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ilium-ilia · 4 months ago

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Everything You Touch

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | previously known as "soft spot" | masterlist

Chapter One: glass half shattered

tw: verbal abuse, name calling, domestic violence

It’s seven in the morning and you’re already crying.

Dirty plates and bowls teeter upon one another in your sink, balanced so flippantly you fear your breathing might knock them down. You’re not sure how it’s filled up so quickly. Full to the brim, nearly overflowing. Dried food crusts on every prong of each fork and the rim of each glass—neglected, and not even rinsed before being placed in the sink to rot and fester. An old Halloween themed mug catches tiny drops of water that fall from the rusty faucet, and you find the sight oddly comforting. How relieving it is to know that you are not the only leaky thing within the pallid walls of this apartment.

“Really, babe? This is fucking ridiculous.”

Your hazy vision clears slightly when you blink, forcing more tears to roll down your cheeks in a never-ending tidal wave. Choking back a pule, you look at the man in front of you with an irritatingly quivering bottom lip. His eyes are dull—bored. There was a time when he once looked at you with adoration. Those irises used to be so vibrant when he caught sight of you, glistening like the prismatic refractions of stained glass windows. Now, heavy set brows furrow as he gestures to the sink flippantly, as if he has better things to do than be here with you.

“You can’t be crying over dirty dishes,” Eric says, his voice far from demulcent.

“I’m not crying over dirty dishes, I’m crying because they’re not done,” you correct.

“So then fucking clean them!” he huffs, exacerbated. He gestures at you with both hands, palms facing up and fingers curling inwards like the rotting legs of dead beetles. “I don’t understand why this is so hard for you. Jesus Christ, you’re crying like a goddamn kid over this and it’s pissing me off.”

Closing your eyes, you force a deep breath into your lungs. You don’t feel much better when you open them again. “I’m just frustrated because I asked you to clean them last night so I’d have clean dishes for breakfast before work this morning.”

“Okay, so I forgot! You don’t have to crucify me for it,” Eric snaps. Groaning, he runs a hand through mussed hair which only further disrupts the strands.

“You forget every time and that’s why it hurts,” you cry, tone all but begging for him to understand. Your hand rests against the countertop as you attempt to stabilize yourself, lest you fall through the floor. “It was the same thing last week! It’s the same thing every damn time! You forget, and I have to do it. I always have to do it!”

“God forbid you have to pull your fucking weight around here, right?”

Your quarreling pauses for a split moment and the only sound that dares to sing is the faucet spewing its tears into the sink. Cordolium morphs into bitter shock as your lips part, your heart suddenly struck with an aching sorrow. The shock itself is almost enough to kill you, but the contempt in Eric’s eyes is the final blow.

“You did not just say that to me,” you mumble, dumbfounded.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Eric challenges. “Look at you. Just woke up and you’ve already found something to bitch about. I have to do everything around here, don’t I? I work, I pay your bills. Hell, you wouldn’t be able to survive without me.”

Incisors chewing on the slick flesh inside your cheek, you tilt your head as you smear your tears off of your cheek. “Eric, you can’t even do the fucking dishes. Don’t pull that shit on me. The apartment is in my name. You moved in with me. All I’m asking for is a little fucking respect and-”

Your monologue is interrupted by sharp nails and the edge of the counter in your low back. Eric’s face is suddenly inches away from yours and you have no choice but to look at the virulent rage in his eyes as he holds your head still, unforgiving fingers digging into your jaw and hips pinning you to the counter. He snarls like a rabid dog and you can nearly taste the stale cigarette smoke on his breath. He pulls a squeak from your vocal chords as his forehead rests against yours. It’s difficult to tell if he’s going to kiss you or rip you to shreds, but he licks his lips all the same.

“You get respect when you give it, and all I’m hearing is an awful lot of bitching,” he seethes. “You’re really starting to piss me off, love. If you want to act like a child I’m gonna start treating you like one, you understand?”

It’s difficult to nod when he’s gripping your face like this, but you manage the movement. Humiliation burns the back of your neck as you let out a shuddering breath. Desperate fingers slowly wrap around his wrist, and you find your thumb rubbing over his wrist as if to soothe him.

“Let go of me,” you say, words balancing on the edge of an order and a plea.

Eric contemplates your words as if he doesn’t want to listen. There is an insurmountable amount of power that he holds in the palm of his hand—the soft flesh of your cheek and the brittle bone of your jaw. He could move his hand down to the soft flesh of your throat. All it would take is a little squeeze. Instead, he relents. Bony fingers slip away from your face as he steps back. He stares at you for so long you think he might change his mind; eventually he turns away and scoffs.

“You think you’re so fucking tough,” he grumbles before leaving you alone in the kitchen. “Can’t even do the fucking dishes.”

Eric rages through the house, heavy feet stomping on the floor until he reaches the bedroom where he slams the door shut. Trembling fingers rub at your face in an attempt to quell the ache but you can feel the blood begin to pool in your cheeks already. Your downstairs neighbors have turned the TV on again. It’s loud enough to drown out the sound of the argument you were forced into, but the damage is already done.

You don’t eat breakfast.

It’s difficult not to lament your lost meal, but as you trudge into work with a forced smile on your face, you remind yourself that it’s for the best. After all, Eric’s right; you really do need him. He might not help around with cleaning as much as you’d like him to, and he spends his weekends god knows where doing who knows what, but he shares the bills. Nothing more than a glorified roommate, he’s always petulant these days—snapping at you for any mere sight of conceived retraction from you.

A growl gnaws at your stomach, but the pain doesn’t hit. You lost your appetite the moment your boyfriend laid hands on you.

Computers and cash machines whirl to life as you ready your teller’s station for the morning rush. Within no time everything begins to hum with electricity. You turn on the large television screen on your right where it displays exchange rates and helpful information, and before you settle behind your desk you ensure to straighten out the sign informing patrons of common financial scams and how to avoid them. Everything is up and running. As you log in, you remind yourself to be the blithe, helpful bank teller you always are.

“Rough morning?”

The quiet voice of your coworker—Cheryl—scares you out of your skin. Lips parted and heart thumping, you jump and look on your left to find her polite smile and neatly pressed blazer. Cheryl tosses her faux leather purse on the back counter before looking at you expectantly with a raised brow. In the worst of ways, she reminds you of your mother.

“I’m sorry?” you reply.

“You’re here extra early. Earlier than I am,” she explains with flapping hands before walking to her desk. “Usually you’re having a bad morning when you’re here before me. Eric isn’t giving you trouble again, is he?”

Sighing, you give her a gauche chuckle before turning your eyes back to your monitor. Clicking on your mouse, you pretend to do work while the cogs in your mind begin to turn. Your jaw still aches, but you don’t feel like spilling your guts on the floor before work begins. “Oh, not really. Just… had issues with the dishes this morning.”

Work drones on the way it always does—with a push and pull. It’s a dance that you know well. One that you could do with your eyes closed. A gentle trickle of customers waxes and wanes like the waves of the ocean as your queue begins to fill. It starts out soft before it becomes a flood that forces you to wade through waist-high water. Still, you are amicable. You show an equanimity that most people only dream of achieving as you handle deposits, withdrawals, and everything in between.

It’s an easy job. Mindless—for you, anyway. Each word you speak flows off your tongue like thick honey as you politely smile at grumbling customers and send them on their way. You’re treated like a brick wall. Nothing more than an object to be barked at until you magically dispense the service they desire. You don’t mind. It’s easier to act this way—like a performer. Completing tasks like a metallic android until—

—until he arrives.

His name is Simon Riley, and he stands in front of you like a cyclopean statue—unmoving and unbreakable. Surrounding customers eye him with wariness as they soak up his masked face and the drawn hood of his jumper. His bulk is so wide that he blocks out the line behind him like the moon eclipses the sun. It’s fitting, you realize. He is mysterious like the moon; dressed in black with eyes as stygian as the streets at night. A medical style fabric mask obscures his face, but you can still see the way his jaw dances beneath it as he slides his ID face down across the counter.

“Hey there,” you greet him with a smile. It feels like the first authentic simper you’ve given anyone all day today.

“Morning,” he hums.

“The usual?”

“Yeah.”

Simon is your inconsistent consistency. At least, you like to think of him as much. He arrives every Thursday around mid-morning to withdraw the same amount of cash—enough for what you assume he uses in the week. He refuses to use any sort of ATM, and he always chooses your lane. At least, he does while he’s here. Internal records logged on his account show he’s a military man; a soldier. He is volatile in where he is in the world, but so long as he’s in London, you can always count on him to end up in front of your desk somehow.

He watches you with quiet eyes as you ignore his ID and go straight to retrieving his cash. You’ve only seen that picture of him once when he first started banking, and ever since then you’ve refused to look at it again—as if you’re doing him a favor for not witnessing what he tries so hard to obscure. Each movement of your fingers is scrutinized as he slips a thumb into the pocket of his jeans. Simon always feels like such a stain in places like this—around people like you. The people with bright smiles; who wear clean clothes and attend the perfect nine to five. Each wall in the room glistens with power and wealth, something that he’s never really felt like he can come close to without it tarnishing.

If it wasn’t for you, he would have switched banks a long time ago.

“Here you go!” you say, your voice chipper as you hold out the envelope for him.

Large hands threaten to engulf yours as he reaches for the money, but his fingers never do so much as graze your skin. Simon doesn’t bother counting the cash before folding the envelope and shoving it into the pocket of his jumper. He’s been banking with you for quite some time, and you’ve never miscounted before; he trusts you with that much, at least.

“Thanks.” It’s short, gruff—to the point. He gathers his ID off of the counter and stows that away next to his envelope before turning to leave. Several wary looks burn into the back of his skull, but he ignores them.

“Have a good one!” you call after him.

Have a good one. It’s the same farewell you always give him. Of course, there’s a factitious answer that burns the tip of his tongue every time you say it. Have a good what? But he knows better than to be a smart ass. Though really, the question is a valid one in his mind. Have a good what? Day? Afternoon? Life?

Would you still say that to him if you knew how far gone he is?

After that short interaction, Simon doesn’t see you again for a few weeks. He’s off doing what he does best—being a soldier. At times, it feels like it’s all he knows how to do. Run. Shoot. Kill. Stab. He’s long since made peace with his contriteness. The bodies stack up behind him like a pyre waiting to be lit and the stench of it doesn’t even bother him anymore. All he does is wash the blood from his uniform and repeat it all the next day if he even lives long enough to see it.

But he always does, even when he knows he shouldn’t. Which means he always returns back home to his small studio apartment. It’s not much, but it’s not on the ground floor, and it’s quaint enough for a man who’s never home to enjoy it anyway. The walls are tawny and forever ooze stale nicotine from every pore due to some asshole who couldn’t be arsed to open a window when they smoked. The wood floor is scratched to the point Simon’s certain someone was murdered here, which would explain the odd stain outside of the bathroom door. The only item worse for wear than he is, is the ugly nightstand sitting next to his bed that he bought off of some old man at a car boot sale for a fiver.

Some nights it feels too cramped. Like there’s not enough elbow room and the ceiling scrapes too close to his head for comfort. Sometimes it’s as if the walls are closing in around him like the tight confines of a coffin, and his mouth goes dry as if he’s choking on dirt. Everything—every detail, every crack in that damn apartment suffocates him as he lays in bed and stares at the water damaged ceiling above him.

His only solace is his training. Countless years spent wading through gore and limbless bodies has chipped at him just as much as it’s built him back up. Thick fingers curl into the sheets as he grounds himself—he tells himself he’s far away from his grave; far away from Mexico and those reprobates. By the time his heart stills, the alarm clock on his nightstand glares at him in unforgiving crimson light.

05:23

He has to go to the bank soon.

Simon manages to get two hours of sleep before the morning sun peeks through his window and rouses him. He wakes himself up with a frigid shower before washing the dishes and making breakfast for himself as he watches the morning news with dull eyes. There’s a segment on rising tensions between Russia and Urzikstan that makes him chuckle, and he finds himself savoring his tea, glad to not be in the field fighting off terrorists.

After breakfast, he sets off across London for a walk to the bank. He splits crowds like a razor before he broods for a bit on public transport. He sits at the back of his bus with his eyes scanning every person trudging their way to work. There’s not a single face on that vehicle that he has not committed to his temporary memory, or an exit that’s out of view. He likes it this way—being able to watch. Never leaving his back exposed.

He breathes easier when he gets off at his stop and his bank is within view. The structure glistens with freshly washed windows, and customers keep the doors swinging as they come and go like schools of fish.

When Simon enters the building, he’s able to immediately sense that something is off.

Shaking off his discomfort, he stands in line with his ID ready for viewing, but as he waits with his head tilted down he realizes what’s missing. There’s no sign of your usual winsome voice—the same one that’s so saccharine that it makes him feel queasy at the mere sound. Your voice is hoarse; raw and dry as if you’re spewing sand from your mouth with each word you speak.

Keeping his eyes trained at the exits, Simon passes it off as you having a cold until he’s the next person in line. Standing before you, he’s able to witness your appearance and he feels apoplectic bile begin to rise in his throat. It sears his tongue into submission, forcing him to keep quiet as he looks at your face.

Bright as always, you greet him with your standard the usual? but your words sound clogged in his ears. He doesn’t answer you. All Simon can look at is your smile, and how lopsided it is because of the deep cut that slices the corner of your mouth and the swelling that consumes your left cheek.

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#ilium writing #sr ilia #everything you touch #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #female reader

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usagikookiejams · 1 year ago

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BEING AWAY FROM THEM FOR SOME WEEKS

Shiba Taiju, Sano Shinichiro, Haitani Ran

⚠️WARNING: Curse words, mentions of kill (no actual killing tho in this hc), 'crazy' behavior lol

SHIBA TAIJU

"When are you coming back, baby?," the guy on the other line inquired. "Can you like stop asking me same question for the past 2 weeks already?," you tsked. "Brat, I'm just asking ya know," you could feel him rolling his eyes by the tone of his voice. "Hehe sorry love, I promise I will come back ASAP once my event is done here. Mwah, TTYL!," you hung up. Fast forward, you came back to Japan after 4 days since the call. You arrived at Taiju's house a.k.a Black Dragon's HQ where you could see most of his subordinates were bandaged up. "What the...," your thoughts were interrupted upon hearing some yelling, HIS yell to be exact. You entered the house to witness Taiju beating up his subordinate with a baseball bat. "Care to explain?," you inquired which led to Taiju stopping his action, and the subordinate repeatedly bow at you while saying thank you. Kokonoi came into the frame while laughing, "He got WILD when you were not by his side, so he released the pent up stress towards these guys." Taiju let go of the bat and walked towards you, "Tch! They are lucky that you are here already. If not, I swear I could go rampage and kill half of these useless guys." You looked at him dead in the eyes while shaking your head, "You maniac, how do I even like you in the first place." Taiju just shrugged and took you to ride on his motorcycle while enjoying your presence again.

