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justaaveragereader · 3 months

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I Hate You

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Dom!Hwa, Toxic Hwa, Sadistic Hwa he’s just a huge red flag tbh , Mafia!Hwa, Hate Sex, Sub!Reader, Spit, Name Calling, Passing Liquid From One Mouth To Another, Degradation, Oral (Giving), Unprotected Sex, Cream Pie, Choking, Angsty, Manhandling, If I Missed Anything…👀Lemme Know👏🏼!

A/N: Hear me out…some about Hwa with a damn grill gone do it for me EVERY TIME! Him and that dang fur coat is giving mafia, if you disagree…you are blind. I was listening to Amy Winehouse ‘You Know I’m No Good.” and instantly thought of this for Hwa! Then I saw the unit pic him and Hongjoong took where Hwa is wearing black and white with that sleazy, smoldering look on his face and internally screameddddd! I swear ever since bouncy Hwa plagues my mind faithfully😔, I’m down bad fr. Also this isn’t fully proof read so if there is some mistakes…💀 my bad yall.

✍️Masterlist✍️

“Fuck you Park Seonghwa.” You spit through gritted teeth, both cheeks squished between one of his lackey henchmen.

“Give me the word boss, and I’ll end her pretty ass right here.”

Letting out a deep chuckle, man spreading even further in his chair, long brown fur coat draping against his seated figure. Letting out a click of his tongue. He snaps his fingers, the henchmen immediately let go of you. Your figure smacks the floor with a loud thud.

“You do have quite the mouth on you.” He says through laughter. Mocking you, like you are the scum of the earth. His eyes cut through you like sharpened glass. Your eyes shoot up briefly taking in his figure. Shirt unbuttoned right below his pecks, showing quite a bit of skin. Adjusting himself, you realize he’s bricked up against his jeans, the fabric dancing with different material down both pant legs. Was this fucker really getting off seeing you in misery?!

“I like them mouthy, it turns me on.” Getting up from his lax state in the chair, he makes his way over to you. You clench your face in disgust as he walks closer to you, shoes echoing with each step. You’ve seen this man in the daylight, and would never assume he was a monster by night.

His henchmen stand still almost like toy soldiers. Not daring to move an inch. This single man held so much power in just his aura it felt almost suffocating. Intoxicating…he’s got the type of power you could get drunk off of. Flicking his head to the side the group of men quickly file out. Leaving you and Seonghwa alone in the back of the warehouse.

“You wanted to see me.” He pauses his sentence, lifting his hands up, turning in a slow circle so you can soak in his full presence.

“Bask it in princess, because here I am, in the flesh.” He says almost too cocky for your liking. Smacking your lips at his over the top response. You roll your eyes, finding anything but him to look at, refusing to stroke his god-like ego.

“Now the real question is, I heard you were looking for big ol’ bad me.” He says through a pout, inching his way closer and closer to you. He moved swiftly, and was just as smooth as a snake.

Squatting down to your level, he places his hand on your jaw making you look at him. Your eyes burn holes into his. Lips drawn up tightly, almost snarling at him like you are kind of wild animal. Your veins can’t help but be filled with hate for this man. You hate that you seek him out, you hate how perfect he is in your eyes, you hate how he can do no wrong, you hate how hard you fell for him. You aren’t supposed to fall for a man like Park Seonghwa, no one was supposed to fall for a man like Park Seonghwa.

“Why are you looking for me? Aren’t you done with me?” He says nonchalantly. You feel like he’s spitting on you, like he’s showing you nothing but disrespect, like you mean nothing to him.

“Shut the fuck up.” You grit out, trying your best to move your face out of his grip, but he’s stronger than you. Making your head swoon with his strength, he was a no good for nothing man, but you were drawn to him. A true damsel in distress.

“Ooo I like when you talk nasty to me, it gets me hard. Real hard…” he says practically breathless, clearly he was turned on. He had been bricked since he saw his men toss carry your fighting body in the warehouse.

“I fucking hate you.” You spit at him. Words laced with venom. Laughing in your face, this was your routine with him. You say you hated him, how you weren’t looking for him, which lead to fucking, and him kicking you out. You’ve both danced with routine before.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop asking about me, stop looking for me.” He says kindly, but you know there is another layer to his soft spoken words. He's so unbothered at your hate for him, so sick and twisted in the mind that it fuels his body. Your eyes just cut to him, before rolling, darting away from him again. You didn’t want to admit out loud, nor give him the satisfaction of admitting that you were looking for him.

“Don’t look away from me y/n.” He states firmly. Gripping your face tighter, eyes flickering with games beneath them. Your eyes shoot back to him, almost annoyed at him.

“You hate me so much right? Then quit asking for me, quit looking for me.” He spits, making you wince after each word he speaks to you. Your eyes water slightly, moving your eyes to look to the side you were not going to give him any satisfaction.

“I hate you more than you can imagine Park Seonghwa.” Your whisper out loud, he can hear the broken record playing in your voice. The routine you constantly bestow on him.

“You know who I am, and you know just exactly what I do. So don’t shed any tears for me.” Shoving your face slightly back, he stands up, moving to sit back back on his chair. You watch as his fur coat sways from side to side as he plants himself on his chair. That crooked smile of his, gracing his face. You were disposable to him.

Your eyes watch his every move, popping open a bottle of liquor he takes a swig, shooting it down his throat like it was water. Smacking his lips obnoxiously, as he keeps eye contact with you. It was a battle in dominance that you knew you would lose. Leaning back in his chair, with the bottle resting between his legs. Your eyes slowly trace his body, soaking in every thing about this twisted man. Your body screamed for this man, your heart cried for him. You feel a flush of heat in between your legs at his cocky demeanor. With each sip of liquor he takes, he makes sure to keep eye contact with you while he shoots the tart liquid down. You catch a sly smile of his before he tips the bottle to slowly drip liquid down his chest.

With his head slightly cocked back he watched you through hooded eyes. His Matz neck tattoo sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Go on now princess, lick it up.”

You watched as the liquor ran down his body, drenching his neck and abdomen. Your eyes flicked down to his stomach, slowly traveling up his neck, meeting his eyes. Park Seonghwa was no good, you knew he was no good, hell, even he knew he was no good but that didn’t stop you. It didn’t stop the feeling of need growing in your core. With a smack of your lips you get on your hands, as you were still on the floor, slowly making your ways towards him, degrading yourself even further for him. Hands coming up to rest against his clothed thighs. Hard on staring you right in the face, thick at the base, with a lean to one side. Your fingers brush over it, trailing the thick vein that pulsates. His grin takes over his whole face, checkmate.

While he’s slack against the chair, man spreading so you fit in between his legs, he looks down at you. Grill twinkling in the poor fluorescent lights, he looks like trouble. His eyes say more than his own words do.

“Go on now sugar, be a good girl and put that tongue to use.” He says through a small chuckle, chest vibrating with each laugh.

“I know that pretty mouth is good for more than saying how much you hate me.”

You lick your lips slightly, before inching your body closer to his, your heated tongue comes into contact with his abdomen. Licking the liquor that remained there. The flavors makes your mouth water, while liquor was never your vice. Park Seonghwa was. He grips the handles of his chair, the feeling of your warm, soft tongue on his skin was like a reward. You were practically waving the white flag in his face. He won, he always wins.

Your tongue dips between each individual ab muscle, making sure not to leave any inch of skin uncovered. He tasted like heaven, yet you know this was far from it. As you inched further down his body you come right below his belly button. His happy trail right beneath your tongue, eliciting a loud groan out of him. He comes to cup the back of your neck, encouraging you to go lower. The fur from his coat tickles the sides of your arms, fingers on the button of his jeans, giving him a once over again you pop the button. Shimmying his pants down to his thighs his hard cock springs out, of course he was going commando. You stare up at him in disgust, jealousy lies beneath your skin.

His hand grips the back of your neck firmly, almost like he’s a mother cat, snatching his kitten up. He stares at you from beneath his nose. Taunting you, getting off at your misery. His member jumps slightly at seeing you in such a distressed state.

“I knew you were coming today ma. I knew you were going to warm my cock, so I thought why not forgo the boxers.”

You swallow loudly, gulping down the jealousy you were harboring. You should feel dirty, disgusted at the fact he knew you’d warm his leaking cock. Yet you can’t help but feel a swell of pride in your chest. He was waiting on you.

“You must’ve been pretty excited to see me.” You say, not looking him in his eyes but your voice gives you away. The small cracks and whimpers that leave your mouth are enough to know he’s got you in his trap per usual.

His black hair framed his face perfectly, the poor lighting made him look like he descended from heaven. Gripping his hard cock, you move the pre cum around the tip of it. Letting the back of your neck go, he leans back, watching the scene in front of him unfold. The feeling of your soft padded thumb on the tip of his head made him let out a groan. Black hair falling in front of his face.

Gathering all the spit in your mouth you slowly let it drop on his cock, the cool contrast to his hot member has him hissing, like the true snake he is. You lower your body, your soft lips engulf the tip. Giving it a few sucks, tossing his head back he grips the arms on his chair so tightly you watch his knuckles turn white. You look up at him through your lashes, it’s like he has sensors any time your eyes are on him. Biting his lip he says through a breathy chuckle..

“It’s been a while ma, take it easy on poor me.”

Your pussy flutters at the thought of him not giving himself to anyone but you, women threw themselves at Seonghwa, hell, even men threw themselves at Seonghwa. Times like this are when your head gets filled with disappointment but your heart gets filled with joy. Popping off his cock you lick a stripe up his leaking member, tasting the saltiness of him. Your mind clouds with thoughts…were you the last person he was with? Did he truly wait for you? The thoughts are too loud in your head, and Seonghwa notices. Brushing a thumb over your cheek, it breaks the spell on you. Crashing you down to reality.

“I’m not doing this.” You whisper out, brushing your hands off on his fur coat. You stand up, dusting your knees off. Looking him straight in the eye.

“I’m not dealing with your mind games Seonghwa!”

Everytime you raise your voice a higher octave his cock bobs up and down. The spit still pooling on his waiting cock, wrapping his own hand around it, he slowly strokes himself up and down watching your frantic figure yell at him.

“Mind games? What mind games?”

“Fuck you Seonghwa! You know exactly what I’m talking about! You fuck with my mind! You tell me to stay away from you but then you fill my head saying shit like ‘oh it’s been a while’, you know exactly what you do!” Yelling so loudly it bounces off the warehouse walls, echoing down the room. Not caring if his tin soldiers hear. Letting out a quiet laugh he looks up at you through hooded eyes, eyes so pitch black they swallow up his pupil.

“You know what I am, you know exactly who I am.” He says while continuing to stroke his cock, getting hard at the thought of you yelling at him, causing such a big fuss for lil ol’ him.

“You are such a piece of shit you know that?”

Biting his lip he leans forward, almost taunting you. Stomach muscles contracted with how fast he was close to reaching his peak.

“You are all bark and no bite, you hate me so much. Always screaming how you hate me but you always come crawling back. You hate me or you hate the thought of being without me?” He says matter of factly, hitting the nail right on the head. Steam is practically radiating off your body. Letting out a huff you march over to him, snatching the liquor bottle from his side, taking a long drink from it, before hovering over him. Sticking out his tongue, you let the liquor splash into his mouth, and down his throat. Shoving his upper body back, you slap his hands away. Shoving your pants down to your ankles before stepping out of them. Ripping the shirt over your head. Placing each of your thighs on the outer side of his legs, hovering over his waiting member.

“You taste so good.” He says through a whisper, licking his lips, drinking down any leftover liquid you splashed in his mouth. Grabbing the empty liquor bottle he takes another swig, groaning as you slowly lower your sopping wet pussy onto his waiting cock. He fills you wall to wall. Deliciously just like the last time. Gripping you by the back of your neck, he brings you close to his face, the tips of your noses brush against each other.

“You know I’m trouble, you know I’m no good, but here you are on my cock. Admit it baby..” he says, slapping your ass cheek real hard with his free hand. Bringing your naked chest to his own, the bottom half of his shirt brushes your lower stomach, making your body liter with goosebumps. He was practically fully clothed while you were stripped down for him.

“You hate me so much because I’m all you want.”

Pulling you back by the neck so there is distance between the both of you. His hand grips your ass, beginning to move you slowly up and down his cock. The fill of him has your mind on cloud nine. You want to wipe that smirk off his face but you know he’s right. Your heart tugs when he’s near.

“I’m all you need, you want me to survive. Think I’m going to run away with you? Hang this life up for you?” He says through grit teeth, ending his sentence with a slight laugh, mocking you. Not even sparing to sell you a dream because you’ve already sold yourself one. You should’ve known by now you can’t change a man, and he was not just any man. He was Park Seonghwa. You start working your hips to meet his thrusts, picking up speed as your walls get custom to his thick size in your cunt.

Squelching noises fill the warehouse, you both are breathing each other in. His eyes glimmer every time you slam your hips down on him. Tossing his head against the back of the chair, he grabs both of your ass cheeks slamming you down even harder into his length, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each slam. Tossing your hands on his shoulders to stabilize yourself while you bounce around like a doll for him. Letting one of your ass cheeks go, he grabs the bottle of liquor.

Pouring it on your naked chest, he sticks his warm tongue against your heated skin, trying to slurp up the liquor that’s coated on your flesh. His cool lips, mixed with his warm tongue, has you mewling. Gripping the sides to his chair, you bounce faster up and down on his cock. Leaning your head back, you are in heaven right now. Licking a stripe up your neck, he laughs into your neck. You can feel him pulsate in your soft walls. The coolness of his grill has your pussy clenching down hard on him. He’s so deep in you that you can practically taste him in your mouth. The pleasure bringing you a whole new feeling has your eyes filled with tears of pleasure.

“Talked all that shit earlier, look at you now, bouncing on my cock like you have no fucking sense.”

You let out a pathetic cry, tilting your head back you try to take in as much air as you can. Every stroke up it feels like he’s knocking your lungs loose, your body burns with the constant need of this man. Biting your lip you look down at him through your lashes, trying your best to keep your eyes on him, scrunching your face, attempting to toss him a smug glare.

“Go on baby..fu-fuck. Tell me how much you hate me, it makes my dick hard.” He grits out with a chuckle watching you bounce up and down on his cock. Your hips still at the tip of his cock, as he clutches your ass, pistoning into you. The wet sound of his cock hammering away at you, has your eyes rolling, you are on the brink of an orgasm.

“Oh my god.” You moan loudly, nails digging into his clothes shoulders. Diving his face into your chest, he sucks and nips your skin, leaving small marks behind on the plush of your breast. Your mouth falls open, jaw going slack. Taking the opportunity he places his pointer and middle finger in your mouth, tugging down your jaw with his fingers.

“You are a fucking dick head.” You mumble out with your mouth full of his fingers, drool begins to pour landing over your breast that are flying in his face. His eyes briefly roll back, letting out a groan he pulls you closer to his face by your bottom jaw, wiggling his fingers in your mouth.

“Awww I’m a dickhead, yet you are drooling all over this dickhead.” He says through a chuckle, one harsh particular thrust has you practically biting down on his fingers. Letting out a low breathy moan, he removes his fingers from your mouth crashing his lips against yours, his grill clinking against your teeth. His hands travel to your ass again bouncing you faster. Your toes curl on the sides of his thighs, his grip on you is bruising, the wet skin slapping against his upper thighs. Tears fill your eyes once more at your orgasm building up

“I told you I was trouble, you know that I’m no good but look at you, bouncing on my cock like a bitch in heat.” He moans against your lips, nipping at your bottom lip, running his tongue along it, the taste of him on your mouth was sending you over. Tears overflowing from the pressure build up.

“Go on, tell me how much you hate me.” He grits wrapping a hand on the back of your neck in a possessive manner.

“Because you do, right? Hate me so much you wanna cry on this cock every night.” Slapping your ass harshly, feeling his heated hand print stinging on your skin you let out a choked out moan.

“Go on, tell me, I wanna hear you say it again. It turns me on.” He moans out, hips continuing into you, tears stream down your face, landing on his heated skin.

“I-I ha-hate you.” You say breathlessly, gripping his shoulders tighter. Your orgasm is at its tipping point with the way his cock is brushing against your cervix. Slapping your ass hard once more.

“Louder!”

“I ha-hate y-.”

“I can’t hear you!”

“I fucking hate you Park Seonghwa!” You scream at your orgasm tips over, clutching your fists into his shirt, hips immediately stopping, you fall over into Seonghwa chest pressed tightly against his very own while his hips continue to slam into your sopping cunt, your juices rolling down, soaking his jeans. Tossing his head back, his grip on you is bruising.

“Fuck Seonghwa, please!” You whimper out, your body is overly sensitive after your intense orgasm, and his bruising pace is making you more delirious.

“Fuck! Yes, yes yes!” His yells echoing in the entire warehouse without a second thought. With one final slam into your cunt he’s cumming deep in you, hips jerking up every couple of seconds to make sure you take every drop of him. His hands jiggle the meat off your flesh, before lightly rubbing where his bruising grip was.

Your heavy breathes are all that fill the room, pushing off his chest slightly, you groan at the feeling of his cum trickling out of you and around his member.

“You are so fucking stupid. I swear you are.”

He looks at you with one eye open, while the other remains shut from his post orgasmic bliss. With a deep chuckle, he pushes his black hair out of his face. Grabbing your chin between his fingers, bringing you close to his face. You stare him directly in the eyes, before the shimmer from his grill catches your eye.

“If you want me again for round two that’s all you have to say.” He whispers against your lips.

“Oh please, I barely enjoyed myself.” You say shoving him back by the chest, carefully removing yourself from his lap. You can feel his cum start to run down your inner thighs. Cutting your eyes at him you tug on the sleeve of his fur coat. Barely moving an inch he laughs at your frazzled state, pulling up his pants he buttons them again, watching your naked body move around quickly to find your clothes and put them on.

Just as you are buttoning your own pants. You hear the warehouse door slam open, the orange fur from the coat immediately catching your eye. Hongjoong is back…

“Oh..did I interrupt?” Hongjoong says, clearly unamused at Seonghwas actions.

“Hongjoong! You’re back early!” Seonghwa says, voice full of cheer.

Buttoning your pants all the way up, turning around all they see is the back of your shirt and pants as you walk away, feet practically stomping with each step.

“Fuck you Park Seonghwa!” You scream out, echoing so Hongjoong can hear.

“Seonghwa..” Hongjoong says quietly scolding him.

“Oh don’t you worry Hongjoong, she’ll be back!” He yells loudly, making sure that you hear him. Turning around you flip him off before continuing to stomp out of the warehouse.

“She always comes back..” he whispers quietly to himself as he watches your fleeing figure.

DO NOT REPOST.

GIF made by @justaaveragereader

#ateez x reader #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #dom! Seonghwa #mafia ateez #park seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa smut #park seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #dom! ateez #dom! ateez smut #ateez imagines #kpop smut #ateez au

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melrodrigo · 7 months

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my hair

Wednesday Addams x Fem Reader

Summary: Wednesday lets you braid her hair.

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: I don’t think I used any pronouns, so it’s gender neutral really (at least i think so, i can’t rmb) inspired by none other than Ariana Grande’s ‘my hair’. happy halloween 🎃!

“Wednesday.”

The name tumbles out of your lips as easy as the flow of water on a steep channel, and you wonder how a simple word like a day of the week has turned into such a gratifying one.

“Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday.” You mumble mindlessly, combing your fingers through her jet black hair.

She makes a tiny huff of annoyance as she stirs in your arms.

She knows you have a thing for words, whether it be big love confessions or simply saying her name throughout the day, which is a thing she’s been trying to get better at, for you. It’s hard, but she’s morphed into the phase of getting used to your soft words and whispered endearments. She bites back the tiny part of her that wants to ignore them, instead letting them seep into and have their way with her.

You ruffle her hair fondly, but not too hard, well aware of how sensitive your girlfriend is about her hair.

It’s something you’ve come to learn about Wednesday, through your many years together.

She does not like her hair to be touched. She also famously doesn’t let anyone else but you touch it.

Admittedly, it only makes you want to touch her hair more.

You nudge her slightly, murmuring in her ear that you guys have to get up for class.

“Ms. Thornhill is going to be so pissed when she finds out I spent the night again.” You say mindlessly, feeling Wednesday tighten on top of you.

She’s still only a second before she’s sitting up straight, rigid, a classic Addams family stance.

“You did sneak in, didn’t you?” She asks.

You roll your eyes, nudging at her to loosen up a little.

“Yes, Wednesday. I attempted to sneak in. She, however, was waiting right outside your dorm room.” You recount, from just the night before.

She turns to you, eyes squinted.

The sight of you makes her heart do a little dance she wasn’t aware it could do. She’ll never understand it, the way you make her dull black heart race. It beats to the melody of her favorite symphony, fast paced and rapid.

Your hair’s a little ruffled, cheeks a little red, while you sit at the head of her bed in your best matching pjs.

She ponders about your words just a moment before she’s speaking again.

“Good. She should know that you’ll be sleeping in here for the rest of the year.” She says, finally.

You grin, childlike.

She purses her lips and makes the decision before she regrets it.

“Do my hair?” She asks, almost more of a command than a question.

You have to keep yourself from practically jumping off her bed in excitement. She’s never asked that before. You try to act nonchalant as you think about it.

Wednesday knows you better though, and she can already tell by the sparkle in your eyes that you’ll say yes.

You could never say no to your girl, after all.

You nod eagerly, following Wednesday out the bed and over to her desk like a love sick puppy.

“Enid better not come in and see this.” Wednesday grumbles, reaching over to grab her hairbrush, one as black as obsidian.

“It would be better than when she came in last night while we were-“ Wednesday squeezes your wrist tight, a sign to shut up, and so you do.

She takes a few rubber bands out her beloved spider shaped box, one you’d given her as an anniversary gift, and places them in a single file line.

