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wttcsms · 2 years

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these eyes were made for lookin’ at you (only you) ; simon “ghost” riley.

pairing simon “ghost” riley x f!reader word count 5.6k synopsis simon riley didn’t ask to be a hero, but he finds himself wanting to be yours. content contains hints to human traff/icking (not explicit), breeding kink, belly bulge, size difference, pet names/terms of endearment (pretty girl, baby, love, darling, sweetheart), soft!ghost, obsessive!ghost, domesticity, mutual pining, praise kink, probably ooc!ghost but the man is absolutely whipped for you, clothed sex (his uniform is on), minor depictions of violence

He doesn’t quite consider himself a hero, you know.

He’s got a foul mouth, a sense of humor that borders between too dry or too dark, and so much blood on his hands that he’s surprised to see they’re not red when he pulls off his gloves and runs them under scalding hot water.

There will be no parades in his honor. No little boys running up to him on the streets, proclaiming that they want to be just like him. No statues to be sculpted to remember him by whenever he meets his inevitable end, six feet under. He probably won’t even be a memory after death.

And he’s come to terms with all of this, of course. It’s not like he cares — he didn’t sign up to do this shit for the glory or because he wanted to be considered a hero. He did it because someone out there had to be the person willing to do anything for the betterment of everyone.

Perhaps that makes him heroic in some sense; again, he doesn’t particularly care.

Until you.

Until one mission sends you into his direct orbit, knocking everything he’s ever known out of its place. It’s disorienting, confusing—

—exhilarating.

He doesn’t get scared anymore, but there’s something inherently frightening about wanting to share parts of yourself — of your very being, of your soul — to someone. He’s not quite able to label any of the emotions he feels for you the first time he sees you, but he feels enough to know that if he wants to save himself, he should put as much distance between the two of you as he possibly can.

(It turns out that this lieutenant doesn’t have as great of a sense of self-preservation as he proclaims.)

You cling to his arm, ignoring the way your palm digs and presses into the hard armor and tactical gear he sports. You think he might shake you off or forcefully pull you off of him, but he does neither. The soldier freezes, just for a second, and then he turns to face you.

If this is what the Grim Reaper looks like, perhaps death isn’t such an unfavorable ending. You can’t make out any physical features of your savior’s face, save for the pair of dark eyes staring right at you.

The skull mask does its job of securing his identity, but he should consider wearing goggles, you think. You’re not certain, but you think his eyes must be his most incriminating feature. You think if he gave you a proper minute to look at him, the image of his eyes would be ingrained in your memory. You’d be able to recognize him by them alone.

“Do you understand me?”

The gruff voice must be coming from him, if the subtle movements underneath his mask are any indication. He’s staring straight ahead now, watching as the rest of his team begins to usher the other girls who were stolen alongside you into large trucks. Maybe they’re tanks. You’re not quite sure.

“You must not then, yeah?” When he speaks, every word seems to be just the slightest bit rough around the edges. His accent is oddly nice; from the way he delivers his comments, though, you’re left wondering if he is, too.

He must be — nice, that is. A nice man would let you continue to grip his arm for support, even though you’re capable of standing on your own. A nice man would save you from the hell you’ve been subjected to for… Months? Has it been months? Shorter, maybe? Or longer? Time passes differently when all you want to do is die.

“I understand,” you finally answer him. You think your words must come out a little rough, too. The air in this area seems hard to breathe in, and you’re not sure when was the last time you even drank anything. You say it so quietly, you’re afraid that you’ll have to force yourself to speak up, but he nods.

“You’ll be safe now.”

Looking back, those might have just been words meant to comfort you, but you trust this masked man. You don’t know him (not yet), but the way he says it sounds like he means it.

(He means it.)

He goes by Ghost.

He doesn’t tell you why, and you don’t unnecessarily pry yourself into his business.

He doesn’t even tell you the name himself; you hear it from the mouths of the other officers, the other men who helped in rescuing you and the others.

The man who took you — the one in charge of shipping and selling the girls — won’t be giving you any more problems, now. He won’t hurt you again, isn’t even capable of touching you ever again. This is what Ghost reassures you with, and you nod, believing him.

After all, you witnessed him slice the asshole’s neck. You watched the blood spill out of his body. You were being ushered away at the time, but you still found the strength to turn around to watch him die.

You still haven’t found yourself able to detach yourself from him, and he hasn’t found the strength to shake you off just yet. Your fingers look dainty compared to the bulk of his arm, and the uniform he’s wearing only serves to add to his overall mass. You should want to put some distance between you and him; you know what men are like. You know it doesn’t take much for them to snap and change their demeanors in an instant. With the strength you’ve already witnessed and the sheer size of him, you know fighting him off wouldn’t even be realistic. But you still find yourself refusing to leave him alone, as if the evil he just destroyed will come back to life and hunt you down the very moment your savior leaves you.

It’s why you’re in a separate vehicle from the rest of the rescued girls. It’s just the two of you in the back, and the only noise you can hear is the loud huffs from the engine and the sound of tires speeding on rough terrain.

“When we return, there will be people who will come collect you and the others. They’ll clean you up and help you get back on your feet. You’ll be able to start a new life.”

A new life?

The thought excites you.

You don’t know what awaits you outside. When you were a little girl, you were still allowed to bask in the outdoors. The warmth of the sun, the feel of a soft breeze brushing against your skin — sometimes, when you were chained and in your cell, cowering in the dark, you wished that you hadn’t taken advantage of those little luxuries.

“In this life… I will feel the sun?” He hears the innocence in your voice, your question filled with longing and maybe even excitement. It was just past dusk when they rescued you; it’s now nighttime, and he feels himself wishing he had the power to bring the sun down from the sky and present it to you.

“In this life, you’ll be able to do anything you want.”

He’ll personally see to it if he has to.

You had fallen asleep by the time you reached your destination. With one mission successfully completed, Ghost finds himself with another almost immediately after, and with the peaceful expression on your face and the fact that this facility is one of the most secure buildings in the world, he leaves you—

—only to return back to the facility in a little over two weeks.

It’s not as if there’s someone waiting for him in the empty residence he calls home. Besides, it’s only natural — human, even — for him to be curious as to how you’re doing. While he trusts that you’re safe, he finds himself, in between lulls on missions, wondering how you’re adjusting.

(And in the rare moments where he finds himself fighting off exhaustion — the only telltale sign that he’s still flesh and blood and not the phantom his enemies think he is — he finds himself wondering if you’re thinking about him too.)

What did you see when you stared at him that day? He had killed a man — killed many men, actually — without mercy, without hesitation. He’s done it so many times throughout his life that wielding a weapon has become second nature to him.

Sometimes he even feels like he’s the weapon.

And again, he doesn’t care about whether or not he’s deemed a good person or a hero, but he doesn’t want to be a nightmare to you. He can still feel the ghost of your touch lingering on his left arm, the arm that you had clutched the day he rescued you. If not for the employees confirming your presence and guiding him to your room, he would be almost convinced that you’re a dream he thought up himself.

“Poor girl,” the woman leading way is telling him. “She’s been having the worst time out of all the others. I’m not surprised, hearing what they must have had to endure all that time, but the sweetheart can’t even sleep without us sedating her.”

“What?”

The low timbre of his voice makes the word sound more like a growl.

Seemingly shocked at his reaction, the woman almost pauses in her steps before continuing. “Yes, she’s been having nightmares. Thrashing wildly in her sleep, screaming the first few nights, even.” And then, almost as if she’s trying to make him feel better, she adds, “But she’s much better now. Save for a few sobs every now and then.”

He doesn’t know what to make of that. If it had been someone physically tormenting you, he would have no issue in getting rid of the source of your pain. Demons who only appear in nightmares, though — that’s something not even he can fight off for you.

When they make it to your door, the woman knocks gently, calling out your name softly, almost as if she does anything too harshly, you’ll break down.

“I brought someone here who wants to see you, hon. I’m going to come in now, okay?”

The woman eyes him almost warily as if she’s just now taking him in. He didn’t bother changing out of his usual uniform, telling the helicopter pilot that picked him up after his most recent mission to take him directly here instead. In his defense, he hadn’t even anticipated you still being here.

But you are.

He’s well aware that he probably doesn’t look the nicest, his mask serving its purpose and obscuring his whole entire face, making him entirely unreadable. If you’re as skittish as the woman claims you are, perhaps it’ll be for the best if he leaves now.

But it’s too late. She’s opening the door and never one to hesitate, he’s stepping in. The woman doesn’t follow; instead, she shuts the door, most likely ready to call for backup if anything were to happen to you.

You look at him, and then a second later, recognition gleams in your eyes.

Now that it’s not as dark, he’s able to take in every single feature of your face, from the color of your eyes down to the slope of your nose and the shape of your pretty lips. He commits your visage to memory.

“It’s you,” you breathe out, sitting up straighter on your bed. “The man who saved me.”

And if the near reverent way you greet him isn’t enough to have him reeling, the next words you say have his heart freefalling:

“You’re my hero.”

You speak to him so sweetly, in a tone so soft that the words you say wrap around him like a warm blanket. No one has ever said that to him. No one has ever spoken to him the way you do.

He swallows hard, and for the first time in his life, he’s unsure of what to do.

“Have you been alright?” He asks, and your expression falls almost immediately.

You answer him after a few seconds of silence.

“Yes.”

You little liar.

“I’m very comfortable here, but I’ve seen many of the others getting ready to travel elsewhere. The people here are kind, and they tell me they have many houses I can choose from. They’ll help me find work and…” Your voice trails off, and he watches the way your hands curl around the bedsheets. “I’ll be normal. Find a husband, make a family, forget all about this.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yeah.”

You’ll learn soon enough that he doesn’t like lying.

He moves quicker than someone his size should be able to; stealthy, too. You don’t catch his movements, but you blink, and suddenly he’s right in front of you, crouched down so he’s able to look you in the eyes.

You were right. You are able to recognize him by his eyes alone.

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know.” When he speaks, you can’t help but hang on to every word. You find yourself nodding. “You’ll answer me honestly then?”

You nod again, this time a bit quicker.

“Good girl.” You hear the approval in his deep tone of voice, and you almost wish you hadn’t. You didn’t know what it’s like to be fed such praise, and you’re stuck starving for it now. “How have you been?”

“Alright. I’m happy to be here, but I—” Your voice cracks, and so does something inside of him. You look down, suddenly more interested in your sock-covered feet rather than his eyes. “Everyone else is able to move on so quickly, or they have someone waiting for them. I have no one. No one is looking for me. No one is expecting me.”

The realization of your reality finally settles in for you with your confession. You were born into that fate; the other girls who used to occupy the cells next to you were stolen. By all means, you were assigned to die there. There isn’t a future for you because you’re certain the universe did not anticipate you ending up like this.

No one is expecting me.

He understands what that’s like. It’s the reason why he’s here, because for once in what feels like forever, he finally has someone he’d like to see after a mission.

“You could find someone out there.”

“What if I leave here, and no one wants me?” The words come out a bit wobbly, and you look at him with glossy eyes and wet lashes.

You’re even prettier than he remembers.

He swallows hard, trying to find the right words to say.

(Soap claims he has a bad habit of saying the most awful things at the worst time possible.)

“That won’t happen.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Because after meeting you for the first time, he — the man with no regard to his own personal well-being and the utmost self-control — finds himself longing to be in your presence. He had to see you again; can’t you already see how you’re taking root inside his very being?

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Will you come back then?” When you look at him like that, all wide-eyed with your pretty lips forming a subtle pout, he thinks he might do something stupid, like—

“Whenever you want me to.”

—make a promise he might not be able to keep.

He gives you a burner phone. It’s supposedly untraceable (he doesn’t let you know about the tiny personal tracker he attaches to it; don’t worry, he’s the only one able to access your locational information), and while he doesn’t give you any explicit instructions, the only number programmed into the contacts list is his.

(That’s fine with you. It’s not as if you have anyone else to talk to.)

You know that he must be a busy person. You wonder if he’s considered a savior to many other people like you. Then innocent thoughts like that spiral into something jealous. Does he normally visit the people he saves? Are there other girls who have been gifted a phone like this?

He doesn’t message you, and you’re too scared of bothering him to reach out.

Every night since he sent you this phone, you’ve laid in bed, thumbs hovering over the keypad, debating what to say if you ever get the courage to text him. Every night, you never hit send on a single draft, and you fall into an uneasy slumber usually after your tenth attempt at a text message.

Sleeping is the worst.

Your nightmares can’t reach you when you’re in the safety of the waking world, but the moment your eyes are closed, it’s like every dark memory you’ve suppressed comes out of the shadows and begins its long-awaited torment.

The feeling of the cuffs on your ankles digging into your flesh feels too raw and real to be a mere memory. The men walking by your cell, sometimes staring at you uncomfortably long, taunting you and calling you cruel names. They’re always so explicit about what they have planned for you, but your seller will never give you up. Not until he finds someone willing to pay the high price he has hanging over your head.

You’re an untouched, undamaged good is what he reminds you. You’ll make him so much money.

But then you feel the cold, clammy grip of his on your arm and his breath on your neck, and you scream and scream and scream.

There must be cameras in the room you’re in because after the first week of nightmares, the kind workers here stop rushing to your room. If you don’t quiet in a few minutes, a male nurse will come in with a syringe and a pitying look before injecting a sedative into your veins. Artificial sleep is the only uninterrupted rest you get these days.

You wake up with your throat raw from your yells, and your skin sweaty. It takes several minutes for your heartbeat to go back to its regular pace, yet the images of your most recent nightmare are still flashing in your mind. You grab the cell phone you keep tucked under your pillow. It must be because of your panicked state of mind, but you find yourself clicking his contact.

The dial tone grounds you into reality, but before you can truly come to your senses and hang up, he answers the call.

“Hello?” Hearing his voice calms you down even more so despite the slight crackle that comes with hearing him through the speakers of the phone.

“Ghost?” You’re whispering, even though you’re certain that the walls are thick enough for you to speak normally without bothering anyone. Besides, anyone with ears probably already suffered through your fit.

“[Name].”

You don’t remember telling him your name, but it makes sense for him to know it. After all, he’s the one who visited you several days ago.

The thought that he would have to make an effort to seek you out and learn more about you is far more comforting than you think it should be.

“S-sorry for bothering you. It’s probably late—”

“Are you alright?”

“Am I… Alright?”

“Yes.” After contemplating a bit, he adds, “And don’t try to lie to me, either.”

“Are you busy?”

He’s in a safe house ten minutes away from the facility; say the word, and he can get there in three.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t answer mine.”

“No, I’m not busy. Now your turn: how are you feeling?”

“Scared.” It’s easier to admit things when you’re unable to see him. Staring at him makes you nervous because you think he’ll be able to read everything on your own face. Vulnerability is never easy.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Maybe it’s the exhaustion messing with your mind, but you think his voice might have just softened, just the slightest.

“Yeah.”

He’s silent, but you think you hear some slight movement on his end.

“Ghost?”

“Yes?”

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m going to visit you. Do you not want me to?”

You’re scared to answer, too frightened that your tired state will cause you to let the raw truth slip out.

You think you’re always going to want him.

He can only visit you when he’s in between missions.

(Unfortunately for you, breaks for him are a rarity.)

He comes back to you, sometimes a little bruised, sometimes a bit more broken than when he had left, but he always keeps his promise.

Whenever you want him to be with you, he’s there.

The nightmares gradually get better with time, but you always sleep the best when he’s with you. At first, he would just sit in a corner of your room, almost impossible to view unless you focus hard on him (if you didn’t know he was there, you probably never would have noticed him at all). He eventually began to sit closer to you, somewhere near the edge of your bed. On the rougher nights, you would find yourself reaching out for his hand.

When his presence alone can’t keep the nightmares at bay, and you wake up from another bad dream, he doesn’t force you to tell him what you see. Instead, he talks. Despite his rough voice, the sound of him telling you about the mundane aspects of his day is the most comforting thing in the world. It’s like your own personal lullaby.

He tells you about his life before this. You tell him about yours, too. His gloved hand brushes against your cheek as he tucks back a strand of your hair. You lay your own hand atop his, feeling the warmth of him even through the thick leather. You tell him about your nightmares, all the darker details that make you loathe your very being. He tells you his name.

You whisper it back to him.

Simon. Simon Riley.

You say it several times, sometimes slowly. Testing out how the syllables rest on the tip of your tongue.

He likes his name best when you’re the one saying it.

The facility starts to fill up with other saved victims from missions more recent than yours. You’re free to stay here as long as you like, but one day, Simon presses a key into the palm of your hands. You don’t need him to say anything; the imploring look in his eyes, your favorite feature in the whole world, ask the question for him.

Now the two of you share a bed. His toothbrush stands right next to yours, and the former empty residence that Simon used to spend his off-time avoiding is a home. He cares about what will happen to him because every time he leaves for a mission, you send him off with a soft see you soon!.

