this brilliant idea to have Spencer take me. "It would be a good chance for you two to bond a little, don't you think?" she insisted, nudging him in the side and silently pleading with her eyes for him to agree.

I could tell from the look on his face that he really wasn't ready to be alone with me again, but that only excited me.

"Yeah, I think that's a great idea," I piped up, positively beaming.

Mom was so excited for us to 'bond' and also that I was gladly inclined to go through with it that Spencer couldn't have said no to her even if he wanted to.

And I was pretty sure he didn't want to.

Yet here we are, sitting in the car, the air conditioning so strong it's blowing some of my hair into my eyes. I think it had been his way of punishing me for choosing today to wear a short skirt, something I usually refrain from nowadays unless I'm going out, and it makes me smile. I can't help it.

I also can't help the way my fingers play with my skirt, dying to tease him some more. I just want to see, to know for sure that I'm driving him mad.

"No offence, but you seem weird today... Is there something wrong?" I ask him, lifting my skirt just a smidge. The air from the car blows the fabric in waves.

"You're acting this way on purpose."

Well, I hadn't been expecting that answer... All this time he'd hardly been confrontative, and now he's full-on calling me out. It's plain to see that he's finally snapped, and I would have felt sorry about it if I didn't find it extremely sexy.

"What do you mean?"

"Y/N..."

My name on his lips is a warning. He's clearly annoyed, exasperated, and I'm loving every second. "Don't act oblivious. I'm not stupid, and neither are you. I don't want to make you hate me or anything, but you have to know where I'm coming from. I was willing to let the shower thing slide... And you said you were too, for that matter, so I don't know what's changed, but it has to stop now. Understood?"

Oh, all I want is to argue with him. I want to point out that none of this is really my fault because he's the one who hasn't been able to stop staring at me all summer so far. I want to tell him that if he wants this to stop he has to make it stop.

But that isn't going to give me any of the answers I'm looking for or further proof of my theory that he wants me just as badly as I want him. And I am not going to fuck this whole situation up by making a poorly-timed move on him.

I have to know for sure.

So, I fold my hands neatly in my lap, sigh, and look dead ahead. "Right... We said no awkwardness. I'm sorry."

Spencer seems to accept my apology and continues down the road.

When we make it to the mall I think he's calmed down. At least, he seems a little more comfortable around me, and honestly I'm okay with it. As much as his spiel in the car turned me on, it also exhausted me to the point of silence.

Even as we walk around each store in the mall, I just lead and he follows, not saying a word when I pick out a top or a pair of pants or whatever else I need. And when it comes time to pay, he takes the basket from me and pays for it with no question.

Near five bags of clothes later, I figure I could get used to this new dynamic.

But then we pass a lingerie store, and I remember that the main thing I'd needed was new underwear. I start to turn into the store, but stop suddenly, pausing awkwardly and deciding to go straight ahead instead.

"You don't want to go in?" Spencer asks.

I shake my head. "No, it's fine. I can just pick some up later, it's not a big deal."

He sighs then, nodding his head towards the sign. "If you need to go in, you can... I'll just wait out here if you're uncomfortable."

I really want to call him out, ask him if he's the one who should be worried about being uncomfortable. But so far this afternoon has been pretty decent, and I really don't want to make things any weirder than they have to be.

Besides... If my theory is right...

"Sure. Thanks. Uh, how am I gonna pay, though?"

"O—Oh... I'll uh... I'll just watch the counter and come in when you need me."

"Orrrr, you could just give it to me?"

This time I get a laugh out of him. "Not a chance. Go in, I'll wait."

I smile at him and hand him the bags to hold onto while I leave, and it fills me with absolute amusement that he'd just given me one more ounce of proof that I'm right.

He's gonna have to come inside and pay for what I bought. He could have just given me the card, and maybe he truly doesn't trust me with it (which I don't know why he wouldn't honestly), but he chose to come inside all the same.

I browse happily then, going through the displays and picking out things I need, but also things I know Spencer will like.

Specifically, I stumble on a pair of lavender panties, embroidered with flowery trim up top. The pattern from the outside is lace, but there's a thin layer of cotton underneath designed to be more comfortable to wear.

I've noticed that he can never seem to look away when I'm wearing anything, really, but it's more intense when I wear one of two things. Florals, and any type of purple. And these fit both of those bills perfectly.

Now there's just one more bill to take care of.

I stride over to the counter and turn around, finding that Spencer's caught my eye immediately. Either he truly had been paying attention to the counter the whole time, or he'd been watching through the glass, following me with his gaze to the best of his abilities. Either way, he blinks a few times and looks like he's gathering the courage to go in before actually taking any steps.

I laugh to myself, eager to gauge his reaction to this next step.

Surprisingly, he holds up well. The air between me, him, and the cashier is obviously awkward, but he doesn't say anything and barely looks at what she rings up. (I say barely because he tries extremely hard not to look at the purple pair I picked out, inadvertently adding another checkmark to my list of proof.) She tells him the total, he hands her the card, and within a minute, everything is in our possession and we're leaving the mall entirely.

I don't think there are any more steps to my plan today once we get in the car and I tell him thank you. (To which he responds a short and simple, Sure thing, and turns the radio on.)

But then there's a note taped to the front door, and it instantly gives me another one.

My Sweethearts,

I got called in on a work emergency and won't be back until 7. I would have called but I figured you were having a nice time and didn't want to interrupt! I'll bring home dinner, and then maybe you can tell me about how your day went. Can't wait to hear it!

XOXO,

Eve/Mom

I check my phone, seeing that it's almost 3.

Perfect.

But I don't want to give myself away too quickly, so I thank Spencer again for taking me out and tell him that I'm going upstairs to make sure everything fits right. He nods and lets me go, though not without lingering eyes. I can feel it.

The smile never leaves my face as I try all my clothes on. Once each article has been fitted, I throw it in a laundry basket and move to the next, until I get to the last piece.

The lavender panties.

As expected, they fit perfectly, and as I look at myself in the mirror I picture what Spencer would look like when he sees me wearing them.

That's right. When.

I throw back on my earlier outfit and grab the basket, acting as bored and normal as possible to find him sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book.

"Hey," I greet him, setting the basket in front of me once I reach the bottom of the stairs. "Everything fits good, I just need them washed now. Could you run these down to the laundry room for me? I think I'm gonna make something to snack on before Mom brings dinner."

It doesn't surprise me to see him look at my legs before my face, even if it is brief. I want to smile, but I hold back, watching him nod with a tight smile of his own.

"Sure."

He disappears and then I wait.

One...

Two...

Three.

I sneak as quietly as I can to the laundry room once I hear the washer door open. I hadn't specifically asked him to put them in the washer for me on purpose, and it looks like now he's doing exactly what I thought he might.

My head peeks around the corner, barely in his range of sight as I watch him empty the basket. He takes one item of clothing at a time and throws it in the washer, and halfway through the basket he stops, just to place a pair of my new underwear on the dryer beside him.

My heart races faster the more I wait for him to get to the end of the basket. Once he does, he pauses again, and I think I know exactly what he's looking for.

Still, he sets the basket aside and picks up the stray pair of underwear, a simple black cotton pair that I'd been getting for years, and drapes it over his hands. My thighs instantly clench, and I try so hard to remain where I am so I can see where he takes this.

He takes it straight to hell, apparently, tentatively pulling his dick out of his pants and gripping it firmly. I can barely see since his back is partially turned, but I see enough, and god he's so fucking pretty. My underwear dangle from his left hand while the other works slowly over his erection, a soft sigh falling from his lips.

I fight to let one of my own slip as my hand sinks down the front of my body, past the lavender cotton and lace that I know he just wishes he had right now.

And then, a few seconds later he's already coming, using my brand new underwear to catch each rope of it, and the sight nearly has me on my knees.

And because I want to catch him in the act, I quickly draw my hand away from myself and step into the room, barely giving him time to recover.

"You come fast."

Spencer looks utterly devastated when he turns to see me standing in the entryway to the laundry room, arms crossed and an amused smirk adorning my face.

"Y/N... I—I... I'm so sorry, I didn't... I..."

"Don't worry about it," I say, taking a step towards him and shrugging. "You heard me, and now I heard you... We're even. Besides, I... figured you might be looking for these."

He's still stunned, but he looks down all the same, watching my hands slip under my skirt and glide the lavender panties down my legs. I step out of them and hold the garment up on one finger, a soft smile still on my face.

"I picked 'em out just for you, you know," I tell him, tossing them past his face and into the washer. "I've noticed that you like purple."

This time he's quick to respond. "Y/N, we... We can't... This isn't right."

"Says the man holding my underwear soaked in his cum..."

He looks panicked again, extremely guilty, but if this isn't going to end in a total disaster, then I have to reassure him that I'm okay.

"Spencer, I'm not mad..." I take another step forward, and it feels much like trying to approach a wounded animal. I can see in his eyes and in his posture that this conflict is killing him, so I decide to show some rapport. "And I know... I know this is messy... I love my mom... And I'm sure you care about her a lot... But are we really going to ignore this? We tried that, remember? And now look where we are."

"I..." He swallows, shaking his head and trying to avoid my eyes. "I can't stop thinking about you... I can't..."

My hand finds his arm, and the light touch has him sighing out, an incredulous, breathy laugh escaping him. "Y/N, please... Don't."

"Don't what?" I ask softly, praying he won't turn me away. If he does, we're just back to square one, only the square is jagged, sharper than ever before, and in serious danger of injuring someone.

When he meets my eyes, I see nothing but a desire for something he knows he can't have. "Don't want me."

Now it's my turn to laugh. My knees start to wobble as I go down, keeping my eyes locked onto his, and I swear I see them dilate fully. I scoot in closer, sliding my hand up his leg and finding the words in my heart to finally say out loud.

"It's too late for that..."

My face moves closer, and the hand of his that doesn't currently hold my underwear flies down to gently tug at my hair, keeping me in place.

"If you do this... God, Y/N, I won't be able to stop myself..."

A smirk dances over my lips as I lean in, breath fanning gently over his exposed skin. "Don't."

He swallows. "Don't what?"

"Don't stop yourself."

I barely get the words out before his hand is completely pulling me towards him, and the second my lips press against the silky skin of his hard cock, he loses it completely.

His fingers thread through my hair as I kiss and lick my way softly up to the tip. Once I'm there, I swirl my tongue out and taste the small beads of cum that had remained after he came, a low, satiated hum radiating through my body and making him shiver under my touch.

And then I wrap my lips fully around the head of his dick, and there's no stopping the most beautiful sound I've ever heard come out of his mouth. It's a broken, desperate whisper of my name. The crack in his voice when he says it spurs me forward, and I take him deeper into my mouth until he hits the back of my throat.

That's when he tosses my underwear in the washer and uses both of his hands to grab my head, roughly guiding me along his cock and fully taking control of my actions.

The fire in my belly doesn't ease up, not even once he's decided that he can't take it anymore and pulls me off of him harshly.

And that's only because now he's fully turned over, finally given into these desires that have been plaguing him presumably from the moment we met.

"I want you stripped and in your bed, on your hands and knees within the next five minutes."

I get up off the floor and walk up to him until our bodies are flush, my arms reaching up to wrap around his neck.

"What are you gonna do to me, Spencer?"

He searches my eyes, and his own grow dark with the purest form of sin I'd ever seen. And when his hands come up over the back of my legs, and under my skirt to grab my ass and pull me even closer to him, I can't help the little mewl that slips past my lips.

He smiles, and if it hadn't been for the grip he held on me, I would have fallen to my knees. "Little girl, when I'm through with you, you'll have to come up with some excuse to your mom about why you can't walk straight... Is that what you want?"

The mention of my mom should send me running in the opposite direction, but his threat only prolongs that fire in my veins and makes me want him even more.

I tilt my head up and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Do your worst..."

———

Turns out he was very true to his word.

Sitting at the kitchen table is somewhat of a relief, but I try not to walk around as much when Mom gets home. She'd asked me almost immediately if I was okay, and I told her I was just hungry and needed to eat something.

She seemed to have bought it, rushing to the kitchen to unpack the fast food she'd ordered for us. Over her shoulder, Spencer gave me a sly smile, and it took everything I had within myself not to crumble.

Through bites of food, I only half-listen to Mom telling us about the stuff she had to do at work because most of the words I'm hearing are in my head— A loop of endless dirty talk that plants deep into the soil of my stomach and spreads out through my whole body. It infects me, like the most beautiful poison, and I never want it to stop.

"Tell me, sweetheart, you ever let a man come inside you before?"

His weight on top of me coupled together with the heft of his voice has me whining out in pleasure, each snap forward of his hips over my ass as he pounds into me from behind the most delectable burn I've ever felt.

"Uh huh," I answer happily, twisting my head to feel his cheek against my own. "That night you heard me in the shower... I walked through the door with a stranger's cum soaking my panties... And you know what?"

He grumbles, his hips hitting into me harder as he waits for me to continue.

"I wished it was yours..."

My legs clench together under the table and I take a large gulp of water.

I feel something graze over my bare shin, and I already know it's Spencer's foot, a silent reassurance of his presence and that no matter what, he'll always be here.

"Here's what's going to happen..."

He has me on my back now, my legs hoisted over his shoulders and bent back so I'm nearly folded in half. His hips are flush against mine and I can feel his cock throbbing as he comes into the condom.

"You're gonna make an appointment to make sure you're clean... You're gonna make sure you're on good birth control... And then the next time I fuck this pretty little pussy, you're gonna really know what it feels like to have a man come inside you."

Right... Like I really need a reminder of his presence.

I can practically feel it still inside me, taking up every inch of space my body could provide. And no matter how long I go without seeing him, I have no doubt that it'll always remain.

"But that's enough about me, I'm sorry." Mom's voice shifts and breaks me out of my fantasy. "So, how did your day of bonding go? You have fun?"

Spencer and I share a look, a smile spreading over his lips that makes me smile in turn.

"Yeah, Mom," I say. "It was great."

He nods in kind. "Yeah... We'll definitely have to do it again."

His foot grazing over my leg under the table cements the unwavering smile on my face, as does the way my whole body burns at the memory of him fucking me upstairs only hours before.

I don't even flinch or get sick to my stomach when Mom reaches over and gives Spencer a kiss.

———

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes @rainsong01 @yourmisosoup @liveloudwriteloud @reidsconverse @la-vie-en-amour1 @edgycowboy666 @averyhotchner @centiaaa @lizziechaseee @coffeeandendlesswords @usuck @spenxerslut @ssacalumsg0lden @emilyprentisslittlewhore @takeyourleap-of-faith @reidyoulikeabook @spencerreid9 @b-a-utiful @jareauswifey @flipperpenguins @pansexualthing @donald4spiderman @awesomebooklover17 @shemarmooresfedora @izraahh1 @bakugouswh0r3 @singularityjc @xoxospencerreid @thatsonezesty13 @big-galaxy-chaos

TAGS NOT WORKING: @ayla-1605

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get on it right away!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut

1K notes · View notes

quindolyn · 4 years ago

Note

Can I request a Sub! James Potter? Where he did something bad, and reader had to punish him, with some amazing aftercare afterwards?

Permission || James Potter

Word Count: 3016

A/N: This was also requested by @triciam06 and I hope you all enjoy it! I’m the biggest sucker for sub!James. His punishment isn’t anything too severe because I a) don’t think that James would ever break a rule more severe than the one he breaks in this piece and that’s because he’s the most obedient sub and b) I love him but he couldn’t take a hardcore punishment.

Warnings: Mommy kink, sub!James, overstim, light punishment, aftercare

Masterlist

It was funny really, how easily you could get him off on your hand alone. Desperate to be your good boy James was trying his very best not to buck up into your hand as you lazily flicked your wrist up and down his shaft, your thumb occasionally brushing over the blushing tip of his weeping cock.

You dragged your eyes over his perspiring form, his strong hands balled into fists, clenching the soft material of the sheets in between his fingers. He had his back arched against the bed, messy black hair fanning out around his face which was flushed, painting his cheeks a pretty rosy pink. With tears swimming in his eyes, which were there from the tremendous effort he was putting into delaying his orgasm until you said he could cum, your Jamsie was the picture of obedience.

Continuing your hand’s movements on his throbbing cock, a lopsided smirk caressed your face as you moved the hand not on his member to grope at your breast, it only seemed fair that you got to touch yourself as you watched this.

“M-Mommy,” He stuttered out, blinking up at you owlishly, his glasses were still perched atop his nose, but now resting crooked on his face.

Your hand abandoned your breast, instead moving to correct his glasses, “On or off baby?” You cooed gently, gazing down at him adoringly, he was being such a good boy for you, not cumming until he was told he could. He always followed instruction so well.

“Off please,” James whimpered, turning his face so that you could more easily access his eyewear.

“Such good manners,” You praised, folding the legs of the glasses in towards the lenses before you set them down on the nightstand table. In your efforts to discard his glasses you had to lean a bit meaning that James’ painfully hard prick slipped from the palm of your hand, slapping against the hard muscles of his lower abdomen.

You grinned wickedly at the small whimper that left his mouth, watching as he flexed his fingers you knew he was just desperate to get one of his hands on his cock, he was so close to cumming and the both of you knew it.

“Aww baby,” You crooned, eyes never leaving his member, “It looks so pretty right there, lying on your tummy,” You extended a single finger, running it up the length of his prick, following a particularly pronounced vein, “Thinking that I might just let it sit there, be a shame to mess up something so pretty.”

“Mommy,” James sniffled, “Mommy please, I need your hand, I need to cum pretty please, I’ve been your good boy, I deserve to cum.”

You let out a dry chuckle, expertly recapturing his cock in your hand you resumed your hand’s motions on his length. Your movements were considerably quicker than they had been, as you tugged on his prick you tugged him closer and closer to his orgasm until the tears pooling in his eyes leaked out of the corners. Leaving twin trails down his temples as his pleading eyes stared into yours.

