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As delicious as it is, cooked food doesn't really do much for Khare. The cooking process breaks down the DNA found in meat and other animal products meaning that it actually becomes less nutritional for her. It's the building blocks of life that her body needs to slow down the mutation process, digesting what she consumes instead of attacking her own body's DNA. She hasn't had much reason to eat raw just yet as cooking is a longterm staple of humanity, but a good raw steak will do her so much better than some leftover scraps from the kitchen.
#🌈 || musings#🌈 || headcanons#I think I wrote about this before but don't remember 100%#Just thought it was funny to mention considering her job and all#She's been living on eggs and bacon from Pauli's but it's not like you DON'T cook those fuckers#So while she's getting a little DNA from that it's not enough#And splurging out on raw liver is a rare treat#The fresher the better#gross tw#gross cw#Local fishfrog zombie needs meat go figure
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Something New
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Word Count: 3.9k
Warnings: SO many okay; sub Spencer, oral (m receiving), voyeurism & exhibitionism, fingering/masturbation, HEAVY breading kink, riding, choking, marking, they both got absolutely filthy mouths, a lil begging, cockwarming too- I think I got everything?? Mentions of alcohol as well
Genre: fluff & Smut
Summary: Meeting your boyfriend's friends leads to a few curious discoveries about him for both of you.
***
Your boyfriend is many things. A genius, a profiler, a professor- sometimes, a man with so much to say about pretty much everything, the love of your life- the list goes on. You've been dating Spencer Reid for about a year now and you really can't say you have anything to complain about. He's attentive and funny and thoughtful and kind, and even when work takes him away for days he still manages to make you feel just as loved from afar. Tonight Spencer's invited you out to meet all of his coworker friends. You've heard tons of stories but Spencer has been hesitant to introduce you to them. Not for any bad reasons- he's simply being greedy with your time. Well he was anyway, it seems the team has finally worn him down and you're joining everyone for drinks at a bar.
When you walk into the place, Spencer finds his friends quickly and pulls you close to him as he leads you to the group. Before anything can even be said by you or Spencer the table erupts into noise upon seeing you. There are compliments and whoops and it's hard to pick out any one thing that's being said by the group.
"Settle down guys." Spencer rolls his eyes. "This is my girlfriend y/n."
"It's nice to meet everyone! Spence talks about y'all all the time." You say.
"Well don't just stand there, sit, we have a million questions." One of the women at the table pulls you over to sit next to her.
"Garcia." Spencer sighs.
"Now we mostly use each other's last names, side effect of the job but I'm Penelope, that's Aaron Hotchner- but we all call him Hotch pretty much exclusively, Derek Morgan, JJ, Emily Prentiss, and David Rossi." She quickly intros the entirety of the table as Spencer slides into to booth across from you, next to Derek.
"It's so good to finally put names to faces. Considering how much time you spend together I thought he'd have more pictures of you guys but-"
"Interesting you say that because his desk at work is full of pictures of you." Derek muses.
"Dude." Spencer nudges him and you chuckle a bit as pink crawls up his neck slightly.
"His wallet has a photo of you as well." David muses.
"Rossi please." Spencer says.
"I keep lots of pictures of him at work too actually." You smile.
"You do?!" Spencer blinks at you.
"Of course I do. I take pictures all the time. Why does that surprise you?" You muse.
"Wait a minute do you have any pictures Spence would not want us to see?" Emily smirks.
"I'm absolutely positive I do." You nod.
"Oh I have got to see this." JJ says.
"Yeah y/n you have to share-"
"Y/n don't you dare." Spencer's eyes widen cutting Derek off.
"Oh come on Spencer you can't expect us not to want to know." Emily says.
"You can want whatever you'd like but you're not gonna get it." Spencer says.
"They aren't?" You tilt your head.
"Y/n, please." Spencer's eyes are pleading in a way that almost makes you want to tease him more. You of course have no intention of embarrassing him in front of his coworkers but the adorable look on his face tugs at your sadistic side. You hold his gaze for a moment before turning to the rest of the group with a smirk.
"Sorry guys, there are some things I like to keep to myself." You muse and everyone lets out playful sounds of frustration that you laugh at while Spencer settles in his seat.
"It's fine we'll simply separate them and get her to confess that way." Penelope stage whispers to the rest of the table.
"So, y/n, Spencer tells us you're a professor?" Aaron who apparently everyone calls Hotch says. He hasn't spoken much so far but he and Rossi watched the earlier chaos affectionately.
"I am, yes. We met when he was guest lecturing at the university where I work actually."
"Really? What subject do you teach?" JJ asks.
"Architecture and sometimes English."
"Sometimes English?" Derek quirks an eyebrow up at you.
"I'm primarily an architecture professor but I have an English degree as well so I'll teach an English class or two. Not every semester though, it really depends. I mostly fill in when an English professor is out." You shrug.
"That's so interesting. So how did you two actually meet? He refuses to tell us the story." Penelope asks.
"Really? Why Spence?" You look at him.
"I mean I'm not hiding it exactly-" Spencer mutters.
"You'll tell us won't you y/n?" Penelope nudges you.
"Well sure- I dunno how interesting you'll find the story but I'll tell it. He was leaving a lecture he was giving and I was conducting an- in class activity that sort of spilled into the hall as he was trying to leave. He's quite the curious boy so he asked what we were up to and then he left." You shrug.
"How did you manage to get her to go on a date with you if you didn't even try to get her attention?" Derek scoffs.
"This is why I didn't tell you the story." Spencer rolls his eyes.
"He sat in on one of my lectures the next week, at the end of which he spouted about 10 minutes' worth of information about the architecture of the building we were in." You chuckle.
"And that worked on you?" JJ muses.
"I'll admit it was strange- but I thought he was cute. I told him if he had any more obscure details about the university we could discuss it over coffee."
"So you made the first move." Derek says.
"Of course I did." You say.
"Alright! Can we please talk about something else?" Spencer grumbles.
"Come on Spence we're meeting your girlfriend for the first time you can't expect us to not have questions." Emily smiles.
"Do they have to be about the logistics of how we ended up together though?" Spencer rolls his eyes. You can't help but laugh watching him pout at his coworkers.
"I don't mind talking about it baby." You say.
"Yeah she doesn't mind baby." Derek chuckles. Spencer looks at you with a huff.
"Spence why don't you get something to drink for me hm?" You ask him.
"Anything specific?" Spencer stands at your request.
"You can pick just make it good." You say pulling him down to kiss him before he can walk to the bar. "If you wanna ask me questions Derek I'll answer them but my baby is off limits." You wink letting Spencer go get drinks.
"Fine, fine. Changing the subject." Derek smiles at you. By the time Spencer returns with drinks, you're in a completely different conversation with the rest of the table. You spend a couple of hours getting to know Spencer's friends and you'd like to think things go well. It seems like they like you, and you can say for sure that you like them. Of course, as the night goes on, the team lets alcohol loosen their lips. You, not being a big drinker have been nursing the one drink you had Spencer get you and Spencer doesn't drink more than you let him so you two are the most sober at the table, except Aaron who seems to be very mindful of his drinks. Somehow the table has gotten into making up outlandish things about other patrons of the busy bar you're in. A guy sipping whiskey is going through a breakup, a girl on the dancefloor is definitely going home with the guy she's dancing with, someone in a leather jacket 'definitely ties people up'. It seems like a game of who can make up the wildest story about strangers and you just chuckle as they play.
"I bet that lady has a man she puts on a leash." Penelope says of a woman sitting with a group of friends. That one makes you glance at Spencer to see him shift awkwardly.
"No way babygirl. That woman does not seem like the type." Derek shakes his head.
"I dunno I think it's possible. But like wouldn't she have him out with her?" Emily hums.
"Not necessarily. Even a mistress is allowed to have time without her-" Spencer's foot nudges yours before you can finish your thought. You don't think it's on purpose though, he seems to just be tense regarding the conversation.
"You speaking from experience there?" Derek asks you.
"Sorry Derek, that is classified." You smirk.
"Wait a minute what do y'all be getting up to?!" Derek's gaze turns to Spencer.
"Nothing." Spencer's response is sharp and you have to work hard not to giggle.
"Leave him alone Derek we haven't- there's no tales to tell there." You say. You doubt Spencer wants his friends to know those details of your relationship. Especially considering you haven't really explored that aspect of your relationship much. You've had a few conversations about it but you really haven't gone beyond making out and such.
"You're so sweet on our boy genius." JJ coos.
"Of course I am." You shrug.
"Wait what do you mean there's no tales to tell?" Penelope asks.
"I'm more interested in your knowledge of mistressing?" Emily shakes her head.
"Curious to get into that yourself Emily?" You ask.
"Maybe."
"Do you have tips y/n?" JJ asks.
"How did we get here?" You laugh. Drunk conversations are so funny.
"Well now you have to answer the question." Penelope says.
"Talk to your partner? I dunno everyone's different. You should find out what things they are comfortable with before you do anything really. Leashes are usually safe enough for beginners but a lot of the more interesting 'tips' would be- for more advanced stuff." You muse.
"Spencer you have got one interesting girl on your hands." Derek smirks smacking him lightly on the back.
"Please stop asking my girlfriend sex questions holy fuck." Spencer rubs his temple with a sigh.
"Aw but she seems like she knows so much." Penelope says.
"Another time ladies, I'll answer all your questions." You say.
"You will?"
"Absolutely. But I think you guys should maybe start sorting out your rides home. It's- getting pretty late and you've all been drinking." You say when you catch JJ yawning.
"Yeah I'd agree it's time to wind down, especially since this place closes soon and I hate to be the last one out." David hums.
"Do you all have rides home? Are you getting a cab or calling someone? Because you can't drive." You shake your head at the girls specifically.
"I'm fine to drive everyone home." Aaron tells you. "Will you and Spencer be good?" He asks.
"Oh yeah, we've each only had one drink. Either of us can drive." You shrug standing up. Spencer follows your lead and after him, everyone slides out of their seats. A few rounds of goodbyes later, you're on the way home, Spencer driving and both of you enjoying the quiet compared to the last few hours in a rowdy bar. Back at your apartment Spencer lets out a sigh as you both take off your shoes.
"Sorry about them." He mutters.
"What are you talking about? Your friends are great. Do you think it went badly?" You ask.
"No. No, I'm sure they love you. Maybe more than me now. I just meant- they can be a bit unpredictable when they get drunk so, sorry about the weird questions."
"Oh that? Spencer honey there are way worse things a group of profilers could ask me than if I'm a dominatrix." You scoff. "I'm pretty chill when it comes to discussing sex." You shrug walking further into your apartment. You wanna get out of this dress.
"Really?" Spencer follows after you,
"Yeah. Although- I take it you are way less comfortable with that sort of stuff?" You ask.
"What makes you say that?"
"Well- you seemed really tense earlier when they were asking me about the mistress stuff. I just figured." You say.
"Oh- that was nothing." He mutters.
"That- didn't seem like nothing. But we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." You hum. There's a moment of quiet as you take off your jewelry.
"I don't think my imagination is that active." Spencer speaks again and you turn to look at him. "Not in like, a sad 'my creativity is dead' sort of way. I'm fairly creative. But having an eidetic memory just means my focus is on other things. You know, the information I've read or seen that I can use- usually for work. Of course, my imagination fairs pretty well too. I mean it works well enough that I can reconstruct crime scenes in my head and stuff so it does what I need it to do for work."
"Right." You nod with a frown. When Spencer doesn't continue after a minute you add, "I'm following you Spence but I have no idea where this is going."
"You commented on me being tense earlier."
"Correct."
"It's because my imagination was entirely too active during that conversation." He mutters, almost like he doesn't want you to know.
"Are you- embarrassed because a sexual conversation made you think about your girlfriend sexually?" You try not to laugh because it's not that his embarrassment is funny to you it's just the circumstance of not wanting to admit he finds his partner hot.
"I had an erection at a table with all my friends because my girlfriend was talking about leashing people."
"Are you interested in wearing a leash Spence?" You smirk, leaning against your dresser.
"Don't- I'm not sure." He frowns.
"We can work our way up to it if you are baby. It's not like I'm planning to collar you tonight." You chuckle at his confused look.
"Do you like doing that?" He blinks at you.
"What? Putting collars on people? I mean only if they're into it." You shrug. Spencer takes a deep breath before he speaks again.
"This- is not helping." He says.
"Helping?" You look at him. His hands, which were balled up at his sides catch your attention when they instinctively cross in front of him.
"Wait a second-"
"Don't."
"Are you-"
"Y/n."
"You're still hard from earlier." You say.
"Of course I am. All I can think about is the image in my head of my girlfriend as a mistress." Spencer huffs out.
"Well, we can always replace that image in your head with the real thing." You offer.
"I- I don't- I've never had a mistress before. I don't know what to do." He frowns.
"We'll work our way up to more complex stuff. Tonight'll be simple, pick a safe word and let me do the thinking." You push off the dresser you'd been leaning against.
"A safe word? Uh- winter. Is that a good one?"
"As long as you can remember it, it's perfect baby." You pull him forward by his shirt to kiss him sweetly. Spencer melts against your lips, letting you guide him easily to sit on the bed. You straddle him as you deepen the kiss, your tongue slipping between his lips easily. Spencer seems content to let you have your way with him and you intend to take full advantage of that. Eventually, you pull away from him only to trail your lips to his neck. His mouth drops open with a soft moan as you cover his throat in red marks. You make quick work of the buttons on Spencer's shirt, kissing and marking your way across his chest as you strip him, enjoying the quiet whines he lets out.
"You look pretty covered in marks." You tell him, bringing your lips to his again with a hand at the back of his neck. You drag your nails down his abdomen until your fingers find his belt, undoing it and his pants before you stand up. Spencer's eyes are on you immediately with a confused look and a sound expressing his discontent. "Pants off baby." You tell him and he scrambles to tug them off quickly and settle himself back on the edge of the bed.
"Are you- do you plan to stay clothed?" He croaks uncertainly.
"For now, yes." You say kneeling in front of Spencer. His eyes widen as he watches you wrap your fingers around his erection. He hisses from the contact and gasps when you gently drag one finger along the length of him. Your tongue follows the path of your finger and his breath is coming out shaky by the time you fully put your lips around him. You slowly take as much of him into your mouth as you can fit relishing in the whimpers he fails to hold back. His hands grip the edge of the bed so tightly you think he may rip the sheets as you suck his dick greedily.
"Oh my- god." Spencer chokes out, body practically shaking from your ministrations. When his thighs start to tense you pull off of him entirely and he can't stop the frustrated whine that comes out.
"Sorry baby, but if you cum now you won't enjoy it as much when I ride you." You tell him as you stand up. You give Spencer a few moments to steady his harsh breathing before speaking again. "Undress me." You tell him, turning your back so he can unzip your dress. You hear him stand, feel one hand settle on your shoulder while the other tugs the zipper down, watch his hands slide the straps of your dress from your shoulders and once it hits the floor you step out of it and turn to face him. "Open your mouth." You tell him softly and when he does you slip two fingers between his lips that he immediately begins sucking on. You can feel the action in your abdomen and it takes a moment to get your next instruction out. "Panties off." You tell him. With your fingers still in his mouth his movements are a little awkward but he manages to get your panties off and only then do you pull your fingers out. You set yourself up on the bed pulling Spencer's attention, though he stays where he is. He follows directions very well you realize. Spencer watches intently as you take the fingers that were in his mouth and slide them between your folds. You make quite the show of touching yourself while he regards you, moaning and spreading your legs widely as you toy with your wet heat. You catch his hands open and close a number of times as your fingers disappear inside of you and you know he's dying to touch you.
"Y/n?" He forces out after several minutes of what must've been silent agony for him.
"Yes, Spencer?" You let your reply come out as whiny and breathy as you can muster, swimming in the pleasure you're bringing yourself.
"Am I- do you just want me to stand here?" He asks with a frown.
"What's the matter, baby? Not content just watching?" You ask somewhat tauntingly. "Did you want a taste?" You ask.
"Please." He breathes out. You pull your fingers from your center and hold them out to him. He comes to the edge of the bed, leaning down to take your fingers in his mouth. You allow him to lick the digits clean before you shove him down onto the bed on his back. He tries to sit up but you place a hand against his chest as you swing a leg over to straddle him.
"I'm going to ride you now, okay Spence?" You look down at him for any sign of hesitation but the look in his eyes gives no indication of it as he responds.
"Yes- please. Please ride me y/n." He says. You lift yourself enough to grab his dick and line it up with your entrance before sinking down onto him with a satisfied moan. You brace yourself with your hands on his chest and set a nice rhythm for yourself, bouncing on him relentlessly, spurred on by the endless string of sounds from his lips. A beautiful combination of whimpers and moans and expletives as he begs you not to stop.
"So, pretty. You look so pretty under me baby." You tell him placing fleeting kisses against his lips.
"God I love you. Fuck that feels amazing. Oh my- shit." You can practically see his brain malfunctioning as gets lost in the heat of your walls surrounding him. There's something so satisfying about reducing a genius who always has something to say to a collection of broken sentences and desperate moans.
"I love you too baby, love the feeling of you inside me. Letting me- letting me ride you like this, so good for me." You pant out.
"Y-Y/n I- oh fuck I'm close- I'm gonna cum. Wait you have to- please y/n s-slow down." Spencer's frantic attempt at warning you only makes you want to push him over more.
"I want you to cum Spencer." You tell him.
"W-what? L-like inside- inside you?"
"Yes baby. I want to feel you cum for me." You tell him. Spencer's eyes go unfocused for a moment as if processing your words, then his hands snap up to your waist, the first time he's touched you without being explicitly instructed to.
"You mean that?" He rasps, his hold on your hips tightening.
"Yes Spencer, I mean it." You say drawing your hand up his chest to wrap a hand around his throat. "So don't stop now baby." You add. Spencer lets out a pained groan and shifts his grip on you.
"You can't- can't say those things." He grunts as he sits up and thrusts his hips up into you.
"Oh? And why's that Spence? Don't you want to cum inside me?" You mutter kissing and nipping at his collarbone as if there aren't enough marks on his skin.
"S-so fucking badly. Wanna fill you up til you're leaking. Wanna- fuck wanna get you pregnant- you'd make such a good mother to my children and god you'd look so good all swollen 'cuz of me." Spencer's barely aware of his own rambling at this point, but your ears prick at the turn his words have taken.
"What a dirty mouth you've got all of a sudden." You muse, your body thrumming from his words. "That's what you want Spence? Wanna fuck a baby into me? Go ahead puppy, breed me if you can." If he hadn't lost it before those words seem to snap something in him and his thrusts get sloppy, they're harder and faster but messy as he chases that end you've teased. "That's it baby- fuck me like you want to put a baby in there. Fill my pussy like a good puppy." Your breathing is ragged and your sentence is broken up by loud moans as Spencer puts all his strength into railing you, but you have no intentions of giving up control of the situation.
"G-god, please. Please. I'm so close." Spencer whines out. Your fingers slip between your bodies and a few tight circles against your clit have you tumbling over the edge.
"Cum for me Spence, lemme feel you fill me up baby." You breathe out the command as you ride the waves of your own orgasm and he's spilling into you moments later.
"Holy fucking hell." He eventually huffs out and you gently kiss his heated skin as you allow him a few minutes to come down from his release.
"How we feelin?" You whisper.
"Like lead and hydrogen at the same time." He mutters and you glance up in time to catch the confused frown on his face.
"You did very well with your responsibilities for tonight Spencer." You tell him.
"Is it- is it always so... intense?"
"Well that was- more intense than I expected it to be. Had no idea you'd have such a breeding kink." You chuckle a little.
"I- I'm sorry that was-"
"No need to apologize. I liked it." You shrug.
"You did?"
"Oh yeah- you're so nasty about it. It's sexy, even if you're not in charge." You say. When you shift to stand up, Spencer's arm wraps around you lazily.
"Don't." He mutters.
"We gotta get cleaned up baby."
"It can wait." He groans.
"If you insist." You smile gently. You didn't expect to go down this road with your boyfriend tonight. But you can't say you're disappointed with the outcome. You learned something new about your boy genius.
***
#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fluff
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The following story was a commission from a reader who would prefer to remain anonymous. They have given me permission to share this story. Quick thank you to them.
Made For This Town
Maxwell Ford was moving.
Specifically, Maxwell Ford was moving to a small town called Maxford.
Max Ford was moving… to Maxford.
It was almost funny, or at least it would have been funny if Maxwell wasn’t absolutely miserable about this entire thing.
Maxwell hated that they were moving again. His family moved quite a bit, his mothers job as a software engineer bringing them all around the country. Usually Maxwell was fine with moving. It was annoying but he was used to it. He was a fairly social guy and made friends easily. This time Maxwell doubted he’d make any friends at all, mainly because Maxwell was basically moving to the middle of nowhere.
When he had first heard they were moving to a town that shared his name he thought it was actually kind of cool. Even when he learned it wasn’t a city he had still been kind of excited. He had lived in cities his entire life, and had actually been curious about what it might be like to live in a small town. Then he had learned about what Maxford was actually like. There wasn’t a lot of information about it on the internet, which was a little strange since everything was on the internet these days, but what he had learned had soured him on the town completely. Maxford was… well it was weirdly normal. There was no other way to put it. The town was weirdly normal. Maxwell knew that a lot of small towns were conservative and focused on athletics, but Maxford seemed to take it to a whole new level. Everyone was conservative and athlete obsessed. Absolutely everyone! It didn’t sound possible, but try as he might Maxwell couldn’t find any semblance of any sort of counter culture. There were no nerds, no goths, no punks and no LGBTQ people of any kind. The only mention of LGBTQ people and Maxford were some quack conspiracy theorists online raving about some kind of reality changing forcefield. Maxwell was convinced that even if he found other nerdy or gay people like him in Maxford, they’d be absolutely crazy. It wasn’t like Maxwell could do anything about it though. He was just 18 and hadn’t finished highschool yet. He didn’t have the means to live on his own. So he resigned himself to spend his senior year surrounded by jocks. Though that didn’t stop him from pouting about it the whole ride there.
“God it’s like there's no cell service out here.” Maxwell groaned from the passenger seat of his family's subaru. Maxwell could hear his dad, Samuel Ford, sigh from the driver's seat, and could tell his dad was rolling his eyes without even looking. Maxwell knew it was all in good fun though. He and his dad actually got along great, which made sense considering they were both very similar. Both were skinny men who appeared younger than they were and had a love for sci-fi and video games. The only real difference was that Samuel was far more mature and less emotional then Maxwell. His emotional maturity and kindness was probably the only reason Samuel was able to get Maxwell’s mother, Rose, to go out with him. Rose was both attractive and ambitious, and Samuel absolutely adored her. She had driven ahead in the family's other car with a bit more of their stuff, so currently the car was just father and son.
“Son, I know you’re not really excited about this move…” Sam said sympathetically, a kind smile on his face “But I swear it won’t be as bad as you think. I know this town is different from the places we’ve lived before, but I know you’ll make friends.” Sam said. Maxwell doubted it, but said nothing and smiled slightly at his fathers attempts to cheer him up as they approached the city limits of Maxford. “You’ll see, son. As soon as we get in there…”
“You’ll be pulling pussy like fucking crazy.” Sam Ford said, a cocky grin on his manly face as he gave his son a knowing smile.
Max Ford puffed his chest slightly with pride as he smirked at his Dad. He wasn’t really worried about getting a new girl to go out with him, since chicks were basically putty in his hands. Why wouldn’t they be? He was a fucking stud. Over 6 feet tall with roaring, beefy muscles. He was so big he already had a place on the Maxford High football team without even having to try out. He had sent some pictures of himself to the football coach and got a starting place on the football team just like that. But Max liked it when his dad complimented him, since he had looked up to the man his entire life, so he pretended to be nervous about finding a girl for homecoming so his dad would try and cheer him up. His dad was fully aware his son was just playing, but studs like them had to build eachother up. As they drove through Maxford, Max thought about the upcoming school year with a cocky grin. He knew being the new kid in senior year might be a little weird, but a guy like him could make friends anywhere. Plus, a guy named Max Ford in a town called Maxford? It was like fate. Max was sure he’d be the king of his highschool in no time.
Sam pulled up at their new house, parking their SUV next to the family pickup. He got out of the car and sauntered over to his wife Rose, who was waiting for them. She had come earlier to get the house set up. Being a stay at home mom, Rose wanted to make sure everything was perfect for her man. Max rolled his eyes as his parents kissed sloppily, almost gagging as his dad groped his Moms ass. Turning away from them, Max saw a busty girl across the street, staring at him with unhidden interest. With a seductive smirk, Max stripped off his shirt, threw it to the floor, and flexed for the bimbo, who he couldn’t hear giggle and blush as he showed off.
Max laughed. A town full of hot girls and cool bros. It was like the town of Maxford was made for him. Or… maybe he was made for the town of Maxford.
**Hope you guys enjoyed another little trip to Maxford! I don’t know how the fact that the random town name I made up would also make a good jock name didn’t occur to me till now, but I’m grateful it did! If you like this, stay tuned for more or maybe even commission me. I already got another commission for a much longer Maxford themed story on the books! See you later!**
#muscle growth tf#muscle tf#jock tf#jock transformation#jockification#nerd to jock#reality change#the hometown hex#my commissions
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About Yor: she isn’t dense, but most likely indoctrinated by Garden
So I wanted to address this for a long while now, because I’ve seen one too many posts talking about Yor like she’s just an aloof assassin who doesn’t care about things outside her direct environment, which is why sometimes she says dense things.
I’m well aware that she’s a fan favorite so people don’t mean her harm, yet I think the whole story actually hints at way more than her being dense, especially considering her background and who she still works for.
In other words, since Yor was trained but also half raised by Garden’s leader, the Shopkeeper, it’s likely that, considering how they operate and what they’re about, they instilled in her a conditioned dependency since childhood or teenage years that would make her unable to learn things on her own without asking for their opinion, making it very hard for her to turn against them ever.
Want a striking example? Her encounter with Melinda Desmond.
Not only did she not know who Melinda was (but I mean, that at least could be understandable)...
...but she also didn’t know what a First Lady is.
Sure, it’s funny on first glance, but after thinking about it, what does it betray? That Garden probably made sure over years Yor would never get the slightest basic info and understanding on what politics of this country are all about. Because if their strong soldiers start to get opinions of their own, then they could start disagreeing with Garden and turning on them. So, “let’s prohibit people having free thinking, so that they can remain good little pawns” as we “fight for peace in our country”.