He knows that keeping his heart cold would ensure that he would go to great lengths to see to the success of his missions, but running towards death is such a silly thing. Why would he be okay with chasing after that when he knows he can return to his safehouse hidden in the woods and find you in the kitchen humming? If anything, he completes his missions even faster now. You told him that you’ll be expecting to see him soon, and he’s not one to disappoint you.

Simon Riley knows he’s got it bad. He can’t sleep well unless his sheets smell like you. He asks if he can bathe you just to run soap over the smooth skin of your body because he’s entirely obsessed with you, every scar and beauty mark. He knows it’s dangerous, but he keeps a Polaroid of you tucked safely away in one of his inner pockets in his uniform.

One morning, nearly a year since he rescued you, you tell him you love him.

He lets you take his mask off.

You’re smiling at him, eyes shining as you take in every minute detail. You can’t believe this is a face he would want to hide from the world. Selfishly, you’re a bit pleased with knowing you’re one of the few to see him like this, completely bare. To make the moment even better, he says it back.

He loves you.

“I know.” You tell him; it’s obvious. His mask is resting in your hands, after all.

Simon rushes home after every mission to see you, his first love, his only love. He loves coming back to you when you’re barefoot in the kitchen or washing your face in the bathroom, but he loves it the most when you guide him to your shared bedroom, the prolonged distance between the two of you making your longing for him all the more intense.

He loves you all the time, especially when you’re lying beneath him completely bare, with your hands (so much smaller compared to his own) eagerly touching every inch of him you can reach. He just got back; his uniform is partially off, all the weapons left hanging by the doorstep. He’s got nothing but the protective armor and the thick fabric on him, and with the way your body is practically calling for him, he doesn’t think you’ll give him enough time to strip himself of his clothes.

“Simon — missed you so much,” is what you whine out. He knows. You don’t have to whimper it out to him because your actions (and body’s reactions) leave nothing to assumption. You’re struggling to lift yourself up to pepper kisses all over his unmasked face, dainty hands tugging at his sleeves. Your cheeks are flushed, and you attempt to rut against him, trying to get some type of friction to satiate yourself.

You’re already so wet for him that he can feel it through his uniform.

“I know, baby. I’ve got you.” That’s your Simon. Always reassuring, always there when you need him. And right now, you need him so desperately that you’re soaking the bedsheets beneath you.

True to his word, you feel a gloved hand teasing your slick folds, smearing your arousal everywhere.

“Fuck.” He breathes out, admiring your glistening folds for just a second with a sort of sick fascination. He can spend hours with his head in between your thighs and your hands clutching at his hair. He won’t be leaving you so soon, though. He’ll have all the time he wants to bring you to the height of pleasure with just his tongue; tonight, he wants to give you exactly what you need.

The feeling of two of his thick fingers working in and out of your tiny hole has you moaning and writhing beneath him. You’re always beautiful in his eyes, but there’s something about you with wild hair and eyes shut from pleasure that makes you practically irresistible to him.

Everything about Simon is larger than life, and the feeling of being so small in comparison to his hulking figure should be frightening. But when he’s above you, his large fingers toying with your pussy in the way he knows you just love, you feel protected. Like he’s your shield from the harsh world outside. Inside your shared bedroom, only you two exist.

Your back arches, forcing his fingers to reach even deeper. The texture of his gloves only adds to your pleasure and in an attempt to prepare you for his cock, Simon adds another finger to stretch out your tight cunt.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Be a good girl and cum for me, yeah?” His words come out through gritted teeth, as if it’s taking everything in him not to replace his fingers for his cock. His tolerance is hanging on by a mere thread, but he refuses to fuck you properly ‘til he’s certain you’re ready to take him. Only when your cum is coating the leather of his gloves will he know.

You nod, occasionally jerking your hips in tandem with his thrusts, chasing after your high. You’re beginning to feel hotter, your pussy becoming even wetter, and neither of you can make out the words you’re mewling out. Perhaps your whines are pleas for more, maybe even mercy.

You can’t last any longer, and as his fingers curl against your sensitive walls, you find yourself nearly screaming his name as you gush around his fingers. He grins at the result of his hard work, withdrawing his fingers just to hold them up to you. His gloved hand glistens in the moonlight, and you can only watch as he raises his fingers to his mouth before sucking your essence off of them, effectively cleaning it up.

He never breaks eye contact with you once.

“Should I try it straight from the source?” His grin is teasing, the gleam in his eyes nothing short of wicked.

You weakly shake your head, already too fucked out to properly respond.

“No? I’ve been starving for your taste all those weeks I was gone, love. You don’t want to be a sweet girl and let me have my fill?” You know he’s just teasing you, but you still find yourself upset at the prospect of displeasing him.

“Not yet.” You pout, spreading your legs for him. “I wanna feel your cock.”

His grin only grows wider.

“Looks like my perfect girl’s been starving too, huh?” He leans down to give you a kiss, and you can taste a hint of your arousal lingering on his tongue. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll give you everything you want and more.”

Everything about Simon is larger than life.

The first time he ever fucked you, you had cried from the stretch of his massive girth invading your previously untouched cunt. The sensation of being filled to the brim was a foreign one, but a feeling you’re certain only he could provide. No matter how many times he’s had you, it always feels like it’s your first time taking him.

He’s whispering words of reassurance as he guides himself into your leaking entrance. Despite him working you to your peak, three fingers doesn’t begin to compare to his dick, and you find yourself whimpering over his words of praise.

“You’re doing so well for me, love. Such a good girl, my good girl.” He kisses your forehead, forcing every inch of himself inside until the tip of his cock is kissing your cervix. The pleasure of being so full outweighs the pain of the stretch your cunt has to make to accommodate his sheer size.

You stare down at where the two of you are connected, taking a sharp breath as the unmistakable bulge in your belly serves as undeniable evidence of just how deep Simon is capable of reaching. It’s always a wonder on how your tiny pussy is always able to take him, and Simon merely chuckles as he notices where you’re staring.

Using the same hand he used to coax your first orgasm with, he gently guides your hand to rest on top of the bulge. He’s smiling as he tells you, “Keep your eyes right there, darling. I want you to watch me as I fuck you.”

His thrusts are always powerful, a true sign of his strength. You’re not even sure where all his stamina comes from because no matter how exhausting his missions may appear to be, he always finds the energy to fuck you well throughout the night.

Your body’s natural instinct is to tighten around him, and the pressure has him growling as he works harder to piston his cock in and out of you. The lewd squelching noises, the smacking of skin against skin — everything is just so downright pornographic.

Your free hand finds purchase on his clothed back, nails digging through the fabric as he continues to work to bring the two of you to an explosive finish.

“Fuck, I missed you so much, darling.” He hisses, relishing in the tightness of your cunt and how your body takes him so well every time. “I don’t ever want to leave you alone again.”

You whine out for him, needing him closer even though he’s already as close as he can get. With his unyielding, powerful thrusts and your heightened sensitivity, neither of you is going to last much longer. He looks down to admire the imprint of his cock in your belly. He loves you and finds every little thing about your body perfect, but he can imagine your belly expanding to make room for his child and your tits swelling with milk. Fuck.

“Want to put a baby in you, love. Will you let me? You’ll never be alone again, not when we make the perfect lil’ family.” He grunts, and you nod, overjoyed at the idea of him wanting something so intimate. A family. Your family. He’ll give you a baby.

“Yes!” You scream out, feeling the coil in your stomach about to snap, every thrust bringing you closer and closer to breaking. “Wanna have your baby, wanna be with you forever.” The words come out sounding like sobs as you feel the tension inside of you snap.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect. Going to fill this cunt with my cum, darling.” His thrusts are becoming more erratic as he gets closer to losing control. Both of his hands grip your hips, his hold on you tight as he releases into you with a deep grunt. His cum is thick and warm, filling you up so much to the point where it’s already leaking out despite him staying inside of you all in an attempt to make sure it takes.

Breathless, wild-eyed, red cheeks — the both of you are an absolute mess.

You take a shaky hand to run through his hair that’s damp with sweat, and he leans into your gentle touch. You stare at him with a reverence he feels he doesn’t deserve.

“My hero.”

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #mw2 #smut #lemon #one shot #drabble

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ovaryacted · 3 months

Note

Well let me send some soft!Leon.

Leon is the type of guy to be like “I may have gotten bitten by zombies and thrown against walls but like. That’s still better than period cramps.”

If he’s not away on a mission, I imagine he’d want to just lay in bed with you all day. He gives good snuggles. Gets tea and the heating pad.

But also, I had the hilarious imagine of Leon being real fucking clueless with the emotions of it. You know the meme of the girl over the toilet being pat on the back by a broom? That’s Leon. He’s like “there there” while keeping 10ft away from you.

Unironically if you run out of pads/tampons he probably texts you “what size coochie you wear?” Or whatever. But! If you tell him, that’s the only time you need to because he remembers.

Also, not embarrassed about getting period products. I mean, this guy is built like a house, and attractive as fuck everyone knows he’s picking stuff up for his lady. Probably getting head too let’s be honest.

He also picks up your face snack.

-angsty anon (I guess not angsty this time lol)

EEEEEEK thank you for sending this angsty (not so angsty) anon cause I actually feel like shit at work but this was so cute. Also I know the memes you’re talking about they’re deep in my gallery I can’t find them right now lmao. But yeah let me cook and self indulge cause I can. (And cause the cramps are starting to ramp up).

Disclaimer: I know everyone’s period cycle is different, this is not a one size fits all. I’m speaking generally, mostly about myself but yeah if it doesn’t apply let it fly and that’s okay! Leon would still be a good partner and meet your needs either way. 🫶

Leon to me is the type of guy that would provide comfort and humor whenever you need it and without you having to ask for it. He just cares, that’s all he does really. But of course, he’s aware that when your cycle hits, he has to be more aware of your emotions and what you need. He’s very in tune when it comes to tending to you, but he isn’t afraid to ask so he can give you exactly what you want.

If he isn’t at home, he’d probably have your cycle tracked on his phone so he knows when to send you a gift package or flowers just so you know he’s around. If he’s going on mission, he’d send those things in advance, and when he comes back home he’d bring your favorite food and snacks as a welcome present.

But when he is home and he knows your period is about to kickstart, he instantly goes into house husband mode. He knows the first few days are the toughest and it gets easier over time, but sometimes all you want to do is just stay curled up in bed and sleep the pain off. He’d be right there beside you, giving you tea and pain medication if you ask for it, making sure you have water nearby and a heating pad to help with your comfort. Clothing wise, he gives you his clothes, ones you already stole from him anyway, finding his boxers much more comfortable than the panties you have, and a baggy t-shirt that smells like him to ease your nerves.

He handles the chores in your living space, cleans the place up and does the laundry, plus he gets groceries and cooks if that’s what you request. When he does go out to do the shopping, he asks you what snacks you want, already having some in mind but double checks if you want something specific. It doesn’t matter how ridiculous your cravings are, he’ll give them to you without judgement. You can eat all the junk and sugar you want, so long as it helps with your mood he’ll get it. Or if you want fruits and things that are a bit easier to eat considering your nausea, he’ll get that too.

He buys your feminine products without shame, gets irritated about how expensive they are “because they should be free” according to him, and gets you an extra box for you to have in advance. There may be other people in the section watching him as he finds the exact brand and size you use, not that he cares if he’s being watched, and he can hear your voice in his head talking about it.

Get the all cotton ones with wings, medium-sized. The thicker ones are for overnight, so get me a pack too. Do not get the ones that say light flow or small, those don’t do shit!

Your emotions are all over the place, more sensitive and easily irritable by anything and everything. At times it scares him how fast your mood can change, but he doesn’t judge you for it, you can’t help the way your body behaves. He doesn’t hover over you, comes by to check in, see if you feel any better. If you ask him to cuddle with you, he’ll do that no questions asked, but if you don’t want to be touched, he’ll leave you alone and let you rest. It’s not personal to him, he gets it, somewhat at least. He’ll send you cute text messages with those silly emoticons from the living room, or send you a funny video he saw on social media (it didn’t make you laugh but it’s the thought that counts).

The mental aspects of your cycle can be debilitating at times, and it’ll make you second guess things that shouldn’t be in your head. Leon knows what that’s like, and he’s there for you to talk to if you need it. He’s ready with affirmations, soft words, and constantly tells you that he adores you and loves you. Shit that makes your heart warm and your mind shut up, he just supports you in whatever you need.

Now as for the secret period horniness that sometimes likes to sneak up on you, he’s also willing to provide. It doesn’t happen often, but he knows when it does. When you’re snuggled up into him and start shifting your hips against him, or when your breathing gets a bit shaky the moment his hands come up towards your thighs. He’s on your time, whatever you say goes, and he only does things if you ask for them. So if you say you want to be touched he’ll do it, he’ll caress you and massage your chest to ease the soreness you feel there. If you want to suck him off to appease to your oral fixation, he’ll let you, and happily keep your hair up and praise you along the way. And if you tell him you want to have sex with him, he’ll bring out the towels or propose a shower, whatever you decide he’s fine with. It doesn’t bother him, he’s seen so much blood and gore that this is the last of his concerns. Plus, orgasms help with period cramps so whatever helps you, he’ll do it.

Whatever you need, he’s willing to provide. Thats just the type of man and partner he is.

I need him. Im fucking sad.

#leon kennedy headcanons #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy imagines #leon kennedy x you #leon x reader #leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #resident evil drabble #please I need him so bad #you don’t understand #₊˚⊹ ♡ ─ angsty anon #ovaryacted thoughts #ovaryacted asks

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crowfeatherquill · 8 months

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The Joker is a Shitty Clown

Honestly, this one's just a bit of fun. There's a post floating around somewhere about the Joker getting chased down by a bunch of professional clowns wearing his makeup because he never submitted an egg to the...clown...council (I don't know that it's actually called the clown council). This is semi-related to that.

“The Joker is a shitty clown.”

When he says it, the room falls silent. Deathly, even, by some estimates, although those could be classified as a tad dramatic. Jason stares, speechless. Damian does not appear to have noticed that anything is wrong. Tim is the first to speak.

“Do...you want to elaborate on that?”

Dick seems to realize in that moment that the non-sequitur has landed him right at the center of a very dense emotional minefield. He considers that acrobatics run in his family. He considers further that so do unfortunate acrobatic accidents. He chooses his next words carefully.

“I mean first of all he’s not even funny, and that’s, like. Rule one. No clown I ever met had to drug people to get them to laugh at their jokes.”

Realization dawns over Jason’s face like a storm breaking and Tim, diplomatically, chooses not to comment on the way he bites the inside of his cheek to try and fight a smile. He figures it’s fine to let Dick sweat a little over this particular topic -- after all, the Joker is a pretty big sore spot for about half the room, and Dick is not generally so quick to shove his foot all the way down his own throat.

Unsure of his standing and desperate not to lose it, Dick presses on.

“And beyond that, he doesn’t have a gimmick. He doesn’t have a character. There’s no consistency, it’s just...chaos. Which I’ve only seen done well maybe once and to be honest it’s so much extra work and for a beginner, I just- I dunno, it seems like a bad move-”

Jason can’t quite keep back a snort. He tries to cover it with a cough, but Dick knows exactly what the sound means. Jason, smartly, does not attempt eye contact. He prefers to leave the manor on his own terms, and with some of his pride still intact.

“Beginner. Unbelievable…” Tim mutters, but even so he finds himself intrigued. He hadn’t realized Dick had such strong opinions about clowns, although he’s not sure why he’s surprised, given the whole circus-kid thing.

Dick, sensing victory is close at hand, leans forward to deliver what he hopes will be the final blow.

“I’ll bet he doesn’t even know about clown college.”

This is not quite enough to break Jason’s iron will, but it’s a close thing, and Tim affords himself a wry smile. He’s always been the easier of the two of them when it comes to Dick’s antics.

Dick preens in that self-satisfied big brother way that only he can ever seem to pull off and leans back in his chair.

“Once. Just once I’d like to see that hack do an actual routine.”

“For all his glaring faults, I am forced to concede that the howling menace does appear to have grasped one pillar of the art,” Damian says, primly, looking up from what he’s reading.

Tim raises a questioning eyebrow, and Dick tilts his head, taking on the humor-them expression he wears when he thinks he knows better than his younger siblings. Jason still looks inches away from another untimely death and is therefore ill-equipped to respond in any way that isn’t rigid denial of the near convulsive way his shoulders are shaking.

“Oh? And what’s that, Dami,” Dick prompts, and if he wasn’t so sickenly good-hearted it would almost sound patronizing.

Damian looks at Jason, eyes boring into him like little green needles until Jason meets his gaze. His expression does not change when he speaks.

“Slapstick.”

There is a moment of silence so complete you could hear a pin drop from the other side of the manor. And then Jason is howling with laughter, and Tim can’t help but laugh too because holy shit, and Dick is sitting dumbfounded in his chair, gaping at their youngest brother, who merely gives an imperceptible twitch of the corner of his mouth and returns to his book.