“You think you deserve to cum baby? You think you deserve for Mommy to let you make a mess all over her hand?”

“Uh huh,” He whined, squeezing his eyes closed as he nodded his head vigorously, James pulled the soft cushion of his bottom lip in between his teeth, biting harshly before releasing it in all of its swollen glory.

“I don’t know pretty boy, I think you can wait a bit longer, yeah? Be mommy’s good boy and wait till she tells you you’ve deserved it.” You countered.

Not satisfied with your answer James protested, “But Mommy-” But you quickly shut him up with a quick slap to the inside of his thigh. Not hard enough to actually hurt, just leave a pleasant stinging sensation as you rubbed your hand over the offending skin.

“Be quiet Jamie, you’ll cum when mommy says you can cum and not a fucking moment sooner,” A scowl formed on your face, evidence that you were not pleased with his contesting your ruling. Wanting to punish him for his not listening to you, you pulled even more harshly at his cock, wanting to get him so close to orgasm that he was but a subby puddle, ready to do your bidding.

“Look at you,” You cooed, your voice now carrying slight mocking as traced a delicate finger along the planes of his toned abs, following the dips and ridges, watching as he shuddered under your touch. “So pretty like this, all splayed out for me, you look so beautiful baby, so beautiful.”

“Thank you Mommy,” James groaned, “Mommy’s pretty too.”

“Good boy,” You smiled, leaning over to smear a gentle kiss along his brow, never once releasing his cock from the confines of your hand. “But if you think flattery’s gonna make Mommy let you cum, you’ve got another thing coming.”

You took a sick delight in watching him writhe and whimper beneath you as you torturously denied him his orgasm until it was too much for him to take.

His movements had him flailing around the bed as he tried so hard to listen to you, but he could feel the fire burning in his belly and it was becoming harder and harder to ignore, no matter how desperately wanted to.

“Mommy I’m gonna cum,” He screamed, bucking his hips into your hand, “I need to cum Mommy please, pretty please.”

“No,” You snipped, “Mommy’s already let you cum tonight baby, twice, no cumming until she says you can, you know the rules.” And you were right, you’d already allowed him to cum down your throat twice as you took him all the way to his pubic bone.

Your words didn’t seem to completely register with him as he continued to buck into your hand before eventually releasing his load, “Mommy I’m so sorry,” He screamed as he came on your hand, coating it in his sticky release.

“I’m cumming, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” He cried as his orgasm washed over him, completely overwhelming him in pleasure until he could barely even mumble out apologies.

Watching as he trembled beneath you you continued jacking him off, using his cum as a lubricant, making it easier to move your hand along his shaft.

“Baby,” You crooned, wiping the tears off of his face with the pads of your fingers.

“S’too much Mommy, too much.” His whines were positively pathetic as he pushed his hips into the mattress, trying to put distance between his cock and your hand.

A frown found its way to your lips, “But you came without permission love, can’t just let that go unpunished, what kinda Mommy would I be if I did?”

“I know,” He whined, shamelessly squirming, trying to get out of your hold, “I’m sorry Mommy, I didn’t mean to, I just couldn’t hold it in anymore.”

You understood that, you had edged him for the past hour or so and you weren’t sure if even you could’ve lasted that long but he didn’t get to cum without permission, he knew that.

“Don’t wanna hear your excuses Jamie,” You were increasingly aware of how his oversensitive prick twitched in your hand, “I know it was hard baby but you know you’re not allowed to cum without permission don’t you?”

“Yes Mommy, I know.”

“You gotta take your punishment for me then baby,” You explained, moving your hand to tweak one of his nipples before pulling the sensitive bud between your fingers, where you then pinched them.

“P-punishment?” He stuttered out, his wide eyes, drowned in guilt, staring back up at yours.

“Yes baby, punishment, you broke one of my rules didn’t you?” If only the boy lying in front of you knew just how much power he had over you. He wasn’t even trying, but just watching him get off was enough to flood your panties.

“I’m sorry Mommy, I didn’t mean to be a bad boy,” He sobbed and the frankly pathetic tone of his voice as he apologized to you for the umpteenth time in the last couple of minutes was almost enough to make you relent, but not quite.

“I know my love, and you weren’t a bad boy, just a naughty boy,” What you did next counteracted the sweetness of your words as you poked your tongue out just enough to kitten lick the sensitive tip of his cock, taking immense delight as more cum leaked out of his prick. The taste of his seed was the usual perfect salty sweet blend it always was but something about that cum being, for lack of a better word, forbidden, made it taste all that much better.

“J-just naughty? Not bad?” He pleaded with both his eyes and his words, needing the praise he was so used to.

“Just naughty.” You confirmed, releasing his prick for a moment before lightly slapping your open palm against it, reveling in the way his entire body jumped at the sensation. “Now Jamsie, you gonna take your punishment like a good boy, yeah?”

“Yes,” He forced out through gritted teeth.

“Yes who?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“That’s better,” You praised, continuing to overstimulate him, relishing the noises he made until whimpers turned into him bawling as fat teardrops raced down his face and down his neck.

“M’so sorry mommy, m’so sorry,” James cried shamelessly trying his best not to move.

“You were so eager to cum baby, just giving you what you wanted,” You condescended running your fingers through his locks once again to get a solid grip on them before yanking pulling a strangled moan from his lips. “Is this not what you wanted baby? Thought this was what you wanted when you came without my permission? Just giving you what you clearly want, now are you gonna be good? You said you would.”

In response you recieved a gasp as he released onto your hand again, somehow even more than last time. Feeling both selfish and wicked you bent forward, trading your earlier kitten licks for engulfing the entirety of the head of his cock, slurping on it as one would a lollipop.

The moan that ripped it’s way out of his throat was pornographic as his sensitive cock was overstimulated by the feeling of your warm, velvety mouth wrapped around it. As you allowed his cock to rest against the flat of your tongue you noticed that his cries for you to stop, that he was sorry had quieted to muffled whimpers explained by the hand clamped over his mouth.

The sight sent a surge of pride through you, here Jamie was being as obedient for you as ever because he knew what he had done was not okay. That he had broken Mommy’s rules, it was why he was so rarely punished.

Inhaling deeply through your nose you took him all the way down your throat so that the tip of his dick rested deep inside of your throat. You could feel him twitch inside of your throat and if it wasn’t the most amazing thing to feel that you didn’t know what was. Smiling around his length you decided that if his silence was anything to go by James had learned his lesson. Feeling merciful for the first time that night you swallowed around his cock, feeling him shoot what would be his last load of cum for the night down your throat.

Once he was done you eased him from your mouth, careful to keep your teeth away from his softening length.

“Do you think you’ve learned your lesson baby?” You asked the ruined boy beneath you as you rose to your full height before bending at the waist to smear a kiss along his cupid’s bow.

Too fucked out to use his words James gave you a small nod, his eyes lids resting closed with his lips parted, taking deep inhales of breath as he recovered from his orgasms.

“Can you use your words for me?” You lilted brushing away the hair that couldn’t seem to stay out of his face.

After a deep inhale he did, “Yes Mommy, I’ve learned my lesson,” His voice was hoarse, he sounded parched and he probably was.

Easing him up so that he was leaning up against the headboard you plucked his glasses from the bedside table, beginning to ease them onto his face before you noticed how sweaty he was. Letting the glasses rest in your lap you pulled your wand from the drawer of the nightstand using it to summon a glass of water and a damp washcloth from the bathroom.

Beginning with the cloth you wiped the sweat from his brow before tracing the damp fabric down the sides of his face, calming the heated skin as praise after praise tumbled from your lips.

“Such a good boy for me Jamie, took your punishment so well my love.”

“Thank you, Mommy,” He was still breathless.

“Don’t need to thank me anymore my love, s’time for Mommy to clean you up, yeah? Gonna help you get cleaned up for bed.”

“M’not tired,” He insisted, though if his closing eyes were any indication, he most definitely was.

Suppressing a chuckle you laid the washcloth on his thigh to soothe the warm flesh there as you brought the perspiring glass up to his lips, easing them apart to allow the cool, sweet liquid to drizzle down his throat.

“There you go darling,” You eased the glass apart from his lips to set it down and replaced it with the cloth that you continued to trace his skin with, brushing it up and down his chest and stomach, careful to avoid his sensitive nipples.

“Glasses please,” He mumbled, his hand groping at your leg, “Wanna be able to see you.”

“Of course,” You smiled, balancing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose allowing the world to come back into focus for him as he smiled at you. “Can you take another sip of water for me, pretty boy?” You asked, slipping the glass into his hands, allowing them to bring it to his lips.

He did as you asked before holding the glass in between his legs, “Did I do a good job for you, Mommy?” He looked at you with wide eyes, “I’m sorry I came without permission I just-”

“I know baby,” You cut him off gently, “You didn’t do it on purpose but Mommy still had to punish you, you understand right darling?”

He gave you a bashful nod.

“Good my love, it doesn’t make you any less of my good boy,” You gently reached for his member, handling it with the utmost care as you brought the wet cloth to it, knowing that it wouldn’t be a pleasurable experience for him you were efficient in cleaning the cum off.

James hissed at the sensation, once again squirming to escape your grasp. “Gotta clean you up baby, be quick I promise,” And you were, not wanting to prolong his discomfort any further.

As James took yet another sip from the glass, one he very much needed, you pushed yourself up from the bed, traipsing over to the dresser where you removed a pair of sweatpants for him and a pair of panties to wear with one of his t-shirts for you.

You offered to help him put on his pants but James insisted that he was fine, standing up to slip the pants over his feet before pulling the waistband up where your fingers found the cord, tying it in a loose bow.

James’ body was malleable as the two of you settled into bed, with you curled into his chest you faced each other, drawing a single finger up and down his sternum.

“I really am proud of you baby,” You whispered, feeling as though if you spoke too loudly then it would disrupt the peace that had settled over the room.

“Just wanted to make you happy (Y/N),” He admitted quietly, his lips pressed into your scalp muffling his words slightly.

Throwing an arm around his waist you pulled your body even closer to his allowing you to rest your head up against his chest so that you could listen to the rhythmic beating of his heart inside of his rib cage.

The two of you laid there for so long, just absorbing the presence of the other person that you thought he must’ve fallen asleep for it was often difficult for the dark haired boy to stay silent for all that long. But as you pulled away slightly so that you could slip his glasses back off of his face so that he wouldn’t break them in his sleep you found hazel eyes staring back down at you.

“You’re not asleep,” Though your words were accusatory, your tone was not, more observational than anything.

“Neither are you,” Your boyfriend countered.

You giggled gently, “Touche.”

It was so easy to get lost in James’ eyes, that maybe you held eye contact for a few seconds, maybe for a few minutes, maybe for half an hour. But it broke as you let out a yawn, a give away to your state of exhaustion.

“M’tired too,” James said, smiling at how beautiful you looked, even mid yawn.

“We should go to bed,” You reasoned, though your eyes locked back onto his.

“Uh huh, probably,” He agreed, he too not breaking eye contact.

And though you were both exhausted you laid there, in each other’s arms, gazing into each other’s eyes, both of you refusing to be the one to shatter the intimacy of the eye contact and close your eyes first.

That was until James eyelids became too heavy with sleep for him to fight and they gently fluttered closed. Not a minute later he started emitting, soft snores and you knew he was asleep.

Craning your neck you pressed a quick kiss to the tip of his nose whispering to him softly, “I won.”

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @kittykylax @amourtentiaa @superbturtlemakerathlete @reallyraunchyrory

#harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #marauders #marauders x reader #harry potter imagine #james potter #james potter x reader #marauders fanfic #marauders fanfiction #sub!james potter #james potter fanfiction #james potter smut #James Potter aftercare

1K notes · View notes

mcmansionhell · 5 years ago

Text

Underground, Part 1

[Author’s Note: A year ago, when waiting for the DC Metro, I came up with an idea for a short story involving two realtors and the infamous Las Vegas Underground House, typed up an outline, and shoved it away in my documents where it sat neglected until this month. The house recently resurfaced on Twitter, and combined with almost a year of quarantine, the story quickly materialized. Though I rarely write fiction, I decided I’d give it a shot as a kind of novelty McMansion Hell post. I’ve peppered the story with photos from the house to break up the walls of text. Hopefully you find it entertaining. I look forward to returning next month with the second installment of this as well as our regularly scheduled McMansion content. Happy New Year!

Warning: there’s lots of swearing in this.]

Underground

Back in 1997, Mathieu Rino, the son of two Finnish mechanical engineers who may or may not have worked intimately with the US State Department, changed his name to Jay Renault in order to sell more houses. It worked wonders.

He gets out of the car, shuts the door harder than he should. Renault wrinkles his nose. It’s a miserable Las Vegas afternoon - a sizzling, dry heat pools in ripples above the asphalt. The desert is a place that is full of interesting and diverse forms of life, but Jay’s the kind of American who sees it all as empty square-footage. He frowns at the dirt dusting up his alligator-skin loafers but then remembers that every lot, after all, has potential. Renault wipes the sweat from his leathery face, slicks back his stringy blond hair and adjusts the aviators on the bridge of his nose. The Breitling diving watch crowding his wrist looks especially big in the afternoon glare. He glances at it.

“Shit,” he says. The door on the other side of the car closes, as though in response.

If Jay Renault is the consummate rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xer trying to sell houses to other rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xers, then Robert Little is his millennial counterpart. Both are very good at their jobs. Robert adjusts his tie in the reflection of the Porsche window, purses his lips. He’s Vegas-showman attractive, with dark hair, a decent tan, and a too-bright smile - the kind of attractive that ruins marriages but makes for an excellent divorcee. Mildly sleazy.

“Help me with these platters, will you?” Renault gestures, popping the trunk. Robert does not want to sweat too much before an open house, but he obliges anyway. They’re both wearing suits. The heat is unbearable. A spread of charcuterie in one hand, Jay double-checks his pockets for the house keys, presses the button that locks his car.

Both men sigh, and their eyes slowly trail up to the little stucco house sitting smack dab in the center of an enormous lot, a sea of gravel punctuated by a few sickly palms. The house has the distinct appearance of being made of cardboard, ticky-tacky, a show prop. Burnt orange awnings don its narrow windows, which somehow makes it look even more fake.

“Here we go again,” Jay mutters, fishing the keys out of his pocket. He jiggles them until the splintered plywood door opens with a croak, revealing a dark and drab interior – dusty, even though the cleaners were here yesterday. Robert kicks the door shut with his foot behind him.

“Christ,” he swears, eyes trailing over the terrible ecru sponge paint adorning the walls. “This shit is so bleak.”

The surface-level house is mostly empty. There’s nothing for them to see or attend to there, and so the men step through a narrow hallway at the end of which is an elevator. They could take the stairs, but don’t want to risk it with the platters. After all, they were quite expensive. Renault elbows the button and the doors part.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he says as they step inside. The fluorescent lights above them buzz something awful. A cheery metal sign welcomes them to “Tex’s Hideaway.” Beneath it is an eldritch image of a cave, foreboding. Robert’s stomach’s in knots. Ever since the company assigned him to this property, he’s been terrified of it. He tells himself that the house is, in fact, creepy, that it is completely normal for him to be ill at ease. The elevator’s ding is harsh and mechanical. They step out. Jay flips a switch and the basement is flooded with eerie light.

It’s famous, this house - The Las Vegas Underground House. The two realtors refer to it simply as “the bunker.” Built by an eccentric millionaire at the height of Cold War hysteria, it’s six-thousand square feet of paranoid, aspirational fantasy. The first thing anyone notices is the carpet – too-green, meant to resemble grass, sprawling out lawn-like, bookmarked by fake trees, each a front for a steel beam. Nothing can grow here. It imitates life, unable to sustain it. The leaves of the ficuses seem particularly plastic.

Bistro sets scatter the ‘yard’ (if one can call it that), and there’s plenty of outdoor activities – a parquet dance floor complete with pole and disco ball, a putt putt course, an outdoor grill made to look like it’s nestled in a rock, but in reality better resembles a baked potato. The pool and hot tub, both sculpted in concrete and fiberglass mimicking a natural rock formation, are less Playboy grotto and more Fred Flintstone. It’s a very seventies idea of fun.

Then, of course, there’s the house. That fucking house.

A house built underground in 1978 was always meant to be a mansard – the mansard roof was a historical inevitability. The only other option was International Style modernism, but the millionaire and his wife were red-blooded anti-Communists. Hence, the mansard. Robert thinks the house looks like a fast-food restaurant. Jay thinks it looks like a lawn and tennis club he once attended as a child where he took badminton lessons from a swarthy Czech man named Jan. It’s drab and squat, made more open by big floor-to-ceiling windows nestled under fresh-looking cedar shingles. There’s no weather down here to shrivel them up.

“Shall we?” Jay drawls. The two make their way into the kitchen and set the platters down on the white tile countertop. Robert leans up against the island, careful of the oversized hood looming over the electric stovetop. He eyes the white cabinets, accented with Barbie pink trim. The matching linoleum floor squeaks under his Italian loafers.

“I don’t understand why we bother doing this,” Robert complains. “Nobody’s seriously going to buy this shit, and the company’s out a hundred bucks for party platters.”

“It’s the same every time,” Renault agrees. “The only people who show up are Instagram kids and the crazies - you know, the same kind of freaks who’d pay money to see Chernobyl.”

“Dark tourism, they call it.”

Jay checks his watch again. Being in here makes him nervous.

“Still an hour until open house,” he mutters. “I wish we could get drunk.”

Robert exhales deeply. He also wishes he could get drunk, but still, a job’s a job.

“I guess we should check to see if everything’s good to go.”