In fact, for Yor, until a short time ago (when she met Loid and Anya), all she did was thought and decided for her by Garden and, to this day, she still voluntarily asks them for their agreement when she opens up her close circle little by little: she asked them if it was okay to marry Loid and then she asked them if it was okay to befriend Melinda.
To be honest, that’s a scary ass thought process to envision, when Yor’s an independent working lady well into her 20s, but this shows how deep Garden’s indoctrination runs in Yor, since they got hold of her as a child/young teen.
Another striking example is the way she always describes her job, in an almost childish way. Her nickname “thorn princess” aside, I always found it interesting that Yor’s aware she’s an assassin but she isn’t morally anguished at all about killing people and never mentions or distinguishes any grey area in her missions. In fact...
... it’s all in black and white and she clearly thinks that the people she kills are all evildoers (which as we saw in the recent arc with the Red Circus isn’t always the case and begs the rhetorical question “why does Garden get to decide who’s evil?”), therefore “she’s not doing anything wrong”, which also pretty much betrays how she was pushed into it.
Long ago, Garden probably baited Yor with Yuri’s protection and told her that, since they’re “about peace”, Yor’s work would just help them to “fight against evil”. As a child, she wasn’t mentally fit to understand the deeper implications and then she was mentally conditioned to always do and think like Garden tells her to, which promotes this systematic childish description of her assassin’s job.
Finally, please take notice of the Shopkeeper’s reaction the first time she tries to argue about her work, in the ship arc:
Enough said, Garden’s awful. I’m sure there are more examples throughout the story, but I now want to talk about future character development.
After all, since the story obviously calls for Yor to ditch Garden, to protect what’s actually important to her (Yuri, Loid and Anya), we actually do see her changing little by little so far, thanks to her living with Loid and Anya. Her coworkers quickly mentioned that she’s more lively ever since she got married and the ship arc overall emphasizes that her family is starting to become more important to her than her job, so there is high hope for Yor. :D
Additionally, while she’s still far away from noticing that Garden mentally drove her into a corner, she now openly voices her concerns that “she’s not normal” but that she wants to understand why in order to learn how to change.
To be fair, fighting against indoctrination is tough and takes time so I’m very proud of her for slowly realizing that she ought to decide for herself from now on. :D
TL;DR Yor is not dense. She was indoctrinated as a child by Garden and can only (for now) see the world through the filters they taught her.
Ironically enough, the only character who knows about her real job and could, thus, notice that Yor isn’t being critical about Garden...... actually can’t because she’s a four year old who is too young to understand that Mama’s job is wrong. Well done, Endo-sensei!
#Spy x Family#yor forger#anya forger#loid forger#yuri briar#melinda desmond#garden#shopkeeper#sxf theory#my analysis
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Your “Hazbin Hotel Characters Forgetting an Anniversary” has become a comfort post of mine. You did such a good job with it and did amazing in capturing their personalities as well!
I was wondering if I could request an Adam fic? Like one where he realizes that he actually cares about reader, but he goes about showing that in the strangest ways? He may be a massive obnoxious jerk in the show, but he somehow made his way to being a favorite of mine in the show.
My heart- opening my inbox and seeing this made my day-
I’ve also been obsessing over Adam fics lately so seeing something with Adam get requested made me SO happy! I am happy to oblige~!
Adam x Gn!Angel!Reader
~Feelings are Fucked~
Warnings‼️: Adam being Adam, mutual pining, swearing, maybe OOC?
~Not proofread~
Listen. I don’t gotta tell you that Adam is always up his own ass.
Dude is OBSESSED with himself.
He would be the type of guy to be like;
“Oh yeah, have you heard of the BIBLE?? I’m kinda in it, no big deal.”
He’s on his own mind 99.9% of the time. His needs, wants, desires.
He’s so Self centered it’s not even funny-
So IMAGINE how he feels when you start to pick your way into his thoughts. And he has no idea why.
(Obviously Adam was the superior being, why should you have all people be on his mind??)
It’s easy for him to brush away these random thoughts of you. He could easily distract himself with material things to get his mind off the topic.
Eventually when distractions stop working, he feels like he’s going crazy.
He’s got a lot of things to do in Heaven, yet you feel like the most important ones to him.
I can see Adam being a huge flirt in the beginning. If he can get you to fall for him as hard as he has for you, he’ll consider it a win.
But he doesn’t really realize how much of a dick he comes off as. He absolutely makes a fool of himself majority of the time.
Gives the vibe of him saying something lowkey offensive while laughing and you just staring at him blankly and asked ‘What’s so funny?’
It’s frustrating for him how he can’t seem to get to you.
He doesn’t ask for advice from anybody, but I can definitely see Lute giving her 2 cents while Adam is ranting about how ‘annoying’ you are.
Her biggest piece of advice being for him to just stfu sometimes and actually listen to you.
Adam will never admit how much that actually helped him, it seemed like such a simple solution that he just hadn’t been doing.
So instead of being this overbearing flirt, he’ll just listen to you talk, occasionally chiming in with his own banter. Through this he learns a lot more about you.
And he makes an effort to show you he’s been listening.
You mention your favorite candy? He grabs some for you whenever he’s out getting snacks.
You mention a favorite scent of yours? Suddenly his whole house smells like it whenever you come over.
Got a favorite flower? He just so happened to see some at the garden and brings you one.
Of course he makes sure to follow up his kind gestures with a flirty or snarky remark. Trying to be this big tough guy despite how sweet he’s being to you.
He doesn’t realize how much of a total sap he’s being and how obvious his feelings are for you.
I can totally see Adam’s love language being gift giving and physical touch.
He’s not good with words. Never has been, never will be.
So he often shows his care for you by poking your side or cheek, resting his head or chin on your shoulder, ruffling your hair, or keeping one of his wings behind your back to make sure your close to him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Adam was walking along the streets of heaven with you, ranting about how his superior Sera, was supposedly being a Karen.
In his words she ‘wouldn’t get off his dick’ about his behavior and language. You listened to Adam’s ranting, letting him express his frustrations despite how petty the situation might’ve been. You occasionally let out hums of acknowledgment and nod towards him to show you were listening.
While you’re paying attention to him, a few angels who seemed to be in a rush, nearly bump into you from behind. Adam catches a glimpse of the angels coming your guys’ way, and extends his wing out to shield you from the other angels.
He grabs your hand, bringing you closer to him while his wing wraps around your torso. He waits for the angels to pass by, giving them an extremely fake smile as they flew by. Once they were out of sight, Adam’s smile falls and he grumbles to himself, pulling his wing back to his side.
“Stupid, fucking… can’t watch where they’re going?”
He keeps your hand in his own, continuing to grumble how some angels needed to mind their business and watch where they were going. The two of you continue to walk, but Adam’s voice seems to drown out, and you can only really focus on your hand in his own.
Sure Adam had been affectionate to you many times, but never in public. It wasn’t something that bothered you either. You just felt anxious butterflies fly around your stomach, a sense of pride welling up in your chest that Adam was holding your hand. As the two of you are about to reach your destination, you finally speak up to Adam before you would have to depart from him.
“Hey, are you.. doing anything.. tomorrow evening?”
You ask, scratching the back of your neck a bit with your free hand. Warmth spreads across your face as Adam just kind of stares at you for a moment, pondering.
“Uhh, got a few boring ass meetings after noon, but otherwise, I’m chilling for the rest of the night.”
“Would you.. want to go out to dinner tomorrow? If you’re up for it.”
Your question seemed to go over Adam’s head of what your intentions were. Free food was free food, (and time spent with you was a plus)
He lets his ego take over for a bit, putting a proud hand over his chest. His grin shines across his mask, spreading from ear to ear.
“I suppose I can make some time for you. As long as I get to pick the place.”
You can’t help but chuckle, face flushing hues of pink when Adam agreed. You smile brightly, finally letting go of Adam’s hand.
“Sounds good! Let’s say around 5 or 6?”
“Don’t rush me babes, I’ll text ya when I’m headed over.”
Adam says nonchalantly, crossing his arms. Despite his attitude, you watch his eyes shift away from you, avoiding your gaze. He’s embarrassed and you can tell by how his guard started to come back up. You had learned these little telltale signs Adam had. You chuckle, simply waving to Adam, wishing him good luck on his meeting and telling him you’ll see him tomorrow.
Adam smiles genuinely, giving a small wave back, before turning towards the large angelic building to head inside. Lute was waiting by the door for him and she just so happened to hear your guys’ little exchange. Adam’s whistling to himself, his heart beating fast in his chest but he can’t put his finger on the exact reason as to why.
Lute looks towards him, raising a suspicious brow. She sighs seeing how Adam was oblivious to what he had just agreed to. While holding the door open for Adam to enter the building, she speaks.
“You know they just asked you on a date, right?”
Adam’s whistling comes to a complete stop, his body freezing where he stood. Lute glances up at him, pressing her lips together so she doesn’t laugh at Adam’s look of shock.
“They fuckin’ what??”
#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin adam#hazbin adam x reader#adam x reader#hazbin hotel adam#hazbin hotel headcanon#hazbin x reader#x reader#character x reader#hazbin lute#hazbin hotel lute
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for the cocktail bar! can i get a you‘re mai tai, 23 with luke hughes?
thank you for requesting!🫶🏽
23. carrying the other one in their arms
.
It was embarrassing, if you were being honest.
You had been standing in the corridor outside the locker room when the conversation started. You were talking away to some of the other girlfriends as you waited for Luke to finish changing after the game when Nicole brought up the new place her and Jesper were moving into. She had complained about it needing some work done, that she thought it would be enough for the two of them to do alone but was proven wrong considering they were a few weeks out from moving and some of the rooms hadn’t been painted yet.
You saw nothing wrong with offering your assistance, promising to drive over during your day off to help around the house and give her a hand since it was difficult for Jesper to do so with the hectic schedule of an NHL player.
You were just trying to be nice, to do a kind gesture, to be a good friend.
Of course the universe couldn’t just let that happen.
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“Of course, babe.”
“Someone else put the bucket there.”
Luke pressed his lips together, desperately trying to hide his own amusement. He glanced down at you in his arms, the way you seamlessly laid your head on his shoulder as you spoke with your arms around his neck.
“M’sure they did,” he hummed in agreement, seemingly not doing a good job at hiding his laughter when you lifted your head to glare at him.
“You think this is funny, don’t you?” You deadpanned, watching as the boy quickly shook his head. “It’s not. It’s a tragic event, Luke. I could never walk again.”
This time Luke couldn’t hold back his snort of laughter. “Baby, it’s a sprained ankle. You’ll live.”
“I’ll never be able to stand on it again,” you sighed dramatically as you slumped your head back down on his shoulder.
“I’ll carry you everywhere you need to go,” he said, deciding he may as well play along as he carried you towards his apartment. He chose not to mention the fact he rushed out in a panic when he got the call from Nicole that you were hurt, and that Jack was definitely still in the apartment worried for you too.
“Really?”
His lips twitched upwards at how soft your voice was. “Always, baby.”
“Hm, maybe this whole ‘never walking again’ thing isn’t so bad after all,” you murmured, pressing a quick kiss just under his jaw before setting your head back down.
“You’re so dramatic,” he muttered under his breath, squeezing you a little closer.
“You love it, Hughes.”
Luke sighed once they reached the door, keeping you in his arms as he moved to unlock the door. “I unfortunately do.”
You lightly pinched his shoulder. “Don’t sound so—”
“OH MY GOD, IS SHE DEAD?”
Luke shot his brother a look. “She’s clearly not.”
“Oh,” Jack deflated before heading back towards his room. “I ordered pizza, hope that’s okay with you both.”
.
#cece's cocktail celebration#luke hughes#nhl#new jersey devils#luke hughes x reader#luke hughes x you#luke hughes x y/n#luke hughes fic#luke hughes one shot#nhl x reader#nhl x you#nhl x y/n#nhl fic#nhl one shot
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GRANDMA’S HOUSE — ARMANDO ARETAS x BLACK! READER [Summer Randoms]
A/N: this was honestly inspired by typical family functions + a vid I saw on Instagram (possibly belonging to Tiktok) where we all have that universal experience where we spend the night at grandma’s lol.
SYNOPSIS: your grandmother’s always been in your business, you had a good job? Great! That job got on your nerves? Just be thankful that you have a job when there’s plenty that can’t even find one. You finally moved out of your parent’s house? Good for you, it’s about damn time. Now when you upgraded even more, hearing that you have finally got yourself a boyfriend after being single for only the lord knows how long…she opens up her home for you and Armando to crash instead of spending money (you both had it) out of the kindness of her heart—mostly.
<- read my previous anthology piece here.
⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅
Your grandmother smelled like fresh baked cookies with a hint of peppermint, Armando thinks as the smaller woman embraces him at the front door. The ranch styled house is more fitting than the coastal one she offered you two to stay in last summer out in The Hamptons. From what Armando’s learned about the elderly woman is that she may have the sweetest face but her lip was more deadly than anything. He would have never guessed that Granny Bessie would ever want to be bothered with the folks out there but it was evident that she held her own.
He shouldn’t have suspected anything less.
“Oh you’re so handsome,” Granny Bessie pats Armando’s cheek before staring up at his hair, “You got Indian in you? Looking like you got that Arabian grade of hair.”
Armando casted a glance at you who deeply sighed at the slight ignorance in the entry way of the home. He kept a smile on his face, finding this humorous more than anything, “No, ma’am. I’m Hispanic: Mexican…and black. I used to get Guyanese all the time though.”
The woman nods in agreement as she waves him into the home, “I thought your daddy was coming too?”
Armando inhaled at the mention of the man, who your granny had no issue inviting to her home as well for the upcoming festivities, “Detective Lowrey’s flight got delayed, probably won’t be here until early morning.”
The woman raised a brow at Armando as she closes the door behind him, “You call your father by his profession?”
“Well he hasn’t been much of a father so, yeah.”
“Hold on now, that’s still your blood—
“Granny! How’s the garden been treating you?”
“Oh, It’s flourishin’, baby.” She grins as you slip an arm across her shoulders and sent an apologetic look at your boyfriend, “your cousin Saleema and I went out to the Lowe’s and picked up a bunch of flowers. She helped me plant half of them but I know you’ll help me do the rest.”
She had a whole lot planned it seemed, considering you two came up for a couple of days for the upcoming family reunion at her house. You honestly thought about not attending, since you didn’t feel like socializing with half of your father’s side (1. they were either in your business to make sure you weren’t doing better than them—it wasn’t a competition in the first place but apparently it was in their eyes, 2. acted like they didn’t know you and expected you to roll out the red carpet for them—meaning if you didn’t speak to them first then that automatically became a problem, or 3. simply weren’t wrapped too tight in the head) but pushed through it since your granny got sensitive about not seeing her grand babies as often now that you were all adults.
Armando chuckled to himself at that, you knew your granny would bring this up since your cousin wouldn’t stop boasting about their outing in the: first cousins group chat. Saleema was older, just touched forty and was single living in her condo with her funny looking cat. She was always your granny’s favorite—perhaps it had to do with her being the first grandchild since your aunt had her young—although Saleema was a true hell raiser throughout her teenage and college years apparently, she hardly got shit on out of the grandchildren and it showed.
“Sure thing…anything you want me to help with on the inside first? You know I’m not built for this type of heat.” You whistled, fanning at the back of your neck after swiping some of the braids to your boho Bob to the side.
Granny Bessie scoffs, “stop that lyin’ baby, you chose to live out there with them gators and those strange Florida folks so you have to be built for some of it.”
Armando laughs as he follows you two into the living room, spotting old photos of: Granny Bessie during her bowling tournaments with her voluminous hair, various of family members, and childhood photos of yourself and many more cousins from previous family reunions.
“Oh you should see her Granny.” Armando speaks up after putting a picture back above the piano, “I think she got bougie on you, she even walks outside with umbrellas.”
Not this man snitching on you?
Granny side eyes you, hand still latched on your waist, “…you not one of them demonic people now are you?”
Now it was your turn to send a dark stare to Armando, who bit down on his bottom lip trying to hide his laughter. He knew what he had started, knowing that your grandmother was religious and always had something to say about other aesthetics? The goths and the emos received no love from Granny Bessie.
“No, grandma!”
You only ever called her by that to show that you were serious.
“Good,” she states with a pat to your hip before adding, “you haven’t contracted high blood pressure yet have you? I just knew it would hit you like it hit your father and me.”
Shaking your head you reply, “Nope, still dealing with low blood pressure actually.”
“That’s why I told you to up your vitamins and eat better foods. Good thing you’re here with me for a few days, I’ll send you on your way brand new,” she dusts her hands off with a clap, “your doctor will be thanking me.”
“As he should, granny Bessie knows all!” You rested your head against the shorter woman.
“Damn straight, now y’all come on in here and get you something to eat.” The elderly woman with the Mother Nature braids waves you two along.
Armando starts to squeeze his way by at the news of eating, hands rubbing together in excitement as his stomach rumbled before he steps to the side to continue letting you two go ahead.
“…ah a gentleman! I think I like him so far.” Granny Bessie whispers up at you, carrying into the kitchen.
It was 7pm by the time Granny Bessie was packing it up and getting ready for bed. She made the arrangements, sticking Armando in the back room while it left herself and you on opposite sides of the home. She of course let the home be open to you two but you knew not to stay up too late since the woman liked to be up early and active. Granny Bessie was in her seventies and still moved quickly even when her Arthritis was acting up. Everyone told her to slow down but granny Bessie has proven that she was always going to what she damn well wanted to.
Which definitely stood when she sent her last warning to you two of where you two would be sleeping for the night.
The both of you stood at the entry way of the ranch home, lips attached and battling each others as Armando swung you towards the wall, hand going to your waist then down the side of your ass to hook your leg over his hip.
“You said Granny Bessie was a snorer didn’t you?” Armando breathed against your neck.
You nod as you lick your lips, “yeah but she’s still a light sleeper and I’m not in the mood to get cussed out when we get caught.”
“When?” Armando quirked up his brows to look up at you, “All you have to do is keep quiet, mami.”
“And you think you’re going to help me do that?” You question while Armando thinks about it, “Yeah no.”
You pecked his lips while running your fingers over his facial hair, “just call me on FaceTime if the night gets too bad.”
For as long as you’ve been dating Armando, you weren’t completely oblivious. You knew that he didn’t adapt well to new spaces and it only got worse at night. The nightmares kept him up and anxiety was a bitch, he was trying to get through it on his own and even tried to hide it from you plenty of times before he moved in but there wouldn’t be any secrets in your relationship.
And you wouldn’t disrespect your granny’s home—never did and never will.
“Alright,” Armando sighed as he kissed your forehead, “better keep your phone charged, we both know how you are.”
You scowl as he pushes the creaking door back that led down the narrow hallway, “that was only a few times and I had valid reasons.”
“Uh huh,” Armando holds his hand out back for you to interlock your fingers before stopping in the middle of the hallway, “…goodnight baby.”
“Sleep tight, don’t let the dolls bite.”
Armando halts at kissing the back of your hand as he steps towards you, head dipped as he quizzes with a soft whisper, “…what fucken dolls?”
You’re trying to silence your cackling at the deadpan angle of Armando’s face on your phone screen as you settle into bed. There’s no cable in this room so you’re stuck leaving the tv on some court show that’ll help you fall asleep. It only took maybe a minute or two for Armando to start calling you, you on your side and arms tucked underneath the comfy blankets that made you feel like you were back in your childhood.
Granny Bessie had all sorts of trinkets decorating the dresser drawer by the side of the door and you had to remind yourself that if you needed to get up during the night to not stub your toe.
“It’s not that bad is it?” You ask while Armando just simply blinks at you, which said enough.
Eventually you’re the one that falls asleep on Armando although you promise that you wouldn’t. He knew that was a lost cause after you decided to shut the tv off, welcoming the pitch black and snuggle deeper into the sheets without him. You were closer to the opposite end of the hallway with your granny right across the hall but her bed sat deep in her own room yet that didn’t stop you from hearing her lawn mowing snores. You even popped an earphone in one ear to drawn out the noise and just enjoyed the company of your man on charge.
He ends up falling asleep after you but it takes him much longer, browsing social media, checking up on his side business, ignoring a text from Marcus, and simply sending a thumbs up to Mike’s text that he was finally boarding. Armando managed to keep himself busy, fighting the urge to snatch up all the weird looking dolls, rip their heads off and shove them in the closet.
He guessed this was a thing with Grandma’s having obsessions with odd items?
He makes sure his own phone in on charge, bringing it back to the FaceTime call of your closed eyes before completely covering his head underneath the covers then dozed off himself.
That doesn’t last long being woken up out of his sleep. There’s a loud booming noise in the distance and he’s tempted to find his piece just to make sure no one was breaking in. Granny Bessie had an alarm system and that didn’t seem to be going off but that didn’t stop Armando from sitting up in bed. He looks at the dolls and it suddenly feels as if their soulless eyes are still watching him.
He tossed the covers back, feet on the carpet, eyes finding a random blue light that he couldn’t find the source of as he passed by the edge of the bed. This room was suffocating and he feels like he’s been sweating underneath the sheets. The house was cool before the both of you went to bed and now it felt like being inside of a sauna.
Armando pulls the door back, peeking out into the abyss of a hallway and he just hopes there’s no one else in the house but you three. Leaving the door open a crack he moves back into the bedroom to grab his phone to use the flashlight since he can’t remember where exactly the hallway light is.
The floor creaks underneath his feet as he moves from the back of the house. As he gets to the middle of the hallway, he picks up on Granny Bessie’s snoring and stops at your room. His fingers rack against the door and he gets no response so he moves forth with twisting the door knob. Your back is to the door now, phone abandoned on the floor but still charging.
He picks it up for you and steps back out.
Armando lets you sleep, heading towards the front of the house. He’s in the entry way and the home feels much bigger in the dark, more eerie but knows he’ll find comfort in the dining room or kitchen—where the snacks are.
It’s 3 in the morning when you get the violent urge to use the bathroom. You try to fight it but the pressure in your belly isn’t pleasant so you throw the covers back in annoyance. It was your own fault chugging that ice cold water before you started making out with Armando but you didn’t need to acknowledge that. Shoving your fuzzy socks on, you pull the door open and head out into the dark hallway. Eyes half lidded as you use the wall for guidance to the bathroom, your head turns to the left to see the hallway door is left open just a crack but you carry into the bathroom.
Leaning against the door after doing your business, you feel a pull to head out into the main areas of the home. You see a light from the right of the dining room and walk through the sitting room towards it. Turning to the right you spot Armando immediately, snacking as you plop down beside him in another chair.
Balling your arms up on the table, you rest your head against them as you ask, “Can’t sleep?”
“You didn’t hear that big ass noise?” He says around the dried fruit he’s chewing on, “Sounded like a whole bomb.”
You hum, “yeah we’re near the military base…I thought I mentioned that.”
“No. You didn’t.”
“My grandad was a vet. They moved here in the early 2000’s, it’s a whole community.” You yawn.
Armando shakes his head, “that sounds like nothing but triggers. I don’t know if that’s worst or the creepy ass dolls following me with their laser blue beams as I snuck out of the room.”
Frowning you sigh, “did you take an edible before bed?”
Armando feels his eye twitch, “no I didn’t take a fucken edible—I’m for real. Is this supposed to be normal? The dolls? The random lights? The bombs? The clicking and buzzing?”
You shrug, “…I didn’t hear any of that…or maybe I just learned to tune it out.”
“I see you didn’t get the light sleeping from your granny then.” Armando mumbles while you snort, moving one arm to latch onto his wrist.
Slowly lifting your head you say, “…well we can’t stay out here for the rest of the morning. Granny gets up at six and probably will let us rest until eight if we’re lucky so…”
Waking up early had no effect on Armando since he barely slept anyways. He already scoped out the area once the two of you got closer to Granny’s home from the airport for a good workout.
You just didn’t know it yet.
Working out with Armando in the gym was a death sentence and you’ll be damned if you do it out in this heat too? You rather go to hell in a pretty hand basket and Armando was willing to take you there honestly.
No pain, no gain.
*Cue the eye roll*
“That’s cool,” Armando shrugged, “but I’m not goin’ back in that room.”
Sitting back against the chair you huff, “fine you big baby…set the timer to 5:45 so you can go back to your room. Don’t think she won’t check once she’s up for the day.”
Armando scowls as you scrape back from the kitchen table, reaching over to slap your backside, “I’ll show you a baby if you keep getting smart.”
Rubbing the sting on your back side, you fan your hand back at him, which he snatched to hold while setting a timer as you both make your way to the hallway. Too tired to give him any lip, you were just ready to get back into bed and cuddling with your man didn’t hurt.
Your back is to Armando, he tucks himself right into you, feet intertwined, his hairy legs prickling your shaven ones, chin buried into the space of your neck and shoulder while cradling your stomach.
“…how long were your grandparents together?”
You heard him but take a minute to respond as you fight sleep, “They’ve been married since the early 60s…all the way up until pa’s passing in 2019.”
Armando breathes you in, “how’d they do it for so long?”
“That’s something you’ll have to ask Granny but they were everything good you can imagine—nothings perfect but they felt like it you know?”
“…Think he was used to all the noises here?”
You snort, “he’s always been a night owl so if any of us couldn’t sleep, he was always up in the living room in his chair, eating that a disgusting banana ice cream just waiting for any of us to talk. If we had a nightmare, he’d do anything to make us laugh until we forgot it.”
“Sounds like a special man.”
“He was.”
“…I want that you know? With you. The kids and the gran’s. The creaks and the strange, a loving home. A place where anybody can stay and feel like life’s worth revisiting, like it was nothing but a breeze once you see who you’re surrounded by. A less lonely life.”
You shuffle to face him now, resting your head underneath his chin, not finding this conversation to be new. Most nights when Armando couldn’t sleep, he would ramble about what a future could look like with you.
It warmed your heart just as much as how warm your granny kept the back of the house.
“Then let’s do it.” You mumble into the night as Armando squeezes you, placing a kiss right on top of your bonnet.
That sealed the deal.
“Morning, dear. How did you sleep?” Granny Bessie asks with a mug of coffee as Armando makes his presence known.
Armando glances at you who sips at your own mug with a hidden small smile, “Good. Thanks, Granny Bessie. I’m actually about to head out for my daily run…would you like to join us?”
That gets you to cast a glance at the man over your shoulder who softly squeezes your shoulders with a grin, “us?” You whisper.
Granny Bessie laughs, “oh no. I need to tend to some things around the house but make sure you eat something because the heat will rise by the time you’re out there. Also did you speak to your daddy about what time we should be expecting him?”