SANO SHINICHIRO

You were watering the plant in your parents' garden when suddenly your phone started ringing. You went to retrieve them before greeting the other person on the line, "Hello babe!." You could hear rustling which may indicates that the person was still in bed. "Hey darling, I miss you so much! Can you come home by today? Ahhh I literally haven't eaten properly since you left," which continued by the sounds of Emma's nag telling him to get his ass off the bed and go to work already. You could hear a loud 'hey gimme back!' before Shinichiro's voice was replaced with Emma's on the other line, "Hey Y/N, when are you coming back? This lazybum has been off his job for 3 weeks now, reasoning that he doesn't have enough energy to work. Ugh I really hate to tell you this but can you please please PLEASE come back ASAP. Istg he has been losing a lot of weight already ugh!." You talked with them for some minutes more before having to hang up. You felt guilty and tried to talk about it with your parents, in which they agreed that you should go back home to Shinichiro as your mom has been getting better from her sickness. Thus, the next day, you arrived at Tokyo. You didn't tell Shinichiro about your plan so upon seeing your face by the main door, Shinichiro dropped to his knees to hug your legs tightly while crying like a baby. "Please don't leave me ever again! If you need to go to your hometown, bring me with you so that we will not be separated huwaaa 😭😭," he messily crying, ruining your pants with his tears and snots. You just laughed at his behavior but still agreeing to his suggestion. "Ahh, this man is gonna be the death of me lol," you monologued in your head.

HAITANI RAN

You wouldn't lie that leaving this house in the hands of Ran's is really.... unnerving. This man literally loves to cause trouble at home, which most of the time leading you to feel like dying is a better option. Why is that? Cuz this man lovessSSS to pull 'harmless' pranks that drive you crazy, like right now; "Babeee, do you think the fish in the fish tank could survive if I put a sprinkleee of chilli flakes in the water?," Ran showed you the fish tank via the facetime. "Don't you dare Ran! That is MY fish so don't do this crazy shit unless you don't want me coming home again," you threatened him. "Hmmm...," he walked closer to the tank while shaking what seems like the small container of the chilli flakes you frequently use. "AHHH! ISTG DON'T!!," you screamed at him while saying profanity words. "HAHAHAHHA!!," you could see his camera shaking from his laugh, he later on flipped the camera to front facing him. "Dumbass babygirl, I would never do bad shit like that to animals you know 😔. Though I kill people on a daily basis. What kind of a maniac do you think I am? ☹️," he jutted his lower lip faking sadness. You glared at him through the screen while 'promising' that you are going to beat his ass once you come back. In the end, that promise was fulfilled by you beating his back with the frying pan he bought you on your birthday <3

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uzurimisery · 2 years ago

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chapter 4: the bluff. / coriolanus snow / nsfw

Rating: Explicit

WC: 6746

Warnings: MDNI, rough sex, he's still insane and possessive, PIV, unprotected sex (this guy is never wearing a condom ever), angry sex, he's not a good guy but he's hot, not beta read

AO3 version | Series master

You slammed the dressing room door shut. “What the hell was that , Coriolanus?” pacing the length of the room, anger seeping out of you. “Did you forget what we were supposed to do? We were supposed to play it off, say we were too young. That was not playing it off! That was proposing!”

In your rage, you stumbled in your heels. He watched you curse under your breath, undoing the strap on them and throwing them across the room. Coriolanus didn’t move, cemented in his spot just past the door.

“Listen to me Y/N,” his tone was stern, like a parent scolding a child. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Of course you did!” you interrupted your voice tinged with sarcasm. “You always do whatever you want, don’t you? Here, the gala, the dinner. Always regardless of the consequences!”

Your words were sharp, digging in the fact that whatever was going on between you two there was meant to be a unified front, a single storyline. You were meant to be partners in the power play, both of you using each other to further your positions. All the work that went into constructing the next five years of the act was undone in an instant.

“I thought we were on the same page, Coriolanus. There was a plan for what we were going to do, but you just fucked it up!” He was always hypercritical of himself, internal monologue pointing out his every mistake, but you doing the same set him off.

“Can you shut up for five seconds! Or are you so self-obsessed that you can't let anyone else get a word in.”

“How dare you try and talk to me about being self-obsessed you narcissistic, unthoughtful-”

“There you go! Proving my point. You can’t even get off your high horse for a minute so I can explain why I did that.”

“You want to explain? Fine then, explain.” you spat.

Coriolanus’ jaw clenched. You were so hot and cold with him. He could never gauge what you really wanted in all of this, and you would never just tell him either.

“I saw an opportunity.”

“For what?”

“To play the part, to make the story so much better. Picture it, Coriolanus Snow, a man who has always been so organised and timely there are articles on how to put your life together like him, rushing into something. He’s so in love with his mentor’s daughter that he proposes to her on stage in front of all of Panem, and he doesn’t even have a ring on him because at that moment he realises that he can’t live without her.”

Your eyebrows were drawn, scanning over his face like you were looking for a fault in what he said, as you dissected it. There was nothing wrong with it though. The show was exactly how he described it. It painted him as a kind and caring man, beyond his known abilities at game making.

“You should have told me ahead of time.”

“I didn’t have a chance. I thought of it while getting ready.” he was lying, and you could tell. Seeing through lies was your speciality. He hadn’t thought about it while getting ready.

You called him on his bluff. “Bullshit. You didn’t have any plan, that was all impulse.” you were digging your finger into his chest to make your point. “You could have ruined everything we’ve been working on, made the past year pointless. What if I hadn’t followed along? What if I lost my composure for your little outburst? It’s not just your future on the line here Coriolanus. I’m leaving.”

Your shoulder bumped into his as you moved to walk out of the room, but his arm wrapped around your waist pulling you back and lifting you off the ground.

“Y/N,” he started.

“Let me go!”

“You don’t get to walk away from me. You need to listen to me.”

“I’m done listening to you, put me down!”

“Well, I’m not done talking!” Coriolanus pushed your back against the wall, pinning you in place.

Why couldn’t you just listen to him like you normally did? Why were you so upset with him? What he did was off-script but it still looked good, and it still achieved your shared goals. You didn’t get to walk away from him when he was right.

You slapped him, still able to move your arms. “I told you to let me go.” He tasted blood in his mouth. When he smiled at you, you felt your blood run cold.

“Are you done?” His teeth had traces of blood on them.

You weren’t about to be intimidated by him. You didn’t cower or beg anyone, and that included Coriolanus Snow. “Let. Me. Go.” your demands fell on deaf ears.

His smile only widened, eyes glistening with a sinister light. You thought he’d be furious with you, and hated that you were out of control, but it seemed more like he enjoyed it. That he liked it when you fought back.

“I told you Y/N, I’m not done talking.”

You moved to slap him again but were met with your wrists being grabbed and pinned above your head, utterly defenceless for whatever happened next. The expectation for him to strike you back weighing in the air. But he didn’t. Instead, his lips met yours, forcing your mouth open and letting his tongue in. You tried to fight back but he bit down on your lip and stopped you. His tongue only became more insistent. Copper on both your tongues.

You didn’t hate it. You were still mad at him, obviously, but the sexual tension that always between the two of you beckoned, its tendrils wrapping around you. Who said some angry sex wasn’t the solution to your being mad at him?

Your teeth clacked against each other as you jumped up, wrapping your legs around his midsection. Coriolanus’ free hand moved to support you. Standing like this he was able to grind his hips against yours, the friction delicious. The kiss was messy, both of you trying to prove something to the other with it.

When you pulled apart for air you spoke. “Let me go.” His breath was laboured, just as yours was, the rough makeout session leaving the both of you breathless.

“Not a chance, sweet girl.”

His grip on your wrists loosened, letting you slip free to pull at his hair, connecting your mouths once again. Your moans mixed with his own, body rolling to press your clothed pussy over his erection. Even though he had picked you up a multitude of times, it was always surprising how strong he actually was. His slim build did not give away how strong he actually was.

Everything between you was primal, driven by lust and anger.

Coriolanus brought you over to the couch, dropping you on your back. He liked you best like this, on your back and needy. Your high horse forgotten, and the only thing you rode him. The both of you took care to remove your clothes carefully, neither wanting to deal with a lecture from Tigris as well as knowing you had a dinner to attend in them after this. But that was where the caution ended.

The moment you were naked he had his fingers stretching you open with his thumb toying at your clit. His mouth was all over your skin, biting your breasts, adding to the marks already covering you. He was so rough with you and made you feel so small. But god did he know exactly what to do to you.

Your moans were sharp as he brought you to an orgasm. Everything you did drove him up a wall. Every time he thought he could move past it, ignoring the feeling, your pussy sucked him back in. It was your fault he made a mistake, that he lost his composure, that he went off script. He wanted access to your warmth whenever he wanted.

No matter how much he consumed you, he was still hungry, the type of hunger he hadn’t felt since the war. The one with claws that tore at his insides, teeth grinding into his bones. A bottomless pit that could never be filled. It clouded his mind with thoughts of you, your breasts and hips, the pout of your lips. He could almost always feel the sensation of you against him, biting into your soft flesh. It made him emotionally volatile, willing to risk everything for just a crumb. But every time he got a bite it filled him with dread.

Your perfume, boozy and peachy, a reminder that the only thing that would ever fill this hole was you. That when he was on the brink of death, starving and empty, it was you who would nourish him. Your being the very source of all his problems and all his solutions at the same time. A double-edged sword driving into his heart with every step he took towards you.

“See? Look how good you have it when you just behave.” you weren’t out of it yet, still able to spite back in vitriol.

“Fuck you.”

“Already have.” Coriolanus flipped you on your front, positioning you on your knees with your chest pressed against the couch.

Like this, he got to spread you open, look at what your body could offer him. Why did you have to be you? Why did you have to rival his mind and have such a perfect body? It ruined everything.

His fingers pressed back into you. He could watch you drip down them for hours, whiny and whimpering from his actions. Begging him to fuck you. No matter how you tried to act like you weren’t. You were just like him. Hungry and waiting.

Coriolanus lined up his cock with your entrance. Instead of easing into you, he thrust in fully, jolting your body forward. He wanted it to hurt, to make you feel sorry for blowing up at him. To show you that no matter how you acted out he could fuck you back into place.

He fucked you hard and fast, pulling your head back by your hair. It forced you up and to put your hands on the back of the couch. Your back arched, your shoulders almost against his chest. His other hand pinched at your nipples and tugged at them. It hurt, the perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

Moving his hand out of your hair, his fingers hooked into the side of your mouth. “Your mouth can be used for better things than being disrespectful.” your drool pooled around them, dribbling out the side of your mouth as you spoke.

“I’m gonna cum.” your speech altered from his fingers.

“I don’t care.” he did care, but he couldn’t let you know that, not right now. The biggest ego death to him would be if he was unable to make you cum. It fed his ego every time you clenched down around him, pussy fluttering from your orgasm. He didn’t slow down or let up, fully intent on taking his frustration out on you.

The air between you was hot and heavy, thick with the smell of sex. With his hands free, your waist became his new hold stone. Coriolanus didn’t even have to pull your hips to meet his, you were doing that for him, bucking backwards in time. Each trust had you panting little praises for him.

He wanted to see your face. You felt him pull out of you and then sit down on the couch next to you. “Ride me.”

You shifted, placing your knees on either side of him as you sunk down on his length. When you got to the base, you took a moment to recollect yourself, head tucked into the crook of his neck. Coriolanus’ lips found the crown of your head before he even recognised what he was doing. It was odd. This intimate act in the midst of all of this. He wanted to show you that he cared, that he wasn’t mad at you anymore. Why wasn’t he mad at you anymore? He was the type to let his anger fester, angry with infection. He waited until the moment was right and then he spread his sickness, cutting down whoever upset him. You were more useful than being cut down; however, he felt strongly towards you. The one thing he wouldn’t do is name those feelings.

The drag of your hips cut off his line of thought. He watched as you rode him, your thighs shaky but not letting it stop you. When you pulled your head out to kiss him he met you, enjoying the feeling of your lips against his. Hair and makeup would have a hay day with the two of you but the way you went all the way up, his tip the only thing inside you, to then your ass flush with his thighs made their annoyance worth it. Wanting to feel you cum around him again, his thumb began circling your clit, working you up to another orgasm.

“I’m close.”

“I know.”

Your hips slowed as you came, exhausted from riding him. But Coriolanus wasn’t done. His hand wrapped around your waist, moving you to an elevated position with his dick still inside you, and he began thrusting up into you. “Hold yourself just like that sweet girl.” You did as he told you, your head lulling to the front pressing your forehead against his. With a few final thrusts, he came inside you. You were winded, your eyes closed as he guided your bodies apart and grabbed a disposal west wipe to clean the both of you up. Finally, with that done, he could lay down and settle you on top of him, both of you naked and sweaty.

Neither of you spoke for a while, just listening to each other breathe, your head on his chest.

“I’m sorry.” apologises always felt like he was trying to speak a foreign language, his tongue struggling to make the sounds. “I shouldn’t have acted impulsively.”

“I'm sorry too. I shouldn’t have blown up on you.” his fingers traced your hairline as you lay on top of him, still reeling from the sex. “I just don’t like when things don’t go to plan, and they’ve not been going to plan between us.”

He couldn’t argue against that. Everything was so fuzzy between you. He didn’t know what you were feeling, but his feelings were you weren’t something he could ignore. When he said that he couldn’t picture his life without you it was true. He thought that speaking it out to the world would alleviate the pressure, and make it something he could keep inside himself, but he didn’t. He needed you to know that it meant it.

“Would it be so bad, marrying me?”

You picked your head up. “No,” you sighed. “It wouldn’t be.” He watched you find your original position, ear over his heart.

“We could be allies.” his heart pounded as you traced patterns on his skin. “You’re the first person I’ve met I’d consider that with. I could make you the First Lady of Panem.”

Being the First Lady was an appealing idea. You’d be able to do so much more in that position. It was a core belief of yours that the games were only the first step in binding the loyalty of the country, to furthering the control over the populace. Aid programs needed to be doled out in the Districts. People who were content were less likely to look behind the curtain and see what was really happening.