The men head into the living room. The beamed, slanted ceiling gives it a mid-century vibe, but the staging muddles the aura. Jay remembers making the call to the staging company. “Give us your spares,” he told them, “Whatever it is you’re not gonna miss. Nobody’ll ever buy this house anyway.”

The result is eclectic – a mix of office furniture, neo-Tuscan McMansion garb, and stuffy waiting-room lamps, all scattered atop popcorn-butter shag carpeting. Hideous, Robert thinks. Then there’s the ‘entertaining’ room, which is a particular pain in the ass to them, because the carpet was so disgusting, they had to replace it with that fake wood floor just to be able to stand being in there for more than five minutes. There’s a heady stone fireplace on one wall, the kind they don’t make anymore, a hearth. Next to it, equally hedonistic, a full bar. Through some doors, a red-painted room with a pool table and paintings of girls in fedoras on the wall. It’s all so cheap, really. Jay pulls out a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket along with a pen. He ticks some boxes and moves on.

The dining room’s the worst to Robert. Somehow the ugly floral pattern on the curtains stretches up in bloomer-like into a frilly cornice, carried through to the wallpaper and the ceiling, inescapable, suffocating. It smells like mothballs and old fabric. The whole house smells like that.

The master bedroom’s the most normal – if anything in this house could be called normal. Mismatched art and staging furniture crowd blank walls. When someone comes into a house, Jay told Robert all those years ago, they should be able to picture themselves living in it. That’s the goal of staging.

There’s two more bedrooms. The men go through them quickly. The first isn’t so bad – claustrophobic, but acceptable – but the saccharine pink tuille wallpaper of the second gives Renault a sympathetic toothache. The pair return to the kitchen to wait.

Both men are itching to check their phones, but there’s no point – there’s no signal in here, none whatsoever. Renault, cynical to the core, thinks about marketing the house to the anti-5G people. It’s unsettlingly quiet. The two men have no choice but to entertain themselves the old-fashioned way, through small talk.

“It’s really fucked up, when you think about it,” Renault muses.

“What is?”

“The house, Bob.”

Robert hates being called Bob. He’s told Jay that hundreds of times, and yet…

“Yeah,” Robert mutters, annoyed.

“No, really. Like, imagine. You’re rich, you founded a major multinational company marketing hairbrushes to stay-at-home moms, and what do you decide to do with your money? Move to Vegas and build a fucking bunker. Like, imagine thinking the end of the world is just around the corner, forcing your poor wife to live there for ten, fifteen years, and then dying, a paranoid old man.” Renault finds the whole thing rather poetic.

“The Russkies really got to poor ol’ Henderson, didn’t they?” Robert snickers.

“The wife’s more tragic if you ask me,” Renault drawls. “The second that batshit old coot died, she called a guy to build a front house on top of this one, since she already owned the lot. Poor woman probably hadn’t seen sunlight in God knows how long.”

“Surely they had to get groceries.”

Jay frowns. Robert has no sense of drama, he thinks. Bad trait for a realtor.

“Still,” he murmurs. “It’s sad.”

“I would have gotten a divorce, if I were her,” the younger man says, as though it were obvious. It’s Jay’s turn to laugh.

“I’ve had three of those, and trust me, it’s not as easy as you think.”

“You’re seeing some new girl now, aren’t you?” Robert doesn’t really care, he just knows Jay likes to talk about himself, and talking fills the time.

“Yeah. Casino girl. Twenty-six.”

“And how old are you again?”

“None of your business.”

“Did you see the renderings I emailed to you?” Robert asks briskly, not wanting to discuss Jay’s sex life any further.

“What renderings?”

“Of this house, what it could look like.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jay has not seen the renderings.

“If it were rezoned,” Robert continues, feeling very smart, “It could be a tourist attraction - put a nice visitor’s center on the lot, make it sleek and modern. Sell trinkets. It’s a nice parcel, close to the Strip - some clever investor could make it into a Museum of Ice Cream-type thing, you know?”

“Museum of Ice Cream?”

“In New York. It’s, not, like, educational or anything. Really, it’s just a bunch of colorful rooms where kids come to take pictures of themselves.”

“Instagram,” Jay mutters. “You know, I just sold a penthouse the other week to an Instagram influencer. Takes pictures of herself on the beach to sell face cream or some shit. Eight-point-two million dollars.”

“Jesus,” Robert whistles. “Fat commission.”

“You’re telling me. My oldest daughter turns sixteen this year. She’s getting a Mazda for Christmas.”

“You ever see that show, My Super Sweet Sixteen? On MTV? Where rich kids got, like, rappers to perform at their birthday parties? Every time at the end, some guy would pull up in, like, an Escalade with a big pink bow on it and all the kids would scream.”

“Sounds stupid,” Jay says.

“It was stupid.”

It’s Robert’s turn to check his watch, a dainty gold Rolex.

“Fuck, still thirty minutes.”

“Time really does stand still in here, doesn’t it?” Jay remarks.

“We should have left the office a little later,” Robert complains. “The charcuterie is going to get –“

A deafening sound roars through the house and a violent, explosive tremor throws both men on the ground, shakes the walls and everything between them. The power’s out for a few seconds before there’s a flicker, and light fills the room again. Two backup generators, reads Jay’s description in the listing - an appeal to the prepper demographic, which trends higher in income than non-preppers. For a moment, the only things either are conscious of are the harsh flourescent lighting and the ringing in their ears. Time slows, everything seems muted and too bright. Robert rubs the side of his face, pulls back his hand and sees blood.

“Christ,” he chokes out. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” Jay breathes, looking at his hands, trying to determine if he’s got a concussion. The results are inconclusive – everything’s slow and fuzzy, but after a moment, he thinks it might just be shock.

“It sounded like a fucking 747 just nosedived on top of us.”

“Yeah, Jesus.” Jay’s still staring at his fingers in a daze. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Robert grumbles. Jay gives him a cursory examination.

“Nothing that needs stitches,” he reports bluntly. Robert’s relieved. His face sells a lot of houses to a lot of lonely women and a few lonely men. There’s a muffled whine, which the two men soon recognize as a throng of sirens. Both of them try to calm the panic rising in their chests, to no avail.

“Whatever the fuck happened,” Jay says, trying to make light of the situation, “At least we’re in here. The bunker.”

Fear forms in the whites of Robert’s eyes.

“What if we’re stuck in here,” he whispers, afraid to speak such a thing into the world. The fear spreads to his companion.

“Try the elevator,” Jay urges, and Robert gets up, wobbles a little as his head sorts itself out, and leaves. A moment later, Jay hears him swear a blue streak, and from the kitchen window, sees him standing before the closed metal doors, staring at his feet. His pulse racing, Renault jogs out to see for himself.

“It’s dead,” Robert murmurs.

“Whatever happened,” Jay says cautiously, rubbing the back of his still-sore neck, “It must have been pretty bad. Like, I don’t think we should go up yet. Besides, surely the office knows we’re still down here.”

“Right, right,” the younger man breathes, trying to reassure himself.

“Let’s just wait it out. I’m sure everything’s fine.” The way Jay says it does not make Robert feel any better.

“Okay,” the younger man grumbles. “I’m getting a fucking drink, though.”

“Yeah, Jesus. That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” Renault shoves his hands in his suit pocket to keep them from trembling.

If you like this post, and want to see more like it, consider supporting me on Patreon!

There is a whole new slate of Patreon rewards, including: good house of the month, an exclusive Discord server, weekly drawings, monthly livestreams, a reading group, free merch at certain tiers and more!

Not into recurring donations but still want to show support? Consider the tip jar!

Or, Check out the McMansion Hell Store! Proceeds from the store help protect great buildings from the wrecking ball.

#architecture #design #fiction #las vegas #underground house

1K notes · View notes

tomthesoftie · 4 years ago

Text

her hidden crystal tears

❧ synopsis: keeping a relationship under covers isn’t an easy feat. when a popular, successful jock of a college, who has many obsessive fans, dates an average student, they decide that it’s better to keep their relationship secret due to safety reasons, but when the jock starts to become more ignorant of how their s/o is feeling, what might happen to their barely stable relationship?

❧ pairing: jock!tom x fem!reader

❧ genre: angst

❧ warnings: lots of angst (?), petty girl fights technically harassment, crying, pent-up emotions, unhealthy coping

❧ a/n: this is an unedited fic, as always and I didn’t know how to end it because I had two endings in mind. I might write both endings (angst and fluff) or maybe I’ll let you guys suffer lmao I’m kidding I originally was writing a blurb about the reader hiding their emotions/hiding their tears by feigning happiness, but I ended up writing like a 2500+ word fic lmao. also if some shit seems wack, it’s because I posted this on my phone.

alternate fluff ending here: let them flow

masterlist prompt list add yourself on my taglist!

Swerving through the large crowd, you found yourself a seat on the filled bleachers, squeezing to fit in the front rows to spot your boyfriend. Looking about, you located your brunette partner jogging into the field arms raised in the air, pointing towards the crowd you were hidden in. He waved his hand mindlessly, eyes scanning the ocean of screaming schoolmates and “fangirls.” His gaze finally fell on you, and his face lit up, bringing a pink haze to your cheeks as he blew a kiss in your direction. The girls sat beside you screamed out, pretending to catch his kiss and sending one back.

You and Tom decided to keep your relationship under covers, due to the overly obsessive “fangirls.” Both of you knew it would be the best option to keep you safe. If you were ever injured or threatened by one of his “fangirls,” Tom wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

Tom held the leather ball in the crook of his arm, with the other pushing his way through the attacking team. Calculating his success, he dove into a touchdown, scoring him and his team the winning point.

The anticipating crowd jumped up, cheering loudly and hugging one another, whereas the visitor team’s crowd let out a loud, mutual sigh of disappointment.

You jumped out of your seat, screaming out your lungs as you stared, wide-eyed, at your beaming boyfriend. His teammates had lifted him into the air, tossing him about. You giggled as he caught your eye, slyly winking at you.

Lost in your own world, you almost ran down to where Tom was before you saw a hoard of girls jumping and reaching their arms out to grab at him. Frowning, you walked away from the crowd to retreat to the warmth of Tom’s car.

You scrolled through the collection of images you and Tom had had together, warmly smiling at the memories. You let out a breathy laugh, selecting on one specific memory: Tom’s head laid on your lap, eyes shut, and lips puckered lightly as he let out even breaths.

The car door beside you opened, shaking you out of your train of thought.

“Hey,” your eyes were met with the blue pupils you weren’t expecting.

“Haz?” You looked behind him, hoping to find your beloved boyfriend.

“Tom — um — he told me to drive you back to the dorms, said he would be heading to the celebratory party,” Harrison explained, eyes shaking with concern and sympathy.

“Oh, I understand,” your smile not quite making it to your eyes.

“He was being hoarded by his,” Haz hesitates, “fangirls. He didn’t want you to get involved.”

“It’s all good, Hazzy. No need to worry about me,” you let out a feigned laugh.

You stepped into the warm building, waving Harrison goodbye. Another football victory, same schedule.

You go to Tom’s game to support and cheer him on, Tom wins, you avoid him, Tom’s “fangirls” hoard him, you wait in Tom’s car, Harrison comes instead of Tom, Harrison brings you back to your dorm while Tom goes to his party, you fall asleep in your own arms: the ‘Tom’s football victory’ schedule, named and created by you.

To say the least, you weren’t fond of the last half of the schedule. You always were left alone to celebrate Tom’s victory on your own, while Tom was doing who-knows-what at the afterparty.

In full honesty, you were slowly growing tired of hiding your affection for one another. You didn’t know how much longer you could hold onto this style of dating. If the pair of you were going to date, you would date publicly and however you wanted, whether it meant risking your safety or not. Besides, you weren’t some helpless girl that doesn’t and can’t protect herself.

The next day, you woke up with an aching head and puffy eyes. Groaning, you looked into your mirror located at the corner of your room. You flinched at the sight of your pink, tear-stained cheeks and tangled, mop hair. Pushing yourself off the soft mattress, you stumbled into your bathroom, prepping a warm shower to start your day off fresh.

With your laptop and notebook resting in your arms, against your chest, you made your way to your next lecture. You walked sluggishly across the large campus, occasionally catching a glimpse of passing football team members.

A specific group you walked past caught your attention. You saw the familiar brunette curls in your peripheral vision, immediately making you turn your gaze towards it. You saw his warm smile as he chuckled with his group of friends, some of his “fangirls” giggling along with the group.

There Tom stood, laughing and joking about with his peers, radiating happiness. He was basking in the attention he received from his friends and “fans.”

You tried to catch his eye, and you swore you did for a split second, but he only walked past you as if you weren’t even there. Not even a hidden smile or wink of acknowledgment was sent your way.

Your walking came to a stop as you frowned at your boyfriend’s back. You wanted to shout out his name, call for his attention. You wanted to nuzzle into his chest, breathing in his scent. You wanted to look into his chocolate-pooled eyes, see the twinkle of adoration as he stared at you. Nevertheless, you couldn’t. You couldn’t do anything with Tom in public, for you were just another girl on campus, trying to get by, and Tom was the successful jock with a bright future ahead.

You walked into the large room, taking a seat, conveniently, in front of Tom. This time, you were the one to not spare him a single glance, albeit he probably wasn’t expecting or looking for one.

You tried your best to listen and focus on the lecture, but the consistent whispers behind your back began to nag at your patience. You leaned your down further into your notes, as if it could fix the slowly kindling fire in you. Checking the clock, you saw that only five minutes of the lecture had passed, and your professor had barely said anything.

“Five minutes? I swear it felt like half of the lecture had gone by. And the professor. I swear he had just said like tons of important information,” you muttered to yourself under your breath, catching a few students’ gazes.

You gently pounded a fist into your temple, forcing your attention onto the lined sheets of paper on your desk. You expected to see notes, not illegible scribbles. You silently groaned, switching the sheet for a new, clean page. You took a deep breath and began jotting down the key points of the presentation that was being projected onto the large whiteboard.

A feminine voice cleared their throat beside you, “Excuse me.”

You looked up from your work, a glare on your face as you were pulled out of your focus once again.

“Can I help you?” You asked, irritated.

“Uh, yes, you can. You can help me by moving yourself to that seat over there,” she pointed at an empty seat across the room, “and giving this,” she placed her hand on the desk, atop you notes, “seat to me.”

You scoffed, “And why should I?”

“Oh, honey,” you cringed at the nickname, “Tommy, here,” she nodded towards Tom, “shouldn’t have to suffer by looking at your terrible hair. Like, honestly, do you even care for your looks?”

You were practically fuming in your seat, but to avoid trouble, you responded with a monotonous voice, “I’m sure “Tommy” can take care of himself. Spare us both the inconvenience, and go sit yourself on that empty seat because if you couldn’t tell, I’m occupying this spot.”

“Who do you think you are?” She shouted, hand crumpling your notes.

Furrowing your brows, you grabbed at your notes, hoping to spare them.

“Move your ugly ass before I kick you off this seat,” she threatened, pulling you by your hair.

The professor stopped talking, glaring at the pair of you. You took it as a sign to shut up and not fight back.

Fist clenching, nails creating red crescents in your palm, you stood up, pushing the girl off of you, ignoring her gasp. You grabbed your notes and laptop, turning to see if Tom would defend you, but when you saw his passive expression, you let out a quiet laugh of disappointment, carrying yourself to the back of the room.

For the rest of the class, you stood in the back, writing your notes with blurry, tear-filled vision. Although you were still in shock due to the event that had unfolded minutes into the lecture, you wouldn’t let it falter how you were doing in school.

As soon as you were dismissed, you bolted out of the room, heading to your safe haven on campus.

Not many people, if any, knew about the hidden garden located within the campus’s vast park. You had only discovered it by accident when you were a freshman looking for your way around campus.

The first thought you had when you walked in was that you were transported into a different dimension. Thinking back on it, you were naive to think that, but you were still justified. Anyone would think such a beautiful place couldn’t belong to the aggressivity and rashness of this world. The variant shades of light green and pastel pink flowers growing between the weeds of grass gave the place a heavenly feeling, followed by the mist that sparkled under the sunlight.

You dropped yourself at the thick tree’s stump, letting your notes and laptop slip out of your grasp. You cried into your knees, pouring out all of your stresses. Your breaths were short and heaved, occasional hiccups bubbling from your lips. Your sobs slowly lulled you closer to sleep, emotional and physical fatigue catching up to you. That is, until you heard the recognizable clang of the door handle hitting against the wooden door.

“Darling,” the accented voice you longed to hear spoke up.

Quickly wiping away your tears and sniffling away any evidence of your sorrow, you stood up, “Tommy!” A feigned smile lay on your supple skin as you ran over to your boyfriend, embracing him in your arms, “What’s up?”

“Are you alright? I’m sorry I didn’t speak up for you during class. I should’ve told that girl to get her hands off you,” he stroked your hair, “She didn’t hurt you, did she?”

Letting a pained giggle out, you shook your head, “Nope, I’m fine. You know how strong I am.”

“I really, really did want to speak up, but you know that we should keep our relationship under covers, for your sake,” he spoke gently, placing a kiss on your head.

You scowled into his shirt but kept up your cheerful facade, chirping, “Mhm, safety.”

“I knew you’d understand,” he sighed. His hold on you weakened, “I should get going, though. The group will start to wonder where I’ve gone.”

You frowned, pulling away from him.

“Don’t be like that, darling,” he cooed, “I’ll come over tonight. Don’t worry.”

You let out a sarcastic laugh, “Of course, as you always do.”

His brows furrowed at your sudden mood shift, “What are you on, darling?”

“Oh, nothing,” you chirp, hopping back to the tree, collecting your notes and laptop. “Go ahead, meet with your friends. Leave me behind like you always do,” you murmur the last half.