“He probably should have landed by now.” Armando shrugs, trying to ignore the feeling that he felt when Granny Bessie labeled the man as such.
You say, “He texted me about twenty minutes ago. He was heading to baggage claim, maybe in the next hour he should be here.”
“Alright, well you two best be going and stay away from the houses from the next two streets over…nothing but confederates on that side.”
The woman wags her finger in warning.
Armando nods, “Thanks Granny,” he pops a red grape into his mouth, “these are delicious.”
“Take as much as you want, darling.” The woman squeezes his elbow on her way by, “Now I’m going to go get fully ready for Mr. Lowrey.”
Frowning you ask, “now what do you mean by that granny?”
“Just that I need to be presentable in my own home.”
“Uh huh. I know you’ve been on Facebook and know what Mike looks like.”
“I am a woman of God, do not sass me.”
Armando snickers while you raise your hands in surrender, finishing off your morning juice.
“I see you Granny Bessie.” Armando teases while the woman fans her hands at him.
“Hush! Don’t make my bad list, Herman.”
You gently reminded, “It’s Armando, granny.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Okay! love you.”
“I love you too, baby.” She grins.
As you’re locking up the screen door, you and Armando walk around the path to the driveway to exit the home. He silently stops you, encouraging you to stretch while you send him an unimpressed look.
Armando was lucky you didn’t go into hiding around the house and shouldn’t be so bossy but you knew better.
“When did Granny see a pic of Mike?”
You switch to bending to the other toe, “when she wanted to see a picture of you. Then she proceeded to rate you, Dorn, Rafe, and of course…”
Armando laughs as he finishes, “Mike. your granny is a trip.”
“Tell me about it.” You try to prolong this morning exercise but he picks up pretty quick and isn’t having it.
He stops jogging in place, hand going out to slap your ass before pulling you along by the hand.
You’re wheezing, ready to throw a whole tantrum, legs stinging, wrists limp as you drag yourself up Granny’s driveway. There’s a Porsche parked to the right in the driveway by the rental you picked up from the airport. Mike’s already out of the car, at the trunk as he’s pulling out his luggage.
“Hey y’all! uh oh, Armando what did you do to my girl?” The smile vanishes from Mike’s face as his son glances back at you.
If the ground wasn’t so damn hot, if the air, if everything wasn’t on temperature hell you would have face planted right on the gravel.
Armando also looks back at you, hands on your knees as you give a wave to Mike, whose brows are deeply furrowed before he raises them to the twenty-eight year old closest to him.
“She’s aight.” He shrugs, “we needed to get our cardio in and she’s the one who wanted to tone that hot girl body up—her words not mine but I don’t disagree.” Armando looks at you again, biting down on his bottom lip, “she’s lucky I didn’t strap any weights to her ankles.”
Raising your hands above your head, you actually feel yourself sway doing that movement over touching your knees and Mike actually takes a step toward you but Armando presses the back of his knuckles against his bio dad’s chest. Mike takes his eyes off you for a second and sizes Armando’s hand as he’s now analyzing you closely himself.
“I don’t know how many serious girlfriends you done had in your life man but I’m telling you right now, if that girl ends up in the hospital with heat stroke because of you pushing her too hard, that’s your ass.” Mike warns Armando, who glares up at him.
He didn’t need Mike to tell him about you.
He was the one who took the time to get to know you mind body and soul.
Mike’s missed out on twenty-something years and didn’t get to give Armando any advice.
And that’s on Kanye!
Armando does move over to you the moment you feel your stomach clench, ready to upchuck any light breakfast you had. He doesn’t waste time picking you up and over his shoulder, you resting limply against him before he’s walking by Mike.
He pauses, “your room is the last room at the back of the house, padre.”
And with that Armando continues towards the house, ready to cater to you because what Mike Lowrey didn’t know was that Armando would die for you.
Mike is mumbling to himself, trying to control his temper since it felt like he was building a connection with Armando one minute and then in the next he was pulling ten steps back. The kid didn’t even offer to come back and help him bring his things in—not that Mike needed it but it was a decent thing to do.
Respect was earned and the duo had a long way to go.
So Mike lets it go, slamming the trunk shut before meeting a very excited Granny Bessie at the front door.
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#queued#bad boys ride or die#bad boys for life#armando aretas#Armando Aretas lowrey#armando lowrey#armando aretas x black reader#armando aretas x reader#mike lowrey#jacob scipio#summer writing#bad boys
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⎯ THE DEVIL'S PLAYTHING a Christopher Bahng fiction
💣 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader
TROPE. bodyguard au, demon au, friends to lovers, eventual smut, minors DNI
WORD COUNT. 6.6k words
WARNINGS. chan & han are demons(NO POLY), mentions of lucifer/the devil, eventual smut, descriptive violence, smoking, fighting, cursing, blood, wounds, drinking, reader gets drunk/passes out
PLAYLIST
AUG'S NOTES. this started as a random blurb while in the bathroom(tmi i know) but i just HAD to make a longer adaptation!! as usual, if you enjoy the fic please feel free to leave feedback & a reblog!ised ya’ll bodyguard chan would be back.. your wish is my command~
SYNOPSIS. A petty robbery leads to deep debt for Chan, a white-eyed demon occupying Hell. So eventually, he finds himself faced with no choice but to go job hunting. The best offer available? A bodyguard gig in the human realm. Oh, and the worst part? Jisung’s here too.
or alternatively :
When Chan had to leave Hell to "babysit" (a.k.a. protect) you in the human realm, he wasn’t expecting for things to turn out the way they did — in more ways than one.
SMUT WARNING. usage of the nickname “bunny” and “good girl”, somewhat hinted size kink, praise, dumbification, barely dubcon (reader gives consent ; nonverbal), creampie, chan cums inside (use protection ya’ll), monsterfucking! basically lmao
There’s an infinite list of reasons why humans shouldn’t associate with demons. But was it really all that important? Maybe the humans wanted it.
Or, maybe the demons did too.
Maybe, the demons didn’t have a choice.
What a funny thought.
Although, for Christopher Bahng, a demon himself, it was reality.
So the real question stood. Is it the humans that shouldn’t associate with demons, or the other way around?
The thought occurred to Chan at some point, but his head, ringing with the sound of silver coins clattering on glass surfaces, drowned out every ounce of sensibility. Blood, flesh, he was a demon. And right now, he had hell to pay as Lucifer’s underling. No pun intended.
Demons were an ideal choice for bodyguards, too obsessed with their own greed to pay any mind to the consequences, dogs to somebody else’s beckon, minds trained like hunting dogs.
Taking care of the dirty work, for a price.
A price that Chan needed, desperately. Because one thing demons, including himself, love doing is tormenting.
That is until he’s the victim of the tormenting, and all of a sudden the experience doesn’t feel too welcoming.
Raiding his home was an understatement considering they had utterly demolished every inch, not leaving a single fragment remaining in one piece. Granted, he didn’t cry about it. Instead, he lived up to his name, his title.
..Let’s just say he doubted the red stains would ever leave that shirt of his, metallic scent strong enough to make your nose burn.
Unfortunately, Lucifer wasn’t the greatest at forgiving, and he determined rather quickly this was only the start of his problems regardless of how sweetly the demon lord threatened explained he would dissolve Chan into ash if he ever got tired of him.
Alas, two weeks later, he gets a call.
Combing a frustrated hand through raven-colored locks, he holds the phone up to his ear, repeatedly snapping his fingers. The girl kneeled between his legs raises up begrudgingly, wiping her mouth and disappearing into his bathroom.
Well there goes a good blowjob.
Yet, finally, a job was proposed.
Multiple, according to the drone of a fumbling assistant. Jobs comprised of one he’d primarily work and occasional hitman gigs on the side.
Catch? The job was located in the human realm. Not impossible, but not as easy as sleuthing in Hell, where common folk were demons and not big-eyed, nosy, mind-your-damn-business-mortals.
The job in question? Babysitting. Specifically for Lucifer's right-hand man, otherwise known as the Devil’s Plaything. And, despite not being a demon, served Lucifer as if he was one. How cute.
Or as the trauma-induced auditor phrased it, “guarding” some girl.
“Guarding” was something he was mildly familiar with, but never a human. Never in the human realm. So when the suggestion was offered, Chan’s first instinct was to reject—remind Hell’s moderator that he wasn’t just a regular, but a demon of impressive status. A white-eyed demon, who, in fact, ranged most powerful of its kind.
His first instinct was also to punch the man working at the register of this putrid smelling burger joint right in the face, maybe frame his head as a part of a collection while he’s at it. Demons are creative like that.
Because being in this situation, nonetheless currently walking around in the human realm he swore to never step foot in has his stomach jarring.
“Chan, look at this! It’s called K-E-T-C-H-U-P, what a funny name!”
Oh. Yeah. The walking headache, Han Jisung. Forgot he’s here too.
Digging through his pockets for spare change, all he could find was a few meager pennie’s as the obnoxious noise of his demon-companion scarfing down a double cheeseburger had Chan’ jaw progressively tightening.
“Um, sir, that’s not enough to pay for-“ Without hesitation, Chan lifted his upper lip with his index, revealing the sharply pointed canines underneath and effectively silencing the apron-clad employee, frantically printing his receipt without another word.
Yes, apparently there are perks of being a hell-spawn.
Although, the burger still tasted like shit. What a shame.
Heading to the location wasn’t all too difficult, being that it was rather easy locating such an enormous property surrounded by tall, black hinged gates. The passcode… was another story.
Lucifer was likely laughing his ass off watching them try figuring this out.
“Okay, It’s probably like 666 or something- JESUS— you guys scare me sometimes.” Clutching a hand to his erratic heart with panic, a pacing Jisung nearly toppled over as his soon-to-be Boss suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gates slowly opening behind him.
He may not be a Demon, but by how nonchalantly he appeared from thin air, he seemed to gain some attributes over the years.
It didn’t take long for either of them to figure out why the title “Devil’s Plaything” was attached, because the more he toured them around this palace of a house, the more he told of his reasons for hiring them in the first place. Well, more like why Lucifer sent them here.
Easily speaking, his and Jisung’s role would be to protect you at all costs, considering your father’s current predicament (a.k.a coming under investigation for the bodies discovered in Hanuel Park). Not to mention the countless assassins sent on a daily basis, scouring the property for entryways.
Although he’s not surprised by their hesitance. This man, Yoon L/N, was the closest resemblance to the Devil on Earth.
He was terrifying, and coming from a demon, that said a lot.
Chan has to watch his tongue, because he’s not guarding another one of hell’s representatives, a creature of unprecedented rudeness and hatred, he’s guarding a human.
Someone who falls in love and cries, someone who can’t get away with murder when they’re annoyed and go uncharged.
Humans are pitiful. They’re emotional and too trusting and—
You step down the stairs.
They’re pretty and soft and really, really fucking pretty.
The sound of your father clearing his throat rips him from his trance, your trance.
He can practically sense Jisung choking on his laughter.
“Y/n, these are your bodyguards. Bahng, Han, this is Y/n,” He gestures, and Chan notes the gleaming watch on his wrist.
Best guess that thing’s averaging $70,000. Not to mention that this entire house, though naked to the human eye, is laced in traps.
Whether it’s the more hollow wooden plank on the floor that triggers some alarm or the multitude of switches under your kitchen’s island, the security system is certainly intact, and for good reason.
However, you couldn't have made Yoon L/n’s actions look more hypocritical, appearing so opposingly sweet.
“Nice to meet you,” You hold out a hand.
He doesn’t miss the half-smile you give him.
Shit. Don’t look at him like that.
Introducing themselves, you momentarily slip past, and in your stead, your father beckons either of them to the side.
“I’ll only say this once,” Yoon smiles, but it’s a leery smile, one that causes his gums to gradually show, like it’d belong to a murderer, a serial killer of some kind.
Fitting.
“Get her into danger, hurt her, or disobey my orders under any circumstances and I kill you, understood?”
And even though at the snap of a finger Chan could have this man drop dead, he believed him, both simultaneously nodding their heads without complaint.
Meeting eyes with Jisung, a common denominator sits heavy between them, most likely the first thing they’ve whole-heartedly agreed on this entire time.
This is gonna be one hell of a job.
.. .
District 9’s nightclubs are always a bust. If you’re looking for a drink without it being laced you might as well give up, and the only thing that keeps a person from getting swept away in the expansive sea of high heels, go-go boots, and awkward teenagers that miraculously managed to get past the bouncer is a lone, blinking red sign that reads “OUT”.
The first time you ever came here you never thought you’d be so relieved to open a squealing door.
Leaning against the side of the brick building sits the girl responsible for an entourage of drunk-calls and random texts of her location when she sneaks out.
Her moth-eaten sneakers are pulled up to her chest, bleached hair messily arranged into a spiky up-do while she aimlessly scrolls on her phone. Although you know she’s noticed you by now.
“I feel like..” She sighs, black mascara smudged beneath her waterline. “I should’ve taken that Vodka shot.”
You wrinkle your nose, dropping down on her left.
It’s fairly easy conversing with Ha-joon, a girl who didn’t require a reaction or a response, who didn’t talk much but had a whole pocketful of opinions. And you listened.
She swivels her head ever so slightly toward you.
“Do you think drinking a laced shot will make my life more interesting?” Her remark scarily nonchalant, you chuckle, snatching the joint from between her thumb and index and tossing it against the neighboring business’ wall in front of you.
Unfazed, she rises to her feet, pulling a Marlboro pack from her back pocket, palm cupping the lighter’s flickering flame.
“If you count fentanyl as a good time, then sure,” Lifting your chin to cock a sarcastic brow, she rolls her eyes before abruptly snapping her fingers, remembering. The sound ricochets off trash bags stashed at the furthest end of this deserted alleyway.
“You said your Mafia-daddy hired new bodyguards?”
Ah, you forgot you mentioned that.
Don’t mind the “Mafia-daddy” part.
Nodding, there’s a beat of stillness before she lightly nudges your calf with her shoe, Ha-joon’s sign for you to list some sort of detailed description for her to piece together.
This happens every time you meet somebody new. Her little guessing game before the first impression, apparently.
And so you do, spilling information to the best of your capabilities from the fifteen seconds you met them. Their hair, height, eyes (you recall Han’s especially, huge and hypnotizing like black-holes), clothing, and all the details your jumbled brain can pour out to your overly eager, easily bored best friend.
“So this Chan guy..”
One clever glance and you’re already predicting her next words.
“Does he have a big nose?” Smirk growing the darker your cheeks redden, you pathetically groan, burying your face in your hands.
Of course she’s cornered you, because you can’t deny your yes of an answer without evidently lying and digging further into your self-made rabbit hole.
Leave it to Ha-joon to secretly slip the raunchiest sentence you'll hear all night.
Smugness gradually dissipating, the barely-blonde shuffles back down, phone screen displaying countless messages you don't ask about.
Like earlier, Ha-joon doesn’t talk much, but she has a lot to say. Additionally, if she doesn’t bring it up herself, don’t mention it.
Years by her side taught you that.
“They’re only gonna get you in trouble, I have a feeling,” She murmurs prior to taking a long drag of her cigarette, lipstick shade perfectly contrasting with the soaring puff of smoke sifting from her mouth and nose upon exhaling.
She’s always been on the rougher side. Spontaneously rough, the type that would impulsively send you a text she’s going backpacking tomorrow despite an exam scheduled, the type that would continuously run away on a whim.
In essence, everyone on campus has some sort of crush on her (apart from yourself, obviously), whether it comes down to her rumbling persona or how much of a hard-core lesbian she is, you’re not sure.
You click your tongue, glaring at her flippantly.
“And that’s not doing you any better.” Musing in regards to her bad habits, she laughs lowly, low-rise jeans bagging down by her ankles while bending closer.
Your hands brace in anticipation, coughing when she blows a heavy smoke plume right in your face.
You choke a giggle, shoving her senselessly giggling frame.
“The only thing I’m letting do me is that waitress in there,” Painted nails pointing to the entrance while making utterly obscene gestures, you dramatically gag.
Well, until she spins on her heel, fetching a plastic bag holding two bottles of Cass beer from behind a metal trash can.
You tilt your head, the girl wordlessly cracking one open with her teeth and the other using the junction of her shoulder.
‘A Ha-joon thing’, you think as she hands you a glass, chilled exterior sending an unwelcoming wave of shivers throughout your body.
Your initial response is to decline, but her index to your lips shushes your reasons.
“I know you don’t drink often, but just a few sips just this once, please?” Batting invisible puppy-dog eyes, you sigh, gulping down a haphazard swig.
Last time you had genuinely gotten drunk was back in junior year of high school, all the kids swarmed in a rando’s basement, acting appropriately irresponsible for your age.
You recall your fat crush on Hwang Hyunjin (before realizing he was actually in a relationship) being the main component in getting so drunk that you blacked out, though you’re sure the highly unflattering pictures Ha-joon took would jog your memory.
Yet just a few sips was an understatement, something you should’ve known. Because conversation turns into more conversation, funny conversation, deep conversation while your wrist unconsciously lifts to your mouth till your friend transforms into nothing but a blurry figure illuminated by the moon.
And you wonder, as you feel yourself tilt further and further toward the cement below, if Ha-joon will snap unflattering pictures of this moment too, of stupid decisions leading to stupid consequences.
Most likely.
.. .
"Mmm." You mumble, face stuffed into his sleeve as Chan carries you from the alleyway, ushering a loopy Ha-joon into a taxi with a short bow.
Clad in his work attire primarily made up of black elements, he carefully places you in the back seat of the SUV and pulls off his dark coat to wrap around your body, ensuring you're fully swaddled to secure as much warmth as possible from the biting cold.
"We're going home, so hang on just a bit longer for me." The man assures, patting your head lightly before sliding into the driver's seat and pressing his foot to the gas.
Han, who was sitting in the back beside you while Chan drove, took experimental peeks at the pink-hue decorating your cheeks (evidence that you'd be drunk) to your puffy lips pursed in a pout.
He internally squeals, fiddling with his phone in his pocket, unveiled demon tail practically wagging with glee.
"Hyung, can I? Pleasee Hyung- just one photo she looks so cute–“
“No." The older of them responds sternly, one hand clutching the steering wheel.
As much as he normally wouldn’t care, this was his- their first actual order in fulfilling their duties, and Chan wasn’t willing to pay the price of fucking up Yoon’s guidelines.
His companion huffs, deflating by your side as he directs a childish frown at Chan in the mirror, only met with an equally stern gaze reading "no nonsense".
Chan had always been one to take his job seriously, not that Han didn't, he just liked having a little bit of fun jumping from side to side across those permanent marker drawn lines.
In actuality, if it weren't for his friend, Han would've never gotten the job in the first place.
Stark glowing of your houses’ lights lining the driveway ripped away his thought process, quickly intervening when your door opened.
"I can carry her," He claims, arms crossed while the older bodyguard simply cocks a brow, an action that shouldn't have Jisung shying away like he was.
There's an immense staring contest until Chan releases a hefty sigh, gesturing for Jisung to go ahead.
"If you drop her, I kill you, then myself."
This earns a giggle while Han unbuckles your seatbelt, softly cooing with you lying in his arms.
You're cute, very cute in fact.
Very off limits, in fact, he reminds himself, grip tightening the creepier he pictures your father—and it’s the adorable scrunch of your nose in discomfort that reminds him of his strength, immediately relaxing his hold.
Like Chan said, any wrong moves and they're both off the radar in seconds. Business.
The entirety of it all was a bit hilarious considering how things were when you'd first been introduced to the two, not appearing to be the type to get drunk like this, to get drunk at all in a secluded area next to some nightclub.
Chan wasn’t wrong when he said it’s always a surprise with clients.
Well, he was referring to his hitman job then, but it's still applicable in this situation, right?
…Right?
Forget it.
Slowly, oh so slowly your eyes peel open, instantly noticing the familiar smell and interior that definitely wasn't where you'd been five minutes ago with Ha-joon.
Ah. There he is.
Chan.
Peering over where you're tucked in bed, dressed in pajamas.
Hold on, pajamas?
Scrambling up and simultaneously wincing from the throbbing headache settling a dull ring in your ears, you send him an incredulous stare, face incessantly warming the longer you think about it.
Hangovers provide another of the many reasons why you don’t drink anymore, because this hellish predicament led to a single hellish explanation you certainly didn’t want to face.
"You... My clothes.." Stumbling over how to phrase it, you suppress a scowl watching the ghost of a grin make its way on his lips. Maybe you're imagining it.
One of his veiny hands reaches up to cover his eyes, leaving you to instead infatuate upon plush lips moving when he speaks.
"My job description, along with the papers you read and signed before I was hired gave me consent, but whatever I see is strictly confidential between you and I."
Gathering your sanity, you scoff, humiliation and embarrassment flooding your system at an alarming rate.
Flopping back onto the bed, you slam a pillow over your face, muttering a "strictly confidential my ass" that he had to have heard from the low laugh uttered in reply.
He stalks over, fingertip tapping the water you hadn’t noticed sitting atop your nightstand.
Cautiously stealing a glimpse out from your pillow to see where he distanced himself across the room, you finish the cup in a swift motion, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve.
“You huma- You aren’t good with your alcohol, are you?” He starts, quite entertained witnessing your annoyed gaze, one which very noticeably doesn’t stay focused on his eyes.
Sucking your teeth, you slouch, mirroring his crossed arms.
You’re fine with playing feisty, and by the awfully attractive way he’s cocking his head, he’s also willing to join this biting game.
“And what makes you think that?”
“Because I’m never passed out and in need of someone to call for me when I go drinking.”
At this you practically hiss, grasping any futile chance to retaliate to no avail.
Opposed to his teasing nature, he drags a stool to your bedside, insisting you drink more.
Even more opposing, a gentle hand presses to your forehead, checking that you haven't contracted a fever.
To say your heartbeat pounded didn’t credit the surprise to its full extent, and thank whatever God above the experience only lasted a few more seconds, giving you plenty of time to freshen your haywire sensibility and brush your teeth before any more soul-sucking Chan run-ins continued.
You should’ve known better than to think he’d truly leave you be though, said soul-sucking bodyguard currently propped against the bathroom’s door frame.
“How did you get into this anyway? Y’know, bodyguard stuff..” You begin to ask, voice muffled from the toothbrush deterring any fully audible sentence.
He cocks an eyebrow.
“I have my ways.”
“Your ways?”
Within split seconds he’s right next to you, making rather intentional eye contact through the mirror.
You inhale sharply.
“Look, sweetness, my job as your bodyguard is to keep you safe,” He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “And if I tell you, I can’t guarantee that.”
There are three things you realized in that moment.
One, Chan is so, so close.
Two, he has an unfairly gorgeous face.
And three, your mouth is smeared with toothpaste.
Great.
You’d like to admit the first night of meeting these new bodyguards, more specifically Chan, went as normal and as non-Ha-joon-influenced as possible, but this effect on you causing your bloodstream to erupt in a hormonal frenzy of attraction told you the story had just begun.
.. .
"Jisung. Hold. Still! Keep moving and this wand is going in your eyeball."
Three weeks in and one thing after another has lead you closer and closer with either of them, whether it's convincing Jisung to go on ice cream runs (where Chan always ends up tagging along) or attempting to remain focused while they help you study (more like trying not to laugh at Jisung and averting your eyes off of Chan’s biceps in that muscle-shirt of his), the three of you are practically conjoined at the hip, and not on bodyguard standards.
"Okay okay! I was itchy. Can you move the piece of hair by my eyebrow?" He whines, grasping an apologetic squeeze on your waist while you focus in his lap.
You’re currently brushing mascara through his unfairly long lashes, but if anyone saw this without knowing the situation, chaos would likely unfold.
Although for you and Jisung, it's your average Friday night spent watching the weekly scary movie he’d decided on, Insidious. One he’d been commenting on for the past thirty minutes or so about how the “representation of demon’s was wrong” while you absentmindedly agreed, looping your index around the strand before abruptly stopping.
Residing slightly above his temple lay a scar, a decently sized scar at that.
Strangely enough, it's circular, like some type of horn or something had been there at some point. Maybe a biking incident?
"Ji?”
The boy's eyes drift up to you.
"What's this scar?"
Below you, he freezes, frantically thinking up the best excuse.
Lots of options, not a lot of time to decide.
"Ah.. that? When I was younger, I developed a weird kind of bump there, 'had it removed." And thankfully, you grunt a response, resorting back to applying his makeup.
Truth be told, those scars (another you hadn't seen yet) were his old horns, forced to be removed in order to initially land this job.
It still sends shivers down his spine thinking about when they had first been cut off, the recovery process resembling something out of nightmares.
Trust, the headaches were awful.
Chan, on the other hand, could keep his, considering he had the ability to conceal them on command. For Jisung, an inferior red-eyed demon with a few years beneath him and in such desperate need for income, chose the painful way through. As for his tail, that was luckily simple to hide (much to his pleasure).
Nevertheless, you could confidently say that your test-subject could easily land a modeling career after your makeover, and by the way he kept staring at the mirror, he seemed equally as enamored as you.
Well, that’s before a jumpscare leaps upon the screen and either of you shoot up, your clumsy companion whacking himself in the face with the mirror.
Staving your giggles, you try soothing the boy; you really do, but the uncannily gory scene that decorates the screen has you cringing back, and when you look at Jisung, expecting to find him cowering, your blood runs cold.
His lips are parted, but the only thing your horrified eyes are drawn to are the hooked canines peeking there. Not to mention his eyes.
Ghastly crimson, glowing.
Except when you breathe in an unsteady gasp, his head snaps to you, sudden facade appearing unaltered, like you hadn't seen something borderline terrifying.
Softly pulling your face close to him despite the screaming instinct to flee, he observes your bewildered expression, brows taut with concern.
“Y/n?”
Sweet tone contradicting, you immediately double backward toward your bedroom door, awkwardly honing the “I’m going to bed” excuse in hopes that suffices for the night.
Frenziedly closing the door, you determine rather quickly you don’t plan to go to sleep. Not that you think you could, but because this discovery isn’t normal.
None of this is normal.
How they found your location back at the alley despite Ha-joon never contacting anyone, how you “coincidentally” walked in on Chan “washing” his hands despite the water running red. Oh and you can’t forget about the rag left behind, putrid stench characteristic to a specific substance.
Blood.
You weren’t stupid. No father disappears the majority of the year on so-called “business trips” only to come back with new cuts and scratches he makes a sorry effort denying, and no daughter of his has literal bodyguards (yet you’re not sure they’re even official bodyguards thanks to your suspicions) glued to her side 24/7.
