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miley1442111 · 11 months ago

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saving me- s.reid

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a/n: fem reader, but as always imagine what you like :)

summary: spencer has to save you before it's too late.

pairing: spencer reid x fem bau! reader

warnings: general cm topics, sexual assault, hostage situation, drugging, the team don't know about you and spencer, injuries, reader gets injured, reader is allergic to opioids, drugs, alergic reaction, knives, guns, reader begs to be killed, spencer shoots someone. (i think that's it, tell me if i missed anything :))

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Another migraine. Another fucking migraine.

Your life was truly a joke.

You sat beside Emily in the car, eyes heavy with pain as you profusely rubbed them, the sunlight from the sky beside you far too bright.

“Y/l/n? Any ideas?” Morgan asked, kicking you softly under the table.

“The unsub will probably be extremely interested in the investigation but they probably won’t bring themselves into it. We’ll end up seeking them out,” you rattled off.

“Are you alright?” Prentiss whispered.

“Fine,” you lied. “Just tired eyes.”

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Spencer’s eyes were on you from the second you’d spoken about your ‘tired eyes’. He was meant to be working up a geological profile, but his focus was completely on you. ‘Tired eyes’, you’d been wearing glasses or contacts all week, you’d been drinking enough liquids, you’d been eating, he assumed you’d slept, you'd been busy most of the week and sleeping at your own apartment instead of his.

What could cause ‘tired eyes’?

“Reid!” Seaver all but shouted in his ear.

“Y-yeah? Yes?” He answered, eyes focusing on the map again.

“Is Y/l/n here?” Rossi asked.

“W-what? No. I thought she went with Hotch and Prentiss,” he hesitated.

“She told them she was with us,” Rossi sighed. “So then where is she?”

“I-I don’t know,” Spencer admitted. “I’ll call her.”

Rossi held up your cell phone and Spencer’s stomach dropped.

“Shit,” he cursed.

“Shit is right,” Rossi nodded.

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It had been 24 hours, you were officially a missing person. You had no idea where you were, someone must’ve drugged you. That hadn’t been a regular migraine. Your head thumped with pain as you struggled against the duct tape around your hands and feet.

“You’re one beautiful girl, aren’t you?” You could hear the smirk in his voice, feel the way he was watching you.

You tried to scream but the duct tape around your mouth made it difficult.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” he came closer, into the light. You could see his face. He was a white male, between the ages of 35-40, dad-build, and a sick smirk.

You didn’t fight back, you couldn’t. You didn’t even notice the camera in the corner. You didn’t know that this was being recorded, or live-streamed directly to Penelope. Penelope, who showed it to the team. To your boyfriend.

They were watching the worst moment of your life unfold.

And you had no idea.

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“Guys,” Penelope squeaked. “This j-just came through,” she showed them her laptop and looked away, tears clouding her vision.

“Is that-” Derek started

“Y/n,” Aaron finished for him.

“What about her? Did you find her?” Spencer asked, staring at the group from behind Penelope. “Is she ok?”

The team’s eyes were glued to the screen as Spencer stood there, demanding an answer.

“Guys what?!” he shouted. “Someone answer me!”

“Come here,” Seaver sighed. Spencer stood beside her and watched in horror as the unsub hurt you.

“We have to find her,” he stated. “Now.”

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“Please, please just kill me,” you begged. He’d taken the tape off a while ago. “Please kill me.”

“I’m not a necrophiliac,” he laughed in your face. “I like my girls alive.”

“Fuck you,” you sobbed. Blood, dirt, tears, and sweat coating your skin. “Fuck you!”

“I’m actively trying to fuck you,” he laughed again. You hated him. You hated this. You hated everything.

“Just kill me,” you sobbed. “Please!”

He hit you on the head and you went out again.

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

“FBI!” Morgan’s voice rang out through the warehouse. Spencer was hot on his heels, walking ahead of him and ignoring proper protocol. “Reid!” He ran after him.

“FBI! Put the knife down!” Spencer shouted at the unsub holding a knife to your throat. Something had gone wrong. He scanned the room quickly.

“I-I didn’t mean to- I was just-” The unsub stepped away, dropping the knife. “She wasn’t meant to die.”

Die. Dead. You were dead.

Spencer fired his gun without a second thought. He ran over to you and checked your pulse, there but barely.

“Hotch I need an ambulance!” He shouted. “Y/n, baby, I need you to wake up,” he begged. “Please, please, wake up, I need you Y/n. Please.”

“Spencer-” Prentiss started but Spencer silenced her with his own words.

“We’re dating. We have been for a year and a half, don’t you dare tell me to ‘step away’,” he sighed.

The paramedics rushed in, starting you on an IV.

“She’s allergic to opioids,” Spencer rattled off. “She can’t have any opioids.”

“Spencer,” Hotch sighed. “She’s had some already,” Hotch pointed to the vials in the corner of the room and the rusty needle beside them.

Fuck.

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“So when were you planning on telling us?” Derek sighed as they all sat in the waiting room.

“I don’t know, soon-maybe?”

“A year and a half is a long time,” Emily smiled. “Congratulations.”

Spencer nodded.

“Dr. Reid?” The nurse asked. Spencer shot up and out of his seat.

“Yes?”

“Ms. Y/l/n is stable but she is severely hurt. Physically and... mentally. She endured hours of sexual assault and her body and mind reflect that. I suggest someone non-threatening to see her first. Maybe a woman?”

Spencer gulped and nodded. “Emily?”

“Yeah of course,” she nodded, walking behind the nurse as he led her to your room.

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You wanted Spencer. You needed him.

Emily walked in and tears filled your eyes. “Where’s Spencer? Is he ok?”

“He’s fine, they just thought that you’d want someone non-threatening to come in and see you first-” Emily explained.

“Can you go grab Spencer please?” you sniffled. She smiled and nodded, then left the room.

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“Spencer?” Emily called into the hall. “She wants you.”

Spencer had never walked faster in his life.

There you were. Bruises and scratches littering your body and face. Your beautiful face. Your beautiful smile and teary eyes.

“Come here, please,” you whispered. Spencer sat at your side, your hand in his. “Thank you.”

He chuckled sadly. “For what?”

“Saving me. All the time,” you smiled softly.

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criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, marvel, top gun, challengers, the bear, the hunger games, obx+)

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #bau team #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid angst #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #mgg

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nerdy-novelist017 · 10 months ago

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i'm so in love with your little bunny series and i'm so glad you're writing for benny! i was wondering if you could write something about reader being a yapper, always talking a lot about things with so much excite and benny finds this the most cutest thing ever, but one day someone says that she's annoying for that, which makes her feel very self conscious and she starts to think that benny might feel the same since he's a very much quiter person, and benny assures her that is not the case? just fluffy and comfort to warm my heart <3 thank you already!

Anon, this is literally the cutest request ever omg!!! Thank you for the request, I had so much fun writing this! I paired this as another one shot for my Benny x Bunny series, hope you enjoy!

Word Count- 2k+

Summary- See request above.

Sweet Talking (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader)

You pressed a kiss to Benny’s cheek, whispering to him that you’d be right back as you stood and made your way around the bonfire. You pulled Benny’s jacket tighter around you to fend off the chilly evening air on your trek back to the house. The night was still young, the sun having just set an hour ago and these bikers would be up until the sunrise, all having caught their second wind from the race held earlier in the fields. The loudness of the bikes and the sheer excitement from the crowds was something you were still trying to get used to, but you found that you actually liked talking to these people. Once they included you in their conversations and picked topics that you could relate to as well, you found yourself talking a lot more than you ever have in your life. They laughed at your jokes, they called out to you when they saw you approaching, they really seemed to just adopt you into their club. You supposed, in the beginning, a majority of that was from Benny probably intimidating some members into being nice to you, but regardless of that, they still seemed to enjoy your company and your silly stories and random facts – especially the women of this club.

Stepping through the back door, you were immediately greeted by the scent of cigarette smoke and booze, things you were also still trying to get used to. Several members were lounging on the couch, smoking and talking as you passed them on your way to the kitchen. You went to the fridge, opening it and lowering yourself to search for a cold pop for yourself. Voices filtered into your vicinity from the adjacent dining room. Just as you grab another beer for Benny, your ears perked up when you heard your name being said in passing and you froze behind the refrigerator door.

“–She does have a sweet piece of ass on her though,” a male voice, sounding muffled most likely by a cigarette hanging from his lips. You smiled to yourself, biting your lip. You probably shouldn’t be listening to this, but curiosity rooted you to your spot as you tried peeking over the door to catch a look at who was speaking.

“Jesus Christ, you can’t get her to shut up anymore.” another voice replied, much deeper and raspier than the first. “I miss when she would just stand there shaking like a leaf, all nervous and quiet.”

“Would it even be worth it to hit that? C’mon man, she’d gab your fucking ear off during it, totally kill the mood for me.”

Your smile slowly at their words, heart sinking. You should get up and leave, you told yourself. But you couldn’t force your legs to move.

“I’d put that mouth of hers to work on something else,” the first man said, chuckling darkly. You squeezed your eyes shut at the insinuation.

“Don’t know how Benny–boy puts up with it. I’d have to gag her just to hear myself think–”

You stand abruptly, unable to listen to anymore of their hurtful words. Using a bit more force than you intended, you slammed the fridge door shut, the glass bottles rattling harshly inside from the force. Tears stung your eyes as you rushed back through the living room to the backdoor. You paused once you rounded the side of the house, sniffing in order to keep the tears at bay. They were just drunk assholes, you tried to tell yourself. Who cares what they think of you?

But a few traitor tears escaped your lashes at the thought of Benny finding you annoying too. Benny– that quiet, easy-spoken man who you loved with everything in you. That quiet man who maybe didn’t like how you squealed with excitement when you saw someone you knew from across the room. That quiet man who maybe didn’t like when you giggled loudly at jokes told around the bonfire. That quiet man who was your exact opposite.

******

Benny could tell there was something wrong the second you came into view again, your figure illuminated by the orange flames of the bonfire as you moved to sit back down by him. Your hands were shoved in the pockets of his jacket, head tucked low. And beside him? It was rare that you didn’t sit on his lap anymore.

You handed him a beer and he tried to catch your eyes because was that tears he saw coating your lashes? But you avoided his gaze, instead curling into his side and that’s how you stayed for the rest of the night, quiet as a mouse, until you eventually tugged on his sleeve and asked if you could go home. The ride home was also weird. You didn’t tap his shoulder and point to things that interested you like you normally did on the back of his bike. You stayed glued to his back, silent.

Benny watched, brow furrowed, as you went about your nighttime routine in silence, the house you shared no longer filled with your usual chatter. He sat on the edge of the bed, wracking his brain with the possibilities of you being upset with him. (The silent treatment was often a go-to method of torture you used when Benny pissed you off) but he was at a loss. Something had to have happened when you left the bonfire. Anxiety spiked through him at the thought that maybe someone had done something to you, but no, you would have told him. He made you promise to always talk to him if someone at the club was bothering you.

You changed into your nightgown and Benny’s heart squeezed at the sight of you avoiding his gaze once again as you turned and began brushing out your pin curls in the mirror.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” he asked, unable to bare another second of your silence.

“Mh-hm.” Came your short reply.

Benny swallowed. You were definitely upset. “You seem . . . quiet.”

That was definitely the wrong thing to say because you’re shoulders stiffened for a moment and he thought you might turn around and throw your brush at him. But instead, you responded in a small voice, “Just tired.”

He frowned. He’d seen you when you were tired, this was something else. He tried a different tactic. “Tell me about your day, Bunny.”

You shrugged. “Not much happened.”

“Well, tell me about it. I wanna hear it.” He tried to catch your eyes as you put the brush down and stepped away from the vanity.

“Well, maybe I don’t wanna talk about it? I just want to go to bed, Benny.” you tried to move past him to go to your side of the bed but Benny reached out gently tugged on the hem of your nightgown, stopping you.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, looking up at you.

You nodded, but still refused to make eye-contact.

“What’s wrong?” he questioned. “Did someone do something to you tonight?”

You shook your head quickly and relief swept through him. “No, no. Nothing like that.”

His hands slid up to your hips and he pulled you closer to him. “Talk to me, Bunny. Please. I don’t understand what’s wrong.”

You swallowed, chin wobbling slightly. “Nothing happened . . . I just–I overheard some guys talkin’ is all.”

He remained silent and you continued hesitantly. “When I went to get a drink . . . they didn’t know I was there. And–and I should have left as soon as I heard them talking but . . .”

“What were they saying?”

You clenched your jaw and gave him a distressed look.

He squeezed your hips encouragingly. “What were they saying?”

“It doesn’t matter–”

“It does to me,” he was quick to say.

“They . . . they were talkin’ about how I talk . . . a lot. They said it was annoying. They were saying crude things about using my mouth for . . . other things.” you said slowly, voice wavering and you looked down in embarrassment.

Benny nodded and breathed out of his nose, counting to ten in his head to cool his suddenly white hot anger which bloomed in his chest. He had worked so hard to get you to feel comfortable around the club, to get you to come out of your shell and now someone had something to say about his girl—his sweet shy girl—talking? “Who was it?”

“Oh, Benny–” You pulled back from him. “Don’t go saying anything to them!”

“Why not?” He planned to do much more than talk to them.

“Because!” you cried, your voice going an octave higher. “That would make it worse! Besides, they’re–they’re right anyway.”

“Right about what?” he asked, bewildered at how they could possibly know you like he did.

“Well, I do talk a lot. A–and I know it can be annoying for someone who’s a lot more quiet.”

“Annoying?” He laughed at the inaccuracy of that statement and you must have thought he was laughing at you because you took a big step back from him, out of his reach.

“I just don’t want to embarrass you,” you murmured, looking down at the carpet below you.

Benny’s stomach fluttered apprehensively. There had been only a few times in his life where he wished he was better at talking, at communicating his feelings. He wanted to console you, to reassure you, that you could never be annoying or embarrassing to him. He wanted to tell you just how much you gave him purpose and helped him in his life. How you were his life. This was one of those times.

He rose from the bed and approached you passively, trying to gather his thoughts. “I like when you talk. When we spend the day apart, I look forward to hearing about your day and what you did and what you saw while I was gone. And when we’re riding and you point to the little things like the flowers on the sidewalk or the sunsets, I like that. I really like that. And when you tell stories, you get so immersed and you start talking with your hands, I like that too. You’re so friendly to everyone, no matter what they look like or how well you know them and that’s one of my favorite things about you. You talkin’ could never embarrass me, Bunny, because it’s one of the reasons I love you.”

Tears welled up in your doe-eyes and he swallowed nervously. “Why are you crying?”

Suddenly, you were pressed so tightly to his chest, face burying into his shirt, hands holding onto him with such grip that Benny stumbled. He recovered quickly, wrapping his arms around your small frame.

“Oh, Benny,” you choked up. “You’re so sweet!”

He wasn’t so sure about that, maybe only when it came to you. He sure as hell wasn’t going to be so sweet to those guys that spoke about you like that. He’d take a trip tomorrow to visit them personally, but for tonight, he belonged to you. He’d discovered that about himself from your relationship, from you. Even though he wanted to do things right when he wanted to, he couldn’t always. That’s what love was, putting others’ needs before your own. And tonight, you needed him, so he would be here.

His hands found your jaw and he tilted your head back to press a kiss to your forehead. “Will you come lay with me and tell me about your day?”

You nod, sniffing and Benny nearly melted at the smile you gave him. That was the smile he’d come to recognize as the one you had reserved for only him. Soft, sweet and totally perfect in every way. He pulled you gently back to bed and relished as you curled up against him. His heart was filled with warmth as he listened to you chatter on about your day and your friends and your thoughts, anything that came to mind. He’d ask questions every once in a while to keep you going, but he mostly stayed quiet, because to him, you were so captivating and cute. You both talked throughout the night, you slowly getting lower and lower into his side until finally falling asleep, your conversation temporarily paused until the morning.

-Tag List-

@imusicaddict @elizabeth916 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @dudii4love @ironmooncat @beebeechaos @astrogrande @pearlparty @themorriganisamonster @sillylittlethrowaway @ughdontbeboring @penwieldingdreamer @charmingballoon @eugene-emt-roe @sunnbib @semperamans @groovyangelkisses @killerqueenfan @cynic-spirit @pomtherine @tranquilty @m00npjm @twisteduniverse5 @justsomewritingblog @nhlfs @thepassionatereader @rebecca-hvnstn @nethanybear @dreamlandcreations @buckysteveloki-me @simsiddy @zablife @sansaorgana @autumnleaves1991-blog @charmingballoon @butler-trouble @lindszeppelin @jaiuneamesolitaiire @wavyjassy @real-lana-del-rey @cynic-spirit @pomtherine @ilovehyperfixating @xcallmetaniax @lovenewfandoms

#Benny loves a yapper #opposites attract #the bikeriders #benny cross #benny cross x reader #austin butler #benny x bunny #austin butler x reader #benny x reader #fluff #imagine #austin butler fandom #little bunny #requests

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nahoney22 · 2 months ago

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Liar Liar (Part 1/?)

🫧 Part One - 79's

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female Reader.

🫧 word count: 5k.

🫧 Plot: When you meet a so-called clone named Whisky at 79's, you're a bit flustered with the impression he left on you. Little did you know that you were now caught in a web of Commander Fox’s lie.

🫧 Chapter Warnings: Safe for work, alcohol consumption, lying, teasing, flirting, Corrie guard antics, Fox is a little shit, grumpy. AFAB Female reader.

🫧 Authors note: Hi! So this is going to be a short story about reader and Commander Fox. Be prepared for lots of flirting, angst, crying, fun and eventual smutty goodness! Enjoy. I've also posted most parts to my AO3 account (NaHoney).

“You gonna join us tonight?”

You glance up from your work, eyebrows raised. “And that would be…?”

“79’s, of course!” Thire grins, slinging his arm around one of his brothers. “We need a break.”

“He’s right. I can’t remember the last time I had a night just to relax,” Hound chimes in, leaning casually against the wall, his helmet tucked under one arm.

They look at you expectantly as you mull it over. You rarely went out—especially not with the boys—but the idea of unwinding at 79’s didn’t sound half bad. Besides, your friend Pia was working tonight, and catching up with her had been long overdue.

“Sure,” you say, nodding as you distribute the last of the data files onto the desks for tomorrow’s shift. “I’ll be there.”

