#i imagine Dark having a british accent! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seospicybin · 7 months

Text

TOO HOT TO HANDLE.

PART I

Han x reader. (s)

Too Hot To Handle masterlist

Synopsis: You and Han become contestants in a reality dating show, Too Hot To Handle. (12,9k words)

Author's note: I hope you like this one too. Don't be shy to add your feedback :)

If you were in paradise with good company and had to resist sex, could you?

We found the hottest, horniest, commitment-phobic singles and gave them what they think is the most exotic and erotic summer of their lives.

Only to reveal that one thing is off the menu is sex.

At stake is a prize of $200,000 which will plummet if they get naughty. The question is, in a world without sex, will they form deeper and more meaningful connections?

Or will the temptation be too hot to handle?

"I'm here!" Han announces his arrival and shouts it toward the beach.

Instead of feeling nervous, he feels good to be the first one to enter the villa. At least this way, he wouldn't feel intimidated when he sees people who are more good-looking than him.

There's not much to do with no one to interact with, he grabs one of the cocktails served on the small round table and takes a sip.

He turns the other way, sipping his cocktail while looking at the beautiful view of the sea that goes as far as his eyes can see.

"Oh, it's so gorgeous here," he says with a delightful sigh.

Little did he know, that's not the only gorgeous thing he'll see today.

HAN: I'm charming 24/7, that's for sure [laughs] Girls often say they like my smile [brightly smiles] and I won't disagree with that [chuckles] I'm all about a good chat, I'm good listener. I gather pieces of information, I use them at the right time, and [makes shooting gesture] That's part of the secret.

Han has to squint his eyes against the blinding sunlight and see two girls coming his way. He sips his drink to fuel his confidence and prepares himself to make a good first impression.

"Wow. You girls look amazing!" Han says out of wonder, not hesitating to let his thoughts out.

He hates to see women objectively but it's hard not to. Not when they're dressed in something that leaves so little to the imagination.

"We can say the same about you," The taller one says, talking as if she's half moaning.

"I'm Mikaela," she introduces herself, not hesitating to pull him into a hug.

Mikaela has shiny dark hair, plump lips, and a height he doesn't have, yet it's not going to stop him from pursuing her.

But it's too early to settle down yet. He turns to the other girl who's more his height and gives her a quick hug.

"I'm Han," he introduces his name first.

"I'm Nya," she replies.

Nya's brown skin glows under the sun and when she smiles, she shows her perfect white teeth.

"Can we drink this?" She asks in a thick British accent.

Stunned by how attractive the girls are, Han forgets about making a good, first impression. He hurriedly hands the drinks over to the girls and proposes a toast.

They're clinking their glasses against each other and take a sip at the same time.

"So, Han, what is your type?" Mikaela asks.

It may seem like a harmless question but it's actually not, she wants him to choose between the two of them. He needs to be careful with what he says if he wants to please them.

"I don't really have a type... but uh... I like eyes, gorgeous eyes," he says.

They nod at you, not quite figuring out what he says by that. He comes up with something to amuse them both, "I like a gorgeous smile too and you both have that."

That works wonderfully as they're smiling and laughing at his answer.

"Cheers to that!" Mikaela says, clinking her glass with his.

"I think the three of us can do something while we wait for the others," Nya suggests an idea.

An idea that gives Han a glimpse of what her personality is. Don't get him wrong, he likes girls who know how to have fun, he just doesn't expect it coming from Nya.

"Yeah? What do you have in mind?" Han playfully dares her.

Nya sips her drink to avoid answering his question then breaks into a series of giggles.

Sadly, the threesome must end as the second male guest enters the villa.

Han would be lying if he said he was not the slightest bit intimidated. Not only he doesn't have his height, but he also doesn't have that Greek God-like body and facial hair that enhances his masculinity.

"How are you doing, man?" He asks Han who's gobsmacked by how tall he is as he stands next to him.

"Good, good," he answers, exchanging a quick hug with him.

He can see honey dripping from Nya's eyes as she looks at the new guy, "What is your name?"

"Rio," he answers.

"Where are you from, Rio?" Mikaela asks, holding her glass close to her lips.

"I'm from Brazil," he answers, taking a drink for himself.

Mikaela giggles even though there's nothing funny about what he says. She fixes her hair as she says, "Rio, you are so gorgeous."

It feels like Han has become invisible to everyone. He quietly sips his drink and tries not to despair. There are more to come and who knows? He'll find someone more suitable to him, more of his type.

Han has to be patient as two more male guests enter the villa, successfully making his confidence shrink.

He bursts into laughter as he's standing between Peyton and Finn like two gorgeous, white pillars of a Greek temple.

And as if that's not enough, the female guest who just entered is also tall.

"Fuck. I'm so small, it's a joke," he says, trying to lighten up his mood by making a fool out of himself.

The boys around him laugh at his joke and almost miss out on the new girl's introduction.

"I'm Sawyer," she says with a cute smile.

"So, Sawyer, what is your type?" Nya asks, going straight to the point.

Han stands up straight and funnily, the other guys are lining up so Sawyer can take a good look at them. He stands on his tiptoes to match the other's heights, earning good laughs from the girls.

"Well, let's say I'm looking more into their personality..." her answer gets cut off as the last male guest enters the scene.

He looks like a textbook bad boy with long, brown hair and tattoos on his body, he has that smoldering eyes that certainly does thing to the girls as he takes all of their attention away.

Confidently, he walks around introducing himself to the girls, kissing them on the cheeks, and keeps his introduction short by only telling his name, "Asher."

So far, no one has caught his eyes or struck his fancy, he doesn't find the sparks he usually gets when he sees someone he likes.

He can only hold onto the hope that he'll find what he's looking for on the last two female guests.

On the other hand, he can't help but expect disappointment and...

"Oh, they're too fit!" Sawyer cutely gasps.

Han glances up from his drink to see what she's fussing about and the boys are howling in reaction to girls walking into the villa.

HAN: Oh, we're so spoiled for choice [laughs]

It's kind of unfair that they make you enter the villa with someone as gorgeous as Avery.

Except for the dark brown, she looks like the Malibu Barbie. She has perfect skin, that hourglass body figure, and a nice smile. Meanwhile, you look like a long-forgotten, doodled-on Barbie with tattoos scattered across your body.

"Are you nervous?" She asks with an Australian accent.

She looks so cute as she nervously giggles, "Not really," you answer.

It's everyone there who should be nervous because they haven't seen her. You're not jealous, if anything, you want to date her for yourself.

"Should we hold hands?" She offers her hand to you.

You look around at the staff preparing your entrance to the villa, "I'm not sure..."

Your words are trailing off as the staff gives the cute for both of you to start walking into the villa.

To your surprise, you don't feel nervous at all. You feel excited to meet a lot more attractive people and can't wait to know them.

You turn your head and see Avery, looking not as nervous as she seemed to be earlier.

She looks gorgeous with the sun hits her eyes, showing off her beautiful green eyes with a tint of brown in the middle.

It's kind of expected that she's catching all the attention and the boys seem to be curious about Avery that they just can't take their eyes off of her.

"I'm Avery, hi," she introduces herself.

She makes eyes with everyone and Han returns the eye contact with a wide smile on his face.

"Do you fancy anyone, Avery?" Nya asks, being the one that leads the conversation again.

Avery looks at the boys with a smile dancing on her face, Sligh nodding when her eyes hover between Han and Asher.

"Yeah..." she answers then looks away to sip her drink.

"And how about you?" Nya asks.

Everyone turns their attention to you as you quietly grab a drink for yourself. You hold your drink in your hand as you answer, "Honestly, I fancy everyone here."

You look at Nya and continue talking, "I go both ways so bring 'em all in, I guess?" you say with a sly smirk.

Nya seems amused by your answer, "I like that, girl!" She says, clinking her glass with you after.

"Please, save some for us," Rio playfully says.

You nonchalantly shrug and say, "I don't mind sharing."

You secretly steal a few glances at the guy who's been eyeing Avery the second she came into the villa. He looks so cute and cute guys are your weaknesses.

YOU: Hi, nice to meet you. I'm— [holds up hand] that sounds so lame, let me do it again! [Laughs] Hey, what's up? It's your girl [blows kisses] I like to keep a low profile. When I see someone I like, I just give them the eyes and they'll get it [Winks] I have standards, of course. But at the end of the day, I have the worst criteria [laughs]

The girls are cheering in excitement as they're the first to enter the bedroom.

There are five beds and ten people in here which means everyone has to pair up. The options are still wide open even though he sees Avery sitting on the bed with Asher.

He's half-heartedly listening to the conversation happening in the room as everyone is asking each other about their profession.

He sits on the bed to engage in the conversation as Peyton just told everyone that he works as a model which explains his perfect figure.

"What about you?" Peyton turns to Avery.

She tips her head to the side and it's so adorable of her "Why don't you guess?"

"I think you model too," Finn guesses.

She surprisingly shakes her head, "No, I'm a singer," she says.

Han finds the opportunity to inject himself into the conversation.

"Oh, me too!" He says with such enthusiasm.

"Yeah?" Avery asks.

Han eagerly nods, especially now he has her attention, "What's your sign?"

"I'm a Pisces," she answers.

It's obvious that he can't match his star sign with hers but he won't let it get in his way, "My moon is in Pisces!" He says with a gasp.

"We have a lot of commons," he says, holding both his hands up for a double high-five with her.

"I think we should kiss," Han shamelessly adds.

Avery bursts into laughter hearing Han's proposition but to his surprise, she says, "Just a peck then."

She gets up from the bed and meets Han in the middle, their lips meet for a mere second until Avery breaks the kiss. There are various reactions from everyone but Han notices a few jealous eyes in a few of them. His way of flirting may seem random and a bit silly but hey, it works!

HAN: I'm feeling two or three of them but Avery... [whistles] Great body, great smile.

It seems like Han is not the only one who has the hots for Avery.

As he chats with Rio with his legs dipped in the swimming pool, he sees that Asher pulls her aside, talking on the wooden chair that overlooks the sea.

He turns at Rio and playfully asks, "What do you think he's saying?"

Rio lets out a chuckle and shrugs, "He's probably saying 'you're the most beautiful girl' and stuff like that," he replies.

Han chuckles at that as he keeps watching the two of them talking. He must admit that Asher wins on visual but it's not a guarantee that he'll be able to win her over with just his look.

Also, he already bagged a peck from Avery.

"How about you? Mikaela, huh?" Han says, guessing that Rio has his eyes on the beautiful, dark-haired girl.

Rio leans with his hands propped behind him and softly laughs, "She's got a banging, banging body," he says the word twice to emphasize how hot she is.

"I think I'll give it a shot, you know, and see what she's saying," Rio concludes.

Well, if he were Rio, he wouldn't worry about not getting a girl. He could only wish to have his sculpted body and he is indeed envious of him for it.

"Finn is going for Avery too," Rio informs.

"Yeah?" He asks with a painful laugh.

Rio laughs while brushing his dark curls to the back, "All I can say to you is best of luck," he says with a sly smile.

Well, the fact that he has competitions only means that Avery is that girl.

HAN: There's a competition going on for Avery [laughs] Well, I say let the games begin [rubs hands together]

This show is called Party in Paradise for a reason.

Everyone is so revved up and ready for the first party in the villa. The boys are already gathered at the beach, taking a glass of cocktail and making a toast.

"I saw my boy Peyton made his move earlier with Nya," Asher says.

"What?" Han asks in disbelief, completely clueless about it.

Peyton sips his drink with a bragging smirk plastered on his face, "It was nice, it was nice," he coyly responds to that.

"Are you trying to one me up or what?" Han jokes.

He swallows his drink before replying, "Something is going to happen tonight," he cryptically says.

Everyone raises their glasses in the air for another toast and Han wants to keep his focus sharp so he's only taking little sips of it.

Not long after, the girls are coming and dressed stunningly, carefully walking down the steps that lead to the beach. All of them look beautiful in their own way but Avery is exceptionally gorgeous to him.

HAN: I need to make a move on Avery. I need to make a progress.

The first round of drinks has been drained and everyone moved on to the next round right away. Music is blasting, sending everyone to start moving their bodies to the upbeat music.

Everyone is having fun and getting to know each other with every sip of drink, dancing with each other, not caring that the cameras are filming everything.

You've been instructed to take the lead on the first quest since everyone will take their turn anyway, you've been briefed on everything about the first quest.

When the music abruptly stops, you take it as your cue to take control of the show.

"You guys, I've been tasked to lead the first quest and..." you look at them to build anticipation.

"Don't worry, it's a fun quest!" You assure them, allowing them to stay loosen up.

You grab an eye mask that has been prepared by the staff and show it to everyone, "Each one of you will take turns to stand here," you pointed to the marked spot with a foam mat.

"And you'll put this on," you show them the eye mask again.

You take a few seconds of pause before letting them know the most fun part of it, "And any of you can come to kiss, lick, taste, bite, anything..."

You look at them and emphasize the word again, "Anything!"

Everyone is cheering in reaction, given the chance to do whatever they want to the person they fancy. You can expect a lot of lips locking and fondling in a few minutes.

"Don't get excited yet!" You put a halt to the pheromones you're spreading through your words.

You slyly smile, enjoying the little piece of authority you have over the show.

"The quest is, you have to guess who does what to you and whoever with the most correct answers," you turn around to show them the mysterious box behind you.

You step aside so everyone can look, "You'll get to open the mystery box!"

That earns a wave of applause from them, gets them wondering what's inside the box, and is determined to win the quest.

"Sadly, I don't know what's inside the box," you hurriedly tell them before they get suspicious that you know more than them.

You look around to spot any exciting person to kickstart the game. You notice that Mikaela seems eager to get something out of Rio.

"Mikaela, will you do the honor to be the first?"

She smiles brightly and confidently steps forward, squealing in excitement. You help put the eye mask on without ruining her styled hair and take a step back.

"You ready?" You ask her.

She wriggles her body, "I'm ready!"

Don't want to waste the chance, you steal a quick peck on her lips and earn a surprise gasp from some people.

"That's you!" Mikaela easily guesses.

You walk back to your seat while laughing and see that Rio is also taking his turn after you.

YOU: I got my make-up on, I did my hair and I'm... going to get a kiss from everyone [laughs]

Peyton stirs a little chaos as he kisses Sawyer and it's not hard to see a displease look on Nya's face after, probably for the rest of the night too.

The time finally comes to Avery's turn. She carefully covers her eyes with the eye mask and with a smile, she makes gestures with her hands.

"Come and get it," she says, swinging her hips side to side.

Han wastes not another second to sprint to her and lands the first kiss on her lips. He gives everything he has to offer, kissing her with the skill he honed from years of experience and putting all of himself into this one kiss.

A kiss that he hoped would be enough to enchant her and put her under his spell.

Han slowly pulls away as his lungs burn from the lack of oxygen, gasping as he looks at Avery's face.

"We share another common thing," he says.

"Huh? What?" Avery asks, still disoriented from the kiss.

"We're both great kissers," he answers.

Avery covers her mouth as she breaks into laughter and as soon as Han leaves his spot, Finn takes his turn to kiss her and he has to watch it.

"Oh, this is mad!" Rio comments while elbowing his sides next to him.

And right after that, Asher takes the next turn and kisses Avery, getting mixed reactions from everyone. That's probably because she gets the most kisses so far.

Avery takes off her eye mask and wipes her lips, trying to clean her smudged lipstick.

"Can you guess, Avery baby?" Nya asks.

She looks in his direction to get any clues on the person who kissed her.

"The first kiss is you," she easily guesses, using both hands to point at him.

Han is inexplicably proud of her for guessing right, he believes the peck helped her to identify his kiss.

"The second one is... uhm..." she bites her finger as she thinks.

She then scrunches her nose and doing it so adorably, "I think it's Finn?"

"And the last one?" You ask.

"That's Asher," she shortly answers, not having the slightest doubt in it.

Han looks at Asher who is nodding along, feeling cocky that Avery recognized his kiss. It seems like the competition has started for real.

HAN: The competition is... real mad! [laughs]

It's his turn now.

Han drains his drink that he's been sipping little by little and he needs every drop of courage to ready himself for it. When he looks at the other boys, they seem to have it easy because they're undeniably attractive and he feels slightly scared that the other will treat him differently because he's less attractive than the other.

Well, he should mainly focus on the keyword: attractive.

Han is attractive nonetheless.

The layer of anxiety is safely hidden behind his playful smirk as he takes his stand and covers his eyes with the eye mask. He licks his lips and slyly smiles as he says, "Come on! Daddy's home!"

Even though the possibility is close to zero percent, he badly wishes that he could get a kiss from Avery. He laughs as he remembers that he shouldn't take this too seriously, he's here to have fun, it's Party in Paradise.

He can hear the girls giggling and the boys cooing, he takes that as a sign that someone is approaching him. He swallows air as his heart is pitter-pattering and his chest filled with anticipation.

He's seen the other boys take their turn and everyone at least gets a smooch so he stands there expecting one as well.

Instead of that, he feels a kiss on his neck. He shouldn't feel disappointed but he can't help it. He focuses on trying to guess who it is.

Before getting his answer, he hears everyone cooing again and a few light claps.

He anticipates it and this time he believes that he'll get a kiss on the lips.

He indeed gets a kiss but not from one. He feels two pairs of lips kissing him at once and he doesn't mind it at all. It surprises him that he can only let them kiss him.

It's incredibly soft and warm, a little wet. He feels a few licks in here and there.

Too bad that he can't see it but it makes him visualize it in his head, him making out with these two girls, and fuck, it's so hot it gets him so horny.

He doesn't want to guess anymore, he keeps wanting to kiss them because they're both good at it, they know how to use their tongues, and makes him feel a bit lightheaded.

Someone pulls away first and he can hear her softly gasping while the other is still kissing him, taking a bit of his lower lip before letting it go.

Han hears another series of giggles but the sounds are fading, the girls are probably walking back to their seats. He takes a minute to compose himself, then takes off his eye mask.

The first thing he does to get his vision back is look at girls to scan any guilty faces. He can easily guess the one who kisses his neck.

"The one who kissed my neck is..." he points his finger at Sawyer and she reacts with blushed cheeks and a shy laugh, which proves that he's right.

This is where it gets tricky, he was enjoying every bit of that sexy makeout to try to guess who are they. He looks at the girls and they're giving him vague signs.

Sawyer is out of options and he knows Mikaela has no interest in him. That leaves you, Nya, and Avery.

As much as he wants to believe that it's Avery, he doesn't want to make it obvious to her. So he settles on you and Nya.

"Nah, you're wrong," Nya tells him.

His eyes widen in shock and he doesn't want to get over his head but is it possible that one of them is Avery?

He walks back to his seat with a dreading curiosity, "Who was it?"

Rio playfully punches his arm, "It's those girls!"

His eyes follow the direction of Rio's hand and he's even more surprised to know that he's right.

It's you and Avery.

HAN: I don't know what else to say [shrugs] I made out with the two hottest girls in the villa [smirks]

Not trying to compete with the other three boys but you're sure that the last person that kissed you is Avery.

"I know it's you," you point at her.

Avery may look like an angel, she walks and talks like an angel but she has the devil inside of her. You know that she's just like you, she's all about the vibe and having fun. You believe you would be good friends with her.

"I would be sad if you guessed it wrong," she says.

"I know," you coyly answer.

The game ends with you and it's time to announce the winner of the quest. It's an easy call because the one with the most correct guesses is none other than Avery.

"Come up here!" You order.

She gets up from her chair and walks up to you, leading her to the mystery box as she's the winner which earned her the chance to be the one opening it.

"I've been told that the content of this box will truly change this trip into an experience you won't forget," you inform everyone.

Avery gives you a nervous look as she grips the handle on the lid of the box.

"Are guys ready?" You ask everyone to keep the tension.

"Yeah!" They answer in unison.

You look at Avery and nod, "There's no turning back once you open it!"

You jokingly say that to scare her before walking back to your seat and joining everyone else as anticipation mounts in each passing second.

Avery looks at everyone and squints her eyes, "Count with me, please!"

Everyone agrees to start counting down together, "3..."

Avery decides to stand behind the box and holds the handle of the box again.

"2..."

You wonder what's inside the box, it looks small from where you're sitting but you have seen it up close, it could fit anything and it could be anything inside.

"1..."

Avery closes her eyes as she lifts the lid and the box unfolds on every side, exposing the content to everyone's watching.

You don't want to believe what you're seeing but then it chimes.

"Oh... fuck!" You curse out loud and you're not the only one doing so.

YOU: Are you joking?

"What is it?" Avery asks as she hasn't opened her eyes yet.

She then puts the lid away and sees what everyone is seeing, the cone that lights up in purple-hued colors.

"What is that?" She cluelessly asks.

"That's Lana!" Nya screams with a strained voice.

"That's fucking Lana!" She says again with a doomed expression.

Avery's eyes widen in horror and she drags herself back to sit, wedging herself between you and Mikaela.

You guess everyone is just in shock about the sudden turn of events and that everyone is trapped in her show. You hate that you know what's coming for you.

"This is Too Hot To Handle," Lana announces, telling everyone that she is running this show from the very beginning.

"You have been specially selected because you are all choosing meaningless sex over genuine relationships."

"Guilty!" Asher says with a hand raised like he's in a classroom.

"The purpose of this retreat is to help you gain deeper emotional connections in your personal relationships."

Avery drops her head on your shoulder and grumbles, "I don't want that, Lana."

You put your hand around her, feeling what she's feeling: betrayal and devastation.

"As always, there are conditions to your stay here. You must abstain from sexual practices for the entirety of your stay."

You close your eyes and try to take the first bitter pill, swallowing it dry, and pushing it as far down as you can.

"Are you jok—" Mikaela can't even finish her sentence.

"No kissing."

"What?" Avery gasps in disbelief.

"No heavy petting."

Mikaela sighs, running her hand to her hair and ruining her hairstyle altogether.

"And no sex of any kind."

That earns a lot of gasp from everyone and there goes down the biggest, most bitter pill you have to take.

"This also applies to self-gratification."

Mikaela sighs again while Nya squeals in both pain and amusement.

"What does it mean?" Sawyer innocently asks.

"You can't masturbate, babe," Avery answers her question with a pout.