You gulp as you realize what you’ve signed up for.

She turns to look at you expectedly, speaking with her eyes.

“Okay..braids.” You whisper underneath your breath, trying to remember how to braid hair.

To her credit, Wednesday doesn’t say anything the whole while you do her hair. Not a complaint about the way it looks, or how you’ve done it.

But you aren’t that dumb. You see through your girlfriends expression in seconds. And you’re self aware, you know you haven’t done the greatest job.

It’s not horrible, by any means. But it’s just not the Wednesday Addams picture perfect braids.

One side is noticeably looser than the other, and it looks more like a loop than a braid.

“Are you finished?” Wednesday inquires, about to get out her seat.

You push her shoulders down softly, and tell her you have a special surprise.

You pull out a set of dark blue bows, tiny compared to her long locks of hair.

“Absolutely not.” She says the minute you show them to her, shaking her head to affirm her statement.

You pout, giving Wednesday your best puppy dog eyes, but her face remains impassive.

“Just one?” You plead, playing with the tips of her braids.

Wednesday lets out a soft sigh and begrudgingly tilts her head so you can put on the bow easier.

“Love you so much.” You whisper, pressing your hand to her cheek lovingly.

You better, she thinks.

“Now, I believe we need to attend class in five minutes. You’ve already made me soft. Don’t make me unpunctual too.” She says, the edge coming back to her voice.

“Wait, are you actually gonna go out like that?” You ask, a little shocked.

“Going to, y/n. There is no such word as ‘gonna’.” She says, and turns on her heel out the door, sure you’ll be hurrying after her in minutes.

Everyone stares at Wednesday as you both enter the class. You’re not late, but everyone’s there already. They size up your girlfriend, questioning gaze apparent as they take in her hair.

“Um..Wednesday?“ Enid sounds from the back of the class, “Why does your hair look like that? And are you wearing a bow?”

You flush pink in embarrassment. Was it really that bad?

One look at you and Wednesday decides she has to once again come to your aid when she clears her throat, directing all attention back to her.

“My hair is normal. And I quite like the bow.” She says, in a tone of voice that indicates that that’s the end of the story.

Wednesday keeps her hair like that the rest of the day. Not once does she touch it, or take it out, even with random inquires coming from all the students at Nevermore.

That evening, you catch her grumbling before you enter her room for your nightly kiss on the cheek, words muffled by the door.

“Love has made me so feeble.” She mumbles dejectedly.

You push open the door, pretending you didn’t hear what you just did, and give her just a slightly longer kiss than you normally would, happy as a clam.

#wednesday addams #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega #mine #fanfic #soft wednesday

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plush-rabbit · 11 months

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Coffee and Fated Tragedies

Something cute about The Spot or something, but like before he became The Spot. Maybe I'll do something about him and his holes later

Word Count: 5K

A/N: I need him, like carnally. There’s like nothing about him and I need to get this off my chest before I like combust so¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You stand near a water cooler, watching the bubbles float to the top. Your cup has been empty for the past minute, and you consider taking the rest of your break outside. The fluorescent lights are making it difficult to stay awake, and the sterile air at Alchemax is burning your eyes.

With a sigh, you reason to yourself that the short trip to the parking lot would waste the remainder of your break, and you’d have to walk back to your desk by the time you even stepped near the doors. You turn your head, and watch as a scientist turns the corner, taking slow and careful steps to make sure the obnoxious amount of files that he’s holding doesn’t tip over.

He slows down enough, taking a pause next to the water cooler, and with a peek around the files he spots you looking at the files with wide eyes. There’s a certain look in his eyes that has your neck burning.

“Um-” you clear your throat, placing the empty cup of water in the trash- “do you need any help?”

His eyes scan you, giving you a quick run down, suspicion twisted into his features. “It’s fine- I'm fine,” he snaps, holding the file just a bit tighter, almost defensively. And as if the world were against him, the top half of the stack nearly spills over, before you hold onto it, steadying the stack once more. The tips of his ears flush into a deep hue of red, and you smile at him nervously.

“I’m on my break,” you tell him. “It wouldn’t be a bother. Plus, I’m sure you would much prefer for the files to be in order rather than all er- out of order,” you reason.

His eyes dart around the room, before finally letting out a sigh. “If you wouldn’t mind, then yes. I’d appreciate the help,” he says slowly, as if still can’t believe that he’s allowing someone else to hold such important paperwork. “Please and thank you,” he mumbles.

You smile, nodding your head, quickly grabbing halfway through the stack and holding it firmly in your hands. Having the files fall after offering assistance is the last thing that you need- especially after the scientist had such a tone in his voice.

Words stay stuck in your throat as you follow behind him without a sound. You’re sure you should be talking to him, but he isn't making conversation either. Plus, you aren’t entirely sure what you would talk to him about. The weather? You only felt it when you clocked in in the morning. Lunch? No, you’ve heard around that most scientists don’t even take their lunch these days- too busy with whatever has been going on these days. Your mouth pulls into a thin line. Truth be told, you want to ask about the files- you’re positive that it has something to do with whatever has ad the building in such a buzz. But you doubt he’d even tell you.

“I apologize for making you waste your break on this,” he mumbles, giving you a quick glance over his shoulder. He makes eye contact with you briefly before he looks forward once again.

“Huh? Oh! That’s fine. It’s no worries, really. I was the one who offered after all,” you say hurriedly. He huffs and silence befalls the both of you once more, but you’re much too eager now after his words. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but where are we delivering them to?”

“Dr. Octavius’s office. She said that she needs to review the recent ana-” he stops short and he straightens his back, clearing his throat- “experiment.”

“Oh,” you say. You don’t have the luxury of knowing the inner workings, and a part of you wishes that you did. You always were a bit of the nosey type. “Are you part of those experiments as well, um- I’m sorry I don’t believe that I asked for your name.”

“Johnathan. Ohnn. Dr. Ohnn,” he says, stumbling over his words.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Dr. Ohnn,” you say with a smile, stopping just behind him when he turns his head.

“And you are?” There’s a tense layer laced into his words, but when you answer, he smiles slowly and nods to himself. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he mumbles.

It's only been a few days since your encounter with the scientist and maybe it's because you've finally noticed him, that you notice him more and more.

You see him in the cafeteria, surrounded by other scientists.

In the hallway, carrying a much more manageable stack of files that asking if he needs assistance would probably be offensive.

You see him peering into the different break rooms located on each floor, locking eyes with you for a moment, before pouring himself a cup of coffee.

He lingers in doorways, looking around and lifting his chin to peer over the crowd, trying to find someone. Sometimes, you’ll catch his eye and when you do, he looks away quickly and walks away.

A part of you thinks that maybe he’s waiting for you to approach him, but you can’t be too sure on that assumption. It is a nice thought to have though.

It isn’t until your coworkers grab your bicep and whisper in your ear at how convenient it is that Dr. Ohnn appears where you are. There’s a smile that stretches across their face, and for a moment, you play along that the doctor might be interested in you.

“Oh yeah, the cute and stalkerish scientist,” you say with a smile, placing a hand over your chest. “What a catch,” you sigh, rolling your eyes at the fits of giggles.

Truth be told, you wouldn’t mind having said cute and stalkerish scientist be fond of you, but it probably isn’t that. It’s a nice thought to have, but you don’t fester on it for too long. He’s a scientist- one of the important ones around here, and you’re simply here for your paycheck and the benefits.

You sit at your desk, typing and retyping emails, answering calls, and sneakily going on your phone when you can. For a moment, you think to yourself that maybe you should quit- live in the middle of nowhere, tough it out, but then your coworker drops off a pastry at the edge of your desk with a hasty “you’re welcome” and when taking a bite, the idea of living without the sweet baked good.

A shadow crosses over your desk, and there’s a soft ‘click’ sound and you look up to see a cup of coffee placed on your desk, and over it stands the scientist who’s been not-so-secretly searching for you.

“Hello,” he greets you, his tongue tripping over your name. “I was wondering if you wanted a cup of coffee.” There’s a fiddly tone laced into his words, and it makes you smile.

He certainly is cute.

“Hello Dr. Ohnn,” you greet. “Thanks for the coffee.” You grab the cup, and peer inside the cup. It’s half full. You glance up at him. “I don’t suppose you brought creamer or anything like that with you?”

You see the apple in his throat bob as he gulps. “No,” he says, almost ashamed. “I uh- I didn’t know how you liked it and thought to play it safe with black. I apologize.”

“Would you like to walk with me to the breakroom?” You offer, standing up and grabbing at the cup. You grab at a napkin and cover the pastry, before taking a step away from your desk.

Instantaneously, he perks up. He smiles at you, taking a step back to allow you to walk with him. His forefinger and thumb pinch at the leg of his glasses, adjusting them so they sit properly on his face.

The walk is short, only light conversation about the weather and how the day has been going so far fills the air.

Thankfully, the break room is empty. You don’t think that Dr. Ohnn would like an audience when he’s with you.

You walk to the counter, and grab a pack of creamer and sugar. The dark coffee turns to a lighter version of itself.

“So-” Dr. Ohnn rushes to your side when you start to speak- “what made you bring me a cup of coffee?” You stir in the contents and bring the rim of the cup to your lips, giving him the chance to speak.

“I wanted-” he trails off, and turns his head- “I just thought it would be nice to repay you. After you helped me with the files the other day.”

A smile graces your lips and he returns it, before looking away and clearing his throat. “Well thank you for the coffee, Dr. Ohnn. It was much appreciated.”

“Johnathan,” he corrects. You tilt your head, confusion scrunching your brows. “You can call me Johnathan.”

“Oh,” you chirp. And realization dawns on you, as you smile. “Okay then. Thank you for the coffee, Johnathan.”

He nods curtly. “I just apologize that it wasn’t anything better than the break room coffee. I made sure to brew a fresh batch.” He shifts his weight nervously on each foot. “I’d have brought you some fancy coffee, or taken you somewhere but-” his face turns into a deep hue, and he pulls along the collar of his shirt. “I uh- didn’t know your schedule or if you’d even want to go.” He lets the end of the sentence trail off into a rushed slur of words.

You dig your nails into the cup as the realization of what he wanted to do dawns on you.

The cup is placed down, and suddenly the room feels hot. “Oh! Really?” You unconsciously lean towards him, and he nods, looking away from you. "I’m flattered.” You can feel the tips of your ears burn. “I mean, if you’re not too busy after the end of the day, I’d love to get a cup of coffee with you.” You bite the inside of your cheeks before taking a risk. “Or we can get a bite to eat? Whatever you prefer of course.”

“Really?” He asks, a smile stretching across his face. “I’d love to do that. Either. We can definitely get something to eat.”

“That’s great!” You exclaim, clapping your hands together. But you immediately retract. “Ah. I usually take the train to work, so if we can get something maybe close by? Like walking distance or-”

“I have a car,” he rushes. Your eyes widen and he straightens himself. “I can take us wherever you want to go. I don’t mind. I can drop you off at the station or at your home. Wherever you’d like.”

“You wouldn’t mind?” You ask, nerves making your stomach twist and turn.

“Not at all.” He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t mind. Honest.”

Nodding your head, you smile. “Okay,” you tell him. “If you’re sure you wouldn’t mind, then we can go to whatever restaurant- so long as you pick it.”

“Okay,” he says, smiling widely at you. “I’ll meet you at your desk, after I clock out,” he says confidently, before smiling a bit more softly. “Is that alright with you?”

“It’s alright with me,” you confirm.

“Great. It’s a date.” There’s worry laced into his words at his sentence, and you can't help the grin that grows.

“It’s a date.” He smiles when you agree with him. You reach your hand over, pausing and about to retract. With his eyes on you, you decide to commit. You reach over and grab his hand, giving it a soft squeeze. “I’ll see you later, Johnathan.” You give him another smile, before you wave goodbye, walking back to your desk with the coffee in your hand.

He sits down in front of you. After the rush of Spider-man- Spider-men, he reminds you- the building is in a panicked state. You’ve found some place to rest where the alarmed employees won’t peek through.

Your thumb ghosts over the red spot where the bagel had hit Johnthan. You click your tongue, frowning, and run your hand through his hair.

“Sorry about messing up your hair,” you mumble, running your fingers through the strands.

He shakes his head. “It’s okay.” He looks up, and your hands follow, curving down from the top of his head, down to cup his face. “Bagel had already messed it up.” He looks away from you, face growing warm under your palms.

“You took a hard hit.” He looks back down and you return to the top of his head, pinching away at any crumbs. “I forgot how strong Spider-man is.”

“Was,” he corrects.

You frown. “Is he not Spider-man?”

He murmurs something under his breath that you are unable to hear. “Not ours. It’s what I’m so busy with.” You choose not to respond, and he takes it as an invitation to continue further. “You saw me get hit with a bagel,” he groans. You smile softly even if he can’t see it.

You want to press further about whatever it is that he’s working on and why there are two Spider-men, but you know that it isn’t the time for that. You gulp and try to fix his hair, the once red spot, growing faint. Your mouth pulls into a thin line, and you take in a breath.

With his head still down, you return to cup his face, lifting him up slightly. He turns his head, his nose and mouth pressing against your palm. You smile at him, and lower yourself, pressing a chaste kiss against the spot. His face flames up once more.

“I’m just happy it was a bagel and not an apple,” you tell him. “Come on,” you tell him, reaching down to grab at his hand, “I’m sure one of us is being looked for.” He squeezes your hand, and follows you quietly.

You sit beside him, the car playing a song from your playlist, and the air conditioner blowing a nice cool breeze to combat the warm air that is outside. Your legs are tucked underneath you, the drinks dotted in condensation as the two of you eat inside the car.

Rain starts to pitter patter against the windshield and you turn your head to watch the drops collect.

You turn back to Johnathan, watching as he eats his fries. He raises his brows at you. “Sorry to make you waste your gas,” you say, feeling just a bit bad about it, but not enough to lose your appetite.

He shakes his head, quickly grabbing at your drink and taking a sip. You smile when he realizes that he grabbed the wrong drink. “No, no,” he comforts. “I like being with you. This is fine. Plus as a scientist, the pay is fine. As long as I have access to my bank account, I’m fine. There’s no need to worry about that type of stuff.” He reaches for your drink again, stopping short and sending you an apologetic smile, before grabbing at his own. He bites the tip of his straw, and takes a small sip before letting go. “If anything, I’m sorry that I took a drink from your soda.”

The rain collects, a storm furthering on, and you think you hear thunder somewhere. You two have flirted enough, been on enough dates to classify yourselves as “seeing each other” - whatever that means- when people ask, that it seems fine to take drinks from each other's straws. You know that what he did is an indirect kiss and you wonder if he knows that.

You reach over, cupping your hands over his and tilting the drink towards you. You look at him, before returning your gaze to the drink and place your lips over the straw, taking a small sip. The taste of his drink rests heavy on your tongue, and you want more of it.

“Now we’re even,” you say softly, letting go of his drink and returning to your side of the car.

His face flushes into a dark color, and his lips are parted open.

There’s a realization far off into your mind that he did realize what just transpired between the two of you and a soda.

Johnathan sets the drink down and adjusts his glasses, peering out the windshield where the rain washes down in waves. He turns back to you and reaches past the boundary that are the cupholders. His hands are warm as they cup your face, one reaches around, fingers curved over the back of your head, and the other holds you gently, letting you pull away if you were unsure about this, but you lean towards him.

Your heart beats against your chest, and you think that it’s going to bruise you, leave you battered and spill out, a bloody mess over his car.

You’d really have to apologize then.

The beating doesn’t stop- not when he’s pressing closer to you. It goes on, drumming inside of you, erratic and following the heaviness of the raindrops. It goes on as he kisses you, hands fumbling to keep the drinks steady when he pushes himself too close to you. He kisses fiercely, and desperately. His glasses press against your face, and you grab onto his shirt, twisting the fabric

The kiss deepens, and he pulls away for a breath of air, gasping for it as he presses pecks against the corner of your mouth. The cups be damned. You press yourself against him, your hands flat against his chest as you push him back, clambering across to sit on his lap.

His hands find themselves at your hips, and yours rest over his neck. He leans into your touch, and there’s a loud honk. You both startle, but he keeps kissing you, a hand leaving you to fumble with the seat.

Thunder booms in the sky, and he bunches your shirt in his hand.

The seat shoves back with full force, and you break away. You stare at each other with wide eyes, and you’re the first one laughing, wrapping your arms around him and giggling into his neck. Your heart still beats with a heavy pitter-patter. His laugh echoes in the car, and he holds you tightly.

“I like your laugh,” you mumble into his neck. You press a kiss against him, and when you nuzzle into him, you can feel his pulse quicken.

“I like you,” he says tenderly. “A lot.”

You pull away, and his hands slip underneath your shirt, his hands burn against your skin as he holds your waist. “I like you a lot too.” You press a kiss against him. “Do you want to come back to my place?” Your hands move to cup his chest. “I’ll make it worth your while,” you tease, kissing along his jaw. Underneath you, he stiffens and you smile. “How ‘bout it Dr. Ohnn?” You press yourself against him, giving a soft roll of your hips. “Wanna continue this back at my place?” You fix his glasses, and smile as he stares at you with heavy-lidded eyes with pupils blown-out.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. “I’d-” and as if the universe were against the idea itself, his phone begins to ring. Quickly, you and him search for the phone, and just as abundantly as the tension had started, it ends. He grabs at his phone and clears his throat, giving you a smile before answering it. You can catch only snippets of the conversation, and you watch as his face falls, and he gives you a sad look.

Disappointment makes your shoulders fall. Whatever was going to happen, isn’t. At least not tonight. Clumsily, and something a lot worse than the “walk of shame”, you move awkwardly off of him, careful to not touch the drinks, and to not hurt him.

He finishes the conversation, just as you sit down. You turn to him, and wait for him to start.

“I have to go. It’s about work,” he says pitifully. “I- I don’t know when- Maybe we can-” he stops himself short. “I’m sorry.”

You smile, and close the gap between the two of you with another kiss. “‘T’s not your fault. Maybe we can pick this up again sometime.”

“Yeah?” He asks hopefully.

You nod. “Definitely.” You press another kiss against him. “I really do like you Johnathan.”

“And I really like you,” he mumbles, and your name sounds honeyed on his tongue.

“Mind dropping me off at least?” You ask, not really looking forward to having to call for some taxi service of the sort.

“Of course,” he says. “Anything for you.”

There’s a tapping at your window. It’s soft at first, and you only noticed it due to the pattern behind it. You groan and turn over, grabbing at your phone and hiding under the covers. The screen is bright and blinds you for a moment before you read the time.

The tapping at the window hurries and it’s far too late- or early depending how you look at it- to deal with whatever or whoever is behind the glass. You close your eyes, your stomach twisting into itself and hoping that after a few more knocks, whoever or whatever will just move on.

Then it starts to bang, and you jump with a start, almost going to turn on your bedside lamp, but stopping yourself. Maybe you could trick whoever is behind the glass that you’re asleep or not home.

You’re tempted to grab at the pocketknife that you have hidden somewhere in your bedside table. The knocking on your window grows relentless. Whoever is there is banging, and then it just stops. You hold your breath, slowly reaching your hand to grab at the knob to the drawer to blindly look for the knife while your gaze stays focused on the window.

On the other side, the words are muffled, and soft, but you hear them. Your name is whispered again in a hushed tone, the knocking returning, begging for you to answer. Slowly, your hand returns to your side, and the bed creaks as you shift your weight.

You recognize the voice. It’s him.

“Johnathan?” You ask in a shaky voice, hoping that you’re right.

“Yes,” he says hurriedly.

The blankets have twisted themselves around you, and you kick them off. As you shift and turn, the bed creaks. Light fills the room, a warm glow that has you wincing and moving towards the window.

“Give me a minute. Let me open the window.” Your hands fist at the curtain when he replies.

“No!” He shouts, and in a softer voice, he speaks again. “Don’t.”

Your hand returns to you, and you remember the rumor that was going on around Alchemax.

How Dr. Ohnn wasn’t- right. How he wasn’t human, or how he should have died. It was a joke around the office, as if whatever happened was humorous, but when someone asked, the joke died.

He couldn’t be whatever it is that the others were describing him as.

“Johnathan?” You call out. He knocks against the window. “Are- You can come in. It’s okay,” you reassure him.

“No,” he says again.

You frown, and fist your hands together, your nails digging into your palms. “Then I’m going to open the window.”

“Don’t.” He sounds scared.

“Johnathan.” Your voice is stern, at least that’s what you’re hoping for.

“This was a mistake,” he says. You’re sure that he’s talking to himself, but even so, you reply.

“You came here,” you hiss out, face burning with some type of emotion.

It’s silent, and you fear that he’s left. “I wasn’t thinking,” he says. “I just- I wanted to see you,” he mumbles.

Your shoulders slump. “I wanted to see you too.” It’s silent and you take a deep breath. “Please come in.”

“Okay,” he finally concedes. Before you can make your way to open the window, his voice starts again. “But you don’t have to open the window. I can get in.”

A nervous laughter escapes your mouth before you can stop it. “Whatever you say.”

You look around, wondering what he’s going to do. Maybe he’ll walk through the door. Or appear in a vent. But then a black spot forms on the ceiling, and you watch as something white, and black spotted exits through the hole. And then all at once, a lump of whatever it was falls to your floor.

It groans out in discomfort, and you watch as legs and arms straighten themselves out. Once upright, a man-shaped person- you aren’t entirely sure- is faced towards you. A black spot where a face should be stares at you.

The rumor was true. There’s a twisting in your stomach, and you yelp, pressing yourself against your headboard, and you immediately regret it, when he stiffens and moves closer to your bedroom door.

It’s Johnathan.

He’s all skin and spots, standing far too tall in your bedroom.