The troopers exchange approving smiles. “Should we ask Fox?” Hound wonders aloud, glancing at his brothers before shifting his gaze to you.

“Why bother?” Stone snorts from the doorway. “He always says no.”

You roll your eyes but can’t deny the truth in Stone’s words. You’d overheard Fox turn down countless invitations.

Anyway, he didn’t seem the type to let loose, especially with how rowdy the boys could get after a few rounds of Corellian ale.

“I don’t see the harm in asking him again,” you reply, shrugging. “But yeah, he’ll probably say no.”

They leave you with the task. You finish tidying up, making sure everything is prepped for tomorrow. The clock ticks closer to 1900 hours, but Fox still hasn’t returned from the Senate. Deciding you’ve waited long enough, you gather your things and head for the door.

Just as you hit the button to open it, the door hisses apart, and you nearly collide with the broad red armor of Commander Fox.

“Oh!” You step back quickly, almost tripping over your own feet. “There you are.”

Fox enters, his usual confident stride noticeably subdued. He moves to his desk, his back to you, shoulders tense beneath his armor.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you continue, hovering uncertainly near the doorway.

A weary and almost impatient sigh filters through his modulator. “And why’s that?”

Something’s off. You’re used to his abrupt tone, but tonight there’s a heaviness to it that makes you hesitate with your answer

“Everything okay, Commander?” Your tone softens, concerned as you ignore his question.

“Fine,” he replies curtly, glancing over his shoulder. When he sees the worry etched on your face, he sighs again, this time sounding more human than soldier. “It’s just been a long day.”

You offer a small, sympathetic smile. “Yeah, I can imagine. You usually don’t finish this late at the Senate.”

He turns fully to face you, leaning back against his desk. His arms cross over his chest. “I’ve finished later,” he says dryly. “Is everything sorted for the morning?” He then asks, changing topic swiftly.

“Yes, Commander. Everyone has their files, and I put through an order for more supplies.”

“Such as?” He presses.

You hold your tongue and maintain a neutral expression. Back to his grumpy self, it seems.

“Extra medpacs, ammo, and rations. They should arrive by 0900 hours,” you list off, trying to sound efficient and competent, even though his scrutiny makes your blood simmer.

Fox nods absently, his visor fixed on you. Then he starts rattling off a checklist of additional tasks. Everything from inventory updates, personnel reports, security drills. You bite back the urge to roll your eyes, wondering why he insists on making everything harder than it needs to be.

“Like I said, Commander,” you interrupt gently but firmly when he finishes, “I’ve taken care of everything. For you.”

The ‘for you’ slips out sharper than intended, and you can’t help the flicker of satisfaction when you see his posture stiffen slightly. Turning away, you head for the door, masking your irritation with a forced calm. Just before you step out, you hesitate, glancing back.

“I stayed because the boys wanted to see if you’d join us at 79’s tonight. I’ll tell them you’re busy.”

Because ‘busy’ always sounds better than ‘tired’.

⋅⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

“There she is!” Stone cheers the moment he spots you, raising his glass in a mock toast.

You grin as you weave through the packed club, the bass of music thudding in your chest, lights flickering in shades of blue and violet. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol. Typical 79’s.

As you reach the group, a chorus of nods and smiles greet you. Thire, Hound, and a few other Corrie Guards stand clustered together, already a few drinks in.

“Lookin’ good.” Hound nods appreciatively, earning a playful jab from you but accepting the compliment regardless. It’s not often you dress up, after all and the shirt you bought last month was too cute not to wear.

“Surprised to see you all behaving,” you tease, eyeing Thire’s drink before shifting to the man himself. “Especially you. No table dancing tonight?”

Thire groans, rubbing his head like the memory physically pains him. “I thought we all agreed not to bring that up.”

“Too hard to forget.” You smirk. “Especially the part where you fell flat on your face.”

Hound chokes on his drink, while Stone grins over the rim of his own. “I swear, the look on his face right before he went down—priceless.”

Thire mutters something about betrayal under his breath but smirks anyway.

“So, I take it the Commander isn’t coming?” Hound then asks, shifting the conversation as he leans closer.

You bite back a smart remark, still holding a minor grudge from your last interaction with Fox. Instead, you just shake your head. “Nope. He was really busy. Lots of files to go through.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Stone mutters, downing another sip.

You nod along, but despite your irritation, you can’t shake the image of Fox’s slumped posture, the exhaustion practically radiating off him. Still, you push the thought aside and excuse yourself, heading toward the bar.

Sliding onto a stool, you drum your fingers against the bartop, scanning the crowd until a familiar voice breaks through the noise.

“There’s my girl!” Pia grins, practically launching herself over the bar to pull you into a quick hug. “It’s been forever!”

“Oh, I know,” you sigh, grateful for the warmth of her presence. “Work’s been eating up my life. I haven’t had time for anything.”

“Tell me about it,” Pia groans, throwing a rag over her shoulder. “I’ve covered four extra shifts this week. Four! I basically live here.”

“That’s rough.”

“I wouldn’t mind if the pay was half-decent,” she grumbles, before quickly turning to serve an impatient trooper waving a handful of credits. She hands him his drink with a pointed look before spinning back to you. “Anyway, let’s get you a drink.”

As she sets a fruity, colorful concoction in front of you, you instinctively reach for your credits, but Pia swats your hand away with the tiny umbrella meant for your drink.

“Absolutely not.” She tuts, popping the umbrella in your glass for extra flourish.

You arch a brow. “You sure?”

“Of course.” She’s already dashing off to serve someone else before you can protest, so you just shake your head with a laugh.

“Don’t expect a tip, then,” you joke.

“Wouldn’t expect one from you anyway!” Pia calls over her shoulder, grinning.

You take a sip, humming in satisfaction. Perfect, as always. As the straw hangs lazily from your lips, you scan the bar, looking for any more familiar faces—though, ironically, in a room full of clones, everyone looks familiar.

Then you spot him.

Across the bar, a clone sits alone, elbow propped up as he rests his head in his hand. He looks… tired. Maybe bored. Maybe just hoping no one will bother him. But there’s something about him that catches your attention.

Salt-and-pepper curls frame his face, the dim light emphasising the lines along his forehead. He wears his blacks, leaving his battalion unclear. But you can’t shake the feeling that you should know who he is.

Before you can think too hard about it, Pia appears in your line of sight, snapping you back to reality.

“So, how is it?” she asks, wiggling her brows.

You blink. “How’s what?”

“The drink, duh .”

“Oh.” You flush slightly, realising you’d been too busy staring at the mystery trooper. “Yeah, it’s great. Thanks.”

Pia beams at the praise before suddenly flipping off a customer who’s been aggressively clicking his fingers for service. “ I said I’ll be with you in a minute!” she snaps, before turning back to you. “So, who’s your company tonight?”

“The Corrie Guards, of course.”

Pia gives you a skeptical look. “Uh-huh. Well, do me a favor and make sure Thire stays off the tables this time.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Already warned him.”

As Pia busies herself with another round of orders, your gaze naturally drifts back to the clone across the bar. For a split second, you swear he meets your eyes, but Pia keeps unintentionally blocking your view.

“Hey! When am I gonna get my drink?” the same customer whines, earning a spectacular eye-roll from Pia.

“When I’m done talking to my friend .” She smiles sweetly, almost menacingly.

“You’re not even serving her anymore! You’re just chatting!”

Pia glares at him. He promptly shrinks back in his seat.

You take another sip of your drink before nodding toward the lone clone. “Say, do you know who that is?”

Pia grins knowingly. “Obviously. That’s—”

“Listen, lady, I just wanna get a drink and—”

“Kriff, fine ! Fine! ” Pia throws her hands up, stomping over to the persistent patron.

You sigh as she gets pulled away, your curiosity about the mystery trooper left frustratingly unanswered.

You try not to keep stealing glances at him, but there’s just something about him. It’s distracting.

Maybe it’s the salt-and-pepper streaking through his curls, maybe it’s the way his shoulders hunch, like he’s carrying the weight of an entire day on them. He’s got that whole brooding, don’t-talk-to-me aura, which—ironically—only makes you more curious.

And, apparently, more reckless.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you grab a napkin from the dispenser and fish a pen out of your purse. You hesitate, pen hovering over the flimsy paper. What do you even write? Something casual? Flirty? Mysterious?

You roll your eyes at yourself—definitely overthinking it. Finally, you scribble down:

You look lonely. I can fix that.

As soon as you read it back, you cringe. Too forward? Too suggestive? Maybe you should—

Nope. No time for second-guessing. You fold the napkin before you can change your mind. Pia is still swamped, barely keeping up with the sea of 212th troopers ordering drinks, but thankfully, a server droid hums by.

Perfect.

“Hey,” you beckon it over, glancing toward the clone across the bar. “Can you take this to him?”

The droid gives a curt beep. “That is not my function.”

“Oh, come on,” you groan. “It’ll take two seconds.”

“Then do it yourself.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’ll tell Pia you need rewiring.”

The droid snatches the napkin without another word, wheeling off toward the clone.

Your stomach knots as you watch it place the note in front of him, then—completely unhelpfully—point directly at you. Great. You quickly avert your eyes, suddenly regretting everything.

But you still sneak a glance from the corner of your eye.

The clone straightens slightly, unfolds the napkin. Reads it. Pauses. Then, without a flicker of reaction, folds it back up and finishes his drink.

And then… he stands.

Your stomach drops. Oh. That’s it, then. He doesn’t even look your way as he walks off, disappearing into the crowd.

You exhale, a mix of relief and secondhand embarrassment washing over you. You swirl the ice in your glass and mutter to yourself, “Well. Won’t be doing that again.”

A voice speaks up behind you.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

You turn on your stool, and—oh.

The clone from across the bar is now standing right in front of you. Tall. Broad. Close.

Heat creeps up your neck. Your mouth suddenly dry.

“…Yeah,” you manage, a little breathless. “Kind of surprised, actually.”

“How come?” He gestures to the empty stool beside you, waiting for your nod before he sits.

“You looked like a man who didn’t want to be bothered.” You take a sip of your drink, hoping it steadies you.

“And yet, you were bold enough to send a note,” he muses, lips curving just slightly. “Very sweet.”

You giggle, shrugging as you set your glass down with a soft clink. “You don’t know if you don’t try.”

His amusement lingers. “Looks like it paid off.” He chuckles, then tilts his head. “Can I get you another drink?”

“I’d like that, thank you.”

He signals for another round, ordering one for himself, too.

“So,” you begin, tilting your head, “I haven’t seen you around before. What battalion are you with?”

The clone pauses just a fraction too long before answering, “Coruscant Guard.”

Your brows lift. “Oh? Me too! I feel like I would’ve noticed you… what’s your name?”

Another brief hesitation. Then: “Whisky.”

You arch a brow. “Whisky?”

“That’s right.” He nods, taking a deeper sip of his drink. There’s a flicker of nerves in his expression, but you don’t press. “Big whisky fan.”

You chuckle. “Fair enough. Cool name.”

“And yours?”

You offer your name along with your hand, flashing a bright, playful grin.

For a moment, he just looks at you. Then, he places his hand in yours. His palm is warm, his grip firm but careful.

“Lovely name,” he murmurs.

His voice is smooth, just a little too low, and it sends a surprising shiver up your spine. There’s something about the way he holds your hand—like he’s not sure if he should, but doesn’t want to let go, either. The earlier nervousness is gone, replaced by a small, amused smirk.

And you?

You’re intrigued.

Still, you release his hand before yours can get clammy. “So, the Corrie Guard?” You lean back slightly, studying him. “I still feel like I should’ve seen you around.”

He clears his throat, taking another long sip. “I’m not exactly frontline.”

That explains it. “What department?”

“Mechanic.”

That really explains it. You nod, feeling a little sheepish. “Ah, that’s probably why. I love working with my boys in red, though. They’re good to me.”

“Good,” he says, then hesitates. “So, uh… what’s the Commander like?”

You blink. “Fox?”

He nods.

You smirk, turning away slightly as you consider your answer. A hundred words come to mind—moody, buzzkill, abrasive, miserable, exhausted…

“Grumpy,” you settle on, swirling your drink. “Big grump.”

He chuckles. “Can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, but he is.” You huff, thinking back to earlier that night. “But… he works hard, so sometimes the grumpiness is excused.”

“Sure,” Whisky nods, idly swiping at the condensation on his glass. He hesitates again. “He… does he treat you okay?”

You arch a brow, amused. “Why? You planning to put in a word for me?”

The teasing is lighthearted, but Whisky seems oddly stiff about it. You wave it off before he can dwell. “He’s okay,” you say simply. “He just gets under my skin sometimes. I don’t think he means to.” You sigh, taking another sip before turning back to him. “You know him?”

He shakes his head, then drinks. “Nah. Just heard he can be a little hard on people.”

You hum. “You got that right.”

You don’t notice the way Whisky shifts in his seat, rubbing a hand through his hair, his eyes dropping into his glass. He’s quiet, thoughtful—until you break the silence again.

“Actually,” you say, warmth from the alcohol making you bolder, “I know a secret about him.”

He raises a brow. “You do?”

You giggle and scoot closer, lowering your voice. “I’ll tell you but you have to keep it between us.” You hold up your hand, pinky extended. “And all my promises have to be pinky sweared.”

Whisky stares at you for a second, caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. Then, with a small smirk, he hooks his pinky around yours. “Alright. Spill.”

“So, about a year ago, I was in the office, sorting files or whatever. I came across one of his, and being the amazing worker I am, I marched right up to him at his desk and dropped it in front of him.” You start grinning, the memory as vivid as if it happened yesterday.

“And you know what he said?”

Whisky watches you closely, his gaze flickering to your lips as you lean in, your voice dropping secretively.

Closer, closer, closer…

“No,” he murmurs.

“Nothing.”

His brows draw together. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” you repeat, eyes alight with mischief. “Because he was snoring under his bucket.”

There’s a moment of silence followed by laughter. You tip your head back, giggling as you wipe a tear from your eye, and Whisky laughs along with you, shaking his head. It’s not even that funny, but the irony of it is too good.

“He always tells us to work harder, no time for rest,” you say, rolling your eyes. “And there he was, sleeping on the job. And it wasn’t even the first time! He sleeps upright, so it looks like he’s just watching us. But nope. Out cold.”

“So he’s a slacker?” Whisky smirks.

You shake your head. “No, not a slacker. He works hard. Really hard.”

“But you didn’t wake him?” He eyes you curiously.

“Nah. He barely gets any rest as it is, so I let him sleep.” You glance at Whisky, smirking. “Besides… it’s kinda cute.”

Whisky watches you closely, his lips twitching at your laughter, but his eyes seem to linger on you a moment longer than necessary. He swirls his drink idly, then asks, “You think he’d be mad if he knew you caught him slacking?”

You shrug, still grinning. “Maybe. But what’s he gonna do? Fire me? I know he’s my boss but those lot won’t function without me.” You laugh. “Besides, I doubt he gets much rest, so I let him sleep. Figured he needed it.”

There’s something in Whisky’s expression that shifts—just slightly. His fingers drum against his glass, his posture relaxing, but you catch a flicker of something you can’t quite place. It’s gone as soon as it appears, replaced by that same amused smirk.

“Didn’t take you for the sentimental type,” he muses.

You roll your eyes but smile.“It’s not sentimental. Just… practical.”

“You like him,” he says. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You hum, tilting your head. “I admire him,” you correct, swirling your drink. “Fox works harder than anyone I know. He doesn’t just give orders—he takes the weight of everything on his shoulders. Every mission, every casualty, every prisoner, every mistake. And I don’t think anyone really sees that.”

Whisky watches you carefully, listening.

You sigh, resting your elbow on the bar. “I just wish he was… a little nicer, sometimes. He’s got a good squad. I mean, the guys look up to him. I think if he let himself relax, let himself be one of them instead of always keeping himself separate, they’d follow him even harder. But he never does.” You exhale, shaking your head. “I dunno. It’s not my business, really. Just somethin’ I think about.”

Whisky is quiet for a second, “Maybe he doesn’t know how,” he says finally.

You pause. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Maybe.”

A small smirk tugs at his lips, but it’s softer this time. “You’re a bit of a softie, huh?”

You scoff, playfully nudging him with your elbow “Shut up.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s not a bad thing.” He takes a sip of his nearly empty drink, eyes flicking over you. “You care about your squad.”

“Of course I do,” you say, as if it’s obvious. “I spend all my time with them. They’re like family.”

Whisky hums, contemplative. He watches you for a moment longer before he shifts in his seat, leaning a little closer, his arm brushing against yours.

“So,” he says, voice dipping lower, more conspiratorial, “if Fox is the grumpiest, who’s your favourite?”

You huff a laugh. “Oh, come on, I can’t answer that.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I pick one, I’ll have to deal with the rest of them whining about it for the next month.” You shake your head. “I’m not walking into that trap.”

Whisky grins. “Smart.”

You take a sip of your drink, then tilt your head at him. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re in the Guard, too. You’ve gotta have a favourite.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second—so quick you almost miss it. Then, he smirks. “Can’t say I’ve thought about it.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Liar.”

He chuckles, but doesn’t argue. Instead, he taps the side of his glass. “Alright, fine. Who gives you the most trouble?”

You groan dramatically. “Thorn . Hands down.”

Whisky raises a brow. “That bad?”

“He’s so smug,” you complain, exasperated. “He knows he can get away with murder because he’s one of Fox’s best. And he loves rubbing it in my face. I’d also argue Stone because he’s cheeky but Thorn can be devious if he wants to be.”

Whisky chuckles. “Sounds like a menace.”

“Oh, he is ,” you confirm. “But I can’t even be mad about it, because he’s also stupidly good at his job. So I just have to suffer .”

He leans in close. “Poor thing.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t patronise me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” His voice is smooth, teasing, and— Maker , his eyes are intense when they settle on you like that.

Your breath catches slightly, but you mask it with another sip of your drink. The air between you has shifted—still playful, but heavier now, charged with something unspoken.

You clear your throat. “So, Whisky,” you say, changing the subject. “Tell me something about you .”

His smirk lingers, but there’s a flicker of something else behind it. “What do you wanna know?”

You tap your fingers against the bar, pretending to think. “Mmm… what’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done while on duty?”

Whisky chuckles, shaking his head. “Now that’s a dangerous question.”