#batman #batfamily #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #robins being robins #brothers fucking with each other #y'know #fluff #and not even particularly accurate fluff this is purely goofs for the sake of goofs

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rosewaterandivy · 4 months

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Award season starts tomorrow and I can’t help but think of actor Steve and rockstar girlfriend attending all these award shows. And the public isn’t aware of their engagement until they hit the red carpet at the golden globes and anytime a reporter asks about the ring they both act coy 🥹

You are so right for that baby!

Regardless of the awards show, the prep remains the same: Steve doing fuck-all until the last possible minute, while you get poked and prodded within an inch of your life for the majority of the day before getting quite literally sewn into a gown for the rest of the evening. And he feels for you, really he does because it’s not fair that you’ll be raked over the coals for the slightest perceived misstep— choice of designer, amount of jewelry, hairstyle, makeup, etc.— while he can just show up in a Thom Browne suit and call it a day.

As much as he’d like to whisk you away, back to the cosy mountain chalet and honeymoon engagement haze (he very much misses the days of you running around an oversized cashmere sweater, illuminated by the lights of the Christmas tree— even better were the times when you were wearing the engagement ring only), awards season beckons. And you take it all in stride, god does he love you for that.

Vickie had absconded with you not long after breakfast and Steve hasn’t seen or heard from you in hours at this point. It’s torture and he finds it’s something he’d rather not take part in again. Robin is doing what she can to keep him occupied, going over upcoming projects and reminding him of his schedule while he idly sips from his drink. He half-heartedly keeps up with a texting conversation with Eddie, speculating on the ridiculous red carpet interview questions and whether or not you’ll be wearing something that will make Steve weak in the knees.

The answer is always yes, and Ed’s got odds in favor a brief exit during the awards ceremony that will have Steve returning slightly flushed with a dazed look in his eye.

“Rally the troops,” your voice startles him from the entryway. “Harrington, let’s get this show on the road!”

Robin shoots him a knowing smirk and follows him into the foyer. Vickie stands behind you, her hands full with her clutch and yours, free hand carrying the excess black fabric of your gown.

And holy shit, Steve is in for a rough evening.

Hasn’t even gotten to the venue yet and he’s already slipping. Robin claps a hand on his shoulder with a wicked grin, “Deep breaths Steve, keep ‘em coming.”

He doesn’t know where to look first— your tits pressed against the black fabric, looking as if they could spill from the corset any second now, the high slit of the skirt showing an expanse of your thigh bracketed by a black garter and stocking drawing the eye down to an impressive heel that makes your legs look positively delectable, or the prominent gleam of the sparkler on your ring finger affixed over the black sheer opera gloves on your arms.

Steve wants to fall on his knees to grovel and beg you to skip the ceremony and let him worship you for hours instead.

The man is simply not going to make it.

When his eyes finally make their way back to yours, he raises a solitary brow as you wiggle your fingers in the gloves. “Yeah?” He asks with a nod to the ring on your left hand.

You smile so sweet and he swears he’s falling in love again.

Christ Harrington, get a fucking grip.

“Yeah,” you say, soft and low, extending your hand to fall into his. “Always.”

The Golden Globes was always fun.

Drinks and carousing, an atmosphere of humor and frivolity. Plus, Eddie always managed to sneak his way to Steve’s table with his screenwriter girlfriend in tow. He’d have you snickering and laughing more than the host could ever hope to, making it a boon for the camera operators to zip by for a shot of your table. Steve, ever the professional, had honed a poker face over years of these events. You, however, had decidedly not and, as a result, various memeable moments had occurred thanks to yours truly.

Eddie had one as your contact photo, as a matter of fact.

Before you can relax and settle in for the show, the red carpet had to be walked. In years past, Steve had braved it alone and done the perfunctory interviews, graciously dodging any inquiries about your relationship per the PR team’s advice. And you had done the same for the AMAs and Grammy’s. It was a good system and it worked a treat, occupying the media outlets with soundbites and quotes while one of you walked in after last call and bypassed the entire circus.

But this year…

“Steve! Cherry!”

A cacophony of voices calling your names as you step onto the red carpet and stand for photo call. As you exited the car, Vickie all but threw the black clutch at you, waving her left hand all the while. Now, the supple leather was safely in your grasp, effectively blocking your left hand from prying eyes. Steve’s arm winds around your back, settling his large hand at the small of your back.

His thumb moves in soothing circles against the fabric, pulling you close as the flashbulbs fire. “You look down right evil tonight,” he murmurs, voice pitched low, breath fanning against the sensitive skin of your neck. “Anything to say for yourself?”

You smother a laugh and look back over your shoulder, spotting Eddie. “I plead the fifth.”

As you wave him over, Eddie wolf-whistles loud enough to wake the dead. He cackles and drags his girlfriend over by the hand. “Damn girl, can I call you sometime?”

Rolling your eyes, you tug him into the photo. “Edward, you know I cannot be held responsible for the varied ways in which Steve will kill you.”

His girlfriend huffs a laugh, “That makes two of us then.”

A few photos are taken of the four of you before the handlers single out Steve. He parts from you reluctantly, dropping a kiss on your brow before he leaves. “You’re paying for that later, y’know.”

“Sure, honey,” you brush him off with a smile, “We’ll see if you can walk the talk once I’m through with you.”

He nearly stumbles at that, earning another laugh from Eddie.

“Steve!” The reporter crows into the mic, waving him over, “So good to see you, thanks for stopping by.”

“You as well, and thanks for having me.”

Steve hates this part. Well, truthfully he loathes most of his charade, but he’s not about to bite the hand that feeds him. Give a little, get a little, or so his publicist says. She prattles on about something or other— his nomination or upcoming projects, he’s not really sure— and turns back to him.

“Congratulations on your nominations tonight, but are additional congratulations called for? Maybe for you and certain Grammy award winning artist?”

“Oh thank you very much,” he effuses with a smile. “You mean Eddie over there?” He glances over his shoulder, finding the long-haired man easily. “I mean we’ve been buddies for a while—“

The reporter laughs, “Not exactly, but it is nice to see him here supporting you.”

Steve refrains from rolling his eyes, “He’s supporting Liz Finch. She’s nominated for best original screenplay, but I’m sure you already know that.”

You slowly turn, catching the last part of Steve��s clipped response, eyes narrowing. ‘Be. Nice.’ you mouth at him, knowing he should’ve eaten something before you left the house.

“Of course, my apologies.” The reporter has enough sense to look abashed, “I just meant that it’s nice to see the four of you together, supporting one another.”

He hums in assent, eyes trailing you as you chat with a few friends making the rounds. Their eyes generally fall to your left hand, still hidden behind the clutch you’re carrying, curious as you exchange pleasantries.

Steve does his level best with the remaining interviews, but they always try and cajole a confirmation from him either about his relationship with you or a potential engagement. Little do they know that behind that little black bag, nestled just underneath your engagement ring, sits a wedding band.

To his mind, it really doesn’t matter if he comes home with a Golden Globe tonight because he’s already won something better than another statuette or accolade: a rockstar wife.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #modern actor!steve #fic: hmlahr #awards season blurbs #cee’s got mail!

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sheeluvsme · 1 year

Text

John Soap mactavish headcannons !

LETTS GET READY TO RUMBLEEE!! Hi everyone! I saw how everyone really liked my last post about price and Valeria !!! So i figured I’ll do our boy soap next :))!! Who should I write about next? I was thinking könig…lmk!!

CW// This is SFW and NSFW!! there will be female anatomy used Lightly, also NOT proof read LMAOO , ANGST! ( warning nurse! Reader, brief death) semi public stuff? Just let me know if I missed anything!!

When you first met soap , you really thought he was WEIRD AS SHIT

He like completely puzzled you with his jokes 😭

You two met at a pub!! He had claimed to think your face was familiar and you told him you worked for army medical. You were a army nurse ! That’s when it clicked in his tiny little brain, because lord knows he’s been to medical lotssss of times.

The first thing that pulled him in was your laugh. When you finally started laughing at his stupid jokes he couldn’t help but smile like a teen boy.

Soap is also good to you! He i a sweetheart and lovessss taking you wherever you want to go, he mostly likes going shopping with your for two very important reasons 1. To make sure no one fucks with you 2. So he can get his favorite candy.

He actually likes watching you shop and be in your own little world! He thinks it’s cute because when he’s focused he does the same thing.

He knows you have anxiety about alottttt of things and he is right there for you! He knows public places scare you because of germs and also just some many loud people

He finds it funny your so loud and assistive at your place of work but as soon as you hit the public you turn into a shy little thing and he adores it!

Especially when you don’t want to bother people, your sitting there with your cart … waiting for this one person to move… and he’s like “ what you waitin’ for lass?” And you jester to the person in-front of you. He can’t help but smile and shake his head at you “ excuse meh’ ! We gotta get by you” he louder then he should of announced 😭

Soap always says the most random funny shit to you, he knows you have quite a gruesome sad job sometimes , so coming back home with him and his humor really helps!!

One day you absolutely came home in tears , you were shattered, your heart felt so so sore. He couldn’t help but immediately sore to you hold you. “ aye aye ..sweetheart what’s wrong-?! Did someone hurt you? Is it your boss again because I swea-“ you just shake your head no. You quietly explain to him through your tears a kid died on you. There was nothing you could really do but make them comfortable but you couldn’t help but feel sorrow. Because you definitely wanted kids with soap. So this scared you. He just holds you so tightly stroking your hair. “ it’s ok sweetheart. You did your absolute best. It’s ok..”

He always know how to exactly get you feeling better. Even if your sick ! You yell at him to stay away from you because you’re sick and have gross germs!! But he literally couldn’t care he picks you up anyways kissing you and hugging you!

He wasn’t very educated on periods at first but you definitely taught him , maybe a little too graphic because after he hugged you and told you how lucky he is to have a dick LMAOO

On your period he like genuinely calls it ‘ Shark week! ‘

He’s the type to say , when you ask him to grab you pads and says ‘ what size pussy you got ‘ PLSPSLLSL

You catch this man listening to the lady Gaga or Katie Perry 100% AND YOU KNOW WHAT HE LITERALLY HAS NO SHAME

He thinks your just the prettiest thing wearing his shirts !! Makes him secretly go nuts

He admires you a lot , the way you have to be up at ASS O’CLOCK in the morning for work and you still make him lunch or morning coffee???? He wants to be YOU when he grows up LMAOO

NSFW

He also like price has a primal urge to make you his baby momma LMAOO

He loves telling you that during sex “ yeah? Like that? You like when I’m deep inside you hm? Gonna’ getcha’ fucking pregnant with my kid.”

He is a MAJOR bitter

He loves biting you everywhere and leaving his marks on you. It’s his favorite thing getting up after you watching you slip on your scrubs and try and cover your neck bites with makeup. He can’t help but cheekily smile

He is also a MAJOR pussy eater , loveessss eating you like a starved man , especially overstimulation.

He will eat you over and over and over till your literally sobbing and saying you can’t anymore ( he of course respects your request)

He is BIGGGG on in public stuff ‼️‼️

Like if your out for a nice dinner you can’t help but send a glare his way as his hand creeps up your thigh. “ what do you think your doing?” You playfully smack his hand away. “ what dose it look like I’m doing hm?” He whispers. “ it looks like your focused on the wrong food.” You keep yourself together as you sip your wine. “ I’m a man who likes his dessert before his dinner what can I say?” You choke on your wine.

DONT even get me started when your out clubbing together going to a pub with a few of 141 to have a good time , you yourself are having too much of a good time. Your buzzed , warm , and feeling damn good, your make up worked out perfectly and your clothes fit you JUST right.

Soap leaves his eyes off you for one minute and he sees gaz and price chuckling as they point to you , clearly having the time of your life in the crowded dance floor , soap is chuckling too until he notices a guy gawking you and obviously too close for his comfort. Your oblivious to what’s happening honestly there’s so many people smooshed together, your too focused on dancing.

He quickly sets down his drink squeezing through people, quickly apologizing. He grabs your waist quickly pulling you close before looking back at the guy that was very close to touching what’s his. Soap quickly says “ step off. She’s with me.” You quickly turn around to see your beautiful boyfriend and smile “ Johnny!! I was wondering when you’d come out here and show off your sweet dance moves!” Obviously teasing him. Because his ass can not dance 😭

Soap hears you and smiles but he’s quietly brewing. Suddenly he’s dragging you to the clubs bathroom. Thank god it’s a single use. “ wha- cmon was my dancing that embarrassing?” You tease him wondering what the hell is happening. “ no love. Not that. Just..” her huffs grabbing you pulling you close. “ people keep ogling’ whats mine. I don’t take very kindly to it.” Your cheeks heat up. You’ve never seen him like this but your not complaining. You didn’t even notice people looking at you. “ well I promise I’m all yours Johnny..” he quickly sticks his lips to yours. Hungrily kissing you , licking into you. “ soap- every one else is gonna-“ he quickly cuts you off. “ let them. I’m having you right now whether they like it or not.”

Soap seems more dominant but he is half and half sometimes he just needs to be your good boy ‼️🙋🏻‍♀️🙋🏻‍♀️🙋🏻‍♀️🙋🏻‍♀️

He absolutely LOVESSSSS when you top him or sit on his face. If he’s tired but still really wants you THATS when he turns into putty in your hands.

He fucking loves when you pull on his Mohawk ‼️ he can’t help but whimper and god damn is so beautiful.

BIG ON PRAISE let that poor boy know he’s doing good!!! Degrading him just makes him feel competitive, then the tables will turn..

He loves begging you to let him cum in you , “ please- please let me cum in you. Fucking hell!- haa- please please. I want you to feel good-“ of course with him you obviously CANT say no!!

He’s also pretty good with after care, he likes taking baths with you because soap does enjoy a good bubble bath!!

Next morning you wake up late because it’s your day off, he’s gone for work already but you smell something? You walk into the kitchen and he made you breakfast and coffee with a small note. “ gotta take care of my girl after she takes care of me , I love ya ! -your secret admirer” and ofc he spells like half of that wrong but its ok because you do indeed love your boyfriend!

Thank you for reading!!! Hope you enjoyed <33

#soap smut #cod mw soap #cod fanart #valeria codmw2 #cod modern warfare #headcannons #cod headcanons #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #ghost simon riley #soap cod #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod mw2 #writing #headcanon #writers on tumblr #sheeluvsmee #Spotify

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kaciidubs · 5 months

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My Mrs. Claus | 8 Days of SKZcember 2023

Prompt: "ho ho holy shit you look good." lmao im so sorry

❣ Summary: Who didn't want to make a statement for one of the final parties of the year? ❣ ❣ Word Count: 986 ❣ Warnings: Fluff, humor, slight suggestiveness, Jisung is a flirt but he means well ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Han is referred to as Jisung, Ji, and Baby, Reader is referred to as Jagi, Mrs. Claus, unedited ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist ❣ SKZcember 2023

It was your favorite time of the year; the annual JYP Family Christmas Party finally making its appearance - a somewhat under the radar event started by a few of the seniors of the company as an opportunity for all of the artists and staff to have a night of celebrating the year’s accomplishments and catch up with friends they wouldn’t usually be able to catch up with.

Sometimes faces from other companies make an appearance, but the majority would always be JYP signed artists and even trainees - though they would only be allowed to stick around for the early hours of the party.

This year you planned to do it big - well, not big, big, but big to where you found yourself staring at a red sweater dress and a black leather belt to go across the middle currently laid out on your bed; a classic rendition of the jolly old Saint Nick, but cuter.

“You know the party starts in two hours, right?”

Rolling your eyes, you looked toward the closed door of your bedroom, as if you would miraculously gain x-ray vision to see your boyfriend on the other side. “Yes, Ji, I know!”

“And you know we said we’d meet the others before heading there, right?”

You scoffed, turning toward your vanity to start a simple makeup look, “I know - I don’t even know why you decided to come here to get ready, I could’ve just met you at the 3Racha plus Artist dorm.”

Even with the door shut, you could picture his offended expression paired with the pointedly loud gasp he made sure you would hear.

“And have to find out what my beautiful, amazing girlfriend is wearing at the same time as my friends? No way! That’s cruel and unusual punishment, Jagi.”

“Then you should know,” you started, pausing for a moment to apply foundation around your mouth and chin, “the more you talk to me, the longer I’m gonna take to get ready!”

“Can’t you just let me inside? I won’t do anything but watch!”

“Han Jisung.”

“Fine, fine - I’m going! I’ll be on the other side of the door, scared, cold, and so, so lonely.”

“Alexa, volume seven, please.”

The sound of your music grew louder, effectively putting a pacifier on Jisung’s teasing antics as you continued getting ready for the party.

