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aggressive-positivity-network · 3 years

Note

Tf2 headcanons? Aw yeah! So let's say a new merc joins the team. They're a total asshole: Cocky, sarcastic, overconfident, refuse help. But both Spy and Scout see right through that, it's a defense mechanism. How do they go about making this person comfortable enough to not be an asshole?

*chanting* HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMF

Okay, jokes aside, this is one of my favorite tropes. Maybe I’m too naïve to believe that some people are just mean to be mean, or maybe it’s a sort of comfort to know that even the worst people can be understood, but either way, WOOOOOOOOO!

*****************

An Ass For An Ass

Headcanons

Scout:

To be honest, Scout’s threshold for asshole-ery is pretty high. Growing up with eight brothers will do that to you.

But when the new recruit came around, something immediately rubbed him the wrong way.

Recruit always stole his thunder with the crass jokes and over-the-top displays. Every battle turned into a competition, which messed with Scout’s system of fighting. He never had to focus much on his own team before, and now he had to worry about keeping his own reputation upheld while trying not to get stabbed, shot, or blown up.

Recruit also kept hitting on Miss Pauling - even after reminding them again and again that she was lesbian, and was not and never will be into dudes.

“Come on…you just haven’t been with a real man yet…”

“No, no, I’ve been with a lot of men. Real men. I just wasn’t into any of them. After a while, it was kind of obvious.”

But what really pissed a lot of people off was Recruit’s fighting style.

They were an absolute monster on the field - that’s why they were chosen - but every interaction was treated as some sort of survival scenario.

One would think that would be a good thing, but Recruit was ridiculous.

No matter what the situation was, he was fine, he was okay, he could take it, he could fix it.

He could be killed only inches away from a Medic because he would never yell for one. Sometimes Recruit would even show visible anger at being healed. It got to the point where Medic didn’t heal him at all, and just allowed him to die as to not waste time he could give too more grateful patients.

Missions were even worse.

He followed orders to a T, but Pauling had to beg him to leave a failed mission, or to leave without completely destroying the site.

Everyone just took it as Recruit showing off, or having something to prove as a rookie.

It was annoying, but ultimately harmless in most circumstances.

However, it all came to a head when Recruit tried disengage a sentry by himself and was severely injured.

Both Engineer and Medic, who had had to fix most of Recruit’s past and current recklessness, ripped him a new one, one chewing out after the other.

“What we’re you thinkin’, son?! One crossed wire and you woulda blown the whole base!”

“Zhe only reason you are allowed in my lab at all is because it’s in my contract. Personally, I vould have rather left nature to it…”

Since then, Recruit did exactly as he was told, and nothing else. And most of the team liked it that way.

But Scout recognized some warning signs immediately. Fatigue, near silence except for missions, self-isolation, snapping when people got too close…it all paved the way for a pretty nasty (and, for Scout, very familiar) result.

One night, Recruit was sitting on the balcony, and Scout came out with two bottles - a beer for Recruit and a root beer for himself.

(Scout can only drink on the weekends because one, unlike most, he can’t go to work hung over because his job requires a lot of movement, and two, he has no restraint and can’t stop once he starts.)

“What do you want?”

Scout shrugged. “Depends.”

“On what?!”

“What are ya willin’ to tell me?”

Recruit just looked at the beer and sneered.

“Can’t we just skip this?” Scout said. “Maybe get to the part where you tell me what kinda Sally Sob Story we’re dealin’ with here?”

Recruit looked away.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t tell me you don’t got one. ‘Cause you do. I can see it a mile away. So what happened? Pop leave? Somebody died? Lotta brothers and sisters? Ma had a few too many and smacked ya around?”

Recruit didn’t turn around, but Scout could tell he was crying. He had hit a sore spot. Hard.

“Hey, pal, listen…”

Scout trailed off, then slowly began again.

“…the only reason I know is ‘cause I’ve been through it, ‘kay? Outta everybody I knew, I only trusted me. And that was great when I did a good job, ‘cause I knew I put me there.”

Scout opened his bottle of root beer and took a long swig.

“But when I screwed somethin’ up, it’s like everybody I ever knew just let me down. The one thing I could count on was gone.”

Recruit looked at Scout with tears in his eyes.

“But ya can’t do everything by yourself,” Scout continued. “Believe me. I learned that the hard way.”

Scout laughed, but it was mostly to clear the air. He didn’t get serious very often.

Recruit hadn’t touched his beer, but was leaned over the balcony with his head in his hands.

Scout sighed and looked up at the stars.

“But here’s somethin’ that nobody told me - it gets easier, y’know that? You just gotta relax and cut yourself some slack.”

Recruit shifted uncomfortably. “But the Administrator said…”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I know what she said. Gave ya that whole speech about how bein’ part of the team means discipline and focus and whatever. It’s all bull crap. She don’t know the first thing about bein’ on the field. If she did, why’d she hire us?”

“Sh-she said my perseverance was an asset to the team.”

“Perseverance, my ass. You know what would be an asset to the team? Stayin’ alive for more than fifteen minutes!”

Recruit looked at his feet. He had blinked away his tears, but he still looked on the verge of falling apart.

Scout put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it a little.

“You’re a great fighter, Recruit. You’re one of the best…that’s why you’re here. You got nothin’ to prove to nobody. Not to me, not to the team, not to the Administrator…not even to yourself. You’ve made it, kid. You’ve made it.”

Scout slid his hand off Recruit and started to walk away.

“Hey.”

Scout turned to see Recruit in the process of opening his beer.

“Thanks.”

Scout smiled. “No problem, pal. Plenty more under Demo’s mattress.”

“No, I mean…for that. I needed that tonight.”

“Oh…yeah! Sure. Don’t worry about it.”

Scout went back inside and to his room - but not before checking the cameras on the balcony a few times. Just in case.

Over the next few months, Scout kept helping Recruit break some old bad habits.

Recruit learned to take criticism without getting angry, to leave tanked missions, and to take care of himself.

He still occasionally flirted with Miss Pauling, but it was now more of an inside joke than anything.

Recruit still isn’t perfect - he still cringes a little when he’s healed, and falls back into survival mode when times are stressful - but he is now a much happier, much healthier person.

Spy:

Spy’s asshole wasn’t a merc, per se.

They were more of an informant, usually giving out important facts about locations, missions, and a target’s history.

Sometimes they would even use the Administrator’s PA system to announce new rules and reminders.

This would be perfectly fine - after all, you get kind of tired of hearing the Administrator all the time - except for the fact that Informant was the most sarcastic, most nasally, most apathetic, most matter-of-fact person on earth.

Even outside of a work setting, which was rare because they stayed in their office most of the time, Informant would go out of their way to be as condescending as possible.

Especially to whoever they considered to be in the “less intelligent” category: Heavy, Pyro, Scout, Demo, and Soldier.

To all the “others,” he turned every briefing into a contest to see who knew more at any given time…which, of course, usually meant he won.

“Now, does anyone know where his address is? Come on, any takers? Yeah, I thought so.”

Unlike Recruit, which would only warrant a few grumbles here and there from the team, Informant was the subject of a lot of hissed complaints and terrible rants from even the calmest of members.

Informant was the only one who could get under Heavy’s skin - a personal pet peeve of his was being considered less intelligent or less of a human being because English wasn’t his first language, which Informant chose to remind him of constantly.

It began with a few simple jabs at his grammar or word structure, but once Informant figured out that Heavy wouldn’t hurt a fly outside of battle, the taunts grew more and more daring.

Heavy would usually ignore Informant, which would only exacerbate their need to be noticed. This led to some pretty nasty interactions - from spouting the statistics of Russia’s average intelligence to even saying Heavy was a disgrace to his country by being a literature major.

“How’s that Russian literature major treating you? You know - in America.”

Sniper and Medic had tried to set Informant straight, but Heavy refused to accept any help. This was something that was his to bear, and his alone. He knew that they both took their own helping of harassment.

But one day, Informant went a little to far.

He did the one thing you should never do: insult Heavy’s family.

“You mother and sisters can’t do anything more than wait for you. No wonder you’re the only source of income.”

Before he knew it, Informant was against a wall, struggling to breathe, blood running into his eyes.

Heavy walked away after the incident, and told Medic about it, but he refused to heal him. Informant had called Medic a Nazi on more than one occasion.

This, finally, is where Spy comes in.

Spy was walking by Informant’s office, when he heard a strange sound - barely suppressed hiccups and sobs.

Despite his aversion to displays of emotion, the promise of seeing one of his greatest enemies as their lowest was too amusing to resist.

He knocked lightly on the door, then slowly opened it - always the master of drama.

Informant was under their desk, bloodied and bruised, sobbing into their knees.

Spy entered noiselessly, sitting in Informant’s office chair and lighting a cigarette.

It was only when Spy made a dramatic exhale of the smoke that Informant looked up, tears streaking their face.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Spy finally spoke.

“Oh, how the mighty fall. Flown too close to the sun, have we?”

Informant couldn’t do much more than snivel and retreat farther below the desk.

“Who did it?” Spy asked. “I want to give them my regards…and maybe a bottle of wine.”

“H-Heavy…”

“Oh? Well, if anyone can bring him to blows, it’s you.”

Spy put his feet on the desk and continued to blow smoke out of his nose, thinking.

“It’s strange,” he said. “Most offices have at least a few pictures of family. A trip to the beach, perhaps the zoo…?”

He took a quick glance around.

“No children. No army mates. No graduation photos or a large catch at a local lake. The only personal item you have is this…”

Spy picked up a Rubik’s Cube. The plastic still around it crinkled.

“Unused.”

Informant looked at the floor.

“I like to keep my personal and professional life separate.”

Spy pursed his lips and squinted.

“How noble of you. But I don’t think that’s the case. You know what I think, Informant?”

Spy took his feet of the desk and bent down, looking Informant in the eyes.

“I don’t think you have a life.”

Informant’s eyes went wide for a moment, then his face immediately crumpled. Bullseye.

Spy smirked and got up from the chair, starting to leave.

Informant’s sniffling turned into sobbing, and before Spy could put his hand on the doorknob, muffled wailing filled the office.

Spy closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. He was trying not to remember something. But the imagery was too strong.

He remembered hiding under a table, like Informant was. People screaming and cursing at each other in French. His knees all scarred and his nose runny from a cold that should have resolved weeks ago. Waltz music coming from next door, trying to drown out the fighting. Glass breaking. Biting his knuckles so he wouldn’t whimper or cry.

Spy’s hand closed into fist. He took a deep breath, and turned to face Informant again.

“But to be fair…”

He walked towards the desk, putting his hand in his suit pocket. He got on his knees and pulled out a pink handkerchief.

“…I don’t have one either.”

He offered the handkerchief to Informant, who put it to his face, still staring at Spy through red eyes.

The pair were silent for a moment, with Spy putting out his cigarette and lighting a new one while Informant cleaned themselves up.

“But the difference between you and I,” Spy said, his voice wavering a bit, “is that I am a Spy. If my information got into the wrong hands, it could be the end of me and my team.”

He tapped his cigarette on a nearby trash can, letting the ashes fall into it.

“But what are you hiding from?”

Informant took a shaky inhale, the handkerchief still covering his nose and mouth.

“W-what?”

“Why do you feel the need to be, as Scout puts it, a tier five jerkazoid?”

Informant sniffled. “I…I didn’t think I took it that far.”

“Took what that far?”

“I just…snrk…I thought that’s what I had to do to get them to take me seriously.”

Informant laughed, but their heart wasn’t in it.

“I’m five foot four with red hair and freckles. I look more like someone’s Andy doll than a contract killer. I thought maybe if I knew everything…I’d be worth it.”

They shrugged.

“At best, they’d be impressed. At worst, they would never get close enough to me to know the truth: the only reason why I’m here is because I can rattle off a few names and that I had good grades in school because I had nothing better to do.”

Spy’s chest ached. He didn’t know why, but it was a strange feeling to him.

“Mon ami…”

He cleared his throat.

“If half of the team is any indication, you don’t need to be Nikola Tesla to be hired. Hell, the fact you can read is an anomaly in itself. But there is something you must understand…”

Spy cleared his throat again. His voice had gotten quite unstable all of a sudden.

“Intelligence is measured in different ways. Scout could never read even the simplest of children’s books, but his physical intelligence - reflexes, spatial awareness, aim - is phenomenal. Medic would have to put my spine back together if I even attempted to do what he does on the field.”

Informant snickered at the joke, or perhaps the image it conjured.

“And me,” Spy continued. “I can speak almost any language, adjust to any social setting, charm anyone, fool anyone…kill anyone. Just like you, I can remember, and I use the information I absorb mostly to show how superior I am to all my lowly colleagues.”

Spy furrowed his brow and looked away.

“But I know less about myself than even my enemies. I have hidden it so deep within my mind that I can hardly remember…or perhaps would rather not remember…who I was before this mask of mine.”

Informant hesitated. “I…I’m sorry, Spy.”

Spy sneered and puffed a few smoke rings.

“I don’t want your sympathy. I want you to have some self-respect - and respect for my teammates. Because next time you are beaten within an inch of your life, you might catch me in a less generous mood.”

With that, Spy got up, reached into his suit pocket and presented a small MediKit, which he tossed to Informant.

“I’d suggest freshening up before going to any more briefings.”

Informant nodded, and set to work healing himself.

Spy started to leave, then stuck his head back in.

“And hang a few posters, would you? Your office looks like a prison cell.”

Finally, the Frenchman took his leave, adjusting his suit and nodding solemnly to the team members he happened to pass - or scowling at them, depending.

He glanced over the security feed, and once he was satisfied, made his way to his smoking room.

Spy closed the heavy oak door, poured himself a small glass of scotch, and sat down in his chair next to the fireplace.

He put a magazine on his knee and began to flip through the pages, but his gaze soon started to wander.

He closed the magazine, tossed it into the fire, leaned into his hand, and wept.

…So what became of Informant?

Well, after a reluctant heal from Medic and a few well-deserved apologies, Informant began to try and break the cycle of self-sabotage.

The process took a lot longer than Recruit’s did - especially since Informant’s transgressions were a lot more egregious - but, little by little, they began to heal.

A lot of the time, the other mercs would have to tell them to tone it down a bit, or to cut him off completely if necessary.

Informant still almost has a panic attack if he doesn’t have the right papers, and his office is still pretty bare, but he took Spy’s advice - a few AC/DC posters hang on the leftmost wall.

As for Spy, well…he needs to have a talk with Medic.

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I am so sorry…this is all so messy and weird. One is so much longer than the other, and I’m not even sure half the dialogue sounds right.

The two headcanons were just typed out at different times, the first where I had less motivation and the second when I had more motivation. This wasn’t on purpose, it just happened.

I hope you still like it, though!

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officialleehadan · 3 years

Text

Sign Here

Hello darlings! Today is the last Prompt of Prompt Month! It's been such a wonderful time, and I love all the Prompts form everyone! Start thinking about your Prompts for December!

Today's story was brought to you by Kiliakit! Darling, thank you so much for your support!

Prompt: “I’m having a baby.” “Okay? That’s nice-“ “It’s you, sign here.”

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“So,” Doolie said dumbly as he stared at the woman before him. She was dressed in a lovely, frilly yellow dress, huge, fluffy ugg boots, and had the expression that said her sanity was on a fine thread already and getting finer. The reason for the dress, which was pretty but utilitarian, and the uggs, which were ugly, but looked comfortable, could only be her massively pregnant belly. “Uh. Time travel or paradox?”

“Can’t it be both?” the woman, apparently his mother, said with a harried frown. She handed him a sheet of paper and combed her hands through her hair until it was contained in a messy bun. He probably wouldn’t have believed her story, but seeing someone just step out of a magic portal had a way of making a believer of a man. “Read the document, honey. You’re gonna be my kid. I know I taught you better than that. Oh, and so you know it’s me, we just bought you Bell Bear. You still have him, I hope.”

“Uh, yeah. Also yeah, I’m an attorney. Sorry, I’m hung up on the time travel thing,” Doolie said. The reference to his childhood teddy bear, which had a little bell inside it, was a convincing argument. He started reading over the paper. It was a contract. Not a long one, with only a few short, and to-the-point clauses. “This… this is a contract certifying that I will not time travel back to the years of 1978 to 1985 why in the- oh. Yeah, I do look like Dad, huh?”

“Especially at this age,” the woman, his mother, said with a kind smile. He didn’t have any pictures of his mom from before his tenth birthday, but she did look like his mom. “We’re just covering our bases. Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll explain everything to you when you go ask me about this. We just wanted to make absolutely sure.”

“Right. So I’m gonna be able to time-travel?”

“Well, pretty much everyone in the family can. Where do you think we got all our money?”

Doolie stared at her. His mother rested a hand on her belly with a soft, fond smile for the child, him apparently, under her skin. Doolie went back to staring at her, and had to take a minute to make sure he wasn’t having a stroke and hallucinating. Maybe he got drugged? He did have lunch with that one senior partner who was kind of a creep.

“We’ve… we’ve been gaming the stock market?” he asked, both baffled, because he hadn’t thought his parents were that rich, and pleased, because well, that did explain the mysteries ‘grant’ he got that paid for his entire Harvard education. On that note… “Oh, I’m going to Harvard, so you know.”

“We’re already putting together your trust fund,” she promised him, and proffered a pen. “All done reading through it?”

“Pretty straight-forward,” Doolie admitted. He paused and scribbled in a few clauses of his own. “I’m adding in exception clauses in case I have to go back and save the lives of you, or dad before my conception, or myself as an infant, provided that I immediately identify myself as your son, and state the reason for my visit.”

His mother hesitated for a long minute, but then nodded, and took the pen back so she could initial besides his proposed stipulations.

“I don’t like it,” she told him with a sigh, and handed him a separate copy of the contract to add his changes, and initialed those too. “But there is precedent, I suppose. Alright. Just make sure to find us, or Gramp-Gramp and let us know what’s gong on. None of that ‘I kept it from you for your own good’ business.”

“I would never!” Doolie protested hotly, even as he signed both copies of the contract and handed one copy to his mother. “I’m a full disclosure kind of guy.”

“I’m glad to know I taught you well,” his mother said and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “You grow up so handsome. And you went to Harvard? Honey, that’s wonderful.”

“I graduated early, too,” Doolie told her, oddly pleased to make the mother of his unborn self so happy. “You- you’re a good mom. So you know. Oh. Uh, my first boyfriend. You kind of break us up.”

“Do you want me to make sure I do, or make sure I don’t?”

“Make sure you do. You also told me not to stick my dick in crazy when I was done being mad about it,” he said and laughed at the realization that he was engineering the end of his own relationship. “That was honestly really good advice. Oh, I guess it’s time for you to go, huh?”

A portal had appeared behind his mother, and she looked back over her shoulder, before she leaned over, carefully balancing her extremely pregnant belly and kissed his forehead.

“I’ll get rid of the boyfriend,” she said and smiled. “Be careful, honey. And go talk with me when you get back home tonight. I’ll explain everything to you.”

“Thanks mom,” Doolie said, and then he was gone, with only a signed contract, amended in blue sharpie, as proof that anything had happened at all.

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More Stories!

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jamespotterthefirst · 4 years

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All-Nighter (Ethan x f!MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2.9K Warning: Language and alluded sexual situations Premise: He’d do anything for her, even fly across the country on moment’s notice.

A/N: If Ethan had gone to Vegas to spend a full night with MC. Crack and fluff. Sorry!

12:26 am

Ethan had never understood the appeal of Vegas. The city, crawling with gaudy exhibitionism, reckless gambling, and rowdy party-goers, had always seemed a tad tasteless to him. Even in his med school years when his cohort planned a trip to sin city, Ethan had preferred to find solace in an overpriced drink at a bar off the strip and not dancing against strangers in a stuffy nightclub.

Now, he had been convinced (albeit too easily) to take a six hour flight to a city he would much rather avoid.

His phone pinged with a notification from her, reminding him of the adult rated texts that had inspired his impromptu trip.

Miss you. Wish you could see me in this dress.

Seconds after, a picture came in and Ethan almost dropped his phone on the concrete.

And finally, she sent one final, maddening addendum: Or out of it.

It was lucky for Ethan that he was already in the same city as her, one an elevator ride away from ripping that tempting thing off of her.

I'm outside, he texted back.

More than anything, he wanted to give in to the burning need to just have her in his arms.

------------------

12:48 am

As Ethan waited outside the casino she mentioned in a previous text, however, the flashing neon lights making it almost difficult to distinguish that it was nighttime, he held a different doctor in his arms. A very drunk Dr. Lahela had haphazardly collided with him only seconds earlier, throwing an arm around him after recognition hit. Ethan was still unsure if the gesture was out of comradery or to maintain his balance.

“Ramseyyyy,” he called out with a suave ease that was admirable in his current state.

Before Ethan could answer, Varma and Sienna Trinh appeared at his side. The former looked just as intoxicated as Lahela, though she was doing a much better job at maintaining her balance and dignity. Sienna, however, looked sober, or sober enough to figure out why Ethan was there for she threw him a knowing smirk.

“Dr. Ramsey,” she greeted casually over the noise of the busy boulevard. “I forgot Edenbrook sent you here because of our contract with Panacea.”

It was a feeble excuse to explain his presence to the other two. It didn't matter because neither of them was listening anyway. Ethan doubted they ever questioned why he was there in the first place.

Lahela's arm gripped him tighter as he swayed. “Dr. Ramsey, you have to come with us to the Sugar Factory. They have this drink called the fish bowl. It's exactly what it sounds like except full of candy.”

It sounded like a drink straight out of his nightmare.

“Lahela, tell me why—”

To his horror, the young surgeon's face lit up as he started singing. “Ain't nothing but a heartache.”

“Tell me why,” an equally drunk passerby added.

“Ain't nothing but a mistake,” Lahela continued as others laughed and joined in. By the time they were finished, all three residents laughed hysterically while Ethan remained unmoved, silently wishing he had stayed in the blissful quiet of his apartment in Boston.

He was reminded of why he had left the comfort of his home to venture into the wild five minutes after the group had departed for the aforementioned Sugar Factory. His eyes found her as soon as she stepped out into the street, clad in the sinfully short dress from her picture. The effect it had on Ethan felt like a punch.

Lilac spotted him too, her face alight with a combination of surprise and unrestrained elation. Before either of them could stop what was about to happen, she rushed into his arms. On instinct, he lifted her off her feet, their lips meeting in a kiss charged with promise.

“Hi,” she greeted breathlessly when he carefully set her down.

“Hi,” he returned, sounding just as affected.