“Love?” His voice neared you, and you barely registered the stray tears betraying you, rolling down your peachy cheeks.

Quickly bringing up a hand to wipe the wetness away, you keep your back facing Tom.

“Shouldn’t you be going? Don’t want your friends to worry,” you laughed, lightly. A hand placed itself on your shoulder, the sudden contact startling you. “You scared me, Tommy. You shouldn’t do that,” you giggle, hiding your true emotions, “You know how easily scared I am.”

“Darling, can you look at me?” He asked, quietly, concern lacing his tone.

“What for, Tommy?” You inquired, nervously laughing.

“You’re acting quite… strange,” he explained.

“No need to worry about me, bubs. I’m as peachy as always,” you quipped, shoulders bouncing in emphasis.

“I’m giving you one more chance to turn, or I will do it for you,” he said, sternly.

You stayed, unmoving, forcing Tom to turn you with his raw strength. At first, you tried to fight it, but you came to the revelation that there was no way you could overpower him.

When you met his warm, liquid eyes, you felt your own tear up, and suddenly, your shoes were an intriguing sight.

“Baby, please look at me,” he whispered, hands rubbing up and down your arms.

You shook your head in denial, trying to keep your weakness hidden.

“It breaks me to see you this way,” he lifted your face with a finger to your chin. His thumb moved to wipe away your crystal tears.

“Then leave,” you hissed, weakly.

“W-What?” Tom stuttered at the unforeseen reply.

“I’m tired, Tom. I’m tired of hiding, of you ignoring me and me, you. How long are we going to do this? It’s so stupid, all of it,” you dropped your head again, this time of fatigue.

“B-But, you know why we’re doing this-” you cut him off.

“I know, and I can’t help but think that this was a stupid choice,” you motioned between the two of you, “You’re barely around me, and on campus, you don’t even acknowledge me. On the slim chance I do have you to myself, it can only last for so long. At this point, it feels like we’re not even together.”

“I-I don’t understand. What are you trying to say?” Fear filled his eyes as the pit in his stomach became more and more noticeable.

“I think it would be better if-” you stuttered in a breath, “if we took a break.”

“Why? Just because we’re hiding our relationship? You know why I- we chose to keep it secret,” he rushed out his words, hands gripping yours.

“Do I? Do I really? Today was display enough that even though we act like we don’t know each other, I’ll still get harassed by those “fans” of yours. Not to mention, you saw it all unravel, and what did you do? Nothing. There’s no practicality to keeping our relationship hidden because either way, some “fans” will go overboard no matter who the person. Also, I think I showed that I can defend myself from crazy people when I pushed that girl off of me today,” you spoke, ferocity and resentment spurring you on.

“I know I messed up when I didn’t help you, but I thought about our relationship-” you scoffed.

“So what? Even if we weren’t in a relationship, you should’ve helped a girl out. Especially when she’s getting harassed because of you,” you jabbed a finger into his chest.

“Tell me how to make it better. I want to make it better. Don’t end us, please,” he begged, gripping your hand tighter.

“Stop, Tom. I told you that I want to take a break. Besides, it won’t be any different to how our normal relationship is,” you laughed. Pulling your arm out of his grasp, you walked away, “Now, I won’t have to waste any tears on you anymore.”

443 notes · View notes

mohgwynn · 2 years ago

Text

@yellowfingcr asked: [ FOUND ] for sender to discover receiver covered in blood / for alberich!

from blood related prompts [accepting!!]

“Oh, don’t worry, it isn’t mine.”

Which is a lie, sort of, not really, but kinda. Half of it is his — maybe less, maybe a third — but most of it… well, who the hell knows the sorry sod’s name? Certainly not Alberich. Certainly not now.

It’s hard to deny that the bold red which drips from his nose to his pale, bluish lips belongs to anyone other than himself, though. The blood which leaks from those same lips stains white teeth pink, sharp canines flashing as he speaks. Though the brim of his hat conceals most of his face, his grin cuts like a knife through the darkness of his crumpled form.

For a man lying in a pool of definitely-not-just-someone-else’s blood on the ground, he certainly seems chipper.

Sitting up, at least, doesn’t seem to be too much of a struggle. He plants his heels into the ground, then bends forward to place his elbows atop his knees, contorting himself into an awkward little ball of black and gold and gangly limbs. He nods his head, then grunts as he tries to stand. “No, no, not to worry,” he insists again as he stumbles to his feet. “I’ve seen worse. Far worse. You probably have, too, I’d wager. Haven’t we all? Hah, what’s a little blood compared to the state of this place, eh? Gotta think worldly these days — what with the Shattering, what with the Gods.”

He brushes himself off once he finds his footing. As if dust is what’s gone and made him a mess.

“Ah, if it makes your day, though, I’d be happy to call you my saviour,” he then adds through those same pink-tinted teeth. “You found me. Good job! Who knows what would have happened if you hadn’t? Maybe a demihuman would have turned my sinews into string. Wouldn’t that be terrible? Spun into a yarn. Fate worse than death. Yes, I’m in your debt, clearly. How could I ever repay you?”

His grin says, I have something for you. His pockets say, No you don’t. And the rest of him stands in the middle, swaying gently from side to side.

#alberich [muse]#yellowfingcr #:] hehe

1 note · View note

saintchrollo · 4 years ago

Text

some kind of normal au. idk. this is just prn.

to be perfectly clear, you didn’t ever mind sitting by yourself at a party. in fact, on most occasions you preferred it. kuroro had slipped off to go to the restroom, and you had found a nice spot to sit and observe a pong game in the mean time.

you should have gone to the restroom with your boyfriend.

“quelle surprise, isn’t that what you say?” comes an annoyingly sultry voice from next to you. turning your head, you’re immediately greeted with hisoka’s done up face. you immediately place your cup on the coffee table, no longer comfortable with it.

“not to you,” you state, crossing your arms and your legs, holding your purse close to you.

hisoka pouts, before tilting his head back, spreading his arms along the back of the couch and his legs to match. his knee bumps against yours. you scoot away from him.

��where’s that boyfriend of yours?” hisoka inquires, scanning the room. “trouble in paradise?”

“he had to go to the restroom, he’ll be right back,” you say, desperately hoping kuroro would speed his way back to you.

“well, why we wait, why don’t you give me a little reading with those pretty cards you keep in there?” hisoka taps a nail against your bag, referring to the tarot cards you had stashed away. “i’ll tell you something you want to know.”

disgust coats your face. “fuck off, hisoka. i hope you choke.”

the smile on his face turns lewd. he tilts his head back and exposes his neck to you. “don’t waste time.”

you scoff at the pervert, standing up and straightening your skirt. hisoka’s gaze lingers too long on you, taking in your short dress and the way it clings to you in all the right places. you pick up you cup from the coffee table and dump the remaining liquid in his face.

turning away, you almost walk straight into kuroro’s large, broad chest. he doesn’t look at you, sight trained on hisoka. an arm wraps around you, possessive and all the way down to your ass, squeezing before resting on your lower back.

“hisoka.” kuroro’s voice is steady, his arm strong around your waist. the party has fallen quiet, eyes trained on the scene. you keep your focus to your lover’s chest, keeping close. “is this the best use of your time?”

“anything to have you both gaze at me,” hisoka purrs, standing up. “i’ll busy myself outside, if you want to meet me there.”

“i have nothing to meet you for,” kuroro says, smile sharp. he lowers his head to the exposed crook of your neck. as he passes your ear, he whispers a quiet trust me. his lips meet your neck and he sucks a hickey possessively, efficiently.

you gasp, sliding your finger in the belt loop of kuroro’s pants. your face burns, a familiar warmth starts to flood your groin. as your eyes roll back and kuroro pulls off, you make the briefest eye contact with machi.

“see?” kuroro’s thumb swipes over the fresh mark. you tilt your head, resting your other pointer finger on the top of kuroro’s belt buckle. his chest rises and falls.

hisoka’s anger is palatable. there are a few moments of stillness, before the soft clicking of the man’s heels echo across the room. the door clicks shut.

“everybody out,” kuroro says, and a shiver ripples through you. people stumble and mutter, taking the party to continue outside. the music starts up again, muffled.

kuroro pulls your head from his chest. you gaze up at him, a large smile pulling across your face. he cups your face, careful of your makeup, eyes trailing down to the new hickey.

his eyes glint purple in the lighting. “i hope you don’t mind, but i am about to fuck you over my pool table.”

you whimper. kuroro leans down and captures your lips in his, tongue swiping along your bottom lip. he backs you up against aforementioned pool table, kiss breaking and a trail of saliva connecting your bottom lips.

his fingers break the chain of saliva, bringing it to your lips. obediently, you open your mouth and let two of his digits slide across either side of your tongue. you close your lips around them, swirling your tongue around them and sucking lightly.

“you’re such a good girl,” kuroro whispers, turning you over and running a hand down your spine, lifting up the hem of your skirt, exposing the smooth skin of your ass. spit-slick fingers swipe underneath your damp panties. he leans down, to your ear. “is this because i marked you in front of everyone?”

his middle finger rests atop your hole, feeling the velvet flutter. “you’re begging for me.”

the finger slowly eases inside of you. a firm pressure to the rough spot within you causes a moan to bubble up within you, suppressing it by biting your lip. chrollo slides another finger in, almost automatically, curling and pumping his digits.

“fuck, kuroro, just like that, please, please baby.”

“you sound like a whore,” kuroro praises, withdrawing his cock from his trousers. slowly, he pulls your panties down, so they hooked around just one of your ankles. “moaning for just my fingers… to imagine what you’d sound like for my cock,” chrollo muses as he slides his cock beaten your wet folds.

he slides in, thick and heavy, and your eyes rolls back. a moan rolls from your lungs. between your legs is the delicious pulse of kuroro’s member, stretching and filling.

“oh, but i do get to know that, unlike anyone else.” kiroro withdraws his hips before snapping them back in. the rhythm he brings is sharp and loud— with each stroke his balls slap against your wet cunt, almost embarrassingly loud. “i get to hear the way my cock makes you feel, i get to feel the way you suck me in.”

your walls clench around kuroro, and you press your head against the pool table, moaning loudly. kuroro’s pace is fast, brutal and deep and making you delirious. all you could think about was kuroro’s cock, falling pliant against the table, hips held up by strong hands. warmth gushes through you, juices soaking down kuroro’s thickness.

“did you just cum on me, princess? does my cock feel so good you can’t warm me when you’re about to cum?”

his hand slides down to your clit, rubbing circles against the sensitive bud. you moan his name, legs shaking as your lover drills into you. the table shakes under the two of you.

with a groan, kuroro grips your hips and hurried his forehead on your spine. your name spills from his lips as his cum seeps inside of you.

kuroro slides out of you with a groan, pulling up his trousers. he bent down to examine your pussy, licking his lips as he watches his cum slowly deep out of you. with two of his fingers, he carefully pushes the cum back in with a few thrusts.

your fucked out, overstimulated moan makes his cock twitch.

he helps you back into your panties, missing your ass cheek before pulling your hem over. both decent, he brings you in for a deep, searing kiss.

he pours you a new drink, and the party resumes once more. kuroro’s cum collects in your panties, a constant, throbbing reminder. and no one bats an eyelash.

#ophelia.fic #hunter x hunter smut #chrollo lucilfer x reader #chrollo x reader #i’m sorry this is un beta’d #chrollo smut

132 notes · View notes

pedropascalssimp · 4 years ago

Note

Can you do a fluffy no. 20 with Maul? I would DIE 😭😭

YESH!!! thank u for requesting btw! This is my first time doing the whole prompt list thingy!

Prompt 20: “I like the way you're hand fits in mine”

Darth maul x fem reader! (I intended on a GN reader but my sleepy state of mind slipped up and made it be maul x wifey🥺) also a bit on the short side.

The small home made of wooden walls and dark oak floor was alight with the setting sun's light that leaked in through the open windows, his bare back soaking up the sun's warmth as he worked on something displayed on his holopad. Golden eyes more rich then the hues the sun cast over the room, the warmth of his scarlet tented pools putting the ball of fiery light in the sky to shame.

You watched him silently for a moment, taking in his natural beauty while the stress was evident in his tensed shoulders and every huff falling from his lips. Hand slowly moving to his temple to massage it just above one of various horns on his head. You smiled at him, heart aching for him though as you knew his master was putting an awful lot of pressure on his shoulders.

“Although you're admiring gaze is flattering, I'd much rather you sit with me love” he broke the silence draped over the room with his smooth voice, his head tilting in your direction as he spoke.

Walking over to him from where he sat by a desk in a chair, you placed both hands on his shoulders and slowly began rubbing at the tense muscles with your thumb, in attempts to ease him. “I thought you were to busy reading over whatever has you're attention on this little thing to bother with me?” you mused while placing a delicate kiss atop the crown of his soft head. His relieved sigh and little hum of appreciation making you feel a wave of satisfaction wash over you upon making him somewhat relaxed.

“Too busy for you? My beloved wife? Of course not” he said, leaning back in his small wooden chair to peer up at you, “That's just nonsense” he adds with a soft little smile, one only reserved for you.

“Well, I'm over here maul, now what?” you giggle at the roll of his eyes as he then averted his eyes to the floor, sitting up in his chair again before looking back at the holopad. He seemed hesitant to ask something, his body language easy to read after knowing him for so long, merely a year but what felt like eons, a thousand lifetimes.

“What you're doing now is enough to help me keep my sanity in check” he murmured while glaring at the device before his eyes soften once more and he looks up at you, but even if you and maul have only been together a year, one month spent married, you could practically detect what he wanted to ask of you just by reading his eyes.

You smile at him and walk around to perch atop his desk, taking his hand in yours. His crimson skin adorned with swirling inky black tattoos warm against your own, his lungs releasing a large breath he hadn't even known he had been holding in. Grip tightening around your hand softly as he urges you to stand up, never one to defy him, you do as he says and he pulls you down into his lap, chair creaking in the process due to the extra weight since it was obviously made for one person. One arm wrapped around your waist as he holds your hand now, back pressed against his bare chest. You never questioned why he always had this odd need to always, always, hold your hand. when in public he does it, slowly slipping his hand in yours as you both stroll around the markets. Or when your both sleeping soundly in your bed, his hand finds your in his unconscious mind, holding it tightly in his own as if he fears that if he let's go you'll disappear. It's a sweet act, an adorable habit of his actually. But you were curious as to why he loved holding your hand so much.

Turning slightly to look up at him, you grasp his attention with a gentle squeeze of his hand. “Maul, can I ask you something?” you start with a soft little grin, his hum of acknowledgment sends vibrations through his chest, felt against your back.

“You can ask me anything, love” he said while casually reading something that must have been important since his eyes stayed glued to the blue screen.

“Why do you always want to hold my hand?” it came out coated with a sweetness, the question obviously fueled by genuine curiosity, innocent voice clear with that.

But mual froze nonetheless, gulping as he obviously began to worry. His mind racing with the possibilities you didn't enjoy the action of affection as much as him. Once he really thinks about it, all the times he had taken your hand in his own, he hadn't even asked you if it were okay.

With a small almost saddened tone, Maul speaks up after a beat of silence. “Do you not enjoy it?” ready to slip his hand out of yours you are quick to grip it with a vise like hold. Almost regretting asking him in the first place.

“No! I absolutely adore it my love” you nearly exclaim with desperation to reassure him. “I was only curious as to why you always wanted to hold my hand — but you don't have to answer it of course, it's only a silly question” you rambled with wide eyes, the sight enough to have his two hearts flutter in a way he never thought possible.

Chuckling at you he leans down to place a kiss on your temple before deciding to answer you, his thumb rubbing your knuckles slowly. “I like the way you're hand fits in mine” he muttered with a small smile, eye's falling down to how his large hand nearly engulfs your small one, the way it looks in his own sends a wave of pride through him, proud he was able to capture the heart of such a beautiful soul in the galaxy. His beloved, you.

Your heart swells with his answer, your smile wide as you glance over your shoulder and find him looking at your intertwined hands. “The feeling is mutual for sure, it's a rather nice feeling isn't it?” you lean back against him and sigh in contentment. How you were able to marry such a man, a sith lord who may seems menacing to others but a tender hearted lover in your eyes, it was by pure luck the galaxy had brought him into your life.

He placed another kiss on your temple, lips lingering against your skin for a moment longer than the last one. He relishes in this moment with you a little longer before reluctantly getting back to work on his device, his hand bringing yours up to his lips to place a kiss on your knuckles. “It is indeed a nice feeling, my love” he whispers as your eyes flutter close, tired from the exhausting day you had. His chuckle keeps your mind from slipping into unconsciousness.

“Why don't you rest? It's getting late” he points out how the sun has nearly set, just barely peeking from the horizon.

“Not unless you're going to cuddle with me” you say tiredly with your eyes closed, a lazy smile on your lips. You knew he'd give in and discard his duties for a moment, just until you fall asleep at least. And you proved to be right as he discards work and stands with you in his arms, having to let your hand go for a moment as he walks you both to the bed, gently laying you down to drape the soft blankets over you, soon crawling in himself.

He slowly pulled your back against his chest as he spoons you, taking your hand in his own again. His nose brushing against your ear as he lulls you to sleep by telling you small details about his day as a sith, keeping out the harsher parts he despises you to know about his life. Just as your on the brink of falling into the world of unconsciousness, his tender words send a warmth through you, heart melting with love for him.

“I love you…” and you muttered them back, falling asleep in his arms as he held on tightly to your hand.

#darth maul x y/n #darth maul imagine #darth maul x reader #darth maul #darth maul fluff #Soft maul!