“What happens when you fall in love with someone? Would we divorce and I’d lose everything, both the games and my position?” there was uncertainty in your voice.

There could never be someone after you. You were it for him. Sure he could find a docile wife and marry her, leave her be and just have kids with her. But she could never truly know him. But you could, and you were learning the true him. And you wouldn’t make him separate his work and home life, you’d dive into it with him, lethal and cunning.

“That won’t happen,” he was blunt with his statement. “You’re the only one I could do this with.”

It felt like the weight was finally lifting off him some. The pressure that had been building and threatening to blow, to whistle like a kettle. As much as he had intended for your relationship to be a temporary political alliance, he wanted it to be permanent. He didn’t trust people, but he was growing to trust you, knowing that your goals were ultimately the same.

“But what if it does?” He had never seen you so worried about his feelings, genuine concern. “Or what if I fall in love with someone else?”

“Y/N,” his thumb brushed your lips, making you face him again. “I promise you that is never going to happen. Okay?”

“Okay.”

With a final look of determination, kissed you, his lips bruising against your own. He was hoping that it conveyed that he meant it with all his heart. He was never going to fall in love with someone else, the home you made in his heart was always going to be yours. The decor exactly how you left it if you ever walked away, waiting for you to come back. You’d never get the chance to walk away but that was the sentiment, that he could forgive you for leaving him if he took you back and you stayed with him. A dove with a broken wing was still a dove. It might not be able to soar in the slides, free from the gravity of the world, but it was still a dove. Even if he broke you and locked you up, you’d still be you.

He could never love another, not when he loved you. Coriolanus loved you. The realisation shook him, a tempestuous collision of the man he was and the man he wanted to be. The crack formed by Lucy Gray was broken open once again by you. He had convinced himself that love was a weakness, that it was something to be exploited. Over the past year of getting to know you, getting to be with you, you had challenged his core beliefs, forcing him to confront the fact that he loved you.

It was hard admitting it to himself. Just hours earlier he had told Tigris off for even suggesting the idea of it, vehemently denying it. He didn’t want to love you then, terrified at the idea of you finding out and leaving. But you had said it wouldn’t be so bad to be married to him, that you’d be willing to be allies for the rest of your life. The truth was there though, written into every interaction he had with you. The glaring reality that he could no longer ignore, lingered in his eyes like a burned-in image.

It was terrifying, the exact opposite of the control he wanted to have over those around him, to have you control his heart. The practised emotional detachment he had led his life with failed in his darkest hour. The fear that you’d be just like Lucy Gray and run. It didn’t matter that you both worked on the games, that he had seen you develop new ways to punish the Capitol’s enemies, that you had just as much darkness within you as he did. That you were as ruthless as he was. The betrayal he had once experienced at the hands of a District dog had him petrified of it happening again.

Could he erase your existence like he did hers if something happened? The thought was both horrifying and tempting. He didn’t want it to come to that, to erase you, to discard you like a broken toy. You were better than Lucy Gray, you wouldn’t betray him. He wouldn’t let you. But he couldn’t come to you with this, not yet. Coriolanus Snow needed you to break down and beg him to tell him that he loved you. When he could see you, lost in your feelings for him, then he could tell you. Not before, not after. But at the moment when you are in desperate need of him, he could tell you. Only then could he believe that you loved him too.

______________________________________

Things have been busy since then and luckily you have been able to avoid conversation with your mother too. Coriolanus and you had no time to talk about your game plan and what would've happened next as the games started. Every day you were at the Citadel, ensuring things ran smoothly. He was there too, doing his own work, but the amount you had to do kept you from each other. It wasn’t until after the games ended that the two of you got a moment alone. Of course, you had been to several events together but you couldn't talk about things there. So when the last person left the production room, you were finally alone with him.

“Did you mean what you said that night on the balcony, that it was hard pretending that you loved me?”

The two of you were in his private lab. You were sitting on the edge of his desk instead of a chair, something he noticed you liked to do. After the cameras had been turned off you had taken your hair down from the pinned updo made of a braid, letting the braid hang loose. The heels you were wearing off your feet and lost in the room. Coriolianus’ head was in your lap as your fingers brushed through his hair. The slight stubble he’d grown over the last two days catching on your tights.

His voice was muffled by your thigh. “No.”

“No you didn't mean it or no it isn’t hard pretending that you love me?” Your fingers were putting him to sleep. It had been so long since he had been touched like this. He only had one strong memory of his mother. They had been sitting before the fire, her belly full with his younger sister, her finger running through his, much like your own, singing a song he couldn’t remember now, the melody lost with time.

“No,” he finally replied, groggy. “It’s not hard pretending that I love you”

There was a flicker of hope within you when he first confessed to you that night on the balcony. You had convinced yourself that he was being vulnerable with you then, letting you in. Was this him adding kindling to that fire or dousing it?

“Is it easy then?” Each word was laced with intrigue and tinged with trepidation. The question wormed itself into the conversation, hanging in the air like the hum of the machinery. He tensed under you like he had been unprepared for this conversation, a betrayal of how he normally was.

Coriolanus’ response was slow, deliberate and weighted, with every individual syllable chosen carefully. “No, it’s not easy either.” The threading of your fingers felt so good against his scalp, it was criminal. “It’s neither easy nor hard, it’s necessary.” He shrugged with that statement, drowsy from the long day and your actions.

It was strange seeing him like this, his head in your lap as he was half asleep. The Coriolanus you knew was a man of fronts, never betraying his persona of unwavering composure and unyielding strength. He was smart and capable, bringing the Snow family back from the brink of destruction. But now there was no front present. He was relaxed and open, the tension in his shoulders finally released as he rested on your thighs. You could see every pore of skin, every hair out of place. There was a faint scar above his lip, so blended with his skin that you had never seen it before. It had access to the same medical and cosmetic treatments as you did meaning that he had left this one there on purpose. A reminder of something that had happened to him.

You chewed on his words as you watched him. It was neither easy nor hard pretending that he loved you, it was necessary. It was a non-answer, a refusal to tell you his feelings on the matter, that itself a revealing statement. He was used to his words working on others, his honied lips spinning the sweetest lies. But you had watched him, seen him change over the years. Coriolanus was a man burdened with his own demons that sat at the table with him. There was an understanding in that. You had your own demons that sat in the corner of your room every night, watching you sleep and whispering dangerous things. Neither of you were innocent good-hearted people, both of you violent and deadly.

But his cracks were showing, and that night under the stars with too much to drink, he had let you see just how much they were cracking. You were willing to pick up the pieces and help him put them back together. Your own feelings were the same as his, you were just better at hiding it.

“My father wants us to have an engagement party.”

“When?”

“In two weeks at my family estate,” knowing your father, it was going to be a spectacle. He doted on you. “But he wants to have a private dinner before that, just your family and mine.” His only family was Grandma’am and Tigris. If you wanted to, you could count the Plinths as family, even though he hated the thought of having any relationship with them.

“That’s fine. I’m sure Grandma’am will be excited, she’s been pestering me about marrying you while she’s still alive to see it.”

“She wants you to marry me?”

He murmured some form of agreement, still out of it. “She says you make me smile like I haven’t since I was a boy. It’s annoying actually, she keeps demanding that I bring you around for lunch.” This was news. Your interactions with Grandma’am had always been under the pretence of public events, you never thought much of them, but apparently she had. More than that, she thought more of your effect on her grandson.

“You should be kinder to her, you don’t know how long she’s got left.”

Coriolanus’ head lifted from your lap, rubbing his eyes as he propped his head up on a hand. “I know,” it wasn’t nice to have to think about the fact his Grandma’am was up there in age, that she maybe had another 15 years left. If that. “I’ll tell her we’ll do lunch then.”

Your smile was irresistible. “Good. The least you can do for her is let her think that you’ve found someone you genuinely love, and who loves you just as much. She’ll never know that it's just an act either. It’ll let her rest easy knowing you’re taken care of.”

His heart sank, and his stomach dropped out and onto the ground.

“Yeah, it’s a good act too.”

______________________________________

Coriolanus paced in the foyer, stopping every so often his fingers fidgeting with the knot of his tie, loosening and tightening it. His outfit was simple and smart today. His father's button-up with a red tie, a grey pinstripe waistcoat and matching trousers. The black leather of his oxfords had been polished earlier in the morning. He felt antsy, just wanting to get this luncheon over with. He shouldn’t have told you that Grandma’am wanted this, he must have been out of his mind when he did.

“Coriolanus my boy,” Grandma’am had snuck up behind him, making him jump as she put her hands on his shoulders. “You look as handsome as always, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

His smile was weak in the mirror, not reaching his eyes. “Thank you Grandma’am.” She fiddled with the shoulder of his shirt, lining it up properly as it had been moved from his walking around.

“You must really love her if it’s got you like this.”

“I do.” The words were heavy. This was the first time he had acknowledged his feelings for you to another person. The vulnerability threatened to consume him.

“I’m glad,” her eyes became teary as she spoke. “Your mother loved your father so much. I remember their wedding day. She was so nervous, running around like a rabbit. You remind me of her sometimes.” she threw her hands up like the statement was outlandish. “But of course, you’re more like your father than anything else. Strong Coriolanus Snow.”

They rarely talked about his parents, or Tigris’ parents, like this. It was easier for them all to let the dead stay dead. A bittersweet ache spread through him.

“I’m glad.” He reached out and took Grandma's hand, offering her some comfort. Talking about her dead children always set her off. They stood in silence for a beat, hand in hand, each processing their own feelings before he shattered the quiet.

“It’s easier to let the dead stay dead.”

Grandma’am nodded, her handkerchief to her eye to clean up the tears she had spilt. “Sometimes,” she acknowledges, “the past is too painful to revisit. But it’s important to remember Coriolanus. To remember the love, the laughter, the life that was lived. To honour those who came before you.”

But he didn’t want to remember the past. The past made everything worse.

The ring of the elevator cut the conversation short. You were here, and he was nervous. This was no different than a public event, you both knew the parts to play, but it was so different at the same time. You were in his family home, eating with him and his Grandma’am, and doing it purely because you thought she deserved to think someone loved him. Doing it because you cared for her. It was here that his history echoed, ghosts of the past hanging on every wall. Remnants of the boy he once was tucked away in boxes, now dusty with age.

As the elevator doors opened, revealing you standing there, those boxes came out of storage and were placed on the table for you to sort through.

“Oh! Miss Gaul! Please come in.” Grandma’am rushed towards you, excited to have you over.

“Grandma’am,” you chided, pulling her into a hug. She had shrunk in her old age and your heels didn’t help the equation, making you bend down to do so. “I’ve told you a thousand times to call me Y/N. Plus soon enough I’ll Mrs. Snow.”

“I know, I know, I just forget sometimes. Perhaps I should just call you Mrs. Snow!”

“Now I think that’s a wonderful idea!” You took a second to greet Coriolanus with a kiss and then went back to chatting with Grandma’am taking her hands in your own.

You were so delicate with her, it pained him to watch you be so kind to her. You nodded along diligently to whatever she said and were actively engaging in the conversation. He could tell that you weren’t pretending to care and that you actually wanted to speak with his grandmother. She was so animated with you like years had been removed from her. He had spent so long trying to protect her from all that had happened, and all that he had done. His actions had severed parts of their relationship, and with Tigris not living in the apartment anymore, she must have grown lonely. But you brought her back, the vibrant woman who could connect with the world.

Coriolanus sidled up to you, arm wrapping around your waist. “I hate to interrupt your conversation ladies, but I do believe Y/N came here for lunch.” It felt so right to have you like this.

“Yes, yes, Coriolanus,” Grandma’am started, “I’ll go make sure the cook has prepared everything. Why don't you show Y/N into the dining room.”

“Of course, Grandma’am.”

Alone, he nipped at your ear, his breath making your heart skip a beat. His hands were warm, one placed on your stomach the the other on your arm. You could smell the mint on his breath when he uttered a whisper in your ear, his voice low and husky. “You look stunning today.”

You were wearing all black today, something that went against the average Capitol woman. It was a high neck mini dress, stopping a few inches above your knee. The sleeves were long, longer than your hands and instead of normal holes, the fabric was spliced up to your elbow. Your heels were lower than they normally were from press events, no doubt more comfortable. The splash of colour came from your earrings. They were red, with a velvety coating on them, and shaped like rose petals separated and hung on a chain. You had remembered Grandma’am’s love of roses.

“It’s not for you, you know.” you took every opportunity to tease him. “But thank you.”

You had no idea what you did to him. “If it were for me it’d be on the floor by now.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing this is for Grandma’am and not you.” You patted his cheek. “Now are you going to show me to the dining room Coriolanus?” When you said his name you mirrored the way his Grandma’am said it.

A crooked grin rose on his face with a small laugh. “With pleasure, my dear,” he replied biting your ear again before leading you through the grand hallways of the apartment. His hand never left your back until you were sat down. You were on Coriolanus’ right, with his chair being at the head of the table.

The table was smaller than the average dining room table in the Capitol, unsurprising given the number of Snow family members there were left. It looked to seat about 10 people maximum. It was a dark-stained wood, a style that was popular in the prewar days. The walls were a pale blue, covered in a patterned wallpaper. The signature tile flooring of the apartment was carried into the dining room, laid in a geometric style with the table in the centre. It was all a testament to the family’s long history and enduring presence in the Capitol, a microcosm of the Capitol itself.

“Have you told her about the dinner?”

“No I haven’t had a chance yet-”

“What dinner?” Grandma’am sauntered into the room, waiting for Coriolanus to pull out her seat so she could sit. “The cook prepared quite a lunch today,” she listed out the menu after she sat down, Coriolanus returning to his own seat, arms resting on the table.

“That all sounds wonderful Grandma’am. Corio’s told me how wonderful your chef is.”

“Yes, I do agree. It took me ages to find one that I liked, so many of them are lacklustre these days.”

“Well I hope my family’s chef won't disappoint you then.” you grabbed his hand on the table. “My father wanted me to invite you to a family dinner on Friday evening. It’s just a small get-together to introduce everyone to each other properly. After all, we’ll be one family soon.

“Oh, that is a wonderful idea! I’ve always had such admiration for your father’s interior design work.” Grandma’am's voice faded out for Coriolanus as she spoke. Rambling about how your father had ‘brought back the elegance of the Capitol’ through his job. Coriolanus was focused on one thing.