“I had to come out here to make sure you were really here. I can't believe you actually came,” she all but exclaimed, voice laced with giddy happiness. It made his stomach leap pleasantly, inspiring a foolish grin he didn't care to fight back anymore.

“Me neither,” he confessed.

“Well, I'm glad you did. I like this spontaneous Ethan Ramsey who flies across the country on a whim.”

That admission sent a thrill through his body. He realized he'd do anything to see that winsome smile each time, even if it meant dropping everything and rushing to her side hundreds of miles away.

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1:32 am

“Eight, six, seven,” Lilac was saying over the roar of the fountains and the Celine Dion song. “Five, three, oh, nine.”

She waited for a hint of recognition, but as

she had suspected, the drunken frat boy did not understand the reference. Instead, he tapped the number into his phone and flashed her a sloppy smirk. “I'll call you later.”

Ethan appeared at her side after he was gone, shaking his head at her with a smirk.

“Your drink, Jenny,” he said, offering her a cup that looked to be more ice than drink.

Lilac laughed as she accepted it, her body gravitating to his side at once. A rush of dizzying joy almost overpowered her every time she realized she didn't have to fight that instinct here.

“Funny. That's the name I gave him too,” she said taking a sip. “He was insistent and drunk beyond comprehension. I thought it'd be easier to give him a fake number.”

“You gave him a song,” Ethan commented with a laugh. A rare, taunting grin illuminated his face, rendering him the handsomest man she had ever seen. “And you could've just told him you have a boyfriend.”

She arched an intrigued eyebrow, already moving into his embrace. “I have a boyfriend, do I?”

Ethan's free arm encircled her, casting a glow of warmth over her body. It could have been the small amount of alcohol in her system or this newfound energy that crackled between them, still fizzing with longing but considerably lighter than in the past months.

He nodded in mock seriousness.

“And is he the jealous type?”

Ethan genuinely scoffed at that, his fingers aimlessly caressing her bare back. It made her skin blaze where he touched her. “Jealous of what? A sweaty frat boy crass enough to hit on a beautiful but evidently uninterested woman? Believe me, there's nothing to be jealous about.”

“Case in point,” she laughed, raising herself to kiss his nose.

Ethan laughed too and took advantage of their sudden proximity to press his lips against hers, their kiss sweet and just as dizzying as the many desperate, passionate ones they had shared. When they parted, that fiery, striking gaze of his remained locked on hers, making her thighs quiver.

The song in the background reached its final notes as the jets of water disappeared into the dark pool glittering in front of the lavish hotel. The crowd began to disperse but Ethan and Lilac remained on the sidewalk, basking in a content lull, his arm securely around her and her cheek pressed against his chest. She knew without asking that he was enjoying this small allowance of being a real couple just as much as she was.

At last, her eyes fell on the replica of the Eiffel Tower across the street. In the span of a second, she wondered what it would be like to be in front of the real one, safely wrapped in Ethan's arms.

“I wonder how it compares to the real one,” she wondered out loud.

“I've never seen it but I'd wager it's not a true representation.”

For some reason, she found that surprising. “You've never been to Paris?”

“I've been for work but my time was spent doing just that. I didn't venture out much into the city to sightsee. To be honest, I didn't understand the appeal.”

The pause that followed suggested he wanted to add more but he remained silent. When Lilac pulled back from his embrace to look at him, she found those piercing blue eyes studying her intently.

“I know what we should do for that date you teased in your texts,” she said when she finally found the words.

It was Ethan's turn to arch his brow at her in interest. “I thought this was our date?”

“Yes, but we're in Vegas. There's so much to do at this hour. And besides, you promised me all night in one of your texts.”

The crooked smile he gave her along with the wicked glint in his eye should have been illegal. He leaned in and whispered darkly, “That's not what I meant.”

Five words and she was all over him, kissing him in ways that were inappropriate even for Vegas. They broke apart and Ethan looked at her expectantly.

“So what's this idea for our date?” he prompted when Lilac merely stared at him, lips still burning from his kiss.

“Oh, right. I was thinking since we were both two giant nerds who powered through med school and never traveled—”

At this, Ethan shook his head, amused.

“—we could each pick something to do here in Vegas that feels like traveling to somewhere remote.”

“But instead we'll be in a loud casino, surrounded by obnoxious crowds and exposed to secondhand smoke?”

Lilac rolled her eyes which made him laugh.

“Fine, I'll do it. But you pick first.”

---------------

2:17 am

As they glided through the clear waters, Ethan had to admit he could see the appeal in the faux gondola ride. Even if it was romantic, the critical part of him dwelled on the fact that the canals of Venice did not smell strongly of chlorine. He almost voiced the cynical observation out loud, before he remembered this was her idea and the last thing he wanted was to offend her. Although, he was certain Lilac would only laugh and playfully shove him.

But Lilac was not taunting him, which should have been his first indication that something was off. She wasn't even marveling at the painted ceiling of the casino or making snide comments about the high end shops at the edge of the water and the people who shopped there. Instead, she pressed firmly against his side, her nails digging into his shirt.

“Are you okay?” he murmured.

Lilac plastered on the weakest attempt at a smile. Ethan only waited until she dropped the act and said, “Is it weird that the water is freaking me out?”

Ethan considered that. “Are you afraid of open water?”

Lilac shook her head. “No, or I would have never suggested this. But once we got in and started moving, the water just looked terrifying?”

Ethan gave her reassuring smile. “We can get off if you want.”

Again, she shook her head with a brave determination that made his stomach flutter. She was entirely too adorable, even without trying.

“No, I'll be fine,” she said through a steadying breath. “I'll just refrain from looking at the creepy water. And I'll try not to think about what we'll do if this thing flips over.”

“Rookie, the water is three feet deep. If we capsize we can just...get up on our feet.”

Lilac's eyes moved to meet his at the words. They stared at each other in the golden glow of their surroundings, their expressions unreadable. The silent seconds stretched until they both dissolved into hearty and borderline hysterical laughter.

Ethan tried his best to sober up first, but when he was close to regaining his composure, he would meet her eye and then they'd both continue to laugh relentlessly. He was aware that they were drawing curious looks from the people observing from the bridges. Even the gondolier cast them a questioning look but said nothing.

Ethan didn't care.

It was the happiest he had felt in weeks, amidst everything that had happened.

They finally sobered and Lilac sighed, much more at ease than before. When she settled against Ethan, it was with her hand softly pressed against his chest, directly over the heartbeat that pounded fiercely for her.

------------

3:31 am

The plan had been to go dancing at the Egyptian themed casino, much to her companion's dismay. In the end, she won against his protest and Lilac was feeling particularly proud of herself for talking Ethan Ramsey into going to a nightclub. Then again, she hadn't missed how his eyes occasionally traveled along the expanse of her plunging neckline or how his fingers trailed along her exposed back whenever he held her. A lot of the credit was owed to the dress.

Which is probably why they never made it to the nightclub. Instead, they hastily detoured to the penthouse suite the leeches at Panacea paid for, their hands and lips on one another for the majority of the journey there.

Thirty minutes after ensuring they were truly alone, the miraculous dress lay pooled on her bedroom floor, completely forgotten. Meanwhile, Ethan moved against her in ways that made her scream out his name. As they both reached the peak, Lilac leaned in to whisper exactly what she wanted him to do.

With a grunt, Ethan obeyed wholeheartedly.

“Your turn,” she panted minutes later as she rolled off of him.

“As you wish,” he said, the words interrupted as he too struggled to catch his breath. “Although you know I prefer it when you take the lead.”

She laughed. “No, your turn to pick a place to go next.”

Ethan flipped on his side, offering her the sexiest grin. God, she was really thinking about sleeping with him again, mere minutes after the first round.

“I thought I picked this one,” he teased, his voice thick and heavy in ways that made her center pool with heat.

“We both picked this one,” she argued before she kissed him.

-------------

3:47 am

Ethan only pretended to consider their next destination. The truth was that he knew the answer since the moment she suggested it in front of the fountains.

They only had to leave the bed, a feat that was more challenging than it sounded.

Lilac, far more determined than Ethan, even got as far as slipping back into the lacy black underwear he had removed with his teeth earlier. The deliberately coy smile she sent his way when she realized he was staring, however, had his hands on her hips in seconds.

“Fucking hell, Lilac,” he murmured against her mouth as he pulled her on top of him for the second time that hour.

----------

4:59 am

After a third failed attempt to get out of bed, which resulted in both of them making good on the promises they made in their earlier texts, Lilac sat up in bed to look at him full on. She gave him what was supposed to be a stern, admonishing look, but she knew it was half hearted because he looked at her with such adoration that she broke a smile.

“No more distracting me. You're not getting out of picking, Ramsey.”

Ethan's eyes remained fixed on hers in the darkness of the room, his expression betraying no hints of amusement. Outside, the sky began to glow with the first rays of orange and pink, the promise of the sun's arrival setting the inky blue sky ablaze.

She frowned, noting the lines of exhaustion on his handsome face. “Are you tired? We can just stay if—”

“We're already here,” he said quietly. “The place I pick.”

“Bed?” she asked with a startled laugh. “Ethan Ramsey, you are almost a romantic.”

“Almost?” His mouth betrayed a hint of a smile. “I'm offended, Rookie. But no, as wonderful as we are in bed, that's not my choice.”

Ethan didn't elaborate, the small crease between his brows suggesting he was deep in thought. Every so often, his eyes flickered to hers, holding her gaze briefly before they moved away just as quickly.

“I'm not—” he started, stopped, and tried again. “I'm not good at this kind of thing.”

A slight flush colored his angled cheekbones, so endearing that she couldn't help but kiss him. In all honesty, she wasn't any better at any of it either, only suggesting the date idea as a clichéd way for them to spend time together in a faraway city. It hadn’t been her proudest moment but had Googled ideas the moment he said he was outside.

Nervous energy filled the room in their shared silence.

“The only place in the world I give a damn about is by your side, Lilac,” he said at last, the words quiet but powerful enough to make her pulse clamor like bells.

Ethan scratched the back of his head at her silence. “I was also hoping this goddamn penthouse had a balcony. I would've picked that as my date because of Miami and the first time we—”

Lilac interrupted him with a kiss, the force of it over balancing Ethan and sending him into the pillows. She didn't care that their kiss was unceremonious and far from romantic. All she was aware of was the growing, urgent need to kiss this cheesy, romantic, brilliant man. He laughed against her lips, strong hands steadying her on top of him.

“You're so much better at this than you give yourself credit for,” she informed him when they broke apart.

“Good,” he said, lifting his head to kiss the curve of her neck. “I was worried there was finally something I didn't excel at.”

------------------

A/N: Meanwhile, her friends are still partying somewhere on the Strip, begging Bryce to quit drinking while he’s ahead. Those fish bowl drinks are no joke.

Holy shit that was 3K of nothingness. If you made it this far, thank you!

This was loosely based on my experience(s) going to Vegas, although I don’t remember most of it. Again, those fish bowl drinks will destroy you lol.

Thank you to @aestheticartsx for your help with this mess!

P.S. Sorry about the dress in the pic not being the exact same one. I saw some that were close but the wrong color. Others were too crazy with that neckline. Ethan would’ve just dropped dead lol.

___________

New Tags: (Hope I didn’t miss anyone!)

@openheart12 , @takeharryandgo , @ethandaddyramsey, @trappedinfandoms, @aestheticartsx, @aworldoffandoms, @paulfwesley, @myusualnerdyself, @rookie-ramsey, @ohchoices, @colossalpainintheass, @enmchoices, @i-bloody-love-drake-walker, @choicesfanaf, @openheartthot, @octobereighth, @nazarihoe, @utterlyinevitable, @kites-in-our-skies, @maurine07, @schnitzelbutterfingers, @doilooklikeiknow, @snesdudes, @kingliam2019, @perriewinklenerdie, @cinnamonspongecake, @choicesstan1, @queencarb, @ethxnrxmsey, @missmiimiie, @jens-diamondchoices, @adamsdumortain, @mrsramseyy, @apphia12, @kalogh, @lucy-268, @binny1985, @queenbirbs, @honeyandsunfl0wers, @newcolonies, @lilyvalentine, @rigatonireid, @interobanginyourmom, @parkerattano, @custaroonie, @nikki-2406, @lilypills, @chasingrobbie, @nooruleman, @angela8756, @lonely-mxxnlight, @ruinedbypixels, @shadynaturehilariouscookie, @shadynaturehilariouscookie, @tsrookie, @mvalentine, @professorkingslay, @drakewalkerfantasy, @casey-v, @helloblueeyedcat, @mysticaurathings, @blossomanarchy, @thegreentwin, @togetherwearerapture, @rookieoh, @ramseysno1rookie, @rookiemarsswiftie, @natashajaniphil, @mysticalgalaxysstuff, @hatescapsicum, @choices-lurker, @kiara-36, @junehiratas, @danijimenezv, @macy-ray85, @adrex04, @canigetanawwjunk, @sanchita012, @overwhelminglyaquarius , @scorpiochick8, @skylarklyon, @starrystarrytrouble

Interest in this fic:

@udishaman, @a-crepusculo, @khayy19, @mercury84choices, @jlynn12273, @fireycookie

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #playchoices #my writing #ethan ramsey fanfiction #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction

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tatooedlaura-blog · 4 years

Text

Forgetting

Two in a row, I appear to be on a roll ... this is not for those under 17 and nsfw :)

Sometimes, you need to forget for a little while ...

@today-in-fic

************

It was a stupid retirement gathering at the end of the day, the best way *insert sarcasm here* to end Friday, in Mulder’s opinion. It became especially fun when the assistant director who was doing the retired pointed the pair out, commenting on the Amber Lynn LaPierre case, which he called the crowning achievement in his long and lauded career with the Bureau. Thanking them for their contribution to his legacy, both nodded, smiled, said their polite thank yous while inside, wishing they were literally anywhere but there.

Then came the inevitable discussion about the case, Scully plowing ahead, dealing with most of the comments until Mulder leaned into her, mouth to ear, “I’m going to head to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Nodding, she continued with her end of the present conversation, then two others before she realized he still wasn’t back. Excusing herself, she slipped quietly out the door. Wondering for a moment if he’d fled the building completely or just the room, she thought, then, for some unknown reason, decided to try the stairwell before heading to the basement. Opening the oft-used door at the end of the hall, a beautiful sunset greeted her as well as a lone Mulder sitting on the first step down, quietly contemplating the world while bathed in pink and purple hues.

Sitting carefully beside him, skirt causing minor issues, “I was beginning to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

Taking an impossibly deep breath before bumping shoulders with her, “do you think, maybe, this could be one of those nights where we get drunk and forget we work together?”

She’d asked him that exact question for the first and only time roughly four months earlier and with a moment’s hesitation to calculate where the nearest liquor store was, she returned the answered he’d been hoping for, “I think it needs to be one of those nights and you’ve got that liquor store on the corner so I vote your place.”

Bumping her a second time, he stood up, nodding his head in the direction of the stairs, “I think we’ve worked long enough today.”

She stood with just a little help from his hand, tugging her skirt straight, “agreed.”

&&&&&&&&&

She picked up the Long Island, the big pre-mix bottle, third shelf, second aisle, they shopped here a little too often, then headed to Mulder’s. Beating him there by ten minutes, she had time to clear the couch and coffee table of littered papers and hamburger wrappers, empty glasses and several pairs of socks. Smiling at the socks, she then filled the table with bottles of water, the Long Island (opened, aerator insert removed for ease of swilling) and a roll of paper towel because she knew he’d be stopping for Subway and they never sent him home with napkins.

Scully then had time to contemplate the first time they’d mentioned their question out loud. She honestly didn’t want to think about the string of events that led to her request but that night had been Rum and Coke and sitting on his couch, not sure how to start anything until Mulder said something so quiet she had to turn to hear him repeat his statement.

She ran into his mouth and from there, they’d spent a chaste 87 minutes alternating between drinking, making out, water interludes sporadic, straight rum by the end, coke chaser when they remembered until the week’s worth of tension left her shoulders, muscles warm and relaxed, lips swollen, hands never traveling below her neck except to turn her at the waist for a better angle.

Heads thoroughly spinning by the time the pair pulled apart in a mutually silent agreement that it was time, Scully went in for another kiss before looking at him blurrily, enjoying their warm, humid silence which Mulder only broke to ask, “couch or bed? I’ll take whichever you don’t want.”

Smiling at him, she stretched, much like a cat, limbs shaking, back curving, “couch is fine.”

Logistics figured a few minutes later, both were crashed in their respective beds, soundly asleep through the remainder of the night.

Mulder made it home a minute later, returning Scully to present day, and she took the bags of food from him, carrying them to the kitchen while he shed shoes, jacket, button down, leaving him in a crew-neck white t-shirt and mismatched socks. Following her into the kitchen, he grabbed the open bottle from the coffee table as he passed. Swigging deep, he handed it to her, “premix. I appreciate you more and more every day.”

“Why take the time to make it yourself when the Captain has done it for you already?” Seeing the forlorn expression still clear on his face, she turned to look at the counter, measuring up the height before glancing back at him, “help me up here, will you? I’d like to hug you face to face for once.”

Not about to question that request, he popped her up, allowing her time to adjust her skirt before handing her the bottle, “madam.”

Two gulps later, she angled the bottle in his direction, “for the win,” then waved her fingers at him, “come here.”

Obeying, he was in her arms, as close as possibly given counter and thigh restriction from skirt. Holding her had an instant effect on his blood pressure, his psyche, his heart rate and brain function, calm washing over him the longer he touched her. Not enough for him at the moment, however, he scooted her closer to the edge of the counter, skirt hiking up further, her thighs pressing his sides. About to do something about this, Scully did it for him, mouth on his neck, lips against pulse, tongue running lightly over skin. Kissing her way up his neck, across his jaw, she found his mouth, neck twisting for best access and without thought, legs locking around him, ankle hook completing the loop.

He would not be arguing.

Staying there another minute, he decided, given the course of the evening, to take creative license and wrapping arms around her waist, picked her up, moving her to the couch without breaking contact. She snagged the bottle as he moved them past it and knowing he had to set her down because sitting down with her like this would break her ankles and nobody needed that tonight, Scully grinned as she slid to the floor, her skirt staying stuck to her upper thighs. Another three deep swallows from the bottle, she handed it to Mulder, watching his perfectly sculpted throat down five, “next time we come up for air, water break.”

“Agreed.” Sitting right down on the couch, he expected her to drop beside him but instead, she wiggled the skirt a little higher and climbed onto his lap, “last time, I had a crick in my neck. I’m not dealing with that again.”

Hands firmly on her waist, he smiled, “I like your thinking.”

Mouth immediately back on his, he managed to keep his hands to himself until the liquor began buzzing his brain, separating thought from consequence but keeping intact decorum at its most rudimentary, his hands hesitantly shifting four inches above her waist, still above her shirt until Scully pulled back, whispering into his mouth, “I don’t mind.”

He didn’t take full advantage of the situation but the simple feeling of running his hands up and down her back made him feel like he’d just won the lottery, over silk blouse, ridge of bra back, imaginary outline of existing tattoo. Another few minutes and Scully moved away, lips red, cheeks pink, eyes bright as she reached behind her, breasts jutting into Mulder’s face, looking for water. Drinking down half a bottle, she handed the rest to Mulder, “it’s getting warm in here.”

Managing to keep his eyes mostly on hers, “that okay?”

Tossing the empty water bottle behind her, she then took up the Long Island, another two deep pulls before offering it to her partner, “very good.” After he drank, she deposited it back on the table and returned like a magnet to his mouth, her hands now in and through his hair, cradling his ears, thumbs running over temples, hips sliding forward until a minute later, she stood up, “I still have most of my faculties and I’m making a request.” She wavered once as the room tilted ever so slightly, “this skirt is irritating the hell out of me. Would you mind if I take it off?”

With a grin, he fell in love withher all over again, “no, that’s fine.”

“Thanks.” Skirt hitting the floor a moment later, her blouse hung low enough not to reveal anything of interesting importance and settling back on his lap, she nodded at him, “much better.”

“I’m glad.”

This time, when she re-settled, she re-settled closer to him, his obvious arousal at the whole situation not bothering her in the slightest, unknowingly grinding once against him before commencing with their previous activities.

Liquor working its magic, Mulder decided that given she was now in her underwear on his lap, that afforded him hands on ass, which elicited a tandem ‘hhmmmm’ from both and another inch hip-slide forward. Deciding what the hell, he then moved his hands up under her shirt, finding warm skin and bumping backbone, hands callous-rough as they danced over rib and ridge. Feeling her smile, he felt her leave his lips, moving down his chin to his Adam’s Apple, mouthing it several times before following down to his shirt collar, then sitting back, putting welcome pressure on particular parts, “it is only fair that since I have no skirt, you need no shirt.”

He loved that she lost her contractions when she drank. Apostrophes went out the window for some reason, all words spoken precisely and slurry but never contracted. Sitting up immediately, he pulled the offending garment off and dropped it to the couch beside them, “sounds fair indeed.”

Another two mouthfuls of Long Island for both, her hands ran immediately over his chest, her deep breath and stuttered sigh telling him more than words ever could, fingers playing over his nipples, tongue tracing his collarbone. It was when she gripped his sides and smashed herself down on him, favorite parts aligning, that he finally let out a moaning groan, “Scully.”

Whispering in his ear, “was that good?”

“If you’re trying to kill me, yes.”

Sitting back again, she wiggled a few more times, lighter yet oddly, more intense. Quick glance at the clock across the dimly lit room, she looked down at him, his gaze filled with unmistakable adoration, “it has been over an hour, need a break?”

“I will never need a break from you.”

Reaching back, she snagged another water, drinking half again and waiting until Mulder finished it to toss it the way of the first empty. Next, more liquor went down, bottle half gone at this point before, “would you mind if I took the blouse off? This thing holds heat like you would not believe.”

Words gone, head nodded, her shirt landed on the table, sweat glistening above and below white cotton bra but before he could process more than half a reverent look, he had her face pulled back to his, hands sliding down her slowly cooling back and right past the top of her underwear, bare hands on bare ass in under a second.

She did not complain, rocking a rhythm on him that was making him see stars.

Everything was logical to them up to this point. The logic of six years and half a bottle of Long Island Ice Tea but whatever and Mulder’s next suggestion followed their logical pursuit. It took a few minutes to form the idea, then the sentence, but pulling away from her mouth, whimpering either internally or for the world to hear, he had to share it with her, “um, so as much as I am loving this, there are parts of me that are dying because they are trapped, wonderfully so but still friction-ly, and are … shit, Scully, the zipper of my pants is about to cause some damage.”