176 notes · View notes

throughtheinterstices · 4 years ago

Text

massive and small stars

❝ you were a massive star destined to burn for a few hundred thousand years, culminating in an inevitable explosion. kuroo tetsuro was the sun, a small star, bound to give light for several billion years. the difference between the two of you makes you ask him how he manages to keep his light. ❞

pairing. kuroo tetsuro x fem!reader

genre. college au where you and kuroo are apartment neighbors, implied comfort

word count. 1.7k words

warnings. themes of burnout due to the pandemic

a/n. reblogs are very much appreciated. i’d be happy to hear your thoughts too.

HAIKYUU MASTERLIST • AO3

You are by no means an astronomer. You are studying to become a physician. You are a hundred and ten percent certain of this fact. But as you lie limp atop your unmade bed, your mind can’t help but ponder on stars, how they are made, and how they die.

The lifetime of stars depends on their size. Massive stars exhaust their energy much faster and are only able to last for a few hundred millennia. Small stars, on the other hand, burn slowly, allowing them to exist for several billion years.

You have always been told that you were destined to be a star, to burn brighter above everyone else. You are fated for brilliance, they said. All your life, you are convinced by their words.

Entering college, you believe it is your time to shine. Your days in the dust are long gone. All the ashes and gas are finally going to pool together as the enormous celestial body everybody expected you to be. You are finally away from the drama of high school. You’re supposed to be joining organizations, getting good grades, making lots of friends, and living.

You were supposed to be doing all of that. You were finally safely moved into your one-bedroom apartment near a prestigious university in Tokyo, aching for all of it.

Then the pandemic hit. The club fairs turned into online zoom meetings. The good grades turned into just-above-the-passing-rate marks. Those friends turned into monotonous group chats about academic requirements. Living turned into surviving.

You are destined to be a star, they said. Indeed, you feel like a massive star. You expected too much, gathered too many particles from the universe, that you ended up an immense ball of burning gas about to explode in the near future. You are so close to wearing yourself out. You try everything to avoid it.

You turn up the volume of your favorite songs because maybe it will drown the negative voices in your head.

You bathe yourself in sunlight because maybe it will overpower the darkness slowly wrapping itself around you.

You soak yourself under the shower for hours because maybe it will wash away the dread and anxiety.

You laugh humorlessly.

As if.

As much as you were predetermined for greatness, you are designed for destruction as well.

You look at the time. 5:11 PM.

There’s still time before he comes. You can still take a nap. You’ve been a light sleeper for the past few months anyway. You’ll hear him knock.

The knock comes two hours later, 7:00 PM sharp.

“Good evening,” Kuroo Tetsuro says.

You mimic his greeting weakly.

Kuroo Tetsuro is your university apartment neighbor. You became friends a month into the pandemic, when he came to your rescue after you almost burned down your apartment (you left the stove on while you were in the shower). Since then, the two of you had formed an unusual partnership. He was in-charge of half of the groceries and cooking the main course. You were in-charge of the other half of the groceries and preparing dessert. You took turns with the dishes.

You’re grateful for his companionship. Somehow, being able to interact with another person face-to-face lessens the gravity of the whole situation.

Today, the weight is just a tad bit heavier for you. You barely have the energy to contribute to the dinner table conversation. You just nod along and give a few replies here and there.

After catching his fingers lingering on his phone and after noticing his sensitivity toward notification sounds, you sense that the weight is heavier for him too.

“Expecting a call?” you ask, getting a bite of tonkatsu.

“Hoping for one,” Kuroo answers, picking at his own food.

“She cut the call short again?” Whether it was his mother or his sister, you don’t bother asking. It was always between the two of them anyway.

“Didn’t even bother answering,” he says. That explains it.

You offer him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry.”

He scoffs. “’S not your fault.”

You know that. Still, you wanted to help him.

There was only one thing you can think of at the moment.

“Dessert?” you offer.

His face lights up a bit. “Yes please.”

You give him a small smile and stand up to reach for the newly-bought mochi.

The days after, you still feel the looming sense of your inevitable combustion. Exams were still difficult. Readings were still extensive. Social interactions were still monotonously online. Club participation was still nonexistent.

You turn the volume of your music a little higher. You stay under the sun a little longer. You soak under the shower head a few minutes more.

Yet, you still end up on your bed, drained. Nothing’s changed.

Another thing that hasn’t changed is him.

Seven o’clock sharp, he’s there, knocking on your door (tap, tap-tap-tap, tap-tap—a unique pattern he uses every time). He still cooks you dinner. He still talks to you about his day. You never see the light leave his eyes.

Kuroo Tetsuro was a star by his own right. He was the sun, bright and warm. You are always sure of his presence. You sense the remnants of his radiance the night before in the early morning just as you wake up. You hear the warmth in his boisterous laughter through the thin walls of your apartment. You feel his blazing passion for the sport that he loves when the sound of rubber on skin hits your ears (or sometimes it’s the sound of things getting broken).

Kuroo was the sun, a small star. Small stars don’t go as loudly as massive stars do, and they stay around for much longer. But they still cease to burn once they exhaust their fuel.

You wonder, sometimes, how Kuroo manages to keep his light burning.

There are days that the darkness creeps into his being. You’ve seen it. On days when the knock on your door isn’t as loud and lively, when his hands aren’t as nimble in slicing onions, when his laugh doesn’t ring the right way. And you know that the sun, like massive stars, like all stars, will collapse.

But he doesn’t.

He still calls his mother and sister relentlessly, trying to rekindle what was once there. Despite the social barriers that the pandemic has built, you can hear him still laughing loudly with his friends on video calls. Despite the halt in sports activities, he keeps his love for volleyball burning.

It makes you rethink whether he is a star in the first place. Something as brilliant as he is, who manages to burn bright despite everything, is something out of this world.

You ask him one day.

On this particular day, he shows you a meme, “Are medical students who graduated online called google docs?”

You give a skeptical look at the idiot who was hysterically cackling himself to death.

“Why do you laugh at this as if it’s going to solve all of your problems?” you ask him.

The premise is anything but serious. Yet, you feel like he knows what you’re talking about.

Kuroo tries to regain some composure.

“It won’t,” he says, moving a hand across his all-time bedhead. “But hey, at least even with all my problems, I was able to laugh, right?”

Huh.

You stare at him, as if seeing the sun for the first time in a long while.

The next day is still loaded with tests and homework. You still feel dumb. You still have no friends and no clubs. You still turn up the music. You still linger under the sunlight a little while longer. Your time in the shower is still a bit lengthier.

This time, you allow these things to make you smile.

Six fifty-nine—you are by the door, waiting.

Tap, tap—

You open the door before he finishes knocking.

“Good evening,” you greet first.

“Good evening,” he says, a bit taken back.

You hum your favorite song as he cooks sanma shio yaki (which you know is his favorite) and talks about his day.

Later, when you are preparing dessert, he asks, “Did anything good happen today?”

You think about it. “Hmm… Nothing in particular. Why?”

“I just… haven’t seen that smile in a while.”

Your fingers stop cutting midway across the strawberry shortcake you bought two hours before.

“Hmm?” You glance at him in your periphery.

“Yeah. It looks pretty.”

You take a sharp breath in.

You sense him take in his words as well.

You slowly turn your head back. As you expect, Kuroo Tetsurou has his hands scratching the back of his neck, trying to avoid your gaze.

Well, I’m not going to be the uncomfortable one here.

You allow yourself to tease him. “I do look pretty, don’t I?”

He glares at you. “As if!” But you see his ears flush pink.

You return to the strawberry shortcake that you were cutting.

You feel the edges of your lips inching their way closer to your eyes.

It’s been a while since you felt this way—this light. At the back of your mind, there were still essays to write, exams to study for, professors to impress, parents to make proud, and yourself to fix. The problems will never disappear.

And it’s not as if louder music, stronger sunlight, more bath water, and cornier jokes of the guy behind you could solve all of them.

But maybe if they can make you smile despite all the problems, then maybe… maybe you’re going to be okay.

Whether you are a massive star or whether Kuroo Tetsuro was the sun, you don’t know for sure.

You are by no means an astronomer. You are studying to become a physician. Instead of concerning yourself with celestial bodies, you should be concerning yourself with the human body.

From all the things that you were taught in medical school, this is something you know by heart: humans are made of the same elements as the stars are.

They are the same, yet they are different. Stars burn bright. And borrowing Guy Consolmagno’s words, they will end “either in a bang or in a whimper.”

Humans are different. They can burn unyieldingly without ceasing. Kuroo Tetsuro has proven that to you.

At present, that is all the reassurance that you need.

HAIKYUU MASTERLIST • AO3 LINK

#haikyuu #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo x you #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fics #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu college au #kuroo fic #kuroo #haikyuu x you #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsuro fic #massive and small stars #through the sunlight

121 notes · View notes

prncesselene · 4 years ago

Note

i love your kathony fics 🥺. are prompts still open? if they are then anything around that moment that is mentioned by edwina in the books - when kate says people will move on from her and anthony's *love match* gossip soon enough and edwina's like not as long as anthony looks at you the way he did at that ball, smouldering, pushing people away to get to kate. i love that because anthony is still in his denial phase but his actions are SO clearly the opposite xD

i am indeed still taking prompts! i’m working through them all ridiculously slowly, as my inactivity might indicate (lol), but i will be getting through everything that’s being sent my way, promise! :)

ao3

“There you are!”

Kate turned at the sound of her husband’s voice, her eyes widening. She hadn’t expected him to notice she’d even left the ballroom, much less follow her out. Her slowly relaxing heart took flight once more, a mixture of shame and embarrassment pooling in her chest.

They’d arrived back in London only a few nights ago, fresh off of their time in the country after the wedding. And though the time spent alone had been rejuvenating and enlightening all at once — Anthony was, in almost every way, a very attentive husband — returning to London as a bride had been a difficult adjustment. The height of the season was still upon them, and with it a number of events and social responsibilities that now asked much more of Kate than they had before.

And she wasn’t quite sure she was up to snuff, if she were being honest with herself.

Anthony crossed the hallway in three long strides and reached her side. “I turn around for just a moment and suddenly you’re gone. Practically knocked down half of the ton trying to find you.”

Kate’s chest warmed. The ballroom had been so full he would have had to have been keeping quite the close eye on her to notice something like that.

She shook her head immediately, dashing those childish, romantic notions away. He’d been very clear on where their marriage stood, and trying to paint his intentions as anything other than a gentlemanly interest in her well-being would only lead to heartbreak. She was already lucky enough, with the deal she’d been cut; asking for anything more than what Anthony could give her seemed selfish.

Once he was at her side, he tugged her elbow, gently bringing her in front of him. “Did something happen? Why did you leave the ballroom so suddenly?”

Kate began to fiddle with the buttons on his waistcoat, her eyes fixated on a string of fabric that had begun to pull from within one of them. “My, it's warm in here, isn't it? You need to take this to get fixed. I can arrange for your tailor to pass by tomorrow afternoon, if you can manage to clear your schedule. I know y–”

“Kate,” he warned, cutting off her nervous rambling, his voice more insistent. To their left, couples and families donning their finest gowns and suits entered and exited the ballroom, chatting amongst each other easily. “What’s wrong?”

She kept fiddling with the string of fabric, chewing on her lips until she was sure they would end up bleeding. Anthony’s hands came to rest atop hers, limiting her movement. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Kate sighed, gathering the strength needed for her admission. “Anthony, I don’t think I’m quite cut out for this.”

“Cut out for what?”

“Oh, you know, all of... this,” she emphasized, attempting to tug her hands away, but his grip only tightened.

“Marriage? It’s a little late for doubts like those,” he murmured.

“What?” Kate met his eyes then, surprised to find they were much more contemplative than she expected. “No, no. It’s not that. It’s just… well, I don’t really fit in, do I? I’ve never been good at the things that ladies are expected to be good at, have never managed to sit still or act demurely or... or anything like that, really and... well, now that is precisely what is expected of me.”

She paused, chewing her lip, taking her eyes off of Anthony’s to stare at the floor. “I know I’m not the kind of wife you expected. The sort that could smile prettily and charm everyone around her and be a proper viscountess.”

Anthony’s eyes narrowed with concern, his stance tightening. He took her hands firmly in his and held onto them, running a thumb over her gloved knuckles. “Kate, where is this coming from? Did something happen?”

Kate swallowed, her heart beating traitorously. It seemed no matter how hard she tried to convince herself of Anthony’s objectivity within their marriage, her body refused to cooperate. The simple gesture of him listening to her so intently, with such gentleness and care, made her knees weak.

“No one is saying anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she sighed, noticing the way he relaxed once more. Her face reddened remembering Lady Whistledown’s most recent column. “In fact… well, it’s obviously a bit ridiculous, but the consensus among the gossips of society is that ours was a love match.”

“Ridiculous,” he repeated softly. Not quite a question, but not quite a statement of fact, either.

“Yes. Ridiculous,” she said, her belly swooping pitifully. “Anyways, clearly, it is not. You need not remind me of that fact. That— it’s fine. But even if they think ours looks like a love match, they must think it’s an ill fitting one. I mean, I'm hardly a catch. I talk too loud, express my opinion too plainly. I keep meeting duchesses and countesses and realizing I... I'm nothing like that, Anthony. And I worry I never will be."

For a moment, Anthony didn’t reply, and Kate feared he agreed with her. That he, too, saw their marriage as the farce that it was. That the one with doubts was him.

But all he did he was bring her hands up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“Never speak that way of yourself again, Kate,” he said, his voice serious. “For my sake if not yours. In fact, as your husband, I demand it.”

Kate’s fingers were warm underneath the gloves where he kissed her, her eyes wide.

“I can only speak for myself, but there is absolutely nothing about you that I would wish to change. You are headstrong, passionate, and absolutely everything a proper viscountess should be, all of those other supposed virtues be damned. If someone — anyone — cannot see that, then that is their loss and theirs only."

He tightened his grip on her hands and made sure she was looking directly at him before continuing. "When you enter rooms you command the respect of others not because you are my wife, or a Bridgerton, but because you're you. And you are more than enough.”

Kate was at a loss for words. She knew that love would never be a part of their relationship. That even if her body felt most alive when it was next to his, even if she laughed and talked with him like she had with no one else before, even if she knew she was already halfway in love with him herself — that those feelings would have to be kept under lock and key.

But then, when he said those things…. When he looked at her like that…

It was, admittedly, a little difficult not to want to wrap her arms around him and show him exactly how she felt.

Kate released her inhibitions and embraced him tightly anyways, if only so that he wouldn’t see the errant tears that threatened to slip out of her eyes.

“Thank you,” she murmured into the velvet of his coat, indulging in the comforting smell of leather and tobacco and Anthony that she’d grown to associate with warmth and belonging. That she’d grown to love, little by little. "You needn't lie to me to make me feel better, but I appreciate it all the same."

“There is nothing I’ve said that I wouldn’t happily repeat in front of all of London,” he said, the smile in his voice evident. One of his hands wrapped around her waist while the other tipped her chin towards his. “Will you obey your husband and never disparage yourself like this again? Can I trust you to do that?”

Kate’s eyes narrowed as she bit down on her own smile. She was like a slice of jelly when it came to him, pliant and willing to do whatever he said. It helped, of course, that all he was asking of her was to be kinder to herself. That he seemed to really, truly believe the words he'd said. That he saw her that way.

“I suppose.”

He smiled and leaned down to slant his lips against hers, taking advantage of the brief lull in hallway activity. The arm around her waist tightened and brought her closer to him as his lips explored hers tenderly.

“Anthony!” she scolded, giggling against his mouth. “This is most improper. What if someone sees us?”

Leaning his forehead against hers, Anthony smiled. “The gossip about us is already scandalous. Why not add to it?”

Kate laughed but pulled away, shaking her head. As much as she loved kissing Anthony, she'd had enough scandal to last a lifetime. “I don’t think there’s any need for that.”

Straightening her ballgown and tightening her gloves once more, Kate took a deep breath. It was time to go back to the ballroom, where she would once again have to resume the act of viscountess; to pretend that she knew what she was doing, that she belonged there. With Anthony by her side, at least, it almost felt manageable.

Anthony’s smile was warm when he extended his arm out to hers. “Ready to return to the fun, Mrs. Bridgerton?”

Dash it. With him by her side it was certainly manageable. She had a growing suspicion that with him, anything was. Love matches or no.

She slipped her arm into his, remembering his words. His faith in her.

“Ready.”

#bridgerton #bridgerton fic #kate x anthony #kathony #kanthony #anthony bridgerton #kate sheffield #kate sharma #delaniewrites #AHHHH i have been so inactive lately lol #terrible bout of writers block mixed with a little bit of depression and existential anxiety = a delicious cocktail for NOT writing #but anyways pushing through it so #here you go

82 notes · View notes

bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 5 years ago

Text

Fear Not, Fair Maiden

(Thank you @spielzeugkaiser for letting me write a story about your amazing art! This was so much fun and it’s so fluffy. I may have thrown in a little nonhuman-Jaskier as a treat but Jaskier doesn’t know so...)

Etheid is the baby green dragon that Borch rescues in “The Sword of Destiny” book. I thought I’d make that scene more interesting and less sad for everyone by sticking to the book canon version for this story.

---

Jaskier woke up somewhere warm and soft and definitely not wrapped in the raggedy blanket he’d fallen asleep with atop his worn bedroll. He groaned in confusion and rose into a sitting position on the soft feather mattress to better wipe the sleep from his bleary eyes. He was sitting on a beautifully carved mahogany bed with four posts and lovely hanging curtains made of pale pink gossamer.

“Where am I?” he yawned to no one in particular.

In my tower, a voice echoed through his head. The bard leapt from the bed, suddenly alert and terrified of whatever had brought him here. The voice returned, slightly frightened in its own right and clearly looking to soothe. Don’t panic! I’m sorry! I probably should have introduced myself better. Come to the window, my sweet visitor, and let me say hello!