“I’m sorry. I just- I wasn’t expecting-” you bite at your bottom lip- “spots. Do you-” You pause. Does he eat? Does he drink? He stands so awkwardly, shifting his weight, and it reminds you of him. It’s still him. “Do you want to sit down with me?” You pat the space next to you, the one on the bed that’s close to the wall.

He must be feeling some type of way because he nods and walks over. He’s a mess of limbs, legs long and hands cup and twist at the bed sheets as he sits next to you. He still looks away from you.

You missed him. You open your mouth to tell him just that, that you wanted to see him and were worried for him.

“How have you been?” You bite the inside of your cheeks at the wrong words.

“What do you think?”

“I’ve missed you.” He looks at you, and you stare into the hole that place where his face once was. You wonder what expression he would make. You think he’d look surprised. “I quit Alchemax. There were cops and stuff and well thankfully I wasn’t a scientist so I was able to just leave. Cops still asked me some questions.”

“Where are you working now?”

“There’s this little library a few streets over-” you wave your hand in a vague direction- “pay’s all right, but I had some money saved up. I uh- might move. Get a smaller place, you know.”

“I think I’m not gonna have a place to live.”

“You can stay with me,” you say. “I’d like the company. You know, as long as you help pack and stuff. We- I can get your stuff from your place. You know, if the police haven’t taken anything as evidence.”

“Most of it has been taken.” He doesn’t explain further.

“I can get you some new clothes.” You peer at him, and you can’t help but just stare at him. “I’d uh- I’d have to measure you. Get you a scarf, or a hat. Maybe both,” you add.

“I can’t believe I’m in your bedroom and I look like this.”

You frown. “Yeah, well,” you trail off. You rest your head on a white part of him, your hand over his chest, fingertips just below a black spot. “I’m glad that you’re here. I was worried. I thought that- that something else had happened to you.”

“I’m sorry for making you worried.” You know that he means it.

“It’s okay.” You aren’t sure if you mean it. You worried yourself to tears. He grunts out a response, and you kiss at a white area on his shoulder. “Are you hungry?” You furrow your brows. “Can you eat?”

“You wanna ask about the holes, right?” He says, and you nod. “Might as well get it out of the way,” he mutters.

“What are they?”

“Spots. I’m thinking about calling myself The Spot.” He turns to you, and you grab at a hand, rimming the edge of it with the pad of your forefinger. “What do you think?” He says your name, but stops short, when he realizes what you’re doing. “Oh.”

You pull away, and he grabs at your hand and brings it back. “I’m sorry, I just-”

“No, it’s okay.”

“Can you feel it?” You ask, returning to another spot.

He nods swiftly. “You can put your hand in it.” You look up at him and tilt your head curiously. “In my hole. You can put your hand in my hole.” You snort at the phrase, but take him up on his offer.

Your hand disappears, and you watch as it comes up on another spot of his body. You flex your hand, and it’s surreal, seeing it appear from somewhere else.

“Woah,” you breathe out. “You’re so cool,” you mutter.

“You think so?” He asks incredulously.

“Mhm.” You nod slowly, pulling your hand partly out, watching as your fingers still peek out. “Super cool,” you mumble. You pull your hand out and you smile up at him. You turn your hand, seeing it fully intact, and you try to fight back a yawn, only to fail. “Are you tired?”

“I woke you up,” he says in a small voice.

“I’m glad that you did,” you say earnestly. “I’m happy that I got to see you.” You hold his hand in yours, and your fingertip goes along the white area of his body. “Do you want to spend the night?” You tighten your hand around his. “I want you to. I’d like you to get some rest.”

“You would?”

“Of course.”

“In your bed?”

You snort. “Of course, in my bed. It’d be fucked up if I gave you the couch or something.” You let go of his leg and slap his knee. “Come on, Johnathan. Get under the covers.” You grab at the furled up mess of blankets, straightening them over your body and his. He watches your every move, and keeps his face turned in your direction until the light clicks off and you can’t see him. You lay beside him, turning on your side, and resting your hand over his chest, careful to not let your hand dip into one of his holes.

“Goodnight,” he says your name in a quiet voice, one of his hands clutching onto your forearm.

“Night Johnathan,” you whisper, pressing a kiss against him.

#across the spiderverse #atsv #the spot #the spot x reader #johnathan ohnn #johnathan ohnn x reader #jonathan ohnn #jonathan ohnn x reader #atsv spot #spot x reader #i love him #he's so fucked up #i wanna like kiss #i fell in love with him the minute i saw he was all limbs and silly #and then i wanted him when he was all scary and limbs

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shurisneakers · 3 months

Text

unsolved (iii)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, obnoxious reader, cryptids, graveyards

A/N: good evening. i am fighting demons (tummy ache). comments and feedback are always appreciated thank u for the love on the series so far i adore u guys sm <;33

Previous part || Series masterlist

A few days after the first video goes up, Bucky returns from his run to a SHIELD file taped to his door.

He opens to a black and white photo of him from back in the day, and a page full of his details. Full name, blood group, previous addresses, aliases, best colours to match his undertone, favourite Gilmore Girl boyfriend.

He flips the page to the section on his known connections, only for a sheet of paper to fall out. Sharpie sprawled haphazardly across it, in big red letters.

NO AUNT.

BITCH.

He bites back a grin.

The video does reasonably well. Not record breaking numbers or anything, but for once there aren’t TikToks of people counting how many times he blinks to make sure he’s an actual human.

Always a man of his word, though he has regretted it every single time, he agrees to a second video. It follows after a disgraceful bout of bitching and even pleading, but a few hours later, he resigns himself to his fate silently.

That is until the schedule for the next video shoot is posted to the server, and he sees it’s at night.

The night he uses to sleep. The night.

Before he can even type out his rejection, his door receives four sharp knocks. He doesn’t even need to open it to know who it was.

It’s like you could read his thoughts. Probably could. He doesn’t know the extent of your telekinesis.

In your hands is a large cardboard box and on your face is a stupidly big grin.

“Good evening,” you greet.

“Tell me the show’s getting cancelled,” he says.

“Nope. We–” you announce, reaching into the box and shoving something onto his chest, “--are going on a trip. Demon hunting.”

“Demon hunting?”

“To Westley Cemetery,” you add, letting the box tumble onto the floor as you grip its contents. “To catch the Westley Cemetery Cryptid.”

“What the hell is the Westley Cemetery Cryptid?” Bucky demands.

“Creature that lives in the cemetery, watches people from the trees and runs after you if you’re there too long. No known kills, but a couple of scratches and spooks,” you list off.

His face twists. “That’s not a real thing.”

“Uh, yes it is.” You rest a hand on your hip. “My sources told me so.”

“Who are your sources?”

“Twitter.”

Bucky stares at you without a word.

“It’s totally real. It’s got a Wikia page and everything,” you argue against his complete silence. “I believe in it.”

“That means nothing.”

“Rude.” You glare pointedly. “Anyway, point is, we’re going out tonight to the cemetery and we’re gonna catch this thing on tape.”

Bucky tracks your gaze to finally look down at what you’ve shoved into his hands. It’s a headband, with two cameras attached to it, one facing your face and the other outward. Night vision, he guesses.

He sighs. “How long? An hour?”

“Was Hamlet written in an hour? Was Sharknado filmed in an hour?” you exclaim. “Great art takes time. We’re staying out there as long as we need to. So help me, we will emerge victorious.”

Bucky stares at you. “Two hours.”

“Seven.”

“Thirty minutes.”

“Your will is weak and your spirit is cowardly.” You return his fixed look with equal intensity, if not more, which he didn't think was possible. “Three hours.”

“Deal.”

“Great.” You stick your hand out, and he grabs on firmly. “See you at 1am.”

“1am?!”

It is 1am, it is cold and Bucky is miserable.

But he’s there. In the cemetery. With the stupid camera rig on his head.

You offer him whiskey to warm him up, and he agrees.

You then tell him you don’t actually have any because you didn’t think he’d accept.

He hates it here.

The wind whistles around the both of you. The eerie silence is only compounded by the fact that he can’t see anything beyond a certain point. The night is especially dark and there is no moonlight.

He trudges through the patchy grass, dry leaves crunching under his boots.

The camera being so close to his face along with the fact that you wouldn’t stop singing the same three fucking lines of the song over and over again, makes him want to tear his hair out.

“That thing’s not gonna get near us if you don’t shut up,” he grumbles.

“Nonsense,” you hum. “I’m a goddamn delight. He’s gonna be trippin’ over himself to get to me.”

“He doesn’t exist.”

“He definitely does, and you know what? I bet your shit vibes are gonna attract him. Moth to flame and all that. Karmic justice.”

Bucky stares straight ahead, swerving to avoid running into cracked tombstones.

You go back to singing, but worse this time.

“What if we don’t get anything?” he interrupts, to protect his sanity. “No one wants to watch a bunch of people just walk around the dark for 20 minutes.”

There’s no response.

It takes a second for Bucky to realise the singing’s stopped too.

He stops in his tracks, head swivelling to look for you.

“The fuck…” he mutters.

In the cemetery, he is truly alone for a moment. Silent, other than wrought iron gates creaking in the far distance.

The leaves of the tree above him rustle.

Bucky looks up, squinting against the darkness.

Against the stillness of the night, he sees it. A figure stands tall on the branches of the tree, silhouette obscured by the leaves.

It leers down at him, unmoving.

Bucky doesn’t even flinch.

“Very funny,” he says. “Hilarious.”

“We’ll fake it,” the figure calls from above. “If we don’t get any footage, I’ll just get on up there and fuck around and you record.”

“Get down,” he demands. “We’re not faking footage.”

If this show had to die this way, so be it.

“Bore,” you boo, lowering yourself to the ground with ease. “If I didn't know any better, I’d say you don’t want to be a part of this series.”

“I don’t.”

“Anyway,” you say obnoxiously, “we won’t have to. There is definitely a cryptid here. I can feel it in my bones.”

“We’re halfway through the graveyard and there’s nothing here,” he shoots back. “We should call it quits.”

“You’re right,” you say, to his surprise. “We need to cover more ground. Let’s split up.”

That is most definitely not what he was saying.

But you start singing again and so Bucky agrees faster than you finish the same stupid third line for the hundredth time that hour.

Bucky is a man of dignity.

Less than five minutes later, he gives up.

He takes a seat against the trunk of a tall tree, in a relatively open clearing.

He figures if he just takes a nap then the two hours would pass by quicker.

Bucky has no idea where you’ve gone. The lack of light doesn’t help, even with his advanced vision.

He crosses his arms behind his head and settles back, eyes closing.

Not even a second later, he wants to rip his hair out when the stupid song you were singing reintroduces itself in his head.

“For fuck’s sake,” he groans.

The tree he’s leaning against shifts ever so slightly.

His eyes fly open, but he doesn’t move an inch.

Instinctually, his breathing slows and his ears tune in to pick up even the faintest sounds.

The draft whispers, and he knows for a fact that something is above him.

A branch cracks.

“Go away,” Bucky says loudly.

A second passes.

And then another.

“You’re supposed to be looking for the thing,” you shout.

“It’ll find me if it wants to.” He shifts to make himself more comfortable. “I’m givin’ him a real shot here.”

“You didn’t even look up.”

“Didn’t have to.”

“He could have been above you.”

“But he wasn’t.” Bucky’s eyes close again.

“You’re terrible.” It comes back muffled, and branches shift. “I’m headin’ that way. One of us has to put some effort into this.”

“Joy. Knock yourself out.”

The trunk moves under his muscles again and Bucky lets out a small exhale, settling back into the position he was in.

Until he hears you singing in the distance. Same three lines, same off-key tune.

Bucky drags his palm across his face.

An hour passes.

Unlike his original plan, he does not sleep.

He instead recounts every element he remembers from the periodic table.

Replays every Dodgers game from his childhood, and then gets mad at their shift.

Then he tries to recollect every fact he knows about you so far. Mutant, captured and experimented on, broke free several years before him. Met Nat along the way and befriended her. Telekinesis, slowed aging. Escape artist. Wedding videographer. Allegedly.

He just doesn’t get how you’re so goddamn chirpy all the time, given that he’d been through something similar and come out the way he had.

It had taken him a month to say anything to anyone other than Steve. You went out for brunch with Sam the same weekend you showed up at the compound.

He doesn’t get you.

Speaking of which, he hasn’t actually seen you in a while.

He checks the time on his watch. Nearly 3am.

He had a fucking workout in the morning and no lizard-man was going to be the cause for Steve outrunning him.

He pushes himself off the ground with a groan, and stretches out his sore limbs. Definitely too old for lying around a cemetery beyond midnight.

He calls out your name loudly, and then again, before waiting.

He hears bells ringing in the distance.

Bucky looks up.

In the shadows of the trees, he comes face to face with the same sight as before. A figure, standing on the branches.

“There’s nothing here,” he calls out, sighing. “Can we just leave?”

The twigs creek, and for a second he thinks you’re going to fall.

“Already told you I’m not faking footage, get down from there,” he repeats. “I’m leaving. I’ll see you at the gate.”

The leaves shuffle around before he hears branches break.

Something you say gets obscured by your movement, but you disappear again. He thinks that maybe you were cursing him out, and deservedly so. He just couldn’t find it in himself to care.

He rolls his eyes, but starts making his way to the entrance of the graveyard.

The walk back is faster, and he holds back a yawn as the gates start creeping up on the horizon.

There’s no sign of you. He half thinks you ditched him here and went back to the compound. Or fell off the tree and were just laying there.

But he decides to wait, leaning against the exposed concrete wall.

Eyes closed, he rubs his temples and decides that if you’re not here in the next thirty seconds, he’ll just–

“Hey,” you greeet from right in front of him.

“Where the hell did you go?” he demands.

You blink at him, before holding up a wrapper.

“Got a sandwich. I was hungry. The diner was real nice too, I spent like half an hour talkin’ to the owner.”

He stares at you. “You just left to get a sandwich?”

“Yeah, and I got you one, too,” you reply, tossing him a paper bag. “You’re welcome. God bless that man, but those things aren’t cheap.”

“You’ve not been here for the last half hour?”

“I mean, I spent like ten minutes looking.” You shrug, taking another bite. “All I got was a bunch of grass.”

Ten minutes. Bucky had sat under the stupid tree for an hour.

“So you just left,” he says dryly.

“Yes,” you reply like it’s not even worth debating. “Besides, if anyone could find a cryptid it’d be you. A fellow cryptid.”

Bucky spins on his heel to leave.

“You’re welcome for dinner,” you call out, and he can hear you laugh.

He flips you the finger, and regrets it a second later when your singing resumes.

The sandwich is good. He appreciates it.

He even manages to keep pace with Steve the next morning.

What he doesn’t appreciate is coming back to fifteen missed calls and four video calls from you.

From: co-host (TGS)

can you pick up

From: co-host (TGS)

i know you have nothing going on in your life you are bitchless

Bucky switches off his phone for the next three hours.

Finally, it’s a threat that you will show up at his door again and Bucky finally video calls you back that evening.

“What,” he states.

“Took you long enough,” you huff, sitting up to adjust the camera. In the middle of the ordeal, Bucky sees your laptop open.

“What do you want?” he repeats.

“The team sent over the videos from last night,” you tell him. “At some point in the video you said ‘we’re not faking footage, get down from there.”

“Yeah.”

He hears you play the footage faintly in the background, almost to substantiate your point. He cringes at the sound of his own voice.

“Who were you talking to?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Heard you in the trees. Figured you climbed up there again.”

“Ah.” You click your tongue. “Interesting.”

“What.”

You hum. “See, that wasn’t me.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Yes, it was.”

“No, it wasn’t,” you say calmly. “I’d left to get dinner way before all that.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious. Got the timestamp on my video to prove it.” You look up at him through the camera finally. “So who were you actually talking to, Barnes?”

Bucky’s nose twitches.

“Bye,” he says shortly.

“Dude,” he hears you laugh loudly through the phone. “I fuckin’ told you you’d attract these things, you–”

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wroteclassicaly · 4 months

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Pick You Up At 7

(Gator Tillman x Plus size!Female Reader)

Summary: When your date goes bad, Gator reacts in unexpected ways.

Warnings: Language, implied smut/smut, low self-esteem, body dysmorphia, food insecurity, fat phobia, fat shaming, Gator and reader roast one another, have nicknames, mentions periods, Gator being a tad misogynistic, anxiety, and depression.

Word count: 2,913

Pairings: Gator Tillman x Plus size!Female Reader

A/N: This one isn’t for the faint of heart, folks! It’s straight up self-indulgent, it’s intense. So… yeah. Read the warnings and read at your own risk! Wanted to provide a little release/comfort for myself, and I’m proud of this one!

You knew they were laughing as soon as you got into the office the next morning. Not so subtle hushed whispers and baiting for remarks that you’d normally snap back with. But you keep your head down, lunch forgotten in the car. You’d never let someone tell you what he had last night, not usually, but you’re sure that it’s what you expect from the guy you hate yourself for really wanting - will do, that’s got you worked up the most.

No, that’s a lie. It’s an added situation, but what happened on your date last night, you’ve never felt so disgusted or panicked.

The men continue to talk before they go back to paperwork and shit talking, leaving you to shed your winter attire carelessly by your rolling desk chair. You sit down as if it’ll break, pulling your long gray buttoned down cardigan over your form. It’s not what you usually wear, either. Proud to show off your figure, knowing the guys here aren’t into your extra pounds, it never bothered you that much to put your cleavage on display while working in the police station as their only secretary. If they have any inkling towards you, then it’s ‘do me a favor’ or ‘get a beer for me, maybe join the rest of the boys as we hit on every other female but you’ kinda thing.

The air in the place changes before the sound of his thick leader combats approaches your desk. You keep your head down and plead, pretending to organize old files that are ready for the shredder.

Please don’t. Please don’t come over here. Please. Please.

“Hey, twerp.” He leans over the counter, vape in one hand, his newly freed arm propped across his other.

You raise a brow as your simple acknowledgement, trying to hold your breath as his cedarwood cologne and mint hair gel soak into your nostrils when he bends down to sort through the little decorative holographic candy dish you keep. Annoyingly, seconds later he’s whining. “Where’s the goods at? The fuck? Shit’s practically empty.”

Go away.

You manage to speak, cringing at how cracked your voice is, dangling over the precipice of breaking down. Here. In front of everyone. In front of him.

“I’m working right now. Go to the Dollar Tree if you want candy so fuckin’ bad.” You don’t even address him with a nickname or his last name. And it unnerves him. With a shove of your small crystal bowl, you watch the leftover mints slosh onto the counter and over your papers, and only then your reaction is what he wants. He needs you to look at him.

He’s smirking and chewing on the filter of his vape, blowing a smoke cloud into the air and making you grit your teeth. That clock in the distance sounds louder, cheaper. And Gator Tillman takes your distracted gaze and creeps around and starts looking at your desk. It’s your space here, regardless. And up until now, he used to know that too. You sigh, asking him what he’s doing,

“Where’s your purse, kid? You must be hiding it all in there. You on the rag, that it? Would explain why you’re being a bitch and the stuff isn’t here.”

“Gator…”

He kicks your coat aside, but pauses his searching when you say his name. Like a damned addiction he can’t yet admit to

“Calm your granny panties down. Where is it at?”

“It’s not here.” You’re losing control of yourself. He keeps pushing.

“Why? You know nobody gives a shit if you bring your red tide plugs in here. Can’t have you bleedin’ all over shit. It’s mighty unprofessional, you know?”

“Take your shriveled little ballsack elsewhere, I’m bored with you.” He’s grateful you’re engaging, hands sliding over his cargo pockets and patting.

“Or —“

Your heart rate accelerates, knowing exactly where this is going. It’s why he originally came to your desk, you’re not stupid.

“ — You didn’t get laid last night. Would also explain this crap.”

“Stop it.” It's pathetic, a weak demand, even to your ears, but it’s all you got, that anxiety clawing your esophagus and winding up around your lungs like a cobweb, squeezing like a vice.

“I told you he was a loser, darlin’. You never listen. So what happened?”

“I asked you to quit.”

“And I asked you what happened. What? He’s too much of a pussy to put it in when there’s a little blood? Did it make him queasy —“

You’re out of your chair and facing him, hands on his leather jacket. And he’s down in your chair, the wheels moving so fast that he flies back and hits the filing cabinet, scattering things everywhere, his legs coming up and then his heels slamming down rather comically. The guys howl in the background, making Gator having to inhale sharply to get it together. You’re walking away from him and down the hall to the restroom where he follows, walking right in behind you and slamming his hand on top of the metal stall door to prevent it from closing.

You try but it’s no use. Your fight is gone, the burn blurs your vision, scorching your throat, making everything hazy.

“You don’t fuckin’ do that to me in front of them, you hear me? You don’t disrespect —“

A sniffle that would’ve been quieter, it echoes in the expanse of the cold, gray walls. You pass him and find yourself clutching the sink, pleading. It’s like you’ve lost all ability to walk, to think, to process how to guard your tightly kept emotions.

And it scares Gator Tillman to death.

“Gator, please just go away?”

His boots creak and squish on the floor as he pivots and finds a space beside you, folding knuckles resting beside your hand, nearly touching, a warmth that threatens you both within its encasement.

“Is this about your outfit? The baggy sweater thing? You know the guys all stare at your big tits when you wear those other tops, right?”

You’d laugh, even be prideful, but you don’t believe a damned thing right now. Because in spite of what he says, you know Gator has a soft spot in his heart that isn’t touched by his namesake’s cruelty. You shake your head and watch him take the vape out, your eyes glistening with tears when you take in his form. He blows a line of smoke and damn near chokes when he sees the actual tears drip down your cheeks.

“Can I have a hit of that?” It’s a bold move. In part because you always roast him for it, and two, because his mouth has just been on it and he’ll get to taste you. You’ll be tasting each other.