You were wearing the ring. He had gone in between rings for what felt like a millennium till settling on a custom made. It was reminiscent of the one he remembered his mother wearing, covered in diamonds and made of gold. Your was made of platinum, far more durable than gold and less like the be damaged by your time in the labs and only plated in gold. The centre stone was large, 1.5 carats, an emerald cut diamond. The style of the ring was similar to an ornate mirror. There were 22 stones in total, each one glittering from the chandelier's light. He hadn't stopped with just the one ring either, he needed to decorate you in the finest jewels he could buy with the Plinth family fortune. That's why your index finger had a stack of thinner, geometric, stack complimenting the engagement ring.

It thrilled him. Wedding rings were no more than a shackle connecting you to him. A show of his authority over you. Marrying you wasn’t about companionship, it was to own you. To change your last name to his own and let everyone know that he would never leave you alone. Maybe he’d let you hyphenate your last name, and you’d like that, it went against the norm.

His thumb rubbed against his own engagement ring. His was simpler, he didn’t enjoy the over-the-top couture and showmanship of the Capitol, a think gold plated platinum band with a matching kite cut diamond flush set into it. The kite shape echoed by etchings around the placement. You had picked the ring out for him after seeing your own, saying that you wanted it to match with yours. It was ironic that you chose a kite shape. They flew high in the sky, a symbol of freedom and soaring ambition.

The luncheon was nice, you had to admit. You didn’t have a living grandmother and it was nice to talk with Grandma’am as you ate. She kept telling stories of Coriolanus’ youth, much to his chagrin. The stories, and how he treated her, were different than what you had expected. He was cold towards Tigris, but he had so much warmth towards Grandma’am. What had happened between the two that caused a rift? Grandma’am spoke as if the two had been thick as thieves growing up.

When the plates were cleared, you joined Grandma’am in the kitchen as she made coffee for the two of you, Coriolanus somewhere in the apartment answering a message on his communicuff. You had offered to do it but she insisted on doing it herself, telling you that the machine was too complicated for a guest to use. But you know exactly how to use it, but that was a secret.

When she sat across from you, both your mugs steaming, her eyes were sombre. “Can you be honest with a foolish old woman?”

“I don’t see any old women here, but I can be honest.” her chuckle was wethered and dry, telling of someone who had lived through too much.

“I know my Coriolanus is a difficult man,” she always insisted on using his full name. “He’s much like his father in that regard, and I would know having raised them both. But you’re good for him. When I see him with you it's like all the horrible things he had to live through are forgotten, and that he’s that smiling boy running around the apartment with his mother chasing after him again.” Grandma’am’s voice broke as the spoke, teetering on the edge of crying.

You grabbed her hand and squeezed it. She loved him so much.

“I love him Grandma’am, I really do.” candour in every word you spoke. “With him, I feel like I can do anything, be anything. Sometimes I think it’s all too good to be true and that one day I’ll wake up and this was all a dream that I had. Every day I pinch myself to make sure it's still real.”

“Will you always?”

“There’s no future in which I don’t love him. He’s my now and always. And even if one day we weren’t together anymore, I’d still love him and I’d still support him. Just like he’d do the same for me.”

As you spoke Grandma’am’s tears flowed freely, but they weren’t tears of sadness, they were tears of gratitude. She saw in you that she didn’t have to worry anymore, that someone other than her would love him unconditionally. Be a sanctuary to his troubled heart.

“Thank you.” as the older woman bawled you got up to hug her, rubbing her back as she sobbed.

Coriolanus had heard the whole thing but he couldn’t tell if you had said it for her or it was a confession of your true feelings. You were always perfect at playing your part.

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 7 months ago

Text

Flirty -Oneshot

Word count: 1244

“Lady Y/N!” Thor’s booming voice reverberated through the corridor as Y/N walked towards the common room after her workday. “It’s been too long!”

“Thor you hunk of Asgardian beef!” Y/N greeted him, giving him a hug that he happily reciprocated, pulling her off the floor and squeezing her. “God, okay, yep, I feel the love,” she grunted at his strength as he put her down. “Looking good as always,” she smiled up at him. “How have you been?”

“Oh, it’s been quite the adventure these last few years,” he said, looking out the window. “Many ups and downs, treacherous roads, victorious battles–”

“Right, right, well, I’m glad you’re back,” she interrupted him, not in the mood for one of his long monologues. She turned to the rest of the group in the common room to resounding hellos and Avengers standing to give her a hug. Y/N wasn’t enhanced or anything like her Avenger colleagues, she was just a regular agent that had joined the team as a replacement for Maria Hill after she tragically passed. Nick Fury had been looking for a new agent assistant, and she had been personable with some of the Avengers before so he decided she would be a good fit.

“Hello beautiful lady,” she greeted Yelena, giving her a big hug.

“Hey cuteness,” she hugged Peter.

“Hiya good looking,” she pinched Sam’s cheeks, making him swat her hands away.

Y/N was flirty and friendly with everybody, but when she reached the end of the line of people she smiled up at her favorite face. She reached her hands up and cupped his cheeks, giving his beard a soft scratch before sweeping her thumbs across his cheekbones. “Hey handsome,” she said quietly.

“Hey sunshine,” Bucky said, his smile matching hers. She pulled her hands away from his face then hugged him around his waist, and he held her tight, leaning down and kissing her forehead near her hairline. “How are you?”

“I’m alright,” Y/N replied, still holding him. Her hands rubbed up and down his back, feeling his muscles relax under her touch. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” he said, resting his cheek on top of her head. “Are you sure you’re alright? I heard you making some noises over the past few weeks at night.”

Y/N pulled away and looked up at him with a frown. “Was I?” He nodded, looking slightly worried but also like he was holding a secret. “Did I talk in my sleep? Jesus, with a Tony Stark budget you’d think the compound would have thicker walls.”

Bucky laughed and nodded. “You’d think. No, it wasn’t talking, just noises. Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. I don’t really remember my dreams that often,” she said. “But thanks for checking on me.”

His smile softened. “Anytime sunshine.”

It wasn’t until she walked away from the group and headed to her room that she let out a shaky breath, a deep blush heating her cheeks. She didn’t like to lie to Bucky, but how could she say, ‘Yeah, I’ve been having the most incredible wet dreams about you so I’m sure what you heard was my pornographic moans.’ She closed her door behind her and huffed another long breath. She needed to calm down. Her feelings toward him had shifted long ago from friendly to romantic, but having a romantic relationship with any of them was a HR no-no. It wasn’t necessarily forbidden, seeing as how Pepper had married Tony and Natasha had a relationship with Bruce. People tended to date where they worked around here. But she didn’t want to get in trouble or lose her job over a silly crush, so she suffered in silence. And even though he was sweet with her, she didn’t want to ruin a good friendship just because she caught feelings.

***

That night Y/N tossed and turned, her anxiety getting the better of her. She needed to sleep, but every time she started to doze off she’d jerk awake. She didn’t dare for fear of moaning again. She stared at the ceiling, grabbing her phone from her nightstand and glancing at the clock. 2:47 a.m. She rolled her eyes and huffed as she sat up in bed, rubbing her face harshly. She sat in the dark, stewing in her own panic before hearing something through the wall.

She and Bucky shared a wall, the head of their beds up against it on either side. Whenever he had a nightmare it was helpful because she was able to hear him and run to his room and help. There was a grunt and groan, and she swung her legs off her bed, ready to make a run for his bedroom door, but then the groan shifted into…was he moaning? Y/N froze, her eyes widening as they adjusted to the dark, her head turning to face the wall. She waited, listening intently, until it happened again, this time a little louder.

Y/N scooted to the head of her bed, laying her ear against the wall as she tried to hear what was happening. He couldn’t be…was he dreaming? Or was he…?

“Y/N.”

She balked at the wall, her eyes comically wide and her mouth falling open in shock. She could hear a rustling noise, like sheets being kicked off, then a light, rhythmic squeaking. There was a thump against the wall and she covered her mouth to stop herself from laughing out loud. He was! He was humping his bed. Another moan vibrated through the wall and she got a wicked idea. A little hypothesis she wanted to test out. She put her cheek back up to the wall and listened for another moment before swallowing harshly then moaning, just loud enough for him to hear. The squeaking stopped for a moment. She waited another beat then moaned again, a little louder, making it sound wanton.

“Mmmh…Bucky,” she sighed against the wall.

She heard another deep groan, the thumping and squeaking resuming. She gasped at how dirty this all was. Her hand slipped down her body, roaming her curves before dipping under her sleep shorts and past her underwear. Her ear was pressed against the wall, listening to his periodic moans and the thumping noise.

“Fuck sunshine.”

She shivered as her fingers rubbed over her clit, her eyes closing as she imagined him splayed out on his bed, fisting his cock then turning over to hump the mattress, biting the sheets to try and quiet himself. At least she now knew he wanted her, too. Whether that meant deeper feelings or not remained to be seen, but the fact that he physically wanted her, was having his own wet dream about her, made her heart soar with a weird mix of pride and sexual satisfaction.

“Handsome,” she whined, her head pressing harder against the wall as her first two fingers slipped lower, dipping inside herself as her other hand dipped into her shorts, rubbing her clit faster. “Please!”

There was a sudden, loud thump, like he punched his bed. “Fuck it!” he said loudly, then all the noise stopped. Her hand stilled against her pussy, her eyes flying open as she listened intently, trying to figure out what was happening. Within a few seconds there was a hard knock on her door and she stiffened. No way…no way no way no way no way–

“Sunshine, open the door.”

#marvel #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #request #ask #anon ask #oneshot #bucky barnes oneshot

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shiani25 · 4 months ago

Note

Story request: screamer shenanigans that make Megatron go 'in the end he's still my treacherous idiot'

(coming from a fellow megastar lover ehehehe)

If it's vague I'm up for a follow up👀✌️

The halls of the Nemesis echoed with the familiar sounds of bickering, metal clanking, and a shrill, unmistakable voice.

“You dare question my brilliance?!” Starscream’s voice carried through the corridors, grating and theatrical as always. “I am second-in-command, the air commander, the most cunning—”

A loud explosion interrupted his self-aggrandizing monologue, followed by the sound of scraping metal and something heavy tumbling down.

Megatron groaned, his crimson optics narrowing as he slowly rose from his throne. He knew the source of this disaster all too well.

When he arrived at the scene, he found Starscream tangled in some cables, his wings awkwardly bent. Smoke billowed from a hole in the wall nearby, where the explosion had left a perfectly Starscream-shaped imprint.

“What... did you do this time?” Megatron growled, crossing his arms.

Starscream’s optics flickered as he looked up, his dignity even more damaged than his body. “It was... Thundercracker’s fault!”

Thundercracker, standing a few meters away with his arms crossed, scowled. “I wasn’t even here. I just got back from patrol.”

Starscream’s optics darted back and forth, his processor working overtime to come up with a believable lie. “Uh... Then it was Skywarp! He... he... teleported and startled me!”

Skywarp appeared out of nowhere. “I didn’t do anything! This time...” he added, rubbing the back of his head. “I was busy putting glue on Soundwave’s cassettes.”

Megatron pinched the bridge of his nasal plating. “You’re all idiots...”

Starscream finally extricated himself from the pile of debris, brushing dust off his armor. He stood tall, attempting to regain his usual air of superiority despite his crooked wing. Seeing he had no one else to blame for this commotion he finally explained. “I was merely testing a new weapon I designed. It would have guaranteed our victory over the Autobots!”

Megatron looked past him at the smoldering crater. “A weapon.”

“Yes!” Starscream puffed out his chest. “A powerful rocket launcher with advanced targeting systems. It would have destroyed Optimus Prime in one blow!”

“...So where is this rocket launcher now?”

Starscream’s face fell. He glanced over his shoulder at the blackened hole in the wall, then at the far end of the hangar, where the twisted remains of his ‘masterpiece’ lay half-melted.

“There were... a few minor malfunctions...” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“A few?” Megatron repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “Your ‘weapon’ made a hole in my warship!”

“But, mighty Megatron!” Starscream’s tone shifted to pleading. “Think of the potential! Once I iron out the... um... minor bugs, it will be unstoppable!”

Megatron’s optics narrowed. “Like the time you built that weather machine that ended up freezing yourself in a block of ice?”

Starscream flinched. “I... I was testing the limits of its power.”

“Or the time you tried to create an army of clones and they revolted because they couldn’t stand your voice?”

Starscream’s wings drooped. “They were... defective.”

“Or how about the time you reprogrammed the Space Bridge and accidentally teleported yourself to the bottom of the ocean?”

“That was... a navigation error, and a very educational trip.” Starscream muttered, optics fixed on the floor.

Megatron heaved a long, suffering sigh. How many times had this played out? Starscream, with his insatiable ambition and harebrained schemes, always striving to prove himself but constantly tripping over his own arrogance. It was like a never-ending loop of chaos and destruction.

Yet, despite everything, Megatron couldn’t deny that Starscream’s antics often yielded unexpected results. Sometimes, the seeker’s wild experiments led to breakthroughs—usually after several disastrous failures, but still. And in battle, there was no better air commander. When he was focused and not distracted by delusions of grandeur, Starscream was undeniably brilliant.

Megatron’s shoulders slumped as he watched Starscream attempt to straighten his damaged wing, wincing at the pain. The seeker’s pride was far more bruised than his body.

“Get yourself repaired, Starscream,” Megatron said, his tone surprisingly soft. “And stop blowing holes in my ship!”

Starscream’s optics brightened. “Of course, mighty Megatron! I shall refine my designs and—”

And then explosion rocked the ship. The emergency lights flickered red, and klaxons blared.

Starscream glanced around. “Oh. That might be unrelated.”

“Soundwave!” Megatron barked.

“Affirmative. Starscream’s laboratory has been compromised. External plating breached.”

“Starscream!”

“Okay, fine! I may have been running an experiment on sentient nanites. They were supposed to clean the ship! How was I supposed to know they’d develop a sense of rebellion?”

Megatron’s servo hit his faceplate with a resounding clang. “of course they would rebel, they are your treacherous creations after all. You have one cycle to fix this.”

Starscream saluted with more enthusiasm than sense. “You can count on me!” He dashed off, shouting, “Nanites! Cease your uprising! I am your creator!”

Megatron sank back onto his throne, the ship still rumbling.

“Starscream is an idiot,” he muttered, rubbing his temple. “But at least he’s my idiot.”

In the distance, a loud crash echoed through the halls, followed by Starscream’s indignant squawk. Megatron closed his optics. Maybe if he sat very still, the chaos would just pass by.

It did not.