"At all?" She asks again to confirm her fear.

So they threw a bunch of hot people into a villa and tricked them into thinking that they would be partying and having fun only to reveal that they're not allowed to have any physical contact? What in the 21st century way of torture is this?

YOU: There goes my plan to kiss everyone... I was planning to get a taste here and there and now it's like... No [sighs]

"As part of your social development, I have allocated a prize of $200,000."

Everyone's eyes turn green at the mention of money and the amount of it, also at the promise that they can win it.

"I'm a college student. I need that!" Finn comments from the end of the bench.

"Each time the rules are broken, money will be deducted from the prize fund."

Of course, it wouldn't be that easy to win that much money and now it looks like everyone would be leaving with nothing.

But with the rules are set and the prize is announced, the game gets serious now.

"Welcome to your long, hard, sexless summer," Lana finishes with the gloom casting on those words.

"Everyone gets ready now 'cause it's not Party in Paradise anymore," Nya reminds everyone with the harsh truth.

"It's hell now," Mikaela eggs in.

Han personally thinks this is worse than hell. Because at least in hell, he'd be allowed to get horny.

HAN: $200,000... That's a lot of money... to spend [smirks]

"Please, can we not?"

The last thing you want to hear is everyone complaining about the rules again and it's only dragging you down more than you allowed it to.

"I'm just upset..." Mikaela says as she takes off her earrings and puts them into a jewelry box.

"I know," you sigh, tossing your shoes into the bottom shelf of your closet.

It takes you a long time to get ready for bed but it's most likely because the girls are chatting and you can't help but join in. Trying to keep yourself away from sex is hard but being able to talk about it is what makes it bearable.

You and Avery walk to the bedroom with arms linked, you just know you'll be friends by how you identify a few traits of yours in her.

The boys are already taking their territory except for Finn, you know he's still in the dresser room. You're fine sharing a bed with anyone but you try not to make drama by getting on a bed with someone's person of interest.

Since Avery is the hot commodity, you make her choose where she'll sleep tonight.

"So, Avery, what's the bed situation?" You ask her.

A few pairs of ears perk up hearing the question and you notice that the three men competing are watching as Avery is making a decision.

She walks up to the bed in the middle, "I'll sleep here."

Asher triumphantly smiles as Avery climbs onto his bed and gets under the cover next to him.

Now that she has settled on a man, you can choose your bed partner at ease. Rio is off-limits unless you want to face Mikaela's wrath and Peyton is also out of the question, you don't want to mess with Nya.

You walk over to Han's bed and you kind of like the vibe he's giving you, you know he's into Avery but it's not like he has much of options, it's either you and Sawyer.

"Want to share a bed?" You ask.

Han glances at you and without answering, makes a space on the bed for you. He seems to take an interest in the tattoos inked your body and he notices that you're watching.

"How many tattoos do you have?" He asks.

You lean against the pillow stacked behind you, "Uhm... I never counted," you reply.

It's amusing to see the wonder in his eyes as he's looking at your tattoos, making you feel like teasing him.

"How about I get naked and you can count my tattoos for me?"

He blinks his eyes at you, "I can promise you I'll do well at that," he says.

You chuckle at his witty answer and outstretched your arms to showcase the small tattoos on both of your arms.

He turns on the bed to lay on his side facing you, "Which one is your favorite?"

You take a few seconds to think of an answer, "I think it's the one on my spine."

You take all of your hair to one shoulder before turning your back at him, to show him the tattoo you're talking about.

His finger pulls down the silk camisole you're wearing so he can take a better look at it.

"Yeah, that's nice," he agrees with you.

You lean back on your pillow again and look at him, "How about you? Do you have any favorite yet?" You playfully ask.

He slyly smiles even before he begins talking, "Well, I believe there are tattoos that I have not yet seen," he says with one eyebrow slightly raised higher than the other.

Han knows how to amuse you, he's attractive in a different way than the other guys. It makes you want to tease him more.

"You mean like this one?" You lift the front of your camisole to show him the tattoo you have under your left breast.

He almost chokes on air as he breaks into laughter, "That could be my favorite," he says.

You nod and laugh along with him, "I'll show you more but I'm afraid we have to wait for third base," you jokingly say.

That amuses him so much, he collapses on his side of the bed and covers his eyes as he laughs. He has that laugh that only enhances the hilarity and you can't help to laugh along.

YOU: Han is cute, yeah, I think we'll get on well.

The lights are on and Han would still be sleeping if you didn't shift on the bed to take your water tumbler from the bedside table.

As everyone is slowly getting up and dragging themselves out of slumber, Lana's chime startles everyone.

"Oh, it wasn't a dream," Nya groans from the next bed to his.

Yeah, right, Han forgot about the sex ban until that cone lights up on top of the small glass table in the middle of the room.

"Good morning, everyone!" Lana greets.

Han props a pillow behind his head and you take his arm out so you can rest your head on it.

"Morning, hon!" You sleepily reply.

"I'd like to remind you that you're in a retreat but I do hope you enjoy your summer of sun, sea, and no sex," Lana concludes her morning greeting, leaving everyone with the awakening truth that they're not allowed to touch each other.

Han looks over to Avery's bed and wonders how is he going to make a move on her with Lana cockblocking him?

"Right. I'm going back to sleep," you grumble, closing your eyes and nuzzling your head in his neck.

Han slips his hand in your hair, playing with it as he's listening to the talk happening in the room.

"Is anyone still pissed off?" Nya asks everyone how they feel.

Peyton is the first one to raise his hand and Mikaela adds her opinion on the matter, "I think it's impossible to connect with someone without touching them, don't you think?"

Han is too busy thinking of his game plan now that the competition is getting tough and Asher is a point ahead of him.

"I think we need to tell each other if someone is—" Sawyer's words got cut off by Asher.

"At the end of the day, just don't lie," Asher remarks.

Han turns his head to the side only to bury his nose in your hair, catching the scent of your shampoo.

"Your hair smells so good," he says to you.

You hum with your eyes still closed and splayed your hand on his chest, "And you have nice pecs."

You both softly laugh at the compliments you give each other.

Last night, you both fell asleep after having a chat about random things, getting to know each other with jokes slipped in between.

Han must say that he likes you, you're fun to be around and you don't take things seriously. But then again, his eyes are on Avery.

HAN: I woke up next to her and it was great, I like her but... I like Avery more.

After taking a quick dip in the beach, you're walking past the boys who are working out on the way back to the villa.

"Looking good wet," Asher teases you with a lopsided grin on his face.

Too bad you're immune to sweet nothings like that, you flash him a smile and keep climbing the stairs back to the villa.

The other girls are already done with their make-up and leaving the dressing room empty, allowing you to get ready in peace.

In the middle of doing your hair, Nya enters the room and takes a seat next to you.

"What's up, hottie?" You ask while looking in the mirror to make sure you don't burn your scalp with the straightening iron.

Nya grabs her make-up pouch from the other side of the vanity table and takes out a brush. She seems to have something to say to you but hesitates to tell you.

After a while, she finally confesses, "Peyton and I, we kissed last night."

You're more shocked by the fact that she shares this with you rather than the kiss itself. They're horny for each other, it's only about time that they rule break.

You softly chuckle and gently comb your hair with your fingers, "How many times?"

"Just once," she answers while applying makeup on her cheeks.

"I'm impressed!" You playfully respond.

Nya chuckles at that and swivels her chair to face you, "What do you think? Is it three grand? For a kiss?" She asks with a nervous smile.

You put down the straightening iron and lean back on your chair, "I think so, yeah."

Nya takes lipstick out of her pouch next, "I didn't give a fuck at that moment," she says.

From your observation, Nya indeed doesn't give a fuck about the rules. She broke them hours after Lana put on the sex ban and you believe she wouldn't stop there.

"You saw how he kissed me last night during the game and I was a bit horny that we're sharing the bed..." she stops talking as she breaks into breathless chuckles.

"So, Peyton, huh?"

"Well, yeah, once I set my eyes on someone, I will get them," Nya remarks, affirming her strong personality.

"Sorry not sorry, Sawyer," she adds and couldn't care less about anyone else.

Which reminds you to never get on her bad side. You continue styling your hair while keeping the conversation going.

"Yeah, I think you guys are so cute," you comment even though you're not sure that Peyton will make a loyal partner considering that he kissed another girl right in front of her.

"What about you? How are you feeling?" She asks.

This is a dating show and you're well aware that you should get a partner to make this work but no one really tugs at your heartstrings.

Well, there is Han but he's certainly not available to you.

"I came to meet people and have fun, that's what I'm here for," you settle on a simple answer because you have no idea what you can do without a partner in this show.

"Yeah, yeah," Nya half-heartedly responds, "but who are you feeling?"

You must take another pause on doing your hair, "I like Han, he's cute. I like cute guys," you honestly answer.

Nya smiles listening to you talking, "He is. He is cute."

"But I think he's into Avery," you add, not letting her encourage you to pursue him.

Nya nods, getting the gist of it since it's obvious that Avery is the most popular girl in the retreat. She swipes her full lips with nude-colored lipstick and smacks her lips together.

"Once they know about the kiss, we're going to get hated," Nya once again worries about what would happen when Lana announces the infraction they've done last night.

"I think you should just... own up to it," you suggest.

Honest is the best policy and also, you think people will be less upset if they admit their mistake right away.

YOU: Knowing that someone already broke the rules. It's only about time that someone else starts doing it too.

Han has just come out of the shower when Lana calls everyone to the cabana.

He combs his wet hair fast and walks with Finn to where everyone has gathered, sitting on the curved sofa facing the cone-shaped lady.

He squeezes himself between you and Sawyer, putting his arm on the headrest of the sofa as he waits for Lana to come online.

You look over your shoulder at him, "You smell nice."

"I showered," he simply answers with a sly grin on his face.

"That changes everything," you joke, then rest your head on his shoulder,

The cone lights up followed by the melodic chime that he should get used to hearing it. There must be a reason why everyone is called to the cabana, someone must have done something.

"Hello, everyone!" Lana begins.

"Hey, Lana," he replies, suddenly feeling nervous even though he hasn't done anything yet.

"The rules of my retreat have already been broken."

Everyone collectively gasps at that announcement and this is where they get suspicious of each other.

"Oh, no..." Sawyer sighs.

Finn sits on the edge of the sofa and clasps his hands together in front of him, "Anybody wants to come clean?" He asks.

Han gets the feeling that Finn would play the good cop here and he also senses that you know something, "Did we kiss in our sleep or what?"

"If that's the case, I wouldn't stop at kissing," you joke back at him with a gentle slap on his forearm.

Unexpectedly, what you said makes him flutter inside, he almost forgot that someone broke the rules and possibly, it involves Avery.

"I'm so confused," Sawyer says as if it's a math problem that she needs to solve.

No one wants to come forward and it creates animosity in the air. He doesn't like what this leads to, he hopes that someone comes forward so things won't get ugly.

"Who's guilty?" He throws the question in with his eyes uneasily glancing in Avery's direction.

"I thought we were going to be truthful with each other," Finn reminds everyone about the unwritten rules they made this morning.

The calm on Nya's face shatters as Rio says, "You're looking real guilty right now, Nya."

"Yeah, okay, it was me," she finally confesses.

Nya tips her head to the side then looks at Peyton, "Peyton and I kissed."

Han glares at Peyton, he expects that at least he would man up and own up to it. But Han feels a relief knowing that it wasn't Avery.

"This breach of rules has cost the group $3,000," Lana announces.

Oh? Three thousand dollars? For a kiss? That's a surprise but still, he would spend that much for a kiss with Avery.

"The prize fund now stands at $197,000," Lana updates.

"I'm so vexed, you know," Finn says, being the only one who is genuinely upset about losing money.

While the others... the others seem to have waited for someone to break the wave so they can start to rule break too.

And that includes him.

HAN: Best believe if anybody is going to rule break next, it's me [cackles]

"Hello, I'm Josh and I'm a professional tantric practitioner," the instructor for today's workshop introduces himself.

Your eyebrow raises in intrigue at the mention of the word 'tantric' and how it would help everyone to not think about sex.

"Tantric? What is that?" Sawyer naively asks next to you.

"Just listen to the instructor," you tell her with a pat on her shoulder.

"Usually, when we relate to other people, everything is fast, right?" Josh says.

You nod in agreement while shielding your eyes from the bright sun.

"Someone touches you, you touch them back. You kiss this person, they kiss you back but we don't feel it," he eloquently explains while walking around and making eye contact with everyone.

"That's what this workshop is for. For you to learn how to feel your body," he further explains.

He walks back to the middle and looks at everyone, "Pleasure is not in the other. Pleasure is in yourself."

Then Josh orders everyone to gather in the middle as he explains what we're going to do next. He holds a tray full of blindfolds for everyone.

"Usually, people relate tantra to sexuality. But that's just a really small part. Every aspect of you can benefit from increased awareness," Josh informs.

He then offers the tray to Asher who stands close to him, ordering him to get one.

"So we're going to broaden the awareness of our vision, of our breathing, our sounds, our movements..."

You put the blindfold on and tie it around your head, putting you in total blindness.

"We put the blindfolds on so the experience can just be your experience," he concludes before starting the session.

Josh instructs everyone to move their bodies, walk around, and eventually bump into each other's bodies. You get goosebumps when your body crashes with someone, you can feel their heat and feel them skin-to-skin.

Then Josh orders everyone to take a step back and blindly, get a partner to do the next session.

You catch the person that you inexplicably guess is standing in front of you and holding him.

"Oh, I found one!" You reflexively say.

Your partner chuckles at that and from the laugh, you can tell who it is.

"Got you," you tell him with a grin.

"Okay, now, breathe..." Josh instructed, "Breathe her in. Breathe him in."

You slip your hands under and around his waist while he places his hands on your back, also holding you back.

You lean your head forward and meet his head in the middle, ending up putting our heads together. This way you can feel his breath on you and every subtle sound he makes.

"It's time to reveal who your partner was," Josh finally allows everyone to take their blindfolds off.

You untie it on the back of your head and burst into laughs the moment your eyes meet.

YOU: I just can tell who it is the moment we touch [laughs]

"These emotional processes happen but they can only be experienced if you're present."

Now that everyone has partnered up, each pair takes a seat on the mat and sits facing each other. As Han puts his legs on each side of you, you decide to put your legs over his.

"You can get back to your connection through the eyes," Josh continues.

You both can't stop laughing at each other and the longer you maintain eye contact with him, the more you can't stop yourself from laughing.

"Don't lose her. Don't lose him."

"I think it would be better if we close our eyes," you suggest, holding his hands in substitute of that and pressing your heads together.

"Tantra is a way of connecting with your essence. With your feelings."

And you focus on doing what Josh told you to do, focusing on your breathing to be able to intensely feel things with your senses.

"Deep breathe, not deep penetration," Han reminds you.

Once again, you fail to keep your composure and break into a wave of laughter.

"Now, lie down. It's time for you to feel your whole body vibration."

You both lie down facing against each other with your legs still around him and he places his hand on your shin, softly rubbing the skin with his thumb.

"One must learn to connect deeply with oneself. That's tantra. A way through which you can truly connect with yourself."

Maybe because you let yourself open to it, you can feel that connection, it's as if your body is one with earth. You can feel the ground beneath, you can hear the waves crashing and the warmth of the afternoon sun on your skin.

"Now you can sit up," Josh orders.

You slowly open your eyes and sit up, meeting Han's eyes again but this time, you smile at him.

"That was good," you mutter to him.

"Right?" He agrees with you.

You rest your head on his shoulder and continue to sit close facing each other, feeling each other's bodies in a whole new way.

Josh finishes the workshop with one last instruction: a group hug.

YOU: I think I learned how to get to know myself better and to not hold in what I really feel [smiles]

"You all look so sexy!"

You compliment everyone who's getting ready in the dressing room while searching for someone. Avery gleefully smiles at your compliment.

"You look good in those sexy jeans!"

It sounds like she's making fun of it and you look down to check if you look okay in what you're wearing, "Am I underdressed?"

"No. Your butt looks cute in it," Avery assures you with a playful slap on your clothed ass.

To make room for everyone else who hasn't gotten ready yet, you move to the bedroom and find the one you're looking for. Han is sitting on the bed already dressed in blue jeans and a white shirt with the top three buttons left open.

After the workshop, you feel somehow closer to him and you get along really well, you wonder if it could be more.

"Hiya, sexy!" You greet him.

Han glances up and pats the space on the bed, gesturing for you to sit next to him.

"How are you?" He asks.

"Good. You?" You ask back while sitting down and propping a hand against the bed.

"I'm good, thanks," he answers with a smile.

There's no one else in the bedroom and you take it as an opportunity to ask him about something.

"So, where's your head at?" You ask.

Han puts his hand under his head and simply says, "It's right here."

You chuckle and tip your head to the side, "I mean... who do you like in here?"

He takes a moment to take a deep breath and you guess picking his words carefully before answering you, "I think I get on really well with you," he begins.

And it's good to know that he feels the same way about it.

"But I'm more attracted to Avery," he adds, not even hesitating to tell you about it.

Well, it's also good to know that he can openly and comfortably share things with you.

"Yeah," you say, expecting that answer already.

Yet you can't quite hide your disappointment, you look away and pretend to fix your hair. That's just him basically saying that you have a great personality but that's not enough to attract him.

"As you know the three of us are pursuing Avery and we don't know which one she likes..." he says while rubbing his chin.

Instead of being salty about it, you decide to be a friend to him and give him your opinion.

"I think if you like someone, you go for it. There's no time to waste, just go and get it," you encourage while mindlessly running your hand on the bedsheet.

"Yeah," Han's head bobbing in agreement.

"You should talk to Avery and see how she feels about you," you add.

It is obvious that Han likes Avery but he's playing the cool guy trick by thinking that he'll win her over by acting like he doesn't care.

YOU: Oh, well... [awkwardly chuckles] I kind of expected that answer.

After the workshop, Han realizes that you and he bounce off each other, you're tuned in to the same wave and he agrees that it has the potential to be something more than that.

However, Han feels like he should keep pursuing Avery. Mostly because he's attracted to her, almost magnetic, and the fact that he has competition makes him want her more.

He gets out of the bedroom after knowing that Avery is no longer in the dressing room.

Turns out, Finn is already making his move on her. He sees them talking in the firepit and having a laugh, but he can't hear what they're talking about. Finn shortly leaves after kissing her on the hand.

So he's playing the romantic guy, Han reckons.

Avery once said that he likes bad boys and so he'll be it. Bad boys don't make it obvious that he likes her, they wait until they come around.

So Han decides that should be his game plan, sitting on the sofa and you know, waiting for Avery to come around.

HAN: I'm not worried about Asher so my game plan is to play it cool and see where it goes. She'll come to the right man... eventually [laughs]

After hours of no significant result, Han walks back inside to get a new place to hang out.

He decides to go to the bedroom, pushing the door with both hands only to walk into Asher and Avery cuddling on the bed.

Now he sees the flaw in his game plan, he slowly walks back out of the room as everything backfired to him.

When it's time for bed, he couldn't be happier.

Han dives into his pillow and takes a deep breath, blowing some steam off.

A moment later, he feels the bed quaking as you get on and playfully, put your body on top of him.

"We're like the twin bar ice cream," He grumbles as your body presses onto him.

His body shakes along with yours as you're laughing on top of him, then rolling yourself to the side and onto the bed next to him.

"How was your night?" You ask, playing with his dark hair.

"Average," he shortly answers.

"I'm asking about your night, not your genital size," you joke.

He chuckles before answering, "Then it's below average."

If there's anyone that makes this retreat bearable to him then it's you. He can share everything with you and what he likes the most about it is that he can seek comfort from you too.

Han scoots closer and puts his hand across your chest which you nicely welcomed. You're caressing his forearm with only your fingertips and it's relaxing him.

When the lights are out, you pull his arm and put it around you as you lie on your side with your back against his chest.

"Goodnight," you murmur.

He hesitates but with his mouth pressed close to you, he decides to kiss you on the top of your head.

"Goodnight," he murmurs back, snuggling his head on the crook of your neck.

HAN: I guess nice guys do finish last [laughs]

The bathroom is pretty much occupied by the two tall lovebirds, Rio and Mikaela.

You almost walk in on them applying sunblock on each other's bodies and slowly, walking back out of there. Stepping into the dressing room, you find Nya there with Avery who's busy putting her hair into a ponytail.

"Hello, babes," you greet them as you take a seat in your usual spot and decide to put on your sunscreen there when you usually put it on in the bathroom because it can get messy.

Mikaela joins in not long after and sits next to you, fixing her hair with a brush.

"Has anything been going on late at night?" Nya asks her since Mikaela and Rio turned up to their bed late last night.

"We held off pretty well, I guess," Mikaela answers with her half-moaning voice.

"Yeah, but has he been getting hard?" Nya asks again, being nosy as she is.

"We're pretty close," Mikaela answers with a cryptic smile.

You look at her with a dollop of sunscreen on your cheek, "Pretty close? What's that even mean?" You tease.

Before Mikaela can answer that, Lana butts in with her familiar chime, and everyone's heads turn to the cone sitting on the shelf.

"Uh-oh!" You gasp in surprise and awkwardly continue dabbing your cheeks with sunscreen.

"Girls," Lana calls out to everyone in the dressing room.

"Yeah?" Nya replies with a shocked smile.

"Please gather everyone in the bedroom," Lana orders.

You sense that Mikaela did something last night from the horror drawn on her face with her round eyes widening in slight shock.

Nya gets up from her chair but you haven't finished with your sunscreen yet.

"I'll catch up," you tell her.

You put on a sheer top over your bikini before heading to the bedroom and see that everyone is already there including Han.

He holds his hand out for you to take, gesturing for you to sit close to him at the end of your shared bed.

YOU: This can't be good news [scrunches nose]

Other than Mikaela, you notice another pair of guilty faces. No surprise if Nya broke another rule but also, you kind of guessed that Avery did something too, she keeps shaking her leg uncomfortably.

Lana chimes and the tension is already rising in the room.

"There have been breaches of the rules," Lana goes straight to business.

"Breaches?" Finn focuses on the plural terms that could tell how much money he'll be losing today.