He hands it to you, fingers brushing yours. He wants nothing more than to touch you, and he has to fight himself where he stands, feeling an electricity at the nape of his neck that shocks his flesh full of goosebumps, as you wrap your lips around the mouthpiece and puff a few times, coughing. He smiles softly, in spite of the situation.

You, you’re trying to mull over how you can taste his minty saliva beneath the nasty ass acidic fruit cloud that’s misting over your lungs. “Jesus Christ, what flavor is that?”

Taking it back, he’s all too eager to sample you, clicking his lips together and pocketing the vape. “Think it’s banana kiwi.”

There’s a comfortable beat before you both remember why you’re here. It dawns on Gator then, and you both know it. There’s this dark look that pools in the mossy oak of his gaze, drowning out all rationality. His voice cracks sharp, a tone that you’ve never heard before. “Did he hurt you? What happened last night?”

“Just drop it, okay?” You find your voice again, but Gator is already seeing red, a tunnel vision of fire and brimstone with your date from the night prior.

You aren’t ready for it, not in the slightest. Your skin prickles to life, body drenched in elation, relief, and struggling to catch up with your racing heartbeat. His pointer and middle fingers find your chin in the gentlest press, tilting. “Kiddo…”

“Doesn’t matter what he did.”

“You know it fuckin’ does.” Gator’s thumb twitches as it catches a teardrop. It tracks across your jaw and back.

You’re a little angry now, finally snapping at him like an animal that’s cornered. “Fine. You wanna know what he did, Mr. Prom King?” Gator winces at how you use his former title, clearly not impressed. You didn’t run in the same circles and he knows where this is going.

“Twerp, c’mon —“

“Just shut your mouth and listen for once, since you want to know so badly.” Your hands leave the speckled counter and you step away, swiping at your damp eyes. “He took me to dinner and waited until the waiter came to take our orders, to tell them that he wasn’t paying for mine. And you know, I just thought he was a douche. But I guess he had the smarts to wait until the waiter left again before he told me that what I ordered wasn’t appropriate, so he didn’t feel comfortable paying for it.”

Gator, still a little confused, speechless, questions, “Well, what did you get?”

“Steak and fries.” You want to scream at what Gator is not seeing.

“But most people like that kinda shit? I eat that every weekend —“

You blow out a breath that causes you to choke on a small whimper. This causes Gator to change his tune. “Wait…”

“He thought I should have the side salad for ‘someone my size.’ And after dinner was over, he made it a point to inform me that no one would go out with someone dressed in a dress that tight. How embarrassing it is.”

Gator is positively seething now, teeth clenching. And the fact that you wore this for the dickbag and he wasn’t all over you?

“I pointed out that at least half a dozen women in the restaurant were wearing more revealing outfits, that it’s not up to him or anyone else to judge. And he couldn’t wait to cut me off to let me know that he didn’t care about that. He cared about…” Your voice breaks and you laugh in wet disbelief.

“He cared about what?” Gator’s tone is at toxic levels now, nearing a whisper.

There’s no way to hide how you're openly sobbing now, snotting, lower lip quivering. “He cared about girls like me thinking guys like him wanna see someone who weighs this much, wearing something like that.”

“He needs his ass strung up on a barn door and used as target practice —“

“Don’t act like you give a shit, Tillman. I’ve seen the posters in your room, the girls you flirt with at the bars, the ones you talked to in school. Don’t be a fucking marauder with me.”

“How do you know? You didn’t even know me in highschool!” He’s offended and it pisses you off. Another fib. In this small town everyone knows everyone, or at least hears of them - that is a given.

“Oh, I knew you. I knew your crowd. And you all made it abundantly clear I was to stay out of the way. You’re just like all of the other assholes around here when it comes to how you treat women, nothing changes. Weight defines everything, even when it shouldn’t, no matter what body type a person has. It always does to people.”

“Then why the fuck did he ask you out if he was going to act like a bitch?” Gator goes straight for it with a sigh of confusion.

You laugh this time, a sound that levels Gator with diabolical unease. “He was bored and wanted someone to get him off, so he thought I’d be an easy enough, sure thing. Entitled fucking prick.”

It’s a somber silence after, your dying sniffles ceasing as you swipe your nose and attempt to collect yourself, stomach hollow and nauseated. You can’t stay here anymore, not after this. You manage to look at Gator and step with one hand on the bathroom door. “I’m going back to work. If you can not tell the other guys, I’d appreciate it.”

And as Gator is left alone in the cool, dim light bathroom, he’s already formulating an idea, going straight out the back entrance and into his squad car.

The next hour went by quicker than you thought, giving you time to push away all thoughts of your confrontation and reveals with Gator. You’ve given him more ammo to tease you with, but you’re also wondering why he’s not here? You’re in the midst of stacking new department funding files when you hear it. Your date’s voice.

“I didn’t do nothin’! You know I didn’t!”

And another, one that has your mouth going dry.

“Get your ass movin’, pencil dick.”

Your jaw is close to dropping, becoming unhinged seconds later as Gator rounds the corner in his gear, your date’s collar clutched in his fist, the vape in the other, and a very noticeable split across your date’s lip, complete with a bloodied nose. Gator stops short in front of the desk, shoving your date into its edge. He’s panting heavily, raising a brow at you, Gator amused from behind.

“Hey, twerp.” Gator grins like the Cheshire Cat. “Got a booking for ya to process!”

“I… what?” You come up with.

“You gonna tell her what you did, shitbird?”

“What’s going on?” You and Gator are going back and forth, your former date nearly ignored. This is not a coincidence. And you’re practically glued to your chair at the notion that Gator went after him in your honor.

Does this mean…?

“Caught this fucker side swiping candy at the damned Dollar Tree. What kind of prick does that when it’s a dollar?”

“I was not!” Your date is shouting.

The Dollar Tree? Wait…

You feel as if you’ve been hit with a pillow and swallowed the feathers, enjoying their light tickles that scratch at your throat. You want to laugh. By golly, you almost do. Gator whistles for another officer that takes your date down the hall. Seconds later he’s leaning on bended elbows, jacket crunching, his voice a whispered hum for you to hear, and you alone.

“Didn’t wanna forget this.” He unravels his arms and slides one into his pocket, his massive palm full of the candy you both like. He lets it spill into your dish, waiting a few beats before speaking again. “All good now.” With a snatching of his favorite piece of chocolate, he knocks his knuckles on your countertop.

“Get him processed in, yeah?”

You nod dumbly, watching him walk away. He turns around and waves with one finger, however, before he meets the other policeman and your ex-date.

“By the way, be ready at seven. I’m gonna pick you up and we’ll get supper.” He elgonates a leather clad arm, fingertips drumming on the doorway. His voice is raspy when he focuses back on you, eyes dark in a completely different way. “Wear that dress too.”

Your legs tighten together and you pinch at your cardigan, fanning yourself.

“You get your ass movin’ down that hallway, short stack!” Gator finishes, turning to you one last time and flashing a cheeky little wink.

Gator did indeed pick you up in his truck. Seven on the dot. He wore nice dark jeans and a crisp white button up, loosened to let a silver chain peek out, nestled amongst the thick chest hair, his leather jacket over him, hair slicked back, and his watch and normal boots. You wore that tight dress with a little unease, and slightly heeled boots over your sheer black tights, a few rings adorning your hands. When Gator walked you to your side of the car after walking you out of your house, you weren’t regretting anything about the purchase of the form fitting dress any longer.

When you got to dinner, Gator waited as you ordered, encouraging you to get the steak and fries that he knew you wanted. And after drinks, you shared the biggest piece of chocolate cake in the joint. Conversation flowed easy, felt good. Your old date wasn’t mentioned, but you both knew. Gator had taken you back to his place (per your request), where he’d laid you down in his bed and held your legs open until you were begging him to fuck you. And that he did.

His hand splayed atop yours, your dress around your waist, he’d taken you from behind, plaster escaping his paneled wall as a result. When that had ended, he’d stripped you free of everything, and walked you to his mirror, chin on your shoulder, fingers in your cunt. Showing you what he liked about your body, but telling you that it doesn’t matter what anyone but you thinks. And if anyone thinks differently, he’d put them all away. Impractical, but enough to cause you to cream his thick digits and soak his floor.

The next day, you’d worn your most low cut top with pride, settling at your desk to another empty candy dish. When you look up, Gator is smiling in your direction, that damned vape in one hand, candy wrapper in the other.

We all need someone to help us feel good about ourselves sometimes.

276 notes · View notes

hxney-lemcn · 5 months

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The Riddle of Love — Gotham! Edward Nygma x gn! reader

summery: Edward's interest shifts to someone who indulges in his love of riddles.

tw: bullying (?), kristen kringle is a warning all her own in this fic, implied rejection (not really tho, Ed's just awkward).

a/n: I hope so much that I wrote all these characters correctly. I have riddler fever rn and really wanted to write for him, but I've always been scared that I'd write him too ooc. I think I did good tho.

wc: 3.1k

Master List

“What is it that no one wants to have, but no one wants to lose either?” I asked. I already knew it was a lost cause. Edward Nygma was the smartest man I had ever met. Dorky? Yes. Nerdy? Absolutely. Smart? Incredibly. So trying to impress him at his own game wasn’t exactly the smartest move. Yet, the first time I gave him a riddle to solve (which he solved ridiculously fast), I don’t think I’d ever seen him so happy. So I continued to scour the internet in my free time to try and find obscure riddles.

Although this riddle wasn’t that obscure. I was running out of riddles to find, and I sure as hell couldn’t make my own.

“A lawsuit,” Eddie replied without missing a beat, still focusing on testing blood samples.

I couldn’t stop the pout that formed on my face, “It’s not fair how smart you are.”

I didn’t see Ed’s lips twitch up, how the praise I didn’t think twice about saying impacted him more than he’d like to admit. It was quiet for a few minutes, and I looked back down to the papers I had brought with me. Sometimes, I found myself working in the forensic lab when I could. One of the perks of being a criminal data analyst. I could make my notes on paper, and then just copy them into the computer later.

Since I was a data analyst, I was in the record archives often. I was acquainted with Kristen Kringle, which obviously led me to Edward Nygma. She would complain about him if I came in after he had left. At that point I didn’t know him, but I also found her complaints unfounded. I’d let her vent, but I’d also speak up for him, which made her glance away in what I assume was guilt. Then there were the unfortunate times that I’d walk in on his awkward flirting. I’d just tensely put away or take the files I needed for my research and leave them to it.

But after enough times, I’d caught him in the middle of one of his riddles. An easy one, probably to dumb it down for Kringle so she’d be enticed to answer it in the first place. Yet he had caught the attention of the wrong person. Although that didn’t seem to put a damper on his mood. He only sent me a tight lipped smile with a little ‘ding ding ding!’. That’s how I was caught hook line and sinker. His mannerisms were oddly endearing to me, and that’s how our odd little friendship formed.

I was brought out of my reverie as Eddie shuffled over to his microscope, “I am a nine lettered word and rhyme with perfection; I am another name for love. What am I?”

I blinked, not ready for a riddle, even though I always should be in the presence of him. I looked up from my work, and I noticed how Eddie was sweating, his cheeks flushing a bright red. I tapped the metal table anxiously, the word love had thrown me off my game and my brain felt empty of anything else. I mumbled words under my breath that rhyme with perfection.

“Deception, reception, perception,” I mumbled, yet none of them fit the rest of the rhyme. The longer I took, the more anxious Eddie seemed to get. “Affection. Oh! The answer is affection!”

Ed cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses, “Y-yes, that is correct. G-good job.” My proud smile fell into a more awkward one, thinking over the implications. That riddle sounded like one he’d save for Kringle. Was he running out of riddles as well? The thought alone was preposterous. It was tense for a bit. And when I realized I had nothing left to do but input the current data I had on some wanna be gang leader. The sad part is I knew that the cops aren’t going to be the first ones who get them.

Even though I needed to leave, it felt wrong for some reason. To leave the situation after Edward had seemed to admit something in his unique way of sharing. I didn’t want to assume his feelings, yet I knew he also wasn’t one to just state them willingly. Biting my lip anxiously, I decided to just do it.

Walking over towards Ed’s hunched form, I leaned down to place a light kiss to his cheek, “I’ll see ya later Eddie.” Then I booked it out of the room, leaving behind a very flustered dork.

It wasn’t much later in the day when Doctor Lee Thompson entered my office. It wasn’t much of an office. The dark walls made the space feel enclosed, and it barely fit my desk and the few cabinets it held. Yet I didn’t mind it since it was a space for myself. Lee, on the other hand, was another acquaintance whose office was nowhere near mine. She’d only come to my office for a few reasons, if it was work related (which was rare since our departments weren’t similar), or if it was personal. Sometimes she fessed that it seemed I needed some company, that it would do me no good to spend all this time alone in my office. Other times…it was on a more personal note, about Eddie and I’s relationship.

She plopped a candy bar on my desk, a placating move that was all too familiar.

“You must’ve done a real number on Ed,” She smirked, sitting on my desk. Due to the tiny size of the room, and the nature of my job, I didn’t have a seat for guests.

“What do you mean?” I asked. Deep down, I knew exactly what she meant. I knew Edward was an awkward man, and his experience with flirting was an ultimate zero. Yet it was hard to imagine that he was still affected by a small gesture of affection… Okay maybe the gesture wasn’t that small, for either of us, but still!

Lee’s smirk widened, “I think you know exactly what. Poor little Ed kept stumbling over his words when I brought you up. Something must’ve happened.”

I unwrapped the candy bar as she spoke, wanting to avoid any thought of the earlier moment. Looking back it was so awkward and a terrible attempt at…what? Flirting? Was that my intention? I didn’t even know my own intentions!

I took a bite from the candy bar, savoring the sweet flavor before having to explain the painfully awkward memory. When I managed to explain the event, Lee couldn’t stop herself from chuckling, causing me to finish my candy bar with a bitter look.

“That sounds like something you’d both do,” She smiled.

“What’s that supposed to mean,” I huffed, trying to fight off the flush of embarrassment I felt.

“Nothing,” She sighed wistfully. “But you two really take your time, huh?”

“Shut up,” I scowled.

“Okay, okay,” She threw her hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll stop teasing…for now. But seriously, I think you two would be cute together.”

I let out a childish groan, “I get it. Is there anything else you need?”

“No,” She smiled as she stood up. “Just wanted to see what had Ed all wound up.”

I rolled my eyes, but my heart skipped a beat at the implication. As Lee saw herself out, my mind kept racing. What was Ed doing right now? What was he thinking about? Did he really care enough about my opinion, about my affection, that he was still affected by it? I stared at my computer screen, the cursor blinking mindlessly. Glancing at the time, I scowled as I realized I still had 30 minutes left to my shift. The idea of going home, having a relaxing dinner and then maybe treating myself to a warm bath.

…

That was only the beginning. It seems that Eddie’s admiration had shifted from Kristin Kringle to me. It was flattering, to say the least. At least to me. Once I gained Ed’s attention, I seemed to have gained his colleagues attention as well. Typically, I didn’t work with the officers, I’d research criminals, then that data would be added to the files. So when I walked past James Gordon and Harvey Bullock, I never thought twice. But when Ed had waved at me, that cute tight lipped smile on his face as I waved back, a smile of my own adorning my face, it drew the attention of the two detectives.

"Careful Ed,” Harvey mocked. “Don’t wanna scare them off.” Jim only glanced up briefly, not interested in the situation in the least. I watched as Ed’s smile twitched for a second, Harvey’s words seeming to get to him. I felt my smile slip, not liking how they treat him in the slightest.

“He…didn’t do anything wrong,” I shrugged, before waving goodbye, making my way to the record archives. Not only them, but even Kringle was looking at me more than just as a person to vent to.

“I feel sorry for you,” She stated, adjusting her thick rimmed glasses. Her hazel eyes held their usual air of judgment as she placed some files back in their spots.

“Why?” I asked, flipping through to find the person I needed.

“Isn’t it obvious?” She asked, raising one of her perfectly maintained eyebrows. “Edward’s got his eyes on another victim.” I frowned, anger bubbling within me at the way she always found new ways to insult him.

“I wouldn’t describe it like that,” I managed to grit out. “I find the sentiment sweet.”

“Wait,” Kringle paused, turning to look at me with disbelief. “Do you…like him?”

I sighed, finding it hard to focus on the task at hand with this irritating conversation, “Would there be something wrong with that?”

“Isn’t it kind of weird how fast he switched?” She asked, a hint of jealousy in her tone. “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before he loses interest in you.”

I slammed the cabinet shut in a bout of rage, leaving the room before I do something I may regret…or lose my job over. As I exited, my scowl worsened when I realized I didn’t even get what I needed.

“Hello!” Edward’s excited voice greeted me as I entered the break room. When my gaze landed on him, I felt my expression soften, my shoulder’s relaxing. His brown eyes were so expressive, that silly smile on his face never failed to melt my heart.

“Hey,” I muttered back. Looking over the options in the vending machine. Just get something to eat, and hopefully I’ll feel better.

“Is…something the matter?” He asked, fidgeting with his glasses. I let out a long sigh as I sat across from him at one of the few tables.

Taking a bite of my snack, I took some time to gather my thoughts and feelings, “Sometimes I just hate people.”

His eyebrows raised, nervously fidgeting with his tie, “Th-that’s…understandable.”

“Sorry,” I muttered, finally cooling down. “Someone was just saying some really mean things and it got to me.”

Edwards’ demeanor changed in an instant, a frown replacing his smile, and his eyebrows furrowed in a mixture of concern and anger, “Who?”

I blinked, “What?”

“Who insulted you?” He asked, fists clenched. This wasn’t what I was expecting. He would get annoyed, yeah, but he’d always just stew in it until he calmed down. And he was barely angry when I was around, which was something I was proud of. So seeing him react so harshly was unusual. It made me feel a bit appreciated, that he cared enough to get this angry over it, yet it was also unsettling.

“They…they were insulting you,” I clarified, rubbing my arm awkwardly. “And trust me, I was ready to do some things that would’ve gotten me fired.”

Ed blinked, calming down drastically at the revelation, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” I shrugged. “I swear if she says one more damned thing about you I’m gonna…” I strangled the air, the only way I could express how frustrated her insults made me.

Edward fake coughed, his cheeks tinged a light pink, “I assume you mean Miss Kringle.”

I paused, hoping it didn’t hurt that his past interest was still as rude as ever. “I didn’t even manage to get the files I needed,” I grumbled, hoping to lighten the mood a bit.

“...I can get them for you,” I felt my heart crack. Was he still interested in her? Was that why he was so ready to go into the den of the woman who so readily insults him?

“Oh, no you don’t have to do that,” I shook my head. “I’ll just have Lee do it.”

Ed blinked, seeming to think over something before standing up, “I’ll be right back.” Before he was fully out the door he paused, “Whose case files did you need?”

I couldn’t help the tiny grin at how eager he was as I gave him the names of the people I needed files on. Yet that smile fell. Was he really so excited to get a chance to see Kringle that he almost left without knowing what files he needed? I finished my snack, getting a drink from the vending machine while I was at it. My mind continued to make up terrible scenarios that could be happening at that moment. How she could manage to crush Ed’s precious heart even more than she’s already managed to.

Ed was back quicker than I realized. It took him less than ten minutes! He set the files I needed on the table, that tight lipped grin on his face as he waited for my input.

“Oh! Thank you!” I thanked, flipping through the files to make sure they were all there. “She didn’t give you any trouble, did she?”

“No,” He replied simply. As I met his gaze, that’s when I finally realized that he was truly over Kringle. I should’ve felt disturbed at how intense his gaze was, at how strong his emotions seemed to be when he wasn’t even trying. Yet I only felt flattered, important, and wanted. Emotions I wasn’t completely used to, and caused my heart to stutter at how strong my own emotions were becoming.

Standing up, I leaned in and kissed his cheek again, this time a bit more confident then the last time I did. I waved goodbye as I walked out with the files he gave me. I felt pride swell within me as I watched Eddie become a flustered mess as I left. It was a good mood lifter as I watched him fumble with his usual nervous ticks, before he was finally out of my sight.

…

Edward’s courting tactics only seemed to grow after that. I wasn’t sure what changed him to do so. I could only speculate that Lee had something to do with it. She kept stopping by my office, asking how Ed and I were doing like she hadn’t just seen us the day before. I can’t lie, I was reveling in the attention that Ed was giving me, and I could tell he’d revel in my attention as well. A mutual pining on both sides.

Normally, I’d be okay with that. Too scared to try and push things forward. Edward Nygma was different. He was just so…amazing. I’ve never felt so strongly towards someone. He was sweet, attentive, smart, and overall lovely. I couldn’t just settle for pining, I wanted to experience what it would be like as his lover.

Which led me to this horrendous mess up of a confession.

I dressed up a bit nicer than usual, hoping to impress the cute dork. I felt confident in myself, an emotion I don’t feel regularly. I greeted Lee, who seemed like she guessed the occasion and sent me a wink when I walked past.

“Hey Eddie,” I greeted, setting a cup of coffee down on the counter.

“Oh! Hello,” He greeted me, smiling. “You seem chipper this morning.”

Nudging the coffee towards him I smiled back, “It’s a good day today. I got you a coffee.”

“You didn’t need to,” Ed replied sheepishly, not used to people giving him things.

I only shrugged, “I wanted to.” I tapped the counter I was leaning on as nerves started to slowly creep through me. So, before my anxiety could get the best of me, I blurted out, “What is mine but only you can have?”

With furrowed eyebrows, Ed actually paused to answer a riddle for the first time during this little game we had. His eyes flitted around the room, like he was trying to avoid the answer. I know he was smart enough to figure it out, so the fact he was taking so long to answer caused my heart rate to spike from anxiety. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I was reading the room wrong. I blame Lee for feeding me a wrong understanding.