BONUS!

It was another day aboard the Nemesis, and Megatron was already nursing a processor ache. He could hear Starscream’s shrill voice echoing through the hallways, a sure sign that disaster was imminent.

He stomped down the corridor, servos clanking with impatience. The seeker was up to something again—probably another one of his harebrained schemes to overthrow him. Not that any of them ever worked.

When he reached the main control room, the sight before him was... something. Starscream stood on top of the main console, striking a dramatic pose, his wings flared out as he pointed towards a holographic display of Earth. The other Decepticons stood around, looking various shades of bored or confused.

“Behold!” Starscream announced, his voice dripping with self-importance. “I have devised the ultimate plan to crush the Autobots and seize power once and for all!”

Megatron groaned. Here we go again.

Starscream tapped the console with his foot, and the hologram zoomed in on a human amusement park, complete with a giant roller coaster, cotton candy stands, and costumed mascots waving at guests.

Thundercracker frowned. “Uh, Starscream? What does a human playground have to do with conquering the Autobots?”

“Silence!” Starscream snapped, waving his arm theatrically. “This is no mere playground! This is the perfect location to lay an ambush! We shall disguise ourselves as attractions, lure the Autobots in, and destroy them when they least expect it!”

Skywarp snorted. “Disguise ourselves as attractions? What are you gonna be? A bumper car?”

Starscream shot him a withering glare. “Of course not! I will be... the roller coaster!”

The room fell silent. Every optic turned to stare at Starscream, who stood there, chest puffed out with pride as if he’d just delivered the most brilliant plan in Decepticon history.

Megatron’s optic twitched. “No, I’m going back to recharge. It is too much of Starscream’s brilliant plans for one day. “

#megatron #starscream #transformers #transformers prime #decepticons #megastar #tfp #thundercracker #skywarp #humor #funny #ai artwork

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blorger · 9 months ago

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Hello and welcome back to the series where I pontificate on the beauty and complexity of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy's tumultuous relationship in the hp books (see: pt.1 and pt.2).

Today I'm going to over-analyze the official beginning of Draco and Harry's rivalry. If the two of them had an enemy anniversary it would probably be celebrated on this, the day of the Remembrall Incident:

We left off last time just as Harry leans of the impending Gryffindor-Slytherin joint flying lesson. As previously discussed, our dear Harry is currently very preoccupied with not making a fool of himself in front of Draco, the guy he's been having a one-sided feud with in his mind.

In this passage we also hear that Malfoy's boasting, though uniquely annoying to Harry, is just a drop in the bucket in the sea of braggadocious firsties. Hearing Harry tell of it, every first year ever (bar Hermione and Neville) is constantly waxing rhapsodics on their flying skills (yet somehow there's only one guy he's worried about flying in front of).

Before the flying lesson, Harry takes time out of his busy day to notice that Draco has once again received a package from home

Two things to note here: 1) how does Harry know that Draco notices? Has he been looking at Draco (two tables away btw) every morning? and 2) how does one open a package gloatingly? Is Draco looking back at Harry (again, from across the great hall) to see if he's watching? Has Draco been putting on a mail-based production as a show of wealth or is this still all in Harry's head? Are these two even capable of being normal about each-other? (no)

Harry's attention is quickly diverted by Neville's shiny new Remembrall and he's not the only one who's taken notice: enter undersocialized gremlin Draco Malfoy, who does not know how to show curiosity in a healthy manner.

Because Harry and Ron are Reasonable Fellows, their very first instinct is to throw hands. At this point in the story it's safe to say that Draco lives rent-free in their head (remember how Draco has yet to do any bullying and has said zilch to Harry since the train? Don't worry, that's about to change).

I tend to take Draco as his word here because, while he did behave in a shockingly rude manner, he does not appear to have had any ulterior motive in grabbing the Remembrall. Let us remember that, since the train incident, he still hasn't spoken directly to Harry (or Ron or Neville for that matter) and we all know Draco loves to talk (Draco is exactly the kind of villain that would interrupt a moment of glory in order to perform a monologue).

As the flying lesson begins, we once again find Harry and Ron in a somewhat savage mood, rejoicing in Draco's mild failure.

This, by the way, is pretty much the same thing Draco just did in potions class (see pt.2). So, like, Draco is Evil for laughing at Harry but it's ok for Harry to do the same? This is some jkr bullshit, right here.

Enter one Neville Longbottom, pursued by broom.

After hurricane Neville has come and gone all that's left to remember him by is his brand spanking new Remembrall, gleaming invitingly on the quidditch field. Draco starts things off by putting on a little performance for his fellow Slytherins (like the attention seeking diva we all know and love):

But the call of the Remembrall is too strong and, like a moth to a flame, Draco is hooked.

Enter local vigilante Harry Potter, eager for a confrontation. Draco is not exactly covering himself with honors here but he's still just behaving like a kid, a little shit of a kid, sure, but nothing that would usually warrant an intervention. What I think is happening here is that Harry's overactive bully-meter -which he's been keeping a close eye on since he associates Draco with Dudley - is going off and Harry cannot let an injustice pass (it's, as Hermione will later say, part his saving people thing).

Draco, never one to back down from a challenge, escalates the situation (because how dare you not play along with my hilarious theatrics Potter?).

Besides the obvious pigtail-pulling aspect of Draco's actions, I think there's also an other factor at play here and that is Draco's ever-present desire to show off, especially in front of Harry. I like to imagine that, in Draco's mind, this expert demonstration of his flying prowess would have resulted in Harry going all "oh my god Malfoy, I was so wrong to deny you my friendship. you are obviously the most talented, most specialest boy who's ever lived. Please take me back" at which point Draco would go all "too late, loser!".

In reality, however, the scene plays quite differently:

This passage is very important in that it allows us to understand Harry's state of mind thus far. He's been feeling out of his depth compared to his classmates raised in the wizarding world (and Hermione, who ate all the books in the curriculum and absorbed their strength), possibly he's been doubting his ability to find a place for himself in the shiny new world he's just been dropped in.

I think this explains some of the resentment he's been feeling towards Draco, a walking, talking reminder of the wizarding status quo.

Another very telling exchange: Draco was not planning on a confrontation. We see throughout the books that Draco is not one for one-on-one fights and violence in general, he does in fact go out of his way to avoid them.

Draco has probably just realized that Harry has escalated the situation in ways he wasn't planning on. I maintain that, up to this point, Draco was not trying to actively make an enemy out of Harry. He was probably planning on acting dismissively towards him in a passive-aggressive attempt to show just how much better Draco Malfoy is than stinky Ron Weasley, until Harry either came to his senses or admitted defeat.

Again, Draco wasn't planning on a confrontation. Draco Malfoy does not do physical fighting (he probably does not know how at this point), so he tries to de-escalate the situation in the only way he can think of: by physically putting distance between himself and Harry.

After the Remembrall Incident, Draco's humongous ego is now smarting from being shown up at flying (and being confronted in general, also the train thing) so he's now looking to retaliate. Harry, meanwhile, is now more convinced than ever of Draco's Evilness but also, most importantly, he's just found a neat new label for Draco: Draco Malfoy has just become Harry Potter's Nemesis

(from Hark! a vagrant by Kate Beaton)

xoxo

#hp #hp meta #drarry #hpdm #why i ship it: an illustrated compendium #D Malf my main man #harry potter meta #the Blorger Special

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bloodrvvvsh · 1 year ago

Text

Code Red, Code Blue. Chapter 1: Acquainted.

Synopsis: When the BAU is led to a case in Seattle, with Seattle Grace Mercy West as the focal point. And after an unfortunate incident involving two cups of hot coffee and a ruined pair of scrubs, Spencer meets a girl that changes his whole life.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Lexie Grey

Warnings: Typical CM discussions of crimes, typical Grey's discussions of gore and medical talk (very minimal, though!), meet-cute, literally one (1) offhanded "killing yourself" joke

Word count: 3.0K

Notes: My baby.. she's finally finished... Please enjoy, I spent way too long on this!

Likes are appreciated, but reblogs and comments help writers more!

Wednesday, September 29. 9:42 AM in Quantico, Virgina.

Spencer had only ever been to Seattle once.

Working in the BAU took him all over the country. Cases popped up in every corner, in every state, in every place you could possibly imagine. He had seen nearly every part of the vast landscape that was the US of A.

The last case that had led them across the country to Seattle was The Seattle Strangler, back when Gideon was still on the team. Spencer had mixed emotions about that thought. But he was a professional and he was going to do his job.

Their current case was as close as you could get to clean cut and dry in their line of work. Women in their 20s being stabbed. Pretty simplistic, right?

The one connection each murder had, though, was that every single woman was eventually directed to Seattle Grace Mercy West. And while the hospital was a fairly major one, it was a Level 1 Trauma Center, after all, which meant a lot of patients, it was definitely raising a few alarm bells in their heads. Each woman was also eventually declared dead at that exact hospital.

It could never hurt to check every possible lead, could it?

Spencer used two fingers to rub at the sleep clinging to his eye still. He tried, and failed, to stifle a yawn as he shifted in his seat. Although he was quite used to struggles with sleep (hence his dependence on caffeine), it never truly got any better.

“Late night?” Morgan inquired. He propped his arms on the top of Spencer’s seat, peering over the other man’s shoulder.

Spencer shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep,” he replied. He frowned softly, continuing to try and rid himself of the tiredness that stuck to his lashes before he was interrupted by another yawn.

God, he could really use some coffee right now.

He glanced down at his watch and his frown deepened. They still had at least another two hours until they would land.

Spencer would consider himself a fairly patient man. He didn’t mind waiting, hell, he most often played the waiting game in his job as a BAU agent. But right now, sitting on that jet running on only five hours of sleep with not a drop of caffeine in sight, he was feeling just one moment away from simply losing it.

Not like it would actually happen, though. Spencer wasn’t that kind of guy. He was calm and reserved, even in the face of adversity.

Hotch’s voice cut through Spencer’s internal monologue for the moment, snapping him back into reality. “We’re going to head to the police station first,” he began, casting a glance over each BAU member in eyesight, “After we get all the necessary facts, we’re going to head to the hospital. Sound good?” He was met with a round of nods from everyone and he nodded back.

Wednesday, September 29. 11:23 AM in Seattle, Washington.

Lexie needed a goddamn break.

Being a surgical resident had to be a punishment designed in one of the seven pits of hell. How dare she desire to save people's lives, right?

At least it was better than being an intern.

She loved her job, don’t get her wrong, being a surgeon was her dream. It’s just that she couldn’t remember the last time she got more than four hours of sleep a night and she was just so tired all the time. From running around constantly to several hours long surgeries to forty-eight hour shifts.

Not to mention the constant drama and tragedy that filled the Seattle Grace Mercy West halls. You couldn’t turn a corner without hearing about someone sleeping with someone else’s boyfriend or about another MerDer breakup or another surprise pregnancy. Really, sometimes it was just ridiculous.

Lexie herself had been the victim of that good ol’ SGMW drama. She was trying to pull herself free from the clutches of it all, but it always seemed to follow them all. Like some sort of curse was placed on that very hospital.

But that was besides the point. The point was that she needed just one moment of peace, away from all the chaos of the hospital and the drama. Was that so selfish of her?

The sound of sneakers shuffling and her racing heart filled Lexie’s ears as she rushed through the halls. The occasional ‘excuse me’ slipped from her lips, trying not to crash into everyone that was in her way.

When your attending pages 911, you don’t walk - you run.

Her feet skidded to a stop as the familiar emergency room came into view, nearly making her trip with the sudden halt. Her movements seemed almost practiced with the near mindless way she moved - triage gown, tie in the back, gloves. This wasn’t her first trauma, and it would be far from the last.

“What do we have?” Bailey’s voice cut through the millions of other noises filling the room - the rustling of fabric, the snapping of latex gloves on skin, the chatter of voices. The ER was ever far from being quiet.

“28-year-old woman stabbed fifteen times in the torso, majority in the chest,” Owen shot back. He rushed forwards when the glint of red and blue lights followed by the sirens that would follow them for the rest of their lives came into view, and the rest of them marched behind.

“God, overkill much?” Cristina muttered low to Meredith. Bailey, who heard everything always, shot a glare over her shoulder. Cristina threw her hands up in defense, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. Her face fell the minute Bailey turned away and she shook her head with a quiet scoff.

The doors to the ambulance flew open and out rushed a woman on a stretcher. “BP is 158 over 92, HR is 92,” an EMT announced. Owen cursed under his breath as he took the railing of the stretcher into his hands.

“She’s hypertensive,” he announced. Quickly, other hands began to grab onto the stretcher as well, guiding the women into the hospital doors. He barked out a few names and different orders and Lexie slowly loosened her grip on the railing as her feet quit keeping pace before stopping entirely. She watched as the woman was rushed towards a trauma room, a frown falling on her lips. Trauma was never a pretty sight.

With a sigh she made her way to the receptionist desk near the ER entrance doors where a few of the other residents left behind had gathered.

“That’s the third stabbing in less than two months,” April remarked. A little frown began to form on her lips as she flipped the chart in her hand. “And they’ve all been women in their late 20s.”

She didn’t have to say it. They were all thinking it. The glances exchanged spoke a thousand words.

“You don’t think..” Meredith trailed off. She shot a look towards Cristina, then glanced back at April. The current hypothesis wasn’t looking so hot.

“It’s probably just a weird coincidence,” Lexie was quick to interject. Her words did little to quell the tense energy that filled the emergency room. “I mean, Seattle’s a big city. Plenty of crazy people doing crazy things. I’m sure they’re not related.” She waved a hand dismissively. Then she added, “It is getting close to the holidays. Don’t crime rates increase during the holiday seasons, or something?”

The pager attached to her hip beeped. She groaned, a pout appearing on her face at the sound. She unclicked it from the waistband of her scrub pants to take a glance at the numbers displayed on the screen and she sighed once more. It was Derek.

With a murmur of, “I’ve got to go,” that was met with a few dismissive waves of goodbyes from her fellow residents, she made her way towards the elevators, absolutely not ready for whatever Derek had in store for her now.

Wednesday, September 29. 2:17 PM in Seattle, Washington.

One thing you never want to hear in a hospital is silence. And that’s exactly Lexie had been greeted when she emerged from the imaging room, a stack of paperwork and scans ordered by Derek in hand. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something was absolutely happening and she’d be damned if she was left out of it.