As someone without a partner, you can relax since no one will be suspicious of you. You put your legs over Han's and rest your hand on his shoulder.

Heads are turning against each other but no one is saying anything.

"Mmh..." Avery lets out a low sigh.

You bet she did something and if yes, who did she do it with? You look at Han and wonder if he did what you told him to just go and get her.

"I'll be honest with you guys..." Asher speaks up.

There goes your answer. Avery did kiss but it's with Asher and you don't know why you feel some sort of relief on knowing it.

"I definitely lost some money last night," he pauses to scratch his head, "I pulled Avery aside and kissed her."

Avery shyly smiles and sputters her apology, "I'm–I am sorry, you guys."

Your eyes silently shift at Han and notice that he's not pleased to hear his love interest got kissed by someone else.

"This is what I wanted and I felt a genuine connection there," Asher adds.

What a way to prove that he wants to delve further into this relationship but Avery doesn't seem to be happy to hear his man declare that she is what he wanted.

"So sorry, guys," Asher concludes.

It would be stupid of you to hope that that's the only kiss that happened last night.

"There was another breach of the rules," Lana says again and she won't stop until everyone comes clean.

You look at Nya and she's not looking at anyone. Peyton seems to have decided to keep denying it and staying quiet about it.

Mikaela sighs then closes her eyes, "Why don't you tell them, Rio," she says to the man next to her.

Rio licks his lips and opens his mouth, but words do not come out of it until a minute later.

"We kissed a couple of times last night," Rio confesses and pinches the bridge of his nose after.

"A couple?" Finn asks for confirmation.

You guess what he needs to know is how many kisses in numbers.

"Five times," Rio answers.

"Oh, my gosh!" Avery sighs while rubbing her temple.

That makes you sweat a little and you take your hand off of Han's shoulder to fiddle with the strap of your bikini, also because you sense that Han gets tensed beside you.

"I mean, I can tolerate one or two kisses but five?" You confront them and keep your tone calm to not trigger anyone.

It's not a genuine connection if you needed five kisses to convince you that you're emotionally connected so yeah, you doubt that Rio and Mikaela have it.

"If you had that genuine connection, what would you do?" Rio says in his defense.

"I don't know, maybe try a bit harder?" Han finally lets out an opinion with an insinuating tone, driven by the slight anger he gets from Avery and Asher's kiss.

"That's just a waste of money," Finn mutters from his bed and a deep sigh.

"Is that all, Lana?" You ask, wanting to get it over with.

"There was another breach of the rules," Lana shares.

You don't even hold yourself back from groaning and rolling your eyes. You didn't plan to get this mad but hearing these people kissing and spending money recklessly ticked you off.

"We'll have no money," Finn mutters again and collapses onto the bed.

"Why are you smiling, Peyton?" Asher asks.

Peyton is indeed smiling and looking calm for a guilty man, "I kissed Nya last night."

Sawyer raises her hand like she's in a classroom but that works to get everyone's attention, "Wait, I'm a little confused about it because you said you were going to pursue things with me," she drops a truth bomb out of nowhere.

Nya turns Peyton around to force him to look at her, "You said to me that you wanted me, not her," she spoils more rotten truth.

This whole thing turns into a she said, he said situation and you can only watch them, going back and forth, pointing fingers at each other.

"I hate being lied to," Sawyer mutters.

Peyton rubs his chin and concludes, "I never lied to you," he says to Sawyer.

Then he turns to Nya and tells her the same thing, "And I never lied to you."

Can't help it, you let out a stifled laugh because Peyton not only digging his own grave but also putting nails on his coffin.

The ones that benefited from this are Rio and Mikaela, the love triangle mess is taking the heat off of them.

"It's obviously not working," Nya ends things for good.

Thankfully, Lana takes control of the situation to deliver the bills.

"All of these rule breaks have made me decide to implement a stricter regime. The fines will now be doubled starting with these rule breaks."

Your jaw drops at the announcement and get dizzy thinking of how much those five kisses cost alone.

"These multiple rule breaks have cost the group $42,000," Lana updates.

You scoff at the amount of money spent on a few silly kisses and have to take a few deep breaths to calm yourself.

"The prize fund now stands at $155,000."

Everyone is just as gobsmacked by how much money has been lost from the prize and if everyone keeps doing it, all of you would likely go home with nothing.

YOU: We might as well pack our things now and go home [shrugs]

A week has passed and you start to feel that you're merely wasting time here.

Not much happened around here especially after Peyton and Nya's ship sank right after that messy fight. In the end, Peyton doesn't get either Nya or Sawyer and he deserves every bit of it.

The retreat is not only about couple growth but still... If only you had someone to try to make a connection with, you would enjoy this whole experience more.

You wake up in the morning, have a few cuddles with Han, and then everyone is moving on with their day. There's not much you can do here but you try to participate as much by not breaking the rules.

As if you have someone to do it with.

Avery joins you as you walk down to the beach to swim at the beach. With the low tide, you can sit on the beach with her to cool down after swimming.

"Avery baby, tell me, how are things with Asher?" You ask out of curiosity.

What Asher did that day, defending her and openly telling everyone how he feels about her, you expect her to be swooned if not smitten.

But from what you've been seeing, it seems like things have cooled down between them.

"To be honest, I don't know..." she is just as confused as you.

"But out of all the three boys, you like him right?" You try to make it simple for her.

"Yeah, I like Asher because he's great, he made the first move and got an edge to him..." she explains.

You nod and support your chin with the back of your hand, "What he did that day, I think that's very endearing of him," you give her your honest opinion just in case she needs an assurance from someone outside that relationship.

"Yeah, he was like... expressed his feelings and telling everyone how he feels about me," Her facial expression gradually turns sour as you sense a 'but' coming from her small mouth.

"But I just don't like when people are like that to me," she says with a repulsed expression.

"I get really..." she ends the sentence with a groan.

The problem with Avery is that she doesn't know what she wants. Other than that, now you know why Asher flirted with you this morning but knowing that he initially likes Avery makes you feel like you're his backup plan.

Here's the thing about you, you don't like being a second choice.

YOU: You know what, Lana? I think we need more dicks in the villa [laughs]

Han feels like his breakfast is about to come up as he hears the sound of that melodic chime. He hears it often enough yet he feels even more anxious the more he hears it.

"Please be good news," Han mutters next to you.

You put your hand on his thigh, playing with a lint of his swimming trunk.

"Hello, everyone!" Lana greets.

He turns his head at the same time you look at him, sending both of you burst into laughter.

"Here we go," Asher mutters with a nervous sigh.

"To further aid your personal growth, you must learn to resist your urges."

That catches his interest but also makes his heart start to beat faster. Lana is unpredictable and Han hates that.

"I have arranged two dates."

That makes some people relax, at least, it's not about losing more money from the prize fund. Han, personally, has not yet recovered from losing a quarter of the prize money.

"Both with new arrivals," Lana finishes her sentence.

Other than Rio and Mikaela, everyone else seems to be excited about this. New guests mean new chances to make a connection.

"I have allowed the new arrivals to select who they want to ask out on their date."

Han is having mixed feelings about this. He knows that Avery is no longer with Asher but he's slowly losing his interest in her. Maybe the new arrivals can help him move on.

"The first new arrival is... Gwen."

So it's a girl, well, Han can do something about this Gwen. He feels hopeful once again and maybe this time, triumph will be his.

"Gwen has chosen... Rio to be her date."

All eyes are on Mikaela as she tries so hard to remain calm about this but everyone knows that she's fuming inside.

"You seem happy, Rio," Asher teases him which Rio coyly responds with a shrug.

"And date number two will be with Fabian."

His head turns as he hears hears you cooing in wonder, "He sounds exotic," you mutter.

Nya is the most excited one and it's probably because she needs to show Peyton that he's got nothing on her anymore.

"Fabian has chosen... Nya to be his date."

Han doesn't know why he feels glad knowing that this new guy didn't choose you but does that make him the bad guy? He doesn't think so.

"Rio and Nya, you may leave to get ready for the date," Lana orders.

He hasn't seen the new arrivals yet but he can imagine the amount of drama he'll witness later with Rio going on a date with the new girl.

HAN: The new arrivals, uh... they can't be ugly, right Lana? [Snickers]

The first one to return from the date is Nya and she's bringing a man who's taller than Rio and talks in a French accent.

Han can see that Nya is already all over him and he glances at Peyton who ends up with no one but his own player ass. He just knew that Peyton had it coming for him since that game night when he boldly kissed two girls.

He grabs his first drink of the day with the staff only allowed every contest to take three drinks max and when he gets back to the terrace, he sees a gorgeous girl with blond hair.

Rio is introducing the girl around while Mikaela is intensely watching him from the cabana with furrowed brows and eyes filled with fiery glints like a hawk.

When it comes to his turn, he doesn't bother making a good first impression.

"Han," he simply tells her his name.

"I'm Gwen, hi," she introduces herself.

With the few inches he doesn't have, Gwen can easily put her arm around him for a quick hug, "Nice to meet you!"

Gwen is undeniably beautiful, anyone who looks at her would agree with him. Surprisingly, he's not as excited as he imagined he would be.

Well, the last thing he wants to do is compete to win a girl over and he doesn't want to entertain the idea that Gwen would take a liking to him.

Despite all that, Rio and Mikaela remain strong. Everyone is staying on the same bed and because Nya and Sawyer refuse to sleep with Peyton, he has to share the bed with Finn.

Han feels good knowing that he doesn't have to deal with such drama, he walks to his bed and does not hesitate to cuddle you.

"Hi, sexy bunny," he mutters close to your ear.

The two of you have this inside joke of calling each other silly, childish pet names and yesterday, you called him

'tater tot' and he laughs whenever he recalls it.

"Hi, bubble butt," you reply.

He laughs at that and playfully bites at your shoulder to get back at you. Somehow, the only one he can comfortably share his space with is you and he realizes how grateful he should be for your presence.

"Goodnight, everyone," Avery says while blowing kisses to everyone.

Han tickles your neck with his nose and purposely, breathes into your ear, "Goodnight!"

You giggle in reaction to his tickling breath, "Night!"

He presses a soft, lingering kiss on your head and that's how he ends his day on a sweet note.

HAN: I wasn't attracted to her but now I feel bad for not giving her any attention.

"It's like working out with Zeus, bro!" Han says, watching Rio working out non-stop while he's sitting on the mat, drenched in sweat for doing not even half of the workout Rio is doing.

Rio carefully lowers down the heavy dumbbells and reorganizes his breath as he takes a break.

"So, are you still chasing Avery?" Rio asks.

Han sucks water out of the bottle, then licks his lips before answering him, "Honestly speaking, I'm losing interest," he answers.

He knows that it'll be different to everyone but seeing what happened to her and Asher, there's a chance that things would likely end up the same.

He's tired of chasing and she keeps hanging up on him, "I think Avery enjoys the thrill, the chase..." he adds while running out of breath.

"Yeah, I think so too," Rio agrees with him.

He then lies down on his back and starts doing sit-ups as if his abs aren't as hard as rock already.

"What about that new girl then?"

"Gwen?"

"Yep, she's pretty," Rio says, being the one who went on a date with her.

"Are you going to make a move on her?"

Han caught Asher making the eyes with Gwen last night and he's not that interested to even try.

Looking at Rio tirelessly working out, he feels motivated to continue and picks up dumbbells.

"You know, I'm feeling it more with my bed partner," Han honestly says.

"I know you like her," Rio says with a glare at him.

He stops doing sit-ups and points at Han, "You just don't want to admit it."

Han has to pause on lifting his dumbbells to continue talking. He suddenly gets flustered because that's true, he keeps denying that there's something more between him and you.

"You two vibe really well," Rio says and he has never seen him being this earnest.

Han stops working out altogether and drops the dumbbells on the floor, "it's because Avery is so my type," he simply defends himself.

"But uh..." he pauses to catch a breath.

"But when I spend time with her, it's... natural," he explains and he doesn't care if that doesn't make sense to Rio, "It's so much fun."

Han breaks down on the floor and wipes the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, "I overlooked her because she doesn't look like my type."

Rio nods and intently listens to him speak.

"As soon as I saw Gwen last night, I was like... I still prefer her," he admits.

Han doesn't know why he can easily share his feelings with Rio, probably because he feels like a brother to him. Rio taps his shoulder hard enough that it launches him forward.

"You guys are cute together, and get along well, I don't see why you shouldn't try it, man!" He looks so annoyed and eager to see it happen.

Han laughs at that but he wishes he could easily share his feelings like this to you.

HAN: Maybe I should open up and accept how I'm feeling rather than keep seeking what's not there.

The mud is drying as you're walking back to the villa after having a girls-only workshop at the beach.

You share the shower with Sawyer to wash off the dried mud and waste no time getting ready for a party Lana throws to welcome the new arrivals.

The dressing room is crowded so you grab your make-up pouch to do it in the bathroom and you can do the hair later when it's less crowded in there.

For now, you're brushing your wet hair to the back while looking at your reflection in the mirror.

As you're about to apply moisturizer, you see Han walking into the bathroom and the first thing you see is that gummy smile of his.

"Hi, stud muffin," you playfully call him.

He would usually laugh at the pet names you called him but he only smiles in response, the kind that you've never seen on him.

"What's up?" You ask in wonder.

He doesn't say anything but leans against the sink facing you, looking at you with a cryptic smile dancing on his face.

He finally does something, walking up to you and placing his hands on each side of your waist. Slowly, he brings his mouth to your ear and whispers, "I missed you."

You reflexively burst into waves of laughter and think that he's just playing with you.

"I'm getting concerned," you tell him with a nervous laugh.

Han is also laughing and then he leans in to whisper again, "I miss you when you're not around."

You're giggling because the last thing you expect is to hear him saying that he missed you even though you've only been apart from each other for about three hours.

"Aww..." you coo at him, laughing the second your eyes meet in a gaze.

He cups your jaw then tilts your head, and you close your eyes in reflex. Instead of what you thought it would be, he softly whispers.

"I think I like you."

Support my blog by kindly reblog, comment or tip me on my ko-fi!

taglist: @svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @septicrebel @cursed-mars-bars @ppiri-bahng @drhsthl @tangylemonade @bluenights1899 @elizalabs3 @avyskai @is2cb97 @simeonswhore @marvelous-llama @linovely @jisungsleftcheek @hanjisbeloved @luvsskzs @knowleeknow @army-stay-noel @bigsobs4skz @toplinehyunjin @channies-luv @foxinnie8 @biribarabiribbaem @dalamjisung @moasworld @sherryblossom @fawnpeaks @lukeys-giggle @obeythemasters @primoppang @devilsmatches @skz-streamer @freckleboilix @idkluvutellme @laylasbunbunny @cutiespaghetti @yourmercibeaucoupsblog @hanjisunginc

#stray kids smut #skz smut #han smut #han jisung smut #han x reader #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz fics #skz fanfics #kpop smut #kpop fics #kpop fanfics #seospicy smut #too hot to handle series

1K notes · View notes

mrsdarkandyandere7 · 11 months

Text

Daddy's Girl

Pairing: Dark Tangerine x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: Tangerine can’t stand his little girl’s tears, especially when you’re the reason behind them.

WARNING: Forced/Abusive Marriage; Implied Kidnapping context; NONCON.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

Make sure to imagine that lovely British accent of his, hehe. Also I wanted to wait a bit before posting this, but I wanna share this so bad :) enjoy!

The loud noise from the television travels to the kitchen, muffling down the sounds of the knife violently cutting down a carrot. Tangerine has a tight grip on the knife, a pissed off scowl on his face as he spits an unhealthy amount of curses.

He’s so caught up that he misses the small quiet steps that run towards the kitchen and it’s only when there is a hesitant tug on his sleeve that he looks down, finding a small female miniature of himself, standing in her tippy toes in front of him as she raises her arms, her brown curls bouncing.

He smiles at her, immediately picking her up, pushing the knife far away. Delighted giggles fill the kitchen as he tickles her.

“What you doin’ here, princess? Are you hungry, sweetheart, cause lunch ain’t ready yet.” he kisses her cheek, his eyes glinting with pure amazement as he looks at Claire.

His little angel.

Claire’s laughter slowly dies down and she plays with the rings on his fingers. Her lip wobbles and when she finally looks at him, her eyes shinny with tears.

It breaks Tangerine’s heart to see her like that and he wants nothing but to slap the shit out of you for making your babygirl cry.

“I… I miss mommy.” her voice breaks as she starts crying. Tangerine sighs, hole burning in his chest as he gently pushes her head to his shoulder, rocking her in an attempt to calm her down. His hand rubs her back, her small body shaking as she sobs.

“Daddy, I want m-mommy.” she begs.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. But mommy still needs some time.” he tries to console her but to no avail.

Claire cries for what seems like forever and when she finally calms down, Tangerine's shirt is soaking wet, the lunch long forgotten.

It takes several deep breaths for him to calm down and although he wants to go see you so badly, he puts Claire to sleep first.

He tucks her into her pink bed, placing her favorite teddy bear next to her. A peaceful expression rests on her face, exhausted from all the crying and Tangerine kisses her forehead before leaving the room.

“She fuckin’ cried herself to sleep.” Tangerine shouts to your face, your scalp stinging as his grip on your hair tightens.

“Do y’fuckin understand that? She fuckin’ cried because of you. Cause you’re a fuckin’ shitty mother, that’s what you are.”

Thick tears fall down from your red eyes and you stumble back when he releases your hair, falling back as you trip on the heavy chain attached to your ankle.

You fall butt-down, pain alastrating on your back but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t even compare to the deep ache in your heart.

You also miss her. So much. It hurts that you haven’t seen your daughter in a week, kept in the basement as Tangerine lies about you being sick.

“All she kept saying was how much she missed you. That she wanted you to feel better so she could finally see you. Fuck!”

“I…I’m so sorry.” you cry out. Tangerine only glares at you, nostrils flaring up.

“This is all your fuckin’ fault. You just had to act smart, didn’t ya? Fucking’ hell.” his hand meets the wall with a loud bang and you wince, burying your face in your hands, frightened.

You’ve never seen him this angry before. Not even at the few times you tried to run away years ago. For once you’re actually glad that the basement is sound-proofed so that Claire doesn’t have to witness any of this.

You messed up. Baldly. You should have known better than to plan an escape from Tangerine.

But you were exhausted. Deeply tired of playing house with Tangerine. As much as you love your daughter but you want a better life. For yourself. For your sweet daughter. As much as you smile and laugh, pretending to be happy and in love with Tangerine for the sake of your daughter, you had reached your breaking point.

“You're a selfish little’ bitch, only thinking ‘bout saving your own ass.” he snarls.

You shake your head, desperate.

“No! That’s not- She’s my daughter too.”

Tangerine stares at you for what it seems forever and you hold your breath, watching him with a runny nose that you struggle to wipe with the back of your hand.

His hands on his hips as he considers you, neck veins bulging. He runs a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated as he exhales heavily.

“If you really love her, you gonna fuckin’ behave from now on. And I fuckin’ mean it. No more fuck up’s.” he warns you.

Blinking away the tears, you nervously nod as he slowly walks towards you before stopping in front of you.

“Ya mean it, right? Then fuckin’ prove it cause you’re not leavin’ this basement without provin’ me that you can do better.”

Confusion fills you until you see the look on Tangerine’s eyes. With shaky hands, you reach for his belt but he moves your hand towards his shirt and your heart drops.

Not this.

It’s uncomfortable, to say the least. You’re barely wet enough yet uncomfortably stretched by your husband’s cock as he slowly thrusts into you.

Given how angry he was, you were expecting him to fully rail you so you were surprised as he went at a slow, calm pace. Good for you.

His head is buried in your neck, low groans coming from him. It’s feel like an eternity as he fucks you gentle and deep till you lose track of time.

You suddenly hiss when his cock rams deep inside you, the thin old mattress softly squeaking under your combined weights.

He pulls himself on his forearms, facing you as he starts to speed up, quickly slamming his hips forwards with a renewed force and you cry out, hands bawling the sheets.

“S’ fucking’ tight, darling.” he husked, his sweaty curls falling to your face as he presses your foreheads together. “Gonn’ cum soon, fuck.”

His breathing halts as he fucks you vigorously, urgency in his thrusts. He doesn’t last longer, your velvety walls tightly squeezing his cock just the right way for him to approach his orgasm.

“Fuck, oh, fuck.” with a final harsh thrust, his body tenses up before finally relaxing. Tangerine releases a loud grunt, reaching his high while being balls deep inside you, his hands coming to grab your face as he connects your lips into a needy kiss, the bitter taste of cigarettes on him.

When he lets you go, you release a shaky breath, feeling gross and violated with his cum beginning to leak.

His nose touches yours, skin shiny with sweat and his blue eyes half-closed as he exhales, the warm breath hitting your face. He doesn’t seem that angry anymore, men really think with their dicks.

“That was fuckin’ nice.” he smiles, his knuckles sweetly fawning over your cheek. “Maybe we should consider giving Claire a sibling. I think she’d love a baby brother.”

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #yandere x reader #tw: noncon #bullet train #dark tangerine #dark!tangerine #dark!tangerine x reader #yandere tangerine #yandere tangerine x reader #yandere!tangerine #tangerine x reader #tw: forced marriage #tw: implied kidnapping #dark!fic #dark fic

1K notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 2 months

Text

A perfect gentleman

Summary: Your trip to Great Britain changed your life forever.

Pairing: Raymond Smith x fem!Reader

Warning: bitchy friends, meet cute, sex with a stranger, smut, protected sex, unprotected sex, public sex, shower sex

You bobbed your head to the song blaring from the loudspeakers. It was the only thing you could do. That, and watching the others dance with men they just met. Grinding into them – their intentions clear.

Maybe you are not the most social person, but being in a place with so many people spiked your anxiety.

You shuddered and ripped your gaze from your friends to order another drink. Something light. You never were much into alcohol.

“You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself,” a man plopped down next to you and dipped his head. “How can I help you relax?” He purred and moved his hand to your thigh.

“You could start by stopping to touch her,” another man suddenly stood behind your back. He pushed the other guy off you and glared at the stranger touching you. “Is that the way to welcome tourists now?”