“I…uh…” Ed stuttered over his words, sweat dripping down the side of his face. Shit, shit, shit! I shouldn’t have said that. He does know the answer, I found it online easily, he obviously knows. He doesn’t feel the same and now he’s trying to find a way to politely reject me.

“Nevermind!” I exclaimed, trying to quell my nerves by getting the fuck out of here. “Stupid riddle! Never needs an answer. I should get to work.”

“W-wait!” Eddie called out, making me stop in my tracks. So close yet so far. “I can be a fruit, I can be on a calendar, I can be important, and I can be forgotten. What am I?”

Turning back around, I watched as Eddie picked at his nails. We both seemed like complete messes at the moment. It was hard for me to think of anything due to my previous failure of admitting my feelings. I bit my lip awkwardly, trying to stop myself from making any more of a fool of myself.

“I…I’m not sure Eddie,” I chuckled solemnly.

Clearing his throat, he adjusted his glasses before admitting, “A date. W-would you accompany me on one?” I stared at him with wide eyes, unsure if I heard him correctly.

“Y-yeah! Of course I will!” That tinge of embarrassment was quickly overpowered by exhilaration. The smile that stretched across my face almost hurt with how big it was. Eddie’s smile was also wide as he still couldn’t meet my eyes.

“Is…is tonight okay? Dinner? 7 o’clock?”

“That sounds perfect.”

And to make the moment better, I kissed his cheek before parting, excited for what the night held for us.

#riddler x reader #the riddler x reader #gotham x reader #edward nygma x reader #edward nashton x reader #gotham #riddler #the riddler #edward nygma #edward nashton #x reader #dc #dc riddler x reader

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spiteless-xo · 29 days

Text

Eren Jaeger is charming.

You rationalize to yourself that it’s because he works in sales—when he smiles at you, when he flirts, when he touches your arm—you’re supposed to fall in love with him. He wouldn’t be good at his job if you didn’t.

And of course, Eren’s girlfriend is stunning.

Dark-cropped hair to highlight her sharp jawline, a body crafted from hours at the gym and careful attention to diet, and tits bigger than your head. She’s beautiful, she’s perfect, and the two of them look flawless together in all of Eren’s photos hung in his office. The two of them seem like the ideal couple. They're madly in love and aren’t afraid to broadcast it to the world.

The only problem is, she’s not you.

But when you start to see the cracks in their flawless public facade, you find an opportunity to tilt things in your favour.

Your boss asks you to stay late a few nights each week to help do some filing while the bookkeeper is on maternity leave. It’s not rocket science and you’re able to figure it out without direction, but it takes a few hours and you’re usually the last person to leave each night.

Usually.

Recently, you’ve noticed that Eren has been staying at work late. He’s typically the type to clock out the second the clock hits 4 pm, so his change in behaviour leaves you curious.

His office is nowhere near the filing cabinets, but if you take the long way back to your desk at reception, you get to walk past his office. His door is always closed but he keeps the blinds on the window open, so when you make your way past you catch glimpses of him staring angrily at his computer screen, or his phone, or resting his chin on his hand as he scribbles on some papers.

What could he possibly be working on so late at night? Sales were down this year due to supply-chain issues, so he should be leaving work earlier, not staying late.

Your curiosity grows like a weed and you find yourself staying late on nights that you don’t need to. Keeping yourself occupied with busy work and walking past Eren’s office as many times as you can. You know that your persistence will eventually yield more information.

One night, your patience pays off.

When you walk down the hall toward Eren’s office, you notice that his door is sitting half-open. It's unusual—he always closes it when he works late.

You slow your steps, approaching his door carefully and cautiously and praying that your shoes don’t make noise on the tile until you’re close enough to his doorway to hear his deep voice mumbling into the phone.

He’s arguing with someone, that much you can tell, even when you can’t make out exact words. His tone is harsh—angry—and you quickly realize that he’s talking to his precious girlfriend. The one he posted a picture of on Instagram yesterday—her sitting at a cafe, wrapped in a dark red scarf with just a simple hashtagged caption.

Eren spits out each syllable of her name like he can’t tolerate how it feels on his tongue. His voice gets louder but you still can’t quite make out what he’s saying over the rushing of blood in your ears. You bite your tongue and hold your breath, desperate to know more, and accidentally find yourself pushing the door open further as you lean against it.

Dark green eyes meet yours instantly, but his tone doesn’t waver as he speaks on the phone. He wraps up the conversation quickly, throwing his phone down onto his desk when he hangs up.

He doesn’t look at you after that and you make slow, cautious movements toward him as you apologize profusely for eavesdropping. You explain that you’ve never heard him speak like that to someone before and you were just worried it was something serious.

Eren grunts in response and covers his face with his hands, resting his elbows on his desk as he breathes out with a huff.

You move closer—soft, slow steps like you're afraid he might run off—until you’re making your way around to the back of his desk. You seat yourself on the wood, crossing your legs until your knee brushes against his arm and he finally looks up at you.

He looks defeated and you feel a sick sense of victory brewing in your gut.

You offer him some words of comfort and a soft smile as you reach out to rest your hand on his shoulder. You’re surprised when he melts into your touch, gaze wavering slightly as he looks up at you.

Feeling bold, you gently stroke down his arm, running your hand up and down along his bicep, feeling the firm muscle underneath the thin fabric of his dress shirt. You swear you can see his breath catch in his throat when you bring your hand back up to his shoulder, fingering softly at the collar of his shirt.

He thanks you for being kind and asks that you keep this to yourself. He doesn’t need Karen from accounting to know the details of his relationship problems.

Of course, Eren. Your secret is safe with me. Always.

He smiles up at you and rests his hand on yours. It’s warm and heavy against your skin and when you intertwine your fingers with his, he doesn’t pull away.

You can be charming, too.

#eren jaeger x reader #cw cheating #dealership au #ive always thought i'd be fun to write a fic with little to no dialogue #especially because my fics are usually very dialogue-heavy #eren #aot #tiff.fic #eren.drbl

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vemaro · 3 months

Text

how the tables have turned

Summary: “Are we seriously delaying our day so she can pleasure herself? Have you all lost your damn—”

He’s suddenly being yanked back by his shirt. On instinct, he pulls out a dagger, ready to attack, but Jaheira, the perpetrator, takes out her own and holds it at the ready. “Don’t tempt me with a good time, Little Star,” she says cheekily.

Pairing: Astarion x Tav (female Tav)

Word count: ~1800

Notes: Here I am on my day off wanting to write fluff and I end up writing about the whole Haarlep ordeal. That situation is bizarre and uncomfy, but full of so much angst. As per usual, this is written with the context of my AU, so Astarion and Tav aren’t actually together (yet) and this takes place within the context of the game plot. The vampy boy just got back from the ditching the posse in a hissy fit and discovers some disturbing changes.

…

“Rendezvous back here at the Elfsong when we’re all through, got it?” The party converges on the door of their suite, Tav at the lead, but just as it opens, she freezes. A tingle runs down her spine and a flush comes over her cheeks. No no no. Not now. Not again. “Oh no,” she mumbles before shoving her way past her friends and running straight to her bedroom. The door shuts with a resounding thud and a loud silence follows.

Karlach grimaces. “Fucking Haarlep,” she says, spitting the fiend’s name.

Astarion, who was at the back of the group, looks between Tav’s door and the tiefling. “What … was that about?”

No one gives him an immediate answer, but something about their silence feels off. He’s the only one who appears lost. In other words, they know something and they don’t want to tell him. Most likely as payback from when he left their group. Even he has to admit it’s somewhat warranted, but he’s here now, damnit. Then again, it’s been less than 24 hours since he came back.

Gale, unofficial second in command, awkwardly steps into the center of things. “Tav requires a, er, moment of privacy.” He clears his throat. “We should allow her that by going out and doing as she asked of us. Supplies won’t collect themselves.”

Astarion stares at the door. “But is she alright?”

The wizard falls silent once more, pointedly looking down at his boots and clearly done talking. Okay … Astarion can’t tell if he’s more annoyed by the situation or concerned for the person locked in the room. Fine. If they’re not going to provide him any information, he might as well get it from the source.

His expression must’ve given away his intention because Wyll grabs his shoulder before he can move. “Don’t, Astarion. Leave her be.”

“Don’t touch me.” He shrugs off the warlock's hand and continues on his way. Just as he touches the door knob, a noise escapes the room. A moan. A moan? And he knows that moan. He’s made people do it before. This—this can’t be right. He must be delusional. But then there it is again, a sound of ecstasy passing through Tav’s lips. “What in the fucking Nine Hells is going on in there?” he demands out loud.

Gale's face is bright red and he’s white knuckling his quarterstaff. “I told you she needed a moment,” he mutters, eyes pleading. “Now please kindly step away from the door.”

Astarion does move away from the door and gets right in his face. “Are we seriously delaying our day so she can pleasure herself? Have you all lost your damn—”

As frustrated as he is, Astarion is in no mood to fight. Although he has apologized for his dramatic departure, he’s not so naive to believe everyone has entirely forgiven him. He stashes his knife and holds up his hands. “I yield.”

She snaps at the others. “You all have a job to do, don’t you? Shoo.” They all file out slowly, a couple of them tossing a final glance in Tav's direction. Once it’s just the Harper and the vampire, the former gestures signals for him to follow. “Come.”

He grits his teeth, but obeys. Jaheira leads him downstairs into the tavern. It’s still mid morning, so there’s not much business yet, only a handful of people sprinkled across the space. The pair bypass the bar entirely and find an empty table in a secluded corner. She sits down first then nods towards the empty seat. “Sit.”

Astarion doesn’t fancy being told what to do yet again. “Tell me now; are you actually going to explain or should I just walk away?”

In lieu of properly answering, Jaheira lets out a world weary sigh and instead asks, “You are aware that we now possess the Orphic Hanmer, yes?”

He rolls his eyes. Perhaps he should leave. “Yes, I’m aware. How is that relevant to this conversation?”

“You recall where it was being held?”

His patience is wearing thin. “The House of Hope; that devil, Raphael’s, domain. I was told you lot took care of him.”

“Indeed. Raphael was defeated by our hand when we tried to escape with the hammer,” Jaheira says plainly. “However, prior to that battle, there was an incubus, Haarlep. He agreed to help us, but it came with a steep price.”

He reaches for his dagger again. “Is he up there right now?”

She shakes her head. “No, fortunately not.”

“Then what are we even talking about?”

Jaheira has never been one to mince her words, something Astarion respected her for. So it isn’t a good sign if she hesitates before speaking. The elder woman clasps her hands together and rests them on top of the table. Still, she pauses first. “Haarlep gave us a code to a safe and the hammer in exchange for having his way with Tav.”

Astarion feels his stomach drop into the sewers. “What?” He bangs his fists on the table. “Why the hells didn’t you kill him?”

“Honestly, we weren’t around to stop it from happening,” she confesses. “Tav split off from the group at some point and by the time we found her, a deal was struck and the deed was done.”

He points towards the stairs. “That still doesn’t explain whatever that is.”

Again, she hesitates, which is very unsettling. “He is a shapeshifter, much like that bloodthirsty Orin girl. Whenever he uses Tav’s form to seduce someone, she can feel everything with her own body.” The High Harper scowls. “It seems he’s been using it quite frequently.”

Astarion comes to a horrific realization. He covers his face in shame for her and finally drops into the open seat. “So right now, he’s fucking somebody else as her?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. This is too much. This is too familiar. Cazador is dead. Cazador is gone. Astarion stabbed him himself. This isn’t even about him, it’s about her. That stupid, selfless woman. He always warned Tav that her acts of heroism and martyrdom would eventually bite her in the ass one day, but he never thought it would be something like this. This is so much worse. What was she thinking? Jaheira allows him some time to gather his thoughts. When he does, he lets his hands fall away. “And … how often does this happen?”

“If I had to guess, every few days.” She sighs yet again. “You know how she can be though. It could be more. It hasn’t happened during a fight.” There’s an implied yet that hangs heavily in the air.

By now, a few guests have started to trickle in. Their private conversation won’t be so private for much longer. “How is she? Really.”

Jaheira stands. “Well, with an incubus violating her body, a mind flayer invading her mind, and a vampire spawn who wished her dead, how do you think, Little Star?” She doesn’t give him the opportunity to answer. She just walks away and out the front door, leaving him to stew in his thoughts and emotions. Which can be perfectly summed up as what the fucking hells.

It doesn't take too long for the druid to descend the stairs. At the bottom, she scans the room and her eyes connect with a familiar red pair of eyes. For a split second, she breaks into the sunny smile she’s known for, but one look at his expression sours hers. Tav heads for the door.

“Tav!” Astarion scrambles up from the chair and chases her outside. “Wait!”

She does not wait. “They told you.” It’s not even a question.

He catches up and puts himself directly in front of her. “I was going to find out eventually.”

Tav starts stabbing him with her finger in the chest. “Hey, you don’t get to judge me. You weren't there and it was the only way that no one would get hurt and—”

He lets her do it. “Out of everyone here, I have the least right to judge you.”

She laughs, but the sound lacks any humor. “Out of everyone here, you’d have the most right to judge me.”

Astarion frowns at the accusation. “Why would I judge you at all?”

“Because I had a choice, and you didn’t.”

Technically, technically, she’s not wrong, but that doesn’t make this any less fucked up. “I’m not judging you, Tav.” Gods below, is this what it was like for her when she was trying to get him to open up? “Your body is being used in such a dirty, nefarious way against your will, the toll on your mind and body is unfathomable. I’m the only person here who truly understands that.”

“I’m fine.”

Her nonchalance on the subject is pissing him off, but a small voice (that sounds awfully close to hers) reminds him this isn’t about him. “No, you’re not.”

Tav crosses her arms. “You went through this for two hundred years. I’m not going to compare my tendays of discomfort to your literal centuries of torture.”

“By the Gods, Tav, it’s not a bloody pissing contest for trauma!” He wants to grab the druid and shake some sense into her. If the issue at hand was literally anything else, he would. “Whether it’s been happening for a day, a week, a month, or a thousand years, it’s a shit predicament for anyone.”

He notices her fists clenching and unclenching. She’s digging her nails into her palms. “I appreciate the concern, but it’s fine. I’m fine.”

That’s a lie, plain and simple, but he won’t push the subject any further. From his own experience being on the other side of things, specifically during their discussions, it made him dig his heels in the dirt and shut down. Ironic how the tables have turned. “Alright,” he concedes. “But if you ever need to talk, I’m willing to lend an ear.”

Tav closes her eyes, takes a very deep breath, and lets it out very slowly and loudly. When she looks back at him, she seems slightly less frazzled. “Thanks, but I’m—”

“Fine?” he says with a smirk.

She snorts. “I am.”

“Of course you are.”

With an unimpressed eye roll, she pushes him away in jest. “I am, for the millionth time. Now drop it and let’s go. We’re already running behind.”

“Coming, dear.”

As they walk side by side, Astarion can’t help but wonder when he became the emotionally mature one in their friendship. The one attempting to crack open the shell of the other person. Ugh, he fucking hates it. Being the petty and bitter one is much easier. And yet he wants to try to be supportive and open. For her.

The things you do for love, right?

…

Thanks for reading!

#bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #tav x astarion #tavstarion #tav bg3 #vemaro

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flowersandbigteeth · 5 months

Text

Meeting your Changeling BF: Pt 6

General Plot: You and Clark get settled into Leotolas and you learn more about the mysteries you're faced with

Word Count: 5k

Changeling (Clark) x f flower nymph reader

TW: Yandere behavior, Mention of Murder, light mind control, mentions of domestic violence, nsfw smut, bossy dommy Clark, slight degradation kink, oral sex

Find other parts here

“I want you to walk with me to the Mage's Chamber today,” Clark said as he distributed slices of fruit and a sweet goop, something like oatmeal to you. “So you can find it if you ever need me. I wish I could be with you every moment of the day, but the price for safety here is that I complete my duties.”

“What are your duties?” you asked and he grinned that you were interested in his work.

“We research magic and the unknown forces of this world,” he said. “I’m a sargeant mage, which is a difficult position to achieve, but not anywhere close to master. Most of my duties include investigating reports.”

“Reports?” you asked.

“Yes, there are many things in this world that we do not understand,” he explained. “The citizens send us reports of mysterious happenings or confusing magic and we investigate them. We aren’t an army or anything, we rarely intercede if something isn’t explicitly threatening to the way of things…but we file our findings and add it to our knowledgebase.”

“Do you…ever research the whisperer?” you asked and he looked confused.

“The whisperer?” he asked. “What is that? Is someone bothering you?”

You shook your head, feeling foolish.

“Nothing, something I heard in passing that I didn’t understand,” you said. “I’m sure it had nothing to do with us anyway.”

He raised an eyebrow at you before letting it drop.

“Anyway,” he said. “We will be here for a while, but sometimes I’m asked to leave the city to investigate, personally. You can come if you like. I hope you’d come…but if you feel safer here…”

You shook your head.

“No, I want to come,” you said. “I want to learn more about this world.”

He plopped a sack of coins on the table and scooted it to you.

“This is some coin for you to spend,” he said. “Leotolas is an incredibly safe city. There’s no danger to you if you’d like to explore.”

When you finished eating Clark put on his blue mage’s uniform. It was very strapping with a blue shirt that only covered half of his chest and belted at the waist over tight gold pants. A gold badge that indicated his rank adorned his chest and he slid his feet into high boots.

The two of you walked through town until you reached the grand gold building that was the Mage's Chamber. Massive columns stretched up to the pitched roof and blue and gold bunting hung between them. There were no stairs, only a deep incline, you assumed to accommodate creatures without legs.

“Come inside,” he said. “I want to introduce you around.”

“Is it okay?” you asked and he laughed.

“Many mages are married and their partners bring them lunch,” he chuckled. “The only areas that are off limits are at the top floor, where the senior mages have their studies and laboratories. I want to show you where I work.”

“Oh, okay,” you said, clinging to him as he led you into the building.

The hallways were lined with marble and other mages dressed in outfits similar to Clark’s hurried about. He introduced you proudly to so many creatures, you had a hard time remembering their names until one tall woman with long red hair raised a narrow eyebrow at you. Her feet were not stuffed in boots, but were the shape of an eagle’s claws, fluffy red feathers covering her legs and wings were folded behind her back.

“This is Ayla, my senior,” he explained. “Ayla, this is my wife (Y/N).”

She gave you a tight smile.

“Ah, the nymph master Hassan spoke of,” she said. “Welcome to Leotolas. I’m sure you’ll find it comfortable, most do.”

She gave Clark a stern look.

“Get to your office,” she said. “You’ve been neglecting your duties long enough.”

He looked at you nervously and she laughed, which threw you off based on her strict demeanor.

“I’ll give your wife the rest of the tour,” she assured him.

He looked between the two of you, frowning, but seemed unwilling to defy his senior.

“Of course, ma’am,” he said, giving you a quick kiss before he hurried down the hallway.

Ayla watched him leave with a little bit of amusement hovering on her lips.

“Needy and insecure that one,” she commented, then looked down at you. “A personality like that would annoy me, personally, but you can’t account for taste I suppose…”

She sighed.

“Come along,” she said, hooking her arm around yours and tugging you down the hallway.

Unlike Clark, she didn’t bring you around the lower floors, instead she went straight for the winding incline that led to the top floor.

“I thought this was off limits,” you gasped and she looked down at you with a smirk.

“To Clark, yes. To you? No,” she said. “In fact, it would be better if you came here often.”

“Why is that?” you asked, confused and she sighed.

“Clark is very young and jealous,” she explained. “He’s an excellent mage but has a lot of growing to do before he is capable of investigating magic at the senior level. He’s already made some…questionable decisions.”

You frowned at her.

“Like what?” you asked, but she just winked at you.

“I won’t embarrass him by sharing his failures,” she said. “And there’s nothing to fear. Clark adores you. He threw a fit when we asked him to stay in the city and not return to his village. He ran off saying he’d return when his business was complete.”

“Did that get him into trouble?” you asked, nervous Clark was on thin ice.

“No, you cannot force people to do anything,” she said. “You must let them follow their path and live the consequences of the choices they make. He returned and that is enough.”

The top floor of the Mage's Chamber smelled like old paper and wood. Unlike the shiny, clean lower floors, the top floor was filled with artifacts, arranged haphazardly on large bookshelves. There were weapons, armor, and tapestries cluttering the walls. Knick knacks that you couldn’t begin to imagine their purpose crowded the space.

“So what do you want from me?” you asked as she led you into a laboratory.

“I want you to learn,” she said. “I want you to learn our world and armed with that knowledge you can make choices.”

“Choices?” you asked.

She ignored your question, pointing to a table filled with scrolls.

“For now, we’ll start with the language,” she said. “As a traveler knowledge of the written language does not pass through a soul swap like it does orally. Your soul’s match’s body has internalized the muscle memory necessary to produce the correct words. It’s automatic. You’ll need to learn the written form from the beginning. Culture is passed through turns of phrase, biases in recordings. You need to learn to read and write.”

She looked at you, her face dour.

“You are going to learn some things that will, of course, be troubling to you, but as I’m sure Master Hassan mentioned, please keep an open mind,” she said. “Things are not black and white. Right or wrong. Those of us who carry the greatest burdens must let go of the impulse to be heroes– to right what we think is wrong in the world.”

“Then what’s the point?” you asked. “Why learn if you can’t make things better?”

“Better for who?” she asked. “For what? Whose goals should be actualized? Whose should be abandoned? If you insist on a winner there must be a loser. If you make it right for some you make it wrong for others.”

She sighed, shaking her head.

“This is too much for you to understand now,” she said. “As I said, we’ll focus on language.”

You frowned, feeling unsure.

“I don’t think Clark will like me studying,” you admitted. “He has it in his head I should be flitting around blooming flowers.”