He does something dangerous, you know without doubt. But according to this hunch of yours, your father may not be the only one tied up in illegal madness.
.. .
Slipping into the car unknown to them was far easier than you anticipated.
You didn't plan on sneaking in in the first place, sure, but upon overhearing their hushed conversation regarding some type of “target”, you assumed whatever topic they were discussing may answer a select few of your billions of burning questions.
So, crouched in the floorboard of the backseat, you try muting your breathing, noting the clutter of metal sounding from your left, whatever responsible assumed to be shoved in the trunk.
Weapons. No mistaking it.
Your discovery is short-lived however, and you flatten yourself the best you can as Han twists around in his seat to grab something, already thirty minutes into your nearly secret mission.
Shit.
His shocked scream tells you enough.
Chan is fuming.
"Jisung, you told me she was asleep. So care to explain why the fuck she's in the back of the car?"
Han frantically flails. "For the record I told you she was lying down–”
"I. Don't. Care! She's not supposed to be here and all that matters right now is that she's at home and in bed, understood?"
As Jisung's lips pull into a tight line and Chan cranks the gear shift into drive, you glance around, a sudden–though risky–idea coming to mind.
"Hey, I could always tag along?"
"No!" They both shout in unison, heads jerking back to face you as if you suggested driving off a cliff.
That sounded much better in your head anyway.
Well there goes that.
Or so you thought.
Because unfortunately for them, wherever needed them needed them urgently, and through many clearly vocalized “she is staying in the car”’s, you weren’t driven home after all.
Fluorescent green lights cast an eerie glow across the perimeter, the location gnawing at your gut. An equestrian center by exterior, though there’s something else.
Wrong. You can’t explain it, but this place is wrong.
Discreetly unloading the guns, you skin crawls observing Chan messily stuff bullets into the magazine of a M240, the mere size of the thing setting your nerves ablaze. And as rightful asking questions seems, you can’t.
That feeling from earlier glues your mouth shut, like if you spoke too loudly, someone, something, would find you.
Thick foliage lay highlighted by your headlights, paving depth into sequential darkness.
You squint, zoning in on a small expanse of branches ajar. An ideal hiding spot.
Wait.
Bright flashes of iron spur your legs into motion, the switchblade cleaning slicing your wrist while mid-duck.
It forks into the car’s interior where the trunk had been opened, your cry of pain muffled by Jisung who basically throws himself inside a stall with you, the stomping of horse’s hooves muting your ragged breathing.
Firing belonging to none other than the machine gun Chan had been wielding pierces the air outside as either of you stay pressed to the stable wall, the pad of footsteps drawing nearer, causing your eyes to squeeze shut.
This is it. You’re going to die.
Much to your relief, it’s Chan, tactical holsters slightly torn, sweat beading his forehead.
The two share a look, remaining silent before delivering an eventual, affirming nod.
Short-lived.
An additional attacker sifts from the shadows, facial expression ushering no other logic than to kill.
Manic eyes, estranged eyes.
The older bodyguard spins, successfully blocking the first hit. Supplies are scattered everywhere, horses beginning to shift uncomfortably.
The perpetrator is faster, smaller, and lands a decent punch into his abdomen. However, the attack is futile, and just before he can stake his knife into Chan’s leg does the bigger man utilize his own weapon, ammunition positively bludgeoning every square inch of the assailant in baited seconds.
You understand why machine guns are strictly used for long range now.
Immediately, soft numbness floods your senses due to Han’s hands covering your eyes and ears, and you sit there for a while, blocked from the grotesque view of impalpable violence being enacted right before you.
You’d forgotten you were huddled together on the other side of the wall, too horrifically immersed.
It's strange. So much is strange.
These two men that you've grown effortlessly close to, grown effortlessly friends with, murder. Defensively in this case, yes, but they hadn’t brought those guns by chance, they brought them by intention.
Not just a twisted hobby like dissecting animals or something along those lines, but murder.
You’re sure they have their reasons, but it's difficult even imagining it. People who are extremely gentle when with you, responsible for such doings.
Talk about a duality.
The faint clatter of gun shells rattling against the marble flooring earns a subtle flinch, Jisung's hands cupping closer to your skin.
Then you smell it, what he'd warned you of no matter the cleanliness of the job.
A metallic, burning scent of blood, causing your nose to burn and your throat to grow increasingly dry.
Your stomach churns.
"You don't forget that smell" Chan had said before leaving the vehicle, and you knew what he was referring to now.
Putrid reek of rot and gunpowder beckon your lungs into fight or flight, but you remain still, ignoring the sharp sting of your wrist, bubbling blood dripping down your arm and onto the floor below, right atop your shoe.
Faint falling of bullet shells put an end to the fighting, then you’re blindly directed out the door without so much as a glance behind you. For your own good, you assume.
Hell, you’re not certain they’ll be much left of the bodies after Chan’s wrath.
As for right now, your top priority is your wrist. Swollen, skin tainted a grueling red shade.
Speeding home, you find yourself blurily recalling events, though all the little details simply swirl into strange shapes.
Shock is what it’s called. That state of monotonous wandering, occurrence too unfamiliar to take in, senses turning off. A coping mechanism of some sort.
Blearily you see the two men, talking, stepping out of the room, grabbing medical supplies. Like you’re in a time warp, dreaming. No pain, hurt.
On the other hand, your bodyguards were frantic, spewing curses and scouring the household for proper first aid materials.
Meanwhile, Chan was finally wrapping your wound in the bandages Jisung spotted, blinking madly in hopes his fogging headspace eased up.
Demons and wounds were not a good combination. Especially not human wounds.
Uncontrollable urges instructed him to tear you apart right this minute, do something, anything to quench that inexplicably demanding thirst.
Vulnerable, easy prey. His thoughts chanted, forcing him to step out of the room for a moment to where Jisung perched, close-pin fastened on his nose to block the mouth-watering smell.
“I’m losing my fucking mind,” He heaves, carding stressed fingers through matted hair.
“What, a little blood getting to a white-eyed demon?” His companion muses, hastily dodging Chan’s swinging fist. Immune to his threats.
It’s obvious to Jisung that’s only half of the story, but he’ll wait for his superior to admit it himself.
“It’s not just the blood,” He inhales deeply, gratefully accepting the water Han offered. “It’s her.”
Go figure.
To be honest, Jisung wasn’t good at pretending.
Well, in terms of lying he was a natural (a given, after all), but pretending he hadn’t caught onto his friend’s enormous attraction to you was technically impossible.
Quite surprising though, to think such an arrogant demon would’ve ended up like this.
Susceptible, willing. For a human.
Who would’ve thought.
.. .
It’s nothing short of a roller coaster regaining your stable consciousness. Chest wracking, world spinning. You’re situated in bed, injury carefully wrapped(though you can’t recall by who).
The doorknob rattles, and in walks Chan, except, you don’t feel happy, relieved.
Scared. You feel extremely scared.
“What- What are you?” Waver revealing your anxiousness, you curse the subtle tremble.
He smiles.
“Aren’t you a perceptive little one,” His voice dips lower, and as he edges closer, you find yourself pressing further into the pillow behind your head.
“I’m sure you’ve had your suspicions, so I’ll make it easy for you.” He lifts his curls, two perfectly placed horns residing there.
“We’re demons. He and I are different species, but both demons.”
Demons.
Demons.
Instantaneously, a tidal wave or realization crashes salty water into your lungs, expertly piecing your observations together. Red eyes, horn-like scars.
How had you not caught on earlier?
Momentarily, you meet his eyes. Still brown, although you wonder how deep of a red they’d stain, glaze over stunning vermillion or dusky cinnamon tones.
“Species?”
He hums.
“Red-eyed are the best at persuasion, that’s Jisung. I’m a white-eyed demon.”
So neither crimson nor cinnamon, you decide. Perhaps pale, opal color.
“White-eyed demons are usually Satan’s lap dogs, but what lots of people don’t know,” You crane forward to hear his next words, and he leans in as well. “Is that we’re also the most desired species, the most lustful.”
Lustful.
The words don’t truly sink in, and by the time they do, it’s impossible to rip the mischievous look from his eyes.
"What’s that supposed to mean.." You grumble, avoid his darkening stare.
A subtle tap on your thigh has your attention immediately shfiting, your entire body instinctively jolting.
"You want me to show you?" He begins with a laugh, a low, husky laugh that has your stomach tying knots. Not the usual, squeaky laugh, but one that's different, very different. "But if you say yes, I’m sure no one else can satisfy you the way I can."
Your expression pinches with annoyance, a bit offed by his sudden cockiness.
Granted, he looks heaven-sent despite being a demon, and you doubt he'd be any different in bed, but c'mon now, you have a right to be suspicious.
"And how're you so sure of that?" Leaning back on your arms where he sits in front of you, you fixate on the way kinky locks perfectly line the crown of his head, one particularly messy strand tipping over to linger above chocolate pools for eyes.
"Sweetness, Jisung are I are carved out of sin, there's not a particle in our body not built to fuck."
God. Hearing "fuck" come out of his mouth shouldn't have been that attractive. Chan had always been well-mannered, well-spoken, so to hear him say something vulgar for the first time, nonetheless "fuck", effected you more than you'd like to admit.
Slowly, oh so slowly he crawls on the bed, kind tip of his head betraying sinful intent.
“You want this?” He whispers, and your arms immediately wrap around his neck, tugging him into your lips fervently, needily, with a short nod of approval between sighs and stifled groans.
Your wrist aches, but from how heated this kiss is becoming, that matter is the least of your problems.
He feels like fire, tastes like it, nectarine on your tongue.
You waste nimble time undressing, suppressing a high-pitched mewl the longer he sucks deep purple love bites into your neck and down your collarbones, likely to be bruised tomorrow.
He’s careful, learning your body, your sounds. Touch light as a feather, not enough.
He’s big, that’s a given. Head red and angry with thick beads of precum apparent, you can’t possibly think straight, his name the only sensible word falling off your swollen lips.
Chan Chan Chan.
Brows knitting as his fat head bumps your entrance, you murmur pleas, practically delusional on his pleasure, his love.
Most desired, you understand what he meant by that.
“Feel good? Yeah? That's a good girl."
You can feel your entire body keen at the praise, utterly blissful from how amazing he was making you feel.
The stretch of his fat cock has your common-sense threading dangerously thin, head falling back, fingernails raking his back. Delirious.
When he actually started moving? Yeah, you’re convinced you paid a visit to cloud nine, fucked-out brain recognizing only the squelch of your bodies connecting and the squeaky, absolutely desperate sounds he’s pulling from your throat.
Not to mention his voice, accent thickening tremendously the longer he ruined your drooling cunt.
His, his, his.
"Shit- you feel fuckin' divine," He kissed the sweaty skin of your calf hiked over his shoulder, ankle held by a strong hand while the other occupied your hip, squeezing and kneading with each heavy thrust.
Chan wasn't lying about being carved out of sin, fucking like an absolute animal to the point tears began welling in your eyes, overstimulated and euphoric beyond belief as your hands shakily reach upward.
Obediently, he lowers himself, letting you hold his face for some sense of security while feeling so vulnerable.
You pathetically search his eyes, head thrown back after one particular roll of his hips that earns a rumbling moan from the man.
Each time he bottoms out it feels like you're losing it, rubbing that gummy spot that makes your heels dig into his shoulders and your moans transform into high-pitched cries, shuddering.
"Channie- Oh fuck Channie- I can't It's too much-"
Practically gasping for air to ease the buzzing fuzziness blinding you, you cherish the equally mind-numbing kiss he soothes, pressure in your lower tummy building and building at a flying pace.
"Yes you can, bunny. 'Need to cum? C'mon, cum for me, 'atta girl." He tuts, slowing himself down with each squeeze of your cunt signaling your approaching release.
Torturous.
Nothing like this, never in all his life had he felt something like this. So delicate and fragile as you look up at him, glossy dolly eyes far too tempting.
At this point it was an obligation to stuff your pussy full.
Rolling your puffy nub in tight circles, your thighs twitch, gripping the pillow behind your head like a vice as the sharp knot in your stomach finally snaps and a near pornographic sound rips from your throat, back arching off the bed.
The sight of you has his eyes nearly rolling back, so ruined and angel-like. You're a white rose in a field of wilting grasses. Bloomed in his ill-fated fingertips.
His pants stifle, big hands holding the back of your thighs spread for him. His pace stutters, and with a gritted whine of your name he slams his hips, painting your aching cunt white.
The last thing he anticipated visiting the human realm was to find himself in this situation.
And whether he liked to admit it or not, if the Devil had your father wrapped around his finger, you had him tied up without a chance of escape.
So while you both scrambled to clean up your evidence and not fall over your own feet hearing Jisung clumsily drop a clattering frying pan in the kitchen, he thinks, if only for a second, he’d be okay with it.
Being yours, that is.
FIC TAGLIST. @y-ur--i @atinism @darknova2319 @producedbyhanjisung @knightoftime21 @leonswifesstuff
sunboki, may 2022 ©
#stray kids fluff#straykids x you#stray kids x y/n#stray kids x you#stray kids x reader#straykids x reader#stray kids smut#straykids smut#skz smut#skz x y/n#skz x you#skz x reader#bangchan smut#bangchan x y/n#bangchan x female reader#bangchan x you#bangchan x reader#bang chan x female reader#bang chan x y/n#bang chan x you#bang chan x reader#bang chan smut
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Reveal — Part one: recording
Pairing: Yoongi x fem!reader ( camboy!yoongi x camgirl!reader ) Wordcount: 2,198 words Genre: smut. 18+. mdni. don't use fanfics as your only source of sex ed, pls. Summary: your friend convinced you to record an audio for your OF, but doing it alone is nerve-wracking so you turn to your favorite creator for help.
Includes: Mentions of selling sex content. Mentions of sexual activity ( doing things and also talking about doing things ). Implicit masturbation instructions. Masturbation ( f and m ) ( wash your hands before putting them anywhere, folks ). People filming/recording sex acts. Use of pet names? ( baby, doll ). Dirty talk. Mentions of Jungkook x fem!reader but they are just frieeends. Author's note: I started writing this with hopes of it just being alright because I wanted to write something quick but then it got longer and here we are. Hope you like it! If you do please remember to leave a comment, reblog, ask, follow and what not. Thank you for reading <3
It's been six months since you started this side job. At first, it was a combination of curiosity and a little desperation since money was tight after your roommate and best friend decided to go back to live with her parents. You didn't complain too much about it because you didn't want her to feel bad, and besides, you actually missed having your own space.
But lonely nights with insomnia thanks to the stress at work, let you to explore sides of the internet you had only heard about in bathroom conversations. Curiosity got the best of you and so, here you are, going through comments on your last onlyfans post.
You've been able to grow a decent-sized audience, it may be a bit small to others but it’s manageable and you like that. Some of them are people you followed before, during your investigation stage, and now became your mutuals. You truthfully see them as your friends, like Jungkook.
He was the first person with quite a big audience who followed you back and you truly believe half your followers came from his page, even though he denies it and tells you it is all your doing. He really has a way of lifting your confidence and that's why after a few months you meet in person to shoot things together, nothing too spicy, just a shoot with Calvins and denim jackets. You were surprised when he didn't suggest something more than that, but Jungkook said “You're too sweet to fuck in a first meeting, but maybe later”.
You thought he was just partially joking, although a few meetings have passed and he hasn't tried anything. To be honest, is a bit disappointing since he is so attractive, but at least he is still willing to help you with fun photoshoots in your apartment.
A comment in the picture where Jungkook’s hand is around your throat caught your eye. When you suggested it, it was funny. A silly little joke about what people thought actually happened behind the scenes and a way to hide your face from the camera.
When you saw it after, it was less funny and much hotter. Even if he wasn't applying pleasure on your neck, the muscles on his forearm were visible under the ink, the lighting and shadows reflected on the skin of your chest that wasn't covered by the cami top you were wearing that day, and your gold babygirl collar sat perfectly on top of your breast.
You couldn't be mad at the people saying they wished to be in your place. You were jealous of yourself, damn it.
That's why the comment popped out between the others, because it was jealousy of Jungkook they were talking about.
[ JustADude: “Fuck. He is the luckiest man alive if he gets to hold you and listen to all your pretty sounds.” ]
Cheeks blushing, you giggle thinking about how Jungkook hasn't done those things. But you have to admit that the idea of people being interested in hearing is a turn on. And maybe it shouldn't be a surprise considering taking pictures for others does but… could you… ?
Your phone rings, indicating a text and interrupting your thoughts.
Kookie: told you, a voice reveal would be amazing!!
You laugh at the attached image been of the comment you were just reading.
Y/n: but i'm shyyyyy
Kookie: you can just record a masturbating session Kookie: and review it and decide if you post it or not
Y/n: if i review it i’ll not post it lol
Is true. You'll get too much in your head and shy away.
Y/n: i barely go over pics before posting because of it
You remember him as if he didn't check your newest pictures for you.
Kookie: i can help too! Kookie: i mean Kookie: no pressure, ofc Kookie: but it would be SOOO HOT
Not sure if it's for the idea of recording yourself or the fact that Jungkook is encouraging you, but your pussy reacts to the words on screen and is settled. You are doing it.
Following the suggestion of just recording a session, you prepare as usual, sitting cross-legged on your bed, laptop in front while looking for something… inspiring.
You think about maybe looking through Jungkook’s page, rewatching his last video, but at the end get too paranoid about him listening to himself in the background even if your mic is hooked up in your bra strap, as closest as it can to your mouth.
So, you think of something else. The image of a hand around your throat still fresh in your mind leads you to the page of someone whose hands you've been thinking about in many other sessions. SugaD.
A few taps on your keyboard and his page is flashing on your screen, those exact veiny hands greeting you on his last post.
“Oh, well… here goes nothing.”
Embracing yourself, you turn on your mic, giving a few taps to make sure it’s working, “hi,” a nervous giggle echoes your room, suddenly making you aware of the silence and glad you'll have noise beside your own.
Inspecting better Suga's post, you realize is an announcement for his last video, and the line “for all those asking for more hand porn, i got you ;)” feels like is calling you out, but you can start feeling the need between your legs so there's just so much shame and fucks to give left.
A few more clicks and the video is on full screen, starting with an empty black leather chair and then Suga coming into frame and sitting down. His face is not visible as in any other video, but following the movements of his hand, you realize his neck is. Pale skin in contrast with black t-shirt.
“This angle is kinda…” he trails off, soft laugh at the end.
“Hot,” you complete, confident Jungkook will, after laughing at you, delete it from the final audio.
“You can't tell me I'm mean anymore. I'm spoiling you,” Suga continues in the video, “I'm giving you this view and I'm giving you what's probably the thing you all ask the most for: hands.”
And there they are. His goddamn hands. Close frame and adorned with silver rings in a few fingers. And when he turns them around you can admire how veiny and manly they are.
“I hate him. I'm gonna sue him,” you murmur, because in the month you have been following him, something you've come to find out is that Suga always knows what he is doing. He knows that jiggling his fingers and making the accessories click, paint a picture on people's minds. He knows how to dirty talk without making it cringe. And, more than anything, knows how to tease and keep his audience on their toes.
You turn the volume down a bit more to make sure it really isn’t audible through your mic.
“Are you sitting, doll? Imagine you're on my lap right now,” he pats his tights and finally you move, positioning yourself on your knees as if you were, as he suggested, straddling him.
“That view would be amazing. You right here,” he pretends to hold someone by their hips in front of him and yours play pretend on your own body, moving them up and down as he does. “Maybe I'd tease you first, play with your tits, your nipples first. Why don't you do that, baby? Touch yourself for me.”
Letting out a groan is your way to express frustration against the fabric covering your chest, unable to remove your bra so the mic stays in the right place. Controlling your breath, you focus on the video again. Suga is playing with himself, hand against his chest just like yours, “How does it feel?”
“I want you to touch me,” you whisper. And clearly, you know he is not able to hear you, and you're scared you'd sound like an idiot at the end, but you figure this is your chance to experiment being a bit vocal. After all, this whole thing is supposed to be a voice reveal, not just moans.
Although, it's quite difficult not to do it with the sight on screen. “Look what you do to me,” he complains, voice raspy and hand traveling south to the bulge on his joggers.
“Are you hard?” You cringe at that one. Shaking your head to not let it get to much on your head and sending everything to the trash. Breathing, your right hand mirrors his actions and travels down your body.
He gropes himself with a groan and you moan just at the sound. Imagine a smirk on his face as you cup yourself through your underwear. The lace is so thin is impossible to hide the fact you're already so wet.
Another moan and you debate on skipping a few seconds on the video since you need him to do something. Give you anything.
But he is a teaser.
He strokes through layers of fabric even when his own noises let it be known is torture for him. “I wonder…” he breathes, “how much clothes do you have? Are you dressed like I am, or are you completely naked?” His hips thrust up, into his hand and he pulls it away. “Would you come by just grinding on my cock?”
“F-fuck,” you moan when he intentionally bucks his hips upward, veins on his hands popping up when he holds into the chair. You hate him, you really do. Because he is holding back and you just want to see him.
“Please, please,” and as if it were even possible he hears you, he takes his dick in one hand and out of his pants.
You moan in appreciation and finally allow your hand to sneak into your panties too. The much desired contact makes your legs feel like jelly for a second and you have to sit back on your heels while the guy on screen keeps driving you insane.
His hand moves up and down his length, thumb collecting precum at the tip and using it as lubricant, but when that is not enough, his hand disappears off the frame, up to his face. The sound is enough to help with the imagination and quickly he is back in business.
Your eyes are fixed on every movement, every sound. Your hand matches his speed and you don't know what is hotter, the wet skin sounds or the bracelet on his wrist? Because the silver chain moves as fast or even faster and makes a sound of its own. Ah, it is so impossible for you not to imagine what it would be to look at it from your perspective. If the fingers in your pusy were his.
You push into yourself, your breath caught at the sensation before adding another one, “ooh… oh.”
Can't master more than a few sounds, your mouth dry, it has been open since he uncovered himself. Oh, what would you do to have him in your mouth at least once.
“The things I'd do to you.” The recording continues, “And I bet you would let me, no questions asked, right?”
“S-so good,” your knees dig into your bed and you're glad you follow Jungkook's advice of protecting your duvet with a towel. “It feels so good, oh god.”
“Are you using your fingers? A toy? Would you like my dick instead?” He laughs breathlessly, “I would like to feel your pussy too. F-fuck, I'd fuck you so good, baby. Don’t you think so?”
“Uh uh,” short moans leave your lips, the palm of your hand rubbing on your clit before going back to back and forth motions. Fingering yourself and your eyes close as you enjoy the pleasure, and let more noises flow.
When you open them again Suga on screen has his other hand around his neck, head tilted back. Is not choking him, but you assume he is into that. “Oh… f-fu… pleasee,” he is going to be the end of you. How can you not imagine being on top of him, riding him, your hand on his throat or maybe his on yours. “I'm… oh, I'm…” a loud moan interrupts your announcement as you cum practically riding your hand.
There's silence. Well, your breathing is fast and the mic most likely will pick it up, but you try to compose yourself for a few seconds while looking at the blank screen that indicates Suga finished too. He never shows it on camera and the only indication he did is the aftermath, this time, on his black t-shirt when he says his “you did great, kitten” to sign off.
The next day Jungkook sends you the audio archive as promised. And is up on your page as fast as possible, it doesn't matter if it doesn't get attraction for a few hours because it's too early on the day, but if you think about it too much, you'd scratch the whole idea.
But not a minute passes and you have notifications of a new follower and a comment.
[ SugaD now follows you ] [ SugaD: the cutest. ]
➪ Part two. | ➪ Part three. | ➪ Updates for this verse | ➪ Ko-fi
➪ Main masterlist. | ➪ Updates in general | ➪ Request & chats ♡
Edit: i forgoooot! If you want to be tagged on part 2 or future projects let me know <3
Edit 2: I made a post with different options for tag lists in case anyone is interested. You know, for future projects and stuff. But don't feel preassure to request it, and thank you for following this mini series.
#( writing. )#min yoongi x reader#min yoongi smut#min yoongi fic#yoongi smut#yoongi x reader#bts x reader#yoongi fic#yoongi fanfic#bts fanfic#bts fic#( reveal )#( reveal: recording )#yooglefics
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okay okay so question, has san been informed of the relationship dynamics in the house? i’m assuming he knows about matz and darling but was he pre warned about darling and yeo? bc i just thought about it and image they just kinda forgot to mention that they have a bestie with benefits situation, so second nature for them, and then randomly one day san walks in on darling and yeo going at it. the poor guy is 1) startled bc no matter what scenario that’s awkward but 2) he potentially thinks that darling and yeo are doing something wrong. so now he’s left to figure out if he should say something to matz or if that’s just way above his pay grade. idk why this whole scenario is so funny to me but it is. poor sannie😭
san was 100% not prewarned…
of course he knows abouts hwa and joong and the weird pink thing that follows them around like a little puppy, but yeosang and darling?? he’s clueless!
so i’ve mentioned before in this post that sex between the two of them is technically banned unless mommy and daddy are there to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand. it just so happens that darling is a little brat and yeosang will do anything to make her happy (even if he won’t admit it) and no one ever said a little head here and there wasn’t allowed… if darling wants to suck yeosang off, it’s not technically against the rules, right?
and that’s absolutely what san walks in on one day…
the dining room door swings open, startling you as you push yeosang’s cock to the back of your throat. you gag around it, immediately pulling off of it to cough your lungs out. you’re half expecting to hear hongjoong scoff at the two of you before commanding yeosang get on the floor too, or perhaps seonghwa to give you a disappointed sigh before getting you to crawl to him. instead all you hear is a tray clatter to the floor.
“what the—”
“san!” yeosang cries, hands flying to his dick to cover his achingly hard member. he nudges you with his knee, trying to get your attention, but you just hit his thigh; can’t he see you’re choking on his dick? “we weren’t doing anything!”
you nod through your coughs, agreeing that you definitely weren’t breaking any rules. what san doesn’t know can’t hurt him.