“Man, she looked lonely,” the man grunted but made space for the second guy. “Didn’t know you called dips on her already, Raymond.”

“Get lost,” Raymond snapped at the man. You flinched and tried to make yourself as small as possible while the men fought. “We don’t harass ladies at my favorite place.”

“Alright, alright,” the man huffed. “She’s not worth the effort. You can have her.”

“Hey, are you okay,” Raymond softly asked. He must’ve been from around, because of his sexy accent. You always had a thing for men with an accent. “I hope he didn’t hurt you. Some guys shouldn’t drink too much.”

“Uh-thank you,” you murmured and finally looked at the man. Raymond looked like you imagine a British gentleman, but with a dash of roughness and something hidden behind his neat appearance.

He was wearing a navy-blue corduroy waistcoat, a slim tie with the same color, and a light blue and white striped button-down over dark wash slim-fit stretch jeans. His hair was neatly gelled back, and his beard was long but well-trimmed. Orange-rimmed clear lens glasses framed his handsome face.

“That was very nice of you.”

“A gentleman must protect a lady in need,” he grinned and sat next to you. “Let me buy you a drink for the inconvenience, and for not stepping in sooner.”

“You came the moment the man put his hand on my thigh,” you shyly glanced at Raymond. He offered his name to you and held out his hand. You placed your hand in his, feeling another shudder run through your body. This man was unlike any guy you ever met.

He screamed danger but acted like a gentleman. You could smell weed on his clothes when he leaned closer to ask you for your name.

“Y/N,” you replied and allowed him to hold your hand for a little longer than needed. He ran his thumb over your skin, causing a tiny whimper to escape your lips. “Thank you again.”

“What brings you here, love?” Raymond leaned impossibly closer, letting you feel his warmth. “I assume you are a tourist.”

You chuckled. “What gave me away?”

“Your accent, and I know every pretty girl in town.”He laid it on thick when he purred your name and told you that you look beautiful in your dress. He already had you when he saved you from the grabby guy, but you wanted to bask in his compliments for a little longer.

“Every single one,” you chuckled. “You’re a very busy man in that case.”

He adjusted his glasses and smirked. “I don’t know every woman like that.” Raymond gave you a wink. “But I’d like to get to know you better.”

“My friends are still somewhere at this place,” you leaned closer to drink his appearance and scent in. You were enchanted by this man. “Probably rubbing themselves against the guys they just met.”

His eyes sparkled at your words. You were about to do the same with him. Why – you had no clue. He was handsome and charming. But there was something else drawing you in like the moth to the flame.

“Do you want to leave this place?” A question was not in his words when he got up, still holding your hand. “I promise to be a gentleman.”

You didn’t make it far. Before you knew it, you left the bar with Raymond. You ended up pressed into the wall in the dark alley behind the bar.

He was all over you, lips devouring your mouth the moment you were out of sight. His hand slipped between your thighs, finding your panties soaked. He teased you for your floral cotton panties, moving the fabric aside to shove a finger inside your soaked cunt.

Raymond lifted you off of your feet, and you ended up in his arms, your pussy stuffed to the brim with his thick cock.

“Fuck, this is a tight little cunt,” he puffed into your neck. Hot breath fanning over your skin. “You’ve been a good girl, huh? How many guys did you fuck behind a bar so far?”

“No one,” you held tight onto Raymond as he slowly rocked into you. “Only you.”

“You’re so good for me, love,” he whispered in your ear as mercilessly battered your cunt. He was not a gentle lover any longer. Raymond fucked up into you, all the while holding your body safe in his arms. “I’m gonna ruin you.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and started to move your hips. “Ruin me. Do it. I’m done being the good girl.”

“Aw, baby love,” he crashed his lips onto yours to silence your moans. “You met the right man to ruin you.”

“Why did you leave without us?” One of your friends asked. Janice walked inside your shared hotel room, smirking as you were reading another book. “Y/N we are on vacation. Stop reading and go out there. There is a whole new world to explore.”

“Yeah. Maybe you’ll get some dick too if you stop hiding,” your other friend snapped at you. She didn’t get lucky last night and tried to let her anger out on you. Chanel always gets lucky. Just not last night.

“Oh, I think you will have enough fun for all of us,” you hid that you were the one getting a perfect dick last night. Well, they wouldn’t have believed you. You never take a risk. This includes fucking a stranger behind a bar. “Don’t forget to wrap it before you let any dick get near you.”

“It’s their job,” Janice huffed. “I only need my lipstick and nothing else.”

You bit your tongue. Last night you were the one making sure that you didn’t take a bigger risk. Raymond was all too eager to fill you, but you insisted on protection. Even though you were a horny mess wanting nothing more than to feel him bare inside of you.

“Have fun reading,” Janice snapped at you. “We are going to meet up with some girls we met last night and tonight, we’re going back to the bar. Tonight, I’ll get lucky and fuck a British guy!”

“Don’t wait for us to come back today. You’re no fun to be around since you and Ransom broke up,” Chanel added. A low blow to your fragile heart.

With your friends gone, you had the time to enjoy the city. You explored the usual spots tourists would seek out and ended up in a nice little café to have a break.

It was close to your hotel, and you could enjoy the sun as long as you wanted to.

At least no one tried to hit on you here or called you boring for enjoying your tea and biscuits.

“This must be fate,” a familiar voice said. Raymond stopped short in his tracks when he recognized you. “What brings you here?”

“I was—” You licked your lips at the sight of Raymond. Today he was wearing a soft camel tan shawl cardigan and a skinny burgundy tie over his dark wash jeans. He looked as perfect as ever when he claimed the empty chair on your table, “having a break from exploring town.”

“Sightseeing,” he nodded thoughtfully. “I see.” Raymond eyed you up and down in your simple shirt, cardigan, and a pair of worn-out jeans. “I could give you the Smith tour to show you all the secret spots no tourist ever saw.”

“Smith tour?” You wrinkled your forehead.

“That’s my surname, sweetness,” he smirked and nodded at the waitress to order tea and biscuits himself. “Do you want to go on that tour with me?”

“Sure,” you said a little too fast. He was still a stranger, but you let him fuck you twice last night. What else could he want? You were sure he wouldn’t hurt you and having the chance to fuck him again had you already dripping. “I’d love to see more than the usual spots.”

You didn’t see much of town. All Raymond showed you was his large, luxurious estate where he lives by himself. And you didn’t see much of it either.

Raymond had you pinned to his mattress; his cock buried balls deep inside of your dripping cunt moments after he guided you inside his home.

“Shit, look at you,” he purred before he claimed your lips in a heated kiss. “I could get used to having you like this. Underneath me, filled with my cock.” He kisses you again, softer this time. “Bare.”

He rocked his hips at a slow pace, dragging his thick cock along your walls. Raymond smirked as you dug your fingertips into his back.

“Raymond,” you whimpered his name. “Please.”

“Fuck, say my name again,” he buried his face in your neck to nip at your soft spot. “Now,” Raymond growled your name and gave you a particularly hard thrust. “Sweetness.”

“Raymond.”

“Again,” he snapped his hips into yours. “NOW!”

“RAYMOND!” You screamed his name on the top of your lungs. “RAYMOND!” You chanted it like a prayer. “Please.”

“Fucking take it,” Raymond whispered in your ear. “You’re meant to lie underneath me, my cock in your sweet pussy.” He slowly fucked into you, taking his time to enjoy having you again. “All I was thinking about was your cunt. I could smell you on me all day.”

Your arousal coated his cock with every thrust. It soaked the sheets underneath you, ruining the fine fabric you admired before you ended up on his bed.

“You’re mine now,” he threatened his voice a deep growl as he kept on fucking you into the mattress. “Say it.”

He stopped moving and stared at you underneath him. “Say it!”

“’m yours, Ray…”

He kissed you again, sweet but dirty. His tongue delved into your mouth, tasting the strawberries you ate earlier. “Yes. Fuck.” You started to clench around him and tremble underneath Raymond. “Please.”

“Ohhh…fuck,” he thrusted into you, ignoring that you cried out his name. Raymond simply fucked you through your high, rhythm never faltering as you threw your head left and right. It sounded cliché, or like bad porn. But right at that moment it was all you could do because he just felt too good inside of your body. “That’s it.”

“Come inside of me, please,” you pleaded. “NOW!”

Fuck…He thought and exploded inside of your quivering cunt. Raymond didn’t stop. He trusted in and out of you, making an even bigger mess of his sheets.

“That was,” you sighed when he slipped out of you to lie next to you. Raymond panted, and you patted his chest when he gasped for air.

“I know, sweetness.”

“Thank you for making my vacation much more interesting,” you laughed as he crawled back on top of you to kiss you softly and gently.

“Thank you for making my shitty week better.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Smith.”

His shower was amazing. Just like the rest of his home. It was huge, and the rain showerhead was something else.

Not that you got the chance to enjoy it much. The warm water barely had the time to run down your body before Raymond was all over you again.

He stood behind you to nip at your earlobe with his teeth. His skilled hands cupped your tits, and you fell back against his chest.

“Still not enough?” He chuckled at your words. “You're insatiable.

“You’re just too cute to ignore.” He watched you turn around to cup his face to kiss him. “What are you up to, sweetness?”

“I’d love to fuck you again,” you purred his name and ran your hands over his chest. “What are you up to?”

Raymond smirked, and you knew you were in for a rougher treatment. He twirled you around, barking orders at you. “Hands against the wall.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You’re playing with fire,” he was on you again, to manipulate your body. He gripped your hip with one hand and guided his weeping cock into your dripping pussy. “But I’ll not stop you from being a perfect little cockslut for me.”

You hissed but welcomed his length like an old friend. “You feel too good inside of me, is all.”

“Yeah,” he kissed your neck. “How good? Good enough to spend the rest of your vacation with me.”

“Yes.” You said without hesitation. To hell with your friends, sightseeing, and biscuits. All you wanted to do is spend time impaled on Raymond’s cock.

“I knew it,” he breathed into your neck. “You’re perfect.”

Raymond nipped at your neck while slinging his arms around your waist. “My little lost tourist.” He slowly but steadily pumped into you. “Lucky me getting inside this sweet body.”

“Oh, yes,” The warm water gently rained down on you and Raymond, and your wet bodies slid easily against one another. “Fuck, please.”

“Same, sweetness,” he growled as you started to push back onto his length. Raymond was close to losing all control. He pressed you against the wall, pumping into you with all the strength he had left in him.

You slammed the palms of your hand against the shower wall feeling your high ripple through your body. You were panting heavily, and your knees buckled when he emptied himself inside of you.

“No, you don’t understand,” Raymond grunted into the phone. He watched you turn around in your sleep to snuggle into his pillow. “I want you to tell me where to pick her things up. Y/N wants to spend the rest of her vacation with me, not you.”

He groaned as your friends bombarded him with questions. His patience was wearing thin, and he was close to sending one of his problem solvers to get your belongings.

“Listen, all you need to know is that she’s safe with me. No…I won’t send you a picture of her.” Cursing loudly, he looked at you.

“Give me the phone,” you yawned, and rubbed your tired eyes. “They won’t believe you, Ray.”

“Fine,” he handed you your phone, waiting for you to confirm that he’s not some psycho kidnapper holding you hostage. Even though, his cock twitched when he imagined keeping you at his home forever.

“Janice, relax,” you tried to calm your friend. “I met Raymond two days ago at the bar. Yeah, where you left me all alone. We met again at a café, and I spent the last two days with him at his home. I texted and called you, but you didn’t answer so, I believed you don’t give a shit about me and if I’m still alive.”

Janice muttered into the phone, but you didn’t care. You told her to pack your things and hand them to whoever Raymond will send to them.

One week later you sat on his couch, snuggled into one of the blankets he offered to you. “You’ve got a nice home,” you said and smiled. It pained you that in not a week you had to leave this wonderful place and the man owning it. “Maybe I can come back here one day.”

“Or,” he sat down next to you and placed his hand on your thigh, “I just keep you here forever.” Raymond nuzzled his face in your neck. “I heard you quit your job, left your boyfriend, and are looking for adventure.”

“What? I-“ you spluttered. “How did you find out?”

“Your friends are rather talkative,” he shrugged and moved his hand between your legs. “I got a big home, and a good job waiting for you. I know this is sudden, but I’d love to keep you around. What do you say?”

Tags in reblog.

#raymond smith #raymond smith x reader #raymond smith x female reader #raymond smith x you #A perfect gentleman #raymond smith x y/n #raymond smith smut #smut

291 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 months

Text

Napoleonville [Chapter 1: The Fall-Down House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, alligators, kids, parenthood, smoking, cupcakes!

Word Count: 7.2k (she's very chonky for a first chapter).

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Since this is the first chapter of a new series, I'm going to tag a bunch of usual readers, but I won't tag you again unless you want me to. 💜

@persephonerinyes @tinykryptonitewerewolf @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @marbles-posts @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @dd122004dd @jetblack4real @joliettes @mariahossain @minttea07 @please-buckme @florent1s @tempt-ress @wintersire @w3ird11 @eltherevir @florent1s @maii777

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged! 🥰🧁

“What do you want to do to me?” you whisper through the phone, stretched out across your bed like a cat as George Michael’s Faith plays from the baby pink Panasonic boombox out in the kitchen. It’s late afternoon, and fading daylight falls in tiger stripes through the window blinds. The May air is hot, muggy, golden; cicadas hum in the southern live oaks, an ancient earthen music like rattling bones.

A few seconds pass before he can reply. It was a bold way to begin. You are admittedly a little impressed with yourself; an idea like this has been pacing around in your skull like a beast behind bars for years, but you’ve only now set it loose. “That’s difficult to explain in words,” he says; and in the low, teasing purr of his voice you can hear that your gamble paid off like striking oil. He has a British accent, which you never would have expected. You only recognize it from clips you’ve seen of Prince Charles and Princess Diana on 60 Minutes. “But I’d enjoy showing you.”

It’s laid open beside you on the bed, his personal ad in the Bayou Journal: Educated white male in his mid-20s. Single and not looking to change that. Seeking an open-minded, adventurous, and spirited lady for short-term D/s arrangement. Be prepared to answer the following riddle: I’m small but loom large, I’m Italian but French, I give away much to gain little. Who am I? Best regards, An Indecent Gentleman. “I’m waiting.”

“You understand what is meant by D/s?”

“Of course,” you say, your best feigned flippantness. You only know because Amir told you; he’s been daring you to call for three days.

“Thank God,” the man on the other end of the line sighs. There is an inhale like a drag on a cigarette. You imagine what he might look like: broad or slight, dark-haired or blonde, striking or average or homely, treacherous or safe, forbidden fruit or just plain forbidden. “I’ve had four different women ring me thinking I’m going to be their boyfriend, dinner and flowers and everything. They’re functionally illiterate down here.”

How unfortunate, you think. He’s highfalutin. But alas, no one is perfect. That’s no prohibitive obstacle. He doesn’t need to be faultless; it’s not as if you’re planning to marry the guy. “I like when someone else is in control.”

“Why?” This is a test, you can feel it. You can sense his rapt attention across the wire, through the electricity and the lush treetops and the rust-amber sky.

“I have a lot of…responsibilities in my real life,” you explain. “A lot of pressure. I make the decisions, I look out for other people. Sometimes I want to be the one who’s told what to do.”

“I can make that happen. And the riddle?”

“It’s Napoleon.”

The grin is sharp and triumphant in his voice. “Good girl.”

“He was short but an emperor. He was born in Corsica to an Italian family, but he ended up ruling over France. He sold off a bunch of French colonies to focus on conquering Europe and still couldn’t quite manage it. But the U.S.A. got this charming little corner of the world as part of the bargain.”

“You’re a historian,” the man says, sounding pleased.

“No sir, we all had to learn about him in school whether we wanted to or not.”

“Sir,” he echoes, tasting it, savoring it. You imagine a pink tongue flicking out to skate across his lips. Then he is abruptly cool, impersonal, businesslike. “Listen, I’ve got a scar down the left side of my face. It’s thin, it’s clean, but it’s noticeable. The eye is glass, although you can’t really tell unless you look closely. Is that a problem?”

A scar? Is he a veteran? A lion tamer? A motorcycle enthusiast? You try to remember what kinds of hobbies British people have. Isn’t there some kind of sport where men swing sticks around while riding horses? That sounds like it could put an eye out. Perhaps to your own surprise, you find that you are more intrigued than uneasy. Oh, you realize, dull like dawn through mist. I like him. I want him. Not just THIS, but HIM. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Brilliant. I don’t want to talk about it again.”

“That’s fine.” You hesitate. “There’s actually something I should tell you too.”

“Hm?”

The hum of his voice is arrogant, hungry. You try not to get distracted. Blood rushes hot and ashamed into your cheeks. “Um, well, uh, sometimes it’s difficult for me to…you know. Finish. Not when I’m alone, just when I’m with a guy. Especially if I’m anxious. And I don’t want to feel worried about faking it or making sure it happens or dealing with you getting offended or upset or whatever. Because it’s fine, really. It doesn’t mean I’m not having a good time. I’m just…stuck in my own head.”

There is a sound you can’t quite match to an expression, an exhale, a scoff. “Obviously I wouldn’t be mad at you. But you’ll come. I know you will. I’ll make you.”

And you’re flooded with a relief that you never dared to hope for. A confession spills out in a trembling whisper: “Please.”

“When?” he says, eager, urgent.

“I think if we don’t do it now, I’ll lose my nerve.”