“You’re not going to eat me, right?” Jaskier squeaked.

Of course not, Jaskier. You’re my guest. That would be highly indecorous of me.

“Monsters with manners. Finally some decent company.” Jaskier made his way confidently out onto the balcony surrounding the tower’s main room and glanced around. “Hello? How do you know my name?”

A large, scaly green head rose over the side of the balcony wall and Jaskier took an involuntary step back. A thin-slit reptilian eye blinked at him. Once. Twice. Then the rest of the dragon’s face and snout appeared. Do not fret, my dear. You are in no danger at all. I merely wish to see a performance.

“You want me to sing for you?”

That was not my purpose in stealing you, but I would not be adverse to some music later this evening. I’m sure your Witcher is already on his way here to rescue you. Jaskier swore he heard the dragon release a deep, dreamy sigh from its steaming nostrils. Ah, I wonder if he’ll climb the spiral stairs and try to avoid the traps or if he’ll fight me first and scale the outer walls.

“Wait a second,” Jaskier held a finger up. The dragon paused its daydreaming and looked down at its tiny human captive. Well, mostly human from what the dragon’s senses could pick up. Perhaps a bit of dryad in there somewhere. The semi-mortal’s connection to nature was stronger than most; ancient in a way that drew the dragon to him in the first place. Well, that and the handsome, white-haired Witcher who kept the bard close to his side like a favorite puppy. “You kidnapped me so that you could watch Geralt rescue me?”

The dragon’s enormous snout bobbed up and down as it nodded. The bard leaned heavily against the balcony’s edge and released a series of hysterical giggles. Are you alright, Jaskier?

“How do you know my name?”

You met my godfather, once. Borch.

“Oh, you’re the baby green dragon!” Jaskier perked up. This was an old friend, then. “My, how you’ve grown.”

And my, how you haven’t, the dragon observed. If the bard didn't’ know any better it appeared as if the creature was raising its eyebrow at him. You don’t seem to have aged a day.

“Haven’t I?” Jaskier glanced down. “Perhaps I’m just remarkably well preserved.”

Magic, the dragon shrugged. Anyway that is not my purpose here. I’ve grown bored with my usual antics and wish for something better.

“So you thought you’d make up some entertainment by bard-napping me?”

Correct.

“This is like a play, then? I’ve been given the part of Fair Maiden and Geralt has been cast as our White Knight? My Prince Charming, as it were?”

Yes, although you find Geralt’s animalistic tendencies and Witchery nature more alluring than any fairy-tale prince or wayward knight.

“Hey! Hands off my private, personal thoughts,” Jaskier cried, waving his arms at the dragon as if the gesture might sever their mental link. The dragon huffed out what may have been a laugh.

I cannot help myself, I apologize. My name is Etheid, by the way. So you can stop referring to me in your mind as Baby Dragon I Held Once.

“Sorry,” Jaskier shrugged. He laughed again, this time genuinely. “Do you think Geralt really loves me enough to come rescue me from an entire dragon? He knows you can’t be beaten with one or two flimsy swords.”

He is determined to find you, Etheid replied. He will be here in two days time.

“So until he shows up do I just...sing for you, then? Is there any food? Oh, is there a bath!?”

You’re the most eager and friendly guest I’ve ever had, Etheid rejoiced. There’s food aplenty in the cupboard in your room. Wine, too. I also have bathwater ready at your request and I can heat it to whatever temperature you like. I even have costumes!

“Costumes!?” The bard beamed widely and clapped his hands together beneath his chin. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet and even spun in a quick circle. “What kinds of costumes!? Is this going to be a tragic rescue? Is this going to be dramatic and romantic? You mentioned traps, what kinds of traps will Geralt be facing if he comes up the stairs?”

Eager to see your handsome Witcher again?

“Eager to make sure that he isn’t injured trying to save me from your lovely tower, here.”

He will be absolutely fine. These traps were made for squires to outsmart; he’s a Witcher.

“If he loved me as I love him,” Jaskier sighed wistfully, “Then this would be even more fun.”

Etheid considered telling Jaskier the truth about his Witcher’s romantic feelings for a moment but figured that it was Geralt’s job to do so, instead. The dragon could wait. The dragon could write such a fantastical scene that Geralt would have no other option but to admit his feelings to the jovial and kindhearted bard.

There are dresses, of course, but there are some lovely robes as well. You can take whatever you like from the chest at the end of the bed.

“You’re going to regret saying that!”

Go ahead. Do what human things you must. I’ll heat the water and be on my way; dragons need to eat, too.

“No pesky villagers, please. Stick to wild animals so long as I’m your guest?”

I am not a heathen, Etheid scoffed. Deer only for now. The forest is fat with them.

“Excellent. See you after dinner and a bath, then. I’ll sing you some lovely ballads.”

About your White Wolf?

“I wouldn’t exactly say that he’s my White Wolf,” the bard blushed. “But yes, songs about Geralt.”

---

Geralt reached the base of the stone tower and squinted up. It seemed endlessly tall against the rocky mountainside and the blue of the sky. Jaskier was up there, though, and the dragon was probably nearby. The Witcher had chosen not to wear his armor for this particular rescue mission; it would only make him noisier and this was a battle of the wits. Dragons wanted to be outsmarted, not slain.

Geralt remembered Borch Three Jackdaws fondly, the golden dragon that had shown him such kindness and taught him that not all monsters were to be feared. Well, Borch hadn’t so much taught Geralt about the nature of monstrosity so much as he had reinforced a previously held belief.

But that didn’t matter now. As he slid into the passage that led to the tower stairs his only focus was his stupid bard’s physical safety.

No, Geralt, the Witcher corrected himself firmly. He is not your bard, he is merely a traveler who chooses to spend some of his free time dallying about with you. He likes writing songs about your adventures and that is all.

He could hear the sound of a lute growing slightly stronger as he ascended, and kept his eyes peeled for any sort of traps or pitfalls. He sidestepped two swinging axes with ease and ducked beneath a flying crossbow bolt as simply as he breathed. This tower was for amateurs, not highly trained Witchers with unparalleled senses. Not the most graceful Witcher the Wolf school had ever turned out onto the path. Not Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier’s Witcher.

---

Jaskier stopped singing suddenly and set his lute to the side, as planned. He laid himself out as Etheid had suggested, the white cotton robe pooling around his bare legs and spilling rather nicely off his left shoulder. He’d cinched a soft blue ribbon just so around the curves of his waist. His hair was ruffled just the way Geralt liked it; the way it was when he saw the Witcher’s gloved fingers twitch at his sides, clearly aching to touch him but too afraid to make a move.

He’ll have to make a move this time, Etheid said. Jaskier could hear the smile in the dragon’s words. Get in position! He’s nearly to your room, Jask!

“Jaskier!” the Witcher cried, bursting through the door only a moment later. The bard could sense Etheid just outside the window, hidden by a thin curtain that hung from the back of an ENORMOUS four-poster bed. Geralt was too excited to find his precious bard safe to care about the looming threat.

“Geralt! You came for me!”

“Of course I did,” Geralt rolled his eyes. “You’re always getting yourself into trouble.”

Ugh, you’re so right. He’s horrible with romance.

Jaskier stifled a smile but Geralt caught it anyway.

“What’s so funny, bard?”

“My captor doesn’t find your rescue speech very romantic or amusing,” he said, pulling the curtain aside. Etheid’s large blue eyes were focused on the scene, waiting for something good to happen. The dragon had been bored for so long and he’d heard so much from Borch about this White Wolf and his loyal, loving bard. Jaskier whispered the next line as if Etheid wasn't’ supposed to be hearing it, “Perhaps you should make our little reunion more flowery?”

“Jaskier, I - uh,” Geralt swallowed hard and took a step forward. Might as well go for it, the Witcher thought. “I’m so glad that I made it back to your side in time. I’m so glad that you’re unharmed.”

“I knew you’d come for me,” Jaskier sighed, holding out his hand. Geralt stepped even closer, leaning down to press his lips against the petal-soft skin of Jaskier’s knuckles. The bard blushed softly and Geralt felt his own face heating up to match. “You always save me, even from the worst situations.”

“I always will.”

The Witcher had admitted his greatest secret aloud before he could stop himself and he watched the bard’s eyes widen even further. Geralt’s brand of gruff sincerity was unmistakable.

“Geralt,” the younger man grinned, tears gathering in the corners of his perfect, cornflower blue eyes, “I knew you loved me back.”

“You mean...?”

“Of course, silly,” the bard laughed, throwing himself up off the mattress and into Geralt’s arms. “I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you brooding at that tavern in Posada!”

“Oh Jaskier,” the Witcher gasped. His lips found the side of his bard’s pale neck and out on the balcony Etheid released a happy, contented huff. “I would give anything and everything to know that you were safe.”

“My sweet Witcher,” Jaskier leaned back, cupping Geralt’s face between his hands. His weight was now being entirely supported by the thick arm wrapped around his waist and he reveled in the strength of his beloved before leaning up to kiss him. “Then you must know how I feel every time you leave me on a hunt. Or go to fight with Yennefer about something silly.”

The Witcher could only press their foreheads together and breathe in the happy, rain-shower scent of his Jaskier. “Hmm.”

Excellent, yes! I can’t wait to tell Borch and my friends about this! Etheid cheered. Congratulations, Jaskier! I’m so happy for you!

“Thank you,” the bard murmured.

“Hmm?” Geralt hummed again, raising an eyebrow. Jaskier pulled his head away and shook it.

“Don’t worry about it. Are you getting me out of here or not?”

“Can you walk in this getup? Will the dragon just let us go?”

Jaskier shot a curious glance towards Etheid, who nodded.

Tell him you can’t walk, though. I want to see him carry you off to his horse and ride away with the white robe flapping in the wind. Maybe he’ll even wrap his arms around you from behind to keep you safe. Like a real princess.

“No, I can’t walk in this silly thing at all. Keeps getting tangled around my ankles; I’d probably fall down the stairs and kill myself.

Geralt swept the younger man up into his arms and grabbed his lute from its place on the floor. “Well, we can’t have that.”

“No, my Witcher,” the bard replied with a contented smile. “We can’t have that at all.”

---

And if one of Etheid’s curious friends kidnapped Jaskier a month or so later and three countries over then...oh well. More weird dragon friends for the both of them.

214 notes · View notes

dc41896 · 5 years ago

Text

One Wish

I think this is the first time ever or in a while that I’m posting something on the day that I meant for it to come out lol😂. Hope you guys like it and that everyone has a Merry Christmas and a Happy Holidays💕!

Pairing: Chris EvansxBlack Reader

⚠️: Mentions of pregnancy, brief concerns about problems conceiving, fluff other than that though💕!

“Mommy!”

“Hey- what’s wrong?” Picking up your sniffling little one running towards you, he rests his head in the crook of your neck as a fresh set of tears begin to roll down his cheeks.

“River and Kyle were talking about Santa and the North Pole when their classmate interrupted saying how Santa wasn’t real,” Chris explains leaning against the counter still holding onto his son’s Spongebob backpack. “And apparently he called them babies if they still believed in him.”

“He is real...right?,” his tiny voice quivers breaking your heart.

“Do you believe he is?”

“Yes,” he nods lifting his head.

“Then he’s real,” you smile kissing his forehead.

“I knew it! I said so, but he won’t listen.”

“Well don’t worry about him. He’s just jealous because he’s probably on the naughty list,” you state causing a little gasp to leave his lips.

“That’s not good.”

“I know. But hey, why don’t you go wash your hands and then you can help me with cookies? Think that’ll make you feel better?”

“Mhmm! And watch Nightmare Christmas with Jack!”

“Yea bubs we can watch Nightmare before Christmas too,” Chris chuckles watching River excitedly climb down to get his bag and hurry to his room.

“Let me guess, Devin?,” you ask moving throughout the kitchen getting everything you’d need.

“Yep.”

“I know I shouldn’t say this, but that kid really gets on my nerves.”

“Babe,” he laughs with head slightly bowing forward.

“He thinks he knows everything and then his parents just think it’s sooo precious, ugh.” Stopping you from walking past again, you feel both of his strong arms hugging you to his chest rubbing up and down your back.

“Aww did Devin make you upset too?”

“Yes he did and I don’t wike it,” you answer poking out your bottom lip as you look up at your giggling husband. Leaning down, his lips sweetly peck yours twice before staying attached for a few seconds longer making you smile as his nose brushes against yours.

“Feel better?”

“Mhm,” you nod making him laugh once again.

“I’m ready!,” River beams running into the kitchen with Dodger on his heels. Stepping his bare feet atop Chris’, still in his sneakers, holding his arms up he lifts the excited child to sit on the counter beside him with legs dangling over the edge.

“Alright what kind of cookies do you want?,” you ask turning to the desert section of your cookbook.

“Chocolate chip! With extra chocolate.”

“Really? You sure you don’t want worm cookies? With extra slime?,” Chris jokes making River shake his head in disgust.

“Eww! No daddy, chocolate chip.”

“You hear that babe? He wants coated frog lip cookies. I’ve never heard of that but if you insist..”

“Noo chocolate chip!,” he giggles as his cheeks become covered in kisses from his father. Mixing all the dry ingredients in the large glass bowl, River carefully cracks the eggs, with the help of Chris, and adds the rest of the wet ingredients before moving to scoop in the chocolate chips. Multiple times throughout the process you have to stop them from trying to eat the entire bag only making them get more creative on how to sneak more when you weren’t looking.

Or thought you weren’t at least.

Once everything was cleaned following the cookies and dinner, and River got to watch his favorite movie while happily tapping his feet to every song, Chris took the yawning child to get ready for bed leaving you to do the same for yourself. As if on cue, by the time you were sliding into bed trying to get comfortable having showered and finished your full nightly routine, there was your husband softly closing the door behind him with a piece of paper in his hand laughing to himself as he approached the bed.

“What?,” you ask, amused as he lies across the foot of the bed propping his head up with his hand and bent elbow.

“River gave me his list for Santa that he made in class.”

“I’m sure it’s filled with toys,” you and Chris both chuckle.

“See for yourself.”

You sit up taking the red and green bordered paper from his outstretched hand preparing yourself for quite possibly the most outlandish requests from the current look on his face.

“Dear Santa, I’ve been really good this year,” you begin smiling at your son’s slightly shaky handwriting and occasional misspelled words. Continuing down the paper, Chris’ eyes stay fixed on you waiting for your reaction when you get to that special part.

From your extended pause and furrowed brows as you bring the letter a bit closer to your eyes, a chuckle leaves his lips as he crawls up the bed lying cheek down on the pillow beside you and his large hand slides under your, well his, oversized graphic tee gripping your hip.

“But what I really really want is a baby brother or sister this Christmas so we can play at home with mommy and daddy and all of us have fun,” you read aloud looking down at your husband.

“Yeaaa...”

“What are we gonna do?”

“Well,” he smirks gently draping your leg over his jeaned hip as his thumb grazes back and forth over your recently moisturized skin. “What kind of monsters would we be to not grant our child’s Christmas wish?”

“Chris you know it doesn’t happen that fast.”

“We could get the ball moving at least?” Leaning up to kiss your neck, you feel his teeth and lips taking turns nipping at your ticklish skin making you giggle as you try to nudge him off.

“Christopher..”

“Okay, okay. I honestly don’t know. We either tell him ahead of time, hurting his feelings when he’s already sensitive about Santa from earlier, or we wait that morning and he still gets his feelings hurt. Either way I feel like it’s a lose lose.”

“Pretty much.” There’s a comfortable silence as you both try to ponder the best option. His fingertips drifting up and down the back of your thigh still across him while you rake through his hair.

“Maybe he’ll get distracted with all his other gifts and forget about it?”

“You really think our son is gonna forget?,” he chuckles shifting to look at you with a raised brow. Moving to give you more room, you lie down with a sigh slightly concerning Chris with the conflicted look on your face.

It had always been the tale-tell sign that you were overthinking and your anxiety might soon take over. “Hey, you know this isn’t some way to force you to have another baby right?”

With a simple nod, your head moves to his chest and hand drops from his hair to the medallion crooked on his chest.

It’s not that you didn’t want to have another one, you were anxiously waiting for the day you’d hold that stick that read positive in your hand again, or the doctor to tell you congratulations as you sat on the obnoxiously loud paper covering the leather seat in the exam room. After your false positive last month though, doubt and worry began to overshadow that excitement.

“Talk to me,” he softly states bringing you out of your thoughts, his other arm wrapping around your body to rub your shoulder.

“It’s just...I can’t get what happened last month out of my head. What if it happens again and we find out I can’t get pregnant anymore? Or what if we do and get excited...and-,” Before you could stop them, tears trailed down your cheeks onto his shirt as he held you closer trying to soothe you.

“Shh, hey it’s okay.”

“What if it’s not? Whenever we’ve talked about kids you’ve always said how you wanted a big family with a house full of kids running around.”

“It’s not all about what I want though Y/N. This marriage isn’t just me.”

“I know but I still want you to be happy,” you mumble, sniffling as he sits up looking at you as if you were crazy.

“You think I’m not happy? Babe you and River both have made me happier than I’ve ever been and will always make me happy.”

“I didn’t mean that you weren’t happy now...,”

“What, you think if you couldn’t have anymore kids I wouldn’t be happy?”

Avoiding his eyes as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt, you hear him sigh as he leans closer holding your chin in his warm hand for you to look into his blue pools full of sympathy. “Sweetheart I didn’t marry you for your ability to have kids, and if you can or can’t doesn’t dictate your worth. I was just as happy when it was just us as I am now that we’re three, which won’t change if we become four, five, or so on.”

“I hope that so on doesn’t go on forever. I thought our absolute limit was four?,” you softly speak making him laugh.