It didn’t take long for you to finish your makeup and hair, and by the time you shimmied into your dress, there was a little more than an hour left on your metaphorical timer.

“Okay, baby, you can come i-”

The door swung open at lightning speed, Jisung all but falling through the doorway as he eagerly scanned your room, “Finally! Took you forever, I thought I was gonna-” His eyes landed on your form and they widened instantly, lips falling into a small ‘o’ as he took you in fully.

Bristling at the sudden attention, you found yourself consciously tugging at the hem of the dress, though it fell respectfully just above your knees, “Is it too much? I bought this not too long ago when I realized it matches your sweater and-”

“Ho, ho, holy shit, you look good!” Barely even acknowledging your nervous rambling, he made his way toward you, a wide smile growing on his lips, “Jagi, you look- wow, look at you!”

A sheepish laugh floated past your lips as you reached for the belt to top off the outfit, easily sliding it around your waist and fastening it. “Alright, alright, you don’t have to gas me up, Ji.”

“Gas you up? Baby, I don’t need a reason to gas you up, you’re already on fire!” He let out a low whistle, scanning you up and down as if you were a priceless find, “Mrs. Claus, can I sit on your lap and tell you what I want instead?”

“Jisung!” You laughed, fanning yourself in hopes of alleviating the heat of his stare and his equally heated compliments. “It’s really nothing, I’m sure there’s gonna be other people more dressed up than I am.”

“You really think that would matter to me? You could’ve dressed as the Grinch and I’d still think you were the hottest one in the room.” Walking closer to you, he slid his hands onto your hips, fingers welcoming the soft cotton dress, “You look beautiful, Jagi, really.”

Cooing softly, you leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his lips, being mindful to not smudge the red lipstick that currently painted your lips, “Thank you, baby - you look handsome too.”

Sharing one final kiss, you slipped your way out of his arms before he could be compelled to steal another kiss that would set you both back longer than necessary.

“I just need to put on my heels and we’ll be out, okay?”

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Claus, I’m just your humble elf servant here to do anything you need me to.”

Grabbing one of your black boots from the floor, you looked up at him with an arched brow, “You don’t want to be Mr. Claus?”

A sly smirk creeped its way onto his face as he shook his head, ash brown hair tickling his forehead at the motion, “Nah, Mrs. Claus getting with one of her helper elves is a way hotter concept.”

You hummed slowly, nodding your head as you slipped on your shoe, “Right, right, we’ll unpack that thought later.”

Putting on your other shoe, you were officially ready to meet with the other boys; grabbing a jacket from the closet while Jisung handled your purse and a pair of flats ‘just in case’.

“Jagi, you mind letting the guys know we’re leaving now?” Jisung called as he made sure the van was ready outside.

Humming in acknowledgement, you unlocked your phone to send a swift text to the combined group chat.

You: Mrs. Claus and her Elf are on their way 🎄

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @broken-glowsticks, @s00buwu, @dancerachaslut, @junglyric, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

#skz fluff #stray kids fluff #han jisung fluff #han jisung x reader

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nhl-stories · 11 months

Text

I'll Call You Mine – Elias Pettersson

Summary: Elias is sick of being the single guy on the team so he asks his friend with benefits to pretend to be his girlfriend. Good thing pretending to be a girlfriend is her profession.

Author’s Note: Explicit sexual content below, sex work (the two aren’t one in the same)

Word Count: 9.6k

Album Series Masterlist

Break me down And I'll call you mine And I know I've been around

Geena feels a hand press between her legs, her body pushes against the friction by its own volition.

She doesn’t have time for this, she says as much in her grogginess.

“Too worn out for another round?”

“Whatever makes you feel better Casanova,” she removes the hand and throws it behind her.

It doesn’t completely deter him; he moves to kiss her bare shoulder.

“E, seriously I can’t smell like sex at work, and I have just enough time to sleep for 10 more minutes and shower.”

He lets out a heavy sigh and buries his face between her shoulder blades.

“Who gets an escort at 4 pm on a Tuesday?”

Elias always says escort like it’s any other job. Like he’s mentioning a waitress or accountant or something. It is like any other job, but it’s not how most people react.

“It’s my favorite client, once a week he has me hold his hand at an early dinner and wear a sundress.”

“Okay then come back tonight,” he glosses over the details without judgment.

It’s refreshing.

They’re just fucking; she never has to put up with any shit even if he gave her any. If she ever felt slighted in the least, she knows she could find at least ten other guys to put in her sex rotation.

But Elias is the most consistent partner she’s ever had and it would be hard to give up just because he was being a judgmental ass.

She’s spent years putting up with that kind of behavior, she has thick skin. But there’s something nice about not needing to shield herself, let her soft underbelly show.

“I have a second client afterward, that might run pretty late and don’t you fly out tomorrow?”

“No, we just have an optional morning skate tomorrow.”

“So, you’re going to skate? Optional isn’t really your thing,” she smirks even though he can’t see, she knows him so well.

Elias wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her into him, makes sure she can feel his arousal. Makes sure she knows what she’s giving up for some extra sleep and a shower.

She lets out an airy sigh that borders on moan. Instead of leaning into that desire she rolls over and out of the bed.

“I’m not humoring you on this,” Geena laughs so Elias knows she’s not actually angry, “but I don’t work tomorrow so I guess I can come back tonight.”

It doesn’t quite appease Elias, who grabs her arm and pulls her back into a kiss. It’s simple, no demands behind it, but it still makes Geena second guess leaving. She has just enough will power to pull away and go to the bathroom, not giving Elias a second glance.

She comes back out already dressed; a blue sundress that brushes her mid-thighs, her hair tied into a single braid hanging over her shoulder. It’s the picture of innocence, but it sets something on fire in Elias. He kind of understands now why the man wants her to dress like this.

Geena seems to notice the flash of lust in his eyes and blows him a kiss, worried what will happen if she gets too close, “don’t wait up.”

Elias waits up, not entirely on purpose. He’s playing video games with some friends in Sweden when he hears the apartment door open. He’d given her a key so she could come and go when they meet up late for booty calls, her words not his.

“You’re not streaming, are you?” He hears her whisper from the doorway.

“No, but I’ll be done in a minute.”

He continues to play and Geena comes and wraps her arms gently around his shoulders, careful to not jostle him. She gives him a couple of soft kisses along his jaw and he feels something cold press against the back of his neck.

He turns to see the outfit change Geena made since he last saw her. The braid is replaced with a mane of wild waves and she’s wearing a virginal white dress that almost glows, even more so against the leather harness she’s wearing over it.

He mumbles something in Swedish before turning off the game and turning towards her.

“This is new,” he plays with the metal ring that sits between her clavicles.

She rolls her eyes, suddenly looking exhausted.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she runs her hands over his shoulders until they link together behind him, “but I could use some help taking it off.”

“I think I could lend a hand.”

Elias stands up and kisses her, she tastes like gin; he wraps his fingers under the straps to pull her closer.

She’s on her tip toes to reach his lips, leaving her unbalanced or maybe that’s the feverish pace of the kisses.

“Wall… bed… flat surface,” Geena breaths out between kisses.

Elias smirks against her lips and pushes her towards the nearest wall slotting his knee between her legs.

“I’m glad you came back,” he bunches up her skirt and rubs her through her lacy underwear, a patch of wetness already forming, “I guess you are, too.”

“Just do something,” she bucks against his hand.

He moves to kiss down her neck, but doesn’t make any forward progress with his fingers. If anything, his touch becomes lighter, only ghosting over Geena even as he moves her underwear down her legs.

The frustrated groan Geena makes has his cock twitching.

She pushes him away with some force, enough to give her space to kick of her panties and pull Elias back by his waistband. His thigh is pressed back against her and she moves rhythmically against him, desperate for friction. Her hand reaching in his shorts and gripping his cock, stroking it to full attention with expert quickness.

“Fuck G,” he groans and pulls her back into a kiss, desperate to find some leverage.

Her hips circle more erratically, like she’s close to finding her climax just rubbing against his leg like an animal. As hot as that is, Elias wants more.

He moves his hands down her body, over her ass and to the back of her thighs, lifting her further up the wall and off her feet.

She gasps, half in displeasure at the loss of contact when she’s so close to falling over the edge and half in excited anticipation.

Geena helps line him up while he holds her against the wall; she doesn’t have time to waste, knowing she won’t last long.

Elias shows his control and strength as he slowly lowers her down his length. It’s too much, but it’s perfect. They feel every centimeter on the way down, until he bottoms out.

He looks up and sees her pupils blown out looking back down at him. Geena opens her mouth like she has something to say, but a strangled sound comes out instead.

She leans down to kiss him, mouth hot and tongue clashing against his. She grips his shoulders and pushes herself up, aching for Elias to move. He gets the hint and jackhammers his hips up towards her.

He keeps up the brutal and unrelenting pace, he can’t keep his lips working at the same time and leans his head forward on her chest. Geena digs her nails into the back of his neck, digging crescents so deep they might draw blood.

He bites into one of the leather straps of her harness, his movements becoming more irregular, wilder.

“Babe, I’m close, just keep going.”

Geena leans back into the wall, changing the angle just enough. Everything feels hotter and tighter, and Elias bites harder into the leather as he feels her milk his orgasm out of him.

Still, he doesn’t slow his pace even as it becomes almost too much, too overstimulating. He thrusts until Geena lets out a whimper and goes nearly limp in his arms. Elias suddenly aware of her weight and the burning in his arms and thighs.

He slides her down the wall until her feet touch the ground again. Her legs wobbles and he has to hook his fingers under the straps to help hold her up.

Elias pulls her along to his bedroom, sitting her down in her post-orgasm haze. He gently undoes the straps of the harness and slides it off her body. He moves to her dress, pulling the garment over her head. She’s pliant and dazed, but gives him a soft smile before she scoots up the bed.

He goes to the bathroom and gets a washcloth and runs it under warm water. He gently washes the mess between her thighs, where her juices and his come are leaking out of her, running down her thighs.

“Sorry, I should have showered,” she says sleepily, giving his bicep a gentle squeeze.

He doesn’t respond, just removes his own clothes that never came off and joins her in the bed. He gently kisses below her breasts, her sternum, her shoulders where deep red marks from the too-tight straps of the harness scream out red and raw.

Elias wants to say something, ask her questions but it’s not his place to ask. He doesn’t fully understand the intricacies of her job, but they’re just fucking and she doesn’t owe him any answers or explanations.

He kisses her shoulders once more and then her lips, hoping his actions speak a little bit of what he really wants to say. She cups his face like she understands and curls into his side before closing her eyes.

His fingers rub gently over the indentations around her back until sleep takes him too.

\\\

Geena is cooking eggs when he comes back. Elias has never hated his closet full of baggy clothes more than right now; Geena is swimming in one of his shirts making her look like she’s more of a blob than a tantalizing, half-naked woman.

“I thought you going to be ready and waiting for me in bed?”

“I got hungry,” she plates her food before she turns around, “definitely needed to refuel if there was a repeat performance.”

She hops up onto the counter and Elias hates his baggy shirt a little less when it rides up her thighs.

“Before we get back to it…” Elias places a hand on her thigh, “there’s this team event…” he doesn’t know why he’s so nervous.

“Like right now? You could have just texted if you needed to do something.”

“No, there’s this get-together this weekend and I wanted to know if you would… escort me?”

“Escort you…?”

“I’m sick of going alone to these things and wives trying to find me dates while everyone else has significant others.”

“I thought Quinn was single cause he broke up with that girl with the stripper name?”

Elias laughs, ignoring the giddiness he feels when Geena remembers even the most mundane things he brings up between their benefits.

“Lux?”

“Yeah, where was that name when I was a stripper? It’s perfect, you can go with Luxxx with three Xs or Lux Luxury; she’s sitting on a gold mine.”

“Yeah, well Quinn has a new girlfriend.”

“Wow, good for Huggy,” she grins to herself before going back to her food.

“So, what do you think?” Elias tries to get back on subject but is a little embarrassed to say the words again.

“You want me to be your date to get people off your back because you’re fine with having casual sex and don’t need a real relationship, but clearly saying that isn’t working?”

“More or less yeah.”

“I mean I am a professional dater…” she has a devious little grin, knowing she’s making him squirm a bit.

“A big part of why I’m asking you and not one of my other hookups,” he smirks like he actually has a list of other hookups.

She sets aside her now empty plate and runs her nails over his scalp and the buzzcut she’s grown to love.

She lets out a heavy sigh, “I don’t know E, we’re having sex.”

“Not at this exact moment,” he can’t help himself in the moment, being in her proximity brings it out of him.

She rolls her eyes but can’t stop the smile, “I don’t have sex with clients so it would be kind of weird and wrong to make you sign a contract or something.”

“I’m not asking for this to be a big official thing.”

“Elias, you’re thinking this is just a one and done thing, but if you want these people off your back I can’t just show up once and then fuck off.”

She cups his face, wants to make herself crystal clear.

“It means I will have to show up a few times, which makes this a time commitment, and some of those times will be during my prime working hours, which means I’ll be doing my job without making money and that makes the whole thing like an unpaid internship.”

“Okay, then let’s do this under the table,” he kisses up her jawline towards her lips, “and I pay you in sexual favors.”

“In an attempt to avoid me becoming a prostitute for you, you’re suggesting I become a prostitute for you,” she shoves him back a little bit, but he’s between the vee of her thighs and can’t go too far.

“I think the correct term is sex worker.”

Geena lets out a surprised snort.

“I appreciate your nuanced terminology, but I’m technically kind of a sex worker as an escort, so I’m just using it to differentiate. Also, I’m legally allowed to sell sex but it’s illegal to buy sex in Canada so we’re entering a real murky area here.”

She hooks her ankles behind him and pulls him close, “Will you give me a bit to think about it, like a day max.”

“Yeah of course,” he gives her a quick peck, “are you still gonna stick around for the day?”

“Yeah, you properly using the term sex worker weirdly does it for me.”

\\\

She ends up agreeing, there wasn’t really any doubt. She likes making Elias happy.

Geena rolls into Elias’ apartment two hours before he says to come over with a suitcase in tow.

Elias is watching TV in his boxer briefs and looks almost embarrassed to be caught being lazy and disheveled. Even though Geena knows he got in late from a road game in Winnipeg, where the plane had been delayed due to weather.

“Why are you here so early?”

“You gave me like no information about tonight, so I brought some outfit options for any occasion from super casual to full black tie.”

Elias just blinks, not sure how to respond as Geena starts opening the suitcase.

“G, we haven’t even discussed how I would,” he rubs the back of his neck, “pay you.”

He’s getting second thoughts about the whole thing.

“I decided the first one is free, see if I fit in and it feels natural then we’ll discuss payment plan,” she winks and continues pulling out outfits.

“This is a little overwhelming.”

“You’re getting the full Ruby experience. You can still call me Geena though, since we know each other intimately, going with my escort name might be confusing.”

He feels a bit nauseous. He assumes it’s showing on his face because Geena stops what she’s doing and joins him on the couch.

“E, this is literally my profession, I’m taking charge here so you don’t have to worry about stuff. But I have to get some information so you can relax and follow my lead.”

She gives him a quick kiss as a form of reassurance.

“It’s in a private room at a nice-ish restaurant.”

“Great start,” she gets up and holds up a black jumpsuit and a blue dress.

“Uhhh, the dress.”

“Excellent choice, now how do you want me to be?”

“What?”

“How do you want me to act? Cheery? Cerebral? Demure? Mysterious?”

“I just thought you’d act like yourself; I like how you are.”

Geena feels her face heat up.

“And PDA? Are we a little handsy–“

Elias laughs at the irony of that.

“I said handsy not hand job Elias,” she puts a stop to this tangent immediately, “but let’s say casual touching, nothing below the waist.”

“What if I want to grab your ass?” Geena quickly making him calmer about the whole thing.

“Okay, we’ll play the PDA stuff by ear.”

Geena knows the PDA situation the moment the hostess starts leading them to the private room in the back of the restaurant. The confidence Elias had thought he built up immediately crumbles and his whole body tenses up beside hers.

She grabs his hand, knowing she’ll probably be a calming touch away the whole night.

Were he any other client she wouldn’t say the next thought out loud, “Loosen your grip E, you don’t want them to think you have to physically force a woman to go on a date with you.”

“No, I just have to pay one,” he whispers with a smirk.

She squeezes his hand, reminds him to stay this loose.

The tension comes back almost instantly. Apparently, Geena is the first date Elias has ever brought around, so meeting her is the main event of the evening.

Tension ratchets up further when the obvious question comes up, “how did you two meet?”

His eyes widen and he starts to stutter for a response. Geena has to practically pry her hand loose so she can wrap an arm around his waist and tuck herself into his side. His grip on her shoulder is only a little too tight.

“I was supposed to be meeting a guy in his building for a date,” Elias is shocked that Geena is telling the real story.