“Oh, come on,” you nudge him. “I won’t tell.”

He eyes you for a moment, considering. Then, he leans in slightly, voice lowering just enough to send a shiver up your spine.

“Alright,” he murmurs, “but if I tell you… you owe me another secret in return.”

You grin. “Deal.”

And just like that, the night stretches on and the hours slip away without either of you noticing.

⋅───⊱༺ 🦊 ༻⊰───⋅

It starts with secrets, little things at first. Just small confessions that wouldn’t ruin you if they got out.

You tell him about the time you ‘accidentally’ shredded a report you were supposed to file, and how you spent half the day trying to piece it back together before finally giving up and blaming it on a faulty data pad. Or how you once snuck into the supply room after hours because Thorn had been too busy to eat, and you stole rations for both of you under the pretense of ‘inventory control.’

Whisky listens with quiet amusement, the occasional smile flickering across his lips as he watches you talk. He’s not a big sharer. His own stories are vague and kind of always deflecting back to you. But when you mention your upbringing, your life before the Republic and the war, he leans in slightly, genuinely intrigued.

“You ever think about what comes after?” you ask at one point.

His brow furrows slightly. “After?”

You nod. “Yeah. Like… what happens when the war ends? What do you want to do?”

For the first time, Whisky hesitates—not the way he had before, when he seemed like he was choosing his words carefully, but like he’s genuinely never considered it.

“You don’t have to answer,” you say quickly, suddenly feeling bad for asking as he stares into his drink.

“No, it’s not that.” His voice is quiet. “I just… don’t know.”

The admission sits heavy between you, and before you can say anything else, he shifts the conversation.

“What about you?”

You exhale, leaning back against the bar. “Dunno.” You smile a little, but it’s laced with something soft and wistful. “I’d love to travel. See what’s out there, you know? Maybe settle somewhere quiet. Own a little shop or something.”

He studies you. “You’d leave Coruscant?”

You huff a small laugh. “Wouldn’t you?”

He doesn’t answer.

The music has quieted now, the heavy bass that once thrummed beneath your feet nothing more than a distant pulse. The strobe lights have stopped their restless dance, leaving the room bathed in the softer glow of overhead fixtures. It’s only then that you realise most of the patrons have left.

You turn back to Whisky, surprised to find him watching you. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something quiet and intense.

“What?” you ask, tilting your head.

“You’re really beautiful.”

The words catch you off guard. You blink, lips parting slightly before you shake your head, laughing softly. “You don’t know me.”

“Do I have to?”

You frown slightly, not in offense but in confusion. “How can you find a person beautiful if you don’t know them?”

Whisky exhales a small laugh, looking down briefly before meeting your gaze again. “I… you look beautiful,” he says, voice steady but soft. “And the way you talk about your family, about your squad… it’s nice.”

You watch him before smirking a touch. “You’re not too bad yourself, handsome.” Your voice is teasing, but there’s warmth beneath it, something genuine that makes his grip on his glass tighten.

He smirks however, trying to play off your compliment. “That means you think all my brothers are handsome.”

You hum in mock consideration, swirling the last of your drink. “Maybe so…” You take a slow sip, then let your eyes meet his again. “But maybe I find you the most attractive.”

There’s a shift between you, a flicker of something deeper in the way he looks at you—like he’s memorising the moment, the words, the way you say them. His lips part slightly, a breath drawn in like he’s about to say something, but then—

“Kriff.” You sit up straighter, suddenly glancing at the time. “I’ve gotta get going! If I don’t sleep tonight, I’ll be late, and the last thing I need is to miss one of Fox’s drills.”

He reacts almost instantly, standing when you do, setting his drink down. “S-sure, no problem. Do you want me to walk you home?”

“I’m taking a cab, but thank you.”

Still, he follows you out, insists on making sure you get into one safely. Outside, the night air is crisp, cool enough to make you shiver. You wrap your arms around yourself, exhaling. “Knew I should’ve brought a jacket.”

Whisky chuckles, stepping a little closer. “I could warm you up.”

The words hang between you, charged, almost daring. You tilt your head at him, amused. “Bold offer.”

He grins. “It’s there if you want it.”

A cab hovers down in front of you, and he opens the door, but you hesitate. Looking up at him, you smile softly. “It was really nice meeting you, Whisky. I hope to see you again sometime.”

There’s a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze, but he nods. “I’m sure we will. Sooner than you think.”

You don’t quite understand what he means, but there’s a thrill in the mystery of it. He holds out his hand, and you roll your eyes playfully, swatting it away. “I’m not shaking your hand goodbye.”

Before he can ask what you mean, you step closer, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. You linger for just a second, enough to feel the way he tenses, the way he barely exhales.

When you pull back, you smirk. “Goodnight, handsome.”

He inhales sharply, watching as you step into the cab. His voice is quiet, soft.

“Goodnight… beautiful.”

He stays there as your cab lifts off, watching until it’s out of sight. Then, with a deep breath, he turns—only to hear someone calling his name.

His real name.

“Fox? Fox! We didn’t know you came out tonight! Where have you been?”

Thire stumbles toward him, voice slurred, movements a little too loose. Fox rubs the back of his neck, shrugging. “I’ve been busy.”

Thire squints at him, blinking blearily. “Busy, huh?” He lets out a slow, knowing grin. “Didn’t take you for the social type, Commander .”

Fox huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m not.”

His brother wobbles slightly, throwing an arm around Fox’s shoulders. “Right. So where were you?”

Fox debates answering honestly for all of two seconds before shaking his head. “None of your business.”

Thire gasps dramatically, pointing at him. “ Oh. So it’s like that ? You sneak off, disappear for hours, come back looking all—” he waves his hand at him vaguely, “— not miserable… You met someone, didn’t you?”

Fox sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Go back to the barracks, Thire.”

But his brother is relentless. “ You did! ” He stumbles back a step, laughing. “Oh, I gotta know. Who is it?”

Fox shakes his head, a rare smirk tugging at his lips. “Go. Now.”

Thire groans, rubbing his face. “Fine, fine. But I swear , if I see you all giddy at work tomorrow, I will find out.”

Fox rolls his eyes. “Go sleep it off.”

As he stumbles away, still muttering about Fox meeting someone , the Commander exhales slowly. He turns back toward the sky where your cab had disappeared, rubbing his jaw where your lips had touched his skin.

He should feel guilty. He should feel stupid for going along with it, for making up a name, for listening to you talk about him without you even knowing.

But he doesn’t. Not yet, anyway.

Instead, he just wonders what he’ll do when he sees you again.

🦊 Part Two Here

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#commander fox #commander fox x reader #commander fox fic #commander fox x you #commander fox x female reader #corrie guard #clone trooper hound #clone trooper stone #clone trooper thire #commander thorn #star wars #clone wars

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lizzie-boo · 4 months ago

Text

Christmas Party

Steve Harrington x Reader

Ficmas Day 9

Summary: When your best friend Steve overhears you joking with Nancy it changes the course of your friendship forever.

Words: 1.2k

A/N: Happy last day of ficmas. I wanted to write 12 stories but that never happened. Honestly, though, I'm really happy with writing 9 becuase I never intended to do ficmas at all this year. Divider by @saradika-graphics

“Are we sure this is a good idea, what if someone calls the cops?” You ask, still not fully onboard with the idea of throwing a Christmas party.

“Don’t worry it’s just for our group of friends plus if the cops get called we’re fine. Remember Chief Hopper is Jonathan and Will’s stepdad and he’d never bust them for having a party,” Steve reassures you as he hands you another box of decorations.

Removing the lid from the box you grab out a couple strands of garland and begin to place them around the living room. Steve follows behind you stringing up lights as he goes.

“You’re sure we won’t get in trouble?”

“It’s just a casual Christmas party, not a rager I promise. Plus half the people coming are practically children. It’s just gonna be us hanging out and eating snacks for a few hours.”

You knew Steve put his old habits behind him years ago but you were always nervous he would revert to his old ways. That this party would snap him back to who he used to be and what would start as an innocent group hang out would spiral into the party of the century. The fears that if he went back to his old ways he would drop you and you would be without a best friend once more rattled around your brain. As his words finally sink in you let your shoulders relax.

“Plus, Dustin is bringing Suzie and I don’t want to scare her off. He seems to really like her so as surrogate mom I need to make a good impression,” Steve jokes and the last of your reservations disappear.

You continue to joke and talk as you finish putting up the last of the decorations. Every so often stopping to sneak a glance at your best friend wondering if there would ever be a chance for the two of you to be more.

The doorbell rings right at seven and you make your way to the entryway. You open the door for Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin ushering them in from the cold. Nancy pulls you into a quick hug as Jonathan offers a quiet hello.

“So where is the dingus?” Robin asks as she wiggles her eyebrows at you.

Pushing her shoulder lightly you respond, “He’s in the kitchen finishing up getting snacks ready.”

“I’ll go help him,” Robin announces before rushing off to the kitchen.

“I’m guessing this means you haven’t talked to him about how you feel yet,” Nancy says as she loops her arm with yours and pulls you into the living room leaving Jonathan to get the door for the kids.

You take a seat next to her on the couch. “I don’t wanna screw up what we have. He’s my best friend. Why risk losing him when I can just stay his friend forever and at least have him in my life.”

Nancy pats your arm giving you the same sad look her and Robin use everytime they bring up the topic and you and Steve being something more. You reach out and tap her nose breaking the awkward tension forming. Just then the kids, Jonathan, and Eddie file into the living room taking up all the available seats.

Glancing over your shoulder you look for any sign of Steve or Robin, wondering what is taking them so long. Turning your attention back to the room you smile at Eddie as he tries to mediate a fight between Lucas and Dustin about what Christmas movie everyone should watch.

Steve and Robin make their way toward the living room right as Nancy leans over, “Maybe some alone time with Eddie could help you forget about your feelings for Steve,” she jokes.

“I don’t doubt that, he could probably make me forget my own name,” you joke back, bumping your shoulder into hers and you both laugh.

Behind you Steve shoves the tray of snacks he’s holding into Robin’s hands and rushes back into the kitchen needing some time to think. Robin takes it in stride and sets it on the coffee table with a loud thud.

“I think I hurt my wrist carrying the tray. Do you think you can go help Steve with the rest?” Robin asks as she plops down on the couch between you and Nancy. Before you can even answer her and Nancy are already chatting away about something one of the kids said.

Pushing off the couch you make your way into the kitchen to find Steve with his palms pushed against the countertop. His head hangs and his eyes are screwed shut. The sight of him sends a pang of panic to your chest.

“What’s wrong?” you ask as you place a hand on his back.

“Do you actually wanna fuck Munson?” he bites out as he curls a hand into a fist.

Your hand drops to your side as quickly as your mouth falls open. You hadn’t realized that he heard your joke. If you knew he was standing there you never would have said anything.

You take a moment to assess the situation before settling on your response, “It was just a dumb joke between me and Nancy. Plus I never said that I wanted to fuck him, just that he would probably be good at it.”

“So you don’t wanna get under him?” His tone is gentler this time as he turns to look at you.

“No, never. It was just a joke.” You run a hand along his arm hoping to calm him down so you can head back to the party in the other room.

His hand reaches out and grabs your free hand holding you in place. “So do you still want to forget about your feelings for me?” His eyes search yours as if he’s trying to figure out what you are going to say.

“Only if you want me to,” you whisper, now realizing the space between you had lessened.

He drops your hand, stepping in to cup your cheek. “That’s the last thing I want baby” he mumbles before crashing his lips to yours. Your hands tangle in his hair as your lips move in sync. Taking a step back he presses you into the counter. The cool press against your back sends a shiver down your spine and you tug at his hair in an attempt to deepen the kiss.

He pulls back and you drop your hands to his shoulders. You both take a moment to catch your breaths. He shoots you a smile before hoisting you onto the counter. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist and he wastes no time diving back in for another kiss.

This time when he pulls away it’s to trail a line of kisses down your neck. He works his way back up and gently nips at your earlobe causing you to let out a moan that you try to muffle with your hand. His lips press against your ear and he whispers, “The only one who is allowed to make you forget your name from now on is me.” You pull him back into another searing kiss completely forgetting about the party in the other room.

#stranger things imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #reader insert #x reader #reader #ficmas #lizzieboosficmas #ficmas day 9

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personasintro · 1 year ago

Text

A part of Mutual Help series!

pairing: mh!jungkook x reader

warnings: explicit language, Kiko is mentioned (this deserves it's own warning)

genre: fluff

word count: 1.8k+

a/n: Merry Christmas! ♡

Mutual Help Series

“Oooh, what could be in here?” Taehyung muses, pursing his reddened lips that has gotten its own intense color thanks to the cold weather outside.

What was he doing outside when you've been at this place for around an hour? Flirting, of course.

“Knowing you, probably tons of condoms.” you answer, causing Taehyung to stop shaking the present he's just gotten from Jimin. It stops rattling under his grip as he shoots you a glare across the table.

Unfazed, you reach with your chopsticks for a piece of meat before you put it in your mouth. Next to you, Jungkook cackles under his breath and Jimin looks proud by your little comment.

“Well, miss I-don't-need-anyone, we all like to have our fun. Maybe you should try it.” Taehyung bites back. Though his tone sounds serious and deep with his thick accent, there's a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

You know how far you can take it to joke with each of your friends. Taehyung's got a thick skin and there's only so little you could actually say to offend him. Not that you would ever want to. Taehyung loves jokes and fun, he loves teasing and most of the time he's the one who takes it too far but never to actually cause a damage to your friendship. Whatever he says, you know should not be taken to heart literally. Therefore, no matter what he says about your single life – you don't take it as an insult.

“Hooking up with a bunch of strangers? No thanks.”

He grins, “Maybe you should try it.”

“You offering?” you shoot right back, Jungkook choking on his soda as Jimin laughs out loud.

“You know what? Once you grow up a little, text me.”

You snort, “Stop acting as if I was a child.”

Taehyung shrugs, “No, but you're the baby of our group.”

Groaning, you frown. “Don't call me that.”

“Deny it all you want, Y/L/N but we all know the truth.”

“You guys scare almost every guy that looks at me. It beats the point of having fun.”

“Don't say shit like that, now! I'm all for you exploring and having fun.”

“Our point of fun is slightly different than hers, Tae.” Jimin comments, putting more meat to your plate as you thank him with a grateful smile. For the meat, of course. Although, he's not that off about the entire fun topic.

“We all know what kind of fun we're talking about.”

“Alright, let's move on, yeah?” Jungkook calls, shaking his head at Taehyung.

“Here we go, protective Jungkook.”

“Why do you always somehow bring up sex in every conversation?” Jungkook scolds him.

Taehyung gasps, feigning offense as he points his finger at you. “First of all, she started talking about condoms!”

Jimin laughs out loud while you shoot him a glare for being too loud. God, you hope the owners won't kick you out. Talking so publicly about sex is often frowned upon. No one who wants to enjoy their meal wants to hear someone talking about sex from the other table. Unless those people are… open like Taehyung. He's always been a bit shameless.

Jungkook glances at you upon Taehyung's finger that's directed toward you. You shrug innocently. “So what? You automatically got into it.”

“You know it doesn't take too much for me.”

“That's true.” Jimin nods along with Taehyung's response.

You laugh, “Just open the goddamn present, Tae.”

He cracks a grin and starts laughing before he rips the package open. Surprisingly, it's not condoms – you would seriously laugh your ass out if it were – but it's a box of popular male fragrances in smaller versions. You recognize all of them, silently praising Jimin for this year's present.

You all exchange presents for each other. There was an idea coming from Jimin, you think, last year to pick up a secret Santa for each year. But there's something special and thoughtful about buying everyone a gift. And it makes a slight burden to all your wallets, but nobody said the presents have to be expensive. Yet, they're always meaningful and nobody gives shitty presents here.

You meet every year before Christmas since all of you spend it with your families. You've decided to make your own and celebrate it together, even if it's beforehand. This year it has to be because you're flying back home sooner than usual.

They were kind enough to meet no matter what, said it wouldn't be the same if you weren't here.

After that is done, Jungkook is the one to take you home since Taehyung came to pick you up. There's fog everywhere with snow sitting down and not melting anytime soon. You love when there's snow around Christmas time.

On your way home, it's not that late by the time you arrive. Jungkook helps you with your presents upstairs and accepts a cup of tea you offer him with a stern look. You're quick to shed the layers of clothes and make yourself more comfortable. You bring Jungkook his tea and make a hot chocolate for yourself.

“What you got in there?” you ask, plopping next to him as the warmth and scent of home hugs you.

“A little something,” he says with a cheeky grin.

Spotting the same Christmas wrapping paper he has used for all his presents, you give him a knowing look. You're about to protest and scold the shit out of him when he shakes his head with another grin.

“Stop.”

“No, you stop!” you whine, “You already gave me your present.”

And it was great. Jungkook has given you two tickets to a water park that's located on Jeju Island. That alone tells you it wasn't quite cheap.

“It's not much, I swear.”

“But why? We all decided on one present.”

Grateful that he's so thoughtful, you're slightly annoyed that he broke the rule that perhaps never was so serious but it makes you feel bad.

“Just because.”

“That's not a valid reason.”

“Sounds very valid to me,” he sings out, teasing you a little further as you both giggle. “You'll understand it once you open it.” he finishes it with that, urging you to open it.

Hiding the heat in your cheeks, you playfully roll your eyes and start unboxing the little box he has managed to sneak in his jacket. Curiosity and excitement takes over you because Jungkook's presents are always something else. You rip the package and gasp as soon as you recognize the familiar box.

“Kook!”

“You told me you ran out the other day.”

“Did you–”

“Bought it when Jimin bought Taehyung's present? Yeah.” He answers, already knows what you were about to ask. But you're too stunned to scold him for interrupting you.

You open the box and pull out your favorite perfume. A few weeks ago, you don't even know how that conversation came up but you mentioned to him that your perfume is running out indeed. It wasn't anything intentional of course, more of a whine when you were about to spray a tiny amount as you were about to go out. You thought he was barely listening to you, urging you to rush out your ass outside. His exact words.

But he's always listening.

“I think I'm gonna be more careful what I'm about to say in front of you. You're gonna buy me everything I mentioned.” you chuckle, taking a good inhale of your favorite flowery and powdery scent. You mostly use it during warm seasons but it's a good one even in the winter.