“you weren’t— yeosang, she was sucking you off!” the butler practically screeches. yeosang hushes him harshly in return; the other members of the house definitely do not need to know what transpired between the two of you. “are you— do they—” san takes a deep breath to calm himself, “is this allowed?”
silence fills the room, neither you or yeosang wanting to answer that question. as much as the two of you like to pretend that anything other than actual penetration is allowed, you both know that it really isn’t. if either of your lovers caught you like this, you’d both be punished more severely than you ever have been before.
san swallows thickly, the worst case scenario filling up his mind. but you seem so in love with them? how could you even consider cheating on them with yeosang? he’s just supposed to be a cuddle buddy, isn’t he?
he should tell someone, he decides. after all, his bosses would be fuming if they found out that he knew about this. the last thing he wants is to get fired from the best paying job he’s ever had. he takes a step back to the door, preparing himself to sprint upstairs to hongjoong’s office.
“where are you going?” yeosang warbles, eyes going wide, “are you going to tell hongjoong? please don’t tell hongjoong…”
“well i—”
“san, no,” you say, voice gravelly from the effects of having a dick shoved down it. from your position on the floor, it feels like you’re begging him. perhaps you are; he supposes it won’t be pleasant for you if your lovers find out you’re cheating on them. “please, they’ll be so mad.”
“i need to—”
“it’s not like it’s actual sex,” yeosang tries to reason, “just small things; it barely even counts!”
“it’s still wro—”
“it’s not wrong, per se,” you whine, “they were just too busy to watch and we were both horny…”
“i don’t ca— wait, what?” san pauses, the cogs in his brain turning as he mulls over your words, “you mean to say you two are allowed to do this?”
you shrug.
“they’re supposed to watch but sometimes they’re busy and it’s not like we ever take it further than this!”
and suddenly, san doesn’t care anymore. he shakes his head, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. it’s his fault for digging, he supposes, but he wasn’t quite expecting for it to be a whole voyeurism thing rather than a cheating scandal. it serves him right for sticking his nose in places it doesn’t belong.
“no,” he mumbles, “this is above my pay grade… weird fucking family.”
#ateez x reader#ateez fanfic#matz x reader#yeosang x reader#opposites attract universe#ateez smut#poly ateez x reader#poly ateez smut
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Eisenhower don't give a fuck
Barbie dolls: Dave Lizewski x gn! Also superhero! Reader
Word:3.1k
Summary: you're also a hero and find out Dave (your boyfriend) is kickass and flirt with him to see his reaction
Warnings: you have daddy issues now, you don't like orange popsicles, based on the second movie so if you haven't watched that it's probably not going to make sense, I'm not suggesting you should watch it bc I hate the romance plot in it but you do you, also insinuated that you're apart of the lgbtq+ and or an extremely passionate ally, feeling unloyal even though you aren't cheating, lots of sex jokes and mentions, you think you're weird and annoying, Marty and you are mean to each other in the friend way yk
Request: seriously stop going through my stuff
Dating Dave was actually quite enjoyable. You could geek over comics together. You sat with his friends during lunch. You scribbled in his notes before returning them, little hearts around the corners. You shared almost everything with each other. The key word there: almost.
Was being a real-life superhero easy? Fuck no. But it gave you that adrenaline rush you got from flirting with Dave so how bad could it be? Not to mention you got to prance around town in your very extremely awesome outfit. You liked it, a lot. You liked people following you on your socials. You liked seeing yourself on the news. You liked helping people and seeing the relief on their faces. You like hanging out with Kickass and all the others in Justice Forever.
Remembering Tommy were a bit of a drag all things considered, but you loved sitting down and hearing about all their life experiences. In fact, a couple of their nuggets of advice actually made you change your day-to-day.
You loved talking and working with Doctor Gravity. He made you laugh and was amazing at his side gig. He’s probably saved your life a thousand times already.
You quite enjoyed talking to Insect Man. In your free time together, you felt like you were able to shed your walls and talk to him about anything. In fact, you went with him to the pride parade in town and helped him organize a local protest.
You were often paired up with Night Bitch because according to Colonel stars and stripes: you had complimentary personalities. You liked being paired up with her because you actually grew to be friends.
Battle Guy had his funny moments. You two seemed to get along but he appeared to be quite attached to Kick-Ass. Which you didn’t mind because you had your own attachments.
To be quite frank, you had already mentally adopted Colonel Stars and Stripes as your father figure. You weren’t sure if he was aware of that. You did however know he called you peanut so maybe he did know.
Sometimes when you asked for advice from him, it sounded like something Juno would hear from her father. It sounded like a dinner, shared over the wooden dining room table, that you helped make even though you couldn’t reach the kitchen counter. It sounded like a movie with ice cream while you were decked out in his band t-shirt even though it was for an adult and you were nothing of the sort.
Every time he told you you did a good job after a night of moderate crime fighting, you felt like he just hung up your stick figures on the fridge. Though you doubted he thought of it that way. It wouldn’t be the first time a random male authority figure became your only source of validation.
Though on the Kick-Ass note, he was strange. You’d mutter an inside joke to yourself, and hear a snort come from Kick-Ass. You just assumed he was quite perceptive. When you two were left alone, there was this strange tension floating between you two. It felt like deja vu. It felt like when you visit an art museum, see a familiar face, can’t place it, and then find it in the mirror the next morning. You just hadn’t gotten to the next morning yet. He made you feel weird. You felt like you should run away from him and hide behind Dave.
You felt unloyal just knowing there was weird tension between you and Kick-Ass. Even though you apparently got along quite well. You laughed at the same jokes, even the same words in some cases. You liked the same movies and comic books. You even thought he was just as funny as Dave. Which you hated because Dave was very important to you.
Every time you laughed at Kick-Ass’ jokes you felt your heart squeeze at the thought of Dave sitting at home thinking of you. After every laugh, you both sighed heavily like you could feel the weight of something returning to your shoulders. You assumed he was thinking of his homework or some shit. It wasn’t your business but you were positive it wasn’t hypothetical infidelity.
You avoided pairing up with Kick-Ass. You didn’t even stand next to him. You didn’t want his vibes getting onto your skin. Alas, Colonel Stars and Stripes didn’t pick up on your subtlety, pairing you two together again.
Though this time was different. You two had just been wandering around, waiting for some crime to catch up with you. You mentioned your favorite movie of all time and Kick-Ass dropped possibly the best thing you had ever heard.
“Oh my god, my partner fucking loves that movie.” Ah, see most people don’t normally enjoy learning someone has a partner, you, on the other hand, loved this new piece of information. You stopped walking. Kick-ass turned back around to probably raise an eyebrow, you can’t see.
“You have a partner?” You asked, already feeling your lips peel into a grin. Kick-Ass shrugged.
“Yeah? Is that so unbelievable?” He asked, slapping his hand onto the side of his thigh. You shook your head.
“No, It’s not unbelievable.” You said. You skipped, literally, ahead. You were beaming the rest of the night. You still tried to ignore Kick-Ass during the other meeting though now with the new information you were slightly less abrasive.
One night, alike many other nights, Dave knocked on your door right as you were getting ready for bed. You raised a brow at his appearance. He was missing his glasses, and nacho cheese was smeared over his face, primarily over his eye and mouth area. Though it wasn’t in his hair or on his clothes.
“Dude, you have to stop eating so messy. It is not a good look for you.” You said, pulling the door open further.
“Someone threw nachos at me, which I am quite upset about. I wanted to kiss you once I got over here but now I have to clean my face.” Dave said, shrugging his backpack and jacket off to drop them by the door. You snorted, making the corner of Dave’s mouth tip up. He left for the bathroom. You stood in the doorway and watched him, committing the image to your memory so you could think of Dave while you were on the hunt for misbehavior. Dave glanced at you from the corner of his eye before squeezing them closed again to scrub his face with water. He pulled his head back, blowing water away from his mouth with a huff.
“Could you get my glasses and extra shirt out of my bag?” Dave asked, dipping his head back to the sink. You spun around and headed for his bag. You thought for a moment, which pocket would Dave put his glasses and extra shirt in? Of course the biggest one. You zipped it open. You paused when you were met with a plastic bag covered in red font repeating ‘Thank you’. You furrowed your brows at the sight of green peeking through the white. You pulled on the loose knot, staring down at the very iconic Kick-Ass green covered in nacho cheese. You paused and thought back on it.
Kick-Ass laughed at the inside jokes that you only made with Dave. Kick-Ass had a partner who had the same favorite movie as you. Of course Kick-Ass made you feel some weird tension because he was your fucking boyfriend. You never ever heard Dave talk bad about Kick-Ass. They had the same favorite comics, movies literally everything. You finally reached the next morning.
“Holy shit.” You whispered, glad the sink was still running so Dave couldn’t hear you.
“They should be in the front pocket, baby,” Dave called from the bathroom. You retied the plastic bag and zipped up the big pocket as fast as you could. You brought Dave his glasses and extra shirt and pretended you had no idea the whole night.
However, on the next mission, you volunteered to pair with Kick-Ass. Kick-Ass gave you a questioning look. You shrugged. Eventually, you two were off, once again wandering about. You knew you truly shouldn’t but you wanted to fuck with Dave a little.
“Hey, Kick-Ass? You said you have fucked nerve endings right? You can’t feel when people hit you?” You said, balancing the edge of the sidewalk, your arms stuck out on either side of you. Kick-ass was walking next to you, his hands clasped behind his back.
“No, you can’t slap me,” Kick-Ass responded, taking one step away from you.
“No, I was just wondering if that made it hard for you to have sex. Like does that fuck with those nerve endings?” You said blatantly, keeping your eyes on the sidewalk so you didn’t fall. Kick-ass sputtered, making you grin.
“What? No. I mean, No that’s none of your business.” Kick-Ass said, taking another step away from you. You snorted. You stopped and dropped your hands to your sides.
“You sure? ‘Cause I could help you out with that. There’s a public restroom right around the corner. Or we could just use the alley.” You said, taking a step closer to him. Dave held his hands up in surrender, leaning away from you.
“I have a partner. I am dating someone. They sexually gratify me perfectly. I am seeing someone, who I love deeply. I am severely committed.” Kick-Ass said, squeezing his eyes shut. You snorted and walked away from him, completely ignoring the fact that now your face was hot from him confessing his love.
“I’m just fucking with you Dave, don’t take me seriously. I would never fuck in an alley, that’s like STD grand central station.” You said, balancing on the edge of the sidewalk again.
“Sorry, wait, what’d you call me?” Kick-Ass asked. You kept walking, though now you thought back on your words. You grimaced when you realized you called him by his real name.
“I called you a bitch.” You said. Well done, that was perfect. No notes. Kick-Ass met your pace, walking beside you. He leaned his head to the side, trying to make eye contact with you.
“No, you didn’t. What did you call me?” He asked. You shrugged.
“You called me Dave. Why did you do that?” You stopped and met his eyes. You shrugged.
“I think we actually do need that alley now, come with me.” You split off to the nearest alley, pulling Dave into the shadows. You glanced around to make sure no one was around before yanking your mask off.
“It’s me, Dave.” Kick-Ass gasped, taking a step away from you. He spun around, his hands on his head.
“Oh my god, I’ve slept with a real-life superhero.” He muttered. He pulled his mask off, dragging his hands through his hair.
”To be fair I also had this reaction when I found out about you.” You said, shoving your mask into your belt. Dave spun back around to you, gripping your face with both his hands.
“God, you gorgeous pain in the ass. I love you so much.” He pulled you closer to him, resting his lips against yours. You reached out and tugged him closer by the green fabric pulled over his stomach. Dave groaned into your lips, slipping his hands under your arms to hold onto your back. He pulled back just enough to whisper to you.
“Stars and Stripes is going to kill us,” Dave said. You nodded against him, pushing your lips back against his.
“Stop thinking about him, think about how we’re totally going to fuck in these costumes.” You muttered. Dave’s hand found the back of your head, holding you still while he slipped his tongue past your lips.
By the time everyone did meet back at the base, you and Kick-ass were stuck together like glue. Colonel dismissed everyone, but Kick-ass’ hand shot out for Battle Guys’ arm.
“Hey Coronal, we have bad news.” You said. Colonel turned around looking between you three.
“You haven’t started selling drugs have you?” You shook your head.
“We all know each other, in real life,” Kick-Ass said. Battle Guy jerked his arm out of Kick-Ass’ hand.
“No, the fuck we don’t. I know you,” Battle Guy pointed at Kick-Ass. “Don’t know who that is.” Battle Guy pointed at you. You made a mental note to add a middle finger to Marty’s birthday card. Colonel grimaced at Battle Guy.
“Language.” Colonel pinched his brow as he looked between the three of you. “How long have you known this?”
“I’ve known since yesterday, Kick-Ass found out today. Battle Guy is apparently still behind.” You said. Colonel sighed.
“Do you hate me?” You asked, making Colonel raise an eyebrow.
“Why would I hate you?” You shrugged, feeling everyone’s eyes turn to you.
“I don’t know. I was just checking because-“
“Oh my god.” You heard Battle Guy say. You glanced over at him to see him wandering away from the line you three had formed.
“What!” You responded, following him with your eyes. He dragged his hands over his head.
“I just figured out who you are.” He said, dropping his hands to his sides. ”I recognized you from your daddy issues.” You scoffed at Marty.
“You recognized me from my daddy issues? You know what-“ You said, your voice raising. You pointed your finger at Battle Guy. Kick-ass’ hands shot out, pressing either one to you and Marty’s chest.
“Okay, okay. No fighting, there’s no point.” You sighed, dropping it. You faced Colonel again. He hummed.
“Do you know what we call this?” Colonel said, waving his hands around at you three. You shrugged, glancing at Dave to see if he knew.
“No?” Kick-ass muttered.
“Loserville party of one?” Battle Guy asked. You huffed, looking around Dave to glare at Marty. Kick-ass reached out and lightly pushed your head back.
“Not my problem. C’mon Eisenhower. Let’s allow these doofuses to solve this on their own.” Colonel replied, tugging on Eisenhower’s leash. She quickly pranced after him. You waited until you heard the door slam shut before tugging your mask off. You turned to Marty, sticking your finger in his face again.
“Fuck you, Marty. I’m setting your birthday present on fire.” You said, huffing and turning away from Marty.
“Yeah, that wasn’t necessary. We talked about how we don’t bring up parental issues anymore, Marty. There was an entire family meeting about it.” Dave said, pulling off his own mask. Marty huffed and yanked his off.
“I didn’t listen during that meeting and you know it,” Marty responded.
“Still.”
“Whatever Marty, just don’t talk about it again.” You said, pulling your mask back over your head and leaving the building.
Marty did apologize the next evening at Dave’s house. You, Marty, Todd, and Dave went over to Dave’s house every day to hang out because the time at school you had together just wasn’t enough.
You and Marty were sat outside, eating the popsicles you stole from the freezer. Dave’s dad banned everyone from eating them inside because once Marty dropped one on the couch. It's been forever sticky. So there you two were, sitting on the steps of the back porch in the dark. The dull and faded light from the living room stretched out through the glass sliding door.
“I actually am sorry, about the other night. I know sometimes I am a dick. I don’t know why I’m like that. I just am.” Marty said, taking another bit of his orange popsicle. You hummed.
“I’m the same way. Sometimes I’m just weird and annoying, I don’t know why. Just am.” You said, chomping into the blue popsicle you were holding. Marty hummed, licking down the side of his hand at the streak of melted juice. A quiet moment went by where you stared up at the dark sky and ignored the very loud sound of Marty slurping.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re annoying,” Marty said, biting into his popsicle again. You paused on your popsicle, looking over at him.
“Really?” Marty nodded, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.
“I mean weird, for sure-“ You shoved Marty’s shoulder.
“Oh fuck off.” You laughed, shaking your head at him. Marty snorted. You continued with your popsicle, though now your lips were tilted up.
“Also when I said Loserville party of one, I was talking about you,” Marty added, taking another bite out of his popsicle. You rolled your eyes.
“I know!”
“Just checking, 'cause you never laughed,” Marty said, tilting his head back to catch the runaway bit of popsicle.
“Yeah, it wasn’t funny.” You both sat in silence as you paused in eating your popsicle to watch Marty and his messy eating. He pulled back and glanced at you.
“So do you actually think of Colonel Stars and Stripes as your dad?” He asked, chomping again. You scoffed. You shoved his shoulder again, making him rock to the side. You finished your popsicle, licking the wooden stick. Marty was maybe two bites from finishing his. The glass door slid open. You turned back. Dave smiled at you.
“You guys coming in soon? We’re about to set up our next board game.” Dave said. Marty turned back, nodding at Dave.
“Yeah, baby.” Dave hummed and took the four steps from the door to you. He leaned down and lightly pecked your lips. He pulled back, his tongue darting it between his lips.
“Blue?” You nodded. He hummed and left, sliding the glass door behind him. Marty waited a moment, watching Dave retreat to the coffee table through the glass. You watched too although for different reasons.
“How long is Dave?” Marty asked. You gasped, smacking the last bite of popsicle out of Marty’s hand. It flipped in the air and leaned in the grass with an unsatisfying ‘thush’.
“Hey! What was that for?” Marty said, sadly looking down at the orange popsicle bite now covered in green grass.
“Potty mouth.” You said, standing up. You picked your popsicle stick off the step. Marty stood up after you, joining you at your side.
“It was ass anyway,” Marty muttered. You nodded, dragging open the glass door.
“You picked orange, I’m not sure what you were expecting.” You said, throwing your stick into the garbage. You and Marty joined Dave and Todd at the coffee table to start the game. You greeted Dave with a kiss and settled onto the floor next to him. Marty sat across from you and wiggled his eyebrows at you.
“I’m not answering your sick question dude!” You responded. Dave worriedly hummed.
“What’d he ask you?” Dave asked. You shook your head and patted his cheek.
“Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”
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how long will this last? (pt. 2)
pairing: felix and fem!reader
tropes: friends to enemies to lovers, idiots in love, brother’s best friend if you squint? , college!au?
content warnings: 3rd person writing, alcohol is mentioned, reader is nicknamed barbie, felix is stupid, cursing, orange cats, shitty writing, bin being bin, massive miscommunication, what can barely be considered angst, some suggestive elements (but as always, read at your own risk buddy!)
chapter word count: ≈4.7k
|| hlwtl masterlist || part 1 || part 3 ||
❛ ━━━━━━・❪ ❁ ❫ ・━━━━━━ ❜
“Did you eat my fucking pasta leftovers?” She groans, searching through the fridge.
“You were asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you up and ask what is off limits and what isn’t.”
“You’re such a prick.” She slams the fridge shut and fights a full-on pout.
My pasta…
“What bit your ass?”
It takes a while to explain everything to her brother fully. With how busy his job has been, he’s barely popped in over the last few months. She’s be lying if she said it wasn’t good to see him, though. Scare or not.
She keeps stopping to fight the residual anger, sadness, or the weird mix of both that comes whenever she says Felix’s name. To Chris’s credit, he does his best to sit and just listen. Until she gets to the part about Felix saying she’s not worth it. He laughs at that.
“What’s so funny?”
“God, he’s so transparent.”
She looks at him in confusion.
“Continue. Please.”
BP, the little traitor, sits in Chris’s lap the whole time, purring contentedly at the constant affection.
Can’t trust none of these hoes.
When she finishes, he sits in silence for a moment.
“So it sounds like he’s jealous, dude.” He says simply.
B immediately shakes her head in protest and waves him off for good measure.
“No, he’s just a dick.”
“That may be true too, and I do want to kick his ass, but he’s clearly and obviously jealous of you and Binnie.”
“You’re clinically insane. There’s nothing to be jealous of!” Her irritation could not be more obvious. Folded arms, jaw tensed, eyes skyward. “He’s just an ass, and there’s nothing more to it.”
“Are you really that oblivious? I mean, c’mon, I know I’m the brains of the family, but-“ She smacks him upside the head. “Ow! Don’t damage the goods!”
“Then stop saying dumb shit!” Chris glares at her.
“I’m not. Anyone with eyes and half a brain cell can see he’s into you. Like, well into you. And has been. It’s quite gross, actually.” Her heart rate picks up at his words. She doesn’t actually believe him, but it gives her butterflies all the same.
She covers by raising an eyebrow at him. He takes it as a sign to continue. “Look, I’m not gonna tell you what to do. But think about it. He threw a fit that day because he came home and saw you flirting with Bin.”
“I wasn’t flirting with him! That’s gross. Bin was just being himself. He’s always like that. Felix knows this.”
“Doesn’t mean he likes it. Maybe he just snapped.”
She doesn’t buy it. They’re grown-ass people.
If Felix really was that upset, why wouldn’t he just say something? He’s always been able to tell me when he’s bothered.
If it were that simple, why didn’t you tell Felix how you felt, either?
…Even my brain is a traitorous traitor. Why are we defending him?
“Okay, fine. What about that day he lied about his laptop?”
“Maybe he genuinely forgot he had it. Or maybe, that loud ass sound you heard was him at the door.”
B doesn’t say anything.
“You said he was in the hallway, right? Maybe he had come home, saw Bin and you doing…whatever the fuck you were doing, and left.”
Surely she would have noticed if Felix had come in, right? She’s normally so observant. Or at least, she thought she was. It’s a lot of information to process.
“I mean, really? What the hell were you doing?”
“Irrelevant. What do I do about it?” B reaches for her cat, still seated in Chris’s lap. BP hisses at her.
Fucker.
“Talk to him, dude. Jesus Christ, I thought you were smarter than this.” Chris just sighs.
“Thanks, dipshit. And how exactly do you expect me to do that when he ignores me at every turn?”
“I can’t give you all the answers. Damn. You’ve got to do some of the work yourself. Now,” He gently sets BP down and stands to stretch. “I’d really like to get some sleep. Is the spare room clean?”
B thinks she’s probably going to kill him before this week is over.
❛ ━━━━━━・❪ ❁ ❫ ・━━━━━━ ❜
“What about that one? He’s so cute!” Felix points to a nearby cage, cooing at the cat on the other side.
“His sign literally says, ‘I Don’t Like People.’” B counters, shaking her head.
Felix just smiles that goofy smile at her that she loves. “Which means you already have something in common!”
Her mouth drops in semi-shock at his comment, and she half-heartedly nudges his arm. “I like you well enough!” The same arm wraps around him and she continues walking. “How about this one?” She points to a couple of cages over; a little paw sticking out between the tiny metal poles of the door.
“I dunno…she seems a little small. So dainty. She’s got to be able to hold her own in your house.” Felix plays with her as much as he can through the barrier, even going so far as to make baby talk to her. B giggles, just watching him for a bit. He’s so gentle with everything; no wonder the littles flock to him at family events. “Whad’ya think, Beautiful? Do you wanna come home with us? Just say the word, and we’ll take you home, yeah?”
Us. The way that one word makes B feel is more than dangerous. Floaty, warm, and fuzzy. After all, there is no us. Just her and Felix. As friends. Until the end of time.
How miserable.
Felix jolts back when the cat swipes at him, catching his knuckle. “Ow! Fuck!” B blinks back to reality.
“Serves you right for calling her dainty.”
Felix throws his free arm up in defeat. “Fair enough.”
He steps into B’s space silently, suddenly laser-focused on reaching the top of her head. He gently moves a stray hair back into place, following it down to tuck it behind her ears. “Sorry, Gorgeous, it was standing up weird.” It’s all he offers in explanation.
Not that she minds. But between the pet name and the touch, she’s sure her face is outing her in more ways than one.
You’ve got to get it under control, girl! Get. A. Grip.
Felix clears his throat, steps back, and offers his arm to her. “Shall we?”
They interact with a few more cats, and every time Felix talks to the cats, it tugs at B’s heartstrings. She can’t help but watch the way his freckles crinkle when he smiles or how his eyes light up when any of the cats interact with him back. “How are you today, sweetheart?” or “Are you having a good day?” or B’s personal favorite, complete with baby voice-“I might have to just steal you for myself. Yeah, I think I do.”
Eventually, they come across one that seems thoroughly uninterested in Felix. Felix tries to play with him, but he doesn’t budge. “Well, fine. Be like that then.” He pouts like a petulant toddler.
“I think he’s just tired.”
“Is he? He seems pretty indifferent toward me.”
“Let me try.”
“Be my guest, gorgeous.”
B tries to coax him out from the corner of his enclosure. He slowly sits his head up and just stares at her. At least it’s more of a reaction than what he gave the man.
The cat approaches the cage leisurely like he has all the time in the world. Which, one supposes, he does. B drops her arm from Felix’s to get closer to the semi-curious cat, who lets Barbie pet him and seems content with just that.
“I think he likes me? Maybe?” She searches the cage for his information card.
Name: Bobby Pin
Felix laughs. It compels another smile from B, much like anything else he does. “Bobby Pin? How do they come up with these names?”
“I mean, my friend in grade school had a cat named Crayon. She tried to eat one as a kitten right after they got her. So there it was.”
The way he listens so intently when she speaks makes her feel like anything she has to say is important. That she is important, it’s a feeling she cherishes more than he knows.
Felix tries to reach for the cat again, seemingly feeling like he’s missing out. When the cat grumbles but lets him, both humans laugh. B decides that he’s the one.
She goes searching for a shelter employee.
“Excuse me, we’d like to fill out an application for this one?”
The memory pulses a pang in her chest that feels so wrong. It doesn’t seem right that just a few months ago, they were fine, and now, he’s saying shit like, “You’re not worth it”. It doesn’t make sense. Her conversation with Chris and the memory keeps her up until her eyelids can’t hold their own weight anymore.
She manages an entire 36 hours almost completely people-free. She gets out of bed three times the first day. Once to use the bathroom, once to grab an obscene amount of snacks and dash back to bed, and a third time to grab the remote that fell underneath her bed. Other than that, she’s either sleeping, eating, or watching episodes of a show she’s seen a million times. It usually leads to another nap, honestly. The other days it's even less. Maybe twice, if that. Chris checks on her once a day to ensure she’s alive, asks if she wants him to stay (she says no), tells her to call if she needs him, and leaves. She doesn’t call, though. In fact, she turns her phone completely off to avoid everyone else.
The fourth morning, however, another unwelcome visitor breaks into the apartment. He also has a key, but that’s beside the point.
“B, are you home?” She’s already awake but would rather be sleeping off what feels like the beginning of a massive headache. Maybe it’s from all the crying. Maybe someone snuck in the middle of the night and poured alcohol down her throat. Maybe it’s from the yelling. She can’t be sure. The possibilities are endless, really. But what she is sure of is the fact that she doesn’t want to deal with Changbin. Not today.
Die. I want to crawl into a hole and make it my home like I’m some kind of mole. I could be a mole man. Mole-woman? Mole-person.
She snaps her eyes shut and listens for his footsteps. She’s trying to gauge how far away he is since he says nothing else. She is unsuccessful.
“Well, you look awful.”