She laughed.

“He won’t,” she said. “But he will adjust. This should not be a secret, though some things you learn…you may not want to share. I believe you care for Clark, but you must accept his limitations.”

“Ah,” you said, nodding.

Then your brow narrowed.

“How do I know this isn’t some ploy to use me?” you asked frankly.

She gave you an equally intense look.

“Mages aren’t in the business of using people,” she said. “If we don’t have to interfere we won’t. You can choose to take what you learn and walk away, return to the old wood. No one here will stop you.”

“Then why go to all the trouble?” you asked. “I’m not special.”

When you looked in her eyes, they were clear and not annoyed as you expected them to be.

“You have potential,” she said “It is our business to cultivate potential.”

Her piece done, her face relaxed.

“I think that’s enough for the day,” she said. “Think about what I said and return when you are ready.”

You nodded, turning and finding your way out of the building, puzzling over her words. Taking the afternoon to visit the shops, you suddenly realized how limited you were without knowing how to read. You couldn’t decipher the street names or any of the signs. It took quite some time for you to find your way back home and Clark was already there waiting for you.

“Where have you been?” he asked, appearing frantic.

He ran across the room, throwing his arms around you, making you drop the shopping bags you carried.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking you over for injuries.

You laughed.

“I’m fine, Clark, I got lost because I can’t read any of the signs,” you explained.

He let out a deep breath, holding you to his chest.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go out alone,” he huffed.

“No, that’s silly,” you said. “And anyway, Ayla offered to teach me to read.”

He looked down at you, glaring.

“Why?” he demanded. “Why would she offer that?”

“Calm down,” you sighed, pushing him into a chair, sitting on his lap and brushing his hair with your hand. “For just the reason I explained. I can’t get around anywhere without reading the signs. She only intended to be kind AND she offered to teach me at the Mage's Chamber. I’ll be able to see you without her reprimanding you. Wouldn’t you rather I be in the Chamber with you than wandering around the streets lost?”

He bit his lip and thought about it for a moment before nodding.

“I guess that makes sense,” he murmured. “But I don’t understand why Ayla would care.”

“Hmm,” you said, giving him a stern look. “I think she is far more thoughtful than you give her credit for. She shared that you ran off to the village when you were supposed to be here doing your duties. Maybe she just wants to make me comfortable so you don’t take off again, have you considered that?”

His face blanched at that bit of information.

“Oh,” he said, swallowing hard. “Did she tell you…anything else?”

You smiled and lifted an eyebrow.

“Is there something else to tell?” you asked and he looked away.

“No,” he said, then quickly changed the subject. “Would you like to go out for dinner? There are lots of nice restaurants here.”

You nodded in agreement, you hadn’t eaten since breakfast and the food you’d smelled coming from the street vendors had made you starved. The two of you ended up in what was equivalent to a ramen restaurant, eating massive bowls of noodles and stew. In celebration of your arrival in Leotolas, Clark drank lots of ale and announced to the whole restaurant his love for you in a series of indulgent speeches. By the time the two of you wandered home, he was a little tipsy and very handsy.

“You scared me today, (Y/N). When I arrived home and you weren’t here, I was sure someone had stolen you,” he pouted as you pushed him into your house. “I’m mad at you.”

You giggled at his pouty bottom lip.

“Are you?” you asked, helping him onto the couch.

“I want you to make it up to me,” he growled, his eyes turning from the public gray, to the mischievous red he only shared with you.

“How should I do that?” you asked, putting your hands on your hips and standing over him.

He stretched an arm over the backrest of the couch, looking you over with a lecherous gaze.

“Take off your dress,” he demanded.

You blushed, but your heart skipped at his growly tone. Slowly, you loosened the laces of the garment until it pooled on the floor at your feet. You bent to take off your boots, but he stopped you.

“Leave those on,” he said, his eyes eating up your bare skin. “Take off the underthings and get on your knees.”

You bit your bottom lip, wondering if you should refuse him…but you didn’t exactly want to refuse him. As he asked, you carefully removed your bra and panties, then lowered yourself to the floor. With a bit of attitude, you tossed the panties at him and he gave you a wide smile, showing his very sharp teeth as he pulled them to his nose and breathed in your scent.

“Come here,” he said, crooking his finger at you and you shuffled over to him on your knees, until you were notched between his legs.

He gave you a look that said you should probably have guessed what he wanted, raising an eyebrow.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked, putting a heavy hand on your head. “Show me how sorry you are.”

You didn’t break eye contact, opening his fly and pulling his heavy cock into your hand. It was already hard and weeping, a bit of precum slipping down the tip. You licked it up, the salty flavor coating your tongue. Then you dipped your head taking what you could past your lips. He smelled like spicy incense, the scent making you feel light headed.

He let out a deep, satisfied groan, his fingers winding around your hair. Your hand circled what you couldn’t take into your mouth, stroking the velvety skin.

His hips snapped forward, the head of his shaft hitting the back of your throat.

"Gnnnhh," he grunted. "You feel so good."

You bobbed your head on his cock, alternating swirling your tongue over the head and taking him deep. His fingers got tighter and tighter in your hair until he was jerking your head to get you to suck him the way he liked. His eyes were burning in the dim room, splashing a blood red glow over his face.

"Open your mouth and stick out your tongue," he demanded, his hand covering yours, making you jerk him off harder and faster.

You pulled your head back, doing as he asked. His eyes were wide as he let out a roar, his hot cum splashing your tongue and cheeks.

He grinned at you, tipping his head to the side with amusement and keeping your mouth open with a thumb on your bottom lip.

"Pretty little cum doll," he hummed, sliding a bit of his spend that was stuck to your cheek onto your tongue with his finger.

"Swallow," he ordered and you closed your mouth, following his directions.

You’re body was on fire with neediness, nipples perked and your pussy wet.

“I should let you suffer,” he murmured. “Leave you wanting for how you abandoned me.”

He scooped you up, kissing you deeply and desperately as he straddled you across his lap.

“But I can’t resist your little cunt,” he whispered into your mouth, jerking his hips up into you.

You let out a breathy moan as he filled you, picking you up and slamming you down on his cock, over and over again. His eyes were burning coals, watching your tits bounce in front of him.

“I saw how the men looked at you tonight. I wanted to rip their eyes out of their heads,” he hissed. “You’re mine…all mine…forever mine.”

He took your breast into his widening mouth as he lost his ability to hold his public form. His long, hot tongue wound around your nipple making you mewl. Stinging teeth pricked your skin, not intending to hurt you but making you squeak, the decadent sensation of pleasure and a little pain making your eyes squeeze shut. He growled like a beast, tasting your blood.

Leaning back he took in his masterpiece. If he didn’t worry so much about hurting you, he would have marked you all over with bites and scars. He wanted everyone to know you were completely his, that they could never compete. Instead his tongue grew inhumanly long, lapping at your clit. Your fingers clung to his shoulders, screaming and sobbing into the crook of his neck as you came undone.

"Yes, yes, that's it," he muttered into your ear, his true voice gravelly and deep. "Only I can make you feel like this…only me."

He jerked you down on his cock with a few more violent strokes until you felt his cock stiffen even more and he filled you with his cum.

A few moments later, as he came to his senses, his big hand stroked the back of your head while he cooed at you. He nuzzled the skin behind your ear, enjoying your closeness and the way your slack body draped over his. Not bothering to carry you to bed, he curled up around you on the couch as you fell asleep with his cock still wedged in your warm wet channel, where he was sure he belonged.

—

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Clark asked as you walked with him to the Mage’s Chamber the next day.

You giggled at him, tipping your head to the side to look at his pouty face.

“Of course I want to learn to read,” you laughed. “Wouldn’t you?”

He shrugged.

“I can read for you!” he insisted. “What if it’s hard?”

You snorted.

“I learned to read my native language and I even took Russian classes in college!” you argued.

He looked confused.

“What is Russian?” he asked and you rolled your eyes playfully.

“It’s another language than the one I grew up speaking,” you explained. “Learning a language is challenging, but it will be easier because the old (Y/N)’s muscle memory is already set for your language. I just need to learn the characters.”

He frowned, his head dipping because he wasn’t getting his way and couldn’t think of an excuse to convince you not to do something you absolutely should be doing.

“You’ve returned,” Ayla said when she saw you in the hallway, headed towards Clark’s office. “Ready to start your lessons?”

You nodded brightly.

“Don’t teach her anything troubling,” Clark said, still pouting. “And don’t be too hard on her. (Y/N) is delicate.”

Ayla frowned at him.

“Are you lecturing your senior, sergeant mage?” she snapped and he looked contrite. “Get to work before I have you scouring the wastelands for dragon bones.”

He turned to you and took your hand.

“It’s okay if it ends up being too hard and you decide to give up,” he said.

You snorted at his silliness and kissed him on the nose.

“Don’t be so worried,” you said. “And don’t argue with Ayla, I don’t want to have to follow you to wherever the wasteland is. I quite like Leotolas.”

That produced a half smile and he dipped his head to kiss your lips. He gave Ayla a glaring nod, before making his way to his own office.

“Clark is fortunate to have someone who indulges him,” she sighed as she led you back to the top floor. “We all want him to be happy, but he can be quite naughty when he wishes to be. It’s so unfair the things they say about changelings. It’s given him a complex. I hope he grows out of it someday.”

She smiled down at you.

“Perhaps a faithful companion will help,” she said with surprising warmth.

She led you to the laboratory you’d been before, helping you into a seat at one of the tables. Large leather books and scrolls were organized much more neatly than the rest of the space.

“These are some children’s workbooks,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “They are magic. When you run your finger along the word or letter the book will make the sound for you. When you’ve mastered the letters, we’ll move on to sight words. I have some experiments to complete, but you can interrupt me if you need help. Sound good to start?”

You nodded, opening the first book. It was very pretty for a simple children’s learning book. There were beautiful illustrations showing different letters associated with different pictures, like any kindergartener’s book. B for boy and S for sun…things like that. The language of the realm was pretty in writing. It appeared to be an elegant script, the characters looking almost like arabic. You were suddenly aware of the sounds that your mouth had been putting together automatically. Spending the morning studying was refreshing. There was a certain optimism that came with educating yourself. It was dangerous to be illiterate, you could easily be tricked.

Around lunch time your mind was wandering and you glanced up at Ayla working with some potions. Curious, you slid beside her to see what she was doing.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked, her eyes sliding to you though she didn't turn her head.

You shrugged.

"I just wanted to see what you were working on," you said. "It looks pretty."

You nodded towards the bright pink swirling liquid in one of her flasks.

"Is that magic?" you asked and she made a noise in the back of her throat.

"Not exactly," she said. "What I'm doing is alchemy. The study of transformation. This is a venom, I'm trying to make it into a healing serum."

"Oooh," you said, your eyes wide with interest.

"Watch," she said, her pointer finger starting to glow.

She traced the shape of some glyph over the potion and the pink bled to black and started putting off a terrible smelling smoke.

"Ugh," you gagged and she laughed, lowering her finger and tossing the liquid into a potted plant. To your surprise the plant grew several inches and flowers bloomed.

"I can only change it into a fertilizer," she said, wrinkling her brow. “I’m still trying to sort out why.”

You touched a freshly unrolled leaf and suddenly the world blurred.

Grow. Grow. Grow. Twist the vines. Open the blooms. Crush the glass. Splinter the tools. Send the outsiders to the Earth. Grow. Grow. Grow.

"(Y/N)!" Ayla shouted and your vision cleared, but in front of you the plant had taken over most of the table, long vines hanging off the edge and abnormally large flowers opening.

She looked at you and narrowed her eyes.

"You have no control over your magic, do you?" she asked, her words seeming like an accusation.

You shook your head, though your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

"Clark…you fool," she murmured under her breath, rubbing her eyes as if she were tired.

"I suppose as a traveler you wouldn't," she said to you sharply, looking up,"We must work on that. It's dangerous if you lose control. We will correct this oversight."

"I'm sorry about your desk," you offered.

She waved a finger and the broken flasks and snapped tools disappeared in a flash of black flame.

"You'll fix that plant by the end of the day," she said, her tone curt.

All you could do was nod.

"Come along," she growled, waving for you to follow her. "We'll do this lesson in the garden…where you can't break anything."

She led you back to the ground floor and out of the back door where there was a large garden filled with herbs and specimens of trees. You didn't recognize them right away, but you felt oddly like you knew them. You didn't know their names, but looking at a small blooming plant with purple flowers you knew its sap was good for cleansing. Another plant whose fronds were like still whips made a sweet tea. As you walked through the garden it was as if some closed door in your mind opened.

The plants seemed to be singing to you quietly. Some had low humming notes while others sang in a sweet soprano. How could you have not felt this before?

"It seems the whisperer has touched you," Ayla said sitting on a bench under a tree that looked very much like a willow. She patted the open spot next to her and you sat down.

"Had you been the old (Y/N) you would have been hearing her voice your whole life and had some semblance of control. Your mind from your universe is slowly opening to the magic of this world," she explained.

“Why doesn’t Clark know of the whisperer?” you asked. “When I mentioned it he acted like he’d never heard of her before.”

Her eyes flashed.

“That’s above Clark’s pay grade,” she said. “The whisperer is a secret among nymphs. She’s a mysterious force we know little about. As I’m sure you’ve figured out, nymphs keep their secrets close to their chests. Is she a force for good? Bad? We like to think of her in the most realistic terms. Wolves eat does. Eagles hunt fish. Insects consume carcasses. There is no right or wrong in nature. No good or bad. It’s an interconnected system and she is the voice of that system. It’s likely (Y/N) never shared this knowledge with Clark because the whisperer did not want to be known to him.”

“But you know of her,” you pointed out.

“That information was obtained at a high price,” she said. “But none of that is important. You need to learn not to allow her to control you. You must resist her or she’ll use you to fulfill her purpose. Wild growth.”

“The other nymphs seemed to think we are her army,” you said, your eyes roving over the many plants enjoying the sunlight.

“What do you think?” Ayla asked.

You thought for a moment.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you admitted.

“In this world, you may have to,” she said, following your eyes. “How do you feel about that?”

“I’d like to have control over who I hurt, then,” you said.

“That’s a wise impulse,” she laughed.

“So…how do I control her words,” you asked. “Whenever I hear her voice the world goes blurry and her voice echoes in my head. It feels like she takes over.”

“Think of yourself like a bottle neck,” she explained. “You need her energy to use nymph magic…but if you allow her free reign she’ll get out of control. You must release her will in a small, controlled stream. Have you tried talking back to her?”

You blinked.

“No,” you said.

She glanced around to a small potted plant tucked with some others and handed it to you.

“This plant does not bloom in this season,” she said. “Try to make it bloom.”

You took the pot and set it on your lap, eyeing it nervously.

“Go on,” she said. “You won’t break anything but the pot.”

Touching a leaf the world became smudged again.

Grow. Grow. Grow. the whisperer said. How dare the outsiders trap us in a pot! Break the clay! Grow. Grow. Grow.

No, you said in your head. I don’t want to break the pot.

A sharp bite of pain burst between your eyes, making your head snap back.

GROW! GROW! GROW!

NO! You barked back.

The pain in your head grew like a flash bang, making your vision go white. When you opened your eyes again you were looking at Clark.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)! Are you okay?” Clark gasped, holding your head in his hand. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Ayla appeared in your vision.

“What happened?” she asked.

You sat up rubbing the spot between your eyes where the pain had centered.

“She fought back,” you groaned, shaking your head.

You glanced on the ground to find the pot wasn’t broken at all. The plant was blooming blue blossoms and you smiled.

“I did it!” you said, grinning.

Ayla matched your smile, patting your head.

“Progress,” she said.

Clark glared at her.

“Progress?” he growled. “What in goddess’s name are you talking about? You hurt her! What are you two doing out here? I’ve been looking for you everywhere (Y/N)!”

You shook your head.

“No, no, Clark,” you tried to explain. “Ayla didn’t do anything to me…it was–”

You paused unsure what to tell him, remembering the other (Y/N)’s warning. You decided to keep the whisperer a secret a little while longer. If Clark tried to do something to “help” you, he could get hurt. This was nymphs' business and would remain so for a while.

“I was practicing my magic,” you explained. “I’m just not used to it yet. I was overwhelmed. No harm done, I promise.”

Clark snapped his head up at Ayla anyway.

“I thought you were just going to teach her to read!” he barked. “Why does she need to learn magic? She’s just fine without it!”

Ayla rolled her eyes at him and flicked a finger. Like a bad puppy he lifted from the ground by the back of his shirt and a bluish box surrounded him.

“He needs a time out,” she said and then smiled at you. “Do you think you can try that again tomorrow?”

You nodded, trying to ignore Clark attempting to fight the magic holding him off of the ground.

“It hurt like a bitch, but I’m pretty sure I can do it again,” you said.

She nodded.

“I believe in time the whisperer will come to accept your control…at least other nymphs who have rejoined civilization have said it’s possible,” she explained. “Maybe try to avoid touching any plants tonight.”

She winked and the box holding Clark dissolved is a cloud of blue sparkles. He flopped on the ground, landing on his ass. He grabbed you by your hips, pulling you to him.

“We are going home!” he snapped at Ayla, then looked at you. “You poor thing. I can’t believe she would do this to you! I’m going to put you in bed and stuff you with treats until you feel better.”

He picked you up in his arms and marched out of the garden with you, complaining the whole way home. You hardly had an opportunity to get a word in as he ranted and raved about how cruel Ayla was being and this was all so terribly unjust.

When you reached your house he carefully undressed you and stuck you in bed. He left the room for a moment and came back with a warm water bottle and put it on your head.

“I’m going to make you something sweet,” he said, then narrowed his eyes at you. “Don’t move.”

You closed your eyes for a little, thinking. The hot water bottle did feel nice. Your head had somewhat of an echoing ache that was slowly fading. The whisperer had lashed out at you. She wanted to be in charge and did not like to be challenged. But you could challenge her. You hadn’t died, she’d only thrown a bit of a tantrum. That made you feel a little better…more in control. You’d been ignoring the guilt you felt for murdering Harri. Him throwing you around a bit made it easier to justify your actions, but in reality did he really deserve death? He had been trying to kidnap you. Such attempts required deadly force, perhaps. You tried not to focus too hard on the scales of justice. Both Ayla and Hassan had told you to keep your mind open, not focus too hard on polarities. Maybe this was one of those moments.

“What are you thinking about so deeply?” Clark asked when he returned with a big pile of fruit crumble sitting in a pool of condensed milk.

“Oh…nothing really,” you said. “That looks delicious!”

You put your hands out to accept the plate but Clark held it away.

“Let me do it,” he insisted, scooping a spoonful and holding it up to your mouth.

You swallowed the sweet treat, the flavors of sugary cream melting with some tart berry.

“Do you like it?” he asked you, seeming to yearn for your approval. “Is it good? I can make you something else if you don’t like it.”

“It’s wonderful,” you admitted, smiling at him when he looked relieved.

While he fed you, you watched him, amused. No one in your old life had cared for you so much. That world was a grind that broke people. It still shocked you that the other (Y/N) claimed she liked it. In that world you all were crabs in a bucket, yanking each other down for a chance at being one inch closer to escape, but never getting further than halfway there. There wasn’t time to cultivate deep relationships. Sure, like anyone you’d had friends in school when you had the free time to socialize, but as soon as you joined the working world, your existence narrowed to interacting with people you would never choose to spend time with at your job.

Now there was a whole world for you to discover.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” he said, looking you over. “Do you still hurt?”

“No,” you giggled. “I just wonder what this world holds for me. I feel like a baby barely scratching the surface of what is out there.”

He leaned towards you, kissing your forehead.

“I will keep you safe,” he assured you, though that’s not really what you were worried about.

He pulled off his shirt and boots, slipping under the comforter and snuggling up with you.

“You must be sleepy,” he said and your eyelids grew heavy, sliding shut. “You need a nice long rest.”

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planet-dusk · 1 year

Text

of cats 'n' dogs // l.mh

all you want for christmas is to try your hand at taking control in bed. you didn't think your unwavering boyfriend would agree; but what he didn't expect was to enjoy it this much.

⛓️ PAIRING :: lee minho x f!reader

⛓️ GENRE :: smut

⛓️ WORD COUNT :: 2.2k

⛓️ WARNINGS :: dom!minho tries subbing, bratty sub!minho, soft dom!mc, praise, bondage, oral (m + f), edging, unprotected sex, cum eating, descriptions of subspace

⛓️ NOTE :: 18+ minors dni. the characters don't represent real people. this is fiction for entertainment purposes only. don't edit, copy, repost or otherwise steal my content.

📍 skz masterlist

“Stop teasing," Minho groans when you lick a wet stripe from his navel to the waistband of his shorts.

"Why? You told me I could do anything I want today, kitten."

He rolls his eyes at the pet name but you notice the way the tips of his ears turn red. Normally, you’d be in his position: strapped to the bed and at his mercy. He’s always been the dominant person in your relationship (at least between the sheets) so you aren’t expecting him to give in without a fight. He might’ve agreed to this but that doesn’t mean he’s going to offer himself to you on a silver platter.

And if he thinks you don’t have it in you? Then he’s dead wrong. And you’re determined to prove it.

“Either way you don’t have much of a say in this. Unless you want to use your safeword?”

Minho rolls his eyes again. “Continue.”

You ignore his command, moving back up his torso to swirl your tongue around one of his nipples.

“What are you—ah!—doing?” He kicks his head back when you tug the sensitive bud between your teeth.

“I thought you’d have more self control than this.”

“And I thought you’d be all over my cock by now.”

You grin and palm him through his shorts, delighted by the way his eyes widen. “You’re liking this a little too much, aren’t you?”

“Just a compulsory physical reaction. You’re near me, I get hard.” He shrugs. “Pavlov.”