There is a razor-thin pause, and then he asks for your address.

~~~~~~~~~~

You haven’t had a man in your bed in years; you are abruptly and unkindly reminded of this when you paw through the top drawer of your bedroom dresser and find only practical, deadly unsexy cotton Kmart underwear. You dash to the closet, yank open the squeaking door, and—tucked away in a cardboard box of winter clothes like sweaters and jeans, forgotten, needless—unearth a sprinkling of insubstantial silk and lace, all in luxurious gemstone hues: amethyst, ruby, sapphire, onyx, emerald.

“Oh, hallelujah.” You throw off your sunshine yellow shorts and tug on what were once upon a time your favorite panties. They don’t fit nearly as well as they used to; they fit horribly, in fact. They evaporate the thrill and leave nauseous trepidation in its place. “Oh God. Oh no. Oh no, oh no.” You steal a harried glimpse of the clunky black alarm clock on your nightstand. The flashing red numbers inform you that you have approximately ten more minutes until he arrives.

You jog pantsless to the kitchen, pour yourself a glass of sweet tea—ice cold, bright with a squeeze of lemon juice—and pace back and forth across the wooden floor as you sip it. The pine boards slope at just the slightest angle; if you laid an apple by your feet, it would roll. The house is sinking. It was built at the turn of the twentieth century, but it won’t live to see the next. Ailing sunlight casts your shadow against the wall, mint green, spider-leg cracks inching through the paint. Outside cicadas buzz and doves coo in long, mournful whirrs.

You pick up the phone—pink to match the boombox that is now playing Poison’s Nothin’ But A Good Time—next to the refrigerator and dial with one finger, your other hand still clutching the frosty glass of sweet tea. It rings twice before he answers.

“Wassup?” Amir says distractedly. You can hear a commotion from his living room on the other side of town: his grandmother squawking, ambient applause, Wheel Of Fortune.

“Quick, what should I wear?”

“Huh?”

“The guy! The guy from the ad! I called the guy! What should I be wearing when he shows up?”

Amir cackles. “Ho, you must be truly desperate, why the fuck are you asking me?” There is some shrill protestation in the background. “Grandma, don’t you dare try to act like you’ve never heard that word before, we just rented Aliens.”

“You know what men like,” you plead.

“Not the straight ones!” And then, not to you: “Grandma, calm down. Grandma, Grandma! It’s my homegirl. She has an emergency. She’s got a man coming over and she doesn’t know what to wear. What did you wear for Pop Pop? What? What?! You expect me to believe you got seven kids out of that dude with just some old floral nightgown?! Prairie girl fabulous? Looking like you’re on your way to join the Donner Party? Okay, if you say so! Phyllis knows best!” Amir’s attention returns to you. “Grandma suggests a nightgown.”

You are skeptical. “That seems slutty.”

“You’re inviting some stranger over for an all-expenses-paid ride on the Pussy Express and you’re concerned about looking slutty?!”

He has a point. “Okay. Okay. Yeah. You’re right. Okay.”

“You wear that nightgown with confidence and you take that random kinky man directly to bed, do you understand me?” Amir orders.

“Totally,” you say, gulping sweet tea with a shaking hand.

“Good luck. I gotta go, it’s the Bonus Round. Hope you have a few rounds to tell me about tomorrow.” Then he hangs up.

Back in your bedroom closet, you find a black satin slip that runs to your ankles and flows like a ballgown. You put it on some nights when you’re feeling desirable, after a bath of bubbles and steam, candles and Madonna, freshly shaved legs and shimmering with Pond’s, when you want to lounge around daydreaming, when you want to remember the fantasies you once had about what your life might turn out to be. Now you wear it in the fading daylight, nothing underneath and golden sunbeams turning your skin to something that warms and glows.

You appraise yourself in your dusty dresser mirror, and you think: Not too bad, actually. You’ve had your hair up in a haphazard bun. You reach to take it down, then stop yourself. You like the wayward wisps, the I-don’t-care-too-much casualness. Your breathing is slow and calm again. There is a noise outside: tires crunching on gravel. Your glass of sweet tea, now mostly just ice cubes, is sweating on top of your dresser. You grab the glass, swipe the Bayou Journal off your bed, and take both to the kitchen counter, still speckled with flour, powdered sugar, flecks of cinnamon. Then you pad across the sloping wooden floor in your bare feet to open the front door. Amber dusk streams in; you can hear bullfrogs croaking and the hoots of the long-eared owl that lives in the collapsing, overgrown shed behind the house. Spanish moss hangs like cobwebs, like chandeliers. The tree swing rocks idly in the breeze. The first notes of You Shook Me All Night Long play from the kitchen boombox.

His car is red, sporty, with a logo on the grill that you don’t recognize, a series of circles intertwined like rings. He cuts the engine and steps out into the driveway as you watch from behind the screen, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed over your chest. He’s tall, trim, blonde, wearing Adidas sneakers and light-wash jeans and a Marlboro jacket that it’s far too hot for. He peers around, taking in the trees and the house through his black aviator sunglasses. He puffs one last time on a cigarette before putting it out on his own windshield and starting towards the porch. And immediately, primally, you crave him like water or air.

He climbs the groaning steps, splitting wood and rusty nails. You open the screen door to meet him in the threshold. And he takes off his sunglasses so he can look at you, stowing them in a pocket of his jacket, his gaze not wavering from yours, his lips not saying a word. Yes, he has a scar, but it doesn’t diminish him in the slightest. Yes, his left eye may be glass, but you wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t already told you. You’re too tangled up in the right. His iris is a brisk greyish blue, not like the ocean, not like the bayou, more like the sky before a hurricane, heavy with the threat of wind and rain. His face is strong, jarring, beautiful in a rare way. His full lips are curling into a grin.

At last, you speak first, an inane observation that feels somehow significant. “You found me.”

“I did.” He nods towards the large lavender sign out by the mouth of the gravel driveway. Hand-painted on it are the words Hummingbird Bakery and a logo that Amir designed, a hummingbird feeding on the frosting swirl of a cupcake as if it’s a flower flush with nectar. “You told me to look for the sign. That helped.”

“What kind of car do you drive? I don’t recognize it.”

“It’s an Audi Quattro.”

“Audi,” you repeat, like a hopelessly distant place, New York City or Los Angeles or Paris or the moon. “Is that British?”

“German, actually.”

“You’re from a very different world.”

“Yeah, I am.” His eye flicks up and down your body, black satin that curves and clings; his grin widens. “But I could learn to like yours, I think.”

You step back so he can follow you inside. The screen door shuts with a bang. Under the shadows, as the sun sets into the west, he unzips his Marlboro jacket and tosses it onto your living room couch. Underneath he wears a white t-shirt. We’re opposites, you think dazedly, wondering what he will taste like when he kisses you. He grazes his fingertips down the front of your throat, continues to your chest, stills when he hits the satin of your slip.

“You can tell me to stop whenever you want to,” he murmurs, and you breathe in his smoke and cologne and dauntless, dizzying self-assurance. “But until you say stop, I’m gonna keep going.”

Your heartbeat is drumming beneath his hand, part exhilaration and the rest nerves. You are afraid of disappointing him; you aren’t sure what to expect. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Aemond.”

Aemond. Foreign, like Audi, like Paris. You give him your own in return. He leans in, presses his hips to yours, denim and satin that you can feel his heat through. And you think he’s going to kiss your neck, or bite it, bruise it, mark it, claim it, claim you; but he only ghosts his parted lips from the edge of your jaw to your bare shoulder, inhaling slow and deep, drawing your atoms into his lungs until they tumble down the narrowest corridors and into his capillary beds, into his bloodstream. You moan softly, helplessly, and turn your face to kiss him.

“No,” Aemond growls, teasing you, catching your chin with one hand to hold you still. His other hand glides down the front of your slip and stops between your legs. Through satin the color of a starless midnight, his fingers stroke you roughly, commandingly. Animalistic yearning bolts low to weaken your knees, high to rip a gasp from your throat. “Nothing underneath,” he notes in approval.

Oh, I like him, you think, in equal parts ecstatic and petrified. I REALLY like him.

But are you going to be able to impress him too? Are you going to ruin this?

You whimper, unintentionally and almost inaudibly. Aemond is studying your face; furrows appear in his scarred brow, so faint and fleeting you might have imagined them. Then his hand retreats as he says: “Show me your toys.”

You gape up at him; this is not what you anticipated. “What?”

“I want to see how you make yourself come. You have toys, don’t you?”

“I do,” you admit, though you’ve never used them with anyone else before.

Aemond smirks mischieviously, then commands: “Show me. Right now.”

You lead him to your bedroom and slide open the middle drawer of your dresser. You glance at his reflection in the silvery glass of the mirror; he’s staring, not at your body but at your face, his gaze locked with yours, his mouth open, entranced, hungry. You move to stand against the wall, smiling sheepishly as Aemond shoves aside folded sheets and pillowcases to reveal your collection. It’s nothing too adventurous: five vibrators in different colors, styles, sizes.

“Quite the assortment,” he praises.

“They were gifts from a friend.”

Now Aemond is dubious. “A friend?”

“Don’t be jealous. He doesn’t like women.”

Aemond laughs, warm and boyish like he’s breaking character; and you are alarmed by the wave of fondness for him that crashes through you. It’s something that could pull you under. It’s something you could drown in. He picks up the largest vibrator: long, thick, pink like soft feminine vulnerability, like love. Then he is darkly, deliciously stern again. “On the bed.”

“No.” Not because you’re genuinely protesting. Because you want him to make you.

Aemond grabs you around your waist and drags you towards the bed as you squeal, giggle, fight him halfheartedly. He throws you down onto the wildflower-patterned duvet and climbs between your thighs, parting them as he pushes the hem of your black satin slip up to your waist. Abruptly, you are bare for him, exposed, fiery dusk air cool against your wetness. Aemond is still fully clothed, white shirt and pale blue jeans. He is holding your legs open with his own. You can see the bulge of his cock beneath the denim: at least as large as the vibrator and hard with insistent longing.

I want him, you think as you hear the vibrator click on. I want him, I want him…

Aemond brings the pink silicone tip to your flesh, and instantly you’re ravenous. It shocks you how much more erotic this is when someone else is holding it, when someone else has you entirely at their mercy. You cry out, loud and shameless, euphoric. Your back arches; your fingers twist into the duvet. As he presses the vibrator down more forcefully, Aemond braces his hips against yours, grinding into you through his jeans, taunting you, conquering you.

You fumble for the button and zipper of his jeans. “Please—”

“No,” Aemond snarls, beaming, snatching your hand and pinning it up by your head. His other hand is still circling your clit with the tip of the vibrator. “You haven’t earned it yet.”

“Aemond, please, I need you—”

“No,” he says, defiant. He makes the rules. He has the power; he’s in control. Suddenly, he pulls the vibrator away. You yelp in dismay. “You know,” Aemond quips cavalierly. “It’s a shame you have such a difficult time finishing when you’re with a man. I bet you’re not even close.”

“I am,” you whine, in agony, in ecstasy.

Aemond pretends to be surprised. “Hm.” He returns the vibrator to your skin, slick, hot, aching in the most wondrous way. You sigh as the pleasure surges through you, as you soar up to the previous plateau and then begin to ascend beyond it. You must have repositioned yourself without noticing; Aemond releases your hand to smack his palm against the inside of your thigh. “Keep your legs apart. I want you wide open for me.”

“I will, I promise.” I’ll do anything you tell me to.

Aemond’s hand ventures lower. Two of his fingers glide inside you and thrust in time with his hips. “Fuck,” he hisses, breaking character again; and something rocks through his shoulders, his spine, a divine temptation that he is battling.

“Aemond, more,” you plead, looking at the massive outline of his cock under his jeans.

“Not yet,” he pants, fucking you with his fingers as the vibrator hums against your clit. “You have to come for me first, baby. You have to earn it.”

And you’re close, you really are, you’re closer than you ever would have imagined you’d be with him tonight, this stranger, this elusive British man, this man from a personal ad in the Bayou Journal that you almost never replied to. Your hair has come undone and is wild around your face; your heart is pounding frantically; your skin is bathed in a sheen of victorious perspiration. When was the last time someone made you feel like this? You can’t recall; the answer might be never. There is a spellbinding, intensifying sensation of warmth, of opening, you’re only seconds from the brink, you’re ready to step off the precipice and into open blue air the same color as his eyes—

Aemond yanks the vibrator away again, grinning toothily down at you.

“No!” You scrabble for him with shaking hands, pulling yourself up as you reach for the vibrator. Aemond pushes you back onto the bed. Despite your protests, you love the feeling of his weight on top of yours; you love the organic symphony he’s built of, muscle and bone and skill and power. His fingers are still pumping in and out of you, keeping you soaked and throbbing, pinning you to the edge of an orgasm without permitting you to succumb to it.

“It’s going to be so good for you like this, baby,” Aemond insists, low and raspy. He’s reading your face, attentive to every detail, drinking up your desperate body and quivering voice. “I swear I’m not torturing you for no reason. Let me show you. Let me take care of you. When it happens, it’s going to blow your fucking mind. Are you ready?”

“Yes, now, please, do it now,” you whimper as you lie beneath him, open, bare, senseless, vanquished.

Aemond drags his tongue over the tip of the vibrator, moaning with lust as he tastes you. Then he at last presses the pink silicone to your clit once more. In your electrified nerves, in your scalding blood, there are sparks and momentum and currents rushing towards the cataclysmic breaking of a rogue wave. “Nice and slow,” Aemond murmurs. “Let it build.”

Instead of the peak, you reach another plateau, so high and so rapturous you can’t stand it, you can’t fathom climbing any farther. It’s becoming so sharp and intense it’s almost painful. Fresh anxiety flashes in your mind like lightning. The momentum begins to dissipate like dewdrops under the late-morning sun. Oh no, I’m going to lose it, I’m going to disappoint him—

Aemond lifts the vibrator off you again; before you have time to collect yourself enough to speak, to apologize, he’s slipped his fingers out of you and carefully guided the vibrator inside, stretching you, filling you, thrusting rhythmically but not too viciously or too deep. He places his thumbprint on the place where the vibrator was just seconds ago and circles quickly, once, twice, again, and then…

You try not to scream, but you can’t help it, can’t stop it; the climax wrenches out of you indescribable pleasure, vanished fears, awe and relief, twisted muscles and gasping breaths, every electrical impulse of every atom, and each time you believe it’s over it rolls a little farther like an endless summer afternoon. When it’s done—truly done—you aren’t sure exactly how it happens but suddenly you’re sitting upright on the bed and the vibrator is lying forgotten on top of the duvet and Aemond is laughing, kissing you—sweat and nicotine, smoke and salt—and caressing your face with his hands, saying: “You were such a good girl. You did amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

“Okay,” you exhale unsteadily, smiling. You nod to the very noticeable bulge in his jeans. “Your turn.”

“No,” Aemond says primly.

“What?”

“No,” he repeats. “Not today.”

“But…but…why?”

The curl of his lips is crooked and playful. “To prove I’m not just here to get myself off.” He kisses you again, far more tenderly than any random dom from a personal ad should. “You don’t trust me. But maybe next time you will.”

“How could I trust you? I don’t even know you.”

“We’ll have to spend more time together.”

“You seriously aren’t going to fuck me right now? Me? A mostly-naked stranger you met up with exclusively for the purposes of fucking?”

“Are you dissatisfied?”

In truth, no; your pulse is slowing, your thoughts are calm, your lust is satiated, you’re reasonably certain that you’ve sprained no less than four muscles. You feel like the sky after rain: emptied, unburdened, untroubled, at peace. “Not at all.”

“Then you shouldn’t be complaining.”

You reach out to touch Aemond’s unscarred cheek and he smiles. You try to ghost your fingertips over the left side of his face and he flinches away, leaves the bed, takes the vibrator to the bathroom to scrub it with soap and water. “Can I at least pour you a glass of sweet tea or something?” you call after him. “I feel guilty. I feel like I didn’t uphold my end of the bargain.”

“You exceeded all of my expectations,” Aemond says with a strange sort of somberness. “But sweet tea sounds great.”

You take five minutes to clean up and change into real clothes—ratty denim shorts and a red, white, and blue Pepsi t-shirt, chaotic hair, no bra—and then meet Aemond in the kitchen. He’s surveying the large circular table, which is littered with covered cake plates in a hodgepodge of sizes and colors; you found most of them at yard sales and thrift shops. The sun has set and the stars have risen; the kitchen is illuminated by yellow-hued florescent light. Night air flows in through the screens of the open windows. The boombox is currently playing Tiffany’s I Think We’re Alone Now.

“What’s the deal with that?” Aemond asks about the cluttered kitchen table.

“They’re the baked goods. For my bakery.”

“Right,” he says, remembering, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “The sign out front.”

“Would you like anything? Today we had butterscotch chiffon cake, coconut custard cake, blackberry dark chocolate cupcakes, pecan pie, red velvet brownies, lemon blueberry cookies, lavender black tea cookies, chocolate meringue pie, butter pecan muffins…”

“How about those?” He points.

“Oh! Those are banana bread cupcakes. One of my favorites.”

“Banana bread…cupcakes?”

“Here.” You plop one on a plate for Aemond, then go to the refrigerator to pour two tall glasses of sweet tea. “A lot of people put chocolate chips in their banana bread, but I feel like any chocolate really eclipses the banana flavor. It’s so subtle, you know? So what I do instead is cinnamon, honey, cream cheese frosting, and a tiny bit of sea salt mixed into the batter. If you get the ratio just right, there’s this really great blend of saltiness and sweetness, and the banana is still the star of the show. Of course I’ve fucked up plenty of times too and almost given myself dangerously high blood pressure. If I ruin a batch, I’m the one who has to eat it. We can’t let anything go to waste. Our profit margin is thinner than a crescent moon on the best months.”

“Oh my God,” Aemond says. He’s taken a bite and is now gawking at the banana bread cupcake. “You made this?” He gestures to the table. “You made all of this?”

“My best friend Amir runs the business with me, but most of the recipes are mine. My mom used to bake all the time when I was little. Now she has rheumatoid arthritis and has given it up, more or less, but that’s where I learned a lot of what I know. And I try to come up with new ideas each week to add to the rotation.”

“This is exceptional,” Aemond says. His mouth is full of the rest of the cupcake. He washes it down with a few gulps of sweet tea; ice cubes jangle in the misty glass. “This is, like, insanely good. Can I have another one…?” He’s already lifting the cover off the cake plate.

You chuckle. “Yeah, seriously, have as many as you like.”

“How much do you sell them for?”

“The cupcakes are $1, but you don’t have to pay me. You get the unrequited orgasm discount.”

“Just $1 each.” Aemond is incredulous. You aren’t sure what that’s about. He sets the second cupcake down on the table, tugs a black leather wallet out of his jeans pocket, and gives you a $10 bill.

“Aemond, really, you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. Take the money. Stop talking about it.”

You smirk up at him. “Is that an order, sir?”

He grabs your jaw with one forceful hand, kisses you roughly, bites your lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood. He tastes like cinnamon, honey, sugar, sex. “Yes,” he says, grinning wickedly. Then his hands drop to unbutton your shorts. The idea of stopping Aemond doesn’t even cross your mind; your desire for him—him specifically—is back, flaring red and primeval and irresistible. “I want you on top of that counter—”

Outside there are footsteps bounding up the front porch, loud on the creaking boards. You tear away from Aemond and hurry to re-button your shorts. What? Already??

You know exactly who it must be.

Well, now I’m definitely never going to see Aemond again.

He’s terrified, he’s wondering whether he should try to jump out of a window. But really, he’s already been spotted; his Audi Quattro is still waiting for him in the gravel driveway. “Please don’t tell me that’s your homicidal armed boyfriend or something.”

“No,” you say. “It’s my daughter.”

“Wait, your…?!”

The door swings open; you hardly ever lock it. Cadi trots in just as you are flipping over the copy of the Bayou Journal on the kitchen counter so Aemond’s personal ad is no longer visible. Instead, what now faces up—dotted with flour, powdered sugar, cinnamon, grease stains of butter—is a column about the rigs opened in Lake Verret. Just what this town needs, you think distractedly. An environmental disaster.

“Mom, whose radical car is that—?” Then Cadi spies Aemond and blinks at him a few times. She is ten years old but thinks she’s your age, short hair, short temper, denim overalls and a t-shirt underneath patterned with multicolored horses.

“This is Aemond,” you explain. He waves awkwardly and then resumes nibbling on his second banana bread cupcake, avoiding her scrutiny. “He’s a friend.”

“But you don’t have any friends,” Cadi replies.

“Watch it, Child Of The Corn. I have friends.”

“You have like one friend.”

“What happened to your sleepover with Mawmaw? I thought you were excited to trick her into watching Hellraiser.”

“Blockbuster didn’t have it. Then Great Aunt Ethel called and said she broke her hip. Mawmaw dropped me off here on her way to the hospital.”

“And she didn’t even think to check with me first, huh?”

“As if you’d have anything better to do.” Cadi races to the refrigerator—careening around a shellshocked Aemond—and heaves open the door. “What’s for dinner?”

“I think we have some Swanson’s meals left. Oh, and spaghetti.”

She narrows her eyes at you. “Who made it?”

“You’re in luck! Not me. Amir.”

“Yay!” Cadi trills, then drags out the pan and begins spooning mounds of spaghetti onto a plate. Aemond looks to you, intrigued.

You say: “I bake, I don’t cook.”

“She really doesn’t,” Cadi concurs.

“Completely different skillset.”

Cadi places a few paper towels over the heaping plate so sauce doesn’t splatter all over the microwave and then sets it to three minutes. As she waits to eat, she wanders over to where the Bayou Journal is lying on the counter and scans the page: Viserys Targaryen, three state-of-the-art oil rigs, Lake Verret, an additional 50 employees hired, Jade Dragon Energy. “Those bastards are going to get their way, I guess.”

You sigh. “Yup.”

Aemond is alarmed. He polishes off the last of his cupcake, frowning as he licks frosting from his lips. “You don’t approve?”

“They’ll blow up the whole town,” Cadi says matter-of-factly.

You smile wanly at Aemond as you sip your sweet tea. “You work for Jade Dragon, right?”

He stares back at you—stunned, perhaps even fearful, a deer flooded with headlights—but doesn’t speak.

“It’s alright. I figured you must. Some smart British guy way out here in Cajun Country? It’s gotta be for a job. Don’t worry. We won’t shoot and skin you or anything. It’s not your fault. You’re just collecting a paycheck, it’s not like you’re running the company.”

“Right.” Aemond grabs a third cupcake and gnaws at it. After a moment he adds: “I have a degree in petroleum engineering. I just moved to Napoleonville last week.”

“I knew it,” you say.

“Boo!” Cadi heckles jokingly. The microwave beeps, then she disappears into her bedroom with her plate of spaghetti. You hear Cadi turn on her little television and flip through the channels until she finds Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Aemond watches her closed door for a few seconds—still processing, you assume—and then turns back to you.

“Her name’s Katie?”

“Cadi. C-a-d-i. It’s short for Arcadia.”

He is impressed. “Greece?”

You titter nervously. You don’t know what he means. “It’s a town up by Shreveport, it’s where Bonnie and Clyde were arrested or killed or something. I’m not sure. Her father picked it.”

“You didn’t have an opinion?”

“Um, I wasn’t really…uh…conscious for a few days after she was born. By the time I was up and around again, he’d already filled out the birth certificate.”

What is that you see flicker across his face like the transient surge of a lightning bug? Curiosity? Apprehension? “I see. And her father is…” Aemond raises a blonde eyebrow, the one his scar cuts through. “On an aircraft carrier somewhere?”

You laugh. “He’s not deployed. We’re divorced, Willis lives about fifteen minutes down the road. It’s amicable.”

“So I don’t need to worry about him showing up on your front porch to murder me with a 2x4 full of nails.”

“No. Although he is the town sheriff.”

Aemond smirks. Is this a challenge or an inconvenience? “Why’d you two split up?”

You shrug, glancing at Cadi’s bedroom door. She is quite aggressive with her television volume; you’re confident she won’t be able to listen in if you keep your voice low. “It’s not that interesting a story.”

“I’m extremely interested.” And he sincerely appears to be, head tilted to the side, eyes fixed on you (though you know the left one sees nothing), thoughts whirling like storm winds.

“Well…we only ever got married because of…” You gesture towards Cadi’s room. Aemond nods, following along. “And I was too young and I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know what I wanted out of a man, I didn’t even know I had the right to set standards to measure a husband by. Willis wasn’t terrible. He didn’t hit me. He just wasn’t really who I wanted.” You chew at your lower lip, peering down at the kitchen counter, drawing circles in the sparse flour dust. “He never even proposed to me. Not properly, I mean. I told him I was pregnant and he said: Well, guess we oughta get married, huh sugar? and then drove me to the Kmart up in Gonzales to pick out a ring.”

“Classy,” Aemond mutters.

“I had to buy it myself, actually. Willis didn’t have enough cash on him. He paid me back later, but still. It wasn’t about the ring. I don’t need gold and diamonds. But I need someone who really sees me and understands me and chooses me, you know? I’ve never felt chosen. And I decided I didn’t want to settle for that. If I ever get married again, I want the whole goddamn thing. The real thing. I want the candles and the flowers and a boombox blasting Heaven Is A Place On Earth. And if that’s not in the cards, I guess I’m not the marrying type.”

“And you’ll make do with occasional visits from your friendly neighborhood dom.”

You grin up at Aemond. “Yeah, exactly.”

“You really hate Jade Dragon?”

“Companies like that…they just use us. Our land, our labor. And then when they decimate the place they pack up and disappear overnight, no pensions, no retirement, no unemployment, no meaningful cleanup, just Thanks for the millions! Bye! and we’re left to live in their filth.”

“That’s a rather cynical perspective,” Aemond says.

“It’s a realistic perspective,” you counter. “In 1965, there was a pipeline explosion in Natchitoches, in ‘79 there was an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, in ‘80 a Texaco rig accidentally drilled into a salt mine under Lake Peigneur and destroyed the whole ecosystem. Two weeks ago there was a refinery explosion an hour east of here in Norco. 4,500 people had to be evacuated from their homes. So no, the jobs sound nice, but in my humble estimation they’re not worth dying for.”

Aemond considers you, a look that is not patronizing or combative but not convinced either. And there’s something else too: a caginess, a nervousness.

“And these Jade Dragon people, the Targaryens? They have a history,” you continue. “I read about it in the Bayou Journal. Last year they had an oil spill at an offshore rig near Ketchikan, Alaska. They poured hundreds of thousands of barrels of poison into the ocean and killed a bunch of dolphins and whales and everything. Fishermen went bankrupt, people committed suicide.”

“Mistakes happen.” Aemond places his empty sweet tea glass in the sink.

“But they didn’t make it right. Their lawyers blamed a defective piece of equipment and kicked liability back to the manufacturer. They’ll be battling it out in court for the next decade. And meanwhile, the people of Ketchikan get nothing but misery. I don’t want Napoleonville to end up like that.”

Aemond gazes out the kitchen window and into the cicada-rattling night, faraway, pensive.

“But seriously,” you say, more casually now. “I get that it’s not your fault, Aemond. I don’t hate you or anything. You’re working for a living like anyone else. You can only do so much.”

He looks back to you and smiles vaguely. “I just go where they tell me to.”

“And that’s why you like to be in control when you’re with me.”

“Yes,” Aemond says; and on his face—strong, scarred, perfect—you can see that he is reminiscing, that he is planning what he wants to do to you next. But he can’t do any of it. Not here, not now.

“I’m sorry about…you know. The kid thing. I really didn’t think she’d be home tonight. I would never subject her to something like that, walking in to find a strange guy in the house. And I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable either.”

“It’s okay. I believe you.”

“I don’t usually do this. I’m sure you think I’m lying, but I’m not. I’ve had two boyfriends since I got divorced seven years ago, and both times it didn’t last long and Cadi never met them. And it wasn’t…like it is with you. The dynamic, I mean. The…control thing. They were just normal dudes.”

“And they couldn’t satisfy you,” Aemond says, taunting, proud, setting your blood on fire.

“No. They couldn’t. Not even close.”

You both stand silently in the kitchen amidst a cascade of inconsequential noise: Eurythmics from the little pink boombox, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles from Cadi’s room, cicadas and bullfrogs and the long-eared owl from the world outside that is primordial and feral and green. For the first time in as long as you can remember, you feel not like the piecemeal potential of a desirable woman but whole. Aemond’s right eye traces every curve and edge of you in a way that makes you think: Maybe I will see him again after all.

“Come on,” you say, turning towards the front door. “I’ll walk you out.”

But when he steps onto the creaking porch—pulling on his Marlboro jacket, watching lightning bugs bloom like daisies in the yard—Aemond seems to be stalling. “This is lopsided,” he says, tapping the wooden boards with his Adidas sneakers.

“I know. The whole foundation is, it’s sinking. We’ll have to move eventually. But we’ve been in this place since Cadi was five, it has a lot of memories. She calls it the Fall-Down House.”

“Cute,” Aemond says, but he’s pondering something. “Do you own it?”

“Oh no, God no. We rent.”

“Are you saving for a down payment to put on a new house?”

This is a rude question. “A little,” you reply curtly. Not enough. You need to make money to save money.

“Okay.” Aemond senses your discomfort. He’s good at that; it’s an advantageous skill for a dom to possess, knowing when he’s approaching a limit long before you have to shut him down. He descends the porch steps. “I’ll be back for more of those cupcakes—” There is a shrill, alien hissing from out by the tree line. Aemond shouts and scrambles back onto the porch, throwing an arm in front of you to shield you from his enigmatic nocturnal adversary. “What the fuck was that?!”

“Just a gator,” you reassure him, amused.

“A what?”

“An alligator.” You show him the shadow that lurks beneath a young oak tree draped with Spanish moss. “She’s over there. Just stay on the gravel once you get off the porch.”

Aemond is puzzled. How does anyone live in this hellscape? his face says. “How do you know it’s a female?”

“She’s not too big, and she doesn’t bellow. But she sure loves to hiss.”

“I think alligators should have gone extinct with the rest of the dinosaurs.”

“Well, there’s a secret to dealing with them.”

“Yeah?”

You smile, skating your fingers into the sleeve of Aemond’s Marlboro jacket and up his forearm until you feel goosebumps rise on his skin. “If she gets mean, you just have to bite back.”

Aemond chuckles, turns your face towards his, kisses the apple your cheek…and then, for only a moment, his teeth close around the sensitive flesh there leaving a whirlpool of pulsing, forbidden heat. He whispers through your hair: “See you soon.”

“Will you?”

“Yes,” he says, severely now. It’s a commandment, it’s a need. “I absolutely will.”

Aemond leaves you, strides across the gravel driveway without glancing back, ducks into his car, lights a cigarette; you can see the rust-colored glow through the windshield as he takes a drag. You wait in a flurry of moths under the dim florescent bulb of the front porch until his Audi Quattro veers onto Route 401 and disappears.

I hope he meant it, you think as a lightning bug lands on your knuckles and illuminates there like the gemstone of a ring. I hope I’ll see him again.

Then you shake away the insect and go inside to see if Cadi wants to help you clean up the kitchen and get a brown sugar pie baked for tomorrow. As compensation, you’ll offer her the $10 bill Aemond gave you for the cupcakes.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fic

295 notes · View notes

skyjasper · 2 months

Text

Don't call me crazy

Professor!Az X Student!Reader Modern AU

Masterlist

Summary: Y/N has been lusting after her new British professor since the first day of class, what a perfect coincidence he also becomes her private teacher in all things war and torture.

Warnings: vulgar content, smut, 18+, age gap romance, oral (Fem and Male receiving), choking, praise, dom!az.

Word count: 4207

The first time I stepped into Mr. Singers' classroom I was expecting an old white man who thought he was funny.

What I wasn’t expecting as I took my seat in the front row was for a mid-age, tan skin, handsome man with tattoos and a thick British accent to walk out of the office. I wasn’t the only girl who sighed at his devastatingly handsome face.

“Good morning class. Let’s start with basic attendance so I can put faces to names and then we will get started.” The words rolled out of his mouth with the most sensual deep British accent.

The professor for War and Peace in Historical Perspective was not at all what I thought. Not with his crisp black button-up that had to top button undone and the sleeves rolled up. Not with the inky shadows that peaked up the collar of his shirt and down his very muscular forearm.

I was too busy daydreaming about those muscular forearms holding my waist to hear him call my name.

“Mrs. Y/N?” He asked again, which I only heard because of my seatmate elbowing me.

“Here.” I hesitantly lifted my hand, slowly sinking back into my seat out of embarrassment. His gaze fell upon me with his golden honey eyes.

“Next time, if you choose to be in the front, be more present.” He scolded me before moving on. A blush rose over my cheeks with the stern words.