“Hell. Okay.” She stood immediately and hips still moving in some sort of fluid motion which could very well hold Mulder’s attention until the end of time, he took advantage and lifting his butt, soon was sitting there in boxers, happy for relief and unembarrassed by his obvious reaction to her.

She admired for a moment, then settled right back on him, body pressed firmly against all available Mulder.

His hands moved to her hips, moving her against him, the rhythm of his mouth getting erratic as all attention moved elsewhere. Scully was having her own amount of trouble holding focus and when his hands moved to unclasp her bra, she could have sang the Halleluiah chorus had she thought to leave his lips.

Needing a final pull of liquor before anything else, she sat back on his thighs, three mouthful going down her throat first, then Mulder took four, capping the bottle and dropping it to the floor before his mouth moved not to hers again but to her breasts, taking in his dreamt of mouthful, other hand filled with other breast as Scully shut her eyes, shifting and sliding against him, parts finally making solid contact and she stood suddenly, swaying as she shed her last piece of clothing, then demanded Mulder’s boxers with a silent outstretched hand and begging eyes. Obliging, she was back on him, wetter than wet, rubbing hard head against aching clit, then, she slid back and forth against him, Mulder’s mouth latched back to her breast and his hands carrying her forward and back. Letting go of her, he told her, alcohol slur evident, “I am so close to that spot, Scully. Another inch and we could … just … we could.”

Leaning forward, she slipped her teeth around his earlobe, tugging lightly before sucking for a moment, then whispering, “there cannot be liquor involved when that happens. Sorry.”

There was absolutely no reason for her to apologize and he told her as such, “but can something else happen because unless you stop moving, it’s going to anyways and I’d rather have permission to do so.”

His strained voice made her grin and sitting back once again, she ran one hand down her belly and bracing with the other against his knee, she began rubbing her clit, “oh, I am good with everything else.”

Needing to ask one last time, “do you need any more Tea?”

“I have not got time for that now.” And she rubbed a little faster.

Wrapping his hand around himself, their knuckles kept bumping until they found a matched rhythm and as her muscles clenched and her head dropped back, he came as well, all over himself and her, not caring about anything in the moment but his Scully.

Then their combined mess along with the sweat generated by the last hour and a half suddenly got the better of his ass’s grip on the couch. She moved slightly, he shot forward, feet unable to catch him, and both, for a fleeting moment, wondered if there was an earthquake as they slid to the ground, Scully’s back sliding against the coffee table edge, Mulder’s bare butt landing on a crackling water bottle.

He managed to get an arm around her though, so she didn’t hit the floor at the worst angle ever and ‘sluggish but still there’ reflexes on her part had her move enough not to break his dick, softening but still hard enough to cause some trouble had it been bent sideways under her drunken weight.

Both then sat there in silence, until, of course, the giggles set in.

It took a good five minutes to get things under control and not set the other off with a simple look. Scully, now wrapped in one of Mulder’s many blankets, looked from the ¾ empty Long Island bottle to the water in her hand, “can I stay here tonight?”

Also in a blanket, and equally worried about the amount they’d consumed, he opened two more bottles of water for them, the world beginning to tilt again, “like I’d let you drive anywhere after that much Captain.”

Looking over at him, grin wide as she missed her mouth with the water bottle on the first try but making it the second, she swallowed half before speaking, “for a minute there, I actually did forget we worked together.”

“Me, too.”

Shifting up to give him a kiss on the cheek, she swayed into him, forgetting how to sit back upright momentarily, “now, if you would be so kind as to find me a pillow and another blanket, I am going to go clean up, then come back here and go to bed because if I do not lay down very soon, I am going to tip over even more than I am now.”

Contractions still gone, he knew she wasn’t kidding about the tipping thing, the alcohol coursing through her veins would have her asleep in seconds and sporting one hell of a headache tomorrow. Carefully standing, he got her up and to the bathroom, blanket firmly in place and then, collecting some pajama pants and a t-shirt for her, he handed them through the partially open door, ignoring the sounds of her peeing, then the water running.

Seriously, how many times could he fall in love in one evening?

Soon, she was back, curled on the couch, Oscar the Grouch shirt in place, blankets piled high, head deep in down pillow. Beckoning him to her level with her finger, he had to kneel, knowing if he leaned, he’d fall, “what’s up?”

“I love you, Mulder. You are my best friend and I love you.”

Kissing her forehead, he struggled to stand back up, “I love you and you are my best friend, too.” Pointing to the table, “I left you an empty pot so if you puke, do it in that, please, all right?”

“Do not forget one for yourself.”

Holding up his own, “got it. G’night.”

She was already asleep.

He would dream well tonight.

&&&&&&&&&&&

Since the curtains and blinds were closed, the light didn’t wake either of them until late afternoon. Scully was up before Mulder and after downing several glasses of water and what felt like a handful of aspirin, she opened her forgotten Subway, settling with it on the couch, remote in hand.

Mulde wandered out a few minutes later and stared at her for a moment, then retrieved his sandwich as well, grabbing the bottle of aspirin before sitting down beside her, tugging half her blanket over his knees, “hi.”

“Hi.”

“What are we watching?”

“The Flintstones.”

Giving her wild hair and dark hickey on her neck a good, long look, he aimed a grin at her, “mind if I join you?”

Taking in a matching bruise on Mulder’s neck and his dancing eyes, “your couch.”

Settling in a little better, he unwrapped his roast beef on white, “so, honest answer, please. Should we be embarrassed or anything about last night?”

Scully thought while she chewed, then smiling crookedly, “the only thing I’m embarrassed about is having ended up on the floor.” Looking at him critically, “what about you? Honest answer.”

“Mostly I’m unnerved by how much my ass was sweating, in all seriousness.” Taking his first bite, he felt calmer than he had in forever, “want to stay over again tonight?”

“Sure. I hadn’t planned on leaving this couch until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Mexican for dinner?”

“As long as they deliver.”

“They do.”

Mid-chew, she leaned over and kissed his t-shirted shoulder, “yay.”

#msr #nc-17 #a wee bit of smut #actually more than that #but whatever #xfiles fanfic #xfiles #MulderNScully #My writing

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talesofstyles · 4 years

Text

Quid Pro Quo

Another lawyer!Harry. Technically six years before this piece. Enemies to lovers with plenty of angst :))) [7k]

massive thank you to @smokeinherperfume @for-fucks-sake-h and @emotionally-imbruised 🥺💛

This has got to be one of the worst weeks of your professional life.

It’s only Thursday and this past week you haven’t left your office before eleven every night. You’re currently working on nine cases, two of which require immediate action, and you’ll most likely have to go to trial for at least three of the cases because the motions to dismiss that you filed were denied. Last night alone you didn’t get a wink of sleep because you were busy preparing for a deposition this morning, which turned out to be practically useless, because your client completely ignored your advice and said everything you told them not to and basically shit the bed for you.

You know this is what you signed up for when you decided to become a lawyer at a top law firm in the City. Clifford Chance is not a joke, there’s a reason why they’re number second in the UK and you knew that long before you even started working here. There’s a common knowledge which most law students throughout the UK knows, that if you work at Clifford Chance, you don’t get to sit around. Put it this way: if you let six minutes tick away without achieving anything, you’ve wasted the firm fifty pounds. Twelve minutes: one hundred pounds. Eighteen minutes: one fifty. You do the math.

It’s not that you hate your job. On the contrary, you absolutely love your job. You know you’re good at it. You love the thrill of negotiation. You like to argue and make the best point in the room. You’re addicted to the adrenaline rush of closing a deal, and frankly, nothing satisfy you more than spotting the loopholes in a contract (with the exception of sex of course but it has really been a while and you’re practically a nun these days so it’s not even worth mentioning).

But sometimes it’s just too much. You’ve been working for fifty five hours per week, and sure, the money’s good (scratch that—the money’s great), but you don’t have a life outside of work and you’re beginning to realise that it’s one hell of a price to pay.

The truth is, you know all this nonsense is not because you hate your job, nor because you’re stretched too thin. Interestingly, you actually thrive under pressure and you know that’s one of your qualities that makes you a good lawyer. And life outside of work? Even the thought of it makes you laugh. Your work is your life. You’ve never complained about that. This bitterness inside of you that you don’t even realise exists emerged when Harry Styles waltzed into your firm three months ago. You don’t normally make a big deal about people coming into the firm, because you’re good with people and you’re friends with everyone. But the thing is, you resent him because your firm gave him a senior partner title right away, one that you’ve been busting your arse for by working about two hundred hours per month minimum for the past year, just because he came from your firm’s rival which happens to be the number one law firm in the UK. And on top of that, he didn’t come empty handed. He brought five big clients with him when he came knocking on your firm’s door, and that sort of sealed the deal for your managing partner to choose him instead of you to be promoted to senior partner this year.

Bloody bum licker.

Your frustrated groan bounces off the thin walls of your two bedroom flat that you shared with your best friend and you accidentally slam the door a little too harsh. Luckily, she’s used to you coming home in such a state for the past three months, so she just turns her head to see you from where she’s sat on the couch in the living room, stifling a laugh.

“Harry Styles?” She ventures, smirking at you and you groan in annoyance as you throw your keys in the bowl.

“Harry,” you grunt. “Fucking Styles.”

Fran can’t help but laugh, and you give her a look that tells her you’d probably kill her if she keeps that up as you walk past her and straight into the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine from the fridge, so she’s back trying to stifle her laughter.

“Alright,” she replies, you can hear amusement in her tone. “What did he do this time?”

“He took my case!” you snap as you plop down on the couch with a bottle of Riesling in your hand. Fran puts her laptop on the coffee table and turns to face you, sitting expectantly, waiting for the oncoming rant. “He’s just- ugh. I can’t stand him, Fran. He’s unbelievable.”

“What?” She stares at you in confusion. “How?”

“So Luke came to the office this morning-”

“Luke-”

“Don’t-” you cut her off before she can finish her sentence. “I know what you’re about to say, and yes, that Luke. So, he came to the office this morning because he’s got a problem. Basically, his company just cut a huge deal but he needs to get out of this contract because his general counsel accidentally let them slip something into the fine print.”

“Shit,” she remarks. “That is a fireable offense.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “The guy was fired on the spot. The thing is, if Luke fulfills this order, he goes out of business.”

“And if he doesn’t,” she pauses, looking at you for a second before adding another remark. “Shit, they’ll sue him for breach of contract.”

“Exactly,” you sigh. “I’ve been at it all day trying to spot loopholes in the contract to save his company.”

You really miss working together with Fran. You’ve been living together since you were both still in law school, and Fran used to work in Clifford Chance as well until ten months ago when she decided she wanted to focus on fashion law and moved to Addleshaw Goddard.

It’s not that you’re not happy for her. You’re glad she found something that she’s passionate about. It’s just you’re so used to working on cases and going to mock trials together and you can’t deny that you miss it sometimes. You just wish that she’d stayed, because you know it would be much easier to handle Harry if you’ve got your best friend with you.

“Right,” she nods. “And I’m guessing Harry came to you and he wanted in?”

“That bastard!” You scowl. “He just waltzed into my office out of the blue and was like, ‘I gather Luke Whiteacre needs to get out of something? I want in.’ I mean… who does that?! He didn’t even say hi when he walked in!”

Fran snickers at your terrible impression of Harry. She hasn’t met him yet but she knows there’s no way he talks like that. “And you’re upset because he didn’t say hi?”

“Fran!”

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” she hastily amends. “Look, maybe he’s just trying to help? He’s not taking your case, babe, believe me. You’re still on it, aren’t you?”

“Well, I am,” you let out another sigh.

“See?” She goes on. “And even if he tries to, Luke wouldn’t let it happen. He’s been your client since forever.”

“Still. I don’t like the fact that he thought he could just walk into my office and hijack my case,” you say in exasperation. “I’m gonna kill him, Fran. I swear to god I’m gonna kill him.”

Fran burst in laughter, muttering your name in a chastising tone. “Don’t. You won’t look good in prison stripes,” she shakes her head. “Really rubs you in the wrong way, doesn’t he?”

“Absolutely,” you roll your eyes.

“Come on, babe,” she continues with a smirk. “I’ve said this before, you need to shag him. Take out all those frustrations…”

“Keep that up and I’ll put your name on my people-to-murder list next to his,” you grunt, standing up from the couch and head towards the kitchen hoping to find some treats from the snack cabinet.

Fran giggles as she takes her laptop back onto her lap and begins typing. “Let’s go out,” she suggests. “Been a while. You look like you could use a night out.”

“I can’t,” you slump against the couch with a bag of chocolate buttons. “He’s on his way here.”

“What? Harry?” She looks at you in surprise. “Why?”

“Yeah,” you shrug carelessly. “We need to work on Luke’s case.”

“Have you still got some condoms in your room?” She says teasingly. “I’ve got some just in case you need them. Just-”

The sound of the doorbell rings cuts your best friend’s teasing remark. It’s definitely Harry, and you give Fran one last death glare and Ross Geller’s version of middle finger as you get up from the couch and walk towards the front door to let him in.

“Hey,” he greets you with his usual smug smile that irritates you to no end. “Lovely flat you’ve got here.”

“We better get started,” you say dismissively as you close the door behind him before you lead him into your living room. You suddenly realise that it’s your first time seeing him not in one of his expensive suits. Not that you care enough about him to notice that. It’s just he happens to be wearing a lot of Jermyn Street suits, and you know they don’t come cheap.

This time he’s only in his crisp white button-up shirt, with the sleeves rolled up just below his elbow. His arms are full with folders that you asked him to take from the office, and as the two of you walk into your living room, you see Fran turning her head to greet him. “Hi.”

“Hey, you must be Fran,” he smiles as he strides to the couch.

“And you must be Harry,” Fran replies, before tilting her head to smirk at you. “Heard a lot about you.”

“Have you now?” Harry chuckles. “Only good thing, I hope?”

“Oh,” Fran can’t help but snort. “Only the best.”

You end up ordering Chinese because neither of you have had dinner, and Fran ends up helping both you and Harry on the case in the living room. Even with three heads brainstorming together you’re still struggling to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

It is now past midnight and you and Harry are still working on your case. Fran has gone up to her room a little over two hours ago, leaving just the two of you in your living room. Your coffee table is strewn with photocopied draft contracts, financial reports, note-pads covered in scribbles, post-its and two cups of cold coffee from four hours ago that both of you keep accidentally drinking. Take-out boxes are littering the floor, and you can barely keep your eyes open as you read through yet another file to find literally anything which could potentially help.

“I tell you what, this is ironclad,” you let out a heavy sigh as you throw the document on the coffee table in defeat. “Houdini wouldn’t even get out of this contract.”

“We need to adjourn,” Harry suggests, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Regroup tomorrow to get to the bottom of this with clear heads. I’ve got a trial at half nine but I’ll be done by noon.”

“I can’t rest before we figure this out,” you state stubbornly, pausing for a second to let out a yawn. “But you go home. I’ll let you know if I’ve got something.”

“No,” Harry shakes his head. “You have to rest. If you were to come up with something you would’ve by now.”

You feel a stab of indignation. “Are you saying that I’m not capable of getting to the bottom of this myself?”

“Fuck’s sake,” Harry says in exasperation. “How did you even come up with that? I was just saying you’re knackered, well we both are, so we’re not thinking clearly. But you know what? If you wanna keep going, that’s your decision. But I’m not going to.”

“Well, I never asked you to!” you retort defensively.

Harry rolls his eyes as he gets up from your couch, heading towards the door without saying another word and you can’t help but groan in annoyance. With Harry, you’re quite capable of going from calm to seething in 0-60, and you’re too pissed to even notice Fran stifling her giggles from the kitchen.

“Oh, yeah,” Fran appears in the living room with a glass of water in her hand, staring at you with one eyebrow arched high. “There’s no tension there at all.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, give it a rest!”

***

By two o’clock you’re already exhausted and brain dead after only three hours of sleep and non-stop work since this morning. You haven’t even had lunch yet, but even just the thought of eating already makes you nauseous because you can’t stop thinking about how crushed Luke is going to be when you tell him that he’s going out of business. Truth be told you don’t want to jump that far, but what Harry said last night keeps replaying on your mind like a broken cassette. ‘If you were to come up with something, you would have by now.’ And here you are, twenty-eight hours later, still have got nothing.

Speak of the devil.

“Where have you been?” Harry asks in a prickly tone as he walks into your office. His brows are knitted together and he looks concerned. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Honestly, a ‘hi’ would be nice.

“I’ll tell you where,” you shift your attention from your computer and look at him. “I was getting screwed by Berkeley Group and trying to figure out what to do about it.”

Harry gives you a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

“I went there with a dozen win-win offers and they shot down every single one,” you say stonily.

“Did you threaten litigation?” asked Harry, a bit superciliously.

“Harry, I threaten them with everything but the kitchen sink,” you flash him an incandescent look. “The thing is, this contract is airtight and they know it.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Harry says promptly with a glint of hope in his eyes. “And this won’t make Luke go out of business.”

“What you on about?”

“Slicing and dicing,” says Harry with a smug smile.

You flash him another incandescent look. “Are you telling me that your big brilliant idea is to split his commercial division from his retail?”

The glint of hope disappears from his eyes as he looks at you. “This is the only way out.”

“Cutting someone’s arm off is not a way out!” you practically shriek.

“It is if their life depends on it!” Harry yells in frustration, the volume of his voice matches yours and you can’t help but notice two associates stop for a second just to have a peek at you and Harry having a screaming match before they continue walking past your office.

“Look,” he begins again, and you know he’s calmed down a little because he’s not as loud as three seconds ago. “If we do this, we have a chance to get Berkeley back to the table before we cut anything off.”

“Listen to me Harry,” you venture after a pause. “I’m sorry but we’re not going back to Luke with this bullshit. Thank you for your help so far, but you’re off the case.”

“What?” Harry turns to you in disbelief.

“You heard me,” you give him a dismissive blink that makes him feel like an insect. “I’m taking back this case.”

You turn your attention back to some random document on your desk, pretending to read carefully, not daring to meet his eyes. Luckily he leaves your office without saying another word after a second or two of pause, and you slump back further on your chair as he slams your door behind him.

For the rest of the afternoon you’ve decided to keep yourself busy with your other cases, but you know deep down you won’t be able to focus on anything else before you get Luke out of the woods. You can’t let him go out of business. You just can’t. Not only because you’ve been looking after his company for years, hell you were only an associate when he first became a client, but you also saw with your own eyes how his company grew. He was only just starting his business when he came into your firm, and you witnessed it firsthand how he nurtured it into the big and successful company it is now.

On a side note, you also can’t stop thinking about what happened in your office earlier. Sure, you and Harry don’t particularly get along like a house on fire, but you didn’t have to be so rude, did you? His approach to the problem might be different than yours, but deep down you knew he was only trying to help.

So on your way to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea, you decided to stop by his office. You know you owe him an apology.

“Hi,” his door is open but you decided to knock anyway. “Mind if I come in?”

He looks up at you instantly, pushing his chair a little further away from his desk to break his attention from his computer. “Of course not, come in.”

“Look-”

You both say simultaneously, before breaking into a chuckle.

“Let me go first,” he begins with a smile, which for some reason doesn’t look smug this time and you nod. “I owe you an apology. I’m sorry. That case is yours to begin with, and I should’ve trusted you to bring it home how you see fit.”

“Well I’m sorry too,” you add hastily. “Guess I let my emotion get the best of me back there. I was rude when you were only trying to help.”

“Hey, no need to apologise to me,” he replies without flickering. “I absolutely understand.”

“It’s just,” you continue as you saunter to his desk. “Luke was my first client. Ever. The first time I went solo on a case, it was for his company. I just can’t let him down.”

“Look, we don’t know that yet,” he assures you gently. “And even if it comes to that point, it’s not your fault. If anything it’s the general counsel’s fault.”

“Holy shit-” you say suddenly. “Harry!”

“What?” he looks at you in confusion.

“The general counsel didn’t just make one mistake,” you go on as you look at Harry with glimmering hope. “He made two, he never ran the final contract by me.”

“Holy shit he didn’t,” Harry remarks. “Because he knew you’d catch any mistake. So he didn’t make a mistake…”

“No it was on purpose,” you can’t help a pleased little smile coming to your lips. “Isn’t it a coincidence that he just signed a contract to work at a subsidiary of Berkeley?”

“This is brilliant,” he replies excitedly. “You’re brilliant.”

“Say that again?” you joke.

“No, you need to get them on the phone right now,” Harry gives you a rictus smile. “And I need to find us some bloody champagne.”

***

Harry grins as he walks into your office and asks, as though you’re mid-conversation. “Have you made the call?”

“Ooh, that’s a good one,” you grin when you notice a bottle of Moët & Chandon in his hand. “Where did you get that?”

“Leftovers from the Christmas party,” he chuckles as he quickly opens it . “How’s it? What did they say?”

“Well, the contract is back exactly the way it was,” you begin, giving him a smug smile for a change. “Well, with a twenty five percent increase.”

He looks at you suspiciously, one of his eyebrows arched high. “Twenty five?”

“Fine,” you roll your eyes comically. “Forty.”

“Bloody hell,” he chuckles. “You don’t mess about, do you? Remind me to never mess with you.”

You laugh and take a sip of the champagne. “We need to celebrate this.”

“Do you wanna go out?”

“Oh no, I’ve got something better,” you smirk as you hand him a folder. “Take a look.”

Harry takes the folder promptly and begins skimming through the documents, occasionally taking sips of the champagne in between. “Aha, you need to get out of a deal.”

“Exactly,” you grin. “We need to get out of a deal I negotiated for a mobile payment app with our client’s credit card provider.”

“This is a three years deal and you’re only three months in,” Harry observes as he continues skimming through the files.

“Well, that’s what makes it fun, innit?” your grin widens.

“Oh, absolutely. This is fun,” his eyes twinkling in delight. “You don’t have any legal grounds to do it. Have you got something in mind?”

“Mhm,” you hum as you take another swig of champagne. “I think if I can find a reason to pay into a trust instead of to them directly then we can squeeze them…”

“Make them take a buyout,” Harry adds.

“Look at us finishing each other’s sentences already,” you make an elaborate gesture with your champagne flute and Harry gives you a shrill laugh.

“We’re best friends now, aren’t we?”

You retort at once. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Alright,” says Harry, his eyes still flashing with amusement. “That’s a good plan by the way. What do you want me to do?”

“I need precedents by noon.”