It all started to make sense, though, as she made her descent down a floor of stairs and she noticed a group of her coworkers crowded behind a corner. Mentally she counted heads - Cristina, Meredith, Alex, Jackson, April.. All five of them in the same place at the same time, clearly hiding from someone (or something?), always spelled trouble.

Cautiously, she made her way towards the group. She tried to stand on her tip-toes, trying to look over their shoulders to see whatever the hell it was that was making them all stop in their tracks, but to no luck.

Finally with a huff, she decided to pipe up. “What are we looking at?” Her sudden appearance obviously spooked them, as they all nearly jumped at the sound of her voice, but they quickly relaxed when they realized it was just Lexie. She flashed a little smile that was short lived and didn’t quite reach her eyes with an utterance of ‘sorry’.

“Them,” Meredith said. Lexie leaned to the side and she followed the finger that Meredith pointed with. Never would have Lexie guessed what would be standing before her right now.

There, talking to the Chief and Owen, was a group of people that certainly didn’t look like they belonged together. One man in particular, though, stood out among the rest - a tall man with curly brown locks and the most beautiful face Lexie had ever seen. “I heard they’re FBI agents,” Cristina cut in, knocking her out her little lovestruck daydream, and Lexie’s head snapped so quickly to look back at her, it’s a wonder it didn’t break.

“What?” Was all she could manage in response. “FBI, wh-” She shook her head, trying to clear her head from all the thoughts racing through it. “What would the FBI be doing here?” Her voice dropped low, almost to a rushed whisper.

Cristina shrugged. “Hell if I know.” Lexie frowned. And just as she opened her mouth, ready to say more, Owen gestured in the direction of their little gathering. And when the group of supposed FBI agents looked at them, they all took off, scattering away in their different directions, like roaches when you turned the lights on.

Except for Lexie. She was frozen in place, her blood running cold in her body when their hard eyes locked on her. She forced another smile, a nervous little giggle escaping her as heat washed over her cheeks in heavy waves. She raised her free hand to offer them a half-hearted greeting before pointing behind her with her thumb and then promptly spinning on her heel and hurriedly trying to escape the embarrassment that was that interaction.

Wednesday, September 29. 2:45 PM in Seattle, Washington.

Spencer had drank approximately four-and-a-half cups of coffee since landing in Seattle, and he was not quite satisfied yet.

Would he ever truly be satisfied with the amount of caffeine he consumed? Could anyone, really? The answer didn’t really matter. Not to him, anyways. Especially not now, when the tiredness ran bone deep and the day was nowhere near close to being finished. So, he was going to get another cup.

“I’m going to get some coffee,” he announced offhandedly as he pushed himself up from his seat.

Morgan raised an eyebrow at the young genius as he started to make his way in the direction of the coffee machines. “Really?” Morgan said. “Another cup of coffee? Seriously, kid, you’re going to kill yourself with all that caffeine and sugar you consume.” Spencer waved a hand in response and Morgan could only shake head with a small smile falling over his lips.

“Oh, you’re getting coffee?” JJ perked up, craning her neck slightly to catch Spencer’s eye before he disappeared. “Do you think you could get me a cup, too? Please?”

Spencer nodded. “Cream and sugar?” A grin split across JJ’s face at the idea that he remembered what she liked in her coffee. Although, with Spencer, he couldn’t have possibly forgotten in the first place. “You know it!” she called out to him. “You’re the best, Spence!”

“No problem,” he called back to her as he turned the corner.

The trek to the elevator and up to the coffee carts was not a particularly long one, but it did give Spencer enough time to get lost in his thoughts. His movements almost ran on autopilot as he got on the elevator and pressed the button with the number four painted on it.

His feet moved for him, guiding him in the direction of exactly where he wanted to be. Ideas and different theories of their current case filled his head as he walked.

All of this to say - he was not paying attention. Not one bit. Not even as he mindlessly ordered two coffees - one mocha latte with room for sugar and one black with cream and sugar. Not as he began to round the corners that he was starting to become familiar with from turning around so many times due to his near caffeine addiction.

Not even as another body rounded the same corner as him.

It wasn’t until the harsh impact came, the colliding of two people knocking hard into each other and hot coffee being dumped all over each other, that he really came back to reality.

Lexie gasped as the coffee crashed right onto her, burning through her scrubs and stinging her skin. She glanced up, wanting to look whoever just ruined her scrubs in the eye, and it was like the whole world slowed for a moment.

It was cute supposed FBI agent guy.

Her jaw went slack, practically hitting the floor, and all she could do was stare. She almost wanted to pinch herself, check if any of this was really real, but the hot coffee burning her skin told her it was true.

“I’m so sorry,” The words fell out of Spencer’s mouth in an instant. He glanced around in search of something, anything, that could clean up the mess he just made, but he was coming up empty. “Really, I am so sorry-”

Lexie shook her head. “It’s fine-”

Spencer’s eyebrows pinched together. “I just spilled hot coffee all over you, it is not fine.” Lexie could feel her heart skip a beat.

“No, really, it- it’s fine,” she chuckled. “I have another pair of scrubs in my locker, it’s okay.” Spencer didn’t seem satisfied with that answer.

Now it was his turn to shake his head. “Can I make it up to you? You know, for.. getting you doused in coffee and ruining your scrubs.”

Lexie hesitated for a moment. While he was very cute, and seemingly very sweet, she barely knew this guy.

But something inside her told her to take her chance.

“Uh,” she bit down on her bottom lip. She waited for a beat. “Yeah,” she found herself saying, “Yeah, why don’t you buy me a coffee?” Spencer’s whole face lit up at her answer.

Could you blame him, though? Even covered in coffee, the woman before him was absolutely stunning.

“My name’s Spencer,” he finally added. “Spencer Reid. Doctor Spencer Reid, actually.’” Lexie arched a brow at him, head tilting to the side. “Doctor, huh?” she echoed. “Are you, like, new around here, or something? Did you transfer from another hospital?”

“Oh, no. I- I’m not an MD, I’m, uh.. I’m a PhD.”

Lexie slowly nodded her head. “Right,” she muttered. The smile on her face couldn’t seem to budge. “Well, I’m Lexie,” she stuck a hand out to him, “Doctor Lexie Grey, MD.” They both grinned at her words before chuckling. Spencer found himself thinking her name was beautiful. He glanced down at her outstretched hand and then so did she, and for a moment they were both just staring at her hand.

Finally, he spoke up again, “I- I don’t do handshakes,” he spit out. “The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It’s, uh- it’s actually safer to kiss.”

Lexie nodded her head once more and let her hand fall back to her side. She ran her palm down the side of her thigh, subtly trying to wipe the gathering sweat. A part of her was tempted to ask if he wanted to kiss her, but she held off. For now.

“So, are you a germaphobe, or something? Or do you just know a lot of different facts?”

“Both, actually,” he said. “I, uh, I have an eidetic memory, so I remember everything I read. A lot about bacteria.”

“An eidetic memory?” Lexie echoed. “Really?”

Spencer nodded, a smirk worming its way onto his lips as he began to rock himself on his heels. “And an IQ of 187 and I can read 20,000 words per minute.”

“Oh, so you’re some sort of super genius, is that what this is?”

Spencer shrugged and his smile seemed to grow. “I don’t think intelligence can be defined by arbitrary measures. But for all intents and purposes, I am a genius.”

“You know, that’s really weird, because I actually have a photographic memory,” Lexie said. She tilted her head to the side again. “Does that make me a genius, too?”

Spencer chuckled. “Well, being a doctor isn’t an easy thing to achieve. Especially being a surgeon. I would imagine you have to be fairly smart to become one.”

Lexie’s own smile seemed to grow as well. “Well, Dr. PhD, why don’t you tell me a little bit more about yourself?” She nodded her head in the direction she came from before she started to walk. And Spencer found himself following behind her.

For some reason, Spencer felt like he wasn’t going to regret spilling coffee on her.

for @gghostwriter bc i don't have a taglist <3

(if you would like to be crcb taglist, let me know!!)

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little-diable · 2 years ago

Text

The Porcelain Killer – Professor Aaron Hotchner (Profiling 101 Series, Part 2/?)

Chapter two, here we go! Promise there will be lots of smut (you know me), but please show some love to this chapter which has barely any smut in it. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader enrolls in professor Hotchner's class "Profiling 101", a man she has always looked up to, a man who treats her like an asshole from day one. Will her need for academic validation manage to push the two closer together? Will her bright mind push her into the world of Aaron Hotchner and the BAU team? Will he manage to keep his distance before the world he tries to protect her from can get its grasp on her?

Warnings: 18+, masturbation (f), Aaron is an asshole, authority kink, university professor x student relationship,

Pairing: Professor!Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader (2.4k words)

Profiling 101 Series Masterlist

Part One Part Three

“Excuse me, professor?” A guy had raised his hand, interrupting the professor‘s monologue, abruptly cutting it short. The professor’s dark eyes zoned in on the student, taking in his appearance for a few more seconds before he nodded his way, waiting for him to keep on talking. “How is this relevant to us? You said we’d work on active cases, not stuff that is over hundred years old?”

“You already have your answer, don’t you?” Professor Hotchner’s deep voice forced (y/n) to straighten her posture, grateful that she wasn’t his target of annoyance this morning. It had been exactly one week since their first class, since the exchange of emails that had left her fuming, torn between anger and embarrassment. But today (y/n) had decided to find her way to her usual seat, in the second row, staring the professor down at any given chance.

The guy only looked at professor Hotchner with confusion swimming in his pupils, not understanding where the professor was going with this. “Your question alone gives us enough reason as to why it is important to learn from old cases, just like our Jack the Ripper readings. Does anybody here have an idea why this case is so important for us to talk about?”

(Y/n) counted the seconds fading by, wondering if anybody would dare to answer the question, not wanting to be called out by the professor with an awfully cold demeanour. (Y/n)’s hand was slowly raised, forcing his eyes to meet her hesitant ones, pondering over her words carefully before she started to speak, “There are many reasons, but I would assume it’s also because of the big gender debate it still is focusing on. As profilers we need to keep options open, we can’t just focus on one theory without taking others into consideration, just like the possibility of Jack the Ripper actually being a woman.”

“Obviously he wasn’t a woman, he was a classical serial killer.” The guy who had asked the question had spoken up without raising his hand, once again interrupting professor Hotchner before he could give his thoughts on (y/n)’s reply. The professor turned away from her, focusing on the guy who wore a smirk on his lips, finding pride in the way he had spoken out about (y/n)’s idea.

“What is your name?” Professor Hotchner’s voice boomed through the room, forcing all other students to quiet down once again, attention drawn to the tall, brooding man like moths drawn to any source of light. He’d burn them all before they could even start to realise what was happening, falling victim to his games.

“Josh Lorey, professor.” No longer was the guy smirking, tightening his grip on his pen as he began to realise that speaking up hadn’t been his smartest move. (Y/n)’s heart picked up its beat, pounding in her chest as she watched the scene unfold, unable to bite down the anticipation thumping through her veins, hoping that the professor would defend her – not that she couldn’t defend herself, yet she desperately hoped that he’d be on her side, just this once.

“If I were you, Mister Lorey, I’d be careful with my assumptions. Next time think before you speak up. Miss (y/n) has made a valid point, we can never know for sure what will expect us, theories change, just like our unsubs may change their behaviour all too suddenly. I want you to keep this in mind for this week's homework, it seems like time has once again cut our lesson short.” (Y/n) kept watching the professor for a few more moments before she started to pack her bag, eyes flickering back to his features every few seconds. She hurried down the steps, towards Aaron Hotchner before he could disappear down the hallway.

“Professor?” His eyes met hers, forcing goosebumps to rise on her skin, making her breath hitch in her chest as if an icy wind was teasing her limbs, freezing her from inside out. “I didn’t get any feedback on my homework, will we still get some in the upcoming days?”

Her voice wavered, trembling with every syllable rolling off her tongue. The way he stared her down forced (y/n) to tighten her grip on her bag, fighting against the urge to take a step away from him.

“I don’t give feedback on homework that isn’t outstandingly good. Yours was basic at best. Do better next time if you are craving validation this desperately. And take some more time before turning it in this early, careless mistakes don’t look good on you, miss (y/n). Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

……

“Okay wait,” a chuckle left Mandy, taking another sip of her drink. “So, you called him an asshole to his face? You apologised for it, but he’s still an asshole to you? And this is the same guy you’ve been horny for since year one?”

A tipsy laugh left the two girls sitting in front of (y/n), sharing knowing glances as they watched (y/n)’s expressions change, hiding her face in her hands with a sigh leaving her. The two kept staring at her, wondering what to make out of the mess (y/n) now found herself stuck in, desperately trying to drown her embarrassment in her fourth drink of that very evening.

“I don’t even know what to do anymore, I can’t let this rest, not before he understands that I’m not just some stupid, clueless girl.” Vivian’s hand found (y/n)’s, tightly squeezing it before she let go once again, hoping to ease some of her friend's pain.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, just keep on proving your intelligence in class, then he simply won’t be able to treat you like this!” Neither (y/n) nor her friends seemed to notice the group sitting close to them, neither of them noticed the tall man staring at (y/n) from afar, watching her ramble on – oblivious to her surroundings.

Aaron Hotchner had joined his BAU family for a few rounds of drinks, wanting to catch up since he hadn’t joined them on their last cases, staying behind to teach his classes, only supporting them digitally. And yet, even though he wanted to pay attention to the stories his colleagues told him, he couldn’t help but study (y/n).

He could still remember the first time he had seen her, when he had given his first talk at the university. She had been sitting in the second row, scribbling down every word that had left him, as if this was some lifesaving ritual she needed to follow. Back then Aaron had cursed himself for being interested in a student, unable to stop himself from studying her, the gorgeous features he had been thinking of every now and then since that very morning.

But now, as she was his student, he desperately needed to keep his distance, giving into the annoyance thumping through his veins whenever he crossed paths with her, hoping that his annoyance would distract his mind from the schoolboy crush he fostered on her.

“One last round?” Derek patted Aaron’s shoulder, ripping the man out of his thoughts, following his colleague to the bar. He tried to keep his distance, tried to not pay any attention to the conversation he now could pick up on all too clearly. But the second he heard them speaking his name, he couldn’t help but listen in, giving into the frown tugging on his features once again.

“Honestly this Hotchner guy sounds like the worst asshole, you should stop thinking about him, (y/n).” Aaron’s heart clenched at the words leaving (y/n)’s friend, making him freeze in his step, waiting for her to speak up.