~~~~

My War and Peace class hadn’t necessarily gotten better but also not worse. My work excelled and I never got below a B. So one could imagine my disappointment when my latest paper on Torture Tactics in War got a C-.

Mr. Singers' hand stayed on my desk as he whispered into my ear.

“See me after class or during office hours today.” His deep voice rolled through my body, shooting straight in between my thighs.

Was it inappropriate to have a huge sexual crush on my teacher who was 20+ my senior? Absolutely. Did it stop me? No. Goosebumps rolled down my bare legs and under my pleated white skirt. I nodded my head quickly as he moved to the next student.

After mentally going through my schedule I decided it would be best to stop by during office hours later.

~~~

My fist lightly knocked on Mr. Singers' office door.

“Come in.” He rumbled.

I opened the door before stepping into the dark space. His dark mahogany desk was neat and organized with papers and notes. The room only being illuminated by a tall lamp in one corner and a smaller salt lamp in the other corner.

“You wanted to see me?” I ask as my hands pull at the end of my navy sweater.

“Ah, yes Mrs. Y/N I wanted to discuss your last paper. Sit.” He nodded to the chair across from him. My feet moved on their own accord to sit, as if aching to obey his every word.

“Yeah I saw I got a C- and I was pretty confused. Is there any way I could revise the paper? I planned on using the topic for my dissertation.” I pulled out the printed paper from my bag.

He watched my every movement very closely. His eyes raked my body from my white headband, over my navy blue sweater and white skirt, and down my bare legs that were currently crossed.

“Yes, the topic is very good however the research is not accurate which in turn made most of your paper inaccurate. I was very disappointed to have to give you a C. You are a bright girl Y/N. I know you have a bright future in history, so I do want to work with you so you can gain better research skills and a better understanding of the topic.” He spoke, moving his dark round glasses back onto his face.

The glasses gave him a nerdy Clark Kent look. The glasses made me want to rip off his shirt and ride him. My thighs squeezed a bit tighter at the warmth that pooled in the lowest parts of me. I nodded with understanding before he continued.

“I specialized in War Torture when I was in school. I interviewed real victims and studied the methods and techniques.” He paused pushing up his sleeves and leaning back before continuing. “In the least creepy way possible, I became a master of torture and its history. When I decide I want to know something, I won’t stop until I devour all I can about it.” He finished.

I think I was delirious because I swear that last phrase was an innuendo. My toes curled in my black boots.

“I understand, and I would love your help since you’re so knowledgeable about it. I double majored in History and Journalism so I could research. How would this work? Should I stay after class or come to office hours?” I asked with a tilt of my head, I felt my hair fall off of one shoulder as I did so.

“How about it this, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday you stop by at let’s say 5:30? Right after office hours so that way we don’t take time from other students.” He asked with his eyebrows raised.

“That works for me! Is there anything I should bring sir?” I asked as I gathered my things.

“Maybe a notebook and your laptop for notes. Other than that we can wing it as we go.” He finished with a small smile and a shrug of one shoulder.

We said goodbyes before I walked out of his office, my thighs now slick in anticipation.

~~~

“Today I figured we could work on the actual technical details of the methods. It is important to understand the thought behind each movement.” Azriel spoke as I walked into his office.

We have been doing this mentorship for the last two months so far. It’s been going well, both of us flirting now and again but never quite crossing the line. He asked me to call him by his first name outside of class, and what a beautiful name he had. Azriel.

I felt his eyes take over my outfit choice for the day. With the warmer weather, my skirt and sweater combo has become more rare. Today I wore a tight white skirt with a cropped white tank top with a thin dark blue cardigan over it and some platform boots. even with my platforms Azriel still stood over me.

“You-you want me to torture you?” My breath hitched with the statement. He let out a small chuckle under his breath.

“No, I’m going to see if you can handle the most basic form of torture. If we can’t understand what torture feels like how can we accurately report it?” He said while moving close to me.

“So what are you going to do to me Mr.Singer?” I asked looking up into his eyes.

“Sensory deprivation. We start with sight, sit down.” He voices as he walks behind me and gently pushes on my shoulder to sit me down.

I took deep breaths as his large hands brought a thick strip of black fabric in front of my face. I felt his presence all too well as he placed the cloth over my eyes and tied it behind my head.

“They start with sensory tactics because there is nothing quite like the paranoia of not being able to see your capturers and what they are doing.” He spoke, his voice drawing quieter as if he moved across the room.

“For example,” He whispered in my ear, easing a small jump out of me. I hadn’t heard his come back, his footsteps silent.

“You have no idea what I’m about to do to you.” He whispered in my other ear, running his fingers over my shoulder. Goosebumps appeared in his wake.

“Can I remove my cardigan? It’s warm in here.” I asked before my fingers fumbled to find the bow holding the top of my cardigan closed. I felt a pair of hands wrap around my own small hands. His fingers slide over mine, quickly pulling the strings of the bow and slowly sliding my cardigan off.

“How are you feeling?” His voice rumbled thick with an accent as he took my cardigan out of my lap.

“I’m ok, it just feels like everything is heightened. Like I can feel everything around me, every breath, every touch. How is this torture?” I whispered with a shaky breath. I know his touch could be innocent but with the massive want between us, every touch feels like he’s about to fuck me.

“It isn’t yet, the next thing they would do would be take away your hearing, they would play sounds that would drive you insane. I’m not going to subject you to that however I am going to create certain sounds and I want you to identify the sounds and objects. Knowing how to use the heightened hearing to your advantage is something that could be very useful in a situation like this.” This time I heard his steps, like he purposefully made them louder.

I gave a nod, moving my hands under my thighs to keep from fidgeting. The first sound I heard sounded like glass. I waited another second before responding to be sure.

“Is it a glass? Like a cup?” I tilted my head towards the sound.

“Yes very good. Would you like some water Y/N?” I felt his approach to my front. I gave another quick nod, sticking out my hands for the cup.

“Ha, knowing you if I tried to hand you this glass you would spill it all over yourself.” He chuckled under his breath.

“You’re not wrong, but how else am I supposed to drink the water?” I lifted a curious brow even though he couldn’t see it.

“Tilt your head back.”

A simple command, yet hearing it set my body alight. I felt warmth gather low in my belly as I did what he asked. As I felt his fingers grasp my chin, pulling open my mouth, I felt that warmth seep out of me. I tried to cross my legs, not realizing how close he truly was.

“Is something wrong Y/N?” He asked with what sounded like knowingness in his voice. I tried to shake my head but couldn’t because of his grip.

“Use your words.” He spoke again. More heat seeped into my panties at his command.

“Nope, nothing's wrong.” My voice came out more breathless than intended.

He hummed before touching the cold rim of the glass to my bottom lip. I felt him tip back my head some more before pouring in the water.

“Would you like to know something Y/N?” He asked as he closed my mouth, allowing me to swallow with a gulp.

“What’s that Mr.Singer?” I asked, feeling his thumb coming up to wipe a small dribble of water that escaped my lips.

“You look divine like this, I can only imagine what you would look like if I could see your eyes.” He whispered as his hand moved from my jaw into my hair.

I sucked in a harsh breath before lifting my hands to remove the blindfold that prevents me from seeing him.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. I didn’t say you could take it off just yet.” His voice was light and full of amusement. Then the entire room shifted as his hand fisted my hair and brought my face closer to his.

I felt his heated gaze take over my body as his breaths gained speed. Then I heard the most torturous sound leave his lips. A groan that sounded like I hit him. Then his heat was gone, all contact broken.

“I shouldn’t do this. You’re my student.” He spoke with anguish. I stood quickly, a little too quickly by the way I swayed. I felt his arms wrap around my waist, steadying me. One hand found the tie holding together the blindfold, I quickly undid it and let it fall to the floor.

My eyes raked over his chest as I adjusted to the light. Did he get hotter while I couldn’t see? His shirt was messy like he had been raking his hands over it. And when I tilted my head to meet his eyes, a whole head and a half taller than me, the hunger I found there was insatiable. And whatever he found my eyes must have changed something for him.

“Fuck it.” He whispered before pulling my head closer to him, smashing my lips into his. I melted as he kissed me.

He kissed me like he was a man dying of starvation and I was his only food source. The hand that was holding the back of my neck moved into my hair pulling it tightly. He ripped his mouth from mine with a gasp.

“Fuck.” He muttered with a new horse and raspy voice. There was a war in his eyes, a conflicting battle.

I decided to end that battle by slipping one of my fingers over his black button-up, slowly undoing each button. When his chest was fully revealed I took a second to marvel at the gorgeous tattoo that spanned his entire muscles chest before pressing a kiss into his pecks.

“Please, Mr.Singer?” I asked, looking up at him with doe eyes and using my softest voice. I saw the battle end and that hunger take over again.

“Jesus fuck, you will be the death of me, baby.” He grunted as his hands slid under my thighs and lifted me onto his desk.

A smile overtook my face as his hands gripped my ass. I gently tugged on the open shirt, asking for him to remove it. I almost let out a cry at the loss of his heat. He pulled his shirt off in one fluid motion, stepping back in between my spread legs.

Azriel slants his mouth over mine once again, his hands grazing over my bare thighs, reaching under my skirt. I let out a small moan when his fingers gripped my thighs.

“Do you like that Y/N?” He asked with a raised eyebrow before sliding his hands under my thighs and pulling me to the edge of the desk.

“God yes, Mr. Singer.” I moaned as he continued to manhandle me. His hands roamed from my thighs to my waist pulling my chest into his.

“Fuck I love the way you say my name. But I love your beautiful tits even more.” He grunted out before pulling my tank top down.

“You have no idea how many times you’ve distracted me in class. Prancing around in these tiny skirts without any tights and your tiny tops. The number of times I’m lecturing and all I can look at are your beautiful thighs.” He ground out as he brought his mouth to my nipples.

A wave of pleasure rolled through me as his tongue swirled my nipped. A loud moan fell out of my mouth when he lightly bit it. My hips bucked forward, almost causing me to fall off the desk but his hands were there, sliding me back onto the steady table.

“Careful there baby. Tell me what you need.” His breath whispered over my nipples with a shuttering sensation.

“You. I need you Azriel.” I whined, grinding my hips into the air. He fell to his knees, his hands pushing my skirt up.

“How do you need me? Do you need my tongue?” He asked as he licked a line from the base of my core to my clit, letting his tongue linger with an audible groan.

“Do you need my fingers?” His strong fingers followed his tongue, drawing a line through my wetness and swirling around my clit, causing me to gasp. My hand reached for my nipple as he paused, leaning back to look at me. After a beat of silence and direct eye contact, he said,

“Or do you need my cock?”

I’m pretty sure I almost orgasmed from those words alone, but I still replied.

“I don’t know, just please. Touch me. Anything, please.” I begged as my hips writhed against the desk. A wicked cruel look came into his eyes.

“Please what? If you’re gonna beg you might wanna address who you’re begging too.” An eyebrow hitched as he slowly brought the finger that hand wiped my wetness to his lips. Rubbing my arousal onto his lips.

“Please, Mr.Singer. I don’t care how but I need you to fuck me.” I whined out.

“Good girl.” My body came alive at the praise and the sight of him moving forward, face into my pussy.

His tongue licked another stripe before sucking on my clit over my panties. One of my hands fell to his hair, holding him into me as he continued to eat me like his life depended on it. His fingers slid up my thighs before grabbing the waistband of my panties and tugging them down. The cold air sent shivers down my spine as he hesitated.

“Mr.Singer?” I asked, looking down at where he sat with his eyes locked on my bare core.

“You are so fucking beautiful. I haven’t stopped thinking about this since the first day of class so I’m going to enjoy it,” he whispered in a daze. His hand forced my legs open even wider, completely exposing me to him.

His thick fingers traced every part of me as one of his hands fell to his hard erection in his pants. My gaze slid down to stare at the now bulging point in his black briefs. I took a moment to truly appreciate the sight before me.

One of the hottest men sitting on his knees, palm rubbing himself, his lips glistening with my arousal, hair a tossed mess from my fingers, and those damn tattoos that moved with each of his breaths. I nearly came at the sight.

I closed my legs, nimbly sliding onto the floor in front of him. My knees hit the hard floor as his gaze dragged over my bouncing tits. One of my hands found his belt and tugged, trying my best to convey what I wanted without words.

He stood quickly, one hand unbuckling his belt and pulling it off in a fast and clean motion. He took a second to wrap up the belt and place it on his desk, not once breaking eye contact. My thin hands slid up his legs, quickly unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down.

His cock sprang free with a small bounce. A small gasp left my mouth as I beheld the sight of his long and thick cock that has barbell piercings along the shaft. I rubbed my thumb over his head, collecting the small bit of pre-cum, and sucked it into my mouth.

Azriels head fell back with a groan, one that became even louder as one of my hands wrapped around his length. I let my lips softly kiss the head of his cock before sucking it into my mouth. I took a minute to warm up to his size before looking up at him.

The second I made eye contact his hand flew to my hair and forced me down on his cock. Tears welled in my eyes as I struggled to take it all.

“Come on, be a good girl and take my cock, pretty girl.” He ground out as his thumb from his free hand smudged my mascara with my tears.

I moaned around his cock and I forced myself up and down him. He was too long to fit in my mouth so with what I couldn’t swallow I used my hand. I pulled off of his cock with a pop, leaning forward and spitting on it before using two hands to jerk him. I moved his cock over my chest, savoring the professor's low groans and curses.

I felt two strong arms slid under my arms, stopping my movement. He picked me up until I was face to face with him and my feet were dangling. He started at me with so much heat to anyone else it might seem like anger. He slid his arms to my waist and pulled my body against him as I kissed me. On instinct, my legs wrapped around his waist, lining me up perfectly to feel the head of his cock push against me.

We both gasped at the contact. It didn’t take him long to walk us over to the wall by the chair, pushing me against it and thrusting his cock so he slid through my folds. A loud moan leaves my mouth when he hits my clit.

“I need you. I’m clean, please fuck me Azriel.” I begged.

A long and overdrawn “Fuck” left his bruised lips. One of his hands guided his cock to line up with my hole.

“I’m gonna fuck you, it’s not gonna be sweet, and it’s not going to be slow. It’ll be hard, and dirty, but fuck will it feel good. Is that ok baby?” He tormented me by nudging the very tip of him into me.

“Yes, god yes.” I threw my head against the wall. I would do anything to just put him inside me.

“Good, I want you to ride me, I wanna see those beautiful tits bounce as you struggle to take me in your little cunt.” He whispered into my ear before moving us so he was sitting on the chair and I was sitting on his thigh. I rubbed against his thigh for any friction I could get.

“Fuck you’re killing me.” His hands ran up and down my sides, as I readjusted myself so I was hovering over his cock.

One of my hands gripped his shaft helping me to sit on his cock. I did it slowly, letting myself feel each inch, feel the stretch of him. We both moaned at the sensation, and he didn’t give me much time to adjust before his hands were moving my hips.

I moved with his hands, grinding on his cock, watching his face contort in pleasure.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt something as good as this. You are perfect.” He said as he tilted his head back. I started to move up and down on his shaft, every so often switching to grinding against him.

His head snapped back to lock me in the eye before his hands found my hips with a bruising grip, stopping my bouncing. He thrust his hips up, hard and fast.

“Oh fuck.” I screamed out as he continued to fuck me.

His arms enclosed my waist fully, holding me to his chest as my fingers raked the strong muscles.

“You’re so good, thank you sir.” I moaned and pulled my nails down so hard I left marks.

His replying hum was more than enough for me as he moved his lips to suck on the sensitive spot between my neck and ear.

I felt a tight tension run down my spine as my orgasm grew closer. He let me grab one of his hands, and I guided it around my throat, gently squeezing to signal what I wanted.

“You want me to choke you? Maybe you did pick the right field.” He muttered with a condescending laugh. But still, he obliged, squeezing the sides so I got that beautiful blood rush. His pace quickened as I tightened around him.

“Cum baby, milk my cock with your cunt. Be my good girl and cum.” He said before he licked a strip of my neck.

My orgasm shook my body with a force that I hadn’t felt before. Frat guys are notorious for not making girls cum. My cunt squeezed him as he jerked up into my cunt before pulling out. I whimper at the loss of contact before I felt ropes of his cum paint my stomach, just where it would be if he were inside me.