“You’ll have them on your desk by nine am sharp,” he smirks.

***

Harry keeps his promise.

When you arrive in your office at a little over nine, there are six folders from Harry waiting for you on your desk, which means that he didn’t only get you one or two but six precedents for the new case that you’re both working on. This is the boost of confidence that you need, because today you’re scheduled to go to the judge’s chamber and meet with the lawyer on the opposing side. Who knows, maybe this will be a quick one and the case will be over by the end of the day.

Well, that’s a nice thought. But in order for the case to be dismissed, the lawyer from the opposing side needs to show up here first and foremost. You’ve been sitting in the judge’s chamber for nearly fifteen minutes now, and he has warned you about ten times that if the other lawyer doesn’t show up, he would have to deny your motion to dismiss.

“Hello, sorry I’m late,” a voice pipes in from the door, and when you turn around, you see a woman with a smug smile that reminds you of Harry’s, clad in L.K. Bennett from head to toe walks into the room. She offers you a hand before she sits down, and you politely reach out yours for a handshake. “Camille Sweetings, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Have you now?” you give her a mocking smile as you begin confidently. “Well, you haven’t lived up to your obligations and according to these six precedents, we have the right to nullify this entire deal right now.”

You really don’t like the look on her face. Any other lawyers would at least be slightly ticked to hear that, but she still has the same smug smile across her face. “You don’t have the right to do anything, you’re in violation of your contract.”

“Paying into a trust isn’t a violation,” you frown.

“No,” she agrees. “But meeting with the competition is.”

You can’t see your own face, but if you do, you’re most likely to look like you’ve just seen a ghost. How did she even know that? You try to remain calm and look at the judge. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

“No,” she’s smiling as she says the word. “You just didn’t know I’d find out about it. Your Honour, I’ve got a confirmation that YN YLN has engaged in a pattern of dirty tricks, unethical behaviour and borderline illegal activity. All in the name of ‘representing’ her clients.”

Your rage simmers up into a froth. “If you’re gonna say all that about me, you better damn well be able to back it up.”

You want nothing more than to rip off the smirk across her face as she hands two files to the judge. “Here are two of Ms YLN's old cases. There you’ll find settlements withheld and meetings with the competition.”

“How the hell did you get these?!” you exclaim indignantly. “Your Honour, my past cases have no relevance here.”

“No, but your answers to my question do,” he says sternly. “Did you or did you not meet with the competition last week?”

***

You stride back into your office furiously. Who the hell was that woman? You didn’t even know her yet she apparently knew a damn lot about you. Nobody even knew you had a meeting with the competition last week, so there has got to be something bigger going on yet you just can’t seem to figure that out.

You begin to realise maybe this whole case isn’t a good idea and you silently promise yourself that you will never take on anything with getting out of contracts or deals or basically everything that Harry is good at ever again. This isn’t your thing, this is Harry’s. Your thing is everything that has everything to do with mergers, acquisitions, all that, just like Fran’s thing is everything with fashion law. This whole thing is really stressing you out and you plan to speak to Harry when you get the chance later today to just hand him the case.

Speak of the devil.

“Hey! How was the hearing?” he sounds jovial as he walks into your office with a bright smile. “Should I get another bottle of champagne for tonight? Of course when I say ‘get’ I meant ‘steal’ from downstairs.”

“The judge bit my head off,” you scoff.

He flashes you a quizzical look. “What? Why?”

“The other lawyer found some dirt about me,” you begin, already seething as you picture her face with that bloody smug smile in your head. “She found two of my old cases and said really nasty things about me to the judge. And before you say anything, no, I didn’t do anything illegal. But I’ve got to admit it was unethical.”

“Shit,” he looks at you, concerned. “Look, there’s no way they could’ve found all those shit just like that.”

“That’s what I’m thinking about,” you reply at once. “There’s got to be something bigger going on. This is a desperate move, I tell you.”

“I agree,” he nods. “It sounds shady, and in my experience the other side only does something like this when they’ve already done something even shadier.”

You look at him with a glint of hope. “So you also think they’re hiding something?”

“Yeah,” he sounds so sure. “And don’t worry, we’re gonna find it.”

“Good,” you remark. “Because there’s no way in hell I’m gonna let bloody Camille Sweetings get the better of me.”

“Wait, who?” this time, it’s Harry who looks like he has just seen a ghost. The colours have drained from his face, and you look at him in confusion.

“Camille Sweetings,” you repeat yourself, wrinkling your nose in disgust because you hate the sound of her name rolling out of your lips. “Why? Do you know her?”

“Have they put my name on this case?” he ignores your questions.

“Yeah, yesterday,” you frown. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

He takes a deep breath before he begins, looking at you in the eyes. “She and I, well, uh, we were together for a while.”

“What?!” you can’t hide your dismay. “Fucking hell, Harry. As if this isn’t complicated enough!”

You lapse into silence for a few seconds, neither of you knowing what to say.

“I think this is personal,” he ventures after the pause. “Look, if you want me off the case now, I completely understand. I won’t fight you. But I hope you don’t because you need help now more than ever.”

“Just,” you pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. “Please get out of my office.”

***

By nine pm you’ve already come up with three win-win offers, yet Camille bloody Sweetings gives you a shrill laugh every time and shoots down every single one. Honestly, she is the female version of Harry. They make a great couple, those two shady bastards. They should’ve gotten married and make a couple of shady children.

“Sod off, Harry,” you say without even moving your head from looking at your computer, but you know he’s standing in front of your office, probably waiting for the right time to come in. Honestly, he might be a brilliant lawyer but he sucks big time at a simple game of hide and seek. Behind the wall? That’s a toddler-level hiding spot.

“No,” he insists, finally walking towards your desk. “I wanna help.”

“I told you I don’t need your help,” you give him a dismissive blink that makes him feel like an insect.

He says your name sternly, making you look in his direction and finally meets his eyes. “Believe me, you do. You think I’m shady? That bloody snake is ten times worse. You need help, and I don’t care what you say because I’ve just checked and my name is still on the attorneys listed.”

“Fine,” you concede. “Take a look at this. This is as best as she could get yet she bloody refused them all.”

Harry takes the files from your hand and quickly skims through the documents, muttering one or two profanities under his breath before he puts them back on your desk. “You know what, we’re going out tonight.”

Is he joking?

“My arse is on the line here in case you haven’t realised,” you look at him in disbelief. “She pulls shit like this again, it’s gonna cost me my license.”

Your name rolls out of his lips again and he looks at you without blinking. “Come on, we need to blow off some steam. We don’t do that, we’re gonna kill each other.”

Three hours later, you feel like you’ll never be able to get out of the comfiest bar stool you’ve ever sat on. You’ve never been to Hawksmoor, but Harry swears this place is good even though it’s filled with boring bankers with their ties stuffed in suit pockets (not that Harry’s tie isn’t also stuffed in his suit pocket, but, you know, at least he’s not a banker), so you followed his lead and let him take you here.

The salvaged furniture, low lighting, comfy seating and charming staff make it an easy place to settle into. Sitting beside you is Harry with his neat whiskey, which you realise that he hasn’t finished when you’ve already had three refills of your gin and tonics. Your head is most likely going to fall off tomorrow morning, you just know it.

“Argh,” you groan. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Right now?” Harry deadpan. “Huge quantities of alcohol.”

“Sod off,” you playfully nudge his shoulder. “By the way, you’ve got more ex-girlfriends lawyers I should know about?”

Harry laughs, his eyes crinkled and shining. “I’ll send you a list.”

“Good,” you mumble against the edge of the glass, before taking another swig of your drink.

“How about you?” Harry is smirking at you, one of his eyebrows arched high. “Any lawyers you’re seeing that I should know?”

You laugh. “I don’t shit where I eat.”

“Shut up,” Harry looks at you suspiciously, still with a huge shit-eating grin. “You’re telling me you’ve never got involved with anyone at work?”

There’s silence.

“Shit,” Harry remarks. “Who was it?”

You exhale sharply before you answer. “Luke.”

Harry takes a gulp of his drink. “Well, that makes sense.”

“You don’t even know which Luke I was talking about,” you frown. “You could be wrong, you know. There are millions of Lukes.”

“Oh, of course it’s Luke Whiteacre,” he chuckles. “Didn’t go to law school for nothing, did I? But I’ve got to say, it finally makes sense.”

“Don’t say anything to anyone,” you say sternly, starting to realise that you’ve probably made a mistake of telling him. “It was a long time ago anyway.”

“So, how was he?” he’s grinning.

You can’t help but laugh. “Are we having a girl talk right now?”

“No,” he shrugs carelessly. “Just wanna know how he was.”

“You want me to go into details?” you tease, and even though he doesn’t say anything, you know he’s glad you’re not as tense as a few hours prior. “Cause I could. What do you wanna know? Stamina? Girth? Technique? I could go on…”

“Ew!”

You’re laughing so hard that you nearly fell off the bar stool if Harry didn’t quickly catch you, and you realise this is the first time your arm brushes against his, and for a second you’ve both stilled, but you ignored it because this doesn’t mean anything. You’re both drunk anyway. “Why did you break up with she-who-must-not-be-named?” you peer at him.

“We had a pregnancy scare,” he says, looking down for a second at his drink before taking another swig.

“Shit,” you gape at him. “Was she-”

“No, she wasn’t,” he shakes his head. “But it made me realise that she’s not the one I want to spend the rest of my life with, let alone actually having children with. So I called it off.”

“Sorry,” you can’t help yourself from chuckling. “But you made the right decision. Don’t have a baby with a snake.”

“Don’t apologise, you’re right,” Harry joins you in laughter. “How about you and Luke? What happened?”

“Work got in the way,” you drain the rest of your drink before motioning for the bartender to get you another one. “I was only an associate back then so I worked so hard to get junior partner. And his company wasn’t as big as it is now so he was working crazy hours too because he was trying to expand it. We saw each other about three times a month for half a year before we called it off.”

“Three times a month?” his eyes widen in surprise.

“Mhm,” you hum, mouthing a thank you to the bartender as he hands you another drink. “We were besotted but we just didn’t have time for a relationship.”

“Do you still-”

“What? No,” you laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. The ship has sailed now.”

“Good,” he smiles at you, before hastily corrects himself. “I mean, good for you.”

You take another big gulp of your drink before you push it away. “Alright, playtime’s over,” you smirk at him. “Let’s get back to work.”

“Are you joking?” he gives you a quizzical look. “It’s nearly midnight and you’re drunk.”

“I just need two cups of coffee and a cold shower and I’ll be fine,” you reply as you hop off the bar stool, he quickly reaches his hand out for you to hold. “Let’s go back to my place so I can have a quick shower.”

“Let’s go to mine,” he offers. “Technically Maida Vale is closer from here than Hammersmith.”

“Are you trying to take me home, Styles?” you deadpan, your voice a little slurred. “Should’ve bought me dinner first, don’t you think?”

“Hey, I’ve bought you lots of dinners,” he retorts.

“No, Styles,” you shake your head, chuckling. “Clifford Chance bought me dinners. Been using the company’s card, haven’t you?”

Harry laughs. “You’ve got me.”

***

In under an hour, you’ve arrived at Harry’s flat, had a cup of coffee, and a cold shower just as you requested. You’ve ditched your work dress and slipped into the clothes that Harry had laid on his bed for you; a blue Mickey Mouse t-shirt and a pair of black shorts, and when you walk into his sitting room, you see him sitting on his plush sofa with some clipped documents in his hand.

Your eyes dart around his flat once again as you plop yourself down on his sofa. He’s got a great taste, you’ve got to admit, because his flat is lush. It’s on the fourth floor of a beautiful, red-brick, Edwardian mansion which Maida Vale is well-known for, and the inside is modern meets classic. The gray panelled walls blend nicely with the elegant patterned wood floor, and the cream curtains really tie the look of his flat altogether. It really is a gorgeous flat, not to mention the white marble en suite and his really neat, sparsely decorated bedroom.

“Alright,” you begin, taking a document into your hand and begin skimming through briefly only to put it back on the coffee table in less than thirty seconds. “I’ve been at it all day, we’ve been at it for a while and it’s getting us nowhere. I think we need to shake down some employees.”

“And that’s all well and good,” he turns to look at you. “But if we don’t know what to ask, we’re not going to get any answers.”

“Yes we will,” you insist. “They don’t know what we don’t know, do they?”

“They don’t know what we don’t know…”

“That’s literally what I just said,” you frown.

“No,” he shakes his head. “Look, I’m saying according to this report, their accounts are growing by 200% a month.”

“Wait a second,” you remark. “If that’s true then why are they clinging to this deal like it’s their newborn and I’m Herod?”

“Because maybe they’re not really growing by 200% a month,” Harry adds. “Look, March, 5 million new users, but 60% of these card holders don’t even seem to know they have the cards.”

“Holy shit,” your eyes widen in surprise. “The people are real, but the accounts are fake. Harry, this isn’t just shady, this is the type of shit that lands someone in prison. And if Camille knows all this…”

Harry grins. “Wait til the judge sees this.”

“The judge?” you look at him suspiciously. “Why don’t we just leverage them into letting us out?”

“Because, darling, we have the upper hand now,” he says, still grinning. “We can’t give her a chance to get it back.”

“Harry, if Camille has anything to do with this it would ruin her,” you warn him. “I can’t let you do this to someone you once cared about.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about her,” Harry says harshly. “Not anymore. If she doesn’t want to be ruined she shouldn’t have gotten involved in this. And she damn sure shouldn’t have fucked with someone I care about.”

“What?”

“You better get some sleep,” he jerks his head towards his bedroom. “We’re going to the court first thing in the morning.”

***

Harry’s bed has got to be one of the comfiest places on earth.

He gave you his bed for the night and opted for the couch, which you bet just as cosy so you didn’t really feel bad. When you wake up, he’s already clad in his white button-up shirt and black trousers, swinging the fridge open to get a freshly squeezed cranberry juice.

“Morning,” he smiles when he notices you as he pours some coffee and juice for both of you. “Have some toast.”

“You know how to treat your guest with a good breakfast, don’t you?” you tease him as you look around the jars on the breakfast nook. There are several kinds of luxury marmalade, strawberry jam with champagne, wild blossom honey and even Belgian chocolate spread. Honestly, who is this man?

“No hangover?”

“Surprisingly, no,” you chuckle. “I mean my head is pounding of course but it’s not too bad, nothing I can’t handle.”

“You want some nurofen?”

“No thanks,” you shake your head and take the cup of coffee from Harry’s hand. “Harry, we need to talk.”

He sighs. “You’re gonna try to change my mind, aren’t you?”

“I am,” you nod as you look through the jars of fancy jams, trying to choose one, before going with just salted butter instead. “I can’t let you do that. She might be a snake but I’m not. We’re not.”

Harry just look at you in silence, and you continue.

“If we do this, then what’s the difference between us and her?” you go on, trying to sound convincing. “We’re better than that. We’re good people, you know.”

“But we’re going to make her pay,” he finally concedes and you smile. “Really make her pay.”

“That I agree,” you nod. “Okay, I’ll just go home quickly to get changed then we’ll meet at the office? Need to pay her a visit don’t we?”

“We can just go together,” Harry suggests. “We’ll stop by your flat then we can go straight to that snake’s office.”

***

“Are you crazy?” Camille flashes an incandescent look at both you and Harry. “I sign that, my client will be on the brink of bankruptcy!”

“So you rather go to prison?” Harry frowns and you try to stifle your giggle. “I mean, it’s your choice, but-”

“Fine!” she says in exasperation. “I’ll sign it. But give me your word this wouldn’t go out of these walls.”

You hand her the file and pen, and as she’s signing it, you can’t resist yourself. “You go near me or my clients again I swear to god you are dead fucking meat.”

Harry can’t help but chuckling, and you both don’t waste another minute in Camille’s office before you head out with smug smiles plastered across both of your faces.

“You’re a badass lawyer,” he compliments you as he opens the passenger door for you.

“Stating the obvious there,” you smirk as you slide into his car and buckle up your seat belt. “But thank you, you’re not a shit lawyer yourself.”

“Since we’re passing compliments, shall we do it over a drink?”

“Drinks, Styles,” you shoot him a savage smile. “And you’re buying. Not Clifford Chance.”

Harry laughs, closing the car’s door. “As you wish.”

gif

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurbs #harry styles drabbles #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #lawyer!harry #harry styles au #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles ff

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highladyluck · 4 years

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Mat’s Types, or On Tricksters

I recently made a joke about Mat's 'type' essentially being the Shadar Logoth dagger, and while I stand by it, I also think there's a lot more to it than that. I believe Mat actually has two types, which is entirely appropriate for a trickster archetype. One of his types is playful, joyful, generous people, who reflect his early- but persistent- personality. The other is sharp, powerful, existentially dangerous people, like the person he becomes over the course of the series. Like a raven- itself a trickster figure in Haida storytelling- Mat is attracted to shiny things, mirrors, and death.

But first, some definitions. I'm calling Mat a trickster archetype, so what is that? The trickster archetype is built on a kind of dual contrast. To trick someone, you must change things in a surprising way. Tricksters introduce chaos into an ordered system, or reveal order in what was thought to be chaos. (It's not surprising, or a change, to add order to order, or chaos to chaos.) So tricksters are transformational, liminal figures, who defy expectations and subvert the preexisting order- but who therefore *require* predictions and structure to have any kind of impact or meaning at all. Playing a game requires there be rules; revealing a loophole requires there be a contract.

Within this definition, there's still a huge range of characters you can call tricksters, and it's useful to categorize them across spectrums. One axis of a trickster is "effectiveness", which refers to the trickster's ability to effect change; this is 'incompetent to competent', 'foolish to canny', 'harmless to dangerous'. Another axis is "motivation" which refers to the trickster's ethical structure; this is 'good to evil', 'generous to selfish', 'just to unjust'. There's another kind of axis that's related to motivation, which I'll call "comprehensibility", and which refers to the trickster's transparency of motive; the range there is 'knowable to unknowable', 'familiar to alien', 'clear to mysterious'. If you wanted to chart them all I'd make effectiveness the horizontal x-axis, motivation the vertical y-axis, and comprehensibility the z-axis perpendicular to both of them, but this is starting to get into 'gesturing at the wall map with crazy eyes' territory and I'm mostly just going to be talking about effectiveness and motivation anyway, so let’s move on.

Tricksters can be foolish figures, always getting caught, often the butt of their own joke. That's our early impression of Mat- a prankster who never really seems to get away with anything, or a fool caught in a trap of his own making. Mat is also generous, insofar as he has apparently been rescuing people his whole life, plus he's very 'easy come, easy go' about money, and has a decent instinct for gift-giving, whether those are compliments or actual physical presents. He has a strong sense of justice that puts him at odds with people who have (unearned) privilege and who are abusing power, and he loves verbally trapping people into confronting their own hypocrisy.

He keeps these traits throughout the series, but he also develops ones on the opposite side of the axes. Stealing the Shadar Logoth dagger is the catalyst for Mat's development from 'harmless, benevolent trickster' to 'dangerous, morally complicated trickster'. It literally overwrites first his personality, and then his memories. While he gets the personality back- sort of- he never gets the memories back, and his quest to do so sets him on the rest of his path.

By the end of the series, Mat has undergone enormous trauma and developed a much stronger sense of self-preservation. He becomes a canny and multi-talented figure, a brilliant tactician and strategist, a dangerous enemy to have. He's most selfish and cruel when under the influence of the Shadar Logoth dagger, but it turns out he's also never been in the rescuing business for free, he wants to be needed and will get a little pissy if he isn't (although to his credit, he respects people's wishes if they say they don't want to be saved from themselves.)

His greed for adventure and shiny things was what got him into trouble with the dagger, and he never quite loses his appraiser's eye (or taste) for luxury goods. And Tuon is entirely right to name him 'Devastation' or 'Ruin'; he's constantly blowing things up, killing enormous amounts of people directly or by proxy, and while everyone in this series commits war crimes, he's got the dubious honor of having another character (Teslyn) actually say to his face, "You know you just did a war crime, right?"

Mat spends the early books- when he's in good enough health to do so, and has the opportunity- pursuing women, wine, and song, and I mention them all together because that's the vibe he's going for. Mat genuinely loves flirting and dancing for their own sake, as fun things to do with receptive people, and that extends to sexual activities as well. It's a joyful, generous, playful way of interacting, and Mat's joie de vivre seems to attract people with similar attitudes.

Yes, Mat sometimes puts his foot in his mouth, but he's not actually disrespectful of anyone else's agency, so he's doing better than the rest of the Two Rivers boys. He doesn't make assumptions about whether there will be a next interaction or not, or how far each interaction will go; each step is negotiated with input from both players, which makes it a kind of game. Mat doesn't have long-term relationships with these fun, playful people, but he's not looking for that, and neither are they.

The other kind of people Mat is attracted to are what I'll call 'dagger people', who are sharp (smart, competent, possibly literally an edged weapon), powerful, and existentially dangerous. It is *possible* that Mat might have acquired this taste without the Shadar Logoth dagger's influence. He likes battles, he likes adventure, he generally treats women as respected equals, he might have gotten to 'date a woman who can kick your ass' all on his own. But Mat loved that Shadar Logoth dagger, they had a whole entire fucked-up relationship, and when they broke up he got a bunch of rebound knives and also some sharp, powerful, and existentially dangerous people's memories shoved into his head. Like calls to like, blood feeds blood, etc.

And boy, does Mat find these ladies, or more accurately, boy, do these ladies find him. Case in point: Melindhra, the sexy darkfriend Maiden of the Spear. I think Aludra partially fits, too- sharp, confident if not powerful, dangerous (though not so much to him as like... the world.) Mat isn't pursuing or attracted to either Joline or Tylin, but they also fit this description, and they definitely pursued him. (I'd love to add Lanfear to the list of 'dangerous ladies who made passes at Mat' but I can't quite do it with a straight face.) I don't think Mat's thing for dagger people really reaches its full flower until he starts getting to know Tuon, though.

Mat spends much of the series looking for both his types, and tends to find either one or the other, but not both in one person- until Tuon. Like Mat, Tuon is actually both these types in a sometimes uneasy coexistence. For all their many differences, they think about each other much the same way. They both find each other very layered and confusing, but also are surprisingly quick to trust each other, which is striking in people who are very suspicious, in a fraught situation, and on opposite sides. I think most of the reason they trust each other is because they have the same very contractual personal honor system, where 'my word is my bond'. That's a trickster thing; tricksters have to keep some kind of rules, or how else will they play games and know whether they've won or lost? But their rules can be hidden or idiosyncratic (that's the z-axis, comprehensibility) as you see in 'bargains with the fae'-type situations. Personal honor is also a feature of royalty, though, where the personal and political are bound together, and a person's promises can be treated as legal contracts, as well as honor-based societies in general.