It's your staple scent. Everyone knows it. It's special. You were using it back at home and it not only smells incredible, it also holds a certain emotional attachment you have with it.

“Don't worry about that, you're out of my budget.”

You kick the side of his thigh as you cross your legs under your butt, carefully placing the bottle on the table next to the ripped wrapping paper. “I wanted to buy it after Christmas.”

“You don't have to anymore.”

You give him a look, questioning his answer for everything as he simply justifies his thoughtfulness in the most basic manner. He always brushes it like it's nothing. But it's very special to you. He is.

In seconds, you wrap your arms around him and hug him tightly. He lets out a surprised gasp, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he hugs you back. He's warm, smells like a mixture of his wooden cologne and winter air.

“Thank you.” you mumble into his shoulder before you slowly pull away. “But seriously, you should stop spending so much money on me. Don't you have a girlfriend to spend money on?”

As far as you know, she's fine with it but who knows. Jungkook isn't the type to let anyone get into your or guys' friendships. But he's also in love and people in love tend to be slightly blind, if you must say so. Not that you speak from your own experiences but well, it's quite known. And Jungkook is definitely in love.

“Don't worry about Kiko,” he assures you, “She'll get a good amount of presents too.”

“Well, I hope she loves you for you and not for your bank account.”

He scowls, causing you to give him a childish toothy grin that acts innocent. “She's not like that.”

“But I'm serious, you should stop spending so much money on people. Especially on me.”

“I spend my money however I want and you know what?” he asks with a grin, leaning closer to you as you watch him with wide eyes. “It's none of your business.” he flicks your nose with his thumb causing you to cuss him out as you push his forehead to get him away from your proximity.

“So really, just accept it.”

“You're stubborn.”

“You're telling me?” he laughs out loud as if you just told him the biggest joke.

Rolling your eyes again, you purse your lips. “I wanted to be nice, you moron.”

“Be nice by just accepting it. And the simple thanks is just enough, not needed though. The hug was very nice.”

You slap his arm in a teasing manner which causes him to laugh even more. “I'll hug you for the rest of my life.”

“Promise?” he smirks.

“I promise.” you giggle, nodding.

“Well, then Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Kook.” you smile, the warmth spreading all over your heart. Even though this year hasn't been all rainbow and sunshine, it's alright as long as you have these people right beside you.

Who cares about presents? They're nice and show the thoughtfulness behind them by each of your friends. What you need the most is just them. And the special relationship you have with each of them will hopefully last your lifetime. Because if it doesn't, nothing will ever be the same.

Without them you would feel lost. At the moment, you're anything but lost. You have your second family, hoping this tradition between you never dies and will continue years and years.

#bts fluff #bts angst #bts au #bts smut #mutual help #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #personasintro

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ssahotchnerr · 2 years ago

Note

I had a dream about this scenario last night and I don’t think I’ve seen anything like this. Aaron’s fiancé is currently in law school but she mostly has done everything online. Recently she’s had to start attending classes and her teacher has been making her extremely uncomfortable. He got access to her phone number and texts her all hours of the night. Leaves notes on her assignments asking her to dinner etc. she doesn’t want to worry Aaron cause he has so much on his plate anyway so she ask Morgan to go have a talk with the teacher to scare him off. But it turns into more of an obsession and Aaron has to get involved.

holy shit you literally had a full on movie going on in that dream and it's literal perfection cw; creepy guy yuck

it starts out with lingering stares. the prof's gaze would remain on you far too long, even after you finished speaking if you were to talk aloud, and another student was adding their input. you brush it off, tell yourself you're probably overreacting, but without fail, there's always that sickening feeling pooling in your stomach.

at first, you're seated in the front - you've always been that kind of student - better access to the board, quick to ask questions, etc., just very involved in class. but as you're seated in the front, you catch him staring at your legs, he moves closer to you during the lecture, not so subtly glancing at your chest, calls on you even if your hand isn't raised.

the more uncomfortable you get, you talk less, rarely participate, you choose to sit in the back, and that's when he starts leaving notes on your assignments - telling you how attractive you are, how you're the most extraordinary student he's had, asking you to coffee or dinner. you try your hardest to ignore it, telling yourself you just need to get through the semester. you even went to your academic advisor to see if you could potentially drop the class, but it's a needed credit. and at this point, you're already a bit into the semester, so you might as well finish it off. not only is it all incredibly disgusting, it's disheartening too. you were so looking forward to attending in-person classes after being strictly online, and now you wish you would've stuck to that.

aaron, of course, is quick to notice a change too. you don't talk about the class over dinner like you used to, ask for his expertise when it comes to difficult assignments. you're quick to change the subject if it's brought up - you honestly avoid the topic altogether. aaron knows something's going on, he provides his support in different ways to show he's there for you - making you your coffee in the morning, packing you a lunch, leaving a note with it. (omg imagine the professor finding aaron's note to you - it accidentally slipped out of your bag and he's just outraged 🫢)

when you go to morgan, shock and disgust covers his face and he starts rattling off questions - how long has this been going on, have you reported him, have you told aaron?!?!?!!? and when you tell him no, tears are just rolling down your cheeks - and it's actually the first you've cried over this whole situation, you've been holding up a strong front until now. :(( derek pulls you into a tight hug, tells you he'll do what he can, and also strongly encourages you to tell aaron. he's all, "he's your man, he'll want to know" 🥺

and ohhh when aaron finds out - furious is an understatement. you tell him the whole story from the beginning, you show him the notes that the prof has left you, and he's immediately in protective mode. and despite how upset he is, he's still so gentle and he feels so bad you've been going through this, alone at that :(((( his voice is all soft as he brushes your tears away, "sweetheart 🥺 you could've told me" and pulls you safely into his arms. you explain how you figured you'd just suck it up, didn't want to bother him, and aaron just gently shushes you, tells you okay, he understands, but please never hesitate to come to him if there's something going on :(

aaron then tells you that he's going to put a stop to this, he'll make sure of it. he calls the school, sends a Very Scary and Very FBI letter. and that prof gets fired yay!!!! and actaully, he does have a criminal record of stalking and being a creep. but with that new free time 🫢 that only means he has more time to look into you ...

#hehe and i'll end it there 🤭#BUT ofc i can always elaborate further if y'all want #OR how would y'all end it 🫢 let me know!!!!!!!!!!!!#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine

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lvmimis · 2 years ago

Text

stubborn - izuku x reader

cw: infidelity as a topic, escalating mind games, jealousy, tbh toxic behavior but it’s okay cuz uwu, fem!reader, smut (oral female receiving, use of the word ‘brat’, penetrative sex). 5.6k words. summary: izuku is as good at playing games as you are, or is he? a/n: a repost!

Izuku is far too placid when in the midst of an argument, you blurt out that you’re officially done with him.

In fact, there’s the ghost of a smile that flickers on his features, and you know that smile. It’s the same smile he gives you when he teases you, especially when he’s balls deep inside you and you’re whining about how little more you can take while he coos and reminds you that you can give him just a little more room, the same way you’ve done many times before, right?

It’s the smile that signals that he is in no way taking you seriously, that he knows you are completely and utterly wrapped. Your teeth clench and so do your fists.

“Midoriya.”

His eyebrows raise. From his vantage point, you look as cute as usual, eyebrows knit together and lips twisted into a snarl. It reminds him somewhat of an angry prey animal, he thinks, and he’s resisting the urge to pat you on the head.

“Yes, baby?”

He makes the mistake of widening his grin as he says this and defeated, you let out a cry of frustration, blood rushing to your ears and heart thumping as you rush out of the living room. There’s a loud slam that sounds once you’ve reached the bedroom and the hero is left alone to consider his actions.

Izuku tolerates a lot from you, he thinks. It doesn’t mean he thinks he’s always right and does manage to begrudgingly accept his shortcomings, but the jealousy, the mood swings, and the neediness can sometimes get to him, even if they’re flaws you wear cutely. Giving you a moment to simmer down and letting the argument replay in his head, he lets out a sigh and settles on the couch to take off his boots. If you were out here, you’d complain about getting his sweaty suit off your furniture, but you’re not here, are you?

Izuku doesn’t think too much of the situation until he’s fully showered and knocks on the door to change into comfortable pajamas, only to find that the door is unlocked, you are laying on your stomach with your feet kicking, positively giddy, and in deep focus on your phone. Thinking that the argument has dissipated - you’re never mad at him for more than a couple hours anyway - he lets himself approach and decides against laying his entire weight on top of you, instead choosing to lay behind you, eyes on your form. You’re pretending you don’t even notice him.

“What’s got you giggling so much?” He finally asks, curiously turning to the side and resting his head on your shoulder. You don’t move sharply, instead allowing yourself to support the weight.

“I’m finding my replacement.”

He holds in a sigh that nearly rattles his bones.

“You can’t be serious.”

At that, you turn immediately, eyes wide, classic crazy look in your eyes. He purses his lips.

You are definitely serious.

Before he can even begin to reason you, you excitedly show your phone to him, scrolling through a list of matches you’ve already procured for him, despite the fact that you could not possibly have been working on this for more than an hour.

“You’re quite popular, Mr. Number One Hero!” you chirp.

He rolls onto his back and grabs a pillow and screams lightly into it for a moment, before turning back to face you calmly.

“Please delete this.”

“Why? I have three dates lined up for you over the next two weeks.” You pout. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint these lovely women, would you, Mr. Midoriya?”

There’s a nervous tick in his jaw at the polite appellation but he can see the glint in your eyes. Two can play this game.

“You’re right, and I trust you, darling,” he says, lips curling into a teasing grin. He rolls over onto his belly, pulling off the small towel that wraps around his waist and tosses it to the side, a motion that engages the muscles of his back just enough that you can pretend you don’t see them ripple. You try not to look at his ass because you’re angry. You are so, so angry.

“Give me the schedule and I’ll go. I don’t think they’ll manage to be as lovely as you, but I’ll try my best.” His green eyes twinkle as he watches you not look, then places a hand on the small of your back, and the contact almost shocks through your spine.

You get up immediately and leave the room, ignoring his low chuckle as you hide the warmth blooming in your face.

—

Midoriya cannot believe he’s actually seated at a mom and pop restaurant at the end of the week with a woman he’s never met in his entire life. You had actually called his bluff at calling your bluff, and had even gone so far as to lay out his clothes in the morning and adjust the collar of his shirt.

“Can we not do this?” He had asked right before leaving the house. You’d simply smiled sweetly, venomously.

“Real love awaits, sir!” You flashed him a thumbs up and the genuine way in which your teeth gleamed almost struck fear in his heart. “Go get ‘em, tiger!”

His entire way to the location, he had been considering what manner of trap this was. Would there be cameras? Kirishima, who was like an older brother to you waiting to beat his ass (even though he wasn’t completely sure what he did wrong and arguably may have done nothing wrong aside from being extraordinarily busy for the past two weeks)?

But alas, rather than a trap, or you in a different outfit, there was an admittedly beautiful young woman who smiled shyly back at him as he took his seat.

The first thing he does is tell the truth.

“Hi, um, yeah so…” he scratches his head. “Let me explain a couple things first before there’s any misunderstanding…”

His voice trails off as he notices the slight distress in her features, but decides it’s better to hurt her feelings now than later.

“I was not the one managing my Tinder profile. Whatever may have been said to you was not said by me and-”

She nods emphatically and he stops. “Wait, you know what I’m about to say?”

“Yeah, your profile says it’s managed by your ex-girlfriend and we chatted a bit through messages.”

There’s a little bit of heat that reaches his ears, not pleasant heat at all, but mild irritation. He presses his lips together as she continues.

“She said something about wanting to make sure she set you up with someone better than her since you won’t accept your breakup.”

Izuku’s eye twitches but he smiles peacefully and takes a sip of his coffee.

“She said you were a very sweet guy though so I’m assuming you’re on good terms?” The young lady laughs coyly, a hand covering her mouth as she does. Coquettish, he thinks, then he remembers how you literally said you’d set him up with someone cute and coquettish and his heart starts to race.

“We’re on excellent terms,” he says finally, breathing through his nose, then takes a look at the menu.

She giggles a bit and it annoys him because none of this is funny. Not for a second.

“She chose really good pictures,” the woman says softly, who Izuku recalls from the schedule you had the nerve to send him is named Sachiko, reaching for her glass of water. Izuku mirrors the action because his throat is suddenly terribly dry.

He clears his throat. You’ve gone too far.

“What would you like to order?” Izuku asks in his most charming voice.

—

“You didn’t take her home?” You ask, voice dripping of malice, curled up into the bedsheets of your California King. He considers shooting you a dirty look but he doesn’t; rather he strips painfully slowly and again you avert your eyes. This time he doesn’t laugh at your ridiculous attempt to pretend you don’t find him attractive, and instead, he stands stark naked in his underwear, arms crossed and feet squared as though you are an actual adversary. Maybe you enjoy being the villain in his story for once.

You look up from your book, noticing his stillness in your peripheral vision. He looks good when he’s angry, you think, his face twisted into a scowl and breathing a little heavier than usual. You watch the rise and fall of his chest, then bid him to speak.

“What?”

He shakes his head, like he can’t believe he’s really saying what he has to say next.

“First of all, I don’t fuck on the first date.” You tilt your head ever so slightly with a mock inquisitive look that bids him to go on.

“Don’t look at me like that, if I did, we absolutely would have,” he replies flippantly. You pretend to disregard that sentence. Then it hits you. We, as in you and him or we as in, he and her?

“Second of all, you’re going to regret this. Good night,” he insists before finding his way beside you in bed. You dramatically scoot over to the very edge of the bed, but he’s annoyed enough that his back is turned to you.

Good, you think, and turn the page in your book. The plot thickens deliciously.

—

Izuku doesn’t bother explaining himself on the date the following week. Rather, he treats it like a business meeting and speaks politely, diverting any flirty comments to other topics. He wishes you hadn’t picked such an expensive restaurant but the truth was, the food was good enough to match the price.

The woman today is not Sachiko - while Sachiko was petite and sold the moe angle quite well, Natsumi was a bit more direct and businesslike. Still, not quite like you and frankly a little bit too talkative. According to you, who were having the time of your life swiping right and left with his likeness, Sachiko had wanted a second date, but any time you broached the subject, he simply refused to respond and you, despite all of your ability to push buttons know when to stop. Now faced with Natsumi who was giving him his life story and testing his patience while he was trying to get through his Hamburg steak, he realized Sachiko might have been better.

“So why did you and your ex break up?”

Izuku swallowed another piece of meat quickly.

“We did not.”

Natsumi gave him a quizzical look.

“So why are you on a date with me?”

“To indulge her.”

Natsumi leans back in her chair then picks at her fingernails.

“Wow, you really are in denial, like she said.”

In Izuku’s eyes, this date is even more over than it was when it began.

When he comes home this time, you are talking and laughing animatedly on the phone to your mother as you cook a late dinner for yourself and rather than interrupt your conversation, he slips past you and puts the entrée he’d gotten for you in the front of the fridge.

You give him a glance then look away. Your mouth twists to the side, now that you realize you’re testing more than a little of his patience.

When you finally hang up the phone and put away your hot food to reheat the one he’s brought back for you, you ask in a small voice:

“Did you enjoy the food?”

He’s staring at the TV, looking without looking, and you can see that muscle in his jaw again tense before he turns to face you.

“It was delicious.”

You poke at the plate in front of you and concur. The food really is heavenly. Maybe you should pull back. It’s very clear that this man has no intention on breaking up with you and you can’t even remember what you were even mad about. There’s still a date left but canceling it with a 5 days notice isn’t the worst thing you can do. Your boyfriend has clearly learned his lesson, you think.

Then he says,

“Hey, can you arrange a second date for Sachiko? I’d like to see her again.”

And then rage consumes you again.

“Of course,” you say sweetly.

—

“I didn’t think I’d see you again!” Sachiko exclaims. Izuku had watched her run towards him, beaming smile accentuated by the bright winter sun’s rays reflected by the snow. Her cheeks are red and she looks as though she is blowing smoke, huffing and puffing as she catches her breath. She’s dressed for the weather, and so is he, and he notices the thick gloves that she’s wearing. His own hands are bare.

An ice skating date.

You must actually be prepared to lose him at this point.

Sachiko grins widely and Izuku, looking down at her again now that she is right next to him, realizes she really is cute. Not cuter than you, he wouldn’t go that far, but cute enough.

She doesn’t know how to ice skate and stays very close, and Izuku lets her cling onto his sleeve, then eventually hold his hand.

—

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

The phrase ran through your head over and over again, and had been the first thing you thought of when you reread her message for the third, the fourth, and the fifth time.

Hi, I hope this isn’t weird but I just wanted to thank you.

(I hope it’s not you, Izuku, ‘cause that would be awkward! 😊)

I wanted to let you know that it must be hard to give up your partner, especially when they seem so nice! But I’m grateful. We’ll be texting privately from now on!

Maybe we can be friends someday? I’d like to meet you in person too!

You swallow hard for a moment, reading the message again and again and again.

Texting privately. The familiar use of his name. It was two dates only. Why was she so confident? Why was she thanking you?

You found yourself thumbing through her profile again, really scrutinizing her again, taking particular care to commit her soft features to memory and the warm demeanor you could see through her many photos.

You swallowed hard again.

Did you mess up? Did you finally push too hard?

The sound of the door opening suddenly startled you enough that you ended up dropping your phone in the bowl of the bathroom sink. Izuku, appearing behind you suddenly as he turned into the bathroom to check looked you up once up and down and muttered a soft greeting.

“You okay?”

Maybe you were imagining it, but the timbre of his voice was less Izuku and more Deku, the Hero, who asked everyone if they were okay. Who belonged to everyone. Or maybe really not everyone, just not you.

Despite your throat feeling as though it would close up, you nod. He says nothing more and suddenly you wish you could take it all back.

—

Two weeks have passed since your declaration of singlehood akin to a declaration of war, and just a few days since Sachiko thanked you for handing over the love of your life on a platter. Unwilling to admit that you regret your game, you resort to not speaking to him at all - at least not more than to reply to his good morning or his good night. You can feel him shift gently in the middle of the night, sometimes to face you, and you wonder if he’ll put his arm around your waist and nuzzle his chin in the crook of your shoulder, but he stops short and you’re left wanting, regretting. Now you start to make arrangements. Where will you go once you officially break up rather than theoretically? This is his apartment after all. Should you tell your mother so she’s not surprised when you turn up at her doorstep and she can’t call him her future son-in-law?