“He is, fuck, he is the absolute worst, such a stuck up asshole, but why does he have to be this handsome?” Before Aaron could even pick up on what his body was forcing him to do, he left Derek behind, walking up to (y/n) and her two friends, instantly catching the attention of the three women. He picked up on the way (y/n)’s pupils grew dilated, almost choking on the sip of her drink, watching him approach them.

“Miss (y/n), in case you don’t remember my word of advice, I’d like to remind you of it. Going around and openly calling your professor an asshole isn’t a strategically smart move, especially not when talking about your possible future boss.” He stared her down for a few more seconds, wondering if she’d speak up, but (y/n) kept quiet. “Well, have a good night, ladies.”

No word left the three women, watching him turn back towards the tall man who had watched the scene unfold with a confused expression. (Y/n)’s heart was in her throat, begging her to speak up, to profoundly apologise once again, but no word managed to leave her as she watched the two men disappear in the crowd.

……

The two cups of coffee (y/n) was carrying were hot in her hands, just enough to warm her cold fingers, guiding her on with the sound of her shoes meeting the ground echoing through the hallway. Her eyes were focused on the doors she kept walking by, searching for the number 3.57, the office she hadn’t set foot in ever before.

Only as (y/n) found the office she was searching for did she come to a halt in front of the closed door, inhaling a deep breath to hype herself up. She shuffled the cups around before she raised one hand to knock on the black wood, pushing it open after a dull “Come in” had echoed through the evening.

Professor Hotchner was sitting at his desk, working on some files. His eyes snapped up to meet hers, fuelled by surprise filling him. Slowly (y/n) closed the door, walking closer towards him with her trembling hands carrying the coffee.

“Peace offering?” She placed the cup down for him, watching him study it for a few seconds before he reached for it, nodding towards the chair placed close to his desk. He took a sip as (y/n) sat down, not expecting the satisfied hum leaving the man, not used to seeing him this calm, relaxed almost.

“Thank you, (y/n). That’s very nice of you.” She fumbled with her fingers, struggling to express the words she had rehearsed for the past hour, no longer able to remember what she wanted to say to him.

“It’s the least I can do. I am sorry for calling you an asshole twice, that wasn’t very considerate of me.” He placed the cup down before he leaned back in his chair, no longer covering the file he had been working on, giving (y/n) a chance to look at the rather cruel looking pictures. One of the pictures showed a woman’s body, surrounded by a circle of lit candles, her throat had been slit, but she was wearing a porcelain mask with an almost theatrical expression. The other four pictures showed victims in other positions, killed differently, and yet they were all wearing a porcelain mask.

“Is this a recent case you’re working on?” His eyes flickered down to the pictures before he looked at (y/n) once again, only nodding his head, waiting if she would comment on what she could see, giving her a chance to prove her knowledge. “They almost look like a work of art, don’t you think? I mean, besides the masks, look at the dramatics used in these scenes.”

Professor Hotchner reached for one of the pictures, studying them for a few moments before a hum of approval left him, “You’re right, does it remind you of something?”

“Have you ever heard of Goya’s Saturn drawing?” Silence engulfed the two, filling the room like fog, growing thicker with every passing second. He kept staring at the pictures, eyes flickering between the different victims, seconds (y/n) used to move closer, getting a better view.

“That’s really good, (y/n), thank you. I’ll have to make a few phone calls now. Feel free to come by in the next few days, I’m sure I’ll have a few updates on this case by then, if you’re interested.”

……

Ever since she had left Professor Hotchner’s office, (y/n)’s mind hadn’t been able to stop racing. While one part of her kept thinking of the case the agent was working on, the other part of her couldn’t help but think about him. She could still smell the expensive scent of his cologne, could still hear his raspy voice rumbling through him, pushing waves of heat through her.

And while that one part of her wanted to make her feel ashamed for what she was about to do, the other encouraged her fingers to keep on moving. Arousal was covering her folds, dripping from her at the mere thought of Aaron Hotchner, of the tall man with hands that would fit around her throat all too nicely.

(Y/n) couldn’t help but wonder what he could do to her, how he’d touch her, if he’d still be as cold to her, or if he’d allow her to see more of the kind man she knew he was. Her fingers circled her pulsing bundle of nerves, adding more speed with every passing moment, back arched off her mattress.

The thought of professor Hotchner guided her, pushed sinful pictures through her racing mind, making her burn in pleasure. The big shirt she was wearing covered her upper body, and yet (y/n)’s mind painted a picture of Aaron Hotchner touching her naked chest, fingers tugging on her hardening nubs. A high pitched “Fuck” left (y/n), knowing that she’d cum soon, with moans and groans leaving her.

She pushed two fingers into her tightness, curling them against her swollen spot, pushing herself even closer to the edge. Goosebumps covered every inch of her skin, making hairs rise on her arms, giving into the intense sensation she had been desperate for ever since this afternoon.

With a shaky breath exhaled, (y/n) came around her fingers, head thrown back against her big pillow, eyes squeezed shut. Her orgasm thumped through her, with as much strength as a bullet piercing through her skin, leaving never fading marks. She kept moving her fingers for a few more seconds before she relaxed, still imagining Aaron Hotchner towering over her.

Fuck, she needed to get over her crush, quickly, before she’d do something stupid, something that could easily force her to leave his class.

#Aaron Hotchner imagine #profiling 101 #Aaron Hotchner x reader #Aaron Hotchner smut #criminal minds imagine

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sofasoap · 1 year ago

Text

A glass of bourbon, or a glass of whisky?

Pairing: Simon "Ghost"Riley x F!reader Warning: M rating. Alcohol use, hint of intimacy.

This is sort of a ... alternative start how Mini and Simon might have met? always a possibility....

Thank you @glitterypirateduck for organising the writing challenge! you are totally awesome :) Go here to check out other wonderful writer and artist's work for this challenge. Prompt used : 100 and 59.

Masterlist

The masked man standing by your brother staring at you, eyes wide.

And you look at him, trying your best to hold your expression neutral.

Small world isn’t it?

“So this is the brooding Lieutenant I've been telling you about.” Soap slapped the man’s back.“And…This thing here..” Soap pinches your cheek and dodges your punch on his shoulder.

“HEY! I am not a thing!”

“... is my baby little sister. She’s the youngest amongst all the cousins, so we call her Mini.” Soap ignored your protest and huffing and turned back towards the masked man.“and a word of warning. Don’t you dare hit on her.”

Well, too fucken late Johnny. You thought. This man has already shagged me a few times last night.

“Bourbon. On the rock.” Simon grumbled to the bartender, slamming down the note on the counter. He signed as the bartender nodded his head and turned to make his order. Wise decision to give himself a night to stop over at Edinburgh. He regretted making the decision to drive all the way from Credenhill to Inverness instead of flying. But he wanted to make a pit stop at Manchester to….. “Really, You are in Scotland and you are ordering bourbon?” A cheerful but mocking voice perked up beside Ghost interrupting his inner monologue. Ghost turned his head, glaring at the woman leaning against the bar, shaking her tumbler glass. “Clearly you have not been introduced to the proper whisky.” you laughed as you dragged a bar stool and sat down beside him. He took a sip out of the glass. “Someone tried. But I still prefer this.” “Maybe I can change your mind?”

“Simon. Simon Riley.” he held out his hand.

You gave him your name as you took his hand. He did a good job pretending it’s the first time hearing it. Or did you two actually introduced yourself to each other before you dragged him back to your flat?

You're pretty sure you did. By the amount of times you moaned out his name last night…

“Yours or mine?” “My place is only around the corner. Come on.” you dragged him down the street, towards your flat. You were half nervous and half excited, the alcohol making your body and brain buzz even more. You have never done this before. Dragging a stranger back to your place, just for a night of pleasure. But you couldn’t care less at this point. You need to forget the asshole that has cheated on you. After all those promises of undying love, how he will not forget about you even with the distance… Load of bollocks. Johnny can deal with him for you when you tell him about it.

“Sorry my family can be a bit too much.” You sat down beside Simon, “it always gets a bit rowdy a few drinks in.”

You noticed him slipping out of the room after your Ma and aunties started bombarding the poor man with questions, and your Da and uncles pouring him drinks, introducing everyone in the family, until your brother manage to drag the almost flustering man out of the chaos and push him towards the back door, knowing his friend need a bit of break and a smoke.

He hummed in reply, silently taking a drag of the cigarette and looking up towards the sky.

“... You have a nice family.” he whispered. You can hear the jealousy, but more sadness in his voice.

“Johnny and I are very lucky.” you lean back into the wall, and take a sip of the drink. “We are quite a closely knit family. Pretty much everyone lives within a day’s drive. And there’s always a big get together for holiday events.” you turned towards the man sitting beside you, trying to take a proper look at him. “And downside to that is, everyone is into everyone’s business.” You chuckled. “When Johnny mentioned inviting you over for Christmas, everyone thought he was going to bring his secret boyfriend home.”

Simon choked.

You laughed. “The amount of time he talks about you when he comes home, and between his texts and on the phone, I would have thought he had a big crush on you.”

“No we are just…”

“Good friend? Ah come on, it’s Ok to admit it. You know. Our family is pretty open.” You patted his shoulder. “I am just kidding. Johnny really treasures you as a friend.” You squeeze his shoulder. “He always appreciates you, and the team, how they are like his second family away from home. And Simon, thank you, for keeping my brother safe.”

Simon looks down at you, blinking, stunned by the sincerity in your words.

Oh, he’s got beautiful eyelashes. You thought. Didn’t really get a chance to have a good look..

Yea. because you were too busy moaning into his chest when he was buried inside you.

He was just as big as you thought he would be. And he was good. Very good. Better than that cheating ex-partner of yours. You were disappointed by the time you opened your eyes in the morning, he was gone. And surprised to find a note on your desk as well. “Thank you.” For what? You wondered. Maybe you should have thanked him, for making you forget the misery.

“You two are still outside in the cold?” Johnny slid the window open and poke his head out, breaking both of your thoughts. “Dinner is nearly ready. Ma want you two to come and take your seat at the table.”

“I am just trying to convince Simon how superior Scotch Whisky is compared to bourbon.” You replied as you pushed yourself off the wall, smiling at Ghost, he rolled his eyes at your lies.

Soap waved his hand. “Don’t waste your breath. I tried for years. That rock skull of his still thinks bourbon is better.” he lamented.

“Or maybe I might have been swayed?” You could almost see a tiny curl of his lip as he replied. You can tell he doesn’t smile much from the surprised noise your brother just made.

“Steaming Christ Lt… “ “Johnny, we are off duty, I’m Simon here.” Ghost interjected. Soap cock his eyebrow, and sighed.

“Come on, you don’t want to keep the whole family waiting.” Soap commented again before slamming the window shut. The two of you looked at each other, before Simon put out his cigarette and dumped it into the ashtray, and stood up to follow behind you.

“Mini.”

“Mmm?”

“Care to introduce me to more varieties of Scotch Whisky tonight?”

You paused your hand that was about to turn the door knob of the back door, and turned slowly to face him, with a big smile on your face.

“Yours or mine?”

“I did tell you not to hit on my sister, Simon…Oh I knew I shouldn’t have invited you over…”

“Actually Johnny…. The truth is….”

I don't know who to tag..... so, apologise if you don't want to be tagged please let me know

@homicidal-slvt

@cumikering

@siilvan

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

@nrdmssgs

@writeforfandoms

@devcica

@liyanahelena

@okayyadriana

#GhostChallenge #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #sofasoap writes #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish

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toffeebrews · 6 months ago

Note

you're the last one to receive the gift i hope you know......... 🪨🪨🪨💥💥💥

------

It is just another boring Tuesday. T-Mart, the only convenience store in the whole two-mile radius, is empty at this time of the day where the sun is at its highest and almost everyone is at work. There are no customers, only the three workers loitering in boredom, waiting for the shift to finish. Murder is flipping through a tabloid magazine, Horror is manning the register, and Killer is doing her nails – all of them periodically glancing at the clock to see when they will be released from this hell.

“huh, have you heard the new scandal of dream yet?” Murder asks out of the blue, breaking the stale silence among them.

“dream… like our ceo’s brother? that dream?” Horror perks up.

“yeah,” Murder says, her mouth curved into a devious smirk. “apparently she got caught sneaking out of the hotel with ink. you know… the famous musician.”

“wait, isn’t ink married? to that wwe performer – crux or something?”

“cross, yeah. here, look at this.” Murder flips the magazine to show Horror the salacious photo: Dream in a trench coat and Ink in an oversize hoodie, both looking like deers caught in the headlights.

Killer snorts from across Horror, which is as close to a laughter as she gets. “that is the least stealthy thing i’ve ever seen. trench coat and sunglasses? that’s one face mask away from announcing to the world that you’re doing something you shouldn’t be doing.”

Murder smirks back. “apparently her publicist is saying this is a business meeting.”

“at 2 am?” Killer grins, propping her chin on her hand. “they should’ve met in broad daylight. no one suspects shady business at brunch time.”

“they’d get caught anyway,” Horror muses. “the universe really loves to create chaos.”

Yep, just another regular Tuesday.

Until the wall explodes.

“oh, come on,” Horror groans, ducking under the register as chunks of drywall fly all over the place.

Through the dust strides a figure in a long black coat, slightly floating off the ground. A web of strings shoots from the figure, quickly covering the whole area with glitching patterns and noises of a dying Wi-Fi modem. The air hums with electricity as the apparent villain points at the three unfortunate minimum wage workers.

“fear me, you abominations – for i am error the destroyer! surrender your worthless lives to me, or face your deletion off this world!” The villain proclaims, her voice crackling like a compressed MP3 file.

The trio exchange unimpressed glances.

“seriously?” Horror raises an eye ridge at Error. “that’s your line? that’s so corny. where did you get that from? straight-to-dvd trash bin?”

Error’s fingers glow ominously. “do not dare to underestimate me, you-”

Murder interrupts whatever is about to come out of the villain’s mouth. “oh, we’re shaking in our boots,” she deadpans, glaring at the destroyed wall with a twitch in her eye. “every week there’s a new evil overlord wannabe around these parts. blah blah world domination blah blah you’re gonna be my minions – we get it already. take the cash. or burn the place down. we’re not getting paid enough for this.”

“keys are under the fire alarm box,” Killer chimes in. “just don’t take the slushie machine though – it’s the only thing keeping us alive here.”

Error’s face glitches. She clearly doesn’t expect this level of apathy from her soon-to-be hostages. “insolent worms! you will submit!” she screeches.