Mat and Tuon take their promises to each other very seriously, but are also always both looking for loopholes so they can get the upper hand. They also are both following the script of prophecy, which I mention because they both devote a lot of time to subverting their own expectations about how exactly that prophecy is going to play out. Mat buckles down and says “I’m going to make this come out in my favor somehow, even though it’s not what I wanted,” yet he’s still surprised at how and when Tuon completes the marriage ceremony; Tuon does not find Mat anything like she expected, and she also is surprised at her own feelings for him. Near the end of the series, they take a break from playing tricks and mind games on each other, and instead bluff everyone else on the battlefield, tag-teaming their trickster powers for one last surprise attack.

Ok, so how is Tuon Mat’s first type, playful, joyful, and generous? She loves playing games with Mat, both actual literal games like stones, but also their weird flirting/power plays. She's super competitive, because anyone who wasn't who was in her shoes would be dead, but she's a good sport, "satisfied when she wins and determined when she loses". She's also got "mischievous" smiles, and turns the tables on Mat in a super trickster-y way, writing the letter that puts everyone in the circus under her protection except for Mat and his crew; which means he and his coterie are still 'not safe' and thus he has to keep travelling with her rather than bringing her back to Ebou Dar right away, by the terms of their promise.

Mat gives us really lovely descriptions of her in moments of joy, and one of the first things we learn about her is that her genuine smile makes her look completely different from the normal Resting Bitch Face she affects for self-preservation reasons. She's generous in the sense that she's (often) willing to consider other points of view and give people second chances, when others in her position wouldn't and don't. She has the generosity of privilege, which I admit is not the most laudable form of generosity, but it's still a form of generosity. She also has a natural compassion and merciful impulses that have been trimmed and hemmed and twisted into only the forms her society deems socially acceptable, but they're still there.

I have less of a job to do proving that Tuon is a 'dagger person'. You remember how I joked about 'sharp' meaning 'literally an edged weapon'? Well, I don't know how else I'm supposed to interpret "Tuon’s right hand swept across, bladed like an axe, and struck [the footpad's] throat so hard that he heard the cartilage cracking". SHE'S LITERALLY A WEAPON. MAT HAS FINALLY FOUND A REPLACEMENT FOR HIS SEXY EVIL KNIFE. :') She's also super smart, super canny, and a snappy dresser to boot. She's one of the most powerful women in the world, and by the end of the series Mat is absolutely into it. (The bit where he's like "She's so good at giving orders! *heart eyes*" is simultaneously hilarious and alarming. I get it- I simp for Kuvira from Legend of Korra, I can't throw stones at anyone who’s like ‘hot evil Empress, please step on me’- but there's a time and a place, Mat.)

And, of course, she's an existential threat to the world, Mat's family and friends, and (theoretically) Mat himself. The Seanchan Empire, despite not being bigoted towards the Tinkers and having pretty good gender equality, is committing massive human rights violations left and right, thanks to the slavery, channelerphobia, and imperialism. As a tool of the Empire, unless he works on extricating himself, Mat's going to be culpable for that (he already is, really, but it could be worse), which is a stain on his soul that I don't think either he or the readers want. Being a tool of the Empire is an existential threat to Mat's idea of himself as an independent agent and good person, and I guess also an existential threat to his life since he's getting all those assassination attempts from his coworkers. (I am excluding Tuon from the assassination attempts; as I've mentioned in a previous essay, her threats to Mat are not serious and are in fact a form of deranged flirting.)

Tuon and Mat are both dual-axis tricksters, in their way. Tuon- or I should really be saying, Fortuona, Lady Luck- is more on the bringing order to chaos side, and Mat falls most characteristically on the bringing chaos to order end of things. But they switch roles- Mat shores up the proper order of things when he reminds Tuon to keep her promises, and Tuon is often a chaotic influence at court, with her mercy or willingness to change her mind. They also both understand what it's like to be both a person and an archetype- Mat worries about losing his individual choice and freedom by becoming a hero, and Tuon worries about becoming too vulnerable and individual to be the strong and impartial hand she thinks the Empire needs.

They've also both experienced their instincts and worldview being overwritten by external forces; for Tuon it's been happening since birth and she's almost entirely embraced the process; for Mat, it was the consequence of a choice he made and he fought it every step of the way. They have very different responses, but they've experienced weirdly similar 'erasure' experiences. And they both have good and evil impulses entwined in complicated ways. Tuon is a survivor and a monster; a preserver and a destroyer; a person and an empire. And Mat builds a relationship with her when- and because- he accepts that he is both a lover and a fighter; generous and thieving; a person and a weapon. You may not like it, but this is what peak narrative compatibility looks like.

#wheel of time #wheel of time meta #meta #mat cauthon #tuon paendrag #mat/tuon #problematic fave tuon #trickster #tricksters #'I had more thoughts on my one-line joke so here is a follow-up essay' should be inscribed on my tombstone #it's about the ARCHETYPAL DEPTH #RJ gave me a 7-layer-dip of mutually reinforcing thematic parallels and my poor little 14-year-old literary tastebuds never recovered #mat/dagger

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unwritten-ravenclaw · 4 years

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Rescue - George Weasley

Summary: George rescues you from a creepy crawly

A/N: Inspired by real events, dramatised to make this lengthy enough to post. Except instead of a cute guy it was my mum who rescued me and I played Taylor Swift to stop freaking out and sleep. so yeah.

Warnings: arachnophobia, descriptions of a spider, spider killing?

You had just had the most relaxing bubble bath after a long day on your feet. Dressing in your comfiest set of pyjamas, you grabbed the book you were currently enjoying and settled into the big comfy armchair your husband had so chivalrously brought up to the corner of the room. He had done so on the condition that you would sit and read when you couldn’t sleep instead of watching him while he slept, which he insisted was weird. You had agreed to this condition, but of course you couldn’t help glancing over the top of your book and taking a peek at him as he dozed.

Despite the fact that it was a big house, you and George were usually in the same room. Most nights when he would sit in his study doing paperwork you would sit on the other side of the room and occupy yourself with this or that. But tonight you opted to be in the bedroom so that when you could no long keep your eyes open you could take two steps and fall into bed.

You weren’t sure how much reading you were going to be able to manage tonight; you were quite tired and you’d stayed in the bath so long that you had that heavy, waterlogged sort of feeling. You’d cracked your book open and read the same paragraph four times when, out of the corner of your eye, you saw something move near your feet. Your eyes flicked up to inspect it and instantly brought your feet up onto the chair as fast as if the floor was suddenly burning.

It was a spider, a large brown one with thick, long legs. As soon as you had moved it had stopped dead in its tracks. Smaller spiders you could cope with, but this one was about three sizes up from those. Reaching for your pockets you realised you had none. You gazed around quickly before spotting your wand on the bedside table - on the far side of the bed from you.

You could feel your heart hammering, not the least bit emboldened by the inner voice telling you that this fear was irrational. Your thoughts were moving as fast and your nerves were pulsing throughout your body. If you put your feet down to retrieve your wand, or any other kind of defensive weapon, it would likely move, which was the last thing you wanted. On the other hand you could probably jump from the chair to the bed, but what if it still decided to move and climbed onto the bed with you via the duvet which was dangling on the floor? You sent up a silent promise that from this moment on you would never leave your side of the bed unmade again.

You were staring at the spider intently so that if it did move you would see where it went, but the longer you looked at it the more creeped out you became. With a helpless whimper you hugged your knees tighter to your chest and deferred to the only sound plan you had.

George’s hand was cramping from all the documents he’d been filling out. He decided he’d take a break from writing and read through some of the contracts that were starting to pile up. Fred was never really one for contracts, quill poised to sign without having read the fine print, so George had taken up that responsibility. He just didn’t understand why they couldn't be straight to the point instead of drawing out terms with unnecessary flair and words that were not used in everyday language.

His eyes began to grow weary as they trekked through line after line, the words blurring together as his chin pressed heavily into the hand that was holding it up. He kept fighting it, every time his eyes fell shut he would pry them open and start again, but it was no use. He sleepily thought perhaps he should go to the kitchen for a snack to wake him up, remembering the sweet samples crammed into the back of the cupboard.

“George!”

George sat upright, suddenly more awake. For a moment he though he might have imagined it, but his imagination wasn’t that good. The distress in your voice made him panic. He stood up in a hurry, almost knocking the chair over. He raced upstairs, taking them two at a time, trying to keep his mind from horrible scenarios of what he might find when he reached you.

When he found you he saw nothing but his wife in her favourite chair. He scanned the room but found no evidence of anything amiss. He began to make his way over to you, but when he took a step into the room you squeaked. “What’s wrong?” You still didn’t look up so he followed your unwavering gaze and spotted the cause. “Oh, my love. You do know this is one of those run of the mill garden spiders, not an acroman-“

“Yes! George, please, if you love me just kill it!”

“I’ve left my wand downstairs, I’ll be right-“

“No! Don’t you leave me, George Weasley!”

“Alright, alright!”

One of the spider’s legs moved and you flinched. You had been looking at it so long you were well into a case of heebie-jeebies. George reached for a slipper close to him and you looked up.

“Not mine! Use one of yours!”

His eyes widened before replacing the slipper and grabbing one of the bigger pair. “For someone who desperately needs saving you sure have a lot of demands on how it should be done,” he was only joking, which he conveyed in his tone of voice, but you’d had such a long day, your nerves were frazzled and George noticed the signs that you were on the verge of tears. “It’s okay, darling. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. I’ll get him now, okay?”

“Thank you,” you sobbed quietly.

By now you were almost transfixed, and though George was here and was going to deal with it, though your eyes were burning with strain and you didn’t want to see the wretched thing for a second longer, you found you couldn’t look away, paranoid about the creature escaping and turning up elsewhere.

George raised the slipper and took two steps forward, the floor creaked under his weight and the spider scuttled about an inch across the floor before halting again, a few legs raised as if challenging George to attack. George’s eyes swiftly checked on you, your face was in a grimace but you had not moved an inch, although he thought he’d seen you shiver. He renewed his grip on the tattered slipper.

“I can’t watch,” he heard you say, but you only closed one eye and did not turn your face.

George was at once endeared and sympathetic to you. He was only a few steps away and he wanted to reach for you and comfort you, but instead he focused on the task at hand. This time he would get it done and put you out of your misery.

The slipper cut swiftly through the air and delivered a convincing ‘thwack’. Finally he had been quicker than the creature. He was pretty certain it was dead, but he gave it another blow just for serenity’s sake. As the shoe hit the second time, the spider was thrown into the air in front of you and with cat-like reflexes you launched yourself onto George and he caught you awkwardly, dropping the makeshift weapon and instinctively taking a few steps backwards, so as not to topple over with the sheer force of your pounce.

Your legs were clamped around his waist like you were holding on for dear life and George suppressed a chuckle. He brought a hand to caress your head soothingly, admitting to himself the warm glow in his chest at being, of sorts, your saviour. When your breathing settled and his knees could no longer bear it he set you down on the floor. You turned to see the carnage and winced. The critter had lost a few limbs and was crumpled up defeatedly. You would’ve felt sorry for it had it not just ruined the night that was meant to have been relaxing.

“All better?” George inquired softly.

Taking in a deep breath you replied, “Yes.”

You were exhausted, yet wide awake, your body unsettled. George moved in your peripheral vision and you almost jumped, your heart picking up speed again as he pressed a kiss to your temple. When he released you, you’d made up your mind.

“I’m sleeping downstairs tonight.”

“Wh-“ George looked between the dead spider and you. “Babe, it’s dead. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Determinedly you swiped your wand off the nightstand and headed for the door, grabbing George’s hand on the way. “You’re sleeping downstairs too.”

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasely imagine #george weasley fluff

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redhoodieone · 4 years

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Wrong Number Part 2

A/N: Here’s Part 2! Uh…I don’t really know what to say other than…enjoy it! Hopefully, I can post Part 3 sometime next week.

Warnings: Language, Sexual Content, Text Message Nudes, and Mutual Masturbation.

I’m in complete shock. I know I’m frozen because I can’t literally take my eyes off the text message Jason sent to me. It’s clear; it’s in black and white, staring right at me.

Do you ever think we’ll meet each other?

He wants to meet me. Jason wants to meet me in person!

I want to text him back, but my mind is full of many ridiculous questions and the fears of Jason being a serial killer, or rapist, or just an insane Arkham escapee blows up in my head.

Before I knew it, I see the three bubbles on my screen.

I’m sorry. That was selfish of me to ask you that even though we’re still practically strangers to each other. Forget I asked, please?

My heart suddenly hurts like fuck. The pain I’m instantly feeling is very familiar. A broken heart?

It’s pure agony when I notice Jason texting me again.

I’m not going to be able to text tonight, sweetheart. I’m working late with my brothers. I’ll text you tomorrow. Have a good night. Sweet dreams.

I can’t believe I did this. How could I do this to a guy who’s been so funny, so sweet, and such a good friend in only just four days through text messages?

I seriously fucked up. And now I have no one to talk to until I fall asleep.

And as strange as it is, I only sleep well after I talk to him.

————————————————————————------------------------------

And true to his word, Jason texts me at five in the morning, only to let me know he made it home safe after working with his brothers.

We only spoke about our jobs once. He told me he works alongside police officers and tracks down criminals and helps brings justice to the city. He seemed almost hesitant to tell me and turned the conversation to me as if he doesn’t like talking about work. He made it clear that he would rather keep his work private, and I didn’t push him to tell me more. I didn’t want to ask a lot of questions, even if I’m sometimes curious about it, because I wouldn’t want to make him uncomfortable about it.

I had told him I’m a waitress at the local diner just a block away from GCPD, and how I’m a late-night writer who dreams of publishing my novel on love and loss. And after I confessed about the book I wrote to Jason, I noticed he was very enthusiastic about that and even told me he wants to read it.

And as the shy and insecure person that I am, I became embarrassed and said no.

That only fueled the fire between us. Jason went on to explain he loves to read. His favorite literature consists of Shakespeare (particularly Hamlet), George Orwell’s 1984 and Animal Farm, and even poetry from Edgar Allen Poe.

He even went into depth of how The Tell-Tale Heart mirrors his own reflection of life and stuck with him during a depressing time in his life.

It wasn’t until after we shared our love for literature that I found myself falling for Jason. As ridiculous and insane as that sounds, I couldn’t help but feel as if he’s the missing piece in my life.

It’s as if he’s the words to my story.

Important, but very valuable to a writer.

I was basically on a high that had me grinning like an idiot, giggling like a moron, and jumping in my seat as my stomach twists and turns like a roller coaster, when Jason refused to take no for an answer after I said he couldn’t read my novel. He even said his dad has connections to businesses in Gotham and could even help me get it published.

As much as I would want that, I couldn’t help but feel that it seems too good to be true. What if his dad took my novel and publish it as his own? What if I get cheated out of a contract and didn’t get paid fairly like I should? What if it’s basically a soul-sucking scam to just fuck my entire life up?

Jason must have sensed my hesitation after that, because he then began to tell me about his brothers.

How his older brother Dick still treats him like a kid, even though Jason is taller and stronger than him.

How his younger brother Tim is a computer nerd and often geeks out over the oddest things.

And how his youngest brother Damian is really a demon spawn, who tries to be tough shit, but is really a soft teddy bear.

He even has a sassy but wise butler, Alfred, who frightens him and sometimes reminds him of Vito Corleone from The Godfather. But the older man loves Jason as much as his dad, Bruce.

The stories about Jason’s family are the best. I always find myself excited to see what he texts me about his family.

How he and his brothers fight over their dad’s car, how they wrestle and spar to see who’s the strongest one, and how whenever one’s in trouble, the other three are already finding ways to save or bail the troubled one out.

It all makes me feel good to know they’re a close family. Especially when my cold, harsh reality reminds me I don’t have a family.

My parents died when I was just fifteen years old. I was in the school library alone during afterhours; reading on a beanbag chair because I didn’t want to go home. At that particular time, my parents were hanging around a different crowd. A crowd that was into drugs and gambling, and possibly other illegal activities I don’t even know about.

So, I chose to stay in the school library that night, sitting in my favorite beanbag chair the librarian allows me to use, reading a favorite horror book, munching away on a hot pocket (a snack also from the librarian), and just enjoy the silence but comfortable environment I would call home.

Then I was told they died in a car accident, but after eavesdropping on Commissioner Gordon and the other cops, I heard there could have been a hit on them.

The car accident happened only a block away from our apartment.

The brakes were cut.

The car was burning too much oil.

The airbags were taken out.

Many noticeable factors couldn’t pinpoint the real crime. Eventually, they just called it a “car accident”, and everything fishy about the case was ignored and never brought up again.

I suffered and struggled a lot in foster homes until I turned 18. I didn’t have any other family members to get into contact with, so I had to make do with the foster care system. After being shipped to three unstable and cruel homes, the last family only dealt with me until I turned 18 and I was soon kicked out. I did get lucky enough to get a job at the diner I’m working at since the new manager needed a pretty young girl to serve the customers.

I even went to Gotham Community College for a year but dropped out when I couldn’t pass any math and science classes.

It was fucking hard.

Science was confusing as hell.

Math was just evil and useless.

I hated those classes so much.

I only passed my English classes because reading and writing only made sense to me.

I even took a creative writing class and poetry class only to discover I want to write.

I want to be a writer.

So, I dropped out of college and decided to work full time at the diner as a waitress. Since no one wants to live and work in Gotham, I’m lucky enough to work morning and night without any issues. As dangerous and scary Gotham can be, I have nowhere else to go, so that’s why I stay here.

Maybe that’s why I’m eager to meet Jason. After everything I’ve been through, maybe I do need a little unpredictability.

Chances.

Risks.

The more I consider meeting Jason, the more I can imagine him being my family.

Or being a part of his.

Maybe.

————————————————————————--------------------------------

“You’re not going to meet him, right???” Stacey raises her voice at me in sheer annoyance and panic. She crosses her arms and glares at me to answer her. “Right, Y/N???”

I sigh as softly as I can while wiping down the booths and tables for the night. In the midst of a battle, I find myself growling with irritation when I can’t wipe away the sticky maple syrup spills on the hard surface.

“He could be a fat, old man who picks up on teenage girls! He’s probably some 40-year-old loser who still lives on his mom’s basement playing Street Fighter with kids! What if he tricks you into meeting up in a hotel room and has his way with you? Then what, Y/N?! Does that sound like a good idea to you?!” Stacey snaps.

I exhale deeply and stand up straight; after leaning over the table to reach the opposite side for some time. Turning around, I face Stacey Patterson, a tall, petite, pretty blonde, fresh face girl straight out of high school. She’s a waitress like me, and after only working here for a year, we’ve become close friends; always looking after each other in dangerous Gotham City.

“I didn’t say I was going to meet him, Stacey. We’re just talking about it,” I answer timidly.

Despite being five years older than Stacey, she still intimidates the hell out of me. Whether it’s her 5’11 height, loud voice, or natural evil glare, I can never speak up or defend myself. No matter how hard I try, I just can’t take a stand.

Because what if I actually piss her off? What if she stops being my friend?

Because I don’t think I could live in Gotham and not have any friends and not know anyone.

Stacey is like my best friend, and her friends Amber and Holly hang out in our group. Stacey even says they’re my friends, too, even though I clearly know they only put up with me because of her.

And if Amber and Holly aren’t my friends, then I’ll just have Stacey. And if I don’t have Stacey, I’ll only have Jason.

And who knows if Jason is who he says he is, and if he’s even real.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Y/N! You’re totally thinking about Jason! You’re thinking about meeting up with him because I could see it in your eyes!” Stacey declares. She waves her arms around to emphasize her point. “You like this guy! You have feelings for a guy you’ve never even met!”

“That is not true,” I argue weakly.

“Yes, it is! And we don’t even know if it’s a guy!”

“Jason is a guy, and I can tell!”

“Oh, really? How? Do tell.”

I stare at Stacey with a serious expression, except my cheeks are burning with embarrassment as usual. “He...comes off like a guy. I know he is. I can tell through his text messages,” I say.

“Anybody can sound like anyone through text messages. That’s how people catfish victims online!” Stacey argues.

“I’m a writer, Stacey. I just...have a feeling, okay? I know Jason says who he is, and I believe him,” I say strongly, as I push a lose strand of my hair behind my ear. “I’m doing this the smart way, too. When he and I decide when we should meet up, I’ll let you know. Maybe we can make it a group thing. I bring a friend. He brings a friend.”

Stacey sighs in defeat when she realizes I’m not backing down. She glances up at me with a stern face. “Fine. When you two decide when you’re both going to meet up, I’ll be there. I’ll be there to make sure he’s not on America’s Most Wanted, and to make sure he doesn’t try to lure you to his mom’s basement. BUT...you have to go on a date. A REAL date with a guy we both know, AND who could be good for you,” she states loudly and clearly.

“But Stacey-”

“Hey! Only until this Jason guy comes to Gotham and we meet him! Until then, I want you to give this guy a chance. A fair chance! For me...please???” Stacey pleads. She pouts and gives me her puppy dog eyes, which she knows I always give in to.

I’m too nice. Mom always said I was too nice, and that one day it’ll get me in trouble.

I’m still wondering when that’ll happen.

“Okay, I’ll give this guy a chance. I swear I will,” I promise and salute her. “But who’s the guy?”

Stacey grins in success and hugs me tightly. “Good! Because you’re like my sister, Y/N, and I just want to see you happy. You deserve it,” she says softly. “And it’s Chace. Remember him? He’s the drummer from, WakeHell. He moved in right next door to me, and I know you two will hit it off right!”

Chace????

Oh yeah. I know him.

He’s a total bad boy. A bad boy I don’t even think I could deal with.

I force a smile but then frown, because the only guy in my life who makes me happy is Jason.

Who I only text.

Who I haven’t even met.

————————————————————————---------------------------------

The next day is a lazy day since it’s my day off. I spent the majority of it sleeping, doing laundry, and just doing minor cleaning around my apartment until it’s 9:00 P.M.

And Cruel Intentions is on TV.

Lying on the couch with my second glass of Vodka Cranberry, I find myself really buzzed and horny. Ryan Phillippe back then was hot, and him making out with Reese Witherspoon is doing things to me.

My phone bings. It’s Jason.

What are you up to tonight, sweetheart?

Just a night in, a cup of glasses of vodka and cranberry, and Cruel Intentions is on TV.