You’re not sure what your endgame was, but whatever this is, you don’t like it.

So you do what you do best. Make do with what is presented to you.

Izuku doesn’t say a word once he leaves your home just before noon, leaving you to quietly attend to work-related affairs as you type on your computer. From the calendar on the refrigerator, you’re reminded he has a midday shift 12-10pm, but still a part of you wonders if he’ll sneak off at any point to meet Sachiko. Why wouldn’t he? You’re broken up after all.

Sachiko is so cute you would date her if you had the chance. You really did choose far too well.

You can’t focus on work anymore, you decide after staring at a blank screen for the next hour. Your head is pounding and your throat, although it no longer wants to close up, is dry and water isn’t fixing it. There’s a crick in your neck and a tenseness in your shoulders that Izuku would have massaged out for you if you weren’t locked in battle for days on end.

So you make a profile for yourself. Is it desperation for validation now that suddenly all your inadequacies are brought to light or fear of losing? Whatever it is, you are very lucky, because you’ve arranged a date for just a few hours from now.

You cannot, will not, spend the night in an empty house.

—

Izuku’s hands are fidgety, enough that his patrol partner notices the incessant tapping of his foot and the repeated running of his hands through his hair.

“You okay there, man?”

“Yeah.”

It’s not like he can say No, actually, my girlfriend’s phone is unreachable and I can’t tell if it’s because she’s mad at me or because something actually happened to her, but if I’m wrong about danger, it will only make our already terrible relationship worse.

His partner tonight is a non-UA alum who is new to the city and initially came in excited to work with the great Midoriya only to run into someone whose naturally charismatic Hero smile now carries an undercurrent of moderate unease. The two however continue to roam the district in a predetermined path, making sure to detect any suspicious activity as it may come up. This particular area is known for its elevated nightlife and particularly rich patrons. There’s a Michelin 3-star restaurant whose reservations are hotly contested that he spots along his path as he walks, and he remembers he’d considered it among others for your eventual engagement, if you ever made it there at this point.

The fact that Sachiko has texted him three times today grates on his nerves and he wishes he had never given her his number, even though he continues to reply politely. He looks down to mute the text thread, and as he looks up, he sees you.

And his blood runs cold.

—

You can’t remember the last time you’ve been on a first date. You do remember that you’re supposed to feel somewhat jittery - you remember being this way when you first went on a date with your soon-to-be ex - but your nerves aren’t firing in all directions in a pleasant, pure sort of way.

What exactly are you trying to prove? You wonder as you stride carefully, one heeled step before the other on the cobbled street, a handsome stranger by your side. You march unevenly, and you can tell he wants to reach over and help you, but your body is sufficiently frigid that he keeps a polite distance away.

Until you accidentally trip and he steadies you with a gentle grip of the hand.

“Hold on to me,” he asks. Yoshi’s smile is pleasant and reassuring, a little like Izuku. He’s not as tall and not as broad, but he’s pleasant to look at.

“Thank you,” you say, gingerly allowing your hand to settle on his outstretched elbow. It doesn’t feel right but you tell yourself it’s natural to feel that way, considering you only started talking this afternoon.

Yoshi isn’t a complete stranger though - you learn he works in another division at your company and you have mutual friends. It had just turned out that he had gotten stood up for his intended date today despite having had reservations for a month, so you might as well have taken the opportunity to go to such an exclusive eatery.

“I forgot to tell you you looked breathtaking,” he says once you’ve moved closer to him, and you can’t help but to smile first, then feel disgusted that you’re letting another man compliment you.

“You look quite nice yourself,” you reply nevertheless.

The queue to the entrance is several couples and groups long despite your reservation so you check in first before heading over to a waiting area until you get called.

You do get called from behind before you even get to sit, but it’s not by the restaurant.

“Fancy seeing you here!”

You freeze. Of course. What did you think would happen?

There are two things that run through your head. Either you can pretend you didn’t hear his voice and keep walking, and you know damn well he would not allow himself to be ignored or you could turn and risk a very public argument or-

He chooses for you.

Izuku is in front of the two of you now, grinning far too wide, far too poisonously. For once your heart is actually racing, and you remember that despite how soft he’s been with you, he’s actually quite large and obviously strong and the fact that he’s barely concealing the fact that he’s genuinely upset at you as he looks you up and down, fists clenched by his side and knuckles white as chalk, means that he could be unpredictable.

“It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?” he says, with a tinny laugh. Your eyes widen as you look to him then to your date who looks genuinely confused as to why this Hero is unkindly interrupting his date out of the blue.

“Hey, um-”

Deku flashes a smile at you that doesn’t reach his eyes then looks back at Yoshi.

“The two of you look like a lovely couple! Are you waiting for this restaurant?” He says, pointing to the entrance. “It’s a great restaurant! I personally like one of their pasta dishes myself and had been meaning to take my girlfriend here for a while but we just haven’t gotten the chance to-”

Yoshi, bold enough that even you’re taken aback, has the nerve to take your wrist gently and pull you a little behind him - a move that is not lost on Izuku and your blood chills because Izuku finds himself holding back a chuckle.

“Can I help you?” Yoshi asks, clearly annoyed.

You start to move instinctively but Izuku’s placed a hand on Yoshi’s shoulder and proceeds to pat it. He leans in ever so slightly to clear the height difference between them, staring him directly in the eyes, and you hold your breath. It’s clearly a challenge and you pray that neither of them take the bait.

You can see Yoshi move to shrug the shoulder off but he’s forced into place and now the confusion on his features is even more intense. You can nearly cut the tension in the air with a knife but then you hear the other young man approaching.

It’s Izuku’s partner who has finally caught up, and the sound of Deku’s name being called from afar as he approaches seems to snap Izuku back into the reality of the situation. Some of the pounding in his temples clears and he tries not to look at you, patting your date on the shoulder.

“Stay safe out there and don’t stay out too late,” He offers. There’s still an edge to his voice and his hand and eyes linger but eventually he lets it trail off. The warning is for you specifically.

Your face is hot and you’re thoroughly embarrassed but that’s the least of your concerns right now. Your stomach twists into a knot.

Your table is called.

—

When you finally slip back into your apartment, it’s a couple minutes to midnight and you are Cinderella fleeing back home to where the magic wears off.

The lights are on and Izuku is staring holes into the front door as you come in - he almost startles you when you slip off your shoes and turn to find him sitting at the kitchen table, facing in your direction.

A small gasp leaves your throat.

He cocks his head to the side.

“What? Do I scare you?” His voice is somewhat gruff as though he’s waking up from sleep, low, and makes your heart pound.

You open your mouth, then close it. There’s not really much you can say at this point. You literally went on a date without his knowledge. You expected a fight when you came back, especially given how obviously angry he was just a couple of hours ago.

You push and you push and you push and you don’t really know why you’re pushing.

And then you remember why. Sachiko.

“No,” you reply, moving forward in bare feet on wooden flooring, and dropping off your apartment keys in a shared bowl on the counter. You purse your lips and try not to engage him but wonder how long he’s been waiting for you, hunched forward on his elbows, pressing his fingertips together. There’s an untouched glass of wine besides him, and he rarely drinks.

“How was your date?” he spits.

You stop for a moment, his tone sinking in, and you selectively hear anger instead of the pang of rejection. You whip around to face him, the metal on your purse strings making the action unnecessarily loud.

“It was great, actually! How’s Sachiko?!”

You didn’t mean to raise your voice but you did nevertheless.

“Who..,” he starts, but his eyes widen, seething. “You sent me on that date.”

“That doesn’t mean you can fuck her!”

Izuku lets out a groan but his scowl softens to a frown once he sees the tears in your eyes despite his still tightly clenched fists.

“I did not, first of all. I deleted her number hours ago. We literally never met after the dates YOU arranged. Meanwhile you’re prancing around, hanging off some random dude’s arm, and what am I supposed to do? Accept it? What the fuck do I look like to you,___?”

You don’t have a response to that. How easy can it be to tolerate your mood swings? You were never done with him. You don’t want to be done with him. Of course he laughed at you when you said it, because it was obviously not true.

But you just want to feel heard so badly sometimes.

There’s a bit of silence as the two of you stand across from each other, your tears streaming down your face.

“Come here,” Izuku murmurs.

“No,” you mutter. He sighs as he follows you into the bedroom you disappear to, and watches you carefully as you sit down on the edge of the bed. You’re clearly still unsettled, but by now he can tell that you are no longer angry but confused as to what to do next. What comes after this mess?

“Did you fuck him?” Izuku asks in a quiet voice.

“Obviously not,” you quip, crossing your arms not out of self-defense but for self-soothing.

“Did you kiss him?” His voice is tentative as though he dreads the answer. His palms open and he flexes his fingers but he crosses the distance towards you on the bed.

“No.”

He pauses again, then kneels down before you. There’s a hand that finds its way onto the side of your cheek tenderly, turning your face so that you face him, and him only.

“I’m done fighting with you,” he finally decides. “Open your legs.”

Your face twists into surprise, but he dives deep, pulling up the bottom of your dress to your waist. He plants several kisses on your thighs, then waits for you to part your legs for him - he’s not going to tell you twice - before pressing his nose on the wet spot forming on your panties.

He breathes in and the inhale of your scent runs through his whole body, enough that you shudder yourself.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he says and your face warms. His calloused hands grip firmly, but not roughly, on the skin of your legs and push you open even further to accommodate his broad shoulders - you lean back onto your elbows as he slips two fingers under the crotch, and tears them apart with a snap.

“‘Zuku!” You hiss. Those panties aren’t your best ones but you still liked them.

He doesn’t reply and rather hastily, penetrates you with his tongue, and you squeal his name again, relishing in the thick muscle exploring your folds and the harsh grasp of his fingertips as he keeps you still.

“B-baby… ah!”

He’s sharp and precise, because you’ve loved him long enough and he’s loved you long enough to know exactly what you need. You don’t tip but you careen over the pleasure of his tongue working your folds and your clit and your soft center, whining as pressure builds in your lower belly.

“S-stop, it’s…” your breath falters, “I d-don’t deserve…”

He stops briefly with a kiss, then looks up at you, mulling over the words he needs to say to this woman who causes him so much trouble.

He decides on the following:

“You’re right. You don’t deserve it, not right now, so I’m punishing you,” he finally teases. There’s a half grin on the slick covered lower half of his face and your eyes widen at the sight of his glistening skin. He lifts your ass gently and slaps it hard enough that your breath catches, the pain searing up and down your leg. You gasp, and he grabs a handful of your ass cheek, rubbing it to mull over the sensation.

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that?” He hisses. His body presses over you, pushing one of your bent legs against your chest as he continues to squeeze at the fat of your bottom. You nod and he kisses you.

“Simply awful.”

Another spank comes and you’re nearly blinded in pain and he dips down, biting at your lip.

“I indulge you far too much, don’t I?” His teeth tug gently and release, and then he motions for you to pull your arms up. You’re sure if you don’t hurry up, he’ll rip it to shreds.

The dress comes off and so does your breasts out of your bra and into his cupped hands. Sucking, biting at your nipples, leaving marks - it’s desperate and possessive and you wonder what would have happened if you had really taken Yoshi or whatever his name was seriously, and really pushed your Izuku to the brink.

“I’m s-sorry,” you choke out eventually through sighs and then sobs. Izuku rolls you onto him, clasping his arms around your waist as you straddle him, playing with your breasts as you roll against him. The rhythm is new and hasty, but some of the fundamentals are the same. You know his body and he knows yours. He sucks at your neck and you nip at his earlobes - your fingers twist into his curls and he pulls at your hair. Kiss after kiss after kiss.

“I’m sorry, too,” he murmurs into your neck. His strong arms still enclose you and you’re settled onto his cock. There’s a soft groan as he presses upwards into you and some of you collapses into him, but he rolls his hips as you cling to his chest and you’re in a rhythm yet again.

“You make me crazy but I’m sorry.”

You can only whimper something unintelligible back as you suck up every inch of him, even your walls clinging tightly and desperately to his body inside yours. Your fingers curl into fists, laying against his chest and he uses a hand to pull it before him and kiss your knuckles.

“I’m awful,” you moan, crying into his chest.

“I shouldn’t have teased you,” he insists.

He flips over and you find yourself under him, and he interlaces his fingers with yours above you. Green locks graze gently atop your forehead as he stares into your eyes.

“I love you,” you say first.

“I love you too,” Izuku replies. He stirs into you more, letting the pressure of his weight comfort you as he strokes deeply, then rises up on his elbows to pick up his pace.

“Promise you’ll never leave,” you beg him before he begins. His hands press onto yours and pin you down and he kisses at your belly, then up to your lips.

“You can’t get rid of me,” he laughs.

“Even when I’m shitty enough to try?”

He pauses, dips down to press his forehead against yours. His lips graze above yours again.

“Even when I’m angry enough to fight back, I won’t leave you.”

Reassured, you rock your hips against his and he takes it as an invitation to speed up. His strokes are fast and deep and tender - with every plunge you fall deeper in love with him, as does he. You push back but gently, resisting every strong movement with a clench of your thighs against him.

“You feel fucking amazing,” he insists, and you can his voice lowers. “Fucking amazing, baby, fucking-”

It’s his tell - he holds on to you desperately and you can feel yourself tense up as your coil snaps and sharp jets of cum spurt at your cervix, coating you thick and full. He shudders as he comes, heavy body shrouding you in a warm comfort.

He’s never leaving and neither are you.

No matter how many games you play.

#izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku smut #izuku midoriya smut #deku smut #deku x reader smut #bnha smut #mimi's notes #daydreams: bnha

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multiwreckedmess · 6 months ago

Text

Kinktober Day 24

Prompt: Toys Pairing: bestfriend!Bang Chan x fem!reader WC: 4.2k Summary: Your ex was jealous trash. Both you and Chan know it, Chan just didn’t know the extent of it. Now he has something to prove.

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Chan or any Stray Kids member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this.

Additional TW/CW below the cut.

CW/TW: Honestly, pretty vanilla. Pet names used include “babygirl” “princess” and “good girl”. There’s a lot of banter and checking in with consent! Vibrator is used. Chan has a big dick. Reader has femme sex organs.

“I’m sorry-WHAT?” Chan practically yelped, head coming forward and eyes bulging. “Guys are just like that Channie. As soon as I suggest a vib-” “No stop pause, I heard you.” He laughs and rocks back into the couch. “Like you know me, I’m insecure but that's…it’s another level.”

Your cheeks burn. He was right. The entire argument had been childish and should’ve been a red flag. “Well now I’m embarrassed…” you mutter and focus on your drink.

How had you even gotten here? How had the topic drifted so far from how are you doing to who are you doing and how are you doing them? One vague joke about Chan’s computer habits? Tonight was one of the rare nights Chan did not have his eyes glued to his Macbook, his modern day grindstone - opting to replace the mouse with a bottle of light beer (“it's what athletes drink if they are going to have alcohol”) and the small screen with human company. Your company.

The process of getting Chan to drop his work for one night was exhausting. He’d been your best friend for a couple years now, ever since meeting late night in the audio lab in college where he’d been similarly glued to the iMacs until the teaching aid kicked the two of you out. One last edit, one more pass, toggling the mute and unmute of the track feverishly asking “1 or 2” like you were at an eye exam. These were the building blocks of your relationship. It wasn’t until a particularly unseasonably warm night during spring break when you finally saw him step out into the world to eat and drink with the common folk. It was that night, drinking tallboys on the campus quad at 4am, that you’d solidified your friendship.

And still, the topic of sex was never something either of you had brought up.

There were too many other topics. Video games, anime, and of course music. Hours and hours of trading songs back and forth, studying eachother's reactions intently. watching his face light up in surprise and brow furrow into an intense scour were some of the few times you felt uninhibited joy. It was a cute habit he had, looking utterly disgusted when he was deeply into a song. Chan valued most of all your enthusiasm and positivity. Even if a song wasn’t your style, you’d highlight the aspects that you liked with vigor. Childlike exuberance, it’s what he liked most about your reactions. Sharing songs was like sharing your souls. So how had you managed to veer into this new unbroached territory? It wasn’t like you’d never joked about sex. Anyone could tell you though, joking and talking about sex are two very different things. In the process of all of your soul spilling, confessing deep seeded feelings of inescapable loneliness, pondering the crushing finality of the third death (when the world says your name for the last time), and of course the underrated pleasure of a bimbo bop, you’d never really talked about sex. Chan fucked. You assumed as much. You fucked so why wouldn’t he. Chan had even been there for the first moving out breakup you’d ever had to go through. It’s how you ended up as neighbors. The rocky road started with Chan’s offhanded joke about you being easy to please. It was a frequent flier of jokes that he’d rattle off during friendly banter. Normally an eye roller but tonight you took issue. “Tell that to my ex,” you took a swig of cider with a grimace. “...or don’t. He doesn’t need another reason to feel inadequate.” “Inadequate? Bro was like almost 190cm!” Chan laughed. “Yeah, 190cm and humbled by the suggestion of clitoral stimulation.” You said in a deadpan, staring straight forward. Chan nearly projected his beer straight out onto the coffee table in front of him. “What part of that was so funny? Clitoral?” Chan sticks out his tongue. “Not funny just…is that why you two broke up?” You swig and sigh. The details were still fresh in your memory, your last boyfriend. “No. But yes. But no. His inability to make friends with my vibrator was one of MANY issue indicating-”

The rest of the scene played in slow motion for you, his yelp, his laugh. Your cheeks burning as he shook his head back and forth, eyebrow cocked incredulously.

“I’m not like that.” Chin tilted down he looks up at you from under his eyebrows. “Aren’t I a guy?” “All the guys I know are like that, competitive. The viber- it’s, it’s competition.” “Aren’t I a guy?” He repeats again. “Aren’t I competitive?”

In the years you’ve known him, the air has never been this tense. You’ve fought but this didn’t feel like fighting. Chan continues to stare at you, waiting for your answer. You gulp.

“Yes, you are a guy. Yes, you are competitive. Happy? Pleased?”