As I came down from my high I felt his fingers dragging up my stomach, collecting his cum onto his digits. He brought them to my mouth and pushed them into my lips. I took no time licking them clean of his cum and sucking them like they were his cock. I kept my most innocent eyes as I swirled my tongue around them and popped them out of my mouth.

“One day I want to see your mouth full of my cum. For now, I need to clean you up and get you back to my place.” He gently lifted me and sat me down on the couch before turning and getting a rag out of his office cabinet.

He sunk to his knees before me, gently wiping me clean and muttering praises. My mind was a puddle and my body was spent. He gently pulled my tank top back up and covered me with his suit jacket. We made sure the coast was clear before walking to his car and driving to his apartment where we spent the rest of the night fucking, cuddling, and getting to know each other better.

~~~

A/N: here it is!!!!!! Next up, chapt 4 of S&S!!!!!!!

Taglist: @littlelunatica @going-through-shit @annaaaaa88 @i-am-infinite @impossibelle

#azriel #acotar #elain archeron #azriel x oc #nesta archeron #feyre archeron #azriel x reader #sjmaas #class of 2013 #batboys #modern azriel #modern au #teacher crush #teacher x student #rough Azriel #dom!azriel

180 notes · View notes

indouloureux · 2 years

Text

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄

summary: in frenzied expeditions, eddie lets his anger snap and indulges in something... new.

content warnings: ghostface!eddie. character death (no one major), murder, eddie and reader being lovesick psychopaths, kinda shitty writing, gore, graphic depictions of violence. SMUT (18+ MDNI), (a warning that's a spoiler), knife play, blood kink, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (m receiving), ball play, gagging, facefucking, overstimulation, kitchen sex??

a/n: in honor of halloween; idk how to explain this. i hope u guys like it. i wrote it within two days. this was kinda rushed. reblogs and comments are appreciated. thank u my girls @mysticmunson and @lilacletter for beta-reading!!

“Hello?”

“Hi, sweetheart,”

Funny how that baritone dulcetness of a voice was easily recognizable. But it was probably because you’ve heard it in many different ways possible that this experimentation seemed familiar to you. Even with his speech choppy from the static of the RT.

“Hey, Eddie,” RT balanced between your ear and shoulder, you take the popcorn out from the microwave, the hot bowl seethes on your poor fingers but you could care less; the burning feeling felt good. “Where are you?”

“On my way,” his voice is slightly garbled. “Just got held up from the drive thru, babe. Don’t start the film without me,”

“Of course,” you chuckle. “Andy’s right here. He’s, uh, out by the pool smoking. The others are on their way though,”

He spits out an obscenity at what you think is an unforeseen speed bump, then a clutter that probably meant his RT fell to the ground. Then his voice is faint next: “I don’t understand why we invited these dickheads,”

“It’s for a truce,” you place the bowl on the countertop, crossing your arms over your white linen sweater, the soft cotton tickling your wrists. “I mean, baby, come on. You graduated! And so did they and, y’know, they want to fix things before they head off to college. And- Eddie, come on, you agreed!”

“I did. But, I just don’t know why we have to watch a movie at your place. You’re alone with Andy right now and I’m still twenty minutes away,”

You hear something slam in the background over his side. You frown, eyes scanning for Andy’s figure out in the backyard; a silver mist hovers over the teal pool, dark green grass almost black, the moon glinting its sharp tips.

And then there’s Andy, with his hands in his hips and a cigarette in his mouth. He turns and waves at you. You wave back.

“Andy’s not here with me. He’s outside, remember?” you pop a popcorn into your mouth, bending over the counter with your elbow on the marbled gloss. “You gotta relax, Eds. I’m fine. If he touches me, I could just… stab him,”

"You wouldn't,"

“I would,”

“You caught a rat and sent it away. You didn’t even drown it, or gut it. Or chop its head off,”

Laughing softly, you take the bowl into your hands and head over to the living room, placing it on the coffee table, aligning the stack of movies properly. “Doing that is, like, practically murder. Why don’t they include those cute little rats in the anti-animal abuse law? They’re still animals!”

“They’re pests, sweetheart.”

“Still an animal. And they're cute. Rodents are cute,” you plop down on the couch in a small bounce, not before you give Andy one last glance who seems to be staring at something across the fence. It’s probably just a squirrel. “What about you? Are you brave enough to kill a rat?”

“Oh, princess,” you can imagine him shaking his head, RT resting on the vacant seat beside him, replacing you. “You know I can do so much more than just kill a rat,”

“Spooky,” flipping your hair behind you, you giggle into the microphone. “Make it quick, please? I’m starving and popcorn’s not gonna suffice this hunger. I could eat a horse, or- I dunno, a person’s arm.”

“Sure thing, Your Majesty,” his voice deepens over a border of a mock British accent that hides his normal, American one well. Then he grunts, and another faint slam of something that catches you off guard and even makes you flinch.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Eddie questions.

You sit forward. “That- slam. Where are you?”

“Oh! That. It’s just the shit at the back, babe.” Eddie explains. “I’m almost there, sweetheart. Sit tight and look pretty,”

The RT crackles and there’s nothing but silence left. An ephemeral smile makes its way towards your heated face; conversations with Eddie, no matter the topic or its duration, never fails to make itself linger around your berserk mind.

Your heart belabors your ribcage expectantly, your crimson bottom lip tucked between your pearls. With your thoughts suddenly wrapped around Andy, who makes you wonder how long does it take for someone to finish smoking, makes you jump from your seat and wander away from your bright living room.

By the time you reach the sliding doors that lead you to the backyard, you’ve no sight of the man in the bright green and orange Hawkins High jersey. You frown a little, looking around the expanse of your backyard.

Finally, you slide the doors open. You worry he’s on his little schemes again, like Eddie had warned you about. Despite the truce they offered, you still put them on a pedestal and remained cautious of their actions. Inviting Andy into your home when you were still alone wasn’t exactly one of your brightest decisions, seeing as he could have done anything at any moment that could cause you harm.

But he’s not a murderer.

No, Andy’s a teenage boy who’s attempting closure and forgiveness and practices maturity like every other teenager does. Just… at a later date.

You race back inside your home and pick up your RT and a flashlight. When you return outside, the mist over your pool swishes away from the cold summer wind at nightfall. You turn the switch of your flashlight and direct it at each direction that it could reach, radio tight in your other hand just in case.

“Andy?” you call out. Where could he have possibly gone? “Andy, where are you?”

White sneakers stained by the wet grass and the dirt, you pad across the lawn prudently—tacitly, wondering if maybe you could sneak up on him and give him a good scare. But your backyard lacks trees or any other areas to hide into other than the sun loungers and the shed.

So this concerns you deeply. How Andy could just suddenly disappear. You’ve quickly come to dread this, with the eerie silence that blots repetitively at your composure and suddenly your rattling in worry.

You walk around, pointing your flashlight at every direction, the white beam only allowing you to see the probable septuagenarian metal fences that surround your home. You even open the shed you’ve always feared opening in the nights and see nothing but your father’s equipment and a lawn mower.

But something was missing there.

Your father had a very voluptuary collection of knives that are hung meticulously to the wooden walls of the shed. They were exhibited by size, cleaned thoroughly once a week during his weekends. Their frequent disinfectioning proffers itself like a mirror, where you can clearly see your distraught expression when you realize one of the knives was missing.

The Buck 120.

It was your father’s most beloved. And now you wonder if Andy took it.

“Alright, Andy!” you slam the shed door close, walking backwards and speed walk across every corner of your backyard. “Come out! This isn’t funny! Did you go inside the shed?”

No answer, obviously. What were you thinking?

You harrumph, annoyed that Andy would do this despite your brooding. You stomp your way back inside your house, wiping your feet across the poor rug that you practically assault with your frustrated padding.

You place your flashlight on the counter. Impatient and worried, you try contacting Eddie again through the RT.

When it’s nothing but static, you groan. “God, Eddie, where are you?”

In fact, where are the others?

You twist the knobs of your walkie talkie still, searching for the right station.

Suddenly it crackles and you halt your doings, staring at the radio with a confused lour. The crinkling sound makes you tap your feet impatiently, thinking it’s Eddie because who else could it be?

The frizzling ceases. You take this as a sign to speak. “Hello?”

“Hi sweetheart,” it’s Eddie. But his voice is akin to darkness, almost like corruption playing with a knife that glooms over boredom. The hairs on your arms raise in arising suspicion.

“...Eddie?”

“Go out to the backyard, baby,”

Discomposed, you do. You take heedful steps back outside, a sinister quietude resolves uneasily all over your lit nerves. You hold the walkie talkie tight in your shaking hand, the flashlight you took lighting up the backyard again.

“I’m out,” you say quietly into the microphone. “Eddie, where are you?”

“Just keep walking forward,”

You miff. “Eddie, just come here! Where are you, anyway?” you look around, pointing the flashlight over the fences. “This isn’t funny. Did you take my dad’s knife? You know he hates it when someone touches his collection.”

Eddie titters like he doesn’t give a damn. “Just do what I say,”

Cheeks sucking in, you walk forward, until your eyes adjust to a dark figure sitting in the middle of the lawn. You tap your flashlight twice on your lamp, and point the light at the figure.

If you could, you could have broken the handle in your hand.

Andy’s mangled body sat straight on the chair, the guidance of the blood-soaked ropes kept him up high. His head dangles to the side, his open throat bleeds lavishly down his white shirt; the horrifyingly stark contrast of vermillion to alabaster sets an aberrant spark of terror in your bones.

Then the slit of his apertured stomach leaks all his visceri, a pool of blood beneath his feet and the chair, staining your grass red. You drop the flashlight without your knowledge, the light shining his wretched sneakers instead.

Your hands shakily grasp your mouth, your lips twisting drastically into a choked sob as tears try to sting your eyes. A couple of them drip down your cheeks, your crying more like heavy heaves and gasps.

“Eddie?” you whimper into the walkie. “Where are you? You- you have to come and get me and- and we h-have to call the cops. E-Hello…?” you bring the radio away from your face, staring at the small machine in horror. “Eddie?”

With perturbing fear, you force yourself to look up at Andy again. It’s only then you notice his eyes stare off into space, lacking the brash colors irises adorn — they aren’t blue anymore. It’s a pearl swimming in a milk of lifeless beauty; the barbaric aura of his eyes evinces you speechless, unable to look away from the monstrous crime.

His mouth gapes open, the shocking realization that no breath leaves his agape lips causes you to sob again, your feet bolting you back inside your home, body breaking at each step until you arrive inside your home in shambles.

You hit the walkie repeatedly and speak into it, the way Dustin would during ‘Code Reds’. “Eddie? Eddie!” you hiss. “You answer right-fucking-now. I need you to call the cops—”

With your constant walking back, and your shaky exhales and that ringing in your ears forbids you to hear what has happened inside the home. With one last step, your back meets something warm and acute, causing you to scream and pick up something close to you—a knife.

You point it to whoever it was, the tip meeting the intruder's black clothed mask. Your eyes are wide with fear that attempts bravery, the blunt knife threatening that person.

Your eyes meet the plastic ones, the mask sembles a ghost; its wide, parted mouth frozen like a haunted scream, but the vizard is nothing but dull with its aimless attempt to scare. Anamnesis, had it not been from the circumstances, you would have laughed at it.

You almost did.

“Hi,”

The voice is muffled, the sound marching to familiarity, to hesitance, to realization, to disbelief. You let out a shaky huff, your weapon trembling in your grasp.

“Eddie?”

His glove moves like a blur to remove his mask.

Eddie’s breathless and sweaty, droplets of blood splattered from his neck up to his jaw, the sanguine blood creating symbiotic art with his opalescent skin. He smiles, corners of his lips almost meeting his eyes, his dimples deep with pride, and his whiskey orbs wide in redolent mentality.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he tilts his head to the side, his crepuscular mouth still managing to make you swoon and forget about the horrors that cover his body. “Sorry I’m late, sweetheart,”

His hand gently pushes the knife down and you oblige, dropping it to the ground in a loud clatter that makes you wince.

Your head flips between him and the sliding doors behind you, which still shows Andy’s corpse from the flashlight you left.

“What did you do?” you query, bottom lip quivering as you look back at Eddie. He shrugs with no care, his eyebrows raised to his forehead.

“I killed them,” he says bluntly, his smile falling a little. “I told you I could kill more than just a rat, babe,”

“Wh-what so you just—decided to suddenly kill them? While we were talking about- about rats and shit?!”

Eddie shakes his head, worry filling his features. Though, he’s worried more at the fact that you may fear him for what he’s done. He bends down, his bloody, gloved hands reaching to grasp your shoulders, which causes the thick substance to stain your white sweater.

“No, baby, no,” he tuts, pouting a little, his hands smearing themselves over your clothing like he’s trying to clean his hands before he cups your face, his gloved thumbs wiping your barely there tears. “I was already thinking about this months ago. Rage does something to your mind, sometimes,”

You whimper and his features soften. “What- what do you mean?”

“Sweetheart, I just told you,” he pushes your hair away, patting it down. “I was mad. I am mad. I couldn’t just sit there and let them taunt me when I’m all defenseless, baby. Life isn’t like that—you’re supposed to fight back.”

“Fight back, not kill them!” you say through gritted teeth, chest heaving brokenly. “Eddie, you’ll go to jail. People will find out,”

“They won’t, baby. Not with this mask,” he takes it from the counter, the absence of his hand from one of your cheeks leaves something cold on your bare skin. “Besides, no one’s roaming around, remember? Everyone’s at the town fair, and we don’t have any surveillance cameras now, do we?”

You sniffle, can’t decide between leaning in his covered hand or flinching away from the smell of blood. But his eyes—Eddie’s eyes, oh, you can see well every shift of emotion, desecrating each one with something new and peculiar; he exceeds the threshold of creativity with it, almost like an actor. Just… more quixotic.

Yet, despite your knowledge of it, you’re still surprised and fooled with the way the madness in his eyes swiftly changed into something like begging and forbearance. How all that insanity melts and twinkles into silk kindness, like he’s your Eddie again.

He sees your fear.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” his hands leave your face for a moment to discard his blemished gloves. Your heart relaxes at the feeling of his rough palms on your soft cheeks, eyes scanning his blood doused rings. “You know I love you, (y/n). I could never, never ever, hurt you,”

Eddie’s anger has clemency incarcerated; all that self-restraint had finally become impuissant. You couldn’t blame him for finally snapping.

“And,” he continues. “You wanted this too, remember? All that taunting, all the horrible things they said to you. And I know it’s all because of me, princess. So I had to handle it. It’s all in my hands, baby.” his fingers travel down to yours, bringing your hands up to his lips and kisses each dip of your knuckle. “Yours are all pretty and clean. Sinless,”

“I wanted them to pay. I didn’t want them to die—”

“Sweetheart, you did,” Eddie says sternly. “I did this for you. Before we go away to stupid college.”

You start sobbing again and he shushes you. You don’t know why tears aren’t rolling down your face and it frustrates you.

“You killed them,” you spit out. “That’s- that’s murder…”

“No shit,” he snorts.

“It’s wrong,” you blink rapidly, nostrils flaring. “You killed them, Eddie. And you expect me to- to what? Think of this as some sort of gift? Dead people as a gift?”

Now, he’s angry. His face hardens, his jaw clenching. Eddie shakes his head like a disappointed father at you.

“Learn how to appreciate things that are done for you, (y/n).” he says loudly. “They deserve it. They’re bullies. And bullies need to be punished,” Like a switch, though, his anger morphs into exasperation. “Baby, you know I love you, right?”

You only stare at him with whimpers trying to escape your mouth.

Eddie grasps your face tighter, you wince. “You know that I love you?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, nodding rapidly. “Yes. I- I know.”

“Then let’s celebrate it, okay?” Eddie’s face moves closer to you, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. “No more bother, am I right?”

Letting out an exhale, you shake your head.

“Good,”

Eddie leans down to capture your lips on his own, feverishly and almost passionately. Your hands wrap around his wrist when he tilts your head back as he straightens his spine, his mouth venturing deeper to let his tongue wander inside.

He smells of dirt and sweat, with whoever’s blood around his neck. The surrounding thought of death continues to imprison your mind, but Eddie overpowers it. Now, it’s just Eddie, Eddie, blood, hunger, and Eddie.

You try not to moan when his lips break away from yours, kissing his way from your cheeks down to your jawline, littering heat ‘till he reaches that spot of yours he knows you love so much.

Eddie spins you around until the dip of your spine meets the countertop. Your hands grasp tightly at his shoulders, eyes fluttering as he sucks and bites at your sweet spot like it’s his breakfast, his hands leaving his face to clutch and grasp at the swell of your ass.

Your periphery shows you the blurred image of Dead Andy once more, but you’re starting not to care. Not when Eddie licks up at your salty skin. His fingers dance from your ass until he’s gripping your thighs and lifting you up to the counter.

“Fuck, uh, Eds,” conscience tells you what you’re doing is wrong. That moral doer of an angel whispering in your ear. You almost succumbed to her. But the devil tells you to keep going. Fulfill your fantasies. You’re already there.

He pulls away from your neck, leaving short kisses on your lips repetitively. “God- you’re so pretty,”

His bare hands start to wander everywhere. Eddie clutches at the end of your shirt, urging you to move your arms up and you do. He discards the bloody sweater and throws it somewhere.

“Do you trust me?” Eddie asks.

With your whole heart. You don’t know.

“Yeah,” you sigh against him.

His hand moves behind him and pulls something shiny out. You frown at it.

“Is that my dad’s knife? Eddie, I told you—”

“I know, I know,” he chuckles. “Just wanted to have some fun, baby. Don’t worry, I’ll clean it.”

The weapon still had blood on it, dripping down to the handle, the curved tip, slick with crimson substance. You wonder whose it is.

He’s careful with it, making sure not to cut you with it, as his eyes wander over your bra. Eddie licks his lips at it, biting his bottom lip at the sight of the white lace that covers your ample tits.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he questions in a gentle susurration. You nod when you feel the wet knife drag down your stomach, a line of crimson painting your skin. “Words.”

“Yes,” Eddie looks at your wondrous gaze, cut short when the undulated tip dips inside your belly button and your head lulls back. “Y-yes,

Eddie’s knife, now owned by him from the sinful deed of murder, pulls away from your stomach to swim across your back, the cold spine of it pressing against your back, before the blade pushes up and cuts the fabric of your bra with ease.

“Oh, yeah, that's it,” he chuckles. “Look at your pretty tits babe.”

You don’t look at them. You look at his mesmerized look, watching him lean down to take a nipple into his mouth. You gasp, the hand that helps you prop yourself up the counter now grasping his damp curls, tugging at it, which elicits a groan from him.

He sucks at your buds, until they’re puckered and hard, ticklish when he blows air onto them. When he treats the other tit with the same hunger, and they’re all kiss-swollen and sensitive, he squeezes them in his hands before he pulls away.

You lean forward and pull on the collar of his ‘costume’, your mouth heavily watering as it parts, the need for something to fill it up so strong. Eddie chuckles, flips the knife in his hand until the bloody blade sits in his open palm and the black handle comes up to rest on your tongue.

You could practically see his cock bulging out from the black robe that covers him. Eddie coos when your lips wrap around the handle, the flat of your tongue pressing up on it.

“Get on your knees, sweetheart,”

Immediately, you do. With death no longer prevailing in your mind, you fall to your knees, the ends of his robe meeting your thighs. Eddie's hands disappear behind his robe, and you watch him until you see it loosen and fall behind him to the ground.

“Oh my god, you’re not wearing any jeans?” you look up at him through your eyelashes.

“This robe is heavy and it’s hot. I would die first before I killed them,” he snickers. You pull on the band of his boxers, driving them down until his cock springs up and his swell tip slaps up his shirt.

Eddie almost rips his shirt apart, tossing it where his robe was. You spit down your hand, a glob of white down your palm before you wrap it around his shaft. He moans.

“A little tighter baby,” you squeeze and he sighs. “Yeah, that’s it. Put that mouth into good use, come on.”

With something pooling in the apex of your thighs, your mouth hovers over his head, and you engulf its thickness into your mouth and suck. Both your hands pump him in a tight grasp, which makes his ass clench and buck up in your mouth that you gag at the sudden impact of his tip hitting the back of your throat.

You pull out and gasp, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his dick, your lipstick smudged all over his veiny base. You blink away the tears from your eyelashes, Eddie’s hands on top of your head but not forcing you down on him.

“Let me fuck your face, princess,” he pleads. “Relax your throat and let me do it, ‘kay?”

Your jaw practically unhinges, his musk heavily filling your nose that meets the tush of curls above his cock when he goes all the way in. Eddie moans a bit louder, the salty precum leaking down your loosened throat. His thrusts are slow, and albeit his previous aggression, he’s calm with the way he fucks your mouth dumb.

Hands greedy, they search for his heavy sack full of cum and play with them, unable to jerk his length when it’s deep in your mouth. Eddie laughs out a groan, his throbbing head twitching against your tongue, his thighs shaking and his hips involuntarily bucking again.

“Fuck, yeah, that’s it,” he cards his fingers through your hair, pushing it back until it’s wrapped in his hand like a makeshift ponytail. Your cheeks enclose around him, the lewd wet sounds of his slick cock being lathered by your tongue and saliva accompanied by his moans, your gags, and your humming.

You tug on his balls, cupping the squishy, loose flesh. You breathe in his spirituous scent, looking at him like you’d been praying to Hades; nothing but pliant as his dick names you stupid.

And Eddie—Eddie looks down at you like you’re the most precious thing he’s seen, awaiting to be corrupted but he thinks you already have been.

He keeps pulling out and fucking back in until real tears pour down your cheeks. Your lips all swollen and inflamed from the rough friction, eyes cockdrunk he’s amused with this sight of you all used up beneath him.

“Look at you, such a slut,” he coos, a soft tsk from his tongue. Two of his fingers tap your sucked cheeks as he continues to thrust into your face. Your head shakes as you take him deeper, smiling wickedly around him, teeth grazing lightly on his skin but fuck does he love it. “H-holy shit. Oh, god—”

His stomach clenches, his happy trail slick with sweat. It’s a telltale sign that he’s close and you keep on letting him fuck your face like it’s your dripping cunt. You suck his cock with every fiber being that builds you, until Eddie’s yelling and loud with his moan as he spills in your mouth.