I barely realize I’m buzzed and texting Jason. But my horny side doesn’t care.

I sorry I’m buzzed right now lol.

LOL no worries. I just came back from the bar with my brothers. We had a successful night and decided to get some drinks. We even had Tim and Damian use fake I.D’s.

I laugh and snort. Thank God no one heard me do that.

That’s good...we wouldn’t want Tim and Damian to be left out. They’re your baby brothers, Jay.

Jay? I really like it when you call me that. And I especially like you buzzed. LOL.

I like me buzzed too! I think I’m way more fun and free!

LOL!!! Exactly, princess!

I smile down at my phone. I love it when he calls me princess.

You said you’re watching Cruel Intentions? I just found it on TV. Wow...this movie’s old LOL.

Shut up!!! I find young Ryan Phillppe sexy in this movie!

You seriously find him sexy??? The guy’s a whiny brat! A pussy! Fuck, this movie woulda been sexier if we actually saw the douchebag eat out Cecile and saw him fuck Annette AND Kathryn!

I gasp out loud and giggle.

Then it would have been a porno! Not a movie! Hahaha!!!!

That’s fine with me, princess!

I softly whimper at just the thought of Jason watching porn. Closing my eyes, I imagine how he would sound, touch himself, and look when he’s pleasuring himself.

My eyes shoot open when I hear Sebastian telling Cecile he wants to kiss her…down there. I quickly turn my attention to the TV and watch the movie. Even though he takes advantage of a clueless, drunk girl in the movie, just the thought of him eating her out makes me clench my thighs.

It’s been too long. WAY TOO LONG!

The last guy I was seeing didn’t like to eat me out; claimed it was disgusting and unnecessary to do before sex.

As if sucking his dick was glamorous AND fun!

My thoughts are interrupted when Jason texts me.

You’re quiet tonight…does this scene turn you on???

The laughing emojis he texts me should hurt my feelings since I can easily be embarrassed over sexual things but…he’s right.

I’m turned on with just the thought of getting eaten out.

I boldly text Jack back. Unashamed and VERY buzzed.

You have no idea. Just imagining him eating me out, writing the alphabet with his tongue, and making me have an explosion is making me wet my panties right now.

I laugh to myself just seeing that Jason read my text message and is responding fast. The texting bubbles have never looked so good.

You’re…you’re wet right now????

Yes. Soooo fucking wet.

A surge of drunken confidence hits me, and I quickly shove off my pajama shorts until they’re on the floor. In just my white tank top and pink panties, I bravely slip my fingers into my damp panties and rub the wetness against my sensitive clit.

And with my other hand, I raise my cell phone and snap a picture of fingers in my wet panties.

And I send the picture to Jason.

I bite my lip in anticipation when I see he read my text message and saw my picture. The texting bubbles do not appear on the screen. He’s not texting me back.

Frowning, I wonder if I freaked Jason out. Maybe I crossed the line. Maybe I made him uncomfortable. Maybe I’m just not sexy.

Suddenly, my phone beeps. Unlocking my cell phone screen, I see two text messages AND a picture.

Oh, fuck sweetheart…that’s fucking sexy. You’re fucking sexy…

Jason sends me a picture of him wearing his boxer briefs, and his hand holding his hard, thick cock, showing me the outline and shape of his boner.

Delicious. I can feel my pussy clench just from imagining Jason fucking me with his cock.

Fuck doll...you’re doing this to me.

I whimper pathetically and can’t help but continue to rub my clit and respond back. I can see my juices staining my panties.

Are you touching yourself too?

Fuck yeah. Just seeing your fingers playing with your wet, pretty pussy got me hard. I’m jacking off to your picture.

Would you want me like I want you?

Fuck yes, sweetheart. I probably want you more than you want me.

I slip a finger inside my pussy and moan. My thumb runs fast hard circles on my clit, and I’m soon pushing in two fingers. I’m fucking myself crazy, but I imagine Jason is finger fucking me because my fingers wouldn’t get me off so fast.

And his fingers are thick. His hands are fucking huge!

I bite my bottom lip. “Fuck...I can’t believe I’m going to do this,” I whisper to myself. I snap another picture of my fingers shoved in my pussy, and how I’ve gotten wetter. I send him the picture with the truth.

I need to cum so bad. I wish it was you touching me.

Yeah? What would you want me to do to you, doll?

Fuck that picture’s so hot.

I’d want you to finger me. Eat me out. Fuck me hard.

Jason sends me another picture of him stroking his cock but with his hand in his underwear. I can see a wet spot where his tip is; stained with his precum. I want a taste of it so badly.

Fuck I would baby. Your pussy looks so good enough to eat. I’d fucking eat you out until you can’t cum anymore. I bet you taste delicious.

Oh fuck…I’m so close. I want your cock so bad, Jay. You’re gonna make me cum…

Rub your clit harder baby. Fuck your pussy fast and hard with your fingers. Imagine they’re my fingers, baby. I’d fuck you so hard and deep.

I want to see your cum, okay? Take a picture of that pretty pussy and show me what I did to you.

I do what Jason says. Behind his words, I can feel his authority. Even though I can’t hear Jason’s voice, just reading his words makes me burst like fireworks. My thumb rubs my clit harder, and I crook my fingers just right until I push against my g-spot until I cum. My orgasm is intense, and I force myself to snap a picture of my soaked underwear and fingers. I sent it to him with a lazy smile.

My phone beeps. Jason sent me a picture of his thick, juicy, cum covering his abdominal muscles. I smile a little with pride.

Fuck that was hot, sweetheart. I needed that.

Me too. Now, I’m sleepy.

LOL, I’m tired too. Get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning.

Okay…goodnight Jay.

I roll over onto my side and shut off the TV. Pulling my UGG throw blanket over my body, I snuggle up to fall asleep. My phone beeps again. Opening one eye, I reach over to read the text message.

Goodnight doll. Sweet dreams.

#dc comics #batman #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x reader smut #jason todd x y/n smut #jason todd smut

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anarchy-and-piglins · 3 years

Text

Summary: Technoblade spends some time in Pandora’s Box. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

(Read on AO3)

He skimmed his hand along the obsidian, the surface smooth beneath his touch. Some parts of it were seemingly warmer than others, but Technoblade didn't know if that was because of the lava running somewhere deep within the walls or just his tired mind playing tricks on him. He tapped the volcanic glass once, an action that fills the cell with a light ringing sound. But the layers ran too deep for Techno to tell where hollowness hides beneath.

Which was a shame, because knowing the structure's weaknesses would already go a long way in him figuring out his escape plan.

With no tools and the mining fatigue weighing heavy on his bones, getting through obsidian might be a fool's errand. But it was a better way to spent his time than waiting for a rescue party that would most likely never come. Or better yet, stay put and sit pretty like Dream seemed to want him to.

Technoblade couldn't see any other reason for him still being here.

The sky tore open, lightning forming a spiderweb of fractures evaporating as quickly as they had taken shape. Rain beat down on them relentlessly and made it impossible to see more than a few feet in front of them. Another crack – a flash of blinding light – and it carried the glint of a sword at Phil's throat, the steady hand of Dream holding onto the base of Phil's neck and keeping him in place.

Technoblade stilled in an instant.

The thunder rumbled ominously as Dream's impassive mask grinned ever wider.

The trade-off had gone quick and easy, an unspoken agreement that Techno would sign again in a heartbeat. He nodded curtly at Dream, who pressed the blade firmer against skin to make his point. Techno dropped his own weapon, holding up his arms to show goodwill. Phil's eyes widened as he realized what was happening, helpless to stop it.

"Wait-" But Dream curled his fingers tighter around Phil's neck, the sword inches away from slicing a jugular and Techno shook his head, internally begging for the other man to stay quiet.

He didn't know if he could do this if Phil asked him not to with that pained look in his eyes.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed since he was locked in Pandora's box, but Techno had a rough estimation. Sam brought him food and by counting the minutes between deliveries he had narrowed it down to two meals a day. Almost twenty meals had come and gone since his arrival.

During this time Dream had not come to see him once, was the thing.

It made a tight coil of worry pull in Techno's gut. One he stubbornly pushed down and shoved into a corner of his mind where he put all emotions he deemed worthy to be re-examined at a more opportune time, preferably over a cup of tea and some of Phil's freshly baked bread. There were only so many reasons he could think of for Dream to wait this long to state his demands – because that's what they had to be. Demands. Dream didn't do anything in half measures, always had some ace up his sleeve or a grand scheme to connect by pulling little threads of manipulation.

Dream had to gain something from putting him in prison.

Techno sat down on the small bunk that served as the room's only furniture, both bed and table in its function. The thin blanket that hardly did anything for him was balled up and shoved to the side. He started running down the list out loud so Chat could follow along. For all their strange tricks that eluded him, they still couldn't read his thoughts. Thankfully.

"Reason one: Dream thinks leaving me in here long enough will make it easier for him to get what he wants from me later."

Psychological warfare was the oldest trick in the book, but no method quite as effective as solitary confinement to break a person. Or, well, that would be the case for most others. Between the voices and a natural tendency towards extreme introversion Technoblade probably was the worst target for this approach. If the accommodations weren't so shit, he might have even enjoyed his stay.

Dream would most likely know this. Cross it off the list.

"Reason two: he needs to keep me secured for a future ploy."

A possibility, but the uncertainty tugged at Technoblade all the same. If Dream was planning to use him as a bargaining chip – or worse, a flunkey – down the line, then Techno would have had the honor of his presence by now, even if only for Dream to gloat. That man was utterly lost in his own superiority complex on the best of days, there was no chance he would pass on an opportunity to rub Techno's face in his future plans. Leave him stewing in misery with knowledge of what was to come.

A moment's hesitation, but he crossed it off the list.

"Reason three: he's forgotten I'm in here."

His joke made Chat agitated and he winced at the stab of a headache that brought forth as their yelling got louder, more jumbled. "Yeah, that would be pretty cringe of him," he agreed with their repeated outcries.

"Well, that only leaves the last option I can consider..." He trailed off, staring at the slightly shimmering surface of the obsidian. Techno could see his own reflection in the translucent facets. The crown on his head stood out starkly in the cell's dim light.

In chess, the best plays were always those that went for the strongest pieces first. It might be tempting to take a rook or two to start with, but you can't feel safe until that queen is removed from the board. Then it breaks open for you to do whatever you want with, essentially.

"He's leaving me here to rot."

Phil had stared at him, the shadows cutting across his expression. Techno couldn't look him in the face, keeping his focus on Dream instead. Not breaking eye contact even as his hands were tied behind his back. The useless gesture was only meant to humiliate him, Dream knew he wouldn't budge an inch with Phil's last life still in danger.

They had marched him straight to the prison, not taking any risks and all the while Technoblade had already been glancing around, committing any important leverages to memory. With every security measure they passed, his heart sank deeper in his chest.

Forty meals had come and gone.

Technoblade was chipping away at the wall, not for any real reason except it kept him busy. He wasn't stupid enough to believe it would actually amount to anything. Not when the walls were made of obsidian, not when the mining fatigue strained his movements and made his muscles contract under the pressure of forcing them into cooperation. There was less strength to his punches, flexing his fingers against invisible weights suspended from them by strings.

And even if he managed by some miracle to mine away a block, Sam would know and come replace it instantly.

"Chat," he addressed the voices. "You're familiar with the story of Sisyphus, right?" A mess of responses, mostly the repeating of their favorite letter which Techno chose to take as agreement. "Yeah, sure, I've read it to you before."

His claws broke through another inch of the solid stone. Obsidian wasn't a mineral, the composition wasn't right for it. But it splintered in brittle ways and cut open Techno's palm, making the blood run slick through his fingers. Chat went into a frenzy.

"This is what he must have felt like with his boulder," Techno concluded.

They stripped him of his tools, his weapons, his communicator. Technoblade was vaguely grateful they let him keep his clothes at least, though he suspected it was merely because Sam hadn't been prepared for the prison to already be put to use.

The creeper-hybrid looked at him in vague apprehension and Techno shrugged back.

Placing him in the highest security cell could have been a compliment if Techno didn't think it to be completely overkill and awfully dramatic on Dream's part. The rows of doors they passed on the way to the bowels of the box were concerning, enough to contain at least half the residents of the server.

Dream had officially lost his marbles.

High security turned out to be a euphemism for 'violation of human rights'. The cell was barely three by three blocks, with nothing but the bed tucked against one wall and a heavy-set door that didn't even have a handle on the inside. At floor height, there was a thin slot just wide enough for the occasional bowl of stew or a baked potato to slide through. The warden didn't have to interact with his prisoners.

"Cozy," Techno remarked dully before the door was shut behind him. It hadn't been opened since.

He had lost count, but he had to be nearing his eightieth meal now.

More and more often Technoblade found himself slumbering through the opening of the latch, only to wake up to a stale steak that had been left on his floor hours ago. It wasn't real sleep, merely a state of exhaustion both mental and physical that left him wandering the borders of consciousness, drifting somewhere between awareness and disconnect. Which he knew was probably not the best sign.

The lack of physical activity was wearing his muscles down, making even the simple act of pacing circles in the room send aches through his legs. For the first time in longer than he cared to recall Techno returned to the exercise routine they had done every morning in the Antarctic Empire – or at least the parts of it he could match in the limited space of his cell. It wasn't enough though and he felt himself grow weaker every day. There was no sunlight, no fresh air, and the food left something to be desired.

His mind too wandered more and more, having trouble staying on task. The voices gradually grew more agitated, bored by the same scenery each day, the lack of excitement. A permanent headache had taken residence and didn't show any sign of intending to leave soon, making its presence known through a constant throbbing and the occasional stab of pain when he thought too hard. Closing his eyes, Technoblade started to count out loud. Give them and himself something to concentrate on. Chat came apart into a tangle of numbers, noises, buzzing. He winced.

"Okay, new plan, new plan-" He curled up on the bunk, drawing his knees up to his chest. The blanket was on the floor. "Story time, what would you like to hear?"

More chaos, but one answer stood out among the others. Its irony was not lost on Techno.

"Thus, the first mortal woman was born and she descended down to earth." He hushed them and was grateful when chat fell away into quieter murmurs. "Her name was Pandora."

The door opened.

The sound made Technoblade flinch, the creak feeling so horribly foreign in the stillness of his cell that he had come to know like the back of his hand. He stared and didn't know what to think when he saw Phil outlined in the opening.

"Wha-"

His friend was at his side in seconds, one hand holding his wrist and it was nearly painful. An absence of touch suddenly set ablaze. Techno did his best not to shy away from the contact.

"We need to get out of here," Phil said urgently, eyes wide and panicked and the words died on Techno's tongue. "There isn't much time."

Techno could only nod, throat raw and hurting as Phil pulled him to his feet. He nearly fell over.

The hallways seemed different, longer and winding in strange angles. Door upon door upon door and Phil didn't say anything, just tugged Techno along. His head was filled with cotton. Why wasn't there any lava? Where was the redstone?

When they came outside, the sun was blinding him.

"Wait, Phil." Techno stopped moving, dug his heels into the ground and Phil stopped too. He turned around, skin pale and expression worried and it killed him. It killed Techno. "What's happening?"

"I came for you," Phil answered simply. "Of course I did, mate."

Techno felt like he was breaking.

He woke up in his cell.

"At the bottom of the box, only Hope remained there in an unbreakable home."

Technoblade missed his home.

He missed his farm and his pets and the feeling of the breeze running through his hair. He missed the winding of the river across the land, small sounds of trickling and running along the shallows with Wilbur and Tommy in tow. He missed Phil putting logs of wood in the fireplace.

He was tired.

The voices wouldn't stop screaming. Pressing his hands into his closed eyes, relieved when the pressure took some of the edge off, Technoblade grunted. "What has you guys excited now, hm?"

He didn't really care. The room was small and endless and he couldn't breathe within these walls, couldn't think. He just wanted them to shut up so he could go to sleep again.

But Chat didn't mind his protests, a litany of noise and somewhere in there, Technoblade could have sworn he heard Phil's name. He blinked back into awareness, struggling to get his stagnant mind into motion again. Too exhausted to move.

The door opened.

Technoblade couldn't even bear to tear his eyes away from the ceiling.

Somebody shook his shoulder and said his name and it hurt, it all hurt too much to be real. When warm arms wrapped around his body Techno wanted to sob but couldn't do that either.

"Hey, hey-" Phil was brushing his tangled hair from his face, fingers skirting along Techno's cheeks. He leaned into that touch subconsciously, needing it like a lifeline. There was time to be self-conscious about such vulnerability later. "It's okay, I'm here."

The noise that wanted to come out of him was a low whine, but Techno cleared his throat instead. "Took you long enough."

Phil let out a short laugh, not quite sincere yet but still music to his ears. "Yeah, you can complain about it to me later, once we get home."

Home?

Techno nodded, the minimal motion already enough to make him dizzy. But that didn't matter with Phil steadying him, holding onto him, helping him.

Coming back for him.

"Please," he said. "Home would be great."

#Technoblade #Philza #dream smp #mcyt #shara writes #this was for a request on my AO3 collection #but I like it too much not to post

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ratsmp4 · 3 years

Text

holding myself accountable .

i would like to start off by saying that no one is required to forgive me for what i've done, both in the past and in recent weeks . depending on how long you've followed me, you may have seen this post from a few months ago . it was poorly worded and written in a moment of anger, where i was not thinking straight . i was in a very dark place when i posted it, and i was encouraged by one of my good friends, who will not be named for their safety . additionally, you may have seen this callout post made by one of my former mutuals . if not, i encourage you to read over it, as it could provide much needed context about what happened .

more about the situation will be included under the cut .

Garrett is the protagonist of the Thief games - a cynical master thief who wishes nothing more than to be left alone to steal in peace, but who unwittingly becomes embroiled in a series of epic events.

Garrett exhibits a strong sense of survival and self-interest. While on the surface Garrett is callous, cynical and sarcastic, with loyalty only to himself, he does seem to have deeper feelings for a few of his contacts: Artemus, the Keeper that recruited and trained him; Basso the Boxman, a fellow thief; Cutty, his fence. In extreme cases this seems to extend to even to past antagonists such as Viktoria, although that may be a result of Garrett's own self-interest.

Garrett also exhibits a strong sense of professional pride as a thief: he usually refuses to kill while on the job, saying that he's a thief, not a murderer,[1] though Constantine and Karras died as a result of Garret's actions only because he was able to sabotage their evil plans. Lotus was a mercy killing, as he begged for death due to the inhumane conditions that Garrett found him in. Other than that, Garrett has not killed any humans in the Thief canon. It is implied Garrett also never steals from his allies or the poor.[Fact Check]

Orphaned, Garrett spent his youth on the streets surviving as a pickpocket and message runner.

One night, he saw Artemus walking on the street as people, 'just passed him by like he wasn't there'. Thinking the man had some valuables, he decided to make a grab. However, he was caught, and Artemus, impressed with his ability to see a Keeper, offered Garrett a new life. Garrett was then recruited into a secret organization known as the Keepers, dedicated to observing and maintaining stability in the City.[2]

Not much is known about Garrett's education with The Keepers, except the fact that he was given initial training in the arts of stealth and subterfuge practiced by the Keepers. But, he found that it was much more profitable to make use of these skills as a thief than to continue working for the Keepers as an agent.[3] He was called "the most promising acolyte" in the Keeper annals, but left around the age of 20 due to his "imbalance." It was brought before the council to deal with him using the Enforcers, but Caduca informed the council that Garrett would be needed in the future.[4]

At some point in time, Garrett is now working as an independent thief in the City, making contacts with people such as Basso the Boxman, Cutty and Farkus Bernard. Garrett's first known large score comes from stealing an expensive scepter from Lord Bafford. After which, he breaks into the Hammerite prison to spring his fence, Cutty (who dies while still in prison). This leads him deep into the old Hammerite catacombs looking for treasure. Shortly after this thugs working for the local Warden, Ramirez, attempt to kill Garrett for non payment of tribute. Garrett turns the tables, escaping and going on to humiliate Ramirez by looting his mansion, even going on to rob the local thieves guild. This brazen display of skill attracts the attention of Viktoria, a somewhat mysterious independent fence. She contracts Garrett to steal a magical sword from the eccentric nobleman, Constantine.

Upon successfully returning from Constantine's bizarre mansion, Viktoria reveals that she and Constantine are old associates who were testing Garrett. Constantine offers Garrett a fortune for the job of retrieving the gemstone known as The Eye. Getting to The Eye means Garrett must venture through the abandoned and walled-off Old Quarter of the City to the old Hammerite Cathedral. A mysterious catastrophe, rumored to involve great fires and many undead, caused the area's abandonment decades ago. Garrett finds the cathedral sealed, but the Eye itself tells him of an old Keeper library hidden nearby. Writings there tell of where the talismans that open the cathedral are hidden and how the Keepers almost revealed themselves in order to assist the Hammerites and the Hand Brotherhood in containing a great evil. The first talisman was found in a place called The Lost City, the ruins of an ancient civilization buried beneath the existing city, its entrance hidden by the Keepers. To get the second talisman, Garrett enters a Hammerite temple in disguise. The third talisman was kept with a brotherhood of Mages. The fourth lay inside Keeper secured caverns. Unbeknownst to Garrett, the Talisman was recovered by the guards of the Opera House above the caves. Successful, he then returns to the cathedral and collects The Eye from amid the many undead, escaping with the help from the ghost of Brother Murus, a long dead Hammerite priest.

Garrett visits Constantine to hand over The Eye and collect his payment. Instead of paying, however, Constantine reveals himself to be the fabled Trickster (aka The Woodsie Lord), the entity worshiped by the Pagans, and Viktoria, his consort.

They bind Garrett in vines and Viktoria plucks out one of his eyes, using it to seemingly activate The Eye stone, and leave him for dead. Some time later two Keepers find and free the unconscious Garrett from the vines. The Keepers then leave Garrett to escape by himself through the caverns beneath Constantine's mansion and amongst some new and strange beasts. Once he reaches the surface Garrett decides the only thing to do is visit the Hammerites and tell them about what has happened in the hopes they would provide assistance. He heads for the temple but discovers that the Trickster's minions have gotten there first. Venturing inside he finds the remaining Hammerites in a hidden sanctuary down in an underground cavern. With stealth being the only hope against the Trickster's army, the Hammerites provide Garrett with a booby-trapped copy of The Eye. Garrett descends into the Trickster's realm, where he finds the Woodsie Lord performing a ceremony with the Eye. Garrett stealthily swaps the Eye for its trapped copy, which then explodes, thus striking down the Trickster as he attempts to finish the ritual.