He smirks and takes another gulp of beer and swallows hard, pretty enough to be a commercial. It made you nervous. You took another sip of cider in silence. “Sex is a team sport anyway. Gotta know your real competition.” Chan states out of nowhere with a wink. You choke on the cider halfway down your throat. Both lungs and cheeks burning you turn to him glaring, “okay Chris. Any other tips for my sex life?” Chan shrugs. Truthfully he never liked your ex. You’d wanted the two of them to get along so badly, you arranged activities for them that you thought they’d bond over and somehow each time it would end in an argument or as your ex would say “it’s just a conversation, babe. We’re having a dialogue. Man to man.” Chan hated the way your ex called you babe. He’d mocked him for weeks after your break up just to see a hint of a smile from behind the clouds of anxiety. He hated how your ex would ignore you, leaving your texts unread and unanswered all night. Most of all Chan hated your excuses for him, the list long and winding. Your patience wears thin waiting for his response and you snap, “how’s your sex life then? Prosperous I hope.”

You didn’t hope.

He takes a measured pause, another swig, and answers, “I tried like…video call sex?” He fumbles for a term he’s forgotten and is unfamiliar with. “I just kept staring at my own dick like ‘what am I doing? This is so inefficient.’ You know?” You can’t help but laugh, “unfortunately I do.” A very Chan thought, weighing the efficiencies of phone sex. “See that’s why tools in the bedroom are friends. Efficiency.” Chan stumbles, visibly seesawing between curiosity and decorum. “So he really never got you off?” “No. yeah. No.” You look anywhere else. “It’s why i prefer…efficiency.” The word efficiency slips from your lips heavily, laden with new meaning. Both of you pause and take swigs of your respective drinks. “Bet I could,” Chan says easily, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Sure,” you shrug back.

At first the words don’t register, what you’ve bet exactly doesn’t hit you. “Okay, so bedroom?” He stands up, placing the empty bottle on your table. He’s so matter of fact it doesn’t hit you. “Bedroom?” You look up at him quizzically. “Or anywhere, if you have something specific in mind.” You tilt your head and squint your eyes further. Chan mimics you, eyes twinkling with glee. “You’ll want towels regardless.”

Oh.

OH.

He bet he could make you cum. Butterflies fill your stomach.

“Chris, you don’t have to- listen no one has really been able to as well as me myself and my trusty vibrator Even then, no towels necessary just wham bam thank you ma’am.” Your tongue and mind are in two different places, mouth working to dissuade him and brain screaming in need. The mischievous expression from his eyes migrates to his lips, “is that a yes?”

“Chan, it's a losing game. I’ve been doing this for-”

“Where’s your spirit of competition?” he laughs and braces himself. “It’s a friendly wager. Worst thing that happens is you don’t cum and I buy you something top shelf.” Your hesitation is visibly killing him, as much as he tries to stay cool, calm, and collected. His leg jostles with anxiety. “It really sounds like a win win for you. Unless you don’t-” “You won’t let this change our friendship right? You can do it and not let that happen?” You purse your lips and exhale, “...promise-”

Chan launches himself at you like an over excited puppy, “yes anything, whatever you want!”

Much like you, your bedroom is not exactly ready for this turn to the night. Chan leans on the doorway as you hastily shove the dirty clothes spilling over the edge of your hamper back under the lid. Your night stand is cluttered with skincare and two vibrators charging in the conspicuously cracked open drawer.

“Don’t say SHIT Chan, “ you whip around, still hunched over with clothes in your fists. “I didn’t think I’d have anyone in here for a while.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a sigh, you can tell he wants to make a joke and is barely holding it in him. Instead he sits on the edge of your queen sized bed, watching you toss clothes from the top of your dresser into the basket and closet according to their relative states of wear. “This won’t count against my time, right?” He tries to joke, you narrow your eyes. “Sheesh. Just get on the bed, okay? You won’t cum if you’re too stressed.” “You’re not going to be able to ANYWAY Chan,” you continue to attempt to neaten your room. “Yeah if you keep cleaning, yeah, I won't. Now get comfy on the bed please!” Chan enthusiastically smacks the mattress. You cock your eyebrow, “make me.” Chan sighs, it’s a simple pair of words, “make me”, and yet they burrow into him. He nods his head and approaches you putting your hips on his shoulder and hoisting you over his back, smacking your ass before setting you down on the bed. “You done being a brat?” You look a little dazed but you stick your tongue out at him. He sighs and goes to your bedside table, grabbing your vibrating wand left charging half out of the drawer. “Chan. CHAN. CHRISTOPHER. That’s CHEATING.” You let him guide your legs outwards, knees pointed up. “Wahhh, it’s been a second since you used my full christian name. ‘S’not cheating, it’s a partnership.” You wail for comic effect. He smiles a small, crooked half smile, “so, you normally get off with all your clothes on?”

“Well, actually, yes?” You shrug, “it’s not much mess anyway so…” “I was hoping to see your pretty cunt but we can start here,” he says, settling into the space between your thighs. Your stomach swooping again. He’d said cunt in front of you before, many times, it wasn’t a shocking word between you. Yet the addition of your…the familiar click of the vibrator interrupts the train of thought. “I’ll admit its easier when i can see the damn thing but-” It doesn’t take much to have your hips winding. Maybe it's the familiar tool being held in an unexpected hand but the vibration feels more intense the second it sits on your mound. You barely manage to catch a burgeoning moan in your chest. Chan scoots closer on the bed, deepening the pressure on your wand. “Can I touch you?” His voice is hoarse. “Over. Yes.” He nods as he leans over you, a strong hand pushing the edge of your bra down in your shirt, letting just the obviously hardened bud slip free. The rough callous of his thumb catches on the cotton threads of your shirt as he rubs over the tender bump. For you, most of the time you just used your vibrator without thinking too much about anything else. Getting off was no frills, all business. Letting him fondle you even over your clothes like horny teens elevated the entire experience. “Howzzat feel?” He grins smugly as you bite the inside of your lower lip. Your eyes flick backwards for a second, momentarily losing the veneer of respectability you clung to so desperately. “I want you to tell me. I need you to tell me.” You collect yourself as much as you can. “Feels real good, okay Chris? Real fucking good.” “What’s your fastest time?” Chan starts pressing the vibrator harder against you before pulling back. It’s a subtle increase and decrease in pressure but enough to get your toes twitching. “God-fuck-Chris- I don’t fucking- I don’t know.” Your breathing staggers. This cocky bastard is really going to make you cum that easily. Shoulder blades drawing down, back arching away from the bed, your vision swims for a second before you calm yourself by sheer force of will. “So stubborn, babygirl!” He cackles. “You don’t wanna let me win this? It’ll feel so good if you just let yourself go. Either way you win, it’s a win-win. Just cum, it’ll feel so good. I promise.” The spring winds again, the promise of pleasure at the other end of the snap. Your chest rises, he gives a small pinch to your taut nipple. A frankly embarrassingly needy whine hums in your nose. “God I wanna be in you so bad right now.” Chan’s earnest confession sends you over the edge. Your legs go numb as your eyeballs roll back in your skull, defense crashing down as the stretched spring snaps back. Wall clenching around nothing you can feel wetness bloom in your underwear. “Sssshhit,” you hiss, twitching with aftershocks as you try to catch your breath. You try to hide how your stomach tenses with every exhale. “I was better, right?” He’s smug, you can hear it in the sing-song lilt of his voice. It’s difficult to face him fully with your post orgasm clarity beginning to hit. Peaking through one half cracked eyelid, he’s sitting back on his heels, bulge prominent in his pants. Even with your limited vision it’s hard to miss the throbbing mass. “Different.” Your protracted answer betrays you, unable to trust yourself to keep your tone even and calm. The bed shifts below you. Chan is so close, leaning over you, a whisper away. Mouth just to the side of yours, hovering, just within the turn of your head. “Wanna bet? I bet you’re fucking soaked right now.” Kiss me. Touch me. Kiss now. Touch me please. Kiss, touch, fuck, kiss, kiss, kiss, kisskisskisskiss. Your brain is chanting out of your skull, body heating up from the microscopic excited vibrations you’re trying your best to hold deep in your core. “Ha,” you more bleat than laugh. Very uncool. Wheezy airy wanting air escaping from your lungs rather than the even keel chuckle of someone who totally didn’t want to their best friend to fuck their brains out. Chan’s hand, long having dropped the vibrator, grazes your waistband. “You can tell me to stop if you want me to. But I bet you don’t want me to.” Your breath hitches as they catch and slide over the slick fabric of your underwear. His fingers are more precise than the wand and the already sensitive area is swollen. The sticky remnants of your orgasm cling as he too casually runs a finger along your slit. You hold your breath and curl your toes. “Do you want me to?” Chan smirks down at you. You shake your head no. “Is that a ‘no, keep going’ or a ‘no, please stop?’” Deep breath in. “Keep going.” He smiles, increasing the pressure he’s using to rub your clit with. “Good girl,” he whispers, chest practically touching yours. You can feel the corners of his mouth twitch upwards as you try to hide your gasp of delight. Laughing, he kisses your cheek. “I knew you’d have a praise kink.” “You’re so fucking cocky.” Chan shuffles himself off of you. “I’m confident in what I’m confident in,” he shrugs before tugging your pants down over your hips.. “Now babygirl, show me that cute cunt of yours.” Chan is stupidly strong as he yanks your legs free. The slight rise and fall of your chests less from strain and more from anticipation. Something neither of you had really dared to entertain falling so easily into place. “Let me see yours first,” you blurt as heat flashes through you. Brow knitting and shaking his head in confusion, Chan shrugs, “fair enough.” You’re going to see it. After all these years you’re going to finally see his dick. It’ll be right there, confronting you. You think about all the things you know about your best friend, the blue veins that peak up his vline, his big feet, the foreboding lump in his pants. He’s not a tall guy but that doesn’t mean much in your estimation of him. Black jeans, black underwear hugging his thighs. You take a deep breath, blinking, turning more and more into squeezing your eyes shut. “Take off your shirt.” Your voice sounds pinched and you’re barely peeking out from between your eyelashes. Chan isn’t one to flinch at the request, shucking his top in a flash. “I thought you wanted me to go first.” “I do! I do. I just can’t help but think that everything is going to change after this. Like, we can’t go back from this. And I get scared.” “I’ll still love you regardless. And if you wanna stop or nah-” “You’re such a sentimental bastard. Take your cock out, I’m ready.” He laughs, eyebrows rocketing towards his hairline, a bemused grin creeping slowly into the corners of his mouth. Thumbs hooked on the waistband of his underwear he pulls it down agonizingly slowly, eyes locked on your face. The way your face shifts between excitement and dread is endearing. Truthfully he wanted to prolong the anticipation just to watch you squirm for him, the butterflies invading your gut and making themselves known adorably. The band crosses over his pubic bone to territory you’d yet seen, neatly trimmed dark hair surrounding the base of his cock. You let out a tiny involuntary yelp. Neatly trimmed. Thick. Without all of it being revealed you can already tell its hefty. Veins throb, crossing over the pulsing muscle. A challenge for sure. The shear weighty bounce of it as the enormity of it is revealed is daunting, enough to make any person feel virginal again. “I’m confident in what I’m confident in,” Chan repeats, languidly fisting his cock to full mast. It’s too heavy to sit all the way up, instead jutting out from him into the open air. “Now do you want me to fuck you with your underwear on or-” pausing for you to interject before he pulls your hips up onto his thighs. A thousand butterflies burst into flames in your chest watching him kiss your knees as he removes your panties. “Why are you being so tender with me oh my god!” Flames tickle the sides of your face as you giggle, flustered. “‘Cuz this is going to sting a bit.”

Oh fuck is that the understatement of the century. You can feel it from the way he rubs the blunt spongy tip of his cock along your folds. From the briefest of catches on your entrance you stiffen below him. Suddenly you’re less nervous about what he thinks of your pussy and more that he’ll not be able to fit. Lodging himself there at the precipice of heaven, he leans back over, resting himself on his forearms to keep himself from completely covering you.

“It’ll fit, right?” You ask with a hopeful sniff.

“Oh babe, I can make it fit, don’t worry about that. Just let me take care of it.” Chan angles his hips and lets his shaft glide over your slit. It’s a bundle of muscle you can’t resist grinding against. His forehead rests against your shoulder, his breath soaking into your shirt as he occasionally presses a chaste kiss to your neck.

Your breasts practically ache for his touch, having felt it muted through the fabric of that same stupid shirt. With an annoyed grunt you struggle to strip it off at first, caged underneath Chan. Its not until he snakes an arm beneath you and lifts your torso that you free yourself of the barrier. Almost as impressive as his feat of strength is the dexterity with which he unclasps your bra. A pang of jealousy echos in your chest, he’s had practice. As if it should really matter to you, if anything it’s only prepared him for this moment.

His lips are soft against your skin. Every kiss is a small promise of pleasure and harbinger of anticipation as they draw closer and closer to your hardened nipples. “Please, please, please,” you chant in barely a whisper as your back arches to meet him.

“You want this, right?” He feigns innocence as his lips wrap around you, sucking for a second. Your hips buck upwards into Chan’s resistance, grinding harder with a groan of relief. A strand of saliva bridges the gap between your breast and his grin. His hips encourage your redoubled efforts as he goes in for another nibble, teeth just barely tickling over your sensitive area.

Holding tight to his back you try to keep him close as you feel that same growing devouring pit of hungry need consuming your gut. “Don’t stop, please, I’m so fucking close.” It’s not so much dry humping anymore as your sex slides over him, pressure placed perfectly over your clit. “I’ll fucking kill you.” You add for good measure.

His tongue flicks over your nub, hand finally joining to pinch and kneed the other. Chan keeps his hips as steady as he can as you grow erratic, breathlessly using him to get yourself off again. All a part of his plan.

When you cum you sink your nails into his flesh, the muscles of his back valiant against them. The pit doesn’t go away, instead a ravenous beast wakes to fill the void. “I need it. I need you right now.” You reach down between your thighs to wedge him against your entrance again. “Chris please, please.” It’s difficult to bring yourself to say it, even now nearly blacking out with lust. “God please make it fit.”

Grabbing a pillow to pull your hips up on, Chan starts to nudge forward into you. “You’re doing so well,” he murmurs. Slowly your walls open to him, pulling him in as the fat tip of his cock breaches the tight ring of muscle. The extra lubrication of your release helps but the stretch itself has you breathing hard into your diaphragm.

“Chris-Chris- oh fuck- CHAN,” you scramble to hold him tighter as he pulls you apart. Your arms wrap over his shoulders, clinging to your own elbows as you squeeze.

“You’re almost there, my good girl. Best girl.”

“Almost?!” You yelp incredulously. “I’m so fucking full! What the fuck. What the fuck.”

“I can stop-”

You howl with lust filled rage. “Just shove it in oh my god Chris. Just fuck me. Please god I’m going to die.”

Your arms bounce as he chuckles at your overdramatics “Your wish is my command, Princess.” Hands holding your hips steady his hips snap against you easily, fullying burying himself. A mighty gasp caves your abdomen, barely whispering curses as you get exactly what you’d asked for. “Hurts right?” He asks sweetly, kissing your cheek. “Let me help.”

A telltale click.

Whirring.

With the white head of the vibrator placed over your clit the pain vanishes immediately. You blink furiously as the thud of your heartbeat sinks into your cunt. In all your years it hadn’t occurred to you to try this. Penetration wasn’t a necessary part of getting off so why would you? “Oh my god.” Chan smirks. Your hips move of their own accord, rolling just enough to push and pull him against your walls. “Oh my god it feels so good.” “Yeah you do babygirl.” Your walls clench around him as your head is thrown back in delicious pleasure. Chan indulges in the easily accessible skin of your chest, kissing slowly between your breasts as he helps bounce you on his cock. Orgasms roll easily into each other like a pleasant summer breeze warmly surrounding your skin and blending into the universe. It’s hard to tell where one ends and the next begins. Your bodies fit together with ease now, coated in a sheen of comingled fluids. For a moment you feel complete, your mind dulled enough to keep the buzz of thoughts finally silent, relinquishing yourself to waves of pleasure. Chan smiles, looking at your transformed face, slack jawed in open mouthed bliss. A breath kicks your stomach in as you cum on him again, walls squeezing him desperately. “I’m going to-” he chokes on his words as he fights his own finish. “Wh-” Chan can’t even get the word out before you’re clinging to him again, rutting and fucking him into you. Weaving your fingers up through the hair on the back of his head you tug lightly. The buzz of pain jolts his hips deeply into you, painting your walls deeply with his release. A strangled raspy “shit,” passes his lips before they catch themselves on yours. His cock pulses with refractory releases, your cunt squeezing back in a sympathetic response. Neither of you want to admit you’d really fucked up the friendship.

Sorry the formatting got weird and i’m posting late but uh my other group is having a cb and i’m getting anon hate on main so here we are.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan smut #bangchan smut #stray kids chan smut #skz chan smut #kpop smut #kpop kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober 2024 #kinktober #stray kids kinktober #skz kinktober

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woso-dreamzzz · 1 year ago

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Surgery II

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You have a special superpower

Mami says you have a superpower that makes you different from other children. She says it's why you fidget a lot and don't always have your listening ears on or why you abandon things in the middle of doing them to go and play with Bagheera or stare at the way the washing machine spins.

She calls it add but Ingrid corrects her every time because it's not add anymore, it's add with an h somewhere in it. You're not too sure how to spell it (or how to properly say it either) but Mami and Ingrid say it's your superpower.

You think it's a superpower too because it's why Mami and Ingrid first met.

You had been sitting in the canteen, furiously wiggling in your seat because it was lunch and Mami always told you that you can't run around at lunch.

That's hard because you felt all wiggly and you loved to move. So, instead, you had chattered Irene's ear off, mindlessly bouncing from topic to topic to topic.

Your mind flickered around as you wiggled more furiously before slipping off your seat when Irene looked away so you could bolt across the room.

Mami had rules about no running in the canteen but she always let you run in the corridors so you snuck out to do that.

That's where you first met Ingrid. She was tall and athletic with long black hair and she looked exactly like a Disney Princess. Your previous thoughts of running around were abandoned and forgotten the moment you saw her, lifting your arms to beg for uppies.

She gave them to you willingly back then and she does the same now.

You'd been playing around in the gym with Patri. She'd stacked those big foam block things very high, three of them one on top of the other. You climb up it for no reason at all.