Fuck.
“Go away.” She pulls the covers over her head and turns away from the door.
“No, we’re not doing this sulking thing. C’mon.” He grabs BP from the foot of the bed and sets him on the floor. BP is unhappy about it, grumbling annoyed cat noises while he stretches and searches for a new sleep spot.
“Oh, hush. You love me.” Bin argues with himself, it seems, because BP ignores him.
He gently tugs at Barbie’s comforter. He’s trying to give her a chance to let it go. And when she doesn’t, he just snatches it from her hands and tosses it to the end of the bed. He sits on the edge and waits for her to sit up. She doesn’t.
“Um, hello?! I have no pants on!” B protests, though she makes no effort to hide anything. Her sleep shirt is long enough that it covers everything anyway.
“Oh, no! Legs! What’s a man to do?!” Bin faux gasps, clutching his hand to his chest.
He deadpans seconds later. “C’mon, Barbie.”
“If you say, let’s go party, I will kick you in the stomach.”
Bin blinks at her. “Just get up!”
“I don’t want to!” She thrashes around in protest, tears already threatening to expose themselves. “I’m in pain, I’m humiliated, I’ve been invaded, I’m-“
“Invaded?” Bin tilts his head, amused.
She props herself up on her elbows. “Chris is here.” And just as quickly, drops herself back flat on the bed.
Bin mouths a silent oh.
“Well, he can come too.” Changbin pats her leg and stands.
“Where are we allegedly going?” Once again up on her elbows, B eyes him carefully.
“The beach. Obviously.”
An eyebrow raises. “In autumn?”
“Nobody said we were swimming. Now get up, and take a shower. You smell like sadness.”
He finds his way to her tall dresser across the room and starts rummaging through it for appropriate clothing.
She sighs in defeat, dragging herself up to a sitting position. A hefty yawn escapes her lips, and it dawns on her she has no idea what time of day it is.
“Wait, what time is it?” B searches for her phone, but it’s not in its usual spot on her nightstand. “And where’s my phone?”
“7:30.”
“AM?!”
Bin waves her off as if it’s unimportant information.
“You do realize this is an executable offense.”
He turns his head to look at her, evil smile spread across his face. “Kill me and I’ll haunt you until your last breath.”
It’s probably true.
He tosses some clothes at her and points to the bathroom, exiting the bedroom in the same stride. “Shower. I’m gonna go wake your brother up.”
“Best of luck, soldier.”
She takes a deep breath, determined to face whatever the day throws her way. She quickly grabs the clothes thrown at her and heads to the bathroom. As she steps inside, a feeling of dread overcomes her.
Why do I feel like this day is going to be a shitshow?
She closes her eyes and prays for the best.
The shower is surprisingly refreshing. Once she finally convinced herself to get in, it’s hard to get out. A full wash can be quite draining most days, but the effort came with a little more ease once the warm stream also warmed the room. She leaves a little less dread-filled and a little more hungry.
After she gets dressed and styles herself to her liking, she heads to the spare room to see how successful Bin is at getting Chris up. He’s usually hard to rise since he doesn’t sleep much, either.
She finds her brother and her friend..giggling. On the bed. Bin lightly punches Chris’s arm, and Chris falls into a full fit of laughter.
She smiles, happy to see some of her favorite people so happy. “What’s so funny?”
Their laughs settle, and Chris waves her off. “It’s nothing.”
Bin agrees, lingering laughter escaping. “Don’t worry about it, Barbie.”
She frowns, but doesn’t press. The uneasy feeling in her is growing, but doesn’t have the energy to have it out with them about it.
“Oh. Well, are we going to leave soon?” Her entire demeanor shifts.
“Soon, we’re just waiting for one more arrival.” No one has time to address B's body language because as if on cue, the door shakes violently. The doorknob attempts to turn, but, of course, it’s locked. The door shakes again, and B sighs.
“Why would you leave a brainless squirrel outside by himself?”
Bin shrugs.
“I heard that!” It’s slightly muffled, but the hurt is still there.
B unlocks the door and steps back, allowing Jisung to clamber inside. He almost crashes into Barbie with how aggressively he runs in. He’s breathing heavy, dramatically sets his hands on his knees to ‘catch his breath’. When he stands, he narrows his eyes at his friend.
“The door wouldn’t open.”
B laughs. “Because it's locked, dumbass.”
“How was I supposed to know that?”
“When it didn’t open?” She ruffles his hair. He swats her hand away and attempts to fix it, muttering something under his breath.
Han Jisung is…a special friend. He can be incredibly intelligent, and very insightful, but it’s blanketed by a lack of common sense sometimes. Most times. He likes to say he’s too smart for his own good. There’s a sliver of truth to the statement.
“Can we go now?”
The beach itself is relatively uneventful. Bin packed a picnic kit and some chairs for the group to just sit and talk for a while. He even packed a book for B for when she’s burnt out socially. It’s a kind gesture, but B opts to just sit and listen to the waves, conversation as her background noise. Jisung chooses to sit with her in silence. Eventually, she lays her head on his shoulder. It’s the happiest she’s been all week.
Nobody says anything to her until they start getting back to the car.
“You know, it’s okay to talk about it.” Chris says, pulling his seatbelt across his lap in the driver’s seat. “How you feel about it.”
B shakes her head. “I don’t know how I feel.”
“That’s fine too.” It’s the last he says on the subject.
The rest of the boys pile in after closing the back of the car, resuming whatever new conversation they’d started on the walk back. B doesn’t really take in much of it. Until she heard something about her brother’s birthday.
“Oh, yeah! Have you finished everything for Saturday, Chris?”
“Yeah, about that…” He cringes, like the words are paining him.
“What did you do.”
“ThevenuecanceledandwehavenowhereelsetohostitsoIwashopingyouwouldletususetheapartment.” The words blur together, but she manages to get the gist. And she’s not happy about it.
“And how long have you known this, Christopher?” She stares him down through the rear view mirror.
“Just since yesterday! I swear! I was just as mad as you are but I know that you love me and you’ll do me this major solid and I’ll owe you big time.” He flashes her his biggest smile, hoping it’ll seal the deal. The car is quiet, save for the radio, while she contemplates her answer.
“…Yeah, you’ll owe me big time.”
The whole car lets out a sigh of relief. “You’re the best!” Chris sing-songs. B flips him the bird, smile fighting at the corners of her lips.
❛ ━━━━━━・❪ ❁ ❫ ・━━━━━━ ❜
Turns out, Chris has much more of his party planning shit together than anyone realises. The transition from venue to house party is relatively smooth over the next few days.. Hiding away the valuables and ultra breakables (nobody plans to get that wasted, but who knows), deep cleaning every room in the house, locking doors to off-limit rooms, the works.
“Do you really not trust your friends that much?” Barbie questions. She’s washing up the rest of the dishes before she has zero energy left.
“It’s not his friends he’s worried about, Barbie.” Seungmin joins in, spread comfortably across her couch.
“Oh, right. The New Year’s incident.” Jisung had gotten so drunk he’d gone up to every single person at the party and challenged them to an arm wrestle, and if they lost, he got to kiss them. He almost left with a broken arm.
“We agreed we won't talk about that anymore.” Jisung gripes anytime somebody mentions it.
“You agreed. With yourself.” B counters.
Jisung, Changbin, and Chris all make weird eye contact with one another. It sets off that uneasy feeling in B’s stomach again. It’s so frustrating to feel out of the loop. Again.
“What is this, some sort of weird intimate mindmeld? What aren’t you guys telling me?”
They make eye contact again, and Bin clears his throat.
“Um, Felix is, uh, coming to the party.”
Her stomach drops at his name. Whether that’s from anger or something else is unknown. She hides her feelings behind a neutral face.
“Oh. Well, I knew that. He and Chris have been friends for ages.”
Nobody’s buying it.
“Are you sure?” He speaks slowly; he’s scared to spook her.
“Yes. Just because he can’t be civil doesn’t mean I can’t. Kill ‘em with kindness, yeah?” She shrugs and walks off to her room as casually as she can manage.
She locks her door behind her and can feel a panic attack rising with every breath. She uses her grounding techniques to fight it off before it consumes her.
Okay, I have exactly…16 hours to get my shit together. Oh shit. Chris was right. I just need to get through the night, and then I can sit his ass down and sort this shit out. His being into me is the only logical explanation for all his bullshit. It has to be. Yeah, I’m gonna talk to him when this is all over.
She eventually hears a knocking sound in the back of her mind. It takes a few seconds to register that it is, in fact, a real knocking sound.
“Hey, y’okay? We can tell him no if that’s what you want. Believe me, I have no issue doing that with how stupid he’s been acting lately.”
She tries to laugh, but it comes out choked. It’s more air than sound. Some stray tears get eaten, which is weird because she didn’t even realize she was crying. She wipes her face and gets off the bed to unlock the door.
She’s met on the other side of the door with Chris leaning on the doorframe, a sympathetic look adorning his face.
“It’s okay, really. One night won’t kill me.”
“I’d be a shit brother to let him around after all this.”
“Good thing it’s not your call, then! It’s mine, and I say I want to move forward.”
Chris nods. He knows when it’s the final straw for her, and she’s nearing it. He doesn’t bring it up again. She’s grateful for it.
One more day and I’ll get my answers.
….
….
She jolts awake, a scream echoing through her brain. Was it real? Was it in her head?
She takes a moment to process her surroundings. The clock says 2:26 am. It’s dark. It’s cold. She realises 3 things:
She had a nightmare.
Felix is not here. She doesn’t know where he is. Thankfully? Unfortunately? Why do I wanna know where he is?
The scream was real, as noted by Chris and Changbin rushing to her room to see what had happened. My bad, bro.
It takes a cup of tea, half a movie, and an extra body (Changbin) in her room to get her back to sleep. It’s in moments like this that she deeply appreciates the friends she has and the way they support her.
When she wakes in normal operating hours, Changbin is still asleep in her bed. Granted, he’s somehow wrapped up in two blankets, and one of his legs is hanging off the bed, but he’s still there. She reaches across and attempts to unravel him because it must be hot like that, but all he does is grumble something that sounds like, “Get off my head,” and rolls toward the middle of the bed.
Can't say I didn’t try.
B leaves him to his fate and gets herself ready for the day.
❛ ━━━━━━・❪ ❁ ❫ ・━━━━━━ ❜
“Hi! Thank you for coming!” B greets guests happily, hugging and smiling as each person steps over the threshold of her apartment. She gestures to the nearest bedroom, offers them a place to drop their bag and coat, and tells them to enjoy themselves. It’s the same formula for nearly every person.
While doing rounds, she spots a familiar face by the back door.
“Look at you, all dressed up!” She wolf whistles at him, and Seungmin’s face reddens, but he brushes her off. Truthfully, it's just a button-up and pants, but he looks good anyway.
“I was told dress nice or die, so.” He does his best to keep a neutral face, but it’s obvious he’s in good spirits.
“Well, you look very nice. Very handsome.” B teases, pinching at his cheek. She loves to mess with him like an older sister, and as much as he complains, B has a feeling he doesn’t mind one bit. To save face, however, he ducks away and wanders off to find his friend Jeongin.
Chris is mingling happily as cohost, beer in hand, as he hugs or high-fives his friends who made it out here. Communicating the last-minute change was the hardest part, but they made it work. It's nice to see him relaxed. It doesn’t go unnoticed how he works himself into the ground at that studio of his. Hopefully, this week has been a nice break from that.
A hand on her back makes her jump,and she gets immediately defensive. Have spins around, ready to say something about personal space, but it’s just Changbin. “My bad, my bad! I didn’t mean to scare you!” He looks…nice. Fitted polo shirt that shows off his arms (shocker) and neutral pants. It’s a good look when you add in the watch on his wrist.
“Just wanted to tell you that you look cute, Barbie!” He continues, gesturing to the dress B picked for the evening. Black and simple. Hair and makeup to match.
Elegant. Classy. Easy, breezy, beautiful, covergirl.
She smiles. “It has pockets!” She dips her hands into the pockets and twirls the dress to show it off.
“I’m thrilled for you and your pockets. Do you want a drink?” She takes him up on his offer, and he sets off on his mission.
In the meantime, she checks up on supplies. Everything seems to be good. Something catches her attention back toward the entry, and B’s heart drops to her ass.
In walks Felix. And he looks divine. Black turtleneck, black pants, he even dyed his hair. She swears time has stopped.
Holy shit. Just, holy shit.
She agreed with everyone earlier against greeting him for fear of a cold shoulder. She knows herself, and she won’t let it slide if he decides to show out today, and today is not the day for that. Tomorrow, definitely, but not today. Instead, she just watches him walk in and barely notices the person following behind him.
Binnie returns with her drink, and they watch Felix timidly approach Chris. They share a mildly awkward embrace. Another person is standing beside Felix, a woman who looks just as, if not more, uncomfortable by the situation. They can’t hear what’s being said, but they see Chris give Felix a weird look before turning his attention to the woman. Chris greets her politely, gestures to the kitchen, and makes eye contact with Bin across.
It genuinely looks like he’s trying to say something telepathically, and Bin almost looks like he understands.
Men. How fucking weird.
Just like it’s weird that Bin steps behind her, semi-casually wrapping an arm around her waist. “Don't do anything crazy.” Is all he says. She’s so busy getting ready to question how much he’s had to drink and what the fuck he means that she doesn’t notice when Felix approaches. Felix clears his throat and stops an awkward distance away.
She acknowledges him by meeting his eye but doesn’t break Bin’s hold.
“Felix.” Bin doesn’t hide his ire. Apparently, things haven’t been as smooth as he’s been telling Barbie it has been. She makes a mental note to bring it up later.
“Long time no see, huh?” He attempts a laugh, but it falls flat.
B scoffs. “And whose fault is that?”
Bin squeezes her waist, a warning. She ‘accidentally’ steps on his foot in response.
“How are you?” He looks straight at B. He almost sounds…genuine. She contemplates giving him a real answer. Changbin answers before she can say anything-“We’re fine.”
Felix goes silent. The moment stretches, long and very awkward. It’s becoming more and more uncomfortable with each blink, and B prepares to just walk away before Bin decides to speak up.
“Who’s your friend?” He gestures to the woman pretending to look around the room. Felix reaches for her hand, and she smiles, interlocking their fingers. She’s pretty. Like, really pretty. Between the two of them, B’s not exactly sure who she should be looking at.
“This is my girlfriend, Aila.”
Changbin’s grip on ‘his’ girl tightens.
I think I’m gonna throw up.
#felix fluff#felix x reader#skz felix fluff#skz felix x reader#skz x reader#stray kids fic#stray kids imagines#stray kids x reader#stray kids felix fic
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Is it Casual Now? (Part 2)
Kate Lethbridge-Stewart x Reader
Summary: After you call things off with Kate, you realise that no matter how much you avoid her, your feelings won’t go away.
Warnings: Implied sex, explicit language
You don’t speak to her for a month, which is impressive considering you’re under her command. She’d tried to call you once or twice, you’d caught her staring in a few team meetings, but other than that it was like the past year had never happened. You delete the photos off your phone, shove her things into shoe box under your bed and attempt to erase any reminder of her from your personal life.
You think you can manage. UNIT’s a good job - the best job in fact, the sort of thing you’d dreamed of since you were small. You work with aliens, you save the world, you’re challenged every day. Surely all of that balances out the pain of seeing her on the regular?
Avoiding her is easy, you tell yourself. You simply make sure you’re assigned to projects she isn’t leading on, stop going for after-work drinks and keep your head down at your laptop.
It’s when the rumours about her and Colonel Ibrahim start that you realise perhaps it actually won’t be so easy. Donna mentions it to you in passing one morning, mid-gossip over the coffee machine.
“Have you heard about the Commander and the Colonel?”
You stop stirring your coffee.
“No?”
“Mel was saying she saw him pick her up from work yesterday.” Donna’s grinning like she’s caught the scoop of the century. Usually you’d have been just as invested, but instead you feel like you’ve left your body and are stood watching a stranger have this conversation with Donna.
“Oh,” you manage. “That’s funny.”
You hurry off to your next meeting, hands trembling and barely able to concentrate. It couldn’t be true, could it?
You can’t bring yourself to ask Mel. You don’t want to know, and as long as you don’t know you can convince yourself it’s not happening. You go through the motions, pretending that you don’t see the intimate whispers between Kate and Christofer on the command deck, pretend you don’t notice them sat too closely together in meetings.
Your delusion is shattered after Sutekh. You’re brought back to life rather dizzingly after being disintegrated into sand, and of course the first person you think of is Kate. Except when you look over, the Colonel’s already with her, helping her up and there they are sharing that look again. She manages to spare you a cursory glance but then… then she’s holding his hand. In front of everyone.
Your stomach rolls. You want to throw up. You think you physically feel your heart break in two and you rush off home early, skipping the debrief and breaking protocol in the process.
You thought you could do it but she’s making it impossible. You hate her. How could she? A whole year together and she was over it in a month, moving onto someone she was happily displaying around the office like she was in love. Worst of all, the staff were happy for her, leaving you her dirty secret, some mere side piece that had meant nothing.
You knock on her office door the next day and place your resignation letter on her desk.
“What’s this?” She looks over the top of her reading glasses at you. Those eyes used to make you melt and now you feel nothing but cold hard resentment.
“It’s my four weeks notice,” you tell her plainly.
“Why?” She frowns.
“I’ve decided it’s time to move on from UNIT,”
“Don’t be silly, Y/N,” she takes off her glasses and sits back in her chair. It’s the first time you’re alone together since you fucked her in that restaurant bathroom. “I’m not accepting it.”
“You can’t not accept it.”
“Watch me.”
“I’m not playing whatever game this is.” You turn to leave, but she’s up and moving around her desk, grabbing your arm. You’re immediately transported back to the last time you’d argued in here and how you’d given up the fight as soon as she’d kissed you, forgiving her for everything.
Not this time.
“Is this about us?” She hisses the “us” like it’s a bad word.
“Of course it’s about us.” you shrug her off.
“Y/N, you’re one of my best soldiers. I’m not letting you walk out of here over something so petty.”
Your face burns.
“Yeah well you’ve got plenty other soldiers to choose from haven’t you?”
Realisation dawns on her face.
“This is about Colonel Ibrahim isn’t it?”
“That and a million other things, Kate.” You tell her. “You’re insufferable.”
She has a the decency to look hurt, adopting that face of hers that looks like a slapped puppy. You had a sharp tongue and you knew how to use it.
“I can’t sit here,” you tell her, “and watch you parade your new toy boy around the office in front of everyone like we didn’t basically date for a year.”
“You’re the one who called it off.”
“Because you were hiding me from everyone!”
“I was trying to protect you!”
“From what, Kate?” You say exasperatedly, “I was in love with you and you knew it, and yet you still let our friends-with-benefits thing carry on for your own amusement. The only thing I should have been protected from is you.”
She stares at you, and maybe her eyes are a little wet. You don’t allow yourself to linger on them.
“I’ve left your stuff in a box in my locker if you want to grab it,” you tell her matter-of-factly.
“I don’t want my fucking stuff, Y/N,” she sighs, leaning against her desk - slumping against it, even. “I want you.”
“You should’ve treated me like it.”
“I thought you’d come back,” she confesses, wiping away a stray tear.
You feel your anger subside slightly, replaced by confusion. You’d never seen her cry before.
“You loved me?” She asks hoarsely.
“Don’t act like you didn’t know.”
She doesn’t reply and looks down at the floor guiltily.
“Do you still?”
“You think I’d be resigning if I didn’t feel anything for you?”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t think it would get this serious.”
“We went on holiday together. I slept in your bed for days on end. You let it get serious.”
“I know, I know,” she admits, “pure self-indulgence. I shouldn’t have led you on when I wasn’t ready for it.”
It’s the most you’ve ever gotten out of her on this subject, and still she isn’t reciprocating your feelings.
“Self-indulgence?” You repeat.
“I…” she waves her hand searching for the words. “I wasn’t ready to be in love again after my divorce. And I didn’t to have to put my kids through another one of my tumultuous relationships. And I didn’t want you to get stuck with someone twice your age and your boss. And… I didn’t want to stop seeing you. I could give you a million excuses, Y/N. They wouldn’t make up for how I’ve made you feel.”
“That’s what you mean by protecting me?” You ask, “You didn’t think I might want a say?”
She grimaces.
“Was it just sex?” You ask softly, because you have to know, once and for all.
She shakes her head.
“And Christofer?”
“A rebound.”
“Have you slept with him?”
She nods and your heart plummets again.
“Just the once,” she says, “I was trying to stop thinking about you. Trying to kid myself I could forget about it.”
You want to hate her for it but you can’t. After all, you’d slept with someone whilst you were with Kate, trying to distract yourself from your feelings. It would be hypocritical to expect differently of her.
“I tell him to piss off.” She pleads, “Say it was nothing. Hell, I’ll even find a way to fire him if that’s what you need to forgive me.”
“I couldn’t ever not forgive you Kate, that’s kind of been my ongoing issue for the last year.”
She huffs a laugh, reaching out to take your hand. You gaze at her, taking in all her familiar features that you’ve abstained from for a whole month. You’re leaning in and then… she pulls back.
“No.” She says and you want to scream but then: “This isn’t just a quick fuck. We should do this properly. Let me take you to dinner?”
She’d taken you to dinner a dozen times before but this felt different.
“Oliveli?” She suggests, “With your favourite pasta and the really good french martini’s?”
You nod.
“And then,” she suggests, rubbing her thumb over your hand, “and then maybe it’s time I sat the kids down and had a chat to them about you.”
It’s the closest admission to love you’d ever heard from her. You can’t help the smile creeping onto her face.
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
Her hand falls to the desk and crumples up your notice. Without tearing her eyes away from yours, her perfect aim lands it in the bin across the room.
#doctor who#doctor who imagine#angst#gender neutral reader#fluff#kate lethbridge stewart x reader#kate stewart imagine#kate stewart x reader#kate lethbridge stewart#kate stewart#jemma redgrave x reader#jemma redgrave imagine#jemma redgrave#chappell roan
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tolerate it
actor!eren x f!reader
**part of my method acting series
previous part linked here
song: (is obviously) tolerate it by taylor swift. minor you are in love by taylor swift mention.
--
--
You can’t help but stare at Jean and Mikasa the following morning. The honey sweet smiles, the fact that they share a cup of coffee instead of getting their own – just to end up drinking two cups anyways – and the warm kisses on each other's cheeks.
They’re in love.
The slip of paper sits heavy in your pocket, a metallic taste in your mouth from the blood you drew from biting down on your cheek. The ring on her finger glimmers in the light.
Colt’s at your side, a soft hand on your shoulder, as he nearly breaks you out of your trance.
“Hey. You good?” he asks.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Why’d you ask?” you mumble.
You drive your fork straight into the french toast as a distraction, but too hard that it squeaks against the ceramic of the plate and makes them all flinch in response. Jean and Mikasa turn their heads to you, and you shoot them all an apologetic smile before everyone turns back to their own conversations. And Jean distractedly tucks a stray hair behind Mikasa’s ear, before lacing his fingers with hers.
“Y/N. You’re sure? You’re kind of….”
“Kind of what?”
Colt sighs, the corners of his mouth twitching before he speaks.
“You just kind of had that blank stare in your eyes. Just wanted to know if you wanted to talk about anything.”
You pause, putting your hand on his shoulder this time. The guilt sits heavy in your stomach – the never ending worry you’ve seemed to sow in both of your brothers was almost embarrassing.
“It’s not that, Colt. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just…it’s just about Jean and Mikasa. But…but if I needed you, I would tell you. And-and I know that sometimes I kind of scared you but I-”
Colt breaks a smile, bringing his hands up to squish your cheeks hard, before he starts aggressively rattling your head.
That’s the thing about him. He’d never let you feel bad about it. About him taking care of you – because according to him, it was always his job. You hate that you rely on it so much.
“Only thing scary about you is your bedhead. Or your attitude. Or that god awful-” Colt states.
“Okay, Jesus. You’re laying it on a little thick there.” you respond, trailing your voice.
“I’m glad you’re okay. And that your…your…Eren stuff is mostly resolved?”
You smile. Colt and Levi have one thing in common – that they’ll always be a little bit disapproving of your relationship with Eren (whatever that is) just on principle.
“Kind of.”
Colt squints.
“Well, he actually showed me the documentary after you came back from Seattle. He kind of…told me all that stuff when I asked a while back and it didn’t necessarily make sense. But watching the video, I…kind of feel bad for the guy.” Colt murmurs.
“Me too.” you respond.
The two of you look over at him, at the quiet conversation that he and Armin are having, soft smiles on both of their faces. And then watch those turn into devious grins as Armin digs his fingers into his glass for an ice cube – and then consequently watch Eren slip the ice down Reiner’s shirt.
“You still like him? He just shoved an ice cube down someone's shirt and thought it was funny.” Colt asks.
You frown.
“It is funny. And I’m kind of…putting that on the back burner.”
“Why?”
“I feel like I need everything else to be finished, the book needs to be shut before we….do anything again. I want to say my piece – have the documentary out, do my stupid triple threat performance – before I can even consider anything with him. If…”
Your throat is heavy.
“If I want anything with him again, I’ll have to do it right. I-I have to move carefully with everything from here because…a lot is riding on this. And if I’m not a hundred percent sure yet, I don’t want to push. He deserves better than that.”
Colt smiles, a rare kiss pressed to the top of your head before he stands up. You shoot him a grateful smile before turning back to Jean and Mikasa, watching her balance both of their plates before she leaves to put them in the sink.
“Jean?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you filming today?” you ask.
“Nope. What’s up?”
You pull the piece of paper out and hold it out to him. He reads it over, quickly recognizing it’s his, before he closes it in his fist. The look he gives you is soft, a quiet glance to Mikasa before he looks back at you.
“I’m all yours for today, princess.” he responds.
--
When everyone leaves for set, you and Jean find yourselves lying flat on the carpet in your room, quietly staring at the popcorn ceiling. His hands are up, holding the little slip of paper above both of your faces, an empty page open at your side, and you’re both uncharacteristically quiet.
It’s almost strange. Trying to broach something so…sensitive with Jean.
Because it’s not that you aren’t friends, but you were never friends like this. It’s like you two knew where loyalties lied. That Jean was Eren’s best friend, that you were Mikasa’s – and if it came to it, you would side with your person. That you had expectations for each other, that you held each other to a higher standard because of it.
To be careful with the person you trusted them with. That Jean could never hurt Mikasa. That you couldn’t do the same to Eren.