“And I’ve been waiting for 15 minutes already and this dude is not answering his buzzer and of course my phone has died in the meantime so I can’t call him or a car to leave. And obviously at this point the weather also has to be terrible and it starts pouring rain and I happen to be standing in front of the only luxury apartment building that has no overhang to stand under.”

She’s a natural conversationalist, Elias looks around, everybody is already enthralled just by the way she talks.

“So, I’m getting absolutely soaked while I’m thinking about what to do next, when Elias comes running from a car that just dropped him off and he lets me into the lobby because I must look too pathetic to be a thief or something.”

“I thought you were a wet dog when I saw you out of the corner of my eye,” he jokes and squeezes her tighter as she gives him a playful bat.

“Okay, I guess he let this wet dog in the lobby and I explained what happened with this other guy, and Elias offers to call me a car but makes me give him my number so I can text him that I made it home safely, which was clearly just a way to get my number– “

“Hey, there are security cameras in the lobby I didn’t want to be the last person on camera to see you if you got murdered.”

Elias feels his face heating up, he’s glad his teammates think it’s because he’s being called out for using a cheesy line. Because while the night really did end that way, Elias had actually invited Geena up to his place to charge her phone and take a dry sweatshirt first.

They ended up having sex on his couch while her phone charged.

“Uh-huh, sure, that’s the reason,” she rolls her eyes before kissing his cheek, he heats up even more.

Suddenly, Elias is relaxed. It’s like Geena passed a test and integrated into the group. She stays a touch away while they mingle until dinner starts.

Elias keeps a casual arm on the back of her chair during dinner, Geena working the room so well he has no idea why he was so nervous.

Then he notices the way Garland is looking at her, like he knows something. He pushes the feeling down and focuses on the warmth of Geena’s body against his palm. Garland spends most of the dinner looking like he wants to ask something, which keeps Elias on edge for most of dinner.

Eventually he gets the courage to ask, “Sorry Geena, you look so familiar, have we met before or do you just have one of those faces?”

Elias stiffens and Geena places a hand on his thigh and rubs it, telling him not to worry.

“I think I have one of those faces. Last time I heard that, someone told me I looked like some woman from pornos, so maybe I have porno face.”

She has big, innocent doe eyes when she says it while other people snort on their drinks. Conor turns pink as his fiancée is torn between laughing and being grossed out. She breaks the tension with a laugh and the topic is dropped.

Geena wouldn’t be surprised if he recognized her, her days as a stripper brought a lot of NHL teams to the club. Even some of the Canucks had made an appearance now and then, no judgement with what adults want to do, just facts.

Many a rookie party wrapped up in the strip club, when most people were too far gone to think about their inhibitions any longer. One of the rookies, usually the most or least sober, would be handed a stack of ones and shoved towards a back room.

She remembers bringing one rookie back herself. When he sat down, she finally realized he was really a boy just playing dress up as a man. Then he burst into tears, words garbled up through sobs and intoxication, something about this not being who he is.

They were about the same age, but Geena felt maternal in the moment.

Geena rubbed his back and assured him she didn’t need to do anything; they could sit until he calmed down. When he finally stopped, she got ice cubes to help get rid of the puffiness around his eyes, a trick of the trade. Once he looked presentable, she slipped him a pair of underwear into his back pocket, a very Sixteen Candles move.

“Oh my god you were incredible,” Elias says as they get into his car after dinner, “no wonder you do this for a living.”

“And you’re so quick on your feet! That porno line, I thought Garly was going to swallow his tongue,” he continues.

“Customer service is the most important part of sex work,” she gives a soft smile.

Normally, after a date with a client she’d have a joint or an edible and if she was still feeling wired, she’d call someone for a hook up. But Elias is her go-to hook up and it makes her whole routine feel out of whack.

She wants to go home with him, have a night cap and at least make out a little, but everything is different and that feels like a boundary she can’t cross. Even with her lover turned sort of client.

“Hey E, can you take me back to my place?”

His foot stutters on the brake, bringing them to a jerky stop and go.

“It’s just I’m tired and since we’re treating this like a real job it feels wrong. I wouldn’t go home with a client; I wouldn’t even get in a car with them.”

“Oh right, of course. That makes perfect sense.”

The car is silent as the lights of Vancouver flash by, Geena slouching further into her seat. The weight of everything seeping into her bones.

Elias pulls up in front of Geena’s building, “Thanks for tonight, I really owe you. But we can discuss my payment later,” he gives devilish smirk and Geena can’t help but smile back.

“Cool, let me know the gossip about me in the group chat later.”

She leans in for kiss, but even though that’s their norm it feels like a violation to her own code of conduct. She bails last minute for an awkward kiss on the cheek which ends up with Elias kissing her right below her eye.

She scampers away before she can see his reaction.

\\\

The weird feeling doesn’t go away after her joint. Not after a boiling hot shower or the cold shower she takes afterwards.

It still doesn’t go away when she texts u up? to the contact ‘For a Good Time 💦’ and she lets him fuck her throat until she’s a mess of tears and snot and can barely talk, let alone think.

After a good night’s sleep, the feeling is still crawling under her skin. It makes Geena want to rub it raw. Since the weirdness isn’t going away any time soon, she pulls up her wish list she sends to some clients, she usually calls it tipping, and sends it to Elias.

Ten minutes later she realizes without context the list seems weird and follows up with: For payment after our next date, leaving what and how much up to you, think of it as my friends discount lmk where and when you need me next

Geena turns off her phone and tries to enjoy her day off, the weird feeling settling like a pair of glasses, still there but no longer aware of them.

It helps that the Canucks are on an East coast road trip. They’ve been hooking up for almost two years but don’t really keep tabs on each other. It’s like the moment either of them leave the greater Vancouver area they become strangers.

So, she’s not surprised that she just has a thumbs up as a response when she turns her phone back on. But she is surprised when two days later there’s a large package at her PO box. She wasn’t actually expecting Elias to work so fast, to be thinking of her on his work trip.

She opens the package at home, there’s a note on top of the tissue: To keep my snack warm, E.

Geena rolls her eyes, but gasps when she pulls out a slate blue cashmere coat. It’s the kind of expensive thing she puts on her wish list without expecting to ever get it. Like putting something too fancy on a wedding registry hoping some rich, distant relative will actually go for it.

She does a grossed-out shiver thinking about Elias as a rich, distant relative.

But it doesn’t stop her from stroking the luxurious coat with awe. She puts it on and it fits perfectly, she thinks she might live in it from now on. It’s too much for one date that was supposed to be complimentary, too grand a gesture. Still, she loves it too much to care.

She shows up at Elias’ place after his first home game back. They won; she knew because the buzz on her phone from the NHL app kept going off during her date with a client. He turned out to be a big Canucks fan, but still it made her mind preoccupied on the job. Always a bad thing in her line of work.

Geena knocks on his door, worried that he isn’t alone. He’s a star Canuck who just won a game in a pretty rough season. He would deserve it and it wouldn’t be hard to find someone for him. Still, Geena ain’t no cock block.

His jacket is off and tie loosened when he opens the door, like he just got home.

“Hey G, the coat looks nice,” Elias smirks as he lets his eyes rake up and down her body, he doesn’t move aside to let her in

“Thank you, it was way too much, but it’s nice.”

Geena tries to casually peer around him, making sure he’s alone. He immediately catches on.

“Are you here for business or pleasure?” his tone cocky.

She shrugs, “I haven’t decided yet.”

Elias makes a show of moving out of the way, revealing for certain he’s alone.

Geena makes a show of walking past him and taking off her coat, revealing her burgundy slip dress with a dangerously high slit.

“Had a client tonight?” Elias moves closer to her.

She nods and takes a step back, “a business man who was a big Canucks fan.”

“That make you think of me?”

“Yeah, and that’s not great for business, I was so distracted I don’t think he’ll give me a good tip,” Geena pouts.

“That’s too bad, you love a good tip.”

The game of sexual tension chicken continues, slowly making their way towards the bedroom. A strap of her dress falls down her shoulder. She has to tense her muscles to not shiver under Elias’ gaze. Before she knows it, she’s falling back onto the bed and Elias is caging her in.

He kisses up her bare shoulder, up her neck, and nips under her ear.

“I guess you’re here for pleasure,” she feels his low voice rumble against her, vibrating her bones.

He starts to suck a mark into her neck and she can’t let that happen. He’s so focused on the task, she takes advantage of the moment to flip him over so she’s on top.

“I guess I am,” she smirks down at him before pulling off her dress and tossing it off the bed.

Elias rubs his hands up her sides, over her silky matching set, “This for your client, too?”

She wants to lie because the truth is boring, this underwear happened to work with the best with the dress. But the truth is also scary, she did think of how Elias would react when she picked them

“No, just for you,” she rolls her hips and Elias groans.

“Next time just wear this under the coat,” he sits up and captures her lips.

She bites his bottom lip and tries to work the buttons on his shirt, “You need less buttons on your shirt.”

Elias laughs and pulls her along as he lays back down. Pulling her body up his, her legs bracketing his shoulders. She’s about to question what’s happening as he kisses the insides of her thighs, moving towards her vagina. He grips her hips to holds her in place as she squirms at the sensations.

She’s so used to giving, this makes her feel off-kilter. She never knows quite what to do when it’s one way towards her, but it should feel good. Biologically her body is reacting like it should, she gasps when he mouths at her through the silky material.

“E,” she tries to push her body up but he doesn’t let her get far, “you don’t have to do this.”

His grip loosens and she’s able to sit back a bit, fully see his face.

“How many times do I have to tell you I want to do this, I like doing this,” his fingers dip below her waistline while he waits for a response.

“Okay,” her voice is smaller than he’s ever heard it, “if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” he pulls the waistband of her panties down, “now take these off and sit on my face.”

She does as she’s told, gripping at the headboard and riding his face to an orgasm that makes the blood slosh in her ears. Elias has to tap her thigh to get her to move in the stupor.

“Sorry,” she mumbles and starts to do only thing she know how, return the favor.

Geena moves down his body, but Elias stops her. Instead, he maneuvers her to his side, wrapping an arm around her.

“I’m kind of tired,” he kisses the top of her head, “let’s just sleep.”

“In your clothes?” She’s hoping that will be enough to start something, she hates feeling like they’re on uneven ground.

He rolls his eyes and then out of bed, taking off his clothes as he makes his way to the bathroom. Any of their heat from earlier dissipates as Geena watches him start brushing his teeth through the open door.

He rummages through a drawer and holds out a toothbrush, the green one he bought for her when she started staying over. She hesitantly gets up and joins him at the counter; Elias has his and hers sinks and they each stand in front of one and silently brush their teeth.

Elias keeps making faces in the mirror trying to get Geena to look and laugh, he’s pretty close despite her trying to avoid looking. Then he fakes a blow job: pushing it into the inside of his cheek, then gagging and spitting out the the white foam. Geena can’t help but let out a belly laugh and chokes on her own toothpaste.

“Don’t try and kill me for a bit,” she gives him a shove after she rinses her mouth.

He just smiles and plucks her toothbrush out of her hand and places it in the cup next to his. There’s a swooping in her stomach, when did being so domestic become so normal?

She lets herself get pulled back into his side when they get back into bed, and she pretends she doesn’t sleep more soundly in his grasp.

\\\

Geena wakes up the next morning in an empty bed. It’s oddly comforting even if she’s not in her own home. She gets up and digs through Elias’ dresser finding a pair of shorts and a shirt, she doesn’t feel like trying to shimmy back into a constricting dress.

She pads out into the living room, gathering her coat and purse, shoving the dress into the tiny bag.

“Morning,” Geena nearly jumps out of her skin.

“Fuck me,” she takes a deep breath and finds Elias holding a mug of coffee and a plate with a croissant.

“I can do that, but maybe you want to eat first,” he smirks before noticing her holding her stuff, “you heading out?”

“I- uh- I thought you left so, yeah,” she still kind of wants to leave now.

“I just went out to pick up coffee, I would have invited you, but thought you could sleep and I’d bring you breakfast in bed.”

Geena isn’t exactly sure what her face does, but Elias frowns.

“Do you need to leave?” His voice is soft.

“No breakfast is good, maybe we could sit outside, it’s actually nice,” that seems to appease him.

Elias has a smoothie with his coffee and Geena gingerly picks at the pastry.

“The team has been asking about you, you were a big hit,” he finally speaks up.

“So, I need to make another sparkling appearance?” she’s grinning but doesn’t look up at him, staring at her toes in the sunlight.

“They were wondering if you wanted to sit with them at a game, and if we win, we can go out after.”

“Like hang out with them when you’re not there?”

“If it’s too weird then don’t worry about it, but you can see a free game and you can even show up late if you want to avoid that much time with them.”

“No, I can do it, it’s fine.”

She pulls her feet up onto the chair, curls her toes into the cushion. Flexing and unflexing, something to remind her she’s not lost at sea, she’s on solid ground.

“Great, would Friday work for you?”

“I’ll have to check my schedule, but that should work.”

She knows she’ll have to cancel with a client, it’s last minute on a weekend night. But she doesn’t want to disappoint Elias.

His smile grows twice in size.

“And in return could you get me reservations at Kissa Tanto?”

He scrunches his eyebrows.

“It’s like impossible to get good reservations there, so use your pretty boy Canuck connections and squeeze me in on like a Saturday.”

“Oh. Yeah, I can probably swing that.”

“I know you can,” she pops the rest of the croissant in her mouth and downs her coffee, “I do have to go now, but I’ll see you later.”

She’s more nervous about the game than she cares to admit. Changing her outfit about four times, stalking WAGs on Instagram just to make sure she’ll mostly fit in. She doesn’t even know why she cares so much, it’s not the first time she’s had to fit in and schmooze a group of significant other, but it is the first time she’s done it without her date.

She shows up during the second period, trying to limit the amount of time she’ll have to spend without hockey going on. Geena knows she can survive one intermission.

As soon as she gets to the seats Samantha pulls Geena to sit next to her.

“Thank god you’re here.”

Geena laughs nervously, wondering why this girl she talked to for maybe 30 minutes is so excited to see her.

“I’m new here too, so it’s nice to have some back up. This whole world is new to me.”

Samantha is smiling, but Geena can read the self-consciousness on her face. She knows what it’s like, back when she was new to a higher class of living, she always felt like people would know she’s some kind of dirty whore, that she didn’t belong and never would.

She soon learned pretending to be confident could go a long way.

“If it makes you feel better this is the fourth outfit I tried on,” Samantha squeezes her arm in response.

The game is fun, it’s the first time she’s seen a hockey game while not on a job in a long time. Though technically she’s still on a job, she doesn’t need to entertain someone else. She forgot how fun it could be. And she finally gets to focus on Elias, how gracefully he skates, the power of his shot; it’s kind of beautiful.

Elias scores a goal and Geena goes nuts, she didn’t know she had that kind of excitement in her.

One of the girlfriend’s films the reaction and the rest of the crowd cheering before Geena can slink out of view.

“What’s your handle Geena?”

“Oh, I don’t do social media,” she shrugs, she does but it’s under the name Ruby and definitely not for all audiences.

There’s a chorus of shock that follows.

“I’ll tag Petey in it then,” she smirks and types away on her phone.

The goal turns out to be the game winner and the group is buzzing, Geena is almost excited to go out with them, like they’re just a group of her friends.

It’s as if she’s in a drunken haze as they make their way into the depths of the arena to greet the players, then she’s pulled into a hug and obligatory kiss with Elias. Suddenly she’s piling into the back of a car that’s so crowded she’s half on Elias’ lap.

It all happens so fast she doesn’t even notice what bar they’re going to until she’s in the door and it’s too late to turn around. She definitely can’t make a scene, so she tries to hide behind the bigger hockey bodies as they go to the VIP section.

She drinks a little too much a little too fast. It loosens her up enough to go out onto the dance floor with some of the other ladies without a second thought. It’s when they go to the bar for some water that reality sets in again.

“Ruby”

Geena is pretty good at compartmentalizing her double life, so she doesn’t react to her alter ego name at first.

“Ruby!”

“I think that guy is trying to talk to you,” Samantha nudges her, making her finally look over to acknowledge the man.

She mumbles an expletive under her breath when she sees her manager, Michael. He likes to keep an eye on the escorts when they’re in a bar, it always seems to be where incidents happen.

“It’s some guy I gave a fake name then ghosted. I’ll go talk to him then meet you guys back at the tables,” she tries to shake the confused stares as she walks over.

“I thought you were taking the night off Ruby?”

“I’m here as Geena, I didn’t realize I was coming here until it was too late.”

“Shit, well Sam is here and he’s not too pleased with his replacement, so you might want to get out of here before you lose one of your best clients.”

“Fuck, I’ll get out as soon as I can. Sorry.”

“Geena, you’re allowed to have a life, just maybe not here of all places,” Michael gives her a sad smile.

She weaves her way back to the group, trying to blend in with the crowd. She clearly looks concerned when she sits back down next to Elias, who hands her his drink.