“I’m sure those dogs were better at following orders, though.”

He grimaces. “Less talking and more—” he gasps when you squeeze his cock again, “—of that.”

“Hmm, love it when you beg.”

“I didn’t—”

The words die on his tongue when you wrap your lips around his clothed length, mouthing at the head. You can faintly taste the precum that’s wetting the fabric of his shorts. You’ve been teasing him for nearly an hour now, never touching him below the belt. He must be so hard it’s starting to hurt; his heightened senses send in overdrive by the sudden contact even with the layer of cotton in between.

You might’ve teased him about his self control earlier but you’re impressed by how long he’s holding out. He’s right; if the roles were reversed you would’ve started begging for his cock a long time ago. The only thing keeping you from straddling him right now is your conviction. You’re thankful he’s restrained so he can’t feel or see the wetness pooling between your thighs.

You’re starting to understand why he enjoys being a dom this much.

You trace the outline of his erection with your tongue until the fabric is soaked with spit. Minho’s tugging at his cuffs, clearly affected even if he tries his hardest to hold back his moans.

“Just—fuck.” He sounds exasperated now. “Just touch me.”

“I’m touching you.”

You suck a dark bruise into his thigh. They’re so big and strong you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of the day between them. Looking up at him with innocent eyes, the scowl you receive in return communicates something along the lines of you know what I mean.

“I’ll take them off when you’re a good boy. Behave.”

“So I really am the dog in this little experiment of yours, aren’t I.”

“I liked calling you kitten but I suppose pup could work.” You trace the muscles in his thigh with one hand before giving the flesh a harsh slap, making him yelp. You watch it jiggle while his cock twitches at the same time. Another tiny crack in his demeanor you file away for later. “Now are you gonna comply or do I have to put a muzzle on you?”

“Fine,” he mutters. He stares at the ceiling as if he’s never seen a more interesting surface before.

You halt, suddenly unsure of what to do. Did he really give in? Or is this another scheme of his?

“Well?” He squints down at you. “Cat got your tongue?”

And just like that he’s flipping the script again. You mentally scold yourself for hesitating. It feels like he’s always one step ahead of you. You’re inexperienced when it comes to playing this role and he knows it.

You need a more direct approach.

“No cats here.” You make a show of sticking your tongue out as far as you can, dragging it over his thigh. “The dog may get one more chance, though.” You suck another bruise into his skin before pulling back. “If he stops barking.”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

You ignore him, no longer feeling like giving in to his endless quips. You can almost hear the cogs turning inside his head as he tries to figure out your next move.

From the way he moans when you suddenly wrap your lips around his clothed cock and bite down, this wasn’t what he was anticipating.

“I’ve changed my mind. Let me hear you.”

Your fingers tug at the waistband of his shorts while you mouth at his tip. He whimpers louder and you reward him by dragging his shorts down his thighs until his cock springs free.

It seems your intent has finally caught on because the high-pitched, whiny sound he makes when you tongue at his slit is nothing short of sinful. You kitten-lick his swollen head and swipe your tongue along his shaft from base to tip with long strokes. He chases your mouth with his hips as much as the cuffs around his ankles and wrists allow, clearly vexed by not being able to set the pace or touch you.

“You’re doing so well,” you coo, cupping his balls. “Such a good little pup.”

His squirming stills and you look up to find his cheeks flushing a deep red.

Of course. Praise. After all the times he got flustered when on the receiving end of a compliment you should’ve known it would translate to the bedroom as well. But when he’s in his usual dom persona there aren’t many chances for you to praise him until after the act.

You smirk and stroke his cock slowly. “Oh, so that’s what the big bad wolf likes? Being a cute needy pup for me?”

Minho is watching the ceiling again. “Maybe I just want to cum.”

“Don’t you wanna be good for me, baby?” you murmur as you collect his precum with your thumb to spread it over his velvety skin. “Keep being such a good boy and I’ll ride you, might even let you fill me up, how does that sound?”

Careful not to hurt him you suck on his balls, taking them into your mouth while your hand slides along his cock. He’s more vocal now; letting out low groans and high-pitched whimpers when you press your tongue against his perineum.

“That’s it, you sound so pretty like this.” Your grip around his length tightens when you see how responsive he is. “You’re beautiful. My Christmas present. I’ve always wanted a puppy,” you tease while your other hand circles his rim.

It’s true. And with his hair mussed, cheeks flushed and skin covered in bite marks he looks absolutely delectable. His cock feels heavy in your fist and you can’t wait to sink down on it. You have to press your thighs together to find some relief for the ache between your legs.

“I’m gonna—fuck—” Minho croaks suddenly and you let go of his cock, watching it twitch against his stomach as his impending orgasm recedes. His head falls back against the pillow. “I was so close.” His eyes squeeze shut when you slip out of your panties and straddle him, dragging your wet cunt over his swollen cock. “Ahh—please—”

“What did you say, pup?” You cup his cheek. “I can’t hear you.”

“Please, no more teasing,” he pleads. You recognize the glassy look in his eyes. It’s the same look you see reflected back at you in the mirror after he’s had his way with you. “I’ll be good, I—”

He tugs at the cuffs in frustration, unable to form words. You bend over to press a kiss to his mouth. His bottom lip is swollen from his teeth clamping down on it repeatedly. “Shh, gonna give my pup what he wants, okay? You’ve been so good. Gonna take care of you now, don’t worry.”

You moan in unison when you finally sink down on his cock, his hips flush against your ass. Even without prep there is no resistance; your body has been craving this ever since you stepped into bed.

“You feel so good,” you whisper against his lips. “Pup’s got such a big cock, stretching me out so well. Never wanna get off. Want you inside of me all the time.”

Minho has never felt this floaty. There’s a static buzz in his ears as his entire world shrinks down to your voice and the feeling of your warm walls wrapped around him.

The meek whimpers he lets out at your words are addicting. His eyes roll back when you start grinding your hips in slow circles, your clit rubbing against his pelvic bone. “Look down. Look at how well you fill me up.”

He does as you say, captivated by your pussy sucking in his cock as you start bouncing on it. After getting so close earlier you know he won’t last long if you keep riding him like this. And since you’re not used to him being restrained you miss the feeling of his hands on your body.

“Listen, pup.” His eyes snap up to yours, big and round and pupils blown so wide nearly all you can see is black. “I’m gonna untie you and then you’re gonna make me cum on your pretty cock like a good boy, okay?”

He nods, whining when you get off to loosen the cuffs. You press a quick kiss to his lips. You didn’t expect him to become this non-verbal after his initial mouthiness. You’re so accustomed to his constant witty remarks (both in and outside of the bedroom) this sudden change in demeanor is worrying you a little.

“Everything okay, pup?” you ask, massaging his wrists. “Color?”

“Green,” he answers, kicking off his shorts. “It’s… going to be a lot to process, but I feel good. I trust you.”

You smile and press another kiss to his lips.

“It’ll be yellow if I don’t get to cum soon, though.”

You laugh at his cheeky grin. It’s good to see his wittiness is still intact.

“Watch your tone, pup. Or I’ll cuff your hands behind your back and make you eat me out for another hour.”

Minho groans. “I’ll take all the pussy I can get.”

“So desperate,” you recline against the sheets and guide his cock between your legs. “I like it.”

He follows you without a word, closing his eyes when he sinks back between your velvety walls. You feel so wet and warm around him he has to use all his strength to keep himself from blowing his load as soon as he starts moving. His head drops into the crook of your neck and you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Who would’ve thought my fierce kitty could be such a good pup?” you hum into his ear. He likes to pretend otherwise even though he’s never been anything but soft. So all of this doesn’t really come as a surprise, but you revel in the way your words make his hips stutter.

“And good pups deserve a reward.” You tug his earlobe between your teeth. It earns a low groan from him. “Do you want to choose yours?”

Minho can feel himself slipping away again. He leans back and his unfocused eyes take you in. “Wanna fill you up…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “And eat you out after.”

“You don’t have to—” you start but he cuts you off. He grabs your hips and tilts them so he can thrust into you deeper. The new angle has the head of his cock brushing against your most sensitive spot and you moan at the sudden pleasure flooding your body. It’s only a taste of what he can do but it feels fucking delicious already.

“I want to,” he assures. “Let me make you feel good, wanna cum, please—”

You’ve never seen him this desperate before. His brows are tightly knit together. His voice is wavering. You realize he’s waiting for your approval—no doubt using all his willpower to keep himself from reaching his high while your tight hole clenches around his cock. The knowledge he’s handing this power to you is almost enough to send you over the edge.

“Cum for me, pup,” you order and he does so with a sob, spilling his warm seed inside of you with a few short strokes. He stays there for a moment, trembling as you wrap your arms around him and kiss his temple. You let him catch his breath until he wriggles himself out of your hold to settle between your spread thighs.

You feel his cum dribble out of you until it’s intercepted by his flat tongue sweeping through your folds. You whimper when he sucks on your clit and pushes his face closer into your cunt.

“I’ll be your good pup,” he grins while he sinks two of his fingers into your hole, “then you can be my kitten again.”

#merry christmas!#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids hard hours #skz hard hours #stray kids headcanons #skz headcanons #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #lee know smut #lee know x reader #sub!idol #dom!reader #switch!idol #sub!stray kids #;skz longfic

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idolatrybarbie · 7 months

Text

for my fifty follower celebration! @bastardmandennis asked: dieter bravo and prompt no. 5— "ghosts aren't real, except when they are." it's scary story experiment...i haven't written horror in probably two years. enjoy the pretty graphic if nothing else.

rating & word count: mature | 2.8k

warnings: referenced substance abuse, mentions of alcohol, dieter is sober, one song-based joke (please get it plsplspls), reader is gender neutral, a good ol' haunting tale.

It’s late. How late? Excellent question.

You’re technically on vacation—one week out of fifty-six, when your boss takes his annual trip to Seoul to “unwind.” You’ve never asked him what that means, exactly. Better not to know what Dieter Bravo gets up to in the name of relaxation.

For the past thirty-four months, you’ve been working with the Hollywood troglodyte, following him around the world and across productions to take notes and document the goings on of his life. All of this in the hopes of ghostwriting his tell-all book. Technically, you were supposed to start outlining a manuscript this spring. The publisher doesn’t think you have enough material yet to make the memoir appetizing. What they don’t realize is that Bravo is not a very appetizing man.

He’s…odd. From the moment you first shook hands with him, you’ve felt an off presence surrounding him that you still can’t quite place, even almost three years later. He treats you more like an assistant than anything, asking you to fetch him coffee or an eight-ball; the request varies based on his mood. His actual assistant, Carla, is a bit of a shadow. Still, she’s there to share anxious backseat smiles with you on the way to Dieter’s red carpet appearances, a silent shoulder to lean on.

Sitting on the broken couch of your one bedroom apartment, you’ve lost focus of the Word document on the screen of your laptop. You’ve been transferring the last two months of paper notes to digital copies for the last three hours, resenting the task the longer it takes. Dieter wanted to experience the Swiss Alps before the first day of autumn, dragging you to the mountains for a six week stay. Apparently, they don’t have mobile connection at four thousand feet.

The thought crosses your mind to call it a night, leave the rest ‘til morning. This is your only real time to rest, after all. Before you can act upon it, though, your phone buzzes beside you. “Entry Of The Gladiators” blares from the pinhole of a speaker. The song has a Pavlovian effect on you, meeting the song with a sigh and the tick of your jaw.

“Dieter,” you answer, holding the phone to your ear.

“You picked up,” he says.

“Why are you calling?” You can’t hide the irritation in your voice. Shifting your laptop off of your thighs, you stand and stretch, wedging your cell between your cheek and shoulder.

“I just—I thought—”

“Aren’t you in South Korea?” you ask. Aren’t you supposed to be bothering someone else?

“Came back early. Got a bad vibe,” he says.

“A bad vibe?” you ask. “Come on, Dieter. That trip was important.” Important for you to have a social life for a sweet seven days, but also for him, too. If you remembered correctly, he was supposed to have a business meeting with Genesis Motor about starring in their new campaign of overseas commercials.

“I rescheduled with Genesis, everything’s fine. Don’t bitch at me,” Dieter says.

“I’m not—” you stop yourself, pausing mid-pace on the worn shag of your living room. Thirty-four months, and this is how he’s treating you? “You know what, fuck you. Fuck you, Dieter. My one week off from your crazy goddamn antics, and you’re fucking it all up. I’m done. Done.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he urges.

“Calling the publisher in the morning, so you can find yourself a new ghostwriter.” Satisfaction rolls through you as you hang up on him, the tiny button on your screen giving you power. Yeah, fuck that guy. You plop back down on the on the couch, pulling your laptop back to you. Going through your hard drive, you start to load every file from the past three years with details on Dieter into the recycling bin.

Cold air rolls in from the window, cracked ajar to keep patchouli incense smoke away from the dingy plastic alarm on your ceiling. The rattling outside barely catches your attention, another noise lost to the wind. You blink. Blink again.

You know that feeling, like someone’s watching you? It’s a sense you’ve become mighty acquainted with in the last handful of years. Following a megastar around like a toddling penguin in his entourage tended to pull some attention back on you. When you look up your name, there are a handful of Variety articles, a PopCrave tweet or two that show up. A snapshot of your professional life, all in relation to Dieter. Over time, it’s gotten less uncomfortable. People love celebrities, and they just want to see them. Harmless.

But this feeling…you don’t want to look up from your screen. Continuing the task of putting every last document on Dieter in the desktop’s recycling bin, you switch over to a new tab when you’re done; search for something unimportant, waiting for this to pass. Your breath catches in your throat, heart skipping a beat. Finally, when you can’t fight the urge anymore, you turn and look.

Nothing. The smog-ridden navy sky of Los Angeles meets you with the pathetic twinkle of a far off star. You breathe in through your nose, then out again in a deep sigh. Nothing. Nothing’s there.

Exhaustion claims you when you aren’t paying attention. Your sleep is dreamless, for the most part. You hear a subtle dripping the whole night, searching for the source in the dark. With your eyes closed, the task is impossible. You let the noise come closer, long and loud enough now that you learn to tune it out. Nightmares of a leaky faucet; how odd.

You wake up in the bathtub, laptop beside you, pressed between your clothed thigh and the fiberglass. The faucet leaks steadily above your head, water dripping down onto your skin. It’s gotten all over your face, at the edges of your hairline, in your eyes. Spluttering, you sit up. Your scalp is damp. Water has seeped into the collar of your shirt. Certainly you didn’t settle on the idea of a bath in the middle of the night.

Before you can question it more, your cellphone rings from another room. Scrambling out of the tub, you almost slip and fall against the wall tiles. Getting a grip on the edge of the tub, you step a foot at a time onto the bathroom floor and pad to the living room. Your phone is wedged between the cushions of the couch. Wrenching it from the fabric, you answer on the last ring.

“Hello?”

“I need to see you.” Dieter. Again.

“Dieter, my mind hasn’t changed since last night.” Looking at the clock on the wall, it hasn’t even been twelve hours.

“This isn’t about that,” he says. “Can you just come over?” It almost sounds like he’s begging…almost.

“Look, I’m busy today.”

“Tonight then.” His voice cracks, and you can only imagine the wiry, wide-eyed man on the other end of the line. “Please,” he whispers.

In all of your time spent with Dieter Bravo, you have never heard him use his manners—much less ask for something with such desperate politeness tacked onto the request.

“Okay. Okay, fine. Tonight. Just…don’t do anything stupid, alright?” you ask.

“Yeah. Okay,” Dieter agrees. Then the phone call dies.

You really don’t have anything to do today, the Friday of your week away from Bravoland. Sitting on the couch, you look around your apartment, taking stock of the life you’ve cobbled together here. Instead of pride or nostalgia, it fills you with dread. The glassy frames holding photos of family and old friends make your skin crawl, their resin paper eyes boring holes into you as they stare. A chill crosses over your body, prickling at your arms. You go to close the living room window to find it already shut.

You stay out of the living room, hiding away from a sense of unease in your bedroom. Still, it lingers in your doorway. That watchful sense returns. Your eyes stay open, glued to the ceiling as you lay down. You can’t leave, but you can’t sleep. Keeping your eyes open seems to be all you have—like letting them flutter closed would be an invitation for the unease of the apartment to waltz in and consume you.

Time slows to a drag, the sun absent from the sky as the day passes you by. The grey light from the window bathes everything in an uncanny dullness. Your laptop still sits in the bathtub. When night finally falls, you exit the apartment without looking back. The door closes behind you with a slam. You don’t even touch the handle.

The drive into the Hollywood Hills is the only moment of peace you’ve had since you woke up in that bathroom. You refuse to acknowledge whatever is going on at your place. You’re overreacting. All the work has set you on edge, and now your mind is playing tricks on you.

Yeah, that’s what it is—the work. Fatigue. All those late nights transferring and taking notes, or following Dieter to club after club, waiting for him to finish snorting a full 8-ball outside bathroom doors. Most nights blur together these days, the only thing that differentiates them being the photographs you take and the date you write at the top of your notepad. Your calendar is dependent on what colour tie Dieter wears on The Tonight Show or Kimmel every handful of months.

The Bravo mansion is modest in comparison to some of the architectural monstrosities out this way. Still, it manages to intimidate you every time you see it. Slowly, you pull up to Dieter’s place and park in the cobblestone drive. If you squint, you can see the Hollywood sign through a thick pack of warbling trees.

The sun is not shining down on the house today as it usually is. Even here, on land deemed the pinnacle of both the American and Hollywood dream, the sky is painted an ugly pewter. The building looks shadowy in its height, the twin pair of art deco doors no longer a quirky, eccentric detail of the house but a gaping maw. The small windows that frame them, a result of Dieter’s obsession with triangles, look like raw and jagged teeth. You don’t bother to lock your car when you approach the front steps, using the metal knocker at the door.

It only takes a few moments for Dieter to appear, opening one door and giving you a once-over. He’s still in his pajamas, missing his usual lounging robe. The lack of sunglasses present on his face indicates to you that he’s not hungover (yet).

“You look like shit,” is the first thing he says to you.

“I can still go home, you know.” Taking a step back, you raise a brow at him and angle your body back towards your car. The threat is empty, of course. Nothing could send you back to that place; might as well sell it now.

“Shit—sorry. I’m sorry, come in,” Dieter corrects himself.

The door opens wider with the length of his arm, and you duck in past him. The air inside the house is permeated with must, a mix of mildew and unsettled dust. Usually, the sight of Dieter’s mansion reminds you of general unwash, not a horrible monster house. Today is special.

“So?” you ask, faux-irritation lacing your tone. “You wanted me over here. You know it’s my week off, right?”

“There’s something wrong,” Dieter says immediately. He peers around the edge of the front door before it shuts. He locks the door, then reaches up to fasten the deadbolt.

Immediately, that tells you that this is serious. Forgetting the unease at your own apartment, you ask, “Is your stalker back? She’s out there, isn’t she?”

“What?” Dieter asks. “No, it’s not that. Nothing outside.”

He walks past you and deeper into the house, leaving you no choice but to follow.

“What do you mean, outside?”

“There’s something wrong in the house,” he explains.

“Like…”

Dieter looks around, giving each shoulder a hyperbolic check. Then he walks closer, so close that you can smell his breath—bubblegum toothpaste and cigarettes. Your heart speeds up a little, the proximity eliciting a light jog in your chest. It’s not like man has never been this close, but the last time…

“A haunting,” he whispers.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, an airy chuckle that pushes Dieter back a few feet.

“Come on, Dieter,” you say.

His face pulls tighter, look severe. “I’m serious.”

“Are you high?” you ask. “I don’t smell any alcohol on you. Did you take something? Because I can call your sponsor if—”

“Will you listen to me?!” he roars over you. In the three years you’ve known him, Dieter has never yelled. He gets a little wild, antics more than slightly crazy, but he doesn’t raise his voice. You watch him closely, eyes wide, as he recomposes himself. “There is something wrong in this house. I can’t sleep, can barely eat. It feels like—like I’m never alone. Moreso than usual, okay? I’m waking up in strange parts of the house, and my shit’s in places it shouldn’t be. And I called Brad,” his manager, “and he thinks I’m full of shit. Thinks I’m on another bender. I just…fuck. I just need you to believe me.”

You blink. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Dieter parrots. His eyes are all glossy, ready to spill with fresh tears. You thought that you had seen all of this man, the barest and ugliest parts of him. Now, you see you were wrong. He looks sad. Scared.

“I believe you,” you sigh. “I believe you. What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“We could leave,” you suggest.

“No, no,” he insists. “I don’t think it’ll like that.” It.

“So then, what?”

“Stay here? With me,” Dieter says.

You should say no, heart racing now as blood rushes hot through your brain. Instead, you nod and follow him to his home theater, where he seems to be camping out. Dieter has too many candles lit not to be a fire hazard, with bagged snacks and bottles of water strewn about the floor and the plush horseshoe couch; the middle is stuffed with the same plush cushion as the back of the seats, making it more of a circular daybed than anything. Blankets are balled up at one end, two beaten up pillows next to them.

Dieter has the radio playing off of the luxury sound system, the large projector screen dark.

“I don’t think it likes noise,” he explains.

Dieter asks you to sit with him through the night, listening to shitty pop songs, car commercials, and every once in a while, FM radio static. He says the static is it, a creature he refuses to elaborate upon. He fists his hand into the blankets each time the station cuts out and turns to white noise.

This goes on for almost two hours. You start to get bored, and more pressingly, tired. Sleep calls to you, your mind settling the weirdness before as your imagination, and whatever is going on here a facet of Dieter’s. Is it possible for two people who haven’t seen each other in days, and live on opposite sides of town, to share in the same delusion? Surely. They had a name for it—folly of two.

That must be it. Working for a celebrity has finally driven you mad.