“As I was saying,” he continues, the back of his finger wiping away your tears. “Would I mind having another? No, but only if and when you’re ready. And if you tell me now, tomorrow, or next year you’re done then that’s it, and I will still be the happiest man with my stunning, intelligent, hilarious even though she doesn’t think so wife, and perfect son who never fails to make me smile.”

Your hand finds the nape of his neck as you close the remaining space between you and your lips collide in a slow, yet passionate exchange as if both of you were trying to embed the feel and taste of each other’s lips on your own.

“Thank you,” you whisper, smiling against his now red lips.

“I love you Y/N. Remember that nothing will ever change that.”

“I love you too.”

———

The house is peacefully quiet as your eyes open to see the ground and trees outside covered in a light blanket of snow that still steadily fell from the grey sky above. Careful not to wake your husband who, from the sound of his snores, sounded like he was in a blissful sleep, you turn your body to face his planting your face in the crook of his neck arched perfectly for you to fit. A long, quiet breath leaving your nostrils as your lips curl into a smile, your arm falls across his tattoo littered abdomen and hand dangles along his side.

Your fingertios lazily dragging along his ribs eventually makes a small shudder spread through his body as he pulls you closer. “Hand’s cold,” he mutters with eyes still closed.

“Sorry,” you whisper slowly retracting your arm until his larger hand grabs yours bringing it to the side of his head as he trails kisses from your palm to the middle of your forearm. Long lashes fluttering against his cheeks, he reveals those heart stopping eyes as a drowsy smile appears on his lips.

“Merry Christmas beautiful,” he groggily speaks making you giddy from the butterflies in your stomach.

“Merry Christmas.” Your hands rest on either side of his head as you lower yourself meeting the corner of his mouth before moving to his pouted lips.

“Shh Dodgey let’s go look,” you both hear causing you to separate with knowing smiles on your faces.

“Let’s go before he opens everything.”

Natural light breaks through the thin curtains as you and Chris quietly make your way to the living room, him in his sweats and solid red shirt, and you in one of his hoodies on top of your own grey sweats. You both stop at the doorframe watching him walk all along the twinkling tree admiring his presents and even peaking behind to see what all was hidden along the back wall.

“Did you two start opening presents without us?,” Chris asks startling River before he smiles, running up to the both of you and hugging your legs that respectively stood right next to the other.

“Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!,” you and Chris speak at the same time as he lifts the excited child to sit on his hip. Both of you sandwiching him in as you each blow raspberries on one of his cheeks, an eruption of giggles soon follows after.

“Look daddy! The cookies and carrots!,” he shouts pointing to the table with two empty plates and half empty glass.

“I know! Santa wanted me to tell you thank you, and that the reindeer loved the carrots.” You have to stifle your laugh seeing your son’s eyes go wide in shock as he stares at his father with this new revelation.

“You know Santa?!”

“Of course! He calls parents throughout the year to help make his final decision on the naughty and nice list,” Chris answers, smiling when River turns to look at you with the same amount of shock.

“You too mommy?!”

“Yep! We had a long chat last night before he left.”

“Did he see my list? Is a baby coming?!,” he asks with big brown eyes looking back and forth between you and Chris. You knew this moment was coming, but you’d never be prepared for the hurt you’d feel seeing your baby boy disappointed.

“Um..as of right now there isn’t gonna be one bubs,” Chris answers leaving him confused as his little eyebrows furrowed together.

“Why?”

Meeting each other’s eyes, neither of you expected to be having “the talk” this early with River. But settling on the couch where he sat in Chris’ lap ready to intently listen to your every word, you’d just have to try your best.

“Well sweetie, it’s not really Santa who’s in charge of that. It’s the...um...baby fairy!”

“Baby fairy?”

“Yea, she’s the one that makes sure the baby is perfect. And once it’s ready, she’ll deliver it to the mommy’s stomach where it’ll grow until it’s time to be born.”

“How-how does she know when to make it mommy?,” he asks tilting his head.

“That’s a very good question. Um...well uh...Chris why don’t you answer this one?,” you suggest completely catching him off guard. His pleading eyes meeting yours that read “Too bad, I’m not doing this all by myself”. Clearing his throat, he nervously smiles down at River now giving him his full attention.

“Uh...she knows because...there’s a signal that rings a uh bell and that tells her to start working.”

“What signal?”

It was becoming increasingly difficult to hide your laughs seeing Chris redden by the second. You could swear you even saw a bead of sweat forming on his forehead as he nervously chuckled raking his brain for his next answer. Hearing your muffled snort, he shoots you a playful glare as you mouth a quick sorry before petting Dodger to distract yourself.

“The signal is a...um handshake. But it’s a very special one that is filled with lots and lots of love.”

“Oh...okay,” River replies, disappointment evident on his face that he wouldn’t be getting the gift he was most looking forward too.

“There’s one last important thing about the baby fairy though,” you state tilting his small chin to look at you. “She works all year round. So, just because there’s no baby now doesn’t mean there won’t be one later.”

At that, his cheeks perk to a smile and eyes become bright again as he crawls over to hug his arms around your neck.

“It’s not the signal, but I write her too just in case.”

“Sounds good,” you smile kissing his cheek. “Now go ahead and open your presents so we can go to grandma Lisa’s.”

He quickly scrambles to his feet motioning Dodger to follow and help unwrap the gifts making both you and Chris softly laugh as you scoot closer together.

“Very special handshake?,” you repeat in a whisper as he drapes an arm over your shoulders.

“Hey it’s the best I could come up with on the spot okay. And baby fairy? Why not stick with the stork?”

“Because a bird carrying a baby from who knows would’ve been more difficult to explain, and it’s the best I could come up with on the spot okay?” Mocking his voice, you feel a pinch on your side replacing the smirk on your face with shock from the small gape of your mouth. “Did you just pinch me?”

“I don’t know, maybe it was the pinch fairy,” he shrugs standing up to help River with his presents before you could do or say anything back.

Within an hour, the living room had turned into what you’d describe as the end of the workday at Santa’s workshop from the ripped wrapping paper that was scattered along the floor, along with discarded plastic and cardboard once containing toys that now lied out in the open waiting to be played with again. It made both of your hearts swell seeing how happy River was with each of his presents. Every few minutes he’d walk up to either one of you tugging you down to place a kiss on your cheeks adorably thanking you for everything. He wanted to bring all his new toys to Lisa’s so his cousins could see and play too, but was convinced to bring his top two after being told, and shown, that all of them wouldn’t fit in his bag.

Walking through your bedroom door that evening once returning home, the clock on the bedside table reads 10:13 pm as you both fall back on the bed. As usual, Christmas Day at his mother’s was filled with lots of laughs, exchanging of more gifts, food, playful sibling rivalry between Chris and Scott that ended in both of them being fussed at by Lisa and told to settle down once they got too loud, and of course the kids playing all day with their new toys.

Needless to say, you both were tired.

However, the house was uncomfortably more silent now with River spending the night and remaining weekend at his grandma’s along with his other cousins. It was something new Lisa wanted to start to give you guys a short break for yourselves.

“Babe? You sleep?,” Chris cautiously asks in a hushed tone.

“No, and honestly I don’t know if I’ll be able to. It’s different not having River here.”

It was his first time spending the weekend at someone else’s place, and while you knew it would be a good experience for him and he’d be fine, the protective momma bear in you couldn’t help but worry. Grabbing your hand, he lifts it to his lips kissing your knuckles.

“Yea it sounds even quieter that we’re alone.”

“Mhmm.”

“...And it’s gonna be like that the whole weekend,” Chris smirks, peeking over at you to see if you came to the same realization as him.

“Yep,” you sigh, eyes still towards the ceiling.

Clearly you hadn’t yet.

“First time we’ve been alone for that long since he was born. House completely to ourselves. Not worrying if he’s doing something when it gets too quiet because it’s only us.”

Giggling to yourself, you turn to lie on your stomach lightly trailing your nails from the hairs of his beard down the middle of his chest and abdomen.

“So what you’re saying is that we’re absolutely, utterly all alone? In this big, cozy house?,” you ask tracing the tattoo right below his bellybutton feigning confusion as a hearty chuckle escapes his chest. Sitting up on his elbows, his hand caresses your cheek as he leans forward teasingly brushing his lips against yours. His hand shifts to the back of your neck pulling you closer to connect your lips in a breath taking kiss that leaves you wanting more once he pulls away.

“Exactly,” he lowly whispers. “Thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yea,” you breathe out, biting your lip. “We have all the ice cream to ourselves!” A giddy smile forms on your lips hopping over your husband looking dumbfounded.

“Um y-yea...not really what I was thinking but..”

“And then after,” you start pulling him up to stand with you. “We can really start being alone. Like in the bed, and the shower, and the kitchen counter-.”

“And? You’re preparing for a busy weekend huh?”

“Plenty of chances to perfect that special handshake for the baby fairy,” you smirk. A squeal leaves your lips as you’re lifted over his shoulder with both hands inadvertently tickling your inner thighs from his grip.

“I like the way you think.”

Taglist: @fumbling-fanfics @honeychicanawrites @honeychicana @lady-olive-oil @lovelymari4 @melinda-january @maxcullen @literaturefeen @damnitaa @curlyhairclub @plokyu23 @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @nunubug99 @felicity-x0 @ellixthea @jojolu @jnk-812 @brwn-sgr @captainsamwlsn @wildfirecracker @nina-sj @iammyownlover @chaneajoyyy @scoop93535 @secretmysteriousperson

If anybody wants to be tagged, has asked to be tagged and don’t see your name, only want to be tagged for certain people I write for (can be found in masterlist), or no longer wish to be tagged just let me know🤓!

#chrisxblackreader #chrisxwoc #chrisxreader #chris evans

65 notes · View notes

starkeristheendgame · 5 years ago

Note

Peter can't bottom because he's way too tight because of his super strength and he'd clench too hard for Tony's dick to survive. So Tony offers to bottom, not expecting to be super into it since it's been a long time for him and he thought it was only alright back then. Suprise, suprise, they are both super into it. Maybe like service top Peter who just wants Tony to feel amazing and Tony realizes he never had a really good top until now. Or maybe slightly dom Peter if you're comfortable.

I don’t normally go for Top!Peter but I thought this prompt deserved a shot! I hope that it ticks all of your boxes and I did you good, Non. Thank you sm for sending this in ❤️

“Fuck, baby. So tight. So good for me. The perfect little cocksleeve, huh? Yeah” Tony’s ragged words spread hot air against Peter’s jaw as he thrust, fingers flexing where they pinned Peter’s upper arms to the bedding. Peter was tighter than any ass he’d ever emptied a load in before, wringing him for all he was worth.

“Fuck. Yeah, baby. So tight for me, sweetheart. So….Tight. Tight-- Fuck” writhing and squirming like a coyote in a claw trap, the older man managed to extract himself from the lock of Peter’s legs, jerking his cock free from the boy’s body before it could clench down and cut him off at the root.

“Again?” Peter mewled, tears gathering in his eyes as he rolled over and buried his face into the silk pillow, hiding away. Tony cursed softly as he pet at his aching dick, thumb sliding along a red line where Peter’s body had squeezed down. The older man flopped down besides the teen, pawing gently at his shoulders to pull him from his burrow of shame and drag him into his arms.

“Its okay, Pete. I don’t mind - Its just how you are. Not everyone can have sex like this. I still love you” he soothed, fingers tangling in the soft ringlets that pooled over his chest. It was their second time this week attempting to have sex - Ninth time overall, and Peter was terrified. He could see the fear and uncertainty in Peter’s eyes for days after each unsuccessful attempt, the notion that Tony would leave him for someone he could actually fuck constantly clouding the boy’s mood.

“I wish you could just bottom” the boy sniffled against his chest, fingers digging gently into his hip. The sullen tone startled a laugh out of the businessman.

“I haven’t had anything up my Hershey pipe since my last prostate exam, kid” he chuckled, shaking his head. It was not to say he’d never bottomed, because he had. But the last time he’d taken it up the tail end was...Probably before Peter was even a thought in Richard’s balls, actually.

His laughter stopped and he looked down considerately at his lover, who was looking up at him with an expression hilariously somewhere between pained and mollified.

“I could” he blurted, before he allowed himself to think about it. If he allowed himself to think about it, he’d think about Ryan Waye and how he’d torn Tony open like a chip packet. He’d think about the trans Domanatrix from Singapore who’d actually been quite good, but ambitiously sized and the days of aching, open pain afterwards. Or all the hook-ups who’d been less than entertaining - Finishing themselves off without a second thought to his own comfort or pleasure.

Peter wouldn’t be like that. He knew it even as his brain caught up to his mouth.

He forced himself to keep looking up and away, suddenly too reluctant to meet Peter’s gaze as he gave a light cough, ignoring the throb of his dick against his thigh. Peter spoke first.

“You don’t bottom. Have you ever bottomed, even?” Peter didn’t sound judgemental - Not really, his eyes wide and round even in Tony’s peripheral.

“I have” he replied indignantly, pushing Peter over and onto his back, rolling atop the slender teen with a wry smile. “Not in a long time, granted. But the idea of it - Of you, isn’t exactly unappealing” he purred, reaching between them to fist Peter’s cock, pumping the head in short, tight little jerks. The boy gasped and jolted, cheeks ruddy.

“Its all about if you think you could handle it, sweetheart” he added, coating two fingers in Peter’s own precum and dipping them between his thighs, pushing them into the sloppy, swollen little hole between his cheeks. Peter could handle fingers fine, could take a thin plug or dildo (although on one very memorable occasion he’d snapped a glass one clean in half). Cocks, however, or anything thicker than two or three fingers and it was game over.

“Do you think you could take it, hm? Burying your cock in me?” He asked softly taunting as he fingered the boy gently, rubbing along his soft insides, scraping gently over that button-like nub within. As far as he knew, Peter had only ever put his cock in a girl. Some pretty blonde thing called Gwen, who looked like she’d stepped out of some Teen Punk magazine. The relationship had been short lived (to Tony’s benefit) but they remained good friends.

“I-I-” Peter stammered, scrabbling at Tony’s shoulders, eyes rolling as he rubbed insistently at his sweet spot. Peter was easy to keep sensitive, easy to keep on the edge. Tony sank back on his haunches and wrapped a hand around his cock, pumping him in time with each forceful inward thrust of his fingers and it hardly took any time before Peter cried out, curling up like he was wounded as he splattered his own stomach and chest with cum.

Tony thought about it for all of three days, afterwards. Peter had been easily distracted by an orgasm and the following cuddles and nap, and Tony had lay in quiet consideration for the rest of the night. The day after that, when Peter was at school at Tony was pretending to work on SI business, he fingered himself. The angle was a little awkward and it wasn’t as pleasing as it could have been, but it wasn’t horrible.

By the time Peter came over on Saturday for the weekend, he’d prepped and cleansed and downed a shot of whiskey as courage. The moment the kid stepped through the door Tony rounded on him, pressing him against the wall and grinding his half-hard length against the kid’s thigh as he grasped him by the jaw, thumb forcing his mouth open so he could lick into it.

“Oh” the boy squeaked at him, grinding forwards on instinct, lips parting eagerly for Tony. He sweetened the boy up with a searing kiss, licking into his mouth and scraping his lower lip with his teeth before he took the boy’s wrists, guiding them to his hips and then back, pressing him to grab two handfuls of his ass. “Oh” Peter repeated against his mouth, pausing. “Today?”

“Today” Tony affirmed, leaning back and raising a brow. “Unless...?”

“I want to” Peter blurted, cheeks pinking. “If you do”.

Tony’s agreement that he still wanted to landed them in bed, naked and rocking against each other messily as Tony coated Peter’s fingers in lube. He’d fingered himself again before the boy’s arrival - But it wouldn’t hurt to add a little extra. Peter was rock hard and wild-eyed, teeth deep in his lower lip as he stared down at where Tony lay sprawled open and ready.

“What if I...”

What if I fuck up. What if I don’t like it. What if you don’t like it.

“It’ll be okay, sweetheart” Tony soothed him, catching him by the chin to make the boy look at him. Peter’s shoulders dropped a little, relaxing steadily, and he nodded once, looking down and shuffling on his knees. Tony had told the boy to start with two fingers, to focus on getting him wet more than stretching him open, and he let out a gasped grunt as Peter slid long, slender digits into him slowly and easily.

He’d have laughed at the look on Peter’s face, except the boy pushed deeper, hitting his prostate and rubbing at it intently and the laugh fell out of his mouth, replaced by a soft moan at the bare fizzle of pleasure it offered. “That’s good, baby” he coaxed, offering the stunned boy a warm smile. When Peter moved to touch his cock he shifted, batting his hand away. “Ah, ah. No touching yourself” he chided, head shaking.

He let Peter finger him for another few moments before reaching down, pulling the boy up and over his body gently. “You’re going so well” he praised, dipping his fingers into the tub of lube before he reached between them, wrapping his hand around Peter’s neglected cock. The boy’s breath stuttered and he rocked into the grip, lips parting as Tony tugged on his cherry-red, straining length. He knew it was easier to slide into someone hard, knew that stoking Peter’s pleasure was the easiest way to relax and distract him.

He pulled Peter down for a kiss, sucking at his tongue softly as he pressed a hand to Peter’s hip, guiding him carefully and slowly into position. It was easy to wrap a slick hand around the boy, to guide his cock to where Tony was wet and open, waiting. The first touch made them both snort shaky breaths, Peter clutching at the sheets as Tony ground his hips a little, teasing himself on the round, smooth tip. “You can do it” he encouraged, propping himself back on his elbows as Peter shifted, shakily reaching down to take hold of his cock in lieu of Tony’s helping hand.