It's a big drop but you don't think it's too far. Ingrid tells you to get down now. So, you take the fastest route to the bottom.

You jump.

You're not really too sure what happens after that. All you really know is your leg hurts and Mami is screaming. You think that's a little weird because Mami doesn't really scream unless she's scared.

You're kind of disorientated, drifting in and out of awareness for the next few hours. That's never really happened to you before. Your mind works quickly, bouncing up and down and rattling around when you're still for too long.

"'S a cast, Mami," You slur when you finally come back down to earth.

You don't like it. It encloses your leg and it's a little bit itchy.

Mami's at your bedside with Ingrid. "Yeah," She says," It sure is, cub."

You frown at it, wiggling your toes to make sure you still have them. "Do I not have a knee anymore? Like you?"

It's not completely true anymore. Mami's knee has nearly fully grown back now but it's still not finished yet. You wonder if your knee is gone now too.

"No, cub," Mami says," It's for your leg. You broke your bone jumping off the tower."

You think for a moment. You've never had a broken bone before even when you climbed to the very top of the slide at the park and jumped off.

You stare at the cast for a moment and then promptly burst into tears.

"Oh, cub," Ingrid coos. She picks you up as you make grabby hands because Mami is still technically injured and can't carry you. "It's okay."

You don't like the feeling on your leg and you whine. "Itchy!" You complain," Itchy!"

Mami and Ingrid exchange a look which you know means that you'll just have to live with it for the time being.

"Don't like it!" You insist.

"You can like it later," Mami says," Because you can get the girls to sign it and we'll draw some pictures on it. Won't that be fun?"

You nod pathetically, wiping your nose on Ingrid's shirt.

You never end up liking the cast.

Ingrid says that one of your special superpowers because of your add with an h somewhere is you get filled with the magic wiggles. Usually, that means you run around and laugh and scream with your toys. You still get filled with the magic wiggles but you can't run around so you kind of fidget in your seat and then cry.

That seems to get your wiggles out when you're done but it's not fun and it makes you very sad.

Mami and Ingrid don't like it either so when you get the magic wiggles Mami tries to get you to draw. She says it'll help and also make sure you don't injure your leg more by running around. You don't think she knows what she's talking about because you're the only one in the apartment that has the magic wiggles.

But you have them right now so Mami sets you up with a pencil and some paper and says to draw to get your wiggles out. You fidget in your seat as you doodle.

You're doing a lion cub because that's what you are.

Ingrid's the first person to call you lion cub, all the way back when she first picked you up in the hallway outside of the canteen.

She'd looked at your messy, wild hair and compared it to a lion's mane. She'd looked exactly like a Disney Princess at the time and you knew that Disney Princesses had animal friends so she knew what she was talking about. You'd listened to her talk about lions and their cubs all the way back into the canteen and then proudly pointed at Mami and said that she was your lion and you were her cub.

You've got a lion cub toy though. You can spy it in your play corner and you turn your head to look at it. You get up and stroke your hand over the fur before you dig in your plushie pile for your regular cat. It's black like Bagheera.

Bagheera's in the cat tree on the other side of the room so you drop the toy on the way over to say hi. She mews softly at you in greeting and then purrs. It's a little rumble in her chest that makes you giggle and finally notice the hum of the washing machine.

It vibrates the floor a little and you move towards it. You like watching it spin. It's fun.

You sit in front of it. Because of your cast, you can't sit criss-cross apple-sauce but you try to, leaving your injured leg sticking out straight because that's what Mami does when she needs to focus on regrowing her knee.

You should focus on regrowing on your leg but everything else is so interesting so it'll have to learn to do it all by itself like how it learnt to walk all by itself too.

You wiggle around as you watch the machine spin and spin and spin. giggling when you see some soapy water slam against the window panel.

"Oh, cub," Ingrid laughs, bending down to pick you up," Come on. You can't keep watching the washing machine."

"Why?"

Mami laughs too as you and Ingrid join her on the sofa. You stick your leg out like hers is and reach out to play with her hands because now your hands are all wiggly too. "I don't know how that thing keeps her entertained. All it does is spin."

"Is fun," You say with a little shrug. Most of your magic wiggles are gone and the ones left are in your hands but Mami is helping get rid of them.

You're sitting on Ingrid's lap, nice and warm against her. Ingrid helps a lot with your superpower. Her gentle hands scratch out your scalp as soon as your magic wiggles are gone and you go limp against her.

When she moves her hands away though, you get a bit annoyed and drag them back to where you want them.

"Sorry, cub," She laughs," Should I keep them there?"

You nod, shaking out your hair so it's like a mane again. "Feels nice."

"You heard her," Mami says," Get to it. It feels nice."

#woso x reader #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

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bunbundubdub · 3 months ago

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Below The Belt - Zayne

What was supposed to be some spicy headcannons quickly turned into an entire essay...oopsie. Still, these are some spicy takes about Zayne, his behaviour in bed and well, what is happening below the belt. TW: smut (kinda? not really), more suggestive I guess, description of male anatomy, awkwardness, also sneezing -----------------------------------------------

If Zayne is anything, it is meticulous. More than once he has gotten you almost past the point of overstimulation with anything more than his hands and tongue just because he is so intent on discovering every single spot that makes you either gasp, moan or scream and he is incredibly good at it.

Sometimes if he wants to indulge you, he rattles off facts about you anatomy and why those specific places on your body illicit such a strong response from you and as strange as it seems, this clinical sounding array of medical jargon might just be the most arousing and dirty thing he could ever say to you, even the few times he get so out of it from pleasure that he drops all his decorum cannot even get close.

Staying on topic of his voice, Zayne isn't particularily loud, while he does tend to talk a lot, especially while he is preparing you for what is to come, when he is finally ready to chase after his own pleasure, it is hard to get anything more than a few groans and gasps out of him.

If often seems like this doctor prefers pleasuring you more than being pleasured, as he could spend hours on his knees with you pressed against the wall, your hand buried in his hair and one leg over his shoulder as he buried his face inbetween your thighs, or on his stomach on the bed with you spread out in front of him.

The simple reason for it is, this man is so incredibly tense and stressed all the time, once he does get his turn, he finishes rather quickly. He obviously doesn't mean to, but after a stressful day, just the thought of being with you simply overwhelms him, which is why he makes sure you are well taken care of and ready to fall asleep at a moments notice once he becomes a little more selfish and chases after his own pleasure.

But even if he is just about to crash and fall asleep immediately afterwards as well, as a doctor specifically, he knows that aftercare is not just important from an emotional standpoint. After being yanked from one climax to the next for so long, he doesn't expect you to make it to the bathroom on foot, so if necessary he will carry you there himself or at least lend you a hand or two if he is too tired for it.

He won't stop pestering you until you went to go pee and cleaned yourself up, that is something he will not make any exceptions for. He is also uncannily good at keeping messes in the bed to a minimum, either with towels or some sort of dark magic, so most of the time clean up can wait until morning.

Below the belt:

Zayne has mastered the art of tucking himself away neatly, so the first time you see him in the nude you might be surprised. While he might be considered larger than the average, he is in no means intimidating. While he is a little on the less girthy side, he does make it up in length and shape. With a tip that blushes a very pretty rosy pink, his length has a nice upward curve and very prominent veins that are not just visually appealing.

With the amount of exploring he does when it comes to your body, even if you think you are completely spent from what is often an hour of foreplay, he always manages to hit that one spot just right and drag you over the edge with him just one last time.

Awkward moments:

You do try to make yourself as pretty for Zayne as you possibly can, knowing how well he treats you in bed, it's the least you can do. He personally doesn't care too much if you dress up in pretty lingerie or your usual pyjamas, if you dolled yourself up with a special hairstyle and makeup or seduced him just looking the way you are, to him you are the most beautiful creature he has ever laid eyes on. And he also knows that by the end of the night your clothes will be flung across the room and your hair and makeup will be ruined. And if it isn't, he might just have to torture you with pleasure just a little more.

What you forgot once however, is how sensitive he is to fragrances and perfumes. As a surgeon he cannot wear any cologne to work, which has made his nose a little less accustomed to stronger scents.

Wanting to do something special for him, to not just look pretty but also smell ready to be devoured by him, you got a nice gourmand perfume, intending to smell like a luxury candyshop just for him.

As usual he got so distracted pleasuring you that he didn't quite pick up on it, at least not until he made his way back up, kissing along your thighs, stomach and chest until his lips found yours and he sunk into your warmth.

It never took him long to find his rhythm and you could feel and hear his gasps in your ear. At least you could until he raised his head a little…and sneezed right in your face. What could've been a small hiccup, something you would forget once you got back into it, quickly turned into a sneezing fit for him, and a giggle fit for you.

As sorry as you felt, it was hard not to laugh as Zayne both desperately tried to stop sneezing while simultaniously attempting to apologize for the biological warfare he had unleashed on you while also trying to find something to clean your face with.

It had indeed utterly destroyed the mood, but you could now both share the laughter after he had calmed down and you had washed off the fragrance.

#love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace zayne #lads zayne #zayne x reader #zayne x mc #imagine #scenario

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starsfic · 8 months ago

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Fluff 49 is someone jealous

Mei (could be taken as platonic, romantic, or QPR, hell it could be dark)

while I'm not sure if Eastern dragons display hording/possessive tendencies like there western counterparts. But I wanna think Mei due to her dragon instincts gets somewhat possessive over things and people she highly values. From objects like her bikes, and stuffed animal collection to living people like her parents, pigsy and tang who may of been like second parents to her at this point and of course her best friend for eternity MK.

So when red son joins there friend group shes happy at first when him and mk start getting on surprising well. But starts to grow jealous when redson starts cutting into her personal time with mk. Heck at times she feels like he's deliberately trying to hog mks attention.

As much as she loves red she feels the need to assert some boundaries, and remind him or even both of the boys who was here first.

Long Xiaojiao felt sometimes that there was a great big fat divide between her and Qi Xiaotian sometimes.

It wasn't a divide that couldn't be crossed. But it was there. Between her and Red dealing with the Samadhi fire and Xiaotian dealing with the whole "Harbinger of Chaos" stuff with Wukong, there was stuff that they couldn't share because the other wouldn't understand. It sucked, but there was still things to talk about. Especially when Red started tagging along!

Red, like she thought, was a great friend when he finally relaxed a bit. He knew cool demon spots to hang out with and could rattle for hours about different topics. He was fascinating. Xiaojiao's favorite hangout was when he led her and Xiaotian to a secret demon fighting ring and they spent most of the day placing bets (with food) on fighters. Then someone got the bright idea to challenge her to a fight and Xiaojiao enjoyed watching Xiaotian's eyes darken with desire as she fought the guy barehanded.

Xiaotian was her best friend. Hers since the day they met at the park, playing in the mud. Red was also hers, although the desire to hoard him was much less due to the new nature of their friendship. They were happy, all three of them.

And then Red tried to make that divide wider.

At first, she didn't notice. She had been delighted when Red suddenly had a free night on Saturday night, an old tradition of hers and Xiaotian where they had a movie marathon. It was nice to have something that was just them even in the craziness of their lives now. She thought it would only be once.

Except "one free Saturday night" became "every Saturday night was free". It wasn't a problem, not at first.

Not until she looked over to realize that Red had wrapped an arm around Xiaotian to cuddle close and realization struck her like a fist on weird behavior she had noticed from Red. The ability to remember Xiaotian's favorites, the insistence on sitting next to him, oh my gods all the touching.

She loved Red, really. But she loved Xiaotian more.

Her breaking point came when they were at a bar, drinking in congrats for Xiaotian's webcomic finally being published. Of course, most people would be interested because it was the Monkie Kid writing it, but Xiaojiao knew his art style and storytelling would win.

Red leaned close, smiling at Xiaotian like pure sin. "So, Noodle Boy..." The nickname was sweet as sugar, no longer containing a disgusting note. "I had to notice some things about the love interest. They mentioned knowing how they kissed. Unfortunately, I don't think I've won something like that from you before..."

"Oh," Xiaojiao said before Xiaotian could answer. "It's because of this." She patted her lap and Xiaotian stood up, a sweet smile forming across his face. Red raised a brow and then his hair floomed into flames as Xiaotian straddled her, the motion easy.

"Hey," her best friend cooed.

"Hey," she cooed back, her fingers settling in their favorite spots before Xiaotian leaned down and kissed her.

For a few glorious moments, it was just him and her. She didn't need to steal him or lock him away. He gave himself to her, his best friend in the whole world, willingly.

Finally, though, air had the nasty need of being needed and Xiaojiao pulled away. Xiaotian instead settled his chin on her shoulder, sighing contently.

Red stared at them with wide eyes. Then his eyes narrowed.

It was a secret challenge. Xiaojiao answered it back.

(Xiaotian hid his smile in his best friend's shoulder. Hopefully, she and Red got the worst of the instinctual possessiveness out of their systems before his preparations were done.

He intended for them both to be his.)

#Stars Answers #LMK #Monkie Kid #LEGO Monkie Kid #Long Xiaojiao #Red Son #Qi Xiaotian #Goldendragon #Goldendragonshipping #Spicynoodles #Spicynoodleshipping #Chimera #Chimerashipping #my writing #prompt fill #prompt fic

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afyrian · 8 months ago

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line one - the sound booth guy m.list

"you are on line one, what would you like to talk it out with me about?"

sitting in front of a microphone, you feel your gaze boring into the glass. just beyond the tinted window sits sakusa kiyoomi, your new sound engineer. he's looking down at the tapestry of instruments in front of him, prodding at different dials and knobs. pursing your lips, you listen in as a slightly distorted voice echoes through the call.

it vibrates, a light sound of crackling in the background. "uh- hello? hey, i was just calling for some relationship advice. my, well not quite girlfriend, friend... well she recently started talking to another person," the voice waivers slightly as they get to the more difficult situation that they're going through.

"and i think she likes them, but we've gone out a few times. i really want to full time date her, but i'm just worried she'll leave me for them. trying to sound vague, sorry," it rattles through your headphones and into your ears.

biting your lip, you let out a short and succinct sigh. raising the volume just slightly so the caller could hear. "well, line one, so you think she likes them? but has she flat out told you, or are you attempting to read through the lines?"

"she never told me, but she laughs constantly. we don't talk as much because she spends a lot of time talking to them. i'm just feeling heartbroken, y/n," the volume nearly peaks as they get closer to their phone, sakusa immediately fiddling with a dial to keep it to a reasonable volume.

your fingers start playing with a small fidget toy off to the side, the stress ball-like toy squishes beneath the pressure. the worst types of you advice you give out always come from the romance topic. whether it be wondering how to propose or how to get over a breakup, you always feel out of your depth. love isn't your topic of interest, typically.

"right, obviously when you start getting left out, it hurts. but your best bet is always going to be to talk it out. but with her, obviously," you laugh a little, trying to lighten the mood some for the caller and others listening, "you'll never know what's really happening until you ask. and if she does want to be with them, then that's her loss. you are worth more than situationships, caller!"

across from the window, you can see sakusa nodding to himself. narrowing your eyes, you wonder if he's agreeing with what you're saying, or simply listening to music in one year. leaning back into his chair, he finally looks up, meeting your eyes. your gaze shifts back to your desk, hoping he didn't see you practically staring.

"thank you.." their voice grows quiet, a second of dead air starting, your heartbeat racing as you wonder what to say next.

"you're welcome, caller, trust me when i say that the right partner will come to you about this stuff. so exude the energy you want to be given, and if it doesn't work, just know, you will find someone it does work with," you try to keep the same energy throughout the whole conversation despite the slight exhaustion you're starting to feel.

"you're right.. i'm going to go talk to her now and figure it out! thanks again, y/n," the line clicks, the caller leaving to figure out their life.

"of course. now before we get on to the next caller, it's time for our regularly scheduled song of the hour. this first one is going to be 'do you want to do nothing with me?' by lawrence. this soul-pop band will really get anyone longing for domestic bliss," you tap against the desk, eyes gazing at your laptop.

pressing a finger against the mouse, you press play, letting the song play through the station. taking off your headphones, you let out a deep sigh, peering at the empty coffee cup. it harbors a ring where the coffee was, the homemade pale mug covered in brown stains. wrapping your fingers through it, you walk into the sound booth.

"that was great, we typically take a few minute break to get a snack, some coffee. which i would definitely recommend because these early hours can be a bitch," you shrug, standing in the sound booth's entrance.

the door rests against you, foot pushing against it occasionally as it falls back towards you. sakusa nods, looking across the board, "i have a few snacks in here, plus an energy drink in the mini fridge. so i'll he fine until the next break."

"alright, your loss, sakusa. i'll be back in a minute, if the song ends-"

"play a similar song and hope no one notices," he finishes your sentence, not realizing that you learned that very phrase from atsumu.

narrowing your eyes, you nod, smiling to yourself. backing out of the booth, you walk into the main hallway, walls lined with photos of famous hosts within the company. atsumu’s headshot rests loud and proud in front of his recording studio, a light placed right above it. closing your eyes, you take in a deep breath.

letting a jitter coursing through your body come to a quiet feeling. resting in the back of your lungs, you walk through the hall of fame, pushing open the door to the break room. inside shows even more photos of crew members. the sound engineers all stand together behind a booth, sakusa included.

he’s standing in the back, hands in his pockets. a soft smile, one you’d like to see in person, lines his lips. he sits in another photo, atsumu standing behind his chair, hands on sakusa’s shoulders. now, he’s smiling widely, nearly laughing in the photo. narrowing your eyes, you wonder if you’ll ever get this way with him. if you’ll befriend him in such a way.

“who’s that?” a familiar voice rings through your ears.

yachi stands in the doorway a few feet away from you, a fabric measuring tape draped along her shoulders. oh right, you think to yourself, she’s doing fittings this week for promotional material. “my sound booth guy, sakusa. he came from atsumu’s show. just starting to notice that he’s pretty deep in this business,” you purse your lips, nearly forgetting about your coffee.

taglist (open): @eggyrocks @causenessus @applepi25 @softpia @bakery-anon

@jadeoru @yessimo @lale-txt @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @sugacor3

@quikhs @todorokiskitten

#art by @/zhang.tattoo #☆ talk it out #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq fanfic #hq x reader #hq x you #sakusa kyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader #hq sakusa #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #kiyoomi sakusa x reader #kiyoomi x reader #hq kiyoomi

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brenayla · 10 months ago

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fin - AO3

The end is anticlimactic. As soon as the clock strikes 4:50pm, Doggett leaves politely with a one-armed hug and well wishes for the little one.