Leaning heavy against the cushions of the couch, you allow your eyes to slowly slip closed. Before the world disappears entirely, something is shaking you awake. No, not something, but Dieter. His wide palm is grasped over your shoulder, swaying you back and forth violently in his grip.

“What? What is it?” you growl.

“You can’t sleep,” he says.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Your irritation skyrockets as you sit up, pulling out your phone to scroll through your contacts.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling your goddamn sponsor, so he can do his fucking job and I can get some shut eye.”

Dieter says your name; you ignore him, pressing ‘call’. “Please, don’t do that.” He tries to grab the phone from your hand, but you get up from the couch, out of reach. You want to believe him, you do, but you have no faith. You can't do this anymore; won't entertain the delusion any longer.

The line rings for thirty seconds before the sponsor finally picks up.

“Hi, is this Jo—” you stop yourself. A deep, heavy breathing sounds off from the other end of the line. “Hello?”

“Hang up,” Dieter whispers, shaking his head. You raise a finger at him. “Hang up!”

He moves from his lax position, kneeling up far enough to snatch your cell phone away and end the call.

“What the fuck?”

“It’s—”

“There is no it!” you yell. “There is nothing here, Dieter! No one is out to get you, or watching you. No one cares, okay? Ghosts aren’t real.”

Dieter watches you, and you watch him back. Holding a steely gaze, you don’t register the fizzle-pop of light bulbs around the two of you until they’ve already exploded. Shards of hot glass fly from the fixtures and land on the carpeted floor. All at once, the flame at each wick of Dieter’s candles is snuffed out. You stand still, frozen in complete darkness.

Dieter uses your phone for light, the screen illuminating the hollows of his face.

“Except when they are.”

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories #50 followers

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rowiewritesstuff · 1 year

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Hi, I hope you're having a great day/night. If you're comfortable with writing polyamory, can I request yandere poly Knock Out and Breakdown?

TFP Yandere Knockout and Breakdown

You met Breakdown on pure accident- he had transformed in the woods to stretch his legs, not noticing you.

As soon as he noticed you, he let out a curse. He was shocked though when you looked at him with awe instead of fear. He went up and nudged you with a finger. “Uh, are you defective?”

“Woah!” He jumped back in shock. “You can speak English? Where are you from? You’re so pretty!” Breakdown couldn’t fight the blue blush that rose to his face. He’d been called plenty of things in his life- but never pretty. Even his conjunx always used the word ‘handsome’. It felt nice to be called pretty.

“U-uh. I’m from the planet Cybertron?”

“Wow! You’re amazing! So what brings you out here to my humble abode?” You gestured to the cabin behind you.

“Oh. Uh, I was tracking energon, not exactly going to your, uh, ‘abode’.” He wasn’t sure why he was so open with you. There was just something about you that was so easy to talk to.

You tilted your head in confusion, to which he explained what energon was. You ended up going on the energon search with him. You, being a big science nerd, managed to upgrade his sensor. This allowed him to find a few deposits of energon within a much bigger area. He was shocked that you could do this with only a few materials.

“I actually do remote work here for a science company. I don’t like to be around people that much.” you explained. Breakdown called the Vehicons to get the energon after driving you back to your home. He didn’t want you to get caught up in the war at all.

When Breakdown got back to the Nemesis, Knockout greeted him with a hug. “So, find anything?”

“Yeah, some energon… and a human.”

Knockout looked up at his conjunx with confusion. “A human? What happened?”

“They were living where I went. They were… kind. Didn’t run away like the rest of em’.”

Knockout noticed how his husband seemed conflicted. “Hm, maybe I should go meet them too.”

Both of them bridged a small distance away and drove up to your house. Breakdown tapped a finger against your door much louder than he had meant to.

“Look Mr. Bear, it was a one ti- Oh! Hello again Breakdown!” You smiled up at him. Your eyes flickered over to his cherry red companion. “Hello to you as well! Wow, you’re beautiful too!”

“Well, you were right about the human, Breakdown! They are smart,” the cherry red mech puffed out his chest. “I’m Knockout. What would your name be?”

“I’m (Y/N)! Nice to meet you!”

Knockout and Breakdown often went to visit you when they had time. Your curious and gentle personality appealed greatly to them. One day, the Autobots found out and brought you to the base. You went willingly, not knowing anything about the war. There, they told you about the war.

“No, that can’t be! They are the sweetest people I’ve ever met!” You tried to defend them.

Ratchet just scoffed at you and pulled up their files. You looked in horror at everything they had done. You demanded to go home so that you could think, and Optimus went with you to protect you in the event they showed up again.

They both arrived the next week to see you talking with the Prime (who you had grown close to in a short period of time). “Do you think they were just using me?” You sniffed.

Optimus paused for a moment before speaking. “I’m not sure.”

Breakdown, in a rage, slammed his hammer into his back. He grunted in pain as he was thrown into trees, his body destroying them as he hit. “OPTIMUS!” You cried out.

Knockout tried to grab for you, but you dodged out of his way. “Come here, doll. We aren’t going to hurt you.”

“Like you didn’t hurt all of those other Cybertronians in your stupid war?!” You demanded. He looked hurt and shocked for a moment before turning to Optimus. “What have you been telling them?”

“The truth.” The Prime tried to stand but was beaten down before Breakdown. Hit after hit Breakdown landed on him.

“STOP!” You yelled out. Breakdown stopped his hits but kept his hammer hovering over Optimus.

Knockout and Breakdown eyed you when Knockout got an idea. “I’ll make you a deal, doll. You come with us and we’ll let him live.”

“No, ru-”

“Shut up!” Breakdown slammed his hammer into his face and turned to you again. “This hammer’s getting heavy, better choose quick.”

You looked at Optimus who was leaking energon, then back to Breakdown and Knockout. Both of them had a dark look on their faceplates. You looked at the ground before nodding.

“Okay. But you can’t hurt him anymore.”

Breakdown backed away from the Prime who transformed his arm into a gun immediately. “You won’t be taking them today.”

“Optimus! Stop.” He looked at you in confusion. “You won’t last in a fight. You’re bleeding and it’s two against one- please, just.-just go. Please. You can save me later- I don’t think they’ll hurt m-”

Before you can say another word, Knockout throws you into the air and transforms. He quickly drove away, Breakdown following.

“W-why are you doing this? Where are you taking me?”

“The Autobots weren’t supposed to find out about you. We have to protect you from their lies.”

“Lies? I saw videos of what you did!”

Knockout scoffed. “You think they’re any better? Do you have any clue how many they’ve killed? Why the war started in the first place?” You were at a loss for words. “No, you don’t. But you’ll learn, eventually.”

“Where are we even going?”

“To your new home. After all, we can’t let the Autobots get to you again, can we?”

You brought your legs up to your chest as you feared whatever was to come.

#yandere breakdown #yandere knockout #tfp #transformers prime #yandere tfp #yandere transformers prime #tfp breakdown #tfp knockout #yandere knockdown #yandere knockout and breakdown x reader #poly yandere #polyamory yandere #optimus #optimus prime #ratchet #yandere tfp breakdown #yandere tfp knockout

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barleyo · 6 months

Text

Just What I Needed. (1.5)

(Mike Schmidt X F! Reader)

A/N: This is one of the chapters I was talking about. This is how the rest of this story will function too. One chapter of main plot, one flashback!

Chapters: 1, 1.5, 2, 2.5, 3, 3.5, 4, 4.5, 5

(Y/N)’s father was a man with big dreams. He always knew what he wanted, how to get it, and why he wanted it. He knew that he wanted to open a restaurant, something fresh and fun for families. He never much liked children, though, except for one.

It happened early in her life, but she remembered the day her father had opened Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria. He came home with the paperwork filed, and a giant smile plastered over his usually dull face. He had picked her small body up and twirled her around the room as he spoke.

“It is done, can you believe it?” He asked her, bundling her body tightly in his arms.

“What’s done? What’s goin’ on?”

“The restaurant,” he said, placing her back down on her feet, chuckling lightly when she faltered out of dizziness. “We’ll open tomorrow. Proud of your old dad, aren’t you?”

“Of course, daddy! Can I come tomorrow?”

Her father lowered himself to his knees, placing a hand on her shoulder while his grin stayed strongly across his features. Before he could answer her, a voice called out from the kitchen.

“(Y/N),” her mother called, voice weak and strained, as if every word sliced through her throat as it came up. Her name echoed slightly on the walls as her mother called again, urging her to come to her.

“Let’s see what your mother wants, hm?” He rose back to his feet, an obvious damper placed on his mood in hearing his wife’s croaking voice.

Her mother eyed the two from her spot by the sink.

She was a cold woman, thin and boney, though it wasn’t just time that had done this to her. Her life, as she found it, was full of compromise. She never wanted children. In her home, they were the inescapable hell that she could only cope with by puffing her thinly rolled cigarettes to keep herself sane.

“Go upstairs, (Y/N).” The filter of her cigarette was stained red by her lips. The grey ash sprinkled slightly on the floor as she placed it back into her mouth.

“Why? I thought I was gonna go with dad–”

“Now, (Y/N). Go to your room.” She put the cig out in the sink, punctuating her sentence with a soft hiss of the ash against the stray water droplets littering the sink.

(Y/N) nodded slowly before walking halfway up the stairs. She stopped and sat, hugging the rail so that she could listen to her parents' conversation.

“Why would you try to take her there?” Her moms voice was quiet and muffled behind the wall, but (Y/N) sat as still as she could, hardly breathing in order to be able to hear everything. “I don’t want her at that fucking restaurant.”

“I can take my daughter wherever I want,” he quickly shot back, car keys clenched in his hand. He felt the grooves of the house key on the ring digging into his palm. “I worked hard, she’ll like it there.”

“Our daughter, William, and no, she won’t. Those monster robots you spend all your time on will scare her.”

“I made them for her, I think I know my daughter well enough to know what she’d like.”

A dry, sarcastic laugh fell from her lips. “Really? You think you know anything about her, about any of these goddamn kids? When’s the last time you were here for more than a few hours?”

“Don’t tell me what I don’t do, I do too much for you, for all of you.” He sucked his teeth and walked away, leaving her in the kitchen. Seeing his daughter still on the stairs, he waved her over. “Let’s go.”

“Mom said we could go?” (Y/N) felt her hands twitch nervously. She knew her mother didn’t want her to go with her father, she never went against her.

“We don’t always have to listen to her, she doesn’t always know what’s best for you, baby girl.”

She followed behind William, clinging onto his pant leg as they walked out of the house. She sat in the backseat quietly, waiting for her father to start talking while he pulled out of the driveway. Instead, he joined her in silence, feeling the tension in the car grow when (Y/N)’s mother’s face appeared in the window, scowling.

The awkward silence dissipated into a calm quiet once they pulled into the well lit parking lot of Freddy’s. The car pulled in smoothly under the black pavement and stopped right in front of the door.

“Hop out, let’s go see the inside.”

She got out and shivered in the cold, night air. Her arms grew soft goosebumps until she felt a heavy fabric cover her shoulders.

“Hm?” She looked at the jacket her father placed over her. His favorite, a tan, thick coat with wool around the hood. “Thank you,” she said softly, slipping her arms through the sleeves.

He said nothing, instead leading her to the door, unlocking it, and bringing her inside. (Y/N) gasped at the bright colors of the main floor. The tables were nice and wooden, the floors were slick and new, and there were game machines in the back of the room.

“Can I go play one? Pretty please?” She tried to run over to one, but his firm hand grabbed the hood of the jacket to stop her in place.

“There’ll be plenty time for that another day. Come, there is something better I want you to see.” William picked her up, hands on her lower back as he scooped her comfortably up to his chest. He brought her to a stage covered by red curtains. The velvet crinkled under his rough hands when he pulled it back to reveal the animatronics. The animatronics were powered off, sitting with an uncanny aura around them. They were shiny and plastic, but they gave off an old, tired energy that she felt unnerved by.

“Daddy, what are those?”

He put her down on the stage, pushing her forward a bit to urge her to touch them.

“Your new friends, (Y/N).

#barleyxnighteye #fanfiction #x reader #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf movie #josh hutcherson #fnaf x reader #dark fic #long fic #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader

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playbucky · 5 months

Text

Front and Centre.

Y/N, or Showgirl is known as the army’s face, a beautiful face that eases people into joining. She’s been tasked with joining the 141 for a mission but the team didn’t fully trust the person who poses for posters. Characters – Reader, Price, Gaz, Soap, Ghost. Word Count – 1.6k.

‘We’ve got a new coming for this mission.’ Price said, the boys lifted their heads and looked at him. ‘Who?’ Gaz questioned, Price rubbed his lips together. ‘Lieutenant Y/N.’ He said. ‘Showgirl?’ Soap quizzed, unaware that the door had opened and you stepped in. ‘That is what they call me.’ You said, they looked at you, the one closest to Price was the only one to sit taller. ‘When we leaving?’ You asked, your gaze focused on Price. ‘Sixteen hundred hours.’ Price said, you nodded and slid into the seat at the end of the table, leaving one between yourself and the masked figured. ‘Y/N, I want you to meet Ghost, Soap and Gaz.’ Price introduced them to you. ‘Pleasure to meet you all.’ You told them, you dipped your head before you opened the small file, you got a mumble from two of them but the masked figure stared at you.

You aimed your gun up before a weight around your waist pulled you to the side, you let out a startled yelp before you ended up on the ground. Quickly you got up onto your feet and tried to make your way back you but another arm stopped you. ‘Let me go.’ You snarled, your gun shoved into your holster. ‘There’s no need for you to.’ Price said, you narrowed your eyes at him. ‘Fuck off.’ You hissed, Soap and Ghost looked at each other before they looked back to you. ‘Y/N?’ Price said as he rounded the corner. ‘No, fuck off, I’ve had enough of the constant belittling.’ You told them, you were fed up with the way they would send glances and mumble between themselves. ‘We aren’t belittling you.’ Soap said, he held his hands out at his sides. ‘You put me to the back, protect me constantly and try and hide the violence from me.’ You pointed a finger out, ‘Four tours I did, I only got the showgirl name when the commanding officer saw that I led my team into a -,’ you stopped, you snapped your jaw shut and sighed, the men watched you. ‘But don’t worry, once this is done I’m leaving, you won’t have to worry about me again.’ You said before you marched further into the safe house, that you were having to spend the next sixteen hours in.

‘Y/N?’ The familiar voice called, you turned and smiled as you saw Widow, you went to walk before she was flung forwards. The red splattered shot from her head as she collapsed onto the ground,  ‘Shit.’ You gasped as you sat up, your grip tight on the edge of the makeshift bed, the taunt fabric groaned as you shifted. Taking deep breaths you looked around the room, the dark silent room except from the quiet snores of Gaz and Soap, their faces smooshed into the thin pillows whilst Price rested his head on his arm as he rested it behind him. His mouth dropped open, hat resting over his eyes, you gaze moved to the empty bed the other side of him. Your brows furrowed before you shook your head and made your way to the tight bathroom. You pushed the door over to keep the noise from the others before you splashed your face with cold water, your hands rested on the edge of the porcelain sink as you looked up. The person that looked back to you was a stranger, the dark bags underneath your eyes and wrinkles between your furrowed brow, completely different to the wide smile that is constantly plastered on and the insane amount of makeup and photoshoot. You dried your hands on the small towel before you dropped it over the sink and stepped out the room. The thought of going back to bed twisted your stomach, pulling the door over and switching the light off you carefully made your way to the second door. You pushed it open and quickly stepped out and closed the door back over. Carefully you made your way down the corridor, that opened into a stingy living room, Ghost’s hunched figure lingered at the large window that was opened. ‘It’s not your turn.’ He commented as he turned and looked at you. ‘I know.’ You replied, he moved off the seat and stood to his full height, you were sure you heard some of his bones pop. ‘Nightmare?’ He quizzed you hummed, you looked out the ‘Constantly.’ You replied, he huffed and handed you a small paper mug that had small wisps of steam coming over the edge.  ‘No thank you.’ You politely turned it down. ‘You don’t want tea?’ He quizzed, you shook your head. ‘It’s yours.’ You replied, you rubbed your eyes. ‘I can go make another one.’ He offered, you shook your head again. ‘Ghost, just drink it.’ You ordered, he huffed as you turned to look over the ridge, that had provided him some cover for the night.  You didn’t turn when he lifted the mask, and raised the cup before he practically gulped the burning liquid down in a oner. ‘We trust you.’ Ghost admitted, you looked at him as he pulled the mask back down, you caught a glimpse of the white scar up his jaw. ‘Doesn’t seem like it.’ You commented before you looked away again, you played with the frayed seam on your trousers. ‘We were told to keep you protected, no injuries or damages.’ He said, your brows furrowed. ‘I’m not a piece of China.’ You commented, he scoffed. ‘We know that, you’ve proved that.’ He grumbled, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the seat that groaned. ‘Who gave you the orders?’ You quizzed, his eyes darted to your fingers then straight ahead of him again.

‘Captain Rogers.’ He said, you huffed and dropped your head. ‘Of course.’ You sighed, whilst you shook your head. ‘What?’ ‘My last mission, my -,’ you stopped when movement out the corner of your eye caused you to turn.  ‘Do you like snooping?’ You questioned, Ghost turned and looked at the three men who had gathered at the doorway. ‘We’re about to unlock your backstory.’ Soap said, the corner of your lips quirked up as you scoffed. ‘Yeah, traditional and tragic.’ You commented. ‘You don’t have to tell us.’ Price said, you tilted your head back and sighed. ‘My last mission before I turned into their scapegoat was ordinary, go in, serve and then leave but we were attacked.’ You started, reaching up you scratch the side of your jaw. ‘The entire compound was targeted, we allowed innocents or people who wanted to escape the war in.’ You continued, the team lowered their heads, knowing where it was heading. ‘My entire team was killed ‘cept me, Widow, Mando and Trooper were shot down before the missiles were launched at us.’ You finished, you rested your chin on your knuckles. ‘Have you always been called showgirl?’ Gaz asked, you shook your head as you straightened. ‘Nope, I was known as Viper but that was quickly squashed.’ You said as you made eye contact with him. ‘Why?’ Soap questioned. ‘Soap, what was the first thing you thought of when you heard and saw me?’ You asked, he hesitated and looked to Price to figure out if he should. ‘C’mon I won’t shoot you.’ You encouraged him. ‘Pretty, carefree.’ He listed off. ‘Cocky.’ Ghost piped in, you nodded. ‘Daddy’s girl that wanted to prove her worth, right?’ You asked, having heard the words close to a million times. ‘Yeah.’ They all agreed, you pursed your lips. ‘How you hide yourself,’ you gestured to Ghost, ‘so people can’t connect your lives. I had to keep my burdens under wraps.’ You explained, he lowered his head. ‘Burdens?’ Price questioned, the corner of your lips curled up. ‘Four tours Captain, plenty times I’ve pulled that trigger, too many lives I’ve took.’ You informed him.

‘Captain Rogers.’ You answered the phone, as you set it in the middle of the slowly rotten table. ‘Are you alone?’ He asked, his voice crackled as you looked to the team who were sitting across from you. ‘As I can be.’ You replied. ‘Good, I need you to do something for me.’ Rogers said, you arched an eyebrow. ‘What?’ You asked, you cracked your fingers as he inhaled. ‘Infiltrate the 141.’ He said your eyes snapped up to them as they sat up, you held your hand up. ‘Sir?’ You asked. ‘I need to know about them, I want you to learn everything you can and report back to me in a week.’ He commanded you, your shoulders slumped. ‘A week? I was meant to be done tomorrow.’ You replied, he fell silent before he cleared his throat. ‘Change of plans, a lot of… money relies on this.’ He informed you, you dipped your head. ‘Sir.’ You called. ‘What? Do you want to be paraded around in front of cameras for the rest of your career Showgirl?’ He asked, you dropped your head and clenched your jaw. ‘No sir.’ You replied. ‘Good girl.’ He said, you slowly exhaled through your nose. ‘But you can shove this job up your arse, I’m not spying on my team.’ You told him, the men’s eyes widened. ‘Your team?’ Rogers questioned as he fought back a chuckle, you looked at the men, Ghost and Price nodded. ‘Your team is burnt into the ground, ‘member when you had to grieve over empty coffins?’ He asked, you sighed and rolled your shoulders. ‘Yes sir, just before you begged me to be the face of the army but I’m done.’ You returned. ‘Done? You aren’t done till it say you are, I have all the contacts that will ruin you.’ He hissed out, you could hear him hitting his finger against the table. ‘Do it then sir, I’ll be waiting.’ You threatened before you hung up and dropped your head down as you ran your fingers through your day-old hair.  ‘Shit.’ You hissed when you realised what you had just done, you went to pick your phone up but Ghost leaned forward and removed it from your grasp. ‘What are you doing?’ You questioned, you reached out for the phone but he moved away. ‘Stopping your from making a mistake.’ He grumbled, he dropped the phone before he stomped down on it, the device shattered. ‘I just made the mistake, I need to fix it before he sends someone for you.’ You said, he shook his head before Price stepped between the two of you. ‘We’ll be ready.’ Price said, you looked at Gaz and Soap before you focused back on him. ‘You shouldn’t have to be ready.’ You told them, they didn’t look to bothered, having already made up their minds on what they were going to do. ‘Y/N, whether you like it or not, your part of this team.’ Price said, you shook your head. ‘I can’t.’ You stepped away from them. ‘Why not?’ Soap asked, the group looked confused. ‘Because I curse anyone that works with me.’ You spat out, the men looked amused. ‘Trust me darling, we’re already cursed.’ Price commented, you lowered your head as the group watched you.

#kyle garrick #john price #Simon riley #john mactavish #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod mw #simon ‘ghost’ riley #Simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader #reader x Simon ‘ghost’ riley #reader x ghost #ghost x reader #soap x reader #reader x soap #captain john price

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