“You okay?” He leans in close, warm breath on her neck.

"I have a lot of dates here and the client I cancelled on for you is here,” she doesn’t mean to let that last bit of information slip but she’s nervous.

She leans back to look at Elias reaction, she’s not quite sure if he’s worried or happy. She gives him a long kiss in response before moving back to his ear again.

“So, if we get a bit handsy, so you can sort of hide my face and make it so it seems like we’re leaving to go bang that would be great.”

She kisses the spot below his ear, “we can also actually leave and go bang, too.”

Geena’s throwing out her rules of not sleeping with her faux-client after a date, anything to get out of here sooner rather than later.

“Yeah, sure,” he pulls her closer, “I think I can do that.”

They’re in a darkest corner of the table with his teammates, but the moment Elias’ tongue slips its way into Geena’s mouth there’s some cat calling from the boys. She can feel Elias’ hand move off of her, assumably to flip them off.

“I think they’ve had enough of a show,” he whispers and yanks her into a standing position.

There are some obligatory waves to the team before he’s pulling her into his side, hiding her a bit under his shoulder, leaning down to kiss her a bit as they walk to cover her whole face until they’re outside.

Her skin is on fire and the burst of cold air is doing nothing to change that. Geena feels the sudden urge to pull Elias into an alley and get on her knees for him, but she knows that has to wait until they’re as far away from this bar and any prying eyes as possible.

“Thanks E,” she can’t stop from kissing him again, with a little less heat this time.

“No problem, I was promised we’d go bang so not really a problem for me.”

He smirks and grabs her arms and pins them to her side to avoid the playful smack that was sure to come, and kisses her until her knees are weak.

\\\

Elias shows up at Geena’s apartment on a Saturday.

A woman in a silky robe answers the door and Elias worries he’s at the wrong place.

He’s only been inside her apartment once: taking Geena home when she arrived at his place for a booty call a little too drunk. He brought her home and practically carried her into her room, thinking it was best if she slept it off in her own bed.

“Hi, sorry I must be at the wrong apartment–“

“Baby Slut, your lover is here!” The woman shouts back over her shoulder and leans on the doorframe with a smirk.

“What are you talking ab– oh shit E, what are you doing here?”

Geena is also in silk robe holding a mascara wand.

“The Kissa Tanto reservation? It’s tonight.”

She blinks a few times before seeming to come back online.

“Oh, you made them for us,” she points between the two of them, “I was gonna take Xa,” she points to the woman in the doorway.

“I shouldn’t have assumed I was your plus one. You two should go together.”

Elias tries to hide his disappointment and embarrassment but apparently does a bad job.

“No, you two go have a cute little date,” Xa smiles a bit conspiratorially.

“But we’ve been wanting to go there forever,” Geena pouts, Elias hates that he feels like he’s being rejected.

“And I’m sure we can make that happen another time,” Xa give Elias a wink, “Would you be able to do that for us.”

“Uh- yeah of course,” Elias smiles back, “sorry about ruining your plans.”

“Don’t worry about, I can always go to the club make a quick buck,” she’s moving aside so Elias can come in, “someone’s gotta keep Baby Slut here in the life she’s grown accustomed to. Since you’re monopolizing all her billing hours.”

Elias feels his cheeks heat up.

“Let me throw on clothes real quick,” Geena cuts in, “behave yourself Xa.”

As soon as she seems out of earshot Elias asks, “Baby Slut?”

“I took her under my wing when she first started stripping, showed her the ropes. Barely legal girl who could barely get on stage without shaking. She didn’t have anyone taking care of her, so she became my little baby and well–“

She waves her hand implying all the things that could be associated with sex work, making slut seem like low hanging fruit.

It’s a reminder that Geena has already lived hundreds of lives in her short time on Earth. While Elias had only lived his solitary, safe life.

“I wasn’t legal,” Geena is dressed in record time, probably to avoid Xa sharing any embarrassing stories.

“Shhh, I don’t know how long the statute of limitations lasts on abetting a minor in her crimes.”

Geena rolls her, grabbing her coat and shoving Elias towards the door.

“Nice meeting you,” Elias calls over his shoulder.

“You too, have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Wow, that really narrows it down,” Geena flips her off as she slams the door.

Both parties are desperately trying to decipher dinner’s meaning, is it a date? A real one? With no prying eyes of teammates or payments?

It makes it a little awkward.

They’re staring at their menus in silence like they can’t think of a single thing to talk about, which is absurd for two people who have spent so much time together. Most of it was in throes of passion, but there was always time between rounds or during mornings after lazing in bed or while munching on midnight snacks.

They talk enough that one dinner with no expectations should be easy.

The waiter comes by and takes their orders and they’re both grateful when their drinks arrive.

“Well cheers to our first date, I guess,” Geena makes a goofy face, which make Elias laugh despite the confusion it causes.

“You look really beautiful.”

Geena blushes like no one has ever told her that before. Elias realizes he never has, not without some kind of heat behind it, some innuendo. He wonders if anyone has ever sincerely said it to her.

She starts to nervously gnaw on her lip and Elias knows he needs to change the subject.

“I didn’t realize you had a roommate, Xa seems nice.”

Her face nearly splits with excitement.

“Yeah, she’s the best. I wouldn’t be anything without her. I would still have the pseudonym Buttercup if it wasn’t for her.”

“Buttercup?”

“Don’t laugh!” She kicks his shin, “I was 16 and thought it was all ‘I’m innocent but sexy’, which I was neither.”

“It’s a really terrible stripper name.”

“Like 16-year-old Elias could’ve thought of something better.”

“I think it would at least be a step better than Buttercup.”

Suddenly, the ice is broken. They’re joking and talking like normal, the location is different, but it’s still comfortable. So, Elias takes a calculated risk and reaches across the table to hold Geena’s hand while they finish their drinks after dinner. She doesn’t pull away.

“That was fun,” Geena smiles as she settles in his passenger seat, reaching across the console to put a hand on his thigh, “want to keep it going?”

And of course, he does, he always does. But tonight feels different, so he wants to treat it differently.

“I’m gonna drop you off at home…”

Geena scoffs but doesn’t remove her hand from his thigh, if anything she moves it higher.

“And I’m gonna walk you to your door and kiss you goodnight. Like a respectful date.”

“Your dick has been in like all of my orifices, I think we’re kind of past respectful first date bullshit.”

“So, this was a first date?” he keeps his eyes forward but grins as Geena gives his thigh slap.

“I’ll send you the bill later,” he can hear her rolling her eyes.

“Worth it.”

\\\

“Are you dating Elias Pettersson?”

Geena almost chokes on her champagne.

Her date pats her back as she sputters, she kind of hopes she just chokes to death.

“Am I what?”

They’re standing out on the patio, a black-tie event happening inside. Just her and a long-term client getting some air. She’ll usually do some playful touches let him giver her his jacket to warm her against the chill; anything to make his coworkers think the heat is still alive between them after years together.

But this is new. He’s never asked Ruby about her life outside of their arrangement. He didn’t need to, he just needed arm candy while he wined and dined other rich business men that did something Geena never fully understood.

“Are you dating Elias Pettersson, the Vancouver Canuck?”

Geena feels lightheaded.

“My assistant saw some pictures of you with him. You were at a game with the wives and then out at a restaurant. You looked pretty cozy.”

“We’re not dating.”

“So, he’s a client?”

“I can’t tell you that, you wouldn’t want me telling people about us.”

“No, but I can’t risk looking like a fool because you’re out with someone in the public eye.”

A lump forms thick in her throat. She can’t speak around the feeling.

“So, you’ll understand why this has to be our last date.”

She nods while she tries to find her voice.

“Do you want me to make a scene? I can go a little crazy, make you get a little sympathy for dealing with your crazy girlfriend?”

“I was just going to tell people it didn’t work out because you wanted kids.”

“Very dignified,” she straightens her posture, trying to remain professional.

“I’ll still pay your full rate, but if you want to sneak out early that’s okay too.”

Her eyes burn with tears. She’s never cried in front of client, at least not if they weren’t paying for it. When it’s clear she won’t be able to hold them back for long, she slinks off in shame.

Her first thought is to go to Elias, seek comfort in his arms. She doesn’t even want anything sexual and her shame is replaced with unease. Geena’s not sure which she hates more. So, she takes to her bed like some Victorian maiden and hopes this is all some kind of nightmare.

It’s not.

Xa lets her stay in bed for two days before telling her she has to move on.

“Life happens, shit happens. You of all people should know that,” Xa says as she brushes her hair, a little intimacy that Geena never wants to admit she craves.

Her first outing is to the strip club, which maybe isn’t her best idea. Because being in a strip club at 1 pm on a weekday is never a good look. It’s just her and four men around the main stage. They keep sending her drinks as if she’ll go home with them or give them a lap dance.

She’s drunk by 2:30.

“You coming back to the club, Buttercup?”

Geena’s getting a lap dance from a dancer she used to work with, Sasha, who can only talk to Geena if she keeps dancing.

“If I came back, it would not be as Buttercup,” she’s basically talking to her tits.

“Fine, is Ruby coming out of retirement?”

“Ruby only retired from the stage, but she may be retiring entirely soon,” she slips some money Sasha’s her G-string.

“Shit, another whore going to the good side?”

“I don’t want to, I love what I do, I’m good at it. Just things are getting complicated. How do you live a normal life and do this?”

“It’s not easy, I have to work this shift now so I can see my kids. Money’s not as good but it’s worth being able to have dinner with them and go to their soccer games and shit.”

Geena furrows her brows.

“There’s nothing wrong with living this kind of life if you like it. But that doesn’t mean you have to give up the normal things. You don’t have to live in the shadows just because people make you feel seedy or dirty about your job.”

Sasha gives her forehead a kiss, which is weird after she was grinding into Geena’s crotch.

“You’re not baby Buttercup anymore, you’re badass Ruby and she can do whatever the fuck she wants. And if you don’t believe me Xa will kick your ass into believing. Now get out of here before the night girls come and make you get on stage.”

Geena stumbles out of the club, smelling of thick perfume and booze. Like she used to most nights. It feels like a safety blanket.

In her drunken stupor she calls an Uber to her most common destination, Elias’.

She generally tries to avoid showing up completely unannounced, but she’s too tipsy to think about that and lets herself in without a second thought.

And sitting at the table are two people, who are clearly Elias’ parents.

“Oh shit,” she says it too loud, both heads whip towards her, she can’t sneak out now.

Instead, she stands there frozen, mouth agape, probably looking like a fool.

“You must be Geena, Elias didn’t say you’d be coming by,” Elias’ mom smiles

“Oh yeah,” Geena returns a dopey smile, her brain is about five steps behind.

“I’m Irene and this is Torbjörn,” she stands up and walks toward Geena, “are you a hugger?”

“Nice to meet you and um yeah,” Geena holds out her arm and accepts the hug.

Irene pulls away a smile still on her face. She’s either great at hiding her judgement or doesn’t care Geena reeks of liquor. Knowing Elias’ inability to hide his judgement, she’s guessing the latter.

“Elias should be back from practice any minute.”

“Okay, I’ll just go freshen up really quick.”

She scurries to Elias’ room, hearing Swedish behind her. She hopes they’re not saying anything too bad, hoping it wasn’t too bad of a first impression. She flops on the bed, squeezing her eyes shut when the room starts to spin.

Why does she even care? It’s not like she’s actually Elias’ girlfriend, she’s just convenient, in every kind of way. Nothing more.

But he told his parents about her. His mom was excited to meet her. It felt nice. Like someone stuck around long enough to break through the hard shell around her heart. And maybe she is allowed to have that.

Elias comes in and flops down next to her. Geena finally opens her eyes, turning her head to the side to look at him. His smile is so nice she can’t stop herself from kissing him.

“You smell like a strip club.”

She lets out an airy laugh, “do your parents know that?”

“I don’t think so, they know you’re drunk though. I wanted to give you more warning before you met them, so, sorry.”

“Why would you introduce me to your parents? Did one of your teammates let it slip that you have a girlfriend?” She uses air quotes around the last word.

Elias sits up to get a better look at her, “no, I wanted – we went on a real first date – I thought…“

“E, are we dating now? You want to date me?”

“Of course, I do G! I didn’t realize how much until we started to fake date. But I like spending time with you outside of sex.”

“Even though I’m a dirty sex worker?”

“I wouldn’t call you dirty, unless you wanted me to,” he smirks.

“I just lost a big client because he saw a picture of us together. What happens if more people find out, on either side? I don’t want to quit my job because you’re in the public eye.”

“I’m not asking you to do that, you like what you do and from what I saw firsthand you’re really good at it. So, if you want to tell people what you do, I don’t care. I’ll do whatever you need me to, I just want you to be mine.”

“You really don’t care?”

“What you do doesn't change who you are or what I feel or want to give you.”

“So, you’re kind of mine then?”

He nods and pulls her up for a kiss.

“We should probably leave my bedroom before my parents think we’re having sex.”

“If they already think it…” Geena waggles her brows and playfully bites his shoulder.

He gives her a playful shove back onto the mattress before grabbing her hand, interlocking their fingers and pulling her towards the door, and the future.

#elias pettersson #elias pettersson fic #elias pettersson imagine #vancouver canucks #vancouver canucks fics #vancouver canucks imagines #nhl #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #hockey fics #hockey #nhl stories #nhl fic

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c00kiesart · 3 months

Note

Hey, I just wanna say I really like those mha ocs u made! The two girls and that one curly haired guy. Can we get more details on them? Anything u wanna say about them?

Oh yo?? Thanks for showing interest my man?? I’ll put it all under the cut so I don’t flood anyone’s screens

Let’s start off with my gal! cuki chokochi, she’s in the hero course at UA by the name “Precious pockets” and her quirk is, u guessed it, portal pockets! she can store basically anything inside ANY pocket/bag and be the only one to access it! She even knows how to sew to add more pockets, It can’t be organized for shit so she takes a while to find stuff but she is incredibly versatile on the field! she def keeps you on ur toes! But don’t fret normally she’s sweet as she is fluffy, And fun story actually, the reason why her design is kinda misleading is cuz the first quirk concept I had for her was a beast transformation quirk, but the idea was already taken by a canon character and thus had to be changed xD Izzy actually helped spark the pockets idea, I just liked the design too much to fully redo it. Her horns are unevenly grown and she’s a little insecure about her furry features but her friends reassure her she’s lovely way she is, she likes fairy kei/decora fashion but can’t wear too many layers due to her fur, and her favorite things are waffles and stars. she’s also dating iida, she helps him learn to relax.

Next up is my bestie @needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves ‘s girl! Kokomo kiri. she’s in the support course and has a real knack for creating countless new support items/costumes. Her signature is brass knuckles lol and her quirk is nightmare noms, She can make nightmares reality just by eating them from her victims minds when asleep, thanks to her eyes she can visually see their dreams. They can even look different based on the contents of said dream. Once eaten, she can conjure up very convincing illusions and use all your senses against you, She’s a master at mimicry and can even make someone fall asleep just by making eye contact, it’s why I designed her eyes to be hypnotic swirls! basically nightmares are her fuel, but if she gets too backed up she vomits a black sludge that if touched can make one more prone to fear. It’s actually why her hands are permanently stained. She also suffers from insomnia, she’s an acquired taste for sure and she speaks very weirdly but she just loves in her own special way! Albeit she’s very crude and impulsive. And very blunt. with a super dark sense of humor too. But I promise she’s nice! She wears a beanie to hide her messy bed head and Her favorite things are banana bread and bats, she’s dating sato. And yes. He makes her banana bread whenever she wants.

And lastly but not LEAST we have our absolute LAD tomonari jishaku! Him and cuki are in the hero course together! He goes by the name “checkmate”. Cuki gives him confidence whilst kiri keeps him humble. By bullying him. but she loves the nerd, she really does. His quirk is magnet, he has metal protrusions on his chest and arms, with the left hand he pushes and with the right he pulls, he’s super skilled and trains hella hard but if he over uses it’s a lotta stress on his poor nerves. despite his very anxious and quite frankly pushover demeanor, when the time calls for it, he for sure can kick your ass. He just needs a little encouragement?? Don’t we all? He’s a huge video game nerd and he actually tends to avoid cursing, and conflict. his favorite things are pineapple pizza, pink lemonade and photography. He has pictures hung up everywhere and He’s dating tetsutetsu. They’re very homo gym bros

And all together this trio is called the creation crew, like how the big three call themselves. Well. The big three! These guys all create things in their own ways, pretty fitting team name if you ask me, And if you really read this far? I SUPER appreciate it! ✨

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whatsnewalycat · 2 years

Text

Just Dumb Enough to Try

Chapter 1: Wishful Drinking

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: Masturbation, voyeurism, binge drinking, smoking, swearing, nsfw, dirty talk, movie nerd shit, end of season 2 canon, attempts at humor, vulnerable Javi, touch-starved reader, hookup culture

Summary: In 1993, you met Javier Peña in San Antonio. You made an emotional and physical connection with him. Now it's 1998 and you're starting a new chapter of life in Laredo with your fiancé. And who else walks back into the picture, but the man who left you high and dry five years ago.