The coda shows Garrett walking back to town alone through the snow. Life appears to be returning to normal. A Keeper approaches, Artemus. The two converse and The Keeper warns Garrett, telling him of a book he should read, and that he can't run away from life. Close observation reveals Garrett now has a mechanical eye. Garrett rejects the Keeper's 'help' in his life and says to tell the other Keepers that "I'm through. Tell them Garrett is done". He then walks away into the city streets. Artemus answers quietly "I will tell them this: Nothing is changed. All is as it was written. The Trickster is dead. Beware the dawn of the metal age.", foreshadowing the sequel, Thief II: The Metal Age.

Garrett's role in The Metal Age begins innocuously. Garrett provides a favor to an old acquaintance, Basso, helping him rescue his love Jenivere, so that he may retire from thievery and elope. Next Garrett breaks into the dockside warehouses to get some extra cash for rent. It soon becomes clear that the City Watch, lead by the zealous Sheriff Gorman Truart, is waging a war on crime, brutally persecuting thieves and conducting nighttime raids on the poor neighborhoods with the intent of rounding up criminals. Truart stages a sting operation in an attempt to assassinate Garrett, but he escapes by using a Flash Bomb. With the newly strengthened police force making burglary more difficult, Garrett begins to wage a personal war against Truart, attempting to blackmail him into loosening his grip on the City by exposing his corruption. In the process, Garrett acquaints himself with the Mechanist Order, a splinter faction of the weakening Hammerites led by the charismatic Karras, whose robotic security devices have begun to guard the City's wealthiest businesses and residences. In addition, he discovers that the Mechanists are manufacturing some sort of weaponized "Servant," made from a human body and emitting a substance known as Rust Gas, and that Truart has agreed to round up vagrants under false pretenses to be used for the project.

When Garrett confronts Truart, he finds that Truart has been slain by a strange creature. Trying to unravel the conspiracy, Garrett reunites with Viktoria deep in the Maw. Viktoria identifies the Mechanists as the true enemy, and the two form a tentative alliance. The combined skills of Viktoria's pagan operatives and Garrett's stealth abilities reveal that the Mechanists are gifting the Servants to the City's nobility, and that they are working on a top-secret endeavour known as the "Cetus Project." The Cetus Project turns out to be a gigantic submarine, the Cetus Amicus, and that the Mechanists are using it to access the remains of The Lost City in search of ancient artifacts. By interrogating the head of the Cetus Project, Brother Cavador, the pair discover that the Mechanists have recovered an object known as a Cultivator, and that they have already begun mass-producing them and installing them inside of the Masked Servants. While Garrett stakes out the Gervaisius Estate and steals a mask and the prototype Cultivator, Viktoria's agents observe Karras hermetically sealing Soulforge Cathedral. The pair conduct an experiment with the Cultivator, revealing that the Servants could be commanded to release Rust Gas, which would react violently with the plant matter inside of wealthy nobles' gardens, wiping out all life in the city, with Karras safe inside of Soulforge Cathedral.

Viktoria claims that there is no time to spare and proposes a plan: Garrett must gain control of the beacon controlling the Servants and command them to return to Soulforge and trick Karras into releasing the Rust Gas, while Viktoria fills Soulforge Cathedral with plants, to wipe out the Mechanists instead of the city. Garrett claims the plan is "suicide", claiming he will think of a better plan, and re-affirms that he works alone. As he leaves, a Keeper informs Garrett that Viktoria has begun an assault on the Cathedral herself. Garrett hurries to the Cathedral but is too late to save Viktoria as she is attacked by an onslaught of Mechanist forces. Her dying action is to fill Soulforge Cathedral with plants, as promised. Left with no better plan, Garrett proceeds to assemble a new guiding beacon and redirects the Cathedral's signal towers back to the Cathedral itself. The plan succeeds, and Garrett locks the servants inside the Cathedral. When the rust gas is released, Karras is killed and Soulforge Cathedral is left in ruins.

Garrett returns to the Cathedral after the reaction is complete and is met by a Keeper, who explains that the events of The Metal Age transpired exactly as written, and that the prophecies contain even more predictions. Garrett, previously skeptical of the Keepers' mysterious ways, reluctantly requests to know more.

#.text #posts that would be significantly funnier if i put them in a twitlonger instead

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mrwinterr · 4 years

Text

3AM

Pairing: Leo West x Female Reader

Summary: You should go home, but you always end up in his room and this time he isn’t letting you walk away from him again.

Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual sex, unprotected sex, oral [female receiving], hand job, vaginal fingering, cum play, cock warming and dirty talk). Pillow talk. Language. Angst, I guess. & mentions of alcohol.

Disclaimer: Minor elements of the film Ibiza (2018) are present in this. More like one or two out of context spoilers. It wouldn’t really ruin the movie. You don’t have to watch it to read this.

Title Inspiration: “3AM” by You Me At Six

A/N: I caved. I’ve finally written something for one of Richard Madden’s characters. Personally, I would’ve never watched Ibiza, but it was on Netflix, I was on furlough from my job, and quite frankly Leo West is fucking perfect.

Deep breaths. Deep and calculated breaths. For some reason you paid more attention to your breathing when inebriated. Your eyelids felt extra heavy as you struggled to not only keep them open, but also your line of vision straight. The pores of your body were seeping out sweat from the copious amount of alcohol you’d consumed. The air was stuffy, and you kept sniffling.

You wanted to blame the last part solely on the alcohol too, but you couldn’t escape the real reason that drove you to spend hours at a bar in the first place. Historically speaking, you liked to enjoy yourself, maybe a bit more than others, and while it was reckless, that lifestyle introduced you to one of your favorite things on this planet. It wasn’t the drinks, the substances or the sex, but a humble, very talented now turned international superstar DJ.

It led you to Leo West.

It was at a small, dark club on a busy weekend. You were closing in on finals week and what better way to de-stress than a night out on the street. Your friends opted for this particular joint because of the aesthetic, but you didn’t care about its appearance. It was a bar nonetheless, the place always catered to live music and you loved that.

You remembered how puzzling it was to not see the usual instruments, like that of a guitar or a drum kit or a set of keyboards or even a lone microphone stand on the makeshift stage that had one dimmed spotlight. Instead, there was just a table with a case, a laptop, a turntable and a pair of headphones displayed on top of it. Oh, and lots of wires and buttons and knobs everywhere!

Great. A wannabe DJ was scheduled tonight that would most likely go overkill on the bass and damage your eardrums. You weren’t drunk enough to stick around for this, so you walked back to the bar, hoping if you got a few more drinks in you then maybe the “DJ” wouldn’t sound as bad as you were expecting.

Claiming a spot, drink in hand, your eyes started scanning the small capacity crowd until they locked on a man and his path up to the stage and behind the setup. The intro music he picked out started playing, but it fell deaf on your ears. And your whole world just stopped when he looked up, the first of many “performer-to-audience” eye contact that night. He just couldn’t keep his eyes off you each time he looked into the small crowd. It all but allowed you a better look at him.

He wasn’t as defined back then, the t-shirt hung loose on his body, but he was still built nicely. His hair was curlier, definitely didn’t have the money to have it styled and cut or dyed, no trace of the signature gray streak in the front, nor was it maintained like it was now. He was very handsome. And his voice, when he spoke into the microphone clumsily, your heart melted. He wasn’t from here, and you wondered how the world brought this cute, awkward guy all the way from Scotland here to you.

When his set ended, he appeared next to you at the bar ordering a drink. He looked over at you and smiled sheepishly. He was adorable. You were done. You were always a confident person, and you mentally cursed yourself for even feeling like this. You didn’t do serious relationships. There just wasn’t any time for one in your life right now. You were young, still are, and the only thing you’d wanted from anyone was a distraction here and there.

He told you his name. You told him yours. He commented on the necklace you were wearing. You complimented his set. You even teased him about seeing him trip over one of his wires. He thought no one was paying attention, but you were. The two of you talked and talked until last call and the bartenders were begging you both to leave so they could close up shop.

That led you to his place. You learned he’d transferred from overseas to study music and was looking to break out in this country. He wanted to make it big time. You admired him for that. Then there you were pathetically telling him your small-town goals, it seemed dull compared to his, but Leo never wanted to make you feel that way as his words assured you that they weren’t and only encouraged you further.

The attraction wasn’t lost between you two either. You didn’t go home that night. You stayed and what was supposed to be one turned into many nights tangled in one another. You frequented his bed often to the point it looked official to everyone - except it never was. Leo made it loud and clear he wanted to be with you, but you kept bypassing his proclamations. He became none but a standby in your haze.

He just made it too easy to feel. With him everything was easy; not a care in the world, just you and him. It could and should be just that - easy - but your heart and mind didn’t ever make it that way for you. They wanted two different things. Your heart wanted Leo, but your mind said it wasn’t worth it.

He’d make it big one day, no doubt about that. He got good each and every set you saw him put on. He’d travel more, settle in a much more exciting area, find someone who could commit and keep up with his new life. You knew it wouldn’t be fair to have Leo wait around for you to change, but getting your shit together was something you had to do at your own pace.

Once you graduated and his advancements were becoming a bit more serious, you started to turn a new leaf. You did it to be a better version of yourself for him because he deserved it that much, but he always claimed he wanted you – whatever version he could have. At least that’s what he had you convinced of up until you saw him lock eyes and signal over to another girl in the massive crowd several hours ago.

What the fuck? That was your whole reaction. How could he? He always said no matter how big the numbers he played, he’d always and only see you. He didn’t look anywhere else besides her during the set, well you didn’t care anymore because you left after seeing them walk to the back. Did he not mean a single word he said to you? All those nights in bed, was it all just pillow talk? Figures. You didn’t want to get upset because you let it come to this.

In that moment, you just couldn’t forget all the pretty lies. You’re mindlessly scrolling through the messages on your phone, until your blurry eyes see his name and the distinct emoji assigned next to it. Based on the thread, you thought you were both heading towards the same page. It shouldn’t have been this complicated. Now all that’s left is yourself staring down at an old text message he sent, no longer wondering if he really meant any word of it. It hurt. It really fucking hurt.Your mind was proven right and now your heart paid the price.

“Miss? We’re here.” You pick up your head that was slumped against the side of the cab window and nod in acknowledgement.

You stuff your phone in your purse, pay for your fare, stumble along the stones of the pavement, on the steps of the complex and into the elevator up to the highest floor. You stare at the numbers on the door, hoping they’d line up and still, before you slip the spare key card into the slot and barge right into the suite.

You walk right out of your heels, and on your path to the glass doors and window, you aimlessly toss your purse over the expensive couch, and expertly reach for the zipper behind your back, dragging it down along the dress you were wearing, allowing it to pool at your ankles only for you to kick it away soon after. Forget the fact that you splurged a bit more than usual on it in hopes for a celebration of some sort.

When you stepped outside, you headed straight into the hot tub that also provided an overlook of the city. As you slowly descend neck deep into the hot water, you close your eyes and lean your head back on the edge, feeling the muscles in your body begin to loosen up. The jet streams of the hot tub that caused the bubbles collided headfirst with your back, and a taste of the midnight air in your face, all offered you only a temporary high. You used to think the hot tub was a bit too much at the time, but now you were basking in it.

For a moment you think you could just pass out right there, when you hear him say your name from behind. Your eyes flutter open and you hear the floorboards lightly creek with the thuds of his heavy footsteps as he makes his way to sit on the edge of one side of the rectangular tub. You don’t dare divert your eyes over in his direction just yet.

“It’s 3 a.m.” Leo states; an all too familiar scene for the both of you, and even though you’re not looking at him you can hear the concern in his voice. You roll your eyes at the obvious, not giving a damn if he saw, and then at the idea of him being concerned about you.

He senses the discomfort in the air and is hesitant in choosing what he should say next. He hated being on your bad side and judging by your demeanor you were mad. “You should probably go home,” he suggests after getting no response from you.

Only when he moves to get up and fetch a nearby towel, you turn your head and speak, “Why? Is she here?” It meant to come out as casual, but it came out more spiteful.

The muscles of his back contract and he visibly tenses at your cold tone. “What?” Leo questions, turning his head to look over his shoulder.

“I saw you!” You say, sitting up straight and getting ready to step out of the tub.

Leo is quick to assist you as he his entire body spins around, a rolled up towel in hand, “You’re not thinking straight-” he says and attempts to cover you up, but you snatch the towel from him and help yourself out of the tub. Water sloshes around as Leo puts his hands out, eyeing your every move the whole time in fear of you slipping and falling.

He follows you back into the suite and calls out your name again, but hearing it flow out of his mouth in his voice starts to hurt more and more.

“I’m not fucking blind, Leo!” You shout, whipping around and with your hands out in frustration.

“Shh! Please. The neighbors are sleeping!” He pleads, grabbing you by your wrist bringing them in and pulling you close to him. Your face is almost nose-to-nose with his, but you lean your head back just slightly in defiance.

“I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck.” You say in a more indoor friendly volume, emphasizing each word, effectively letting him how mad you still were. The close proximity gives him a whiff of the alcohol on your breath. You were drunk. He thought you’d stopped this destructive habit.

“I don’t get you,” he says barely above a whisper. It wasn’t meant to come out, but his thoughts always left his mind around you.

“Me?” you ask quizzically, noticing the strong look of confusion etched all over his pretty face, “I don’t get you, Leo,” you couldn’t hold it in anymore, “you begged me to come watch your set tonight,” pulling one of your wrists out from his grip, poking a finger at his chest.

“You said you were busy with work-“ he says then grabbing the loose hand stabbing at him in his larger one.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you explain, voice cracking under it all, “I didn’t think it was going to work because you said,” the atmosphere grows thick and you struggle to speak, “you said no matter how big of a crowd you were playing that you’d always see me, but you didn’t.” You always had a pretty good idea that Leo would wait for you, but when he failed to spot you tonight, you really thought you’d lost him for good this time.

Then he understood why you were upset. You saw him make signals to another woman and take her backstage, where all he was trying to do was help the poor girl and tell her she had a penis drawn on her face with a black light marker. He never saw her again after that. All that did was paint the wrong picture in your eyes.

Leo looked down, breaking the intense eye contact. It was probably best he didn’t see the tears in the corner of your eyes that were threatening to fall, but he didn’t cast his gaze away fast enough as they ran down in streaks, staining your face. He just didn’t know where to start.

You had been there for him tonight. He’d been really happy lately, especially when you started responding and returning his gestures. He thought he was finally going somewhere with you. And here you are, revealing you’d sacrificed and made time to see him play and he didn’t even see you. That led you down to a bar and into an old habit you’d gotten rid of lately, but he just threw you back into the pit unintentionally.

“I should go home,” you say, defeated and breaking away from him. You wipe at your face, trying to clear the make-up that was out of place and turn to pick up your discarded dress off the floor.

“No, don’t. Don’t leave me,” Leo says frantically reaching out for you. Another act within the all too familiar scene; he always hated this part and seeing it replay over and over. All those times you walked out, scared of something, he wasn’t going to let it happen again. He stumbles a bit as he manages to grab your arm to turn you back and face him. You brace a hand on his strong chest preventing yourself from crashing right into him.

Deep breaths. Deep and calculated breaths. You’re counting not yours but his breaths this time. You can feel his heart racing as you stare at his plump lips, parted and each exhale fanning against your face. His hands come up to cradle your face; and while alcohol had its way with making parts of your body feel numb, you always felt his touches. It was the best feeling.

Leo was always transparent with you and was nothing short of it in this moment as he crashed his lips into yours. He’d never been as desperate than he was now. The grip on your face was secure, hoping you wouldn’t attempt to escape again. He didn’t have to worry though because you were tired of fighting it. You’d bare yourself to him.

Your arms wrapping around his neck let him know you weren’t going anywhere this time, and he was able to let one hand reach down between your bodies to remove the towel. His touch sends shivers throughout your body as you rub up against him; your soaked undergarments leave a wet imprint on his dry clothes. His hands travel down to your thighs, giving it a light squeeze, signaling for you to jump up.

He carries you to his bedroom, lips never parting, until he has you lying down on the massive bed. He kisses you all over - your neck, collarbones, between your breasts, down your naval, hip bones, and the insides of your thighs - each kiss feels like a drug shooting through your system.

Leo tests the waters by pressing a finger to your clothed core and upon seeing the slight jolt of your hips, it gives him all the encouragement he needed to tug the damp article of clothing down your legs. He spreads your legs a bit further apart, pressing them down against the mattress, enough room for his burly body to settle between them.

His tongue darts out to your clit and you suck in a harsh breath of air at the contact. Each running pass of his tongue has you squirming, he has to use both of his hands to keep you still. The vibrations of his moans wreck all throughout your body as he sucks on the bundle of nerves.

Your hands wildly reach out in front of you, messing up his short hair, you need something to hold onto. Leo offers one hand, lacing your fingers together, yours more of a death grip in his. It only loosens when he suddenly stops.

You pick up your head that had dug deep back into the pillows to see why. You groan at the sinful sight of seeing his mouth glistening in all its glory - doused in you. Leo comes back up to level himself with you; both sets of eyes pulled together like magnets. He steadies himself with one hand above your head and the other grabs a hold of your leg, keeping them open for him, so his hand could find a clear path to your pussy.

Your slick makes it easy for him to slip his thick digits in you. Leo revels in the look on your face contorted in pleasure he is bestowing upon you. He inwardly groans at the snug grip around his fingers as he slowly pushes them in-and-out; the filthy, lewd noises only further cause his blood to rush fast down his body.

You start rocking your hips, your clit brushing past his palm with each thrust up. With a curl of his finger, he finds the spot and it's confirmed when you wrap a hand around his wrist to keep it there.

“That’s it, huh, baby?” Leo asks knowing full well he’s found the trigger, “that’s...your...spot,” and with every word his finger sinks in deeper and deeper. There’s a feral look he’s sporting, and you let out a whine in response, your fingernails puncturing his skin.

“You know what to do,” his voice turns rugged, “you know what to do, baby girl,” his fingers working faster, “come on my hand,” his forehead, sweaty, pressing against your own, “you can do it,” his soulful eyes burning a hole through yours when you finally come for him.

“Good fucking girl,” he growls against your lips. You start clawing at his white t-shirt, but it’s fitted so well, you start wrestling with the fabric to get it over his head. He chuckles lightly at you as you pout at him. He kisses the space between your eyebrows and sits up removing his shirt on his own; his bottoms follow ensuite.

You admire the expanse of his toned body for a brief moment before you pull him down back on you. Your teeth tug at his luscious lower lip then suck at it. Leo chases your tongue with his own, engrossed by your lips he’s not prepared for when you sneak a hand in his boxers and grab a hold of his length. He moans into the kiss at the contact and slides his boxers all the way off, giving him a full show of your fingers wrapped around his hard cock. You watch as he swallows the knot in his throat when your thumb swipes across at the bead of pre-cum leaking from the head.

“Yes, baby, just like that,” he says encouragingly as you start stroking him at a pace only you know he loves, “you see how good you make me feel?” It’s a question that doesn’t require an answer. He was hot and heavy in your hands and you wanted nothing more than a taste, so you switch hands bringing the sticky one up to your mouth giving your palm a broad lick as you try to lap you all of what was left of him on your skin.

His jaw visibly ticks as he watches the whole thing. You bring your wet hand back down and resume jerking him off. His breathing increases and you know he wants to cum when he involuntarily starts thrusting back, but he had other things on his agenda as he gingerly pushed your hands away.

“I wanna...inside you,” he says, still very much short of breath, this version of him only made you more wet.

“Please,” you beg, feeling his cock slide up and down your pussy, prepping him with your slick. You never begged, but for some reason you got scared that this would all end in an instance.

You let out a big sigh of relief when he pushes in and fills you up to the brim. Your eyes widen at how his cock stretches you out to accommodate his size. You feel close to bursting at just being able to feel all of him, as he stilled in you, feeling every ridge and vein. He takes a moment to himself, studying the way your body reacts to his. He’s reeling in on the warmth you provided his cock and more so his heart. You made every part of him swell up.

With a long and heavy drag out, Leo begins to thrust back in deep and slow, only increasing when he feels your hips start to retaliate back against his. He knows the pace you like it at.

“Fuck!” You yelp feeling the tip of his cock probe at the right spot.

Leo loops an arm around from beneath you, and at first you think he’s trying to bring you in closer by the hips, but instead he flips over, so you’re now settled on top of him. You support yourself with both hands on his pecs, fingers lost within the hair that sprinkled his chest, then you start grinding your hips deliciously over his. He helps you set a new rhythm with his hands on your hips. You watch as he bites his bottom lip and just the sight alone makes you want to come again.

He sits up, bracing one arm behind him for support, while the other pushes you slightly back, you have to use both hands to support your upper body, but this new position allows you both to get a good look at your bodies connected. Eyes both glued at his cock buried deep in you, you rotate your hips and moan when you feel his cock scratch along your inner walls with each swivel.

“That’s right, you know how to make me feel good...fuck, yes,” he praises then places a thumb to start rubbing circles over your sensitive clit, causing your thighs to clamp up, “that’s it baby, work that pussy on this cock...it’s all yours, beautiful.”

Once he has a good upright position, he uses his other hand to undo the clasp of your bra. He has a hard time trying to rid you of the confines, so you maneuver and sink down back on him and do it yourself. He uses both hands to pull the straps down your arms before bringing your body flush against his and reclaiming your lips.

You let out a sigh as his lips travel down your neck to your breasts, groping one and sucking on the other. Your hands find purchase in his dark sweaty locks as he pistons his hips up hitting deeper.

You pull his face away from your chest and you take note of his glossy eyes, the sweat buildup on his hairline, the creases on his forehead, his swollen lips and you’re in complete awe of just how handsome he’s always been. Leo brings a hand to your face, thumb brushing away the stray tear that escaped your eyes. You slightly turn your head in his palm so your lips can capture his thumb. The same one that was just mere moments ago rubbing circles on your clit.

Leo gasps at the sight, your eyes close from the burst of flavor of yourself on his salty digit. Your hips work harder and your thighs begin to ache. It shows, so Leo starts to pick up on the slack.

“Leo-“ you call out his name after a particular sharp thrust, your labored breathing makes it hard to voice out your desire, but he knew you were close and so was he.

His hands grope your ass as he brings your hips down hard against his, you feel the hairs on his lower abdomen rub against your clit, effectively adding on to the impending sensation.