You didn’t hold up to your end of the deal.
“Mikasa’s going to ask you to be her maid of honor again soon.” Jean murmurs, voice so quiet you barely hear it.
You give him a quiet nod.
“We’ve got a whole scheme going. Trying to make Amy quit on her own accord so it isn't family drama. It’s fun to kind of mess with her. And the second she’s gone, Mikasa’s going to ask you to do it again.”
You can’t muster a response. You can’t even think about being Mikasa’s maid of honor.
Because why are Jean and Mikasa getting married if Mikasa doesn’t love him half as much as he loves her? If he thinks that she doesn’t?
“I do hope for my future wife’s sake that your silence means you’re going to say yes. Would hate to see you ruin our wedding.” Jean states, a joking tone in his voice.
You crack.
“I’ll say yes. I’m not crazy.” you state .
Jean smiles.
“You could have fooled me.”
You elbow him hard in the side, as you watch the fan spin around.
“You’re a dick.” you state.
“You’re going to have to get me a gift you know? I’d watch your mouth if I were you.”
“Why would I buy you a gift at my best friend's wedding?” you ask.
“Mika’s idea. We’re sharing our lives together. Including, sharing friends. So instead of you guys getting us gifts, Eren’s going to get something for Mikasa and you’re going to get something for me.” Jean states.
“We’ve always been friends. You guys were always there for me.” you state.
“I know that. But, my friendship with you was exclusive to the fact that you were my my girlfriend's best friend. We aren’t really close and I think we both know that. And Eren and Mikasa are close now, have been for some time, and…and you and I can be too. We’ve got something that brings us together.”
You sit up, leaning against the back of the bed, as you dig your feet into the carpet. It makes sense. Jean was always there at your side, and you always felt close with him, but it was almost like you knew that you could never go further than that.
He was Eren’s friend. So in that type of way, he couldn’t be yours.
“What’s that?”
“Eren. No one we love more than him, right?”
You smile.
“You love Eren more than your future wife?”
He rolls his eyes.
“Shut the fuck up. You know what I meant. And we love Mikasa that way too.”
“Not sure I did…I fear I’ll have to tell her, just on a best friend principle type of thing.”
Jean shoves you, elbow straight to the side that makes you laugh.
“Weirdly enough, Eren and Mikasa started getting along when they talked about me. And they always talk about how nice it is, to talk about me with each other because they get it or whatever.”
You scrunch your nose.
“They’re so weird.”
“Tell me about it. The first time they hung out without me I was almost offended. Like what the fuck did you even talk about? And they were like you, Jean. Like I was supposed to be flattered or something.”
You laugh.
“Oh, god.”
“Thought it was dumb. Then…then Mikasa and I started having our problems. And them being friends…it did a lot for us. Eren talked to her when she didn’t have anyone to talk to about that type of thing, someone who understood what I was like…what it was like to be close with me…sometimes I think it saved our relationship.”
You pause, taking the little slip from his fingers, before you read it again.
you love someone with your entire being and all they do is tolerate it
“Jean. What happened?” you whisper.
Jean smiles, as you lean your head on his shoulder and loop your hand through his arm. He welcomes the touch, slouching back as you both swing your legs out in front of you.
“You only fall in love with three people in your lifetime. I just happened to do it all with the same person.” Jean murmurs.
You’ve heard this before. A dumb thing you’ve heard parroted around - the puppy love, the one that hurts you, and the one that’s just right.
“The first one is the one that looks right. It’s…it’s idealistic. You’re fifteen – you’re on the set, confined into this little bubble, and you think that you’re the first person to figure love out and other people are stupid for not getting it right.. That no one has ever felt the way you have, that you’re the first people to ever love and you’ll be the last ones too. That’s how Mikasa and I were at the beginning. We liked how we made each other feel more than we really liked each other.” Jean states.
“Isn’t that what love…kind of is? Someone who brings out the best in you? Pushes you to do things that make you nervous, support you behind your back?”
Like sending a demo of your first song to the Institute so that you could perform it. Like climbing onto the stage and playing the piano when your original pianist couldn’t. Like writing to the Institute behind your back just to make sure your dream would come true – being so firmly resolute in the fact that you were brilliant that he’d write hopeless letters just to convince them.
Eren.
“I liked Mikasa, from the start. I wanted her so badly that…that when we started dating, I was more happy by the fact that I was dating her. That I got to say that. Not that we were…actually together. And Mikasa, she liked the fact that I would fawn over her. That I basically worshiped the ground she walked on. And I’m not…putting words in her mouth. She’d tell you the same thing.”
“Okay. Keep going.” you nudge.
“The second love is the hard one. That teaches you a lesson about what love really is. And it all boiled down to a simple fact. That Mikasa and I loved each other in different ways.”
“You don’t love her more than she loves you, Jean. She-she adores you.” you murmur.
Jean smiles, glassy tears wavering in your eyes.
“Don’t cry. We are still getting married, you know? And we’re pretty over the fucking moon about it.”
“Then why would you give me that?”
“It was Mikasa’s idea. She wanted you to write that song with me. This is what we did with Eren when we were writing songs with him. Gave him things to think about. Maybe thinking about other people will give you more insight on yourself. Help you piece things together, because you rarely have experiences that are unique to you. And it's a nice bonus to have friends who basically write the soundtrack to your life.”
You sniffle, glaring at him through your watery eyes.
“Of course you made this about Eren.”
“Do you blame me? He wrote a really good song about us. Figured you could do the same.” he asks.
You sigh, barely pushing the air through that heavy block in your chest.
“What did he call it?”
“You Are In Love.” he states.
You hum in response as Jean gives you a smile, before leaning his head against yours.
“Mikasa and I loved each other in different ways. She could be trying her absolute hardest, doing everything she could, and it would never work for me.” Jean states.
“What do you mean?”
“The problems from before bled in. We were too comfortable in what we had, that we wouldn’t leave each other, that it became too easy. That she could pull away and I’d still be there. And part of the problem is me – that Mikasa did no wrong in my mind. I was…enamored by her. Almost like I was lucky to even be dating her, that..that she’d leave if I did something wrong.”
You frown.
“I’d walk into the room and we wouldn’t have seen each other in weeks. She couldn’t even be bothered to look at me. I…I never got to see her because of work so I’d fly out to her. Just for her to be dead asleep. And it would make me happy, that I sacrificed my entire sleep schedule just to watch her breathe with her eyes closed. That it was enough for me.”
You can’t help but think of Eren’s birthday – that you were tired from touring and that you had slept through the entire thing. That he wouldn’t even wake you up, that he’d never break what you wanted for what he needed.
“Jean.”
“I’d go all out for her birthday. Throw her a surprise party, have Vanity Fair film the entire process. And the small things she’d give me – calling me a pet name once in a while, giving me a kiss on the cheek. It’s almost like I was working based on a reward system. That if I was good, if I worked hard enough, she would love me.”
You can feel the tears falling down your eyes, choking back that sound in the back of your throat from coming out.
“I’d buy all this…fancy shit for her. Nice dinner sets, the most…expensive couches and stuff. And sometimes when I did, it…it was almost like she’d find it annoying. I would be doing interviewers gushing about her, just for her to come home and say that it was too much. It’s like I was a nuisance. Like all I did was create problems with her.”
Jean pulls out his wallet, before handing you a picture. It’s a polaroid of the two of them smiling.
“That was the day we got engaged. The second time.”
“What?”
“I broke up with her.”
You pinch your lips into a flat line.
“I was sitting there. Watching her, like I always did. And she still wouldn’t even fucking look at me. And I was thinking so hard…why was she my whole world? My literal fucking sky? She doesn’t even give a fuck about me. So I left.”
“For how long?”
“We didn’t get back together until four months after. But…but it wasn’t a break. Didn’t even last a day actually without seeing each other.” Jean states.
You smile.
“Didn’t last very long there, Jean.”
He rolls his eyes.
“She came back to me, dipshit.”
Jean takes the picture back, a fond smile on his face.
“The third love is the one that you never see coming. It keeps knocking on your door until you're ready to answer. And if you’re Mikasa, you wait three whole months for me to come around. Ready to prove it that you’ll work to do it right. And never let me forget it either.” Jean murmurs.
“Really?”
“That’s right. The time apart gave us time to think. I needed that – but she didn’t. She was at my door almost everyday. Sometimes she would sit out there and just talk – and I’d listen. She was being earnest – that she wanted to love me, that she knows she did wrong. And when I let her in, the conversation we had, it was like I was seeing Mikasa, the person, for the first time. That was the person I loved. I wasn’t looking at her as some like…dream girl and I didn’t think she was some goddess doing me a favor either. She was just Mikasa. I proposed right there and it was better than the first time. Not in the idealistic, fifteen year old way. Not in the nineteen year old, all consuming way. Loving her this time around was weightless. And I knew that it was right.”
You smile.
“It’s not as romantic. That we’ve loved each other since fifteen and we’ve never wavered. But…I’d argue that it’s better. Mikasa and I aren’t childhood sweethearts because we’re soulmates. We’re childhood sweethearts because we fought for each other. There’s no fate, there’s no luck, in fact the quite opposite – the love lies in the fact that we won’t let each other go.”
He takes your hands, tears nearly collecting in his waterline.
“Y/N. Mikasa loves me. I love her. There’s not a day that she doesn’t prove it to me now. There’s not a day that I can’t even spend without her because she’s the love of my life.”
You smile, cupping his cheek with your hand. And you get it - that he’s right. That it’s not romantic, but it almost is. Jean and Mikasa fight hellish odds just to end up together. That fate could try its best and never get to them.
That you and Eren being friends, that being together, is a testament to your love. That he fought his way back to you and you were intent on fighting your way back to him.
“That’s nothing short of what you deserve.” you whisper.
It’s enough to make him cry.
“Thank you.”
Jean smiles. It’s the first time that you notice that Jean’s attractive. That Jean’s someone that you really love. That he’s going to be Mikasa’s husband, that he’s going to be Eren’s best friend, that he’s going to be around forever. That he’s earnest, that he loves hard, that you’re going to stand at his side when he gets married.
And that you’re going to give him his dream wedding if it’s the last thing you do.
“Are you getting the drift of why Mika and I wanted you to write this song?” Jean asks.
“I’m not a fucking idiot, Jean.”
“Do you believe it?”
You swallow hard.
“If Eren and I can get back to that, when-when I’ve put everything else to rest, then yes. Yeah, we…we’d be the same. That we fought odds to be together.”
“I’m glad your mind isn’t closed to it. That you’re open to the idea of you and him again. S’always something I’ve appreciated about you.”
You smile.
“We aren’t there yet, Jean.”
“I know. But when it comes to it, I can tell you will be. He’s been my person since I was a kid, but you’re my friend too. I’ve got a personal stake in your relationship now.”
You can’t help but beam at him. And in your newfound friendship, Jean divulges everything that Eren’s hiding from you. And you both agonize over the fact that Eren’s so painfully stupid – that he always hides his great gestures of love, moves in silence behind your backs to love you.
--
You gather everyone around later that day, with Jean seated at the piano at your side. You shoot him a thumbs up as they all sit criss crossed around the piano, excited smiles on their faces. Falco and Gabi doing their secret handshake, Hange and Levi sharing a chair - it makes you smile.
“Are we ready?” you ask.
They all give you a nod, as Eren and Mikasa sit next to each other, whispering in each other’s ears. Jean did as you promised – warned Mikasa beforehand that it was this song – and she all but gave a golden stamp of approval, contingent on the fact that Eren sat with her while the two of you performed it together. And you give the two of them a nod before you take the little slip in your hands.
“The request is you love someone with your entire being and all they do is tolerate it. And it’s from Jean.” you state.
The group of them all give affirmative hums, before you take a seat next to Jean at the piano.
Eren’s stupid songwriting exercise – it was something that he had planned for you, on purpose. That it meant more for you than for any of them – that all of the requests are intended to be of this nature, something personal for you to work with.
Eren asked them to help you in whatever way they thought you needed.
For Jean, and Mikasa by extension, it was that they thought you needed living proof; that you could weather the storm and still be together. That you could come out stronger because of it.
And it’s also why Jean got mad at Connie in retrospect – and Reiner too apparently – who gave more tame requests. But in their humble defenses, Jean said that they gave those so that you wouldn’t get emotional whiplash.
They thought you needed someone to give you the ease amidst the storm.
You love all of them. Painfully so.
Jean starts with the tiny piano composition he prepared, before you sing the song.
I wait by the door like I'm just a kid Use my best colors for your portrait Lay the table with the fancy shit And watch you tolerate it
If it's all in my head, tell me now Tell me I've got it wrong somehow I know my love should be celebrated But you tolerate it
I made you my temple, my mural, my sky Now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life Drawing hearts in the byline Always taking up too much space or time You assume I'm fine, but what would you do if I Break free and leave us in ruins Took this dagger in me and removed it Gain the weight of you, then lose it
If it's all in my head, tell me now Tell me I've got it wrong somehow I know my love should be celebrated But you tolerate it
I sit and watch you
Mikasa and Eren are the first ones to crush you and Jean in a hug. And when you lock eyes with Mikasa, you can’t be more than happy to be attending their wedding – in whatever way they’ll have you.
--
“On a scale of one to ten, how pissed will you be if Connie gets drunk before the reception?” Eren asks.
He’s shuffling through the itinerary, per Jean’s request, and the mix of an open bar and a Connie tasked with literally nothing to do in the two hour waiting period is a mess waiting to happen.
“You should give him something to do. Something stupid like getting flowers that he can’t mess up.” Eren adds, before stacking all the papers together.
“Knowing Connie, those flowers wouldn’t even make it out of the parking lot.”
Eren looks up to find Armin standing at his door, an awkward smile on his face, as he gives him a little wave. The camera that he gifted him – or left on his desk with a sticky note when he was filming without a word being spoken – is hanging around his neck as he pads into the room.
“Fuck, my bad. I thought you were Jean.”
“I figured as much. We both know that I’m smart enough to not overlook something like that.”
Eren smiles. Armin takes a seat on the bed across from Eren, retreating his legs back into position as he fumbles with the camera in his hands. He can tell that Eren’s on edge – that Eren always feels around him that way – and all he can do is try to muster his best smile.
“Remember the Met Gala where Jean and Mikasa got super drunk?”
“God. Don’t remind me. I’m genuinely concerned that they’re both going to get alcohol poisoning at their bachelor and bachelorette parties.”
“God. I wouldn’t even drink if I were you.” Armin states.
“I’m like a thousand percent sure that Y/N and I will be on sober duty.”
“Y/N?”
“Yeah. Jean and Mikasa are so insufferable that they’re doing a combined bachelor and bachelorette. But it was my idea. They just get so clingy when they’re drunk that I just decided we should combine the party beforehand instead of trying to coordinate it when everyone’s already too drunk to function.”
Armin smiles.
“Taking your best man duties very seriously. It’s going to be great.” Armin affirms.
“The anxiety helps. I’m already stuck thinking about like every worst case scenario, but now I can create contingency plans for anything bad that happens. Like if Mikasa somehow ends up in Mexico, I know that Southwest will get here the fastest on the day of the wedding.” Eren murmurs.
There’s an awkward silence. Eren said too much. And his chronic case of foot in mouth syndrome, especially when it came to fucking Armin, has him reeling. Eren’s positive that he’ll spend six hours ruminating about it tonight. Eren can see Armin fidgeting with the camera, running his fingers on the notches at the top.
“If the camera’s broken, Y/N was the one who bought it.” Eren states.
Armin laughs, the smile lines appearing around his eyes, and Eren relishes in it.
“It’s not broken.” Armin states.
“Okay, then it was me. She didn’t do anything.” Eren states.
“Noted. It’s a…it’s a nice camera. The old one, the film got stuck sometimes. Strap got kind of worn out after all of these years so it was..it is nice to have a new one. Thank you, Eren.”
Eren smiles, scratching the nape of his neck, as he feels his throat bob.
“Nothing to thank me for. It’s the least I could do.”
It’s quiet. Eren doesn’t know what to talk about. Should he ask about Annie? Or how filming has been? Or maybe he should just shut up before he embarrasses himself for a second time?
“How’s Y/N?” Armin asks.
Eren deflates. Thank god he bit the bullet first.
“Good. We’re good.”
“Are you guys…?”
Eren smiles.
“Everyone seems to be asking that.”
“In the overbearing way?”
“No, not really. You’d think that, but…it seems like a natural question for you guys to ask. She doesn’t seem to mind it either. But, I don’t know. We’re good. I’m glad she’s back. And…and Colt thinks she’s doing good too, so.” Eren states, leaning back against the headboard.
Armin seems to follow suit, the two of them awkwardly eyeing almost everything else in the room but each other. The books on the shelf, the pictures on the wall – literally anything except for that giant elephant in the room that neither of them want to touch.
“Are you going to try and date her again?” Armin asks.
“Not unless she asks me first.”
“Makes sense. Ball is kind of in her court with the documentary and all that.”
Eren’s throat feels dry.
“Oh. Did you watch it?”
Eren had offered it to him the second it was done. Because some people were more easily swayed, more quick to turn to his side when he was finally ready to ask for help – Levi, Hange, and Jean. But other’s needed to be convinced, needed to see it as it was to actually understand it – Mikasa, Historia (before she was in it), and Colt.
Eren knew that Armin would be in the latter. But when he had offered, Armin opted to break the disk in half instead.
Eren figures it was what he deserved.
“Yeah. Y/N. She gave it to me when she got back. Told me that she would never talk to me again if I didn’t watch it.”
Eren laughs.
“She would talk to you. She’s just being dramatic.”
“Well, she spent an entire two years ignoring all of us. So I wouldn’t exactly put it past her.” Armin states.
“That’s very true. But really, I feel like she was kind of using that to her advantage. She wouldn’t do it again.”
“To your advantage. Though I suppose for you two, your wants have always been the same.” Armin adds.
Eren eyes the picture on the wall – of Lana, Connie, Sukuna, him, and Teddy all swamped around Connie’s little cake – as he looks back at Armin.
“I’m sorry for breaking the CD when you gave it to me. I should have watched it the second you offered.” Armin states.
“That’s okay, Armin. I probably would have done the same thing in your position.” Eren states.
“No, you wouldn’t have. You…you were always better than me, than all of us, in that sense. Always really quick to forgive. I know it’s…it’s because you expected little from people after what happened with Zeke, but…we should have given it to you. Should have done more.”
Eren fights the urge to scoff. The premise of the statement is ridiculous to him. Those type of rules don't apply to him. And as perceptive as Armin is, he knows that’s exactly what Eren is thinking.
“We’re serious. There’s…there’s a lot of people you didn't have to forgive. And…and some of us didn’t even ask and you did it anyway.”
“I know your intentions. I broke your fucking camera, you had every right to do-”
Armin’s almost exasperated.
“You know how you were quick to forgive Y/N, for not talking to any of us when all of that stuff happened with her music and all that?”
“Yeah.”
“Why’d you do that?” Armin asks.
“Well, she had a lot going on. I’m just thankful that she came back to us eventually. And…and it’s already hard to hold anything against her, she…she always does the right thing. But that specifically. I can’t hold it against her if other things are going on.” Eren states.
Armin nods.
“That’s what I mean. You’ve always thought about everything like that. Given grace where it deserved. I’ve never had a shred of that in me. You…you did what you did and I didn’t even think twice about what it had meant. I mean hell, even Y/N had a little bit of an inkling that something else had to have happened. I just fully believed it. And even when you tried to tell me, I still didn’t consider that you could have been going through something else. Not until she came to me and advocated on your behalf.”
Eren smiles, putting a hand on Armin’s shoulder. He makes a mental note to thank you later. You prove time and time again that you’re far too good for him.
“That’s not your fault for believing it. I’m just a really good actor.” Eren teases.
Armin rolls his eyes, shoving him lightly to the side.
“Oh, fuck off. I’m fighting the urge to strangle you right now. And how’d you even come up with that bullshit anyways.?” Armin asks, referring to what Eren had said to you back in Seattle.
Eren grins.
“You have to promise you won’t tell Y/N.”
“What? You haven’t told her?”
“No, no. She knows everything but I refuse to tell her this part because she’s going to gouge my eyes out.”
Armin tilts his head to the side, confused.
“Do you remember when we were at the birthday dinner and Vinh kept asking her if she was dating Sukuna? Going on about how you can’t fake chemistry like that?” Eren asks.
Armin’s perceptive.
“Holy shit. You got the idea from her.”
Eren nods.
“That’s right. Her whole ‘I’m an actor, this is part of my job’ defense was like the first thing that came to mind when I knew I had to send her away. And that’s just what came out of me at that moment.”
“Good move on your part. I wouldn’t tell her that either.”
Eren rolls his eyes.
“It’ll be short lived. I’m sure Sukuna will tell her the first chance he gets.” Eren adds.
The two of them marinate in the silence, the weight of the conversation sitting with them. It seems pretty lackluster to an outsider – that if you were there you would have forced them to hug it out – but they were hardly the type to communicate with their words in the first place, the meaning was all the same.
They had made up.
“You have to give credit to Y/N. Your girl is trying to ride as hard for you as you did for her.”
Eren frowns.
“What do you mean? Because she got you to watch it?”
“Yeah. That. but also the award show thing? I’d be scared shitless if I was Scott Clarkson. Whenever she talks about it, it kind of freaks me the fuck out how much she doesn’t seem to care about what people think. Though in hindsight, that was always kind of her thing.”
“What awards show thing?” Eren asks.
Armin pales.
“She didn’t tell you?” Armin asks.
“No.”
Armin shakes his head.
“All in good time.”
Armin pushes off the bed, giving him a quick look over the shoulder, before consequently flashing the light of the camera in his face. Eren sees the polaroid front and center – his eyes pinched shut in shock – on the wall the following morning. And the caption makes him smile.
eren jaeger redemption arc. circa 2024.
--
“Have something for you two.” Levi states, slamming a manila envelope right in between you and Eren – startling you both from what you were doing.
Eren was playing a very aggressive game of Cup Pong with Lana on iMessage, claiming that the two of them have been playing for the past three years, nonstop. And you were busy finishing up Gabi’s request that you had pulled out of the little bowl this morning, so excited to play it for them tonight.
write about the bestest of friendships!!!! like so good that you can’t even stay away from each other bc of how fun it is to be together.
Recruiting Falco to sing one of the verses with you later – because you were almost positive that this request was about him – felt like cheating, but your humble gamemaster Eren approved it.
“Jesus, Levi. What the fuck do you have against the postman? He make a comment about how short you are or something?” you ask, flipping over the little envelope in your hands.
“Look at the sender.” Levi seethes.
You look over at Eren, as the two of you catch sight of the little name of the corner, almost positive that your eye was twitching now.
Scott Clarkson, Stone Studios, 15th Street, New York City
It’s addressed to both you and Eren.
“What the fuck?” you seethe.
Eren takes the envelope from your hands, nimble fingers sliding open the little seal, and a magazine falls out. Eren takes it into his hands, nearly groaning, before picking up his phone and shooting a quick text.
It’s a picture of Scott Clarkson – sitting on a literal throne with a crown on his head – with Lana and Eren leaning on the little handles at the side.
Scott Clarkson: King of an Industry – How This Businessman Jump Started the Careers of the Institute’s Frontrunners
You look at Eren at your side, quickly clocking that it’s Lana and Sukuna that he’s texting.
“You’re kidding.” you state.
“It was stupid. We refused to let him run it at the time. I’m guessing he got wind of what’s happening this weekend and wanted to get ahead of the curve.”
It was simple. Eren’s documentary was going to come out on Friday. Hyla just happened to have a song featuring Ricky James releasing on Saturday. And almost too perfect, the sixth episode of Attack on Titan – your first of the season – was going to release on Sunday.
And with Levi’s approval, you and Eren were going to attend the Institute Awards pre-show and the event itself next week to put an end to them for good.
“How could he have known?” you ask.
“He has eyes and ears everywhere. They’re preparing to distribute the film – I’m sure he must have seen it shuffled around in the paperwork somewhere.” Eren states, shrugging.
You turn to Levi, staring into his steely gray eyes. You eye the magazine, now lying flat on the table, before looking back up at him – knowing for a fact he understands. That he has the same thought as you.
“Do you think that we could do it in time?” you ask.
Levi looks at the picture, corners of his mouth twitching, before he turns back to you.
“I’m positive he knows a guy. We’ll make it work.” Levi states.
You give Levi a smile, looking back at the magazine. It’s a comforting press to the shoulder, accompanied by Levi slamming the keys on the table at your side.
“Take Eren with you. It might rain.”
“You got it, Levi. Thank you.”
Levi cups the bottom of your chin with his hands, a warm smile on his face, before he shakes his head and walks away. You turn to Eren, giving him a lopsided smile, before you jingle the keys in front of his face.
“Wanna go for a drive?”
“I’m pretty sure Levi just demanded that I go with you.”
“I was trying to be cute and you just ruined it.”
“Can it even be considered trying if it’s already something you’re so effortless at?” Eren jeers, snatching the keys from your hand as he pulls you up.
“You don’t have to be so patronizing, Eren.”
“Leave it to you to confuse my affections with ill will.”
Eren swings the door open, and at the first burst of chilly air, aggressively wraps the extra scarf left on the hook around your neck before shutting the door.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
“The airport.”
Eren features curl in confusion as he opens the door for you, tucking you into the seat before taking his at your side.
“The airport? Who’s coming?”
You bite your cheek. Becuase Eren does that thing – that thing that guys do when they reverse out of a parking spot. His arm is spread out on the back of your seat, his face close to yours as he looks out in concentration, and you take the chance to fully ogle him. Only you start searing with embarrassment when his eyes flicker over to you – giving you a wink in recognition. That he knows you were fully checking him out.
“Some friends of mine. I..I kind of owe them a favor. And contingent on that, they refused to ride in the bus with everyone else.”
Eren squints his eyes, the stoplight's red glow reflecting on his features. And when he looks over, his eyes are so pensive that you feel bad for keeping it from him for so long.
“It started out simple, I guess. When…when we came back from Seattle, I felt like there was so much…floating around in my head. So much I was finding out, so much I was realizing, that I could barely come to terms with all of it at once.”
Eren’s gaze shifts, focused back on the street, as the little drops hit the glass.
“I wrote it all down. Everything I learned, what I can’t forget. That I can’t live my life when I’m untouchable. That the wound is where the light enters. That you can’t learn your lessons for people, that sometimes you just have to be there to catch them. You can have grace for yourself but keep yourself accountable too – those things don’t have to be mutually exclusive. That hardship can be good – that sometimes it can even make the good times feel even better.”