Notes: Music is a big inspiration in writing this, so I'm making a Spotify playlist for each chapter. Playlist for this chapter. I really wanted to make something where Javi can be soft, vulnerable, goofy, etc. Because CUTE. I've written a few chapters ahead and cross-posted on AO3 here. Let me know what ya think!! Pls be gentle because this is my first attempt at fan fiction in ages.

Apartment #303, Timberhill Commons, San Antonio, TX

November 29, 1993

What the fuck am I even doing?

You sigh and grab a short black dress out of the closet in front of you, then stretch it on over your head. Thankfully it’s a flexible fabric, otherwise it wouldn’t have fit over your plump body. Granted, your ass stretches the material so it’s about 2 inches shorter than when Michelle wears it, but whatever. You turn to look in the full-length mirror and suppose the garment isn’t too far out of your comfort zone. It clings to every curve of your body and the neckline dips low enough to tease the beginnings of your breasts, which are practically spilling out of a push-up bra.

I look hot.

Michelle saunters into her bedroom and hands you one of the rum and cokes she’s holding. She sits cross-legged on her plush bed, sips her drink, then sets it down next to the boombox on her side table. She grabs a compact out of the table and examines the makeup she had been casually applying for the past two hours, “Did you find one you like?”

You give a reassuring (and slightly played up) smile, even though she’s not looking, “Yeah! This is super cute. Thank you for letting me borrow it.”

“Hopefully it pays off so you can finally get laid,” Michelle giggles and closes her compact. She runs a well-manicured hand through her beautiful curly auburn hair.

You take a long sip of your drink, eyebrows raised at her, then sit down in front of the mirror and rifle through your makeup bag. I fucking wish. Michelle thinks this is an easily accomplished feat, but she looks like a goddess. Whenever you two go out to bars, men are entranced by her perfect body, honey brown eyes, and flirtatious personality. Comparatively, you feel like a garbage can (with the personality of a raccoon that hides in a garbage can).

Which apparently comes across to other people, because you haven’t been intimate (physically or emotionally) with anyone in a long time. You’ve been able to talk yourself into pursuing other interests after you broke up with your last girlfriend two years ago, with few exceptions between then and now.

And this is how Michelle talked you into going clubbing with her. She advised the previous day that it was, “literally impossible for a chick to go home alone” when clubbing. Which is undoubtedly a gross exaggeration, but you figure it wouldn’t hurt to try. You need to blow off some steam, anyway. Might as well.

Even the thought of someone touching you gives you goosebumps. You try to recall what it feels like to have another person’s warm skin against yours and can’t remember what it’s like. A sense of extreme loneliness echoes throughout your chest.

“Is anyone meeting us there?” You ask, attempting to pull yourself out of your head and change the subject from your (lack of a) sex life. You pull a tube of mascara out and start coating your eyelashes.

“No, it’s just us,” Michelle reclines atop her hot pink comforter and starts flipping through the Cosmopolitan magazine next to her. She lets out a gasp and squeals, “Look at this! Cosmo’s sex horoscope says that you’re ‘super likely to fall for whoever you connect with this week—especially if you’re hooking up!’ Oh my god, that’s perfect for you!”

You roll your eyes, “I’m not exactly rolling in prospects right now, but sure.”

“Ok, I know you don’t buy into it, but last month,” she sits up to face you in all seriousness, “my sex horoscope was all, ‘you will make a spicy connection.’ and then I met Mario, who was so hot.”

You don’t point out that Mario had a wife and kids he neglected to tell Michelle about before they started dating. Spicy indeed. You gently remind yourself that, while she is acting nonchalant about Mario now, Michelle hid herself in her room for a week after she discovered his betrayal. She is actually a very sensitive person, even though she tries not to let it show.

You’ve known her since you were both 14. She’s your stepmom’s stepsister’s daughter, but just refer to each other as cousins. Your family would come visit your stepmom’s family in Texas during Christmas and summer break. You and Michelle immediately clicked when you met, both teenagers fiending for an escape from reality by any means necessary. You could make the argument that, 13 years later, it’s not that different.

You finish applying your makeup and chug the rest of your drink before the two of you call a cab to take you downtown. Immediately after your stilettos hit the concrete sidewalk outside your apartment building, you regret wearing such a ridiculous outfit. It’s uncomfortable. But at least you look sexy. You both light a cigarette while waiting for the cab. It’s an unseasonably warm night. Between that and a fuck ton of rum warming your insides, you are almost breaking a sweat.

The cab ride downtown takes 10 minutes. This allows you and Michelle time to take pulls of whiskey from the flask in her purse. By the time you stumble up to the bouncer and hand him your ID, you feel fucking invincible.

“Minnesota, eh?” the Bruce Willis lookalike asks before handing the driver’s license back to you.

You roll your eyes playfully and retort, “giddy up, cowboy.”

There’s a joke about Texas in there somewhere, I’m sure.

Michelle pulls you along by your hand through a crowded room up to a bar before the bouncer can offer you more than a confused look and your ID back. There’s a DJ set up on the stage playing “Shoop” by Salt-n-Pepa. The dance floor is not as busy as you’d hoped it would be, but it’s only 10:00pm so you imagine it will seem more approachable (ie: so crowded nobody will pay attention to your terrible dancing) later.

Michelle finally gets through to a bartender. You don’t really need another drink. In fact, you probably shouldn’t have another for at least an hour, but your self-control is out the window, so you get one anyway.

Once the two of you find a hightop that’s unoccupied, you impulsively light a cigarette and glance around the room, and make eye contact with a man seated a few tables away. You can’t make out much in the way of facial features because of the dim lighting (and your poor eyesight), but you can tell he has a mustache. He is sitting with another guy whose back is to you. Your gut reaction (read: drunk reaction) is to whip your head the other way and hiss loudly at Michelle, “That guy is staring at me!”

“What guy?”

You gesture behind you. Her eyes snap to him immediately.

“He’s still looking,” she and then she smiles and waves playfully behind you, “He’s fucking hot. Oh shit, babe, he’s coming over.”

As if pulled by a string, your spine straightens. Michelle keeps eye contact with this man while he approaches. Your hand repeatedly flicks your cigarette, not giving a shit if the ash is landing in an ashtray or not.

“Hello ladies, do you mind if I join you?” the mustached man asks as he leans his weight into the table. Now that he’s closer, you see that he is, indeed, fucking hot. One of his hands is on his hip, and you notice he carries himself with confidence.

“Please do,” Michelle purrs. Mustached man sits next to her, “Your friend isn’t going to join us? My girl here could use some company,” She asks, referring to the person who was sharing a table with him. This was also her not-so-subtle way of calling dibs on the hottie, veiled as an attempt to be your wingman.

You look into the dance floor and guzzle your drink until you hear the straw slurp. This was not the way you pictured this going. In fact, this is probably the worst case scenario. The way they’re undressing each other with their eyes, you are undoubtedly going to be ditched… sooner rather than later.

He turns to you, quickly scanning you up and down before settling his gaze back on Michelle, “He’s been trying to ditch me all night, so it doesn’t look like it. I’m Javier, nice to meet you both.” He looks between the two of you as you introduce yourselves. He reaches over the table to give you a firm handshake, then kisses Michelle’s hand. You laugh loudly and roll your eyes.

Fucking hell.

Javier leans his body towards Michelle and starts talking to her in a volume you’re unable to detect over the loud music, and you feel the pang of rejection dig in deeper. You smoke another cigarette and study the people around the club. Anything you can do to distract yourself from Michelle’s giggling. You may or may not blow your smoke directly across the table out of spite.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom and get another drink.” you declare loudly, but neither of your table mates regard you. Shrugging, you peel your sweaty ass cheeks off of the bar stool like velcro and hop down, “Y’all want anything? No? Awesome, ok.”

When you return, predictably, you’re unable to find Michelle and Javier.

Go fucking figure. That’s so like her to ditch me for some stranger. Some fucking guy. Not like we could share a cab back to our apartment or anything.

You’re alone, drunk, feeling rejected by not only this stranger but also your roommate. Dressed up like a doll in fuck-me-heels and a little black dress, you’re so over it. The bouncer makes a comment about you “leaving so soon” as you practically stumble onto the sidewalk.

Maybe I could take him somewhere private…

You look him over again in contemplation, but decide to hail a cab instead.

I’m too horny to think rationally.

The taxi driver is quiet and has the radio playing. You consider giving in to your arousal and touching yourself on the ride home, but manage to cling to the one single decision making skill that tells you it’s not a good idea. Instead, you stew in your outrage over being ditched.

By the time you unlock the door to the apartment, you’re pissed off and spurned but don’t feel confrontational about it. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened and it won’t be the last. As predicted, you hear Michelle’s giggling and a low voice emanating from her room. The door is closed, the light is off.

You take a quick shower, then get dressed in pajama shorts and a tank top. By the time you settle into the dim living room, cuddle into the couch, and start a VHS of Stephen King’s IT, you’re feeling much more comfortable and slightly less shitfaced.

From behind her closed bedroom door, Michelle lets out a strangled moan and Javier’s deep groan overlaps it. Breath catches in your throat as your cunt clenches. You yearn for someone to touch you in a way that makes you lose control of your surroundings like that. Seemingly with a mind of its own, your pelvis thrusts up, the change in pressure causing a sweet tingle of pleasure to ripple up the middle of you. Your body calls out desperately for more.

You give in to the urge to expose yourself in the living room, pulling your tank top up just over the swell of your breasts. You pinch one of your pert nipples and begin rolling it between your fingers. Your whimpers turn you on even more. The possibility that they could hear you, they could come out and see you…

See, this is where it would be helpful to be sober, because you could rationalize that what you want to do isn’t a good idea. Alas, you are drunk, so without thinking twice, you tiptoe into your dark bedroom, tank top still pulled above your tits, and lean up against the shared wall so you can be closer to them.

You squeeze your breast while your other hand runs over your clothes against your pussy. You’re so worked up, you’ve soaked through your shorts. Michelle begs “please fuck me… please… please, baby, please.”

There’s a loud thump against the shared wall. Javier growls and Michelle gasps. The pace they’re going is slow. You can tell because you feel him slamming her into the shared wall.

Your hand slides under the waistband of your shorts and you pull them down to the floor. You run your nails through your bush down into your lips, and spread your hot, wet desire up and down your pussy. You close your clit between two fingers, then slide your hand from side to side at the same pace you hear them going.

You think about how fucked it is for you to be eavesdropping and touching yourself. You wish it was you being slammed into at an excruciatingly slow pace, letting the pleasure mount. You could cum just at the thought, but you want to go further in this act of wanton voyeurism.

“Please, please, go faster," Michelle cries out. Javier groans and starts fucking her faster. The tremors against the shared wall are vibrating off of your skin now.

The fire inside you grows and a soft moan escapes your lips, despite how hard you were biting down on them. You release your tit and use that hand to start teasing your entrance. You’re so fucking wet, two fingers slide in with little resistance. You open your eyes to look across the room into a full length mirror. You witness yourself tits out, pants down, fucking your hands, illuminated only by the moonlight flooding in through the open window.

As their pants grow more frantic, so do yours. A feral moan comes from Michelle, “Holy fuck- ho- oh my god I’m gonna fucking cum.”

The pounding on the other side of the wall goes faster as the two of them mindlessly let out grunts and moans.

“So- so fucking good. Cum for me baby,” He pants and then you hear Michelle let out a drawn out growl.

Your heart rate speeds and you can’t help but shudder out a series of small whimpers as ecstasy ripples through your body. You watch yourself in the mirror as you cum all over your fingers.

Your orgasm glow is cut short by your own shameful thoughts.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

You adjust your shirt and shorts back into their original position, then shuffle back to your spot on the couch to settle in and act as if you’ve just been watching IT the whole time. After a few minutes, Michelle’s bedroom door opens. Javier walks into the small galley kitchen that runs parallel to the living room. Your heart starts pounding as you refuse to look anywhere other than the TV in front of you. He rummages around to get a glass of water, then wanders into the living room to see what’s playing.

You assume the mustachioed hottie is a creep since he took Michelle home to have sex almost immediately after meeting, so your hackles go up the second he’s in your eyesight.

She fell asleep and left me with her fucking weirdo again.

This is the third time this has happened. About a year prior, you woke up in the middle of the night to find a man, a man that Michelle took home from the bar, standing in your doorway watching you sleep. He left as soon as you sat up in bed. Four months ago, Michelle’s guest talked at you until you could not stay awake any longer. Then when he left he stole both of your wallets. You’ve decided that none of these strangers are safe, and try your damndest to stay awake until they leave, especially since it seems Michelle’s judgment can’t be trusted.

Javier sits down on the opposite arm of the couch and lights a cigarette. “What are you watching?”

“Stephen King’s IT”

“It’s about a killer clown, right?” he inquires, “My cousin was just telling me I should watch this.”

You nod, “Kind of. Although It’s not really a clown, IT can transform into whatever ITs victims are most scared of,” He doesn’t say anything but you feel compelled to continue, “It’s a neat concept. I really like Stephen King’s novels, so this was exciting for me. I think they did a decent job of making it into a miniseries.”

He hums in acknowledgment. The two of you watch in a silence that’s not entirely uncomfortable. Every once and a while he asks questions to connect the dots to what he missed. You’re able to catch enough glimpses of him to take note of his appearance. He has short, dark hair that holds just enough wave to indicate it would be curly if he would let it grow out. His skin is tan and you guess that he’s Hispanic. His nose is sloped and aquiline, which has always been a characteristic you adore. He has a strong chin, wrinkles on his face in places typical for someone in their mid-30’s, and full lips. His default appearance is very serious, or even grumpy, but he has a comforting aura about him that’s easy to be around.

You’re able to relax more after you put in tape two and he seems genuinely excited to find out what happens. You think it’s really adorable how pouty his face gets when the movie gets intense. When you notice him doing this, you unintentionally start laughing.

You cover your face to try to mute it, but fail, and you have a very… loud and “unique” laugh. The noise scares him more than the movie has so far; it makes him jump slightly, then he realizes that you’re laughing. He scoffs at you, “Are you laughing at me?”

“No! I mean- well, yeah kind of. Your face was just so serious. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” you smirk.

He shakes his head and a big beautiful fucking smile breaks out across his face as he chuckles. Your smirk turns to a grin just because of how handsome he is. It brings pure joy to your heart. Both of you turn your attention back to the screen. His eyes don’t leave the TV as he quietly asks, “What would your IT be?”

You consider this. You’ve thought about it, but, ever the indecisive one, haven’t been able to come to one singular answer. “I suppose it would be spiders. Or heights. Or if I’m talking about my biggest fear, it’s being abandoned by everyone I love forever, but,” you suck your teeth, “I don’t know how IT could successfully pull that one off. So.. spiders, I suppose. What about you?”

“Being alone forever,” he confesses solemnly. You’re kind of taken aback by how honestly he answers. You turn to observe him. He’s looking down into his hands and they’re shaking. He appears to be upset. You’re not sure what triggered this, because everything seemed fine a moment ago, but you beckon him closer. He scoots over enough that you can lay your calves down on his lap. You grab one of his trembling hands. He looks up at you and you meet his dark eyes.

Your skin is electrified by the touch of another human. Especially this human. You fully acknowledge that you’re crushing on him, not just because of how handsome he is, but because of how genuine and kind he seems.

“You’re not going to be alone forever," you tell him sternly. He studies your eyes for a moment, then he nods quickly, squeezes your hand tight, laces your fingers in his, and turns back to the TV. He doesn’t let go of your hand.

You feel secure enough to let yourself fall asleep like that at some point before the movie ends. Which is a real bummer, because you want to know his thoughts on the ending. When you wake up, Javier is gone and you’re covered in your blanket. Michelle is drinking coffee at the other end of the couch while watching TV.

Thankfully, you’d be seeing him soon enough.

Chapter 2

#javier peña #javier pena fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #javier peña x ofc #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #pedro pascal #javier peña x fem!reader #pedrostories #pedro pascal characters #jdett

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angelasscribbles · 11 months

Text

Victim of Love Chapter 10: Looking Backward

Series: Victim of Love

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Drake x Riley

Word Count: 1,682

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: Language

Song Inspiration for series: Victim of Love by The Eagles

Tell me your secrets I'll tell you mine

This ain't no time to be cool

My other stuff: Master List.

Riley frantically dug through the discarded pile of clothing from the night before, “Shit! I don’t have any clean clothes!”

“Um…down the hall, second door on the right, that’s the room Sav uses when she visits. Go see if you can find something in there.” His sister hadn’t been to the cabin in years as far as he knew, but he also didn’t think she would have bothered retrieving any extra clothes left there when she had moved to France.