It was strange, at first. Feeling the pressure of Peter’s cock forcing him open, spreading him wide. Fingers were one thing but a cock was another, his body parting willingly for the thick slide of it, stuffing him full in a way he hadn’t been for so long. It wasn’t amazing but it wasn’t uncomfortable; his rigorous prep had ensured an easy slide. Above him Peter’s face scrunched, lips parted and eyes glossed as he looked down, watching himself sink inch by inch into Tony’s body.

Tony let his head fall back, breathing through the feeling of being filled. Peter wasn’t huge but he wasn’t small either, a decent and pretty length that still seemed to never end until Peter’s breath hitched and they were flush together. The boy was trembling like he’d just licked a live socket, a punched out whine stuck in his head as he dropped his head to Tony’s shoulder, hips nudging forwards briefly. Tony let out a harsh breath and shifted, grinding down to feel the way that Peter filled him. “Fuck, baby. So good. You’re going so well. Just like I like it” he assured the teen.

Peter looked up at him with wide, round eyes, lips parted as he let his hips roll, meeting Tony’s slow grinds carefully. “How does it feel?” Tony asked him roughly, and Peter responded with a low, weak whine.

“So good. S’good. Its...Tight? Its not like a...” Peter trailed off, cheeks going red, and Tony laughed.

“Like a pussy? You can say it, sweetheart. You can say its not like a wet cunt”.

Peter looked scandalised but nodded in agreement, rocking his hips forwards with a touch more force. They kept that gentle movement for a few moments as Tony got used to the feeling of a dick sliding along his insides and Peter got used to sticking his dick inside a guy for the first time. When he felt ready he urged Peter to go a little faster. The boy shuffled on his knees, sliding one hand under Tony’s hips the change the angle as he thrust forwards, gripping the headboard for purchase with his other hand.

Tony reached down and wrapped a hand around himself, groaning at the relief it offered as he dug his thumb into his slit, massaging his tip as Peter rolled his hips slowly, sliding in and out at a smooth, set pace. It went from pleasureless friction to base pleasure pretty quickly, Tony squeezing his eyes shut as Peter shifted a little again, angle changing until the tip of his cock rubbed against his prostate on each dragged thrust.

“Oh” Tony breathed out as the pleasure began to grow in the pit of his stomach, warming him from the inside out, raising the hairs on his arms. Above him Peter stuttered, like he was about to stop, and Tony snapped a hand down to his hip, shoving him closer to encourage him to keep going. “Fuck, keep going. Its - Its good”. He tried not to sound so surprised, watched as Peter nodded, face screwed up on a little uh huh in agreement, shoulders straining as he fucked into Tony in steady, gentle thrusts.

“You can go faster” he breathed at the teen, struggling to keep his composure as he pumped himself gently, watching Peter lick his lower lip, restlessly shuffling above him. He gave the teen an encouraging smile, moving the hand up to his ribs where he soothed his thumb gently along his side, rocking his hips down to meet the thrusts as they increased in force. He was being softly jolted on the bed now, the insides of his thighs taking the brunt of each still-careful thrust.

“I want you to feel good” Peter mumbled, eye half-lidded as he ground, seeking out the space that made Tony’s hips jolt. He felt thickly stuffed and gaping open, filled in a way he couldn’t remember feeling. The pleasure was pooling now, a hot coil in his gut that pulsed over his cock and through his insides. If Peter’s shaking arms and blissed out expression was anything to go by, it was good for him too.

“I do” he assured fondly, moving his hand to stroke through Peter’s hair. “Go on, baby. Fuck me. I know you can do it, sweetheart” he urged, settling back against the sheets and working his cock with a tight fist as he watched Peter’s expression twist, hips jerking forwards into Tony’s tight heat. Peter was moaning now, brows scrunched in pleasure as he chased his orgasm. Tony would have teased him for it, but he was losing himself in his own hunt, staring down at their connected bodies as he pumped his cock with renewed intent.

Peter came first, hips punching forwards with a wounded sound, mouth forming a delicate o and lashes fluttering as ground forwards, pumping his cum as deep into Tony’s body as he could get it. Tony grinned up at him, drinking the sight in as he panted and dug his thumb into his slit. He watched as Peter seemed to come back to himself, shuffling on his knees to carefully, slowly ease himself free of Tony’s body. It made the older man groan at the empty, open feeling, the way he felt stretched out and rearranged inside, but he didn’t have long to dwell on it because Peter ducked down, nudging his hand away to wrap his lips around his cock.

It didn’t take long for him to cum into the warm, wet suction of Peter’s mouth, hands fisting in the kid’s hair. “You’ll be the death of me” he groaned down as Peter licked cum from his lips, crawling up Tony’s body to settle against him like a kitten to a heat lamp.

“Can we do that again?”

“Kid. You’ve just cum. I’ve just cum. We-”

“I mean,” Peter interrupted, cheeks pinking. “Like, another time? I really...I liked it. Making you feel good. I wanna keep trying. I wanna learn how to do it more. Make you feel good like that”.

Tony paused, looking down at Peter. Fondness threatened to drown him, warmth wrapping around his heart. He surged down to pepper kisses all over Peter’s face, until the teen was giggling.

“You will be the death of me, Mr. Parker. Alright, I’m sold. From now on I wear the skirt in this relationship” he teased, relishing in the way Peter rolled his eyes but snuggled closer.

#fanfic #starker #starker fanfiction #starker fanfic #starker fic #starker smut #nff #ironspider #ironspider smut #ironspider fanfiction #ironspider fanfic #ironspider fic #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker/tony stark #top!peter #top peter parker #top!peter parker #sie fics

381 notes · View notes

harringtown · 5 years ago

Text

dreamt of you all summer long

requested by anonymous

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Steve has a crush on the new lifeguard at the pool, but he’s too nervous to do anything about it

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: cursing

Steve Harrington would rather stand barefoot in the street on a hot day for hours than go to the community pool, despite it being one of the few refuges from the incessant Indiana summer heat. The pool is constantly teeming with all the people he doesn’t want to see - kids he went to high school with, or parents of the Party who have questions he still won’t answer almost a year after the tunnels - and he knows, without a doubt, Billy Hargrove is a lifeguard and on shift nearly every day.

There are a million reasons to avoid the place, but after weeks of pestering, Robin finally breaks him down, and he finds himself reluctantly in her car, his skin sticking to the hot leather of the seat where it isn’t covered in bathing suit material, pulling into the parking lot of the pool.

"It'll be good for you," Robin says, pulling the key from the ignition and tossing it into her pool bag. She tugs a ball cap onto her head and pushes the door open, climbing out into the hot day, heat flushing into the car through the door. Steve breathes deeply before undoing his own seatbelt and slinging his towel around his neck, the sun is already threatening to pierce the tee shirt covering his skin. "Get you back in the game."

“The game?” Steve snorts. “If there was a game, I was never out of it.”

“You’re hanging out with me, Harrington,” she says, flashing him a smirk. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

“Sick of me already?”

“I was sick of you day one,” she says.

“You wish.”

“God, I really do.”

Steve grins, jogging to catch up to her, heading for the main entrance. They fork over the dollar entrance fee and split off to the showers, and Steve is grateful for the obligatory rinse off, the cold water washing the sticky heat from his skin.

He balls his tee up in one hand, grabbing his towel in the other, and rejoins Robin on the already-crowded pool deck, children’s laughter and women’s chattering and splashing a cacophony of contained chaos. Robin laughs at the scrunched look on his face, looping an arm through his and tugging him across the deck, making a beeline for two empty chairs.

“Didn’t you used to be fun?” Robin asks.

“Have you ever been funny?” Steve retorts.

Robin elbows him in the side and pulls away with a grin, tossing her towel onto the free chair and kicking off her flip flops before dropping down onto the lawn chair. Steve sits across from her, grateful for the shaded umbrella hanging above them, and tosses his tee and towel aside.

“Not so bad, is it?” She asks, cocking a brow.

“Give it a few minutes,” Steve says. Robin snorts a laugh.

"Drama queen," she says. She reaches into her bag, tugging out a sunscreen tube and pushing to her feet, coming to stand in front of Steve and turning. Craning her head to catch his eye, she hands him the bottle and jerks a chin. "Get my back?"

Steve nods and stands, taking the bottle from her. Robin tugs her hair into a loose knot and drops her chin, squeezing her eyes shut.

He flicks open the cap and lifts it up, gaze sweeping across the pool deck and landing on a girl he’s never seen before climbing off the lifeguard stand. He squeezes the bottle without thinking, sending at least a quarter of it onto Robin’s shoulders and making her screech in frustration, whirling and yanking the bottle away.

“For gods sakes-” She begins, following Steve’s line of sight to where it’s still stuck. Her sentence gives to a knowing smile, and she finishes, “Now you see why I dragged you to the pool?”

You're around he and Robin's age, outfitted in the obligatory red suit and shorts, a pair of navy blue sunglasses tucked atop your nose. You hold your chin high and keep your shoulders set, as if expecting the sea to part before you; Steve thinks it probably would, if you asked. Your gaze trails along the pool deck, and despite another guard climbing into the chair indicating your completion of the shift, you're clearly still keeping an eye out. An amused smile plays on your lips, and a soft sheen of sweat from your day in the sun glistens on your skin, and Steve thinks he might just pass out right there.

“Who,” he asks, “is that?”

“That’d be —” Robin says, lips pulling into a knowing smile. “She and her family moved here in June. Her little brother is in Dustin’s grade.”

“Where’d she come from?”

“Does it matter?” Robin asks. “She’s here now.” Robin shrugs a shoulder, flashing Steve a grin before adding, “But I heard Chicago.”

Steve's gaze lingers on you across the deck, until you disappear through the locker rooms. Once you're gone, Steve's interest in the pool diminishes, but fortunately for him, there are two months left of summer. Steve just hopes he can find the balls to say hi before it ends.

Robin and Steve have come to the pool for the last five days, and over the previous five days, Steve hasn't spoken to you once. He's tried, tried to garner the courage to get up and cross the pool deck and say hi, but each time he tries, he's reminded of how far he's fallen since the last time he pursued anyone; since Nancy Wheeler. He isn't the suave, confident, popular guy he was; now, he's just Steve Harrington, and he's not sure that is enough for anyone.

He has nothing to offer, but he wants to anyway.

"How hard is it to walk up to someone and say hi?" Robin asks, leaning back on her lawn chair, stretching out a foot to poke Steve in the leg. He frowns, turning to look at her, and she waggles her brows. "You just walk up, say, 'hi, my name is Steve, what's yours?' And if you're lucky, and I mean damn lucky, she’ll tell you.”

“You suck at pep talks,” Steve retorts.

"I'm more of a tough-love kind of girl."

“No, really?”

Robin grins, jerking a chin at you, and Steve follows her line of sight. Across the deck, you’re climbing off the chair and tugging your cap on. He looks back to Robin, who narrows her eyes at him.

“Robin-”

“If you don’t get your ass off that chair in the next three seconds, I’m never bringing you back here.”

“I drove.”

“Then you’ll be here alone,” Robin says. Steve huffs in frustration, shoving down the rising anxiety and pushing to his feet.

“I hate you,” he says, flicking her a glare.

“You wish,” Robin says, reaching out to give him a shove, and he scrambles backward, shooting another glare her way before grumbling, “Okay, okay, okay,” and heading across the deck to intercept you.

He has no clue what he’s going to say, or do, or if he’s even capable of speech around you - he’s struck with a sudden pang of longing for the boy he used to be, as selfish and horrid as he was. But this Steve, nervous and doubtful and merely a shell of who he used to be, is all he has.

When you’re five feet away from him, your foot catches on a big puddle of water, and you slip, slip, slip and lose your balance, and Steve forgets his anxieties in favor of lunging forward and catching you before you hit the deck face first. His fingers tighten around your arms, and he hoists you back up, hands sliding up to your shoulders and lingering as you steady yourself, your fingers fluttering down his chest and grabbing him by the wrists.

Your gaze snaps up to his, eyes flitting around his face, and the nerves return with a fervor, looping around him. Your lips part and you huff a breath before pulling away from him and wiping the stray hairs off your forehead.

"Thanks," you say. "Sorry for basically throwing myself into your arms." Your lips quirk up in an apologetic smile, and you shrug. "Guess that's why we follow the no running on the pool deck rule, huh?"

Steve smiles, letting out a laugh, and he says, “No worries.” His mind rifles for more to say - literally, any word to follow his up with - but he falls short, and the heat that creeps up his cheeks and across his chest makes him jittery and anxious to be anywhere but here, despite five days of waiting for this moment. Something in your expression hardens, and Steve realizes he’s fucked it all up.

“Uh, are you okay?” He asks, far too late. A hesitant smile tugs on your lips.

“I’m okay,” you say. “Thanks again.”

And though you've clearly left the conversation open for more, Steve is too chicken to lean into it. Instead, he assures you that it was no big deal, and he lets you walk away.

"So, you made a fool of yourself," Robin muses, turning her head to rest it on her folded arms, shoulders, and head sticking out of the pool. Steve, leaning against the pool wall beside her, submerged all the way up to his neck, tips his head back and groans. "That's basically your day to day behavior."

“Is this supposed to be helpful?”

“I was getting there,” Robin says. Steve gives her a withering look, and she continues. “It happens. It doesn’t mean your chances are fucked. Fortunately for you, she’s new here, which means she probably hasn’t heard of you. You get to write the slate.”

“Or fuck it up even more.”

"Always an option," Robin says. "But I'm serious. Just ask her out. You did keep her from cracking her head open. She'll say yes."

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Then she doesn’t,” Robin says, “and we move on with our lives.”

Steve grumbles and groans, but he agrees to try again; he might pass out right there, but he’ll try.

Steve finds his window two days later, unintentionally and out of nowhere. He and Robin have just packed up and are heading for the locker room when you finish your own shift, jumping off the chair and heading for the girl’s locker room. Before you make it, Billy Hargrove, likely on his way to replace you up on the stand, moves in front of you, placing a hand on the doorway and blocking the locker room door.

Even if Steve didn't know Billy as well as he does, the behavior's predation radiates across the distance, and all of Steve's anxieties give way to a protectiveness he didn't expect. He knows how Billy treats girls, and it wouldn't matter who Billy trapped in the doorway; even if it wasn't you, Steve would throw himself in the line of fire.

He forgets his doubts and insecurities and stalks across the deck, coming up behind you but keeping his attention on Billy, catching the last of his words as he approaches.

“-a nice little spot, if you wanted to check it out.”

“I’m good, Billy,” you say, your jaw set and your shoulders tense. “I’m just trying to get home.”

“Oh, come on-”

"You forget how to read, Hargrove?" Steve snaps, cutting Billy off. You flick a glance at him, and though Steve can't be sure, he swears some of your tension evaporates. "It's the girl's locker room."

“Pretty sure this isn’t any of your business, Harrington,” Billy says, his voice cold as ice. Steve snorts, folding his arms across his chest and shifting forward. As if instinctually, you step to the side and back, placing yourself beside him, with his arm an inch ahead of yours; the most subtle of protections.

"I think it's time for you to get into your chair and scream at innocent kids, Billy," Steve says. Billy's gaze turns murderous, but before he can snap back, you slip your hand into Steve's. Steve does his best not to react, understanding the action as a role to play, but his stomach twists, and his heart leaps, and he's grateful you're beside him, because he knows his cheeks must be bright red.

Billy looks between you, the rage in his eyes simmering and threatening to bubble over, but after a long moment, he pulls his hand away and steps around you, a sick grin playing on his lips.

"Another time, I guess," He croons, heading onto the deck, flashing that same smile over his shoulder. When he looks back, Steve - also instinctually - squeezes your hand, and you shift closer.

You hold onto his hand for a moment longer than necessary before stepping away and turning to face him, clearing your throat and giving him a nervous smile.

“Thank you,” you say. “You didn’t have to do that.”

"Billy's an ass," Steve says. He presses his lips together and shrugs a shoulder. "But you're welcome."

“You making a habit out of saving me?”

“I can,” Steve says, “if you want.”

You laugh, pressing your lips together for a moment before saying, “You know, I usually stop by DQ after my shift. You interested?” You flick a glance behind Steve, and when he looks back, he catches sight of Robin grinning and ‘hiding’ behind a pillar. You meet Steve’s gaze again, smile widening. “Your friend can come too.”

“I’d like that,” Steve says.

You hesitate a beat, a nervous smile on your lips, and reach out to retake his hand, threading your fingers together. Steve exhales sharply, and you frown, loosening your fingers, but Steve tightens his own, keeping your hand in his.

"Ice cream?" He asks. You smile and squeeze his hand, and Steve is surprised by how natural the action feels.

“Ice cream,” you agree.

Taglist: @allfandomxreader @kalie-bee @sourapplebaby @iiqtpiee @queenofthehairharrington @drcwse @whitecard62 @captainelsaeverdeen @hairrington @lemonypink @ludicstilinski @harrington-ofhawkins @dezzylou24 @mightstudysoon @ultrunning @xthe-dreamerx @bralessandflawless @pvnsie @anerroroccurrrrred @bookfrog242 @yayrainyday @snarky--starky @mybestfriendthedingus @mochminnie @redbullchick @izzylizzybizzy @sassisaluxury @80strashbag @m-blasterrr @estrela-rogers @comedy-witch @sammyyyygp @alwaysthefangirl @cametobuyplums @jxnehxpper @perksofbeingawf @anxiouskore @bombardia @willowrose99 @honeybloomtea @mustbluvs @ilovebucketbarnes @kylosleftbuttcheek @steve--harrington--gal @ssanjuniperoo @the-passionate-freak @vintagespidey @cametobuyplums @bisexualpears @hellbandit3 @katiem227 @heart-eye-harrington @unrvquited @scoopsahcy @abbyg217

#brooke writes fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #robin buckley #stranger things

164 notes · View notes