“big words for someone who looks like a tiktok filter,” Killer quips, now holding a boxcutter and spinning it in her hands. “also, that’s just a horrendous costume. Where did you get it? The bargain bin?”

“how dare you- this is a custom design!”

“yeah, it shows.” Killer tilts her head, grinning. “and not in a good way.”

“well,” Horror says to the side, squinting at her phone. “according to chirper updates, the starlights should be here in three minutes. so if you’re gonna finish your monologue, you should probably do it now before they haul your ass to who-knows-where.”

Error splutters, her glitches spreading to the rest of her body as she’s incandescent with rage. “you- all of you insolent freaks! you will regret this!”

“not more than this job, i wager,” Murder says, her voice bored. “you know, if you want to be an evil nuisance, you can just go to business school. like our blood-sucking ceo.”

Error looks like she might implode on the spot. “you can’t just- you can’t-”

“aww, what’s the matter, glitchy?” Killer drawls. “the school of evil didn’t teach you how to deal with a little bit of criticism?”

Before Error can say anything in response, another wall explodes, showering people with even more debris.

“STOP RIGHT THERE, ERROR!!” a chorus of voices exclaim. The local magical girl squad – the Starlights – have arrived in all the pastel and frilly glory, posing dramatically in the rubble. There’s Solar, the leader of the group holding a bow in her hands. Prism, who brandishes a giant calligraphy brush. And Aqua, who wields two billy clubs. Any villain would hate to cross their paths, and Error isn’t an exception.

The customer service trio quickly hides somewhere when the fight starts, but still peeks in to see what’s happening. The Starlights launch into their usual spiel about love, righteousness, and protecting the innocent, while Error’s glitching presence seems to falter even more. Murder leans toward Killer.

“10g saying that villain will break in five minutes because of the speeches instead of the fighting.”

“pfft, should be three minutes max.” Killer counters.

Three minutes later, Error is wrapped in sparkly ribbons, courtesy of the Starlights, and hauled away as the squad strikes yet another triumphant pose. The day is saved, but the store is probably not. The workers exchange another look with each other.

“thanks for cleaning up the mess,” Horror calls out sarcastically as the magical girls prance out of the store through the hole they created. “urgh, can we go home now?” she asks, slumping even further onto the counter.

“nope. still got four hours left,” Murder replies, uncaring as she picks up the discarded magazine and continues reading it.

Killer sighs, flipping the boxcutter back into her pocket. “i’m gonna break the slushie machine.”

“do it,” Horror says, completely deadpan, her eye staring straight at Killer. “i dare you.”

Just another Tuesday.

YAYAYAYAYA I BREEEZED OVER IT I GOTTA REALLY READ IT BUT ITS SO FUNNY. The way they're so nonchalant is the funniest thing ever, they're just trying to survive their shift bruh 💔

#ask #sorta #for me #fic #fanfic #mtt

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vikkirosko · 8 months ago

Note

Hey, this is a request I've been wanting someone to do for a while now.

Charlie morningstar x paraplegic male reader

🌈 Charlie Morningstar x male!Reader Oneshot Paraplegic 🎶

Charlie has seen a lot of different people in Hell. Each of them was unique. But even she, who has lived in Hell since she was born, was surprised when she met you. You were a sinner whose lower limbs were paralyzed. You never talked about it, and Charlie didn't want you to feel uncomfortable at her hotel.

Even when you started dating her, you didn't tell her what happened to you, but every day she became more and more convinced that something was bothering you, but you didn't tell her what it was. She tried to get the truth out of you as gently as possible, but every time you smiled at her and told her that everything was fine and she didn't have to worry, until one day the hotel was attacked. The attackers were easily dealt with, but she saw that your anxiety only got stronger and she couldn't turn a blind eye to it anymore.

She came to you when you were alone. She saw the bitterness on your face, which she noticed not for the first time.

"Hey… How are you?.."

You twitched and hurried to pull on a smile that had absolutely nothing sincere in it.

"I'm fine, don't worry about me"

"But I can see that this is not the case… Every time I ask you about it, you say that everything is fine, but it's not like that… I can see that something is bothering you… You are welcome… Tell me, maybe I can help in some way…"

You smiled sadly and shook your head negatively.

"I'm afraid no one can help here…"

Charlie looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue. You sighed heavily, realizing that you would not be able to hide what was on your mind any longer, so you decided that it was better to tell her now than to remain silent.

"I just think about how crazy it is that even after death I remained confined to this wheelchair…"

Charlie kept looking at you with concern, and you were talking without looking at her.

"You know, when I was alive, I could walk… Then I thought that it would always be like this, I had no idea that I could have it any other way…"

It was the first time the princess had heard you talk about your life before going to Hell, but she didn't dare interrupt you, fearing that because of a chance word she might push you away and you wouldn't tell her about what had been bothering you for so long.

"And then the accident happened… The doctors said that it was a miracle that I survived, but I suffered a spinal cord injury and remained unable to walk for the rest of my life… But the stupidest thing is that even after death, even after I ended up here, I still can't walk… There's not much I can do and it makes me feel useless… I can't even protect you and the hotel…"

You wanted to say something else, but Charlie hugged you tightly, interrupting your monologue. You didn't see it, but you guessed she was crying.

"Don't talk about yourself like that! You're not useless! You're wonderful! You are helping me a lot, you are morally supporting me and everyone else! Don't belittle yourself!"

You hugged her uncertainly, feeling her tremble.

"I'm sure we can find a way to make you walk again… If it's important to you, then I'll try…"

You doubted that it was possible, but the fact that Charlie was so eager to help you and tried to support you already meant a lot to you. She was the very hope that you lacked when you were alive and when you ended up in Hell.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #charlie morningstar #Charlie Morningstar x Reader #hazbin hotel oneshots

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sunnynwanda · 1 year ago

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Under the influence: Part 2

Part 1

As per popular demand, couldn't leave this one without a part 2 :) I hope you'll like it!

Warnings: suggestive? perhaps, enemies with benefits, jealousy.

Villain was never the smothering type. They weren't needy, clingy or possessive. They never got attached and certainly were not one to get jealous. They would be pegged as indifferent and detached, if anything. They hated feeling suffocated by unwanted attention and trapped in endless power plays, so they distanced themself enough to make their stance clear. In other words, Villain didn't do relationships.

But this time was different. Their night with Hero evolved into something they were not anticipating. At first, the whole enemies-with-benefits situation seemed like a good idea. Both of them needed an outlet from their daily lives and struggles - and what better way to do that than fucking out the built-up tension? And it worked well. Too well, if they dare say.

Hero's birthday was three months ago, though it felt much longer than that. Their days went by in a grey haze while the nights blurred into something akin to a nightmare. They met up once or twice a week. Those were the only days that Villain remembered clearly. It felt like they were constantly drunk, only sobering up for the few hours that they spent in Hero's bed. Always in secret, of course. Hero had a reputation to uphold - being seen so much as talking with Villain would be a disaster. Publicity mattered more.

Which was the exact reason for Hero's official date today. And no, Villain did not give a damn about the arm candy that hung onto Hero like their life depended on it. If their sweet smiles and exaggerated giggles made Villain sick in the stomach, it had nothing to do with Hero. Villain despised public displays like that, simple as that. They knew the annual reception was coming up - and Hero needed someone to take. Again, for publicity. The few dates they had sparked discussions, which was what their PR team was building drama for - a red-carpet moment.

Villain huffs, annoyed that Hero cancelled on them for the ditz they were fake dating. Yes, they had every right to date whoever they liked. It's not like Villain had any claim over them or anything. But it still stung. They tried to convince themselves that it was their pride, but the dull ache of their chest spoke otherwise. They slammed a hand over their heart, willing it to shut up.

"I thought you had plans," Hero's voice interrupts their inner monologue rather harshly.

Villain whips around, eyebrows rising. "What are you doing here?" Hero shrugs, sitting down on the cold concrete of the roof Villain was occupying. "Though you had a date?"

Hero nods, mind absent as they trail their eyes over Villain's forced smile and strained jaw. "I did. It ended."

"That soon?" Villain cringes when the question comes out, flooding their throat with rising bile. They intended it to sound sarcastic. It's pathetic how badly they fail to control their emotions.

Hero chuckles, oblivious to the tribulations of their archnemesis. "Took some pics at the bar and walked them to their door."

They don't understand why Villain even wants to talk about something this insignificant. They'd prefer to be kissing them by now, like they always do on this roof.

"That's barely even a date," Villain comments, their voice bitter with something they've not deciphered yet. It's neither jealousy nor anger, the taste more reminiscent of... disappointment? They don't know.

"As long as it counts with the press. Wouldn't wanna waste my whole evening," Hero replies, eyes trained on the city lights. After a moment of silence, they turn to face Villain. "Do you have time? I know I cancelled, but I'm here now."

"What, your contract doesn't cover sex?" Yeah, definitely disappointment. They pray Hero won't question it. "I don't have time, though. I've got places to be and people to rob."

"Hey, are you mad at me?" Hero finally seems to be using their brain, but Villain is nowhere near being happy about it.

They curse under their breath and attempt to salvage the situation by acting dumb. "Why would I?"

"I- you seem off and..." They stop mid-sentence, stepping back into the shadows to avoid being seen when they see a reporter crossing the street.

'Course, publicity over everything," Villain bites their tongue a little too late. They shouldn't have said that. They have no right or reason to feel hurt. And yet they do.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hero steps towards them, about to get hold of their hand, but Villain withdraws it.

"Nothing," with that, they leave, deserting Hero on the cold roof.

Hero is left lost in thought. They keep replaying the conversation to try and make sense of what happened but fail to see the pattern of their behaviour, albeit unwilling, that caused the change in their dynamic with Villain. They are exhausted from the constant role they are forced to play, and Villain is the only escape they have - or, had, as it seems they will now be deprived of it, too.

Hero was in despair. Between patrolling the streets, constant nagging for interviews, fake dating and not seeing Villain other than for battle for two whole weeks, they felt overwhelmed and utterly helpless. It was too much - everything happening at once, urgent demands after pressing requirements after persistent responsibilities. They felt like a caged animal and had no one to blame - all of it was their fault. Thus, Hero was losing their sanity, and the one person that had the ability to ground them wanted nothing to do with them anymore. Another thing that was entirely their fault.

And if all of that was not enough, they had to attend the stupid reception that the mayor was hosting.

"Just my luck," they mumble, struggling with their hair, as their fingers tremble with unreasonable irritation.

They know it's not a big deal, they've been through the same kind of event a dozen times before. Today wasn't gonna be any different. They'll have a glass of ridiculously expensive champagne, force a smile here and there, nod and look invested when someone talks, take pictures for the press and leave as soon as they can. Even if their mind races back and forth, not allowing for a moment of quiet.

Needless to say, by the time their car stops in front of the city hall, Hero is on edge. They are attacked by flashing cameras and a billion questions fired at them as they walk through the doors, ignoring everyone. A glass is pressed into their hand as they enter, the mayor appearing by their side in a matter of seconds. The evening proceeds as predicted until a painfully familiar voice invades their wandering mind.

"Where's your date?" Hero attempts to turn but a firm hand prevents them from moving.

"Villain." The sigh of relief that escapes Hero is audible even over the music. The can't help the smile that tugs at the corners of their lips. God, they missed that voice. "I came alone."

"Hm?" Villain quirks an eyebrow, rounding them to stand face to face to their beautiful yet miserable archnemesis. "How come?"

"You're talking to me now?" Hero looks at them with barely contained contempt. They want to yell at Villain for ignoring - better yet, abandoning them. But that would imply admitting they were in pain.

"Excuse me? I've talked to you plenty." Villain tilts their head, lying through their teeth, but Hero sees right through them.

"No, you have not," their voice is scornful, eyes fixed on their fingers gripping the glass until their knuckles turn white.

"What, did you miss me?" Villain knows it's a poor attempt at mockery when their heart is leaping up their throat.

"I did," Hero admits, as if it's perfectly ordinary for them to say. In their mind, it is. "Why do you look surprised?"

Villain shakes their head, flabbergasted at the path their conversation has taken. The music grows louder as people start flooding the dance floor. "Why would I?"

"Don't give me that bullshit again," Hero pleads, their gaze searches Villain's face for answers but upon not finding anything, they stretch their hand towards them, opting for a different route. "Dance with me?"

"What?" Villain meets their eyes, their expression incredulous. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Perhaps I am," Hero leads them to the center of the room, ignoring the immediate stares and whispers. They are done with hiding. "I've missed talking to you," they murmur into Villains ear as they draw them closer by the waist, "and holding you."

Villain can't breathe, their lungs contracting in their chest at the feeling of Hero's palm against their back. "Did someone spike your drink again?"

Hero shakes their head no, prompting Villain to focus on them. They notice everyone's attention and their manager freaking out in the corner.

"Hero, people are watching." Villain can't tell if Hero is sound of mind at this point, but they still try to reason with them.

"So?" Hero winks before dipping them back. It's an act of rebellion, Villain assumes, barely suppressing their smirk. Fucking finally.

"There are reporters," they point half-heartedly, amusement creeping into their voice.

Hero lets out an exasperated huff but when they speak, their tone is firm and determined. "I don't give a damn about reporters. I need you."

"But what about..?" Villain's question is cut short by Hero's lips pressed against theirs. Their lips part at the suddenness of it, and Hero uses the opportunity to slide their tongue into their mouth. A few gasps and a shriek of horror escape the guests but Hero couldn't care less.

When they pull away, Villain's eyes remain closed to keep all of the spectators out of their mind. "Your public image is in shambles now."

Hero shrugs, an ecstatic grin stretches their lips when Villain meets their gaze. They recognise the familiar dangerous sparkle before Villain can utter the words. "Kiss me again?"

"Right here?" They question, stunned by the request because it was Villain - the same Villain that was disgusted by public sentiments. Villain's eyes go blank again, just like they did in Hero's kitchen when they assumed their advances were unwanted. Hero shakes their head frantically to stop their assumptions from forming. "Yes. God, yes."

Hero barely manages to get the words out before capturing Villain's mouth with theirs in a starved kiss. They feel famished, ravenous as they swallow Villain's every gasp. Suddenly Villain doesn't hate PDA anymore. They allow their arms to snake around Hero's waist, holding them close as they resume swaying to their own rhythm. Hero cups Villain's face and drags their lips over their jaw, before leaving a soft kiss under their ear. "Let's get out of here."

Part 1

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy @alltimelowing @lateuplight @surplus-of-sarcasm @betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @yes-i-am-a-percyjackson-nerd

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