Riley sprinted down the hall and into the room, rifling quickly through drawers. In less than three minutes she was back wearing a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt that fit well enough, “Hurry, let’s go!”

Drake had pulled on a clean shirt and was lacing up his shoes, “Yeah, coming!” He nearly tripped as he stood and swiped the keys off the bedside table before stumbling to the door.

They were pulling out of his driveway eight minutes behind Liam. “You sure this is a good idea? I know you want to support Liam but-“

“This isn’t about Liam! It’s about Hana!”

“I thought you two hated each other…”

“We do! I mean we don’t…I mean she’s my best friend! Was my best friend….I just need to know she’s okay, her and the baby, all right?”

“Yeah, of course!” He reached across the console and took her hand, “I get it. I’ll get you to the hospital, don’t worry!”

“Thanks,” she gave him a grateful look, “I know this whole situation is a complete mess. You probably wish you’d never bumped into me in that ballroom.”

“Are you kidding?” He scoffed, “This is the most excitement I’ve had in years. I hang out almost exclusively with cattle and they’re pretty boring.”

That got a smile out of her, “Not very talkative, are they?”

“Oh, they’re very talkative!” He corrected her, “In fact, they rarely shut up! I just don’t speak bovine.”

She snorted, “I don’t believe you. I think you’re probably fluent in it!” She knew he was using humor to distract her, and she was grateful for it.

Her feelings for Hana were complicated. They had become best friends over the course of the social season, culminating in Hana confessing romantic feelings for her.

Desperation laced Hana’s voice as she implored, “The coronation is in two days, Riley, but he can’t pick either of us if we’re not here! Let’s just go, me and you! We can be together!”

“Oh, Hana….I love you, but-“

Hana’s face lit up as joy infused her entire being, “I love you too, Riley! So much! I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, I didn’t even know it was possible to-“

“Hana, stop! Listen!”

“What?” Hana’s big doe eyes searched hers, “What is it?”

“I love you but not the way I love him! I love him, Hana, and if he picks me, I’m going to say yes!”

“Oh!” Hana dropped her grip on Riley’s arm and stepped back like she’d been electrocuted.

“Hana, please-“ Riley reached for her, but the other woman sidestepped her.

“You kissed me….” Hana’s voice was barely audible.

“In a truth or dare game!”

“But…” tears pooled in her eyes, “It felt so real!”

“It was real, Hana! It just wasn’t what I have with Liam. I should never have kissed you! I didn’t mean to mislead you, I’m sorry, I-“

“Why would you say that?” Hana looked like she’d been struck, “You regret the kiss?”

“Yes! I mean no! I mean I regret that I hurt you, that you’re confused about-“

“I’m not the one that’s confused, Riley!” An emotion swept across Hana’s face that Riley had seldom seen there: anger.

“Hana-“

“You’re going to regret this someday, Riley, he doesn’t love you like I do! He can’t!”

If Riley had known what was coming down the pike on coronation night, would she have made a different decision? She and Hana could have gone to Shanghai, or New York, or anywhere in the world really, the two of them could be happy with each other right now leaving Liam to Olivia or Madeleine or whoever the royal council deemed suitable.

But instead, when Liam had broken her heart, he hadn’t just taken himself away from her, he had ripped Hana away from her as well.

“I choose….Lady Hana Lee!”

Riley’s heart stopped. NO!

She had known the council was still debating her approval, but she had really believed Liam would be able to sway them. She had also believed that if they didn’t approve her, he was going to refuse to get engaged, to anyone, because he had told her as much.

She found Hana in the crowd. She had been avoiding her, they hadn’t spoken since Riley had rejected her advances. Hana looked as shocked as Riley felt, but as their eyes met, a slow smile crawled across Hana’s face, and she shook her head from side to side.

Riley watched as Hana climbed onto the stage, took Liam’s hand, and found Riley’s gaze again before exclaiming, “I accept!”

Riley turned and ran from the ballroom, but there was nowhere to run to, the one person she would have gone to for comfort, for solace, had just participated in ripping her heart from her chest.

She flung her clothes into a suitcase and sent a text to Max: Bring the car around, I need to get out of here now!

She had left the palace that night planning to return to New York to lick her wounds. At least her student loans were paid off. She could take a few months to heal before starting a job search. Her apartment was gone but her parents would let her stay in her old room.

Her path forward had been clear until Liam had shown up on her doorstep.

“Riley, please! If you’ll just listen!”

“Listen to what, Liam? You promised me a future!”

“We can still have a future!”

“How? You’re engaged! To my best friend!”

“Because the council wouldn’t approve you! I had no choice!”

“You had a choice! You could have refused to get engaged to anyone! That’s what you told me you were going to do if the approval didn’t come through!”

“Yes, but that was before I found out my father is dying, Riley! I couldn’t be crowned king without being engaged and he has weeks left to live!”

“What?” She turned her tear-streaked face up to him, “How long have you known that?”

“I found out moments before the coronation when I told him I was going to wait another season. That’s when he told me that we didn’t have another season!”

“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say to that.

“Please stay, I love you; we can make this work!”

“How? I don’t even know if Bertrand wants me to-“

“You don’t have to depend on the Beaumonts any longer, Riley, I have something for you.” He produced a sheaf of papers and handed them to her.

“What’s this?”

“This is the paperwork transferring the deed to Valtoria to you and conferring the rank and title of duchess!” He smiled at her proudly.

“I…don’t understand. What’s a Valtoria?”

“It’s a duchy, my love,” he chuckled, “You’ll be a member of the Cordonian aristocracy in your own right, with your own lands, titles, and bank accounts. It lets you stay here as it grants automatic citizenship, gives you a governmental position, a means of supporting yourself, and provides a very real reason for us to spend time together, as you’ll need to be brought up to speed on how to run it.”

Her eyes flicked uncertainly back and forth from him to the papers in her hands, “You’ve…. thought of everything…”

Everything except how to have avoided breaking her heart, ripping their planned future right out of her hands, and taking her best friend from her in one fell swoop.

“Please say you’ll stay, Riley. Please!”

He looked so lost and forlorn, so full of longing and sadness that her heart constricted in her chest. She still loved him and the fact that he still loved her eased some of her pain, despite the convoluted situation they found themselves in.

In that moment, she wasn’t thinking logically. All she knew was that saying yes relieved a lot of pain for both of them.

She could stay and give it a try. If it didn’t work out, she could always leave later, right?

“Earth to Riley….” Drake’s voice pulled her out of her reverie.

“Oh, sorry!”

“It’s okay, you have a lot on your mind. Where were you just now?”

“I was thinking about how everything went down between me and Hana.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I think I’d like that actually, just not right now.”

“Okay, I’m always only ever a phone call away.”

Her head jerked up, “A phone call? Are you leaving already? You just got here!”

“That was my mom on the phone, she needs me back ASAP, there’s something wrong with the herd.”

“Oh, no! I’m so sorry! What is it?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s nothing for you to worry about. Let’s focus on Hana right now.”

“Drake, I want to be here for you too!”

“I appreciate that, and I will take you up on it. Just not right now. Like I said, you’re worried about your friend. We can talk later.”

“Okay, if we find out Hana is okay-“

“When we find out Hana is okay!” He corrected her.

“But what if-“

“Hey, you know Liam is going to get her the best medical care the world has to offer, right?”

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am! Once we know she’s going to be fine, then you and I can tell each other all our secrets, okay?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

He guided the car into the hospital parking lot and into a parking spot, “Here we are.”

She reached for his hand again, “Drake, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he grinned at her, “I still have to get you past security!”

#victim of love #angelasscribbles #trr au #drake walker #drake x mc #drake x riley #the royal romance #trr #the royal romance fanfic #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choices #liam rys

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glimmeringtwilight · 2 years

Text

Misfortunate

Short Scaramouche piece so I get this short angry lad out of my system (if any of you make a "that's what she said" joke I'm smiting you). Technically proofread but does it really count if I only worked on this at 1am. I'll tweak the formatting tomorrow. Put below a cut for the length, not for the content (SFW).

CW: mild violence, Scaramouche (he's his own warning. He's a prick), mild dehumanization, yandere themes, mild description of injury.

Word Count: ~1.8k

Trouble follows you.

It’s like your shadow, tailing after you wherever you go. People call you unlucky. Clear skies turn to pouring rain, rockslides narrowly miss you in tight passes, avalanches on snowy mountain peaks, you name it. It was like the world was trying to bury you beneath it, but by some small miracle you’ve always barely managed to get out of whatever new misfortune that befell you.

You’re beginning to think “cursed” might be a more accurate term. That’s the only thing that comes to mind as you clutch your bleeding arm to your chest, stumbling through dark corridors as voices ring out around you.

“Find them!” To your left. You go right, moving as quietly as you can manage.

The air here is thick. Suffocating. You don’t know what the purple fog dancing along the floors is, but you’re sure you’re bound to find out, cloth bandana completely useless at blocking it out. You taste metal.

The hallways here seem to wind on forever. By design, probably, if you had to guess. You can’t be doing… whatever nefarious shit the fatui gets up to, in a regular building, no. And apparently nothing screams “nefarious” more than identical rooms and long, disorienting hallways.

At least it seems to be affecting your pursuers as much as it is you, their voices still distant as they search for you. But you’re sure that the poor design of this place won’t save you for long.

You step into a side room after a quick check to be sure it’s empty, stopping to catch your breath.

Think. You just need to… think. Catch your breath, stop the bleeding– you’re sure you’ve left a trail of blood in your wake, but it’s so damn dark in here you doubt they’ll even see it– and try to-

“So this is the rat my men have been chasing for the past half-hour.”

Haha, fuck.

You freeze in place, holding your breath (as if that’ll do anything). Steeling your resolve, you turn your head stiffly and glance over your shoulder to see who it is that found you.

“Well? Are you deaf or just stupid? Or do you have nothing to say?”

There’s a quiet jingling sound, metal against metal, and you strain to make out the figure in the darkness as he steps closer. You can definitely make out the big, gaudy hat he wears, the brim dipped too low to let you see much more than his mouth.

You realize he’s still waiting for you to say something when he tsks, hand twitching by his side, and fear jumpstarts your mouth before it jumpstarts your brain, blurting the first thing that comes to mind.

“You should invest in better structural engineers. And fire whoever designed this place.” Brilliant. Now instead of just killing you, maybe he’ll spit on your corpse too.

He says nothing, the silence dragging on following your response, interrupted by the occasional distant shout and the steady drip, drip, drip of your blood hitting the floor. Why isn’t he calling the others over? Why didn’t he just kill you outright?

Come to think of it, you remember him mentioning “his men”... Fuck. Is he running this operation?

You don’t have the chance to dwell on it, snapping back to the present when a dry laugh cuts through the silence. It’s short, devoid of any real humor, and the back of your neck prickles with unease.

“Stupid, then.” The hat tips up, just slightly. “How did you get in?”

“I fell in.”

“You fell in.” He sounds unconvinced, and more than just a little annoyed.

“I was just… exploring-” The stranger’s mouth twists into a scowl at the vagueness of your reply, and you rush to elaborate before he decides to stop stalling murdering you- “fine! I- Onikabuto. I was looking for- for onikabuto, and the ground caved in under my feet. I didn’t even know this was down here, I swear, so-”

“Quiet.” Your mouth snaps shut. He stalks forward, snapping at you to “stay put” when you stagger back half a step in response, and you freeze. Maybe if you play nice, you can still talk your way out of this…

He stops a few feet away from you, crossing his arms, and you watch the hat dip with the movement of his head. Maybe you could catch him by surprise and-

A hand seizes your face in a bruising grip, thin fingers indenting the clammy skin of your cheeks so hard your teeth painfully dig into the sides of it. When you instinctively try to pull out of his grasp, the fingers of his other hand hook underneath your bandana, yanking it off your face so it hangs loosely around your neck and fisting the fabric to hold you in place.

His hand reclaims its place, gripping your jaw just as tightly as he holds you still by the bandana around your neck with the other.

Indigo eyes meet your own, and the stranger jerks your head to the side, appraising you like one would a show dog.

“Wha- Hey-” Your head is jerked the other way, the movement less harsh than the first as you consciously turn your head with the movement the second time, anticipating the rough handling.

“You’re making a mess.” He notes after a beat, eyes narrowing at the large gash on your arm that continues to drip blood.

“I’m… sorry?” You mumble, words slurring with the way his grip on your face tightens. You’re not really sure how to respond to that. What, does he expect you to just stop bleeding because it’s pissing him off?

He tsks, letting go of you, and you rub the sore skin to soothe the ache left behind from his unnecessary roughness. You’re starting to think it’d be better if one of his lackeys found you first. They’d have killed you by now, sure, but it would have at least been quick.

“Are you going to kill me?” No point in beating around the bush, you suppose. What’s he gonna do, say “yes” and then stab you?

… Well. He could. But you hope not.

“I haven’t decided yet.” Is his vague response, turning on a heel and walking away from you like he didn’t just finish manhandling you.

You stare at his retreating figure, wondering whether or not that was the end of it. Is he just… letting you go? Is he trying to bait you into getting your hopes up, so he can crush them under his heel and laugh as he kills you?

“Well?” He stops, turning to look back at you when you continue to stare blankly at his retreating form. “Come. Or I’ll leave you here for my men.”

While you don’t like the idea of following him anywhere, there’s not much other option, and he doesn’t seem keen on killing you yet, at least.

You follow him out of the room and into the corridor, listening to the tinkling of the metal ornaments on his hat and his deceptively heavy footsteps. Is he… making his footsteps heavier on purpose?

You didn’t hear him earlier, when he snuck up on you (you know he wasn’t in the room when you entered, that big, gaudy hat of his would have given him away). So does he… stomp around most of the time? On purpose? Why? To sound like he’s bigger than he is? Or is he just always pissed?

The image of this man stomping around this shady hideout to make himself sound bigger and more intimidating almost rips a hysterical giggle out of you, but you focus instead on keeping the veil from smacking you in the face as you walk behind him.

You could technically walk further back, but you don’t want to test his patience by giving him the impression you’re sneaking away, and you get the distinct sense that he’d take great offense to you walking side-by-side with him.

“What’s your name?” He asks after a few minutes of walking.

Well. Not like he’ll kill you for your name, right? And maybe knowing that, he’ll hesitate when it comes down to that… If. If it comes down to that.

You tell him your name, and he says nothing, not even acknowledging he heard you. …Whatever. You’re not repeating yourself.

He doesn’t supply his own name, so you decide to ask. “And yours?”

“Scaramouche.”

Then it’s silence once more. You realize that the men who were chasing you have stopped shouting, and you can’t hear their frantic search for you anymore. Did they give up? Do they know Scaramouche found you first?

He leads you into a room you recognize as the same one you fell into, sunlight illuminating the sparsely-decorated space. You also recognize the pyro agent who slashed your arm, already kneeling by the time your eyes adjust to the bright light.

“Lord Scaramouche-”

“Save it. Get this hole fixed, and check the rest of the base for any other structural weaknesses. If we have any more surprise visitors,” Scaramouche gestures sharply towards you, “You’ll be joining them at the bottom of the ocean.”

“...Yes sir.” The agent’s voice trembles, just slightly.

You’re really starting to think it would have been better if anyone else had found you first, not missing the strained reediness in the agent’s voice that wasn’t there when he was trying to kill you. Another’s hands are shaking, barely visible from where you stand. Why are they so scared of him…?

“You.” Scaramouche turns to another one of his lackeys, not batting an eye at the way they visibly flinch, “Find me a first-aid kit. Bring it to my office.”

“Yessir.”

Your stomach sinks when Scaramouche starts walking again, not even sparing you a glance, just the silent expectation to “follow” as he sets off down the halls.

The agent who attacked you mutters a quiet “poor thing” under his breath, and you pretend not to hear. Pretend not to feel the weight of their eyes watching the two of you leave.

Once you’re out of earshot, Scaramouche stops, glancing over his shoulder at you, then at the bandana dangling loosely around your neck. “I think I’ll get you a collar, to replace that ugly thing.”

His eyes flit back up from your neck, and he laughs cruelly at your expression. “What? You should be thanking me. I’ve decided to let you live.”

Scaramouche doesn’t seem to be interested in any actual thanks from you, though, already turning back around and continuing to walk. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Maybe trouble doesn’t follow you after all, you think, as you trail stiffly behind him. Maybe you’ve been following trouble all along.

#scaramouche #kunikuzushi #scaramouche/reader #scaramouche x reader #genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #my writing #yandere #dead dove do not eat #yandere scaramouche #yandere scaramouche/reader #i am nearly delirious from exhaustion and for some reason that is always The Best Time To Write (real) (not lying)#this is just my brand now. writing and then posting stuff at an ungodly hour. but haha hey eastern hemisphere people. enjoy.

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