“Come on, baby. You can do it,” his fingers would definitely leave marks your skin, but you don’t mind it because yours claw at chest, “come on my fucking cock...show me how good it feels, pretty girl.”

You shut him up with a bruising kiss and soon he’s swallowing your moans as your body starts to quake, pussy clenching tight around him. You keep your hips grounded in place when you feel the throb of each spurt of his cum that shoots deep inside you.

Both of you part your lips from one another for some needed air. You’re still experiencing a bit of an aftershock as your walls continue to contract around his cock.

“Ride it out, baby, use my cock,” he says against your lips, and assisting you with small movements up and down his cock, “that’s it. You got it. Fuck, I love you. I love you so much,” he says, wrapping his arms around your body.

Your body falters against him when you don’t fail to notice that he’s started slipping the L-Bomb in his praises. Leo feels drops of water hit his skin and when he opens his eyes, he notices your body shaking still – you’re crying.

“Hey,” he says cradling your face again, “what’s wrong?” He pulls back to inspect your body and see if you were hurt in any way.

You brace his face in both your hands to stop his eyes from wandering from anywhere else but your face. “Did you mean it?” You ask, unable to control the downpour of tears.

Leo stops moving and immediately understands what you’re asking. You’re asking if he meant it when he said you were the only one he’d ever notice. You’re asking if he meant it when he said he’d wait for you. You’re asking if he meant it when he said he loved you.

“Every word,” he confirms.

Overjoyed, you press your lips together in a tight smile, and let the rest of your tears fall. He lets you rest your head on the crook of his neck as he rubbed soothing patterns on your back in attempts to calm you down.

When you do, you pull away and finally say it back, “I love you too, Leo West. I’ve always been in love with you,” and watching the big smile on his face was almost enough to cure you.

He meticulously pulls out of you, slight signs of his cum seeping out and running down your thighs, and helps you off him. You both settle down on the bed, bodies parallel, both on your sides, silently staring at one another. You absentmindedly brushing the gray lock of hair away from his forehead.

“Nothing happened with her,” Leo says breaking the comfortable silence. He wanted to bring tonight to attention because he meant it when he told you previously that he doesn’t bring anyone back home. You almost forgot about tonight but are still relieved to hear him put to rest any suspicious thoughts.

“I’m scared,” you admit. The first step had been admitting you had loved him back this whole time, but you still had to face the fact that you both were on two different schedules and you feared the worst it wouldn’t work out.

“Come with me,” he proposes.

“What?” You ask completely taken back at the offer.

“Come on tour with me,” he says a bit more specifically.

You’d already proven you were willing to drop work for him by showing up at his gig tonight, but were you willing to leave your old life behind to follow his?

Then the biggest smile on Leo’s face confirms everything when you respond, “okay.”

A/N: Leo West is so precious! & for the record, I too would drop everything to follow him. Lol. I may write more Richard Madden fics, idk yet. Please let me know if you liked this or what. Thanks for reading!

#mrwinterr writes #richard madden imagine #richard madden smut #richard madden fanfic #richard madden x female reader #richard madden x reader #richard madden x y/n #leo west imagine #leo west smut #leo west x reader

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thoughts-on-bangtan · 4 years

Note

Do you think BigHit pays attention to how much things to show to be able to "please" each ship, esp the maknae ships? For example, If a run ep/any content showed a little bit more of vmin, it will somehow highlight jikook or taekook next. For sure, the boys are not faking their interactions, but do u think BigHit consciously monitor these interactions and edit it in a way that can avoid violent reactions from diff ship groups? Sorry I cannot word this ask well. 😕 I'd love to hear ur thoughts.

Thank you so much for the amazing question! And your wording was really good and clear so don’t worry about that.

I think the first major thing we need to remember is that BH is a company, and a company’s main purpose, above all else, is to generate revenue. Which isn’t a bad thing in this case seeing as, depending on how much BH makes, so do the members since their contracts, compared to others in the same industry, have some great percentages in their favor.

With that in mind, the answer to your question is a very simple and straight forward yes. BH monitors and plans things accordingly to please (paying) costumers, in the context of this answer, shippers. Fan service and showing certain interactions in certain ways are a great marketing tool that every idol agency uses for decades now, it isn’t anything new or revolutionary in any shape or form, though it’s clear that the type of fan service the BTS members do nowadays has changed in comparison to earlier years, like Jimin being required to perform shirtless at an award show.

In the context of this answer when using “ship”, I simply mean two members interacting with each other and are liked together by a certain community of people, and not actual pairs that have (in my opinion) chances or signs of being real (in a romantic sense) at all, except for vmin and namjin, since those are the only two we see as fulfilling that criteria of romantic potential and are the only two we focus on on this account. But that at large is a post/discussion for another time.

When it comes to showing different interactions between ships, or even really any kind of duo or trio in the group, editing and what does and doesn’t get shown certainly plays a role and follows some kind of idea as well. A good example of that would be how following the release of Dynamite there was a bigger “focus” on J*k*ok, seeing as they had their own moment together in the choreography and we were shown more of their interactions/”moments” in content around that time. But, while that satisfied one major ship and its devotees, it didn’t satisfy another, so it needed to be balanced out. Which is exactly what BH did.

More below the cut since this got a little long:

If you look at the Break the Silence: Persona movie commentary done by the members, the maknaes sit together in the middle of the sofa (and the screen) with JK between vmin, meaning that both major ships could pay attention to their two members and be “pleased” at the same time by any and all interactions or “moments”. A counter argument to moments involving all three of them working in a positive manner would be the Dynamite performance at Jimmy Fallon (x) that ended with the members skating around on roller-skates where at one point the maknaes were together, JK holding Tae’s wrist while Jimin had his hands on Tae’s hips (?). It was a cute and funny moment of them just helping Tae since he can’t skate, but it caused a plethora of negative/awful reactions among those who ship one and the other “main” maknae ship with, in both cases, either Jimin or Tae being on the receiving end of awful accusations, insults, and alike. Then again, to balance out J*k*ok Dynamite content, we can look at the BE-hind Story video where JK and Tae sat together and were seen interacting more, while Jimin interacted more with Yoongi, where Yo*nm*n is also a rather popular ship.

Perhaps it sounds mean or calculated or like I’m badmouthing other ships as just “tools”, but the thing we have to keep in mind is that every piece of content is planned in a certain manner (BTS are seven people after all so you can’t just tell them to do something and hope it’ll just magically work out somehow), is filmed by a giant crew of staff from stylists to PDs and lighting crews, and while there are certainly also genuine interactions between the members, simply because they enjoy spending together and interacting, being close and have no issue touching each other etc, many of these things are not really anything that would really count as “intimate” moments due to the nature of the content itself. But shippers oftentimes ignore that in favor of enjoying whatever content of their ship they are given, which makes sense, as vminnies and namjinists we do too, but we also know that BH certainly has a hand in what is and isn’t shown, and the way in which it is shown.

Look at the trailer for Memories of 2019 and the famous J*k*ok moment that was front and center. From a marketing standpoint it was a genius move since it made sure that shippers would go and buy the DVD regardless of its price. Look at what we’ve gotten for Winter Package 2021 so far, J*k*ok being playful in the trailer, T*ek*ok squished together in the picture on IG, and J*k*ok next to each other, along with Seokjin, in the preview pictures on Weverse. Of course, there was also a picture of Yoongi and Hoseok together (a popular ship) as well as Namjoon with Yoongi and Namjoon with Tae (far less popular), but those three aren’t really selling arguments the way the major maknae ships are. Even vmin isn’t, seeing as the vmin community is much, much smaller than the other two maknae ships, and also vmin moments are often times written off as ‘friends’ interacting anyway and thus not taken seriously (or being paid attention to), if you know what I mean.

(Admin 1: I, for one, would really love to own the 5th Muster DVD because I love the concert itself but also because the famous vmin dancing together to Spring Day sequence is immortalized in picture form in the photobook, so I’m not innocent or “different” in any way since I fall for this marketing stuff just as much as everyone else.)

But on the other hand, there’s also content that isn’t as controlled by BH as pre-recorded and edited videos or DVD’s, as in their vlives or live content, like the BE/LGO release day vlive in pajamas where, sure, the members were given a general plan of what they’ll be doing and a timeframe for it, but certain things seemed more spur-of-the-moment and unplanned, like the vmin lipstick moment (Tae putting on the lipstick was planned, but the final executions likely wasn’t) and the way the other members reacted to it. Or things they do at concerts, which some of it is surely also rehearsed and planned, we saw Hoseok ask JK if he’d do a heart with him at some point during one of the concerts, as example, or Tae and Seokjin planning their typical moment that happened at every concert, but other ones are more in the moment and not controlled.

When it comes to concert DVDs, that is again a different story seeing as a camera can only show as much at a time, so the editors are presented all the footage from the concert and then decide which to show and which not. So, if we see an interaction between JK and Hoseok, for example, at the same time somewhere else Namjoon might be dancing with Seokjin or vmin could be doing something, but we’d simply never know since they can’t show us everything.

That, in a way, is also the case with actual concerts where there’s a difference, somewhat, between concerts that get filmed for DVDs or streamed online, and those that are not. Something that comes to mind would be a vmin moment during Best of Me in Busan on the day that didn’t get filmed where they skipped the first half of the choreography and vmin stood together, half of that sequence being just visible in the background while JK is the primary focus of the cameras that are shown on the side screens, and this whole thing only happened this one time and never again. (x) That’s a moment that, in my opinion, isn’t planned, or other similar moments where vmin change the choreographies (even if just a little) to do something together, like during Spring Day during WINGS Tour Final where Jimin adjusted his solo moment so that he ended up in front of Tae. (x)

youtube

There’s also this whole mythos I’ve heard/read about a lot about how supposedly at some of the not filmed Japanese concerts (where I’m not sure if people mean LY:SY or just LY) had some crazy moments between the members (in the sense of “ship” moments and alike) BUT I couldn’t find any proof of that, so if someone perhaps knows anything about this, let me know.

Finally, there’s also things like Bon Voyage and In the SOOP which, you’d expect that they would be less edited and less controlled, but even here a selection takes place of which scenes are shown and which are not. Something I find interesting is how the first half of In the SOOP feels very different to how the second half does when they return to the house after being gone for a few days. In the first half vmin (as well as namjin) seemed to “satellite” around each other and interact much more, playing ping pong or doing things together in some shape or form, but in the second half that was (nearly) completely gone and neither interacted much with each other, if at all. We even had Jimin who outright refused to join Tae and Hoseok on their car adventure, or we saw Seokjin wake up Namjoon to go jogging yet never got to see said jogging happening (if it did happen, that is).

So, to sum all of this up: Yes, BH definitely monitors and guides the way certain things are and aren’t shown in order to achieve certain things or avoid certain reactions, though it’s a complex balancing act and doesn’t always work out. There are things that are unplanned and not controlled, of course, but there’s also a fair amount of marketing play involved.

After all BTS aren’t rookies anymore, instead they are giant household names and their actions and words move people, move money, and on top of that they are still idols, and part of what it means to be an idol is differentiating between your idol appearance/persona (so what we see in screen) and your personal private life, which is usually kept as secret as only possible. How much they themselves choose to share of their real selves and real feelings toward each other is up to them (as well as up to BH and how much they “allow” them to/don’t edit out). But that, too, is a whole other discussion for another time.

#answered ask #answered by admin 2 #bts #marketing is quite the tricky beast #discussion

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smol-and-grumpy · 5 years

Text

Sweet Relief

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean suffers a serious case of blue balls.

Warnings: Friends to lovers trope? Smut, hand job, masturbation, dirty talk, a hint of daddy kink, a little crack too

WC: 2255

A/N: This was written for @spnkinkbingo, filling out my ‘dirty talk’ square.

Dean’s hormones are all over the fucking place and he’s annoyed, to say the least.

It has been what? Months. MONTHS! Since he got laid. And maybe, give or take, a week since he last had time to himself at all to rub himself off. For someone who gets it and does it regularly, it’s pure torture. He’s sure that if he doesn’t get a chance to get it out of his system any time soon, he’ll die of blue balls. They might burst into flames and fall off, maybe even explode in a thousand pieces and right about now, they feel like they weigh a goddamn ton.

Okay, he might be exaggerating, but also he is kinda not. It’s hard to keep a straight head, to be honest.

Dean chuckles at the thought of dying of blue balls. Thinks that it’s most likely not the ending Chuck wrote for him. He also thinks that it would actually be fun to see Chuck throwing a tantrum because things don’t go his way, but Dean’s eyes widened in shock all of a sudden. What if it is the ending Chuck wrote out for him? Because yeah, Chuck’s a fucking pervert and Dean can’t really put it past him.

“Dean?”

“Dean!”

Dean jerks from his daydream (daymare? What do you call when you have nightmares during the day anyway?), as an elbow nudges against his arm.

“What!” It comes out of him, more annoyed than he intends to.

“Woah, grumpy much?” Y/N snorts beside him.

They are in a diner, having a feast after their latest monster of the week. Across from him were Sam and Eileen who act all lovey dovey and it makes Dean wanna throw up sometimes. Not that he’s not happy for Sammy but ugh, he could go with a little less PDA. At least they should consider his aching balls. It really wouldn’t be too much to ask for, would it?

“I need to pee,” Y/N says shamelessly, nudging him some more but he’s still too lost in thought, and his cock is on fucking half-mast. What’s with that thing anyway? He’s almost forty-fucking-one. It should not be doing all these kinda things, really.

Dean feels her lift herself up on her hands that are braced on the table and the seat, leveling up just high enough to place her leg on the other side of him and heaving herself over him. Her bottoms brush against his thighs and crotch in the process.

“Woah, watch out, will ya?” Dean shouts grumpily.

Being upset doesn’t help though. Doesn’t help that his dick stirs again, and there’s a breeze of her perfume that still lingers in the air, mixed with her sweat and musk. Dean’s head starts to spin.

She rolls her eyes, while Sam sends him a glare. “Dude, she’s been asking you three times already, you wouldn’t even budge. What’s the matter with you?”

Dean doesn’t answer and keeps on eating the fries with a stern face.

***

Two more agonizing days had passed and every time Dean sat down and tried to ‘relax’ there was always something that required his attention. And all he wanted was to give attention to his fucking cock.

Dean brings in the groceries, dropping the bags onto the counter. “You need any help?”

“Nah. Dinner’s in about two hours. Y/N is coming over later with her findings,” Sam answers as he walks around Eileen and the woman laughs while she deliberately blocks Sam’s way.

Dean rolls his eyes, wants to get away from the cheesy couple, “K, I’ll be in my room.”

Fucking finally.

“Dean?”

“Dean,”

“Dean!”

The door opens and Y/N bursts into his room.

Dean’s instinct is to close the laptop but it was way out of reach from the position he’s in.

The position being, Dean spread on his bed, his back leaning against the wall, and he’s bottomless, holding his hard cock in his hand.

He’d rather his position being, somewhere in a hole on the floor with him burying himself as deep as he can go.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters under his breath, scrambles up quickly, and covers himself with a pillow.

It’s silent between them. He can hear crickets chirping in his mind.

Well, silent, except from the moans of a girl screaming Please, harder. Fuck me harder!

“‘M sorry,” She says, and Dean can see that her cheeks are flush, “I knocked and I called and you didn’t answer, so I thought something terrible must have happened.”

“It’s okay,” He mumbles, “Can you leave me alone now?”

“Were you,” She points with her index finger up and down.

“Duh, what did it look like?” He snarls.

She grins and closes the door before she walks towards the bed, “Want me to help?”

“Well…” Dean huffs, “Yeah, but,” He feels nervous, “But why?”

He’s not gonna lie, a little help would be great.

“Because something came up and we need to leave soon. Maybe if I help it’ll be faster?” She was sitting down on the bed next to him now and Dean’s can’t explain why his dick’s still so hard even after the interruption.

“Come on big guy, move a little, let me get behind you.”

Dean’s eyebrows climb up his forehead.

“Just do what I say, can ya?” Y/N chuckles.

“Alright, alright!” He moves down the bed a little. The laptop is now closer and he reaches over in order to close it.

“No, leave it. It helps me too.”

Y/N stands up and takes off her shirt, losing the bra next and Dean can't believe his eyes. He’s not going to lie, he always thought that she was cute. Always wondered what’s underneath the layer of clothing, wondered how sweet she must taste, how he could make her call his name in ecstasy. Dean just never could act up on that, because he doesn't want to jeopardize the friendship they have.

“You too, Dean.” She grins, climbing on the bed and kneels behind him.

Of course Dean doesn’t have to be asked twice. His hands fumble at the hem of his henley and pull it over his head, throwing it on the heap of clothes on the floor.

“Good,” She smiles, “Now, eyes on the laptop, alright?”

“O..okay,” Dean swallows hard as he feels her body moving against his back, the peak of her nipples hardening against his skin.

Her nose brushes his temple, “Relax, and leave your hands on your sides,”

Dean can only nod.

“Lube?” She asks but before Dean can answer, she’s found it, “Nevermind, I got it.”

She opens the bottle, squirts a generous amount into her hand before she tosses the bottle on the bed somewhere.

Her hands then come around his body from the back, and Dean jerks at the first touch of her fingers on his cock. He moans shamelessly, and it makes her chuckle against his cheek.

“Good?” She asks as she kisses his shoulder, his neck, and she lets her tongue trail along his jaw.

“Fuck, yeah,” Dean’s cock throbs and leaks as she works him with both her hands, applying the right amount of pressure, squeezing harder at the head, eliciting a wrecked sound from his throat that Dean knows he should be ashamed of, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Look at them, Dean. Look how deep he fucks her,” She sucks at his earlobe, licking up his shell, “Imagine it’s you,” She works her hand to the same rhythm of the couple fucking on the screen. Slow and deep. “If you want, you can imagine that it’s me.”

Dean turns his head to look at her and she just fucking winks.

“Eyes on the screen, cowboy,” She giggles and Dean complies.

Y/N sucks in a patch on his neck, a suction strong enough to draw blood to the surface. He wonders, if it’ll leave a mark, kind of hopes that it will.

“You have a beautiful cock, Dean. Always knew that you’re packed, never thought it’ll look so delicious, though.” One of her hands leaves his cock, works its way further down, cupping his sac, “Mmh.. I’d love to have a taste,”

“Y-you can,” He stutters, her hand squeezing his balls on the right side of painful.

Y/N chuckles lightly, “We don’t have time. Maybe next time,”

Dean dick twitches just by her mentioning that there’s a possibility of a next fucking time. Because fuck yeah, he’d love to show her what his cock is really good for.

Their eyes are back on the screen and she’s breathing next to his ear.

Oh my god, your cock feels so good, daddy! The girl on the screen screams and pants.

“Mmh,” She says, trailing her nose along his cheek and kisses him lightly as her hand abandons his balls. Her fingernails leave a wet trail along his body on their way up, until she brushes the pad of her finger against his erect nipple.

Dean moans.

“You’re so sensitive there, aren’t you?”

“Fuck,” Dean breathes out, his cheeks are burning.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! Daddy I’m gonna come! The girl on the screen shrieks.

Dean’s cock twitches at the sound and Y/N works him faster as the guy plunges his dick into the girl, “You like that, Dean? Huh? Like it when I call you Daddy?” It twitches again, getting harder too, and Dean doesn’t even know that it’s possible.

“Yeah, you do,” She laughs softly before sucking at his shoulder and looking up at him. He’s too ashamed to look at her, instead, he keeps his eyes glued to the screen, “I would love to feel your cock in my pussy, Dean. Bet I’d have trouble working it in, it’s so big. I’d be so tight around you. But you’d feel so fucking perfect inside of me, I just know it.”

Fuck, he’s gonna blow just imagining it.

“You’d know how to use it, too, don’t you? You’d fuck me deep,” She pinches his nipple and Dean groans again. “Maybe I can get on top. Would you like for me to ride you, Daddy?”

Aaaand, there’s a twitch again.

Jesus fucking Christ!

“Your dick feels so hot and hard, you’re going to come, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh…” Dean can only manage to squeeze out some incoherent sounds past his throat.

“I’d ride you so good, Dean, my hands on your chest, pinching and tweaking your nipples while I grind down on your hard cock,” Her mouth is right behind his ear and Dean can feel her warm breath, “I’m soaking wet just thinking about it,” She kisses the back of his neck, “My cunt’s slick and tight, imagine me coming on your cock, Dean. My walls contracting around you, milking you for what you’re worth. Holding you captive. Both of us sliding, grinding wetly against each other,”

Fuck, he’d love to feel that.

“You have a petty face, Dean,” She works her mouth over to his throat, sucks at his pulse point, “I’d love to ride that, too. Would you let me, huh? I’d love for you to bury your face in my dripping pussy, working your tongue inside of me, I could come on your face, how does that sound?”

There’s a weird noise coming out of his throat and Dean knows that he should be ashamed, but he’s past caring.

“I’m on the pill and I know you’re clean, too. I’d let you finish inside of me, Daddy, shoot your load inside, making your cum leak out of me for days, that would be nice, huh,”

“Fuck yeah,”

“And just stay in there until your cock’s hard again and take me apart all over,”

“Shit, I’m -”

Dean squeezes his eyes shut. Both her hands are back on his cock. Y/N picks up the rhythm and he can’t help but buckle up, fucking himself into her hands.

“Come, Dean,” She leans over and to the side a little, and Dean opens his eyes to look at her. She had a stupid grin on her face and fuck, he just wants to kiss her.

He doesn’t even have to ask though.

“Come for me,” She whispers before she kisses him, and he fucking groans into her mouth before his tongue takes over. It’s messy and Dean let out more air into her mouth than he intends to but his climax makes him see fucking stars, it has been that long.

Y/N parts from the kiss and sits down, waits for Dean to come down from a fucking high and when he’s looking at her again, she fucking licks her fingers clean from his mess. She grins when she sees him staring, “Tastes good, Dean,”

He can’t help but chuckle, and turns himself around to attack her and she shrieks in delight when she finds herself pinned to the mattress. Dean looks down to himself briefly, sees that he’s still fucking hard, makes a mental note to brag to Sam about his stamina at almost forty-fucking-one.

Dean kisses her again, long, deep, fucking messy, tastes himself on her, doesn’t even fucking mind it.

“Let me help you.” He mumbles against her lips.

She laughs, “Maybe some other time, Sam and Eileen are waiting for us.”

“Don’t care,” Dean says, mouths along her neck downwards, seals his lips around her nipple, sucking them in and letting them out with a lewd pop, one by one. She has her hand in his hair, blunt nails digging into his scalp.

#spnkinkbingo #dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #nathalie writes

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