You look over at Eren, the red reflecting on his skin.
Eren’s smiling at you – like he’s proud of you. That he knows that you’re repeating the words – his words, Michael’s, Levi’s – everyone who has been pushing you forward.
That you’re taking them to heart.
“That I’m going to make them pay for what they did to you. And to me. I don’t know what’ll happen, but I refuse to be silent about it. I’m done doing that.” you whisper.
You reach for his hand, leaning closer. And he follows your suit, your noses nearly brushing against each other, stilling your blinking – just so you don't have to tear yourself from his green eyes.
“Are you with me, Eren?”
“Think it’s impossible for me to be anywhere else.” he whispers.
The warmth in your throat is suffocating.
“Eren?” you whisper.
“Yeah.”
You pinch your eyes shut at the horrible timing.
“The light is green.” you murmur.
Eren’s eyes falter, a curt nod, before he releases your hand and continues to drive forward.
And takes you all the way down to the airport, the quiet silence enveloping your space.
You open up the car door, a light sprinkle and the earthy smell in the air, as you lean against the hood, hands tucked into your pockets. Eren follows suit, taking the spot next to you, as you watch your breath visualize in the cold, crisp air.
“Back in the day, Satoru Gojo did me a favor. He had the chance to do an ensemble showcase, and he lent that time to me, so I could make a point.” you state.
Eren turns his head towards you, and immediately looks at the group of people piling out of the airport – the distinct white, green, and pink hair catching him off guard.
“It’s time for me to make a point again. I figured I could use all the help I could get.” you state.
Eren fights the urge to bite his cheek, the glimmering smirk you give him before pushing off the hood of the car making his heart pound. He watches as you excitedly run up to Satoru Gojo – and Suguru Getou by extension – wrapping your arms around the two of them and pinching their cheeks.
And it only gets worse when his favorite kid comes running out shortly after – followed by Lana and Sukuna berating him – and clings straight onto his legs. Eren’s exasperated, bringing his hand down to Teddy’s curly hair just to make sure.
That they really were here.
“Eren! Eren, pick me up! Pick me up!”
“You could say please, Teddy. He drove all the way here just for you.” Lana states, giving Eren a warm smile as she places her hands on her hips.
“Please, Eren!”
Eren smiles wide, the warmth in his chest reverberating, as he reaches for Teddy’s sides and gets a wet kiss to the cheek from him return. There’s a deep yearning stinging in Eren’s chest as you walk up, looping your arm under Sukuna’s as you press your cheek to his bicep.
Eren can barely contain it. He’d strangle you if he could.
And Satoru Gojo’s quick to follow, aggressively leaning his weight on both you and Sukuna, as he gives Eren a bright smile.
“Eren Jaeger. Just the guy I wanted to see.” Satoru sings.
“Is that right?” Eren asks.
“We’re all going to battle for you, kid. How do you feel? Your vicious guard dog plans to leave no corner unturned.” he responds, ruffling the top of your hair as Eren watches you shove him off.
Eren frowns.
“You don’t have to…do something for me. I’m not exactly sure what it is you’re doing, but you don’t have to.”
You smile. It was almost aggravating how cute he could be sometimes.
“Don’t worry kid. I love to stir shit up. I have a feeling this one’s going to be in your favor.” Satoru states, giving him a lingering smile before getting called up to one of the cars lingering in front.
Eren turns to his side – Teddy wiggling in his arms – as he watches you excitedly smile at Lana and Sukuna. And when you turn to him, the pale fluorescent light making you glow, you stand out more than anyone else standing there.
Eren swears Satoru’s chanting “fuck a bitch named Scott Clarkson” in the car ahead of him and realizes that Levi’s probably in for the biggest headache of his life.
“Ready to go?” you ask.
Eren gives you a quiet nod, as you reach forward with your grabby hands for Teddy and buckle him into his seat at the back. Lana and Sukuna are at his sides, Eren watching them smile at each other through the rearview.
Eren tries to stamp it out the best he can. That glimmering flare of hope that’s burning in his chest.
And for the first time in years, he fails to do so.
You were keeping his candle alight.
--
You know for a fact that things will work in your favor, this time around.
Hyla Clarkson, in her extreme annoyingness, moves the release date of her song up to that night – ruining the perfect plan that you had written out. Satoru’s more upset about it, that she ruined the perfectly cinematic moment that would have been.
Her new debut song smushed in bewteen Eren’s documentary and your comeback.
But then you listen to the song and relish in the fact that karma is real. That all of the bad is canceled out by good – and that when it came to them, sweet justice was going to be served.
There’s no such thing as bad PR. And from your standpoint – people talking about you, you being the center of attention, was the one thing that you needed leading up to the awards show.
It’s almost too perfect.
You had every intent to milk the fact that Hyla Clarkson just released an entire song about how big of a bitch you were.
And make her regret it.
Starting by releasing a song the following morning, your first in three years, to ensure hers won’t occupy the top spot.
--
--
next part linked here
an: ARE YOU READY FOR IT (revenge era for someone who actually deserves it)
(hyla clarkson you will develop a cough in three days for naming your album pop princess pretending like you don't know the entire aot cast calls y/n princess BC she's a pop princess...)
(I plan to write at least a chapter a week so we can wrap this sweet baby up!)
taglist: @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms @camilo-uwu @justanotherkpopstanlol @mel-star636 @fvckingeetar @ttalgi @najaemism @ilovekimchi123 @youraggedybitch @xoyumiqls @leafguitar @dreamy-carat @spiidergirlsworld @luvs4kim @levin4nami @florichun @hoonmyluv @cowgirlikets @dreamxiing @mamamammarga @tangerine-neonlight @th0tformikasa
pls comment on this post or any of the chapters if you want to be added to the taglist <3
#seeingivywrites!#eren#eren x reader#eren x you#eren x y/n#eren jaeger x you#eren jaeger x reader#eren jaeger x y/n#eren fluff#eren angst#eren yeager x you#eren yeager x reader#eren yeager x y/n#eren yeager#eren yeager fluff#eren yeager angst#attack on titan#aot#aot x you#aot x reader#aot x y/n#aot fluff#aot angst#snk#snk x you#snk x reader#snk x y/n#snk fluff#snk angst#shingeki no kyojin
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STARTERS [ SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY ]
cw: none, strangers to lovers, first meeting, not beta read, might be military inaccuracies because im not in the military, medic! fem!reader. notes: i've worked so hard [exaggeration] to make this look cute but ik its gonna devolve in 0.5 seconds. this is part one of a series. words: 1,065.
"This won't be easy."
A fair warning, a meager one too, from your new, technically, superior, Kate Laswell. You had accepted her offer as a combat medic, seeing as their next mission was supposed to take months. But those months weren't even this year, they were the next.
This year, it was your mission to become familiar with your crew, have a starter and a taste.
Considering you've dealt with plenty of irritable, ill-mannered patients in the E.D. before, it shouldn't feel so stuffy when you enter the base. You I.D. card was scanned, and you were permitted entry past the intimidating security guard who's eyes nailed you like you were his prey. You might've been.
Heels clacking, you rushed to your new office,
MEDICAL WING
A sign read, in red, right above your head. You wanted to feel like you were walking into a new life, but the stares and exhausted attempts at a smile the veteran nurses tossed you made a breath you didn't realize you were holding leave.
Luckily, offices were assigned, and yours was on the first floor.
Empty and quite sad, you tossed your backpack and purse onto your desk, which didn't even have a chair, and put your hands on your hips. Laswell had told you that they wouldn't be back until evening, it was morning.
It felt like walking into your first job, gingerly taking your steps to the staff lounge where you introduced yourself to the nurses who were lounging. They returned the gesture graciously, luckily understanding of your nerves.
Soon enough, your actual superior came to greet you, smiling and laughing with the rest of the staff as she raved about you. As soon as basic information was given, you were tossed out of your nest, bidding you a good flight. The ED never waits for anyone after all.
⚬
As your first day ended and your night began, you sat in your office, which you finally got a chair for, to sift through paperwork. Boring things never really last for long, and as much as you'd like to one-go your work, it definitely wasn't happening. Especially when your sweet nurses and the other doctors bombarded into your office, playfully asking, more like dragging, you to come with them to the mess hall.
It's impolite to say no, isn't it?
It was fun. It was like being in high school again, smiling and giggling before everyone leans into to whisper, bursting back out into laughter. Oh, and it was juicy. Real juicy, juicier when they mentioned him.
"Ghost?"
You ask, tilting your head as you raise a brow, "What kinda' callsign's that?" There was a strange inkling of familiarity of the name, just right under your nose. The nurse who was telling the story went wide-eyed, grinning at you,
"Oh, honey, he's the one with the skull mask."
The mask. The fucking mask.
Everyone could see it, how you face paled like snow, your head dropping as you gawked at them. They all laughed at your reaction, it was quite comical, though they found it funnier for reasons different than yours, teasing, "I haven't even said the story yet!"
Well, Laswell did. God, were you stupid? He was from Task Force 141! They all, allegedly, saw him in the gym, allegedly lifting double his weight, and allegedly you were blushing at the idea of the number, allegedly. And that was essentially the whole story. The nurse beside you poked as he cooed at you,
"Aw, does the doctor have a crush on her first day?" Laughing as you smacked his arm playfully, a stupid grin on all of your faces. The conversation moves on, talking about the soldiers that got into a fight, and how funny it was when one got a rhinoplasty. It felt like you were half-present, like a fever dream as your thoughts swirled together. Maybe your shift was a little too long.
But you couldn't stop thinking about him, your fork spinning the lukewarm pasta as you blandly laughed with your caffeine-high colleagues. Was he really that fascinating?
You couldn't stop thinking about him, your fork spinning the lukewarm pasta as you blandly laughed with your caffeine-high colleagues. Was he really that fascinating? Your mind ran with every though, you hadn’t even seen him today, and yet here you were imagining him, strong, tall, muscular. And of high status? he sure seemed like the pear most imaginative women would like.
But you can't expect him to be a perfect romance lead, especially the more you listened, seeing as he was quite the topic.
Everyone else seemed to just know him, know him in the sense that he was a figure of admiration. The strongest, the fastest, the most intricate, coolest man on one of the greatest task forces affiliated. They knew every little intricate detail of his service. But you didn’t. You don’t even know what they mean by a ‘skull mask’, was it a full skul? does he do face paint like a 3-year-old? You've never seen him, not that you were reluctant to the chance to.
Maybe you were insane, especially since there was the entire rest of the task force for you to get familiar with too. Well, he was one of them so you should go one by one, right—
"Ya' like to talk, dinnea ya?"
You twitched at the voice, "Scottish," You thought to yourself, "John 'Soap' MacTacvish." Laswell had some comments about him, mostly about his inability to speak understandable English, and his refusal to get a military standard haircut, aka he has a mohawk. But it wasn't just the Scot, the devil answered when his name was called.
Simon 'Ghost' Riley.
It was almost as if he knew who you were the moment your eyes met, like a fuse set off between you. Brown eyes, deep like dark chocolate, and cold like the tundra, and more magnetic than any other man you've ever seen, he stared at you, speaking to his friend,
"Seems like they do, Johnny."
Gravelly and low, almost inaudible if it weren't for your fixated ear, his voice whispered to Soap, his eyes never leaving yours. Soap, or Johnny as Ghost had so endearingly called him, grinned, plopping beside you,
"Aye, yer that new medic Laswell's been talkin' 'bout?"
You blink a couple times before you smile, nodding as you introduce yourself. Soap smiles back, polite yet inked with a bit of his eccentric personality, taking your hand into a firm shake. You smile up at the masked figure,
"You must be Ghost, right?"
He gave a bland grunt, not that you expected much more from a quiet man. Soap grinned, ignoring Ghosts lack of proper manners to introduce himself. With small conversation, they left, almost.
Although he walked away, he never left your mind, and you never left his.
⚬ ☠︎︎ ⚬
i think i'm just gonna set the reader to female bc ik i'm eventually gonna do suggestive bits so it'll be easier in the long run. lmk if you have any ideas for simon. [or the others i wrote about!!] also lmk if i should make a taglist. [part two]
EYES THAT HOLD SECRETS
directory
#drabble#ao3#ao3 author#cod#fluff#cod x reader#cod mw2#ghosts#cod ghosts#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost#ghost cod#ghost fanfiction#ghost x reader#ghost mw2#ghost headcanons#cod mwii#cod fanfic#cod modern warfare#cod mw3#call of duty#modern warfare 2#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley imagine#simon riley cod#ghost call of duty
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covfefe (the epilogue) - (Adrian Chase x Reader)
part 10 ☕️ series masterlist ☕️ ao3
a/n: thanks for sticking with me ♡ summary: What happens after the team saves the world from an alien invasion. warnings: canon typical language, no y/n, sex mention but no graphic depictions of smut, mention of trauma regarding assault, lmk if i missed anything!! wordcount: 2.9k
He made the mistake of passing out at the hospital. Doctors and nurses had to remove his suit in order to look him over and tend to his wounds. That meant taking his helmet off, too, and Adrian was much too unconscious to break anyone's hand about it.
When he first wakes up in that sterile room, face exposed and clothed in nothing but a thin hospital gown, he almost freaks out. The only thing that stopped him from groggily attempting to snap the neck of the nurse at his bedside was a sudden surge of drowsiness that swam through his veins, making him go cross-eyed. The last thing he saw before his eyes slipped shut was the unfocused silhouette of the nurse splitting into two.
The second time, he's greeted by the sight of your face, visage softened without the aid of his glasses, but lovely all the same. When you notice he's awake, a grin lights up your face (and, likewise, Adrian’s heart). Saving the world from an alien invasion was cool, sure, but nothing compares to the feeling of being the one to make you smile.
“Hey,” he greets with a growing grin of his own. “What are you doing here? How’d you know where to find me?”
You reach for the bedside table to pick up his glasses, and gently ease them over the bridge of his nose. Your face comes into stark focus as you hover over him, and he’s grateful for the clear sight of your eyes. “Your BFF Chris came and told me.”
(Chris thought you’d be the perfect distraction to keep Adrian from doing something rash, like breaking out prematurely and/or killing the medical professionals just trying to do their jobs. An admittedly good idea, considering Adrian is just pleased as a peach that you came to visit and dote on him.)
“You're my BFF, too, you know,” he feels the need to assure you. He doesn't want you to get the wrong idea. Wants you to understand just how important you are to him, how you've cemented yourself into his life. He has no intention of letting you slip away again.
He missed out in high school. Adrian doesn't want to make that same mistake again.
Amusement glimmers in the softness of your eyes. “I guess I'll take your word for it, Chase. I'm just glad you're okay.”
“Of course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be okay?"
There's a pitcher of water at his bedside table that you pick up and pour into a small plastic cup. You hand it to him.
"You're in the hospital," you say, very matter-of-factly.
"Yeah,” he responds, before taking a small sip of water that quickly turns into big desperate gulps as his tongue realizes how fucking parched it is.
“Adrian. Chris told me about everything that went down. You, like, blew yourself up.”
Oh, right, yeah. The White Dragon fight. He miscalculated that grenade a bit. Nothing a little nap couldn't fix, though.
“You got shot.”
That did also happen. Didn't hit anything vital, though! He was able to walk that one off after another quick nap.
Mostly.
“And I heard what happened to your, uh," you continued, brow scrunching as you sat back into the chair you had pulled up to his bedside, trying to find the words. “The, um, the blonde? Hardcore? It just sounds like it was dangerous-”
”Wait,” he interrupts. “Did you just say 'Hardcore?'”
“Yeah? The, um- the hot, mean-looking chick? Short hair? White? Her, like… codename is Hardcore, right? That’s what I- I heard."
“Uh, no, silly,” Adrian laughs, because you're so funny and cute and incorrect, it just tickles him. “It's Harcourt, and I’m pretty sure that’s just her last name.”
“What?” Your eyes widen before dropping your face into your hands, groaning in embarrassment. “I hope I didn't call her that in front of anyone else.”
As if to save you from further teasing, a nurse comes just in time to check on Adrian, and when you notice, you stand and place a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. Adrian thinks it's a touching gesture of support, like maybe you think he's scared? But then he realizes the weight you're putting, and he catches the adamant look in your eye.
“Ohhh, you're restraining me,” he says. The nurse glances anxiously between you. With a smirk, Adrian adds, “it's cute that you think you can pin me down.”
Without missing a beat, you grin, and there's something mischievous about it as you wink at him. “Jus' making sure you behave,” you simper. It makes something in him stir; there's an uptick in the beeping of the monitor he's hooked up to.
This is all very unfortunate as the hospital sheets and gowns seem to be made of the thinnest, flimsiest fabric in the world. The nurse very politely ignores the sudden tent at Adrian’s middle and rushes through the rest of the check up before scurrying away with a clearing of their throat.
“Do you think that male nurse -- sorry, that regular nurse -- noticed my boner?”
“Nahhh,” you lie.
Conversation flits between you after that. You share some granola bars with him that had been tucked away in your jacket pockets. When Adrian mentions something about getting discharged soon (whether they clear him or not), you start pacing back and forth alongside the bed.
“About that,” you start, very visibly nervous and suddenly unable to maintain eye contact. “I was, um. I was wondering- well. See, my dad decided he wants to sell the house.”
Adrian's not exactly sure what that has to do with him getting out of the hospital, until you meander and nervously chuckle your way to the bit about needing to find a place to stay.
“I just figured, maybe, since you might need someone to take care of you when you’re out of here, and since you don't actually have a roommate, that maybe I could, probably -- if you don't mind, of course -- stay... with you?”
Adrian blinks. He processes.
“J-just until I find my own place!” You rush to add. “And- like, you don't have to say yes, obviously. I know it's a crazy idea-”
”You want to move in? With me?”
You finally meet his gaze again. You bite your bottom lip, frown, and nod a simple affirmation.
This might be a good time to mentally take stock of the pros and cons of having you move in.
Pros: 1) he'd get to see you all the time 2) like, way more often than he does now, which is cool 3) it’d help with rent, which is a pretty sick bonus
Cons: 1)
Huh, nope, no cons. The very thought of not having to part ways with you at the end of the night has no verifiable downsides. He's been worried this whole time that your time in Evergreen would be cut short. Agonizingly temporary and finite. But now you'd be his roommate, and it'll be way easier to convince you not to leave if you already live with him.
Plus, he now knows what it's like to have you wrapped around his dick. If you move in, he'd get to taste you way more often.
Shit. Fuck. The boner is back.
”Are you-? Did asking to move in just make you horny?”
“Yeah,” he sheepishly admits.
The anxiety disappears from your face. Transforms into silent amusement. “So... is that a yes, then?”
It's a very enthusiastic and consensual yes, and you spend the rest of the visit discussing your move, and declining his request for a quickie in his hospital bed.
“Oomph!”
You land on your back, legs plopping ungracefully down onto the damp ground beneath you. The wind brushes against the canopy of trees overhead, making sunlight coruscate in your vision through the shifting branches and pines.
Vigilante’s scuffed helmet appears above you. “Ooh, that looked like it hurt,” Adrian says, helmet doing nothing to hide the teasing lilt to his voice. “Ready to give up?” He holds out a gloved hand.
“Please,” you scoff, accepting his help to stand. “I can take a hit.” The cold from the dead damp leaves seep in through your leggings. You brush away sticky pine needles from your butt, though you’re not sure it matters. You’ll probably end up flat on your back again in no time.
“Yeah, I know. It’s one of the things that’s so hot about you.” Though you can’t see it, you know his eyebrows are doing something endearingly goofy behind the visor.
It's only been a few weeks since Leota went public about Project Butterfly (without revealing Vigilante’s secret identity!), and Adrian discretely discharged himself from the hospital. (By jumping out the window. Something you don’t think a person healing from a gunshot wound should be doing, but Adrian isn’t exactly like other people.)
You’re unsure how long recovery is supposed to take after what Adrian went through, but you get the feeling that he’s bounced back unnervingly quick. Like, there’s strenuous activity he should definitely be abstaining from for a little while, but Adrian kind of just shrugs and goes about life as normal. For example, there’s some heavy lifting he eagerly volunteered to (helping you move boxes of your stuff from your parent’s house to his place). Or the vigorous physical activity that consisted of fucking you breathlessly into his couch.
You tried convincing him to take it easy, you did. Even offered that if he really needed release, you’d happily take care of him, provide a helping hand and mouth as long as he sat still. But it wasn’t enough, apparently; your resolve was quick to crumble at the pretty sight of Adrian’s flushed face and the sound of his desperate, urgent begging to let him put in “just the tip.”
(It was never just the tip.)
This suspiciously speedy recovery, however, gave you the courage to ask him for the favor that currently has you bruised and aching in the middle of the woods.
(“I want to do what you do,” you said.)
He perked up. “Really? Because the last time I brought up pegging, you laughed so hard you passed out.”)
After that misunderstanding was cleared up, though, you were surprised at how eagerly Adrian agreed to teach you how to fight. There was a small part of you that was worried he’d say no, that it was too dangerous, or something ridiculous like that. He only asked why, and though it may not have been the truth, you just told him it looks really cool when he does it.
The lie -- that wasn’t really a lie, more of a replacement of the truth -- was worth it to see Adrian’s pretty green eyes light up. “You think I look cool? I mean-” his chin jutted out with self-assured confidence. “Of course I look cool.”
And he does look cool. Standing in the clearing in all black, not quite in the Vigilante suit since it needs to get repaired (or replaced). The helmet was the only part of the suit that wasn't riddled with holes, so it's the only thing he's wearing that's recognizably Vigilante. And it is, admittedly... doing something for you.
The suit — specifically the red visor — was scary at first. Unsettling. Even though it's the mask of the man that saved you that horrible night, it was also the mask of the man that killed people so mercilessly -- gleefully, even -- right in front of you.
Not that those guys deserved mercy.
But it was the first time you'd ever witnessed something so brutal up close, and so the red visor stitched itself into your nightmares, despite finding out it was Adrian underneath. Maybe even because of.
But now...
As Adrian shows you what your stance should look like to remain balanced, points out all the points in a person's body that you can hit to make them falter and give you an opening for the finishing blow (or rather, the time to run), you're beginning to find the mask kind of...
Well, fuck. Okay. It's hot. The mask is hot. You were mad at it for hiding Adrian's comfortingly familiar face from you, but now that you've gotten used to it, it's eased itself from nightmare to wet dream. Maybe it's the extra layer of confidence that it provides Adrian — he's different as Vigilante. Not so much, no. It's subtle. But it makes every little head movement and gesture and teasing quip that much hotter.
You won't, like, admit this, of course. He'd be unbearable if he knew just how big of an effect it has on you. He's bad enough as it is, just from knowing which parts of your neck to linger at so he can draw out the sounds that he seems to like so much.
“You're going to be the prettiest sidekick.” Adrian's compliment snaps you from your thoughts. His words -- and the way his head cocks to the side a bit, the way his shoulders sag forward with the weight of his adoration -- makes your cheeks warm despite the near-condescending tone of it.
You shake it off, bouncing on the balls of your feet so he doesn't notice how much he’s flustered you. “I'm not doing this to be Vigilante's sidekick, you know.”
(You’re doing this because of the nightmares you still have, where you find yourself in cramped alleyways and other dark, shrouded places, nightmares where multiple hands touch you, grab you, overpower you. Nightmares where your limbs feel weak and boneless and your fists have no weight to them when you try fighting back the figures that hurt and taunt you. Nightmares that still linger despite moving in with Adrian, the safest you’ve felt in a long time.)
“You're not?” He seems taken aback. “Because you don’t have to land the killing blow as the sidekick, you know. If you’re squeamish about that sort of thing,” he shrugs.
His genuine confusion is amusing. “Is that what you've been thinking this whole time? That you’re, like, training me to be your sidekick?” Honestly, it's kind of flattering that he'd think you'd be good enough to do what he does, right alongside him.
“Well, yeah. You said I look cool! And everyone knows imitation is the best form of flattery.”
Ah. Some things start to click about his relationship with Peacemaker, and the potential origin of Vigilante. Instead of asking him to confirm this, though, you decide to tease him.
“So, is that what you are? Peacemaker's sidekick?”
“What? No,” he responds, voice firm and clearly offended. “Peacemaker and I are partners-”
“In crime,” you nod.
“Yes- No!”
You listen with growing glee and fondness as Adrian continues to explain, accompanied by expressive hand gestures, his relationship with Peacemaker, and how they are equals, thank-you-very-much.
It's been nice spending days with Adrian like this, without being bogged down by anxiety-laden time restraints of having to get back to your parent's house. Nightmares aside, you genuinely feel... lighter, now that you're no longer under their roof. The freedom makes you giddy, looser. You laugh easier, and not just with Adrian. You make time to hang out with Ashe and Matty, and are surprised by how much you actually enjoy spending time with them outside of work. They're good kids.
And, though you weren't so sure about it at first, you find that Adrian's new teammates are decent people, too. Chris is a bit rough around the edges, and everyone is a little mean in a way that you enjoy observing, but they're nice to you, at least. Leota even gave you her number so you can talk to someone normal, that isn't a complete asshole. She sends you pictures of her dogs. You coo at them, and show Adrian, and he pretends he's not a little jealous over the way you gush adoringly at the photos.
You never tell anyone about your mother, how she was involved in your hostage situation. How she's one of the Butterflies. You figured there was no point, now that their food supply has been destroyed. You don't even tell your father, though you suspect he already figured it out. He looked less haggard when he told you about the decision to sell the house.
Remembering that there’s no glowering parent to return home to ignites that light, bubbly feeling in you again. Your mood turns playful, no longer able to take the training session seriously.
So you charge at Adrian, trying to catch him off guard.
He's surprised, but, as you predicted, his reflexes and instincts are superior. He uses your momentum against you. Swiftly wrestles you down onto the ground. He has your wrists pinned above your head in his right hand in no time.
“Did you really think you could sneak up on... me?” The cocky tone dwindles down to confusion when he realizes you've been giggling the whole time he grappled you down into the cushion of dirt and leaves.
This close to your face, you can see the way his eyes search yours behind the red visor. The weight of him pressing into you makes heat excitedly pool at your center.
You wiggle your hips.
Something stiffens in his pants against your thigh.
”Oh,” he mumbles.
And when you hook your legs around his and hear the rustle of leaves around your head as Adrian gets the hint to fuck you in the middle of the woods, you think, maybe Evergreen isn't so bad after all.
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