And then it’s just them. Scully and Mulder in their secretive underground den.

Scully sits at his desk and he perches in front of her.

Of all things, Mulder says: “You remember that time we got food poisoning from Wendy’s?”

God, does she ever. She complains, “Mulder, do we have to go there?”

They were barely two years in, somewhere in rural Missouri. It might have been the only time Mulder stopped driving before 7PM and to her absolute horror, the first motel he found to pull into was fumigating or doing construction or something. Whatever. They shared a bathroom for 24 hours and mutually concluded that they would never discuss it again.

“Not if I have any say in it,” Mulder says, “I haven’t been there since.”

“Seriously, Mulder," she warns with a good glare. "I'd rather hear about the praying mantis man. My gag reflex isn't what it used to be.”

“Doesn’t seem any different to me.”

“Mulder,” she scolds him around a barely contained laugh, as if the walls have ears.

Mulder dodges and shifts topics expertly. “I got you something,” he says, free hand scouring around in his pocket.

He produces a stress ball painted to look like a little baseball. “Happy anniversary, Scully.”

They have never celebrated an anniversary and even if they were to take up the practice, it would be somewhere in the crisp dew days of spring, not today.

“Our other anniversary,” Mulder explains, “I’m a little late.”

“Ah,” Scully says, taking the gift and turning it in her hand. He is several months late, actually.

Their first time was not what she expected but it was what she needed. In her more creative moments, she’d imagined that when the dam broke, he would tear buttons from her blouse and pull her panties aside, no frills maneuvering her into position. And that is Mulder, but it is not first time Mulder. First time Mulder wanted to kiss her forehead and take her in. Before, he asked, can I and after, he fell asleep grasping her thumb like a newborn.

It seems like you two have an intense relationship, Scully's therapist once told her, accurately. Leg shaking, concussed sprinting after them intense; pre-sunrise giggling on his couch intense.

“Thank you,” she tells him, slipping it into her bag on the floor.

“It’s my contribution to your labor pain management plan.”

“Yeah. Thanks for that.”

“We can add it the hospital bag checklist.”

“Sure, Mulder.”

Mulder waits under the hum of the AC. “You’re welcome.”

A smoke detector is still hanging by a wire from when she took it apart to discover a bug. Sharpened yellow pencils that appeared in the ceiling – again – without explanation. The chunky patterned blanket from his couch, slouched over the back of the computer chair, brought in when she was sick and cold.

Nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted.

“Mulder, there have been periods where I spent more time here than at home,” she confesses.

“Me too. Probably too many times, actually.”

“I met you down here.”

“Yeah. You did.”

“And I– …we –” Her voice cracks, an all too common occurrence recently. We fell in love down here.

Or maybe not – maybe it was the rental cars or the autopsy bays – but she can’t quite remember because the where and when was never all that important. Now that she’s leaving this place behind, it feels like it happened here.

“I know.”

Mulder could say: This place isn’t going anywhere, Scully or you can always come back to visit, but it would be a sore consolation and they both know it. This is the wheezing death rattle of Special Agents Mulder And Scully. It’s such a Mulder thought, she would never dare voice it. It wriggles into her temporal lobe anyways.

She is leaving behind the birthplace of them, the first space they ever shared. Early Them live down here, with their shoulder pads and patterns and loose-fitting suits, stealing shy glances at each other over his whirring slideshows. And Middle Them survived the fire, too; floppy haired and caught in crackling tension and sopping with grief and fear and love that they don’t yet know what to do about. Even flirty, curious Right Before them are down here, testing out new boundaries; lighter, dreamier, sweet and sticky them.

Fudge the dates a little and their baby could have been conceived down here, and in the moment, that's the story she tells herself. It's a nice one. Maybe the fetus is a little bigger than typical, or maybe she misremembered the dates of her last menstrual cycle. Maybe she’s carrying a child made from dusty file cabinets, tacked up printouts, scrawled handwriting, crumpled up sticky notes left beside the trash can filled with takeout containers, and them; all the Thems.

Scully amends her last comment. “Well, I’m not sure that it happened down here. But I realized it down here.”

Mulder takes her hand. “Tell me?”

“It’s nothing crazy.”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m good with nothing crazy these days.”

She smiles; damn, he’s got her. “Okay, well…it was a weekend. You had this dark blue jacket on. It was more casual than you’d typically wear.”

“I think I know the one. I can find it, if you ever need a reminder.”

She gives him a look and continues, unperturbed. “You were sitting here at your desk and I was over there working at the computer. You were eating Reese’s Pieces. Very loudly, I might add.”

“When are we gonna get to the flattering part?”

“Never, if you’re going to interrupt.” Scully gets her bearings again. “You were humming something, I’m not sure what but it was a short tune, over and over. And I looked over to tell you to quiet down so I could focus. You were leaning over your report – or whatever it was you were writing. You had a little cut here above your eyebrow. And I just…I just knew.”

He stares, disbelieving but still holding her hand. “That was it, Scully?” He asks. “I was being annoying and you looked over to tell me to knock it off, and that’s how you had this grand realization?”

She shrugs. “I think maybe it was the mundaneness of it.”

“You’re gonna have to elaborate on that one, Scully.”

“Well,” she tries, “how many times have we had very similar conversations? How many times have I probably been working at the computer and looked over to tell you something? Hundreds, maybe.”

“Maybe more.”

“Right. So, it was all of those…everyday things that made up our relationship, our partnership in the first place. It only makes sense that it would be one of those everyday things that...triggered something.”

Mulder takes that in.

“Huh,” he says, gently splaying out her fingers as he processes. “Did you ever tell me to knock off the noise?”

When she puts herself back in the moment, nothing breaches her memory but the all-consuming red sun dawn of the revelation that she knew she was not going to be able to ignore like she had with all the prior little stair step realizations.

“I don’t think so. I don’t think I said anything to you.”

“You might have saved us a lot of time if you had.”

“No, I don’t think so, Mulder. I don’t– maybe it’s all the hormones, but I don’t think we were ready then.”

Mulder takes a moment to digest that idea. He doesn’t necessarily agree, she can tell and it occurs to her to push it. But when he lapses into quietly dragging a fingertip across the lines in her palm, she decides against it.

A gush of self-consciousness rolls over her and she see it hit him like an aftershock. “Well,” she covers, “what about you?”

He presses his thumb against one of her nails, scanning his print into the keratin of her nailbed.

“When you came to my room in Bellefleur,” he says.

“You– …the first time?”

He smiles, covering. “Yeah.”

“No,” she insists, “Mulder.”

“Yes, Scully.”

In the moment of silence, Mulder fiddles with her fingers, their heads bowed over their joined hands. Then he kisses the middle of her palm like a stigmata and releases her, gauging her mood.

When he gets a reading, he stands and offers her a hand up. “You ready to go, Agent Scully?”

She takes it, shaking hands with this little death.

“I think I am, Agent Mulder.”

#my stuff #x files #the x files #msr #msr fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #x files fanfic

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99tech99 · 10 months ago

Text

gif by @moonstrider9904 !!!

A/N: I originally wrote a fluff piece as a submission for Summer of Bad Batch. But it’s Tech and the prompt is “Need a Hand?” How can I not be a lil spicy?? 😏

Original here.

Warnings: hand job, getting caught.

2.2k words under cut

You first met the group of siblings you learned to be Clone Force 99 when they stopped at your shop in Ord Mantel. You were rewiring some components at the counter when the little blonde girl had come dashing over first. “What’s a…Certified Preowned Assorted Parts Emporium?” she asked you, reading the sign over your stall. She had expressive brown eyes and a heavy accent.

You laughed. “Fancy name for a junkyard, kid.”

The rest of the group had caught up. Despite the fact that they were with such a sweet young girl, they seemed like an extremely rough crowd. The one with the long hair a had half his face tattooed like a skull, and the one glowering at you with a toothpick in his mouth had a sniper’s crosshair tattooed around his eye. One had lost an arm and replaced it with a scomp. There was also an absolute giant of a man who looked like he could snap anyone or anything in half without effort. Last, though, came was someone who didn’t look like he belonged at all. He didn’t have any visible tattoos and seemed to have all his appendages. He wore goggles and was walking along with his nose in his datapad. When he spoke, it was in a crisp, matter of fact tone.

“Hunter.” Face Tattoo turned. “I sincerely doubt any of the second-rate establishments on a backwater planet such as this would carry the precise components we need for the Marauder.”

“Hey nerd,” you called, only mildly offended. “Fortunately for you, you found the only first rate establishment around.” You winked at the girl. She giggled.

“The definition of first rate is debatable,” Nerd replied, fidgeting with his goggles.

“Alright, then. Let’s deal with the objective,” you shot back. “Give me the list of parts you need and if I don’t have them in stock or I can’t get them with in a standard week, I’ll settle for second rate.”

You held out your hand for his datapad. Nerd looked at Face Tattoo, who nodded. With a heavy sigh, Nerd handed it to you.

“You’ll have to excuse Tech,” said Sniper lazily as you scrolled through the list of parts. “He’s always convinced he has the only brain cells for a radius of 100 clicks.”

You had every part in stock. “C’mon,” you told the group, leading the way to your inventory out back.

After you were able to win your wager with Tech, the Batch started coming around a lot more.

Omega had been the first to capture your heart, and no wonder. She saw the best in everyone and every situation, but was still tougher and more resilient than most adults you knew. Wrecker was almost just sweet but had a knowledge of weapons and explosives that far surpassed your own. It took a minute to figure out Crosshair, but he respected someone who could dish out the sarcasm as well as they could take it. Echo and Hunter were fiercely protective of their squad, and as soon as you demonstrated that same loyalty, you were as good as one of their own. You had even accompanied the Batch on a few missions when your technical expertise would come in handy.

But Tech…It was almost a year since you had met the Batch, and despite the trust and friendship you had with the rest of the squad, you were still getting nowhere with him.

At first it seemed like he should be the easiest for you to get along with. You were both mechanically minded and loved ships and flying. But he almost never even looked up from his datapad when you were around, and when he did, he was always annoyed whenever you tried to help.

It wouldn’t have bothered you so much if you didn’t have such a silly crush on the man. He could rattle off facts for hours on just about any topic in the galaxy. You hadn’t known him to encounter a technological problem he couldn’t resolve. You were tall, but Tech’s lean body still towered over yours. And he was just as much a super solider as any of his brothers. Some of the missions you had accompanied the squad on had gotten pretty rough. Tech was right in the middle of the action, taking tactical risks and scoring hits as much as any of his brothers.

You had spoken to Hunter about your concern a few months ago. “I just don’t understand why he dislikes me so much. I don’t know what I did to offend him.”

Hunter sighed. “Nothing. That’s just Tech. Usually he might have warmed up to someone by now, but I would try not to take it too personally.”

“I’d take it personally,” Crosshair sneered as he walked by.

“Yes, you definitely should,” you quipped back grinning, “since everyone dislikes you on a personal level.”

“Want me to talk to him?” Hunter asked.

You considered. “No, it’s ok. If it really starts to bother me, I’ll bring it up myself.”

You tried to push the issue to the back of your mind, but to no avail.

When you received a message from Omega saying they had returned from their most recent mission, you made up your mind to talk to Tech about it. You headed over to the usual docking bay to welcome the Batch back. The ramp of the Marauder was closed, but you heard the metallic clicking of tools coming from underneath.

“Hello?” you called.

Tech’s voice answered. “Down here.”

Instantly you felt the sensation of butterflies in your stomach. You knelt down, leaning your head under the ship. “Need a hand?” you asked brightly.

“I do not,” he said in a clipped tone.

You held back your disappointed sigh. “Where’s everyone else?” you inquired, still trying to sound cheerful.

“Supply run.”

“And I bet Omega and Wrecker are getting their celebratory mantel mix after another successful mission.”

“That would be a logical deduction based on their past patterns of behavior.”

You examined the underside of the ship. There was quite a bit of carbon scoring.

“Oof, glad you made it back in one piece!” you exclaimed. “Looks like the last mission got pretty hot!”

“Hence the repairs,” Tech replied.

You scooted under the ship to see what he was working on.

He was trying to rewire a circuit board, but his hands were too big to access the compartment properly to remove the panel. He was holding the screwdriver at an angle. Instead of loosening the screw, the tool just kept slipping.

You leaned over him slightly, extending your hand for the screwdriver. “Here, my hands are smaller, I bet I can do it.”

“I do not require assistance,” he said stubbornly.

“I know you know how but that doesn’t change the physics of your hands. Just let me…Ugh, you’re gonna strip the screw, Tech!” you said frustratedly. You tried to take the tool from him but he held it out of your reach.

“What is your problem with me?” you demanded angrily.

“You make everything much harder than it has to be, regardless of what you do, just by being present,” he replied immediately.

You were shocked into silence. You were embarrassed to feel your eyes stinging with tears. “Well, fuck. I’ll go,” you said, starting to wriggle out from under the ship.

“Wait. Will you allow me to clarify what I mean?”

Great, you thought. Hearing in excruciating detail exactly why Tech hates you. “Fine,” you mumbled, blinking furiously to try to keep from crying.

Tech didn’t look at you, but stared up at the underside of the Marauder.

“It is hard for me to say goodbye to you before we leave on missions. While the squad does have an undeniable success rate, there are always variables that cannot be accounted for, and there is no guarantee we will return unscathed, if at all.

“Similarly, it is hard for me to watch you leave at night to return your domicile. I am well aware you are capable of looking after yourself, but I am concerned for your safety and I do not want any harm to befall you.”

Wait. This was not what you were expecting.

“It is hard to watch you interact with my brothers and sister. You have an ease with them you have never had with me. I am quite certain the issue is with me, but I am equally uncertain how to fix it.

“It is hard for me when you seem to know as much about the mechanics and systems of the Marauder as I do. I both resent and respect you for that, and I cannot comprehend how I can harbor both conflicting emotions.”

A pink tinge was apparent in his cheeks now. You could tell he was steeling himself to say something. “And in the spirit of full disclosure…um, yes…THAT gets, uh, hard too on occasion.” He cleared this throat. “Particularly one day when you were performing repairs in a certain pair of pants. I’m inexplicably drawn to you physically. But I don’t know what to do or how you would react to such a gesture.”

He lapsed into silence. Your heart was beating wildly at the implications of his lengthy speech, especially the last bit. “Tech…” you whispered.

“Thank you for your courtesy in listening. You may leave if you like.” he said returning to his usual brusque manner. Tech turned his attention back to the repairs.

“Conduct an experiment,” you suggested with a sly smile.

“An experiment?” he asked, confused.

You rolled over placing one hand on either side of Tech’s head so you were leaning against his chest. You could feel his heart beating through his armor. “Sure. Conduct an experiment and see how I react.”

He looked unsure.

“If it helps,” you whispered mischievously, “I know the pants you mean. I’m wearing them today.”

Hesitantly, Tech reached up. He ran his fingers through your hair, tucking the loose strands behind your ear. Your smile widened.

His hand lingered on your cheek. Slowly he raised his face to yours. Behind his goggles, his beautiful eyes searched your face, settling on your mouth. You couldn’t wait any longer. You pressed your lips to his. For a moment he didn’t react, but then he was kissing you back.

“How do you find the results of your experiment?” you asked, slightly breathless, when you finally broke apart.

“Very favorable,” he said. “However, tests often need to be run multiple times to verify the validity of the original results.”

You laughed softly. “I think that’s a good idea.”

He pulled you back to him.

“So…” you murmured against his lips. “You said I make that hard too?” You grinned, blushing. “May I?”

“You want to?” he asked in disbelief.

“I want everything with you,” you breathed.

Tech fiddled with his goggles. “Yes you may.”

You slid off his chest, lying sideways next to him on the ground. Your hand made its way down his chest and abdomen to the waistband of his pants.

You palmed his erection straining against his pants. He felt huge. His cock twitched under your touch. For a moment you fumbled one-handed with the closure on his pants.

Tech moaned softly as you freed him, running your hand up and down his length with a steady pressure.

“Am—am I of sufficient size?” he asked hesitantly.

Gods he was adorable. “Yes,” you said emphatically.

Tentatively his fingers wandered up your body, pausing just under your breasts.

“Here,” you said softly. You tugged down the zipper of your leather vest.

“Mesh’la,” he whispered. Gently he cupped your breast. His thumb traced a gentle circle around your nipple, causing you to shiver in delight.

His brown eyes met yours. “So beautiful, cyar’ika.”

You didn’t know how long the two of you lay there, basking in the touch of each other’s hands and lips. Neither of you were paying any attention to anything else. Not even even when the sound of voices came floating across the landing pad. Or when a pair of boots appeared. A moment later Crosshair’s head peered under the Maurader.

“Found him,” he drawled, making you both jump. “Ooh, look, if it isn’t our favorite little mechanic giving Tech a hand,” he added in taunting delight.

You heard Wrecker’s booming laugh.

You sat up to tell Crosshair off, but smacked your head on the underside of the ship. You rubbed your head, already feeling a bump. “Crosshair!”

Omega’s cheerful voice rang out, “I’ll give Tech a hand too!”

“Omega!” barked Hunter and Echo in unison. “On the ship!”

“Ookayy,” said Omega, simultaneously annoyed and mystified.

“For kriff’s sake Cross, go away,” you snapped.

He didn’t. He was very obviously staring at your tits with a sly grin. “Kitten, I’ll volunteer to give you something to really get a grip on.”

“Ugh!” you quickly zipped your vest back up and threw yourself back down on the ground.

Meanwhile Tech was struggling to contain himself back in his pants.

“Crosshair,” Hunter growled. You could tell he had grabbed Cross by the scruff of the neck and was shoving him onboard.

Another pair of boots appeared. “When you’re both, uh, decent,” said Echo’s voice, “come aboard for a debriefing. And please hurry up about it,” he added.

You turned your head to Tech. He was blushing furiously. For a moment you stared at each other, unable to believe the entire series of events that had transpired. Then you both burst out laughing.

“Next time, we’re going to my place!” you declared.

“Next time?” he asked hopefully.

You grinned and kissed him on the nose. “Mhmm. Lots of times.”

My Master List

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb #tbb tech x reader #tbb tech #star wars star whores #99tech99 writes

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