That hot, pearlescent seed of his falls down your throat, its saltiness makes you mewl, swallowing every bit of his spent. Eddie’s hips stutter into your mouth, spurting and spurting until his dick aches and he pulls out.

“You alright?” his hands massage the sides of your neck, thumbs rubbing your throat. “Didn’t hurt, did it?”

“No,” you sigh. “Now come and fuck me, Ghostface. I’m tired of all this foreplay thing.”

Eddie laughs at your impatience, hands bunching up the fabric of your underwear before he rips it apart. Then he lifts you back up onto the counter, his knees nudging your legs apart, the slickness of your pussy dribbling down to the table.

“You and your inability to wait and have fun, sweetheart,” he leans down to kiss you, though it's more like wet pecks that litter across your head. “You’re taking the fun away,”

You pout. He kisses it again. “This whole thing is taking too long. Just— Eddie!”

“Okay, okay,” he grabs a hold of his cock, the other tight on the dips of your waist. “I got you, babe.”

He slaps his still sensitive tip on your clit, sending jolts of pleasure that shivers from your heat to your back down to your legs. You whine softly, bucking your hips forward, until Eddie finally slips his head in your tight hole.

When he pushes in and finally settles deep inside your warm cunt, you feel full. In the way you wanted to be filled. You forget the fact that your boyfriend—who’s cockdeep inside your cunt—has killed someone and left them tied up at your backyard and now you’re having sex.

You don’t care. It’s been your plan all along anyway.

Eddie’s tip meets your cervix through a rough, blissful stab. He doesn't start slow like what he did with your mouth; no, he's brutal. Unforgiving with his bloodthirsty hip snapping. You moan loudly at each thrust, your nails scraping along his back.

You see the blood splattered across his tattoos, like his cloak had been futile at its attempt to keep his sacred body clean. The demon sure brought itself to life, dripping down to his hip and smeared across his bone, and Eddie never looked more alluring.

The bright lights of the kitchen adds a sheen layer of pandemonium that splits between risqué endeavors; it exudes sex in the way that can only enthrall you, Eddie’s mind gone to mayhem from all that pent up emotions.

Cunt squelching from that wetness created by the taste of his cum still swimming on your tongue, you leave marks on his skin like he’s your art. Bloodied and bruised up Eddie should be everyone’s worst nightmare, you think. He’s karma brought to life.

With his blinding thrusts, you don’t notice him picking up his knife again, only to drag its crooked tip right on the soft column of your neck that’s covered in hickies. You smile a little, too drunk on the feeling of Eddie’s cock going in and out of your silky sex.

“What are you doing?” you pant, hands lazily wrapping around his neck. “You gonna slit my throat open?”

“Nah, babe,” his tongue pokes out in concentration, dragging the flat belly of the knife across. “Just gonna nick you for the hell of it. Just—”

There’s a shling sound of a sharp knife piercing lightly through your skin. From the kiss of the knife, you moan painfully, your hand wrapping around Eddie’s neck subconsciously as the searing affliction ricochets in a rapture whirlwind down your spine.

Eddie exclaims in pride; you feel the blood drip down your skin, pulsing and extravasating coldness. He slopes and presses the flat of his tongue to lap up at your thick ichor, mewling at your taste the same time you gasp out silent screams at his relentless fucking.

“You taste so fucking amazing,” he murmurs against your now blood-deluged flesh. Eddie consumes it all. “Wish I could just fucking carve my name onto you.”

You clench tight onto him, like you’re sucking him into you. Eddie’s eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Oh- oh, she likes that, doesn’t she?”

“Do that—shit, oh!– do that next t-time,” you giggle onto his hair that you clutch like a vice, his hot tongue continues swimming arousal down your split cunt.

His skin slapping against yours sounded like a hypnotizing siren, which kind of ameliorates the bawdiness of the shlick sounds of your pussy engulfing his luxuriant dick.

Eddie stabs the knife down on the countertop, places a hand behind you and the other wrapped around your sweaty waist and fucks you into oblivion. Your moans become carnally loud, enough to drive the neighbors away but also enough to appease your boyfriend.

And at each thrust—everytime he pulls you down to meet his hips—your orgasm protrudes on you like a knife. Closer and closer until it’s deep into your flesh and almost peeking out of your epidermis. You mewl into Eddie’s ear.

“I’m gonna cum,” you choke out. “Fuck– don’t– don’t stop. Don’t stop, don't stop, don't stop.”

Shameless, mimicked wails of ecstasy, cascading into soft ‘uhs’ when your lips dance across his earlobe. Eddie wedges his thumb between the place that leaves him wondering where he starts and where he ends, rubs your bundle of nerves that has been grinding against his coarse pubes in perpetuity.

“Gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” he grunts against your temple. “Go–shit–a-and cum for me, baby. Come on. Be a good girl and cum,”

Obeying him, you gush all over his sensitive cock that spills inside your trembling walls. Your hips stutter in the air, clenching, cunt guzzing all of his spunk. Eddie lets out one last moan before he slumps against you, his curls sticking to your skin.

You pull away, finally meeting Eddie’s usual wide, baby brown eyes full of wonder and excitement. “Hi.”

“Hi sweetheart,” Eddie kisses your cheek. “You did amazing, babe,” while he doesn't pull out, he does pull his hand out for a high five. Your palm meets his. “Love the crying bit, by the way. You could be in, like, a Stanley Kubrick film.”

Eddie pushes your hair behind your ears and leaves a peck on your lips as he swipes the sweat away.

“You said you wanted the roleplay to be convincing,” you argue playfully. “I seriously don’t like how you touched my dad’s collection, Eds,”

“It was for a good cause,” his cock softens inside you, and so does Eddie. “Baby, I didn’t scare you, did I?”

“Not at all,” you wrap your arms lazily around his neck, brushing his hair. “We signed up for this, remember? Killing them has always been our plan before we left. We just added the sex thing to have some fun,”

“You’re right,” he nods, eyes squinting. “No porn film can exceed the greatness of our roleplay. The killer, and the helpless little lamb. Shit, that could be the title,”

“The Horny Killer, and The Sexy Little Lamb,”

“Better,” Eddie kisses your nose, you giggle. “Wanna see Jason and Chance’s bodies?”

A year ago, your patience had been bound tightly around your heart. You were understanding, kind; nothing but a vestibule of angelicum.

That is, until you met the devil that succumbed into your sinful desires.

Eddie wasn’t like this before. But truthfully, he actually did just snap. He let all his frustrations go—from watching the light leave someone’s eyes, to fucking you like there’s no tomorrow.

His van doors open, tossing Andy’s heavy body into the back, right between Jason and Chance’s horrifyingly mutilated bodies. All their skins pale and their eyes defunct. You place your hands on your hips.

“Where’s Patrick?” you ask him.

“He was nice. Didn’t have the heart to kill him,” he pouts, wrapping his arm around your back and kissing your temple. “I was thinking of hanging them at the gym tomorrow on the last day? Right before I kill Principal Higgins?”

“Sounds like a great idea,” you rest your head on his shoulder.

Originally, you only planned on roleplaying. No murder, no knives, no fright, no blood. But there’s no harm in going a little bit psycho with this whole sex extravaganza. Everyone had their own kinks.

You’re just lucky enough Eddie felt the same.

You pick up the mask and put it over your head, Eddie’s faint scent of cigarettes and alcohol burning your nose. “I get to wear this next time, right?”

“Of course,” Eddie smiles. “But, you get to carve your initials on me next time.”

“Deal.”

reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ♡

#eddie munson one shot #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #ghostface!eddie #eddie munson #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut

2K notes · View notes

filmnoirsbian · 11 months

Text

Things read in May

Essays & Articles:

Ursula K. Le Guin on Being A Man

Investigating parents of transgender youth has agency on ‘brink of collapse,’ staff warns

Five Indigenous Speculative Fiction Authors You Should Be Reading

DECOLONIZING SCIENCE FICTION AND IMAGINING FUTURES: AN INDIGENOUS FUTURISMS ROUNDTABLE

Using Dogs As A Tool of Racial Oppression

Rings of Power: The new hobbits are filthy, hungry simpletons with stage-Irish accents. That’s $1bn well spent

First case of HIV cure in a woman after stem cell transplantation reported at CROI-2022

The Trees That Miss The Mammoths

NOPE’S SCIENCE CONSULTANT REVEALS THE NAME AND INSPIRATION FOR THE MOVIE’S ALIEN

Reflections on the Poetry of Eavan Boland

The dire state of trans healthcare in Ireland

How Letterkenny Got Indigenous Representation So Right

Einstein's Parable of Quantum Insanity

Surgical amputation of a limb 31,000 years ago in Borneo

Most Transgender Children Stick With Gender Identity 5 Years Later: Study

Were you a ‘parentified child’? What happens when children have to behave like adults

Fear of a Black Hobbit

It’s a ‘Full-Contact’ Haunted House. What Could Go Wrong?

The Craft: How a Teenage Weirdo Based on a Real Person Became an Icon

Remember When Multiplayer Gaming Needed Envelopes and Stamps?

‘We’ll Never Make That Kind of Movie Again’ An oral history of The Emperor’s New Groove, a raucous Disney animated film that almost never happened.

5 Incredible Sagas of Fandom Scams and Deception

I Used to Love British Period Dramas. Now I See Them as Colonial Propaganda

Why gender essentialism is a white supremacist ideology

Liberating Our Homes From the Real Estate–Industrial Complex

You Don’t Have To Be Pretty – On YA Fiction And Beauty As A Priority

Ten Years Later, There’s Still Nothing Like Tarsem Singh’s The Fall

Tolerance is not a moral precept

Scottish Poet and Publisher Derick Thomson 'Transformed' Gaelic Poetry

Poetry:

The Universe, as in One Last Song for the Lonely Hearts by Michelle Hulan

An Ordinary Evening in New Haven by Wallace Stevens

Heaven by George Herbert

Return from Death by Derick Thomson

Coffins by Derick Thomson

Chemin De Fer by Elizabeth Bishop

Yes, It Was The Mountain Echo by William Wordsworth

The Man and the Echo by William Butler Yeats

The Most of It by Robert Frost

Eros Turannos by Edwin Arlington Robinson

Books:

The Dark Yule by R. M. Callahan

The Invasion by K. A. Applegate

The Whisper by Aaron Starmer

House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

Miss Iceland by Auður Ava Ólafsdóttir

#tcp #this is late bc i just kept forgetting to post it all lol #an open window #articles #essays #poetry

490 notes · View notes

bemyawakening · 1 year

Note

Omg yesss please more Alejandro! There isn't enough stories about him.

Task force 141 meeting Alejandro Vargas wife for first time.

I imagine her being a badass soldier and medic at same time. After they reclaim the base and gather up wounded she arrives and heals people and commands everybody and price or somebody asks if she is Alejandros 3rd in command or something and Alejandro is like no she is above me and introduces her as his wife and she meets the whole task force after she is done and thanks them for helping Alejandro and she scolds Alejandro because he made her worry but he only smiles and hugs her.

ALEJANDRO VARGAS X f!READER

Thank you so much for your request agh! I absolutely love Alejandro and I was definitely not licking my screen whenever he showed up on it. Somehow, I think a bad-ass wife would suit him so well, so here you go! if it’s horrible— I’m so sorry

pairing: Alejandro Vargas x f!reader (medic and soldier reader)

word count: 1994

Your bouncing leg was driving not only you but the two medics sitting in the same room insane. Where the fuck were they? Checking your wristwatch, you were sure you were going to have a heart attack in approximately five seconds, but you had to calm yourself – he always came back.

The roaring vehicle from the outside alerted you and you sprang from your seat faster than lightning. You kept swearing to yourself that you’ll never ever let him get into another mission again and you’ll write him off any mission coming his way. You had the authority to do that.

However, the distant yells fogged up her mind, letting her know that someone was badly injured—fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck… Two soldiers appeared, helping a wounded British soldier get inside of the medical room. You knew that the Special Forces from England united with the Mexican Special Forces for this mission and you did the right thing by coming to the base, in case help would be needed.

The man was young and you immediately pointed at a free bed beside the door, watching the way the guys placed him down on the mattress. Walking closer, you pushed a little table with wheels closer to the bed, where the most important stuff was placed – you were prepared, and took a pair of fresh gloves: “Tell me.”

Only then did you realise that one of the men standing beside you had a hairstyle of a Mohawk and it oddly suited him, but you couldn’t put attention on him for too long, since the man on the bed was clearly suffering.

“Bullet wound. Lower thigh. Put on the tourniquet about-“ he looked at his watch, nodding, “one and a half hour ago.”

Nodding, you cut the material of the man’s pants, not even bothered by the amount of dark blood that has drenched them. You had to deal with amputating limbs. This look like a bee sting. “Good news, soldier. You’ll live and you’ll walk.”

“There’s nothing I want more,” the young man replied through his gritted teeth.

Taking a needle, you took a little vial, sucking in the liquid through the needle, and flicking it to get rid of the air bubbles. While working, you informed, your voice collected and professional: “Get other wounded in here. The other medics will take care of them.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the man with the Scottish accent and the Mohawk replied and he disappeared into the chaos, the other soldier following him.

You’d be lying if your eyes didn’t drop on the door every five seconds. Where the fuck was he? Did something happen to him? No, you gripped yourself together. You had to tend to this soldier right now and then bring wrath once you see his face.

“Local anaesthesia,” you informed. “Going to stop the bleeding, take the bullet out and stitch it all up.”

The man nodded, placing his head down and embracing himself for pain. The local anaesthesia helped a lot to bring down the pain, but the discomfort of taking out the bullet was more sickening than painful.

And you worked like a clock. The tourniquet has stopped the bleeding pretty well, meaning no major artery has been breached. Your eyes kept darting to the door, watching a few more soldiers getting taken in—no sign of him. It took some time to take out the bullet which was split into three parts—one of them nastily small. But the man was taking the pain like a champ and soon enough, you left him to rest with a set of stitches and a cold compress against his forehead.

Taking off the bloody gloves, you sighed. The stress was making you feel tenser as you looked through the room, the other medics taking care of the other, not-so-badly wounded soldiers. A few soldiers of your own walked inside of the room and you invited them to come closer.

“What the hell happened?”

“They were ambushed—they successfully cleared out the base, but there were a few others hiding and it almost turned into a bloodbath,” a male, your sergeant, replied and you chewed on your bottom lip.

“¡Buen trabajo!” You slightly tapped his shoulder, excusing him as you walked towards the main part of the base where some of them should be gathered.

And then you saw him. With blood on his face. Fuck, he was hurt, he was hurt, he was hurt… The worry was making you feel rage. You completely ignored the other guys that were looking at you as if you were crazy, but you just made your way to him, watching the way his face lit up as he saw you.

He knew he was in trouble. He knew how worried you always got when he didn’t come back right on time. And, he already knew what you were going to say—you were going to make him retire. But, God, did you look beautiful walking to him with that worried arch between your eyebrows? There was a bit of blood on your shirt, he knows you tended to someone and he didn’t want to bother you.

God, he missed you so much.

“Colonel,” your voice snapped him out of his trance, making him realise that he was in big trouble. You only called him by his rank when he was in the deep.

“Mi amor,” he tried to soothe you down, knowing damn well what his voice and his words did to you. However this time it didn’t seem to be working.

The worried sparkle in your eyes was making him feel guilty—he never intends to make you worry. He never intends to make you feel as if he would not come back. He’d always make his way back to you. Always.

“¿Qué sucedió?” Your tone was rough and he deserved it, but he knew you weren’t actually mad. You were terrified for him.

Instead of you pulling him into a hug as he has hoped for, you grasped his vest, took it off him and dropped it on the floor. You were inspecting him, seeing if there were any ripped or bloody parts in his attire, before your eyes raised to his head, at the top of his forehead, a bit to the right - there was a nasty wound that has already dried up.

Your lips trembled.

“You’re retiring! You better write your fucking resigning letter right now or I swear to fucking God, Alejandro, I will kick you out of the Special Forces myself!” Your voice raised and you meant every single word that has come out of your mouth. You were hitting his chest, not too hard, letting him know how much he has put you through misery.

Alejandro couldn’t help but smile. He always found your worry sincere and heart-warming. He admired the way you didn’t care about making a scene and he knew well that you were about to drag his ass out of this base and not let him get in here anymore. You had the authority.

“Tranquila, mi amor, tranquila,” his voice was soothing and he could see the welling tears in your eyes. He grabbed your hands that were having a brawl with his chest and softly squeezed them, pulling you closer. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You loathed the soft tone of his voice. You loathed how quickly it calmed you down. And you especially loathed the way you became a lump of jelly once his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a tight hug.

Letting yourself breathe out with more ease, you closed your eyes, giving in to his warmth. His heartbeat was slightly faster, but it announced to you that he was alive. He was here. Your Alejandro was here, with you.

Nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, he inhaled your scent—home. He was home. He could feel the way your body was slowly relaxing and he realised that he would actually let you drop him out of the Special Forces. The thought about waking up every morning with you by his side, without the need to worry if both of you will make it back home… Little kids running around your home, cooking together… That was his dream. You were his dream.

Pulling away, you placed your hands on his cheeks, the worried expression on your face not fading away. You inspected the wound—perhaps a few stitches will be necessary. He couldn’t help but admire you. There was something so soothing when you looked at him with that concerned look. He knew he was in good hands. Every touch of yours was so gentle and he cherished them all.

“Didn’t think I’d see Alejandro getting his ass threatened,” the familiar Scottish accent made you both pull away from one another, but not too far. Alejandro couldn’t keep his hands off you.

“Hermanos, this is my wife. Responsible for my early retirement,” Alejandro slightly pointed at you with his hand as you looked at the several men standing there.

“It’s a pleasure,” the Scottish guy replied.

“I was told that Captain Price will be also joining this mission,” you spoke, wondering which one of them you will have to cooperate with doing the paperwork.

“It’s me, ma’am,” one of the guys took off his cap, showing his face as he was a bit older than everyone in the room with a beard.

“Pleasure,” you nodded, diverting your attention to Rodolfo. “The same goes for you Rodolfo—say goodbye to this base.”

“Teniente coronel,” Rodolfo winced.

“Hold on!” The Scottish guy gasped, extending his arms in a dramatic motion. “Lieutenant Colonel? Your wife has a higher rank than you?”

Alejandro nodded – he never had issues with you being with a high rank. On the contrary, he found it very pleasing that calling you formally would get you melting like a piece of chocolate on a sunny day.

“Yes,” you nodded. It was normal for you to get this kind of reaction—there weren’t many women with your rank or higher. And you were still quite young, but ambitious to get this far. “Now, I’ll get back to all of you in quite some time before I solve some issues with my Colonel.”

Grasping his arm, you were making your way back into the medical room. Alejandro was following you like a lost puppy, watching you the way you tried to stay angry.

“Señora,” he stopped you as soon as both of you were in a bit more hidden corridor, sneaking his hands up your waist. “I know I made you worry-”

“Alejandro,” you warned him with your rough tone. You had to stay strong. How many times have you melted into his touch without giving him a proper scolding?

“Mi amor,” he whispered, that innocent, but a slightly cheeky smile on his face—damn it. “I will make it up to you.”

Rolling your eyes, you crossed your arms over your chest, but that didn’t stop him from pulling you as close as he could against him. “I’ll take that resignation letter as making up.”

Chuckling, he placed his hands on your cheeks, feeling the warmth radiating from them. How much he loved when you looked at him with slightly flustered eyes—the things you were doing to him. Kissing his palm, you slightly shook your head: “I’m serious, Alejandro. You’re retiring on your own wish or I’ll kick you out myself. It was silly for me to keep you going on those missions. I want you in our house. I want you in the mornings. I want you beside me every night.”

Feeling the seriousness of this situation, he was taken aback because he has wished the same things for both of you. He wanted to protect his people and he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave his job completely, but he’d try to be home more. For you.

Pressing his lips to your forehead, he hummed against your skin, nudging his head down for his forehead to meet yours. “Fine,” he whispered. “Anything for you.”

#sunnywrites!#alejandro vargas imagine #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas x you #call of duty imagine #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare

2K notes · View notes

ashyyslashy · 1 year

Text

Call Me: Renfield x GN!Reader

You work at a hotline for people suffering with codependence. You find yourself attracted to an odd guy who frequents the line, and one night, you both let down your guards.

word count: 2,039

warnings: sexual content (orgasm denial, phone sex, praise kink, m! masturbation), language

tags: @kpopgirlbtssvt @karmakaoskk-blog @wrldsapart

You were deeply intrigued the first time you heard his voice. Unmistakably kind yet nervous. Soft, subdued, as if he was making himself smaller even over the phone. You surmised that he was used to being unseen, to shrinking away from others' gaze.

He introduced himself as Robert Montague Renfield, in a British accent permeating with gentle formality. He was instinctively charming, yet there was a certain sorrow you caught lurking in his voice.

He was tight-lipped about his codependent situation for the first few calls, only telling you vague details about his boss' narcissism. Whenever you brought up the subject of what exactly he did for work, however, he was decidedly evasive in his responses. The most you could glean was that he was some sort of assistant, but you couldn't say what for.

You could say that his life revolved around his job. Every time he called you - after the first time you talked he'd always ask to speak to you whenever he called the hotline - he seemed fearful he could be pulled away at any moment. Guilty about taking time to himself.

You tried not to pressure him, allowed him time to become more comfortable. After several calls, he was still secretive about his work, but he slowly started confiding in you. He struggled to develop his own identity under the shadow of his boss. He felt deeply alone, unable to connect with others. He often felt controlled by feelings of hatred and discontent towards himself.

When your shift ended one night, you acted on impulse - you gave him your personal number, telling him to call you any time. You wouldn't normally do something that forward, but you were drawn to him. Your conversations at work never felt long enough. He was hesitant at first, anxious about taking up your free time. But you assured him it was what you wanted.

The two of you exchanged photos, and your attraction multiplied. The selfies he had sent you were hilariously awkward, the angle unflattering and the lighting reminding you of the harsh fluorescents of a hospital room.

But you didn't care. Despite his inability to work a cell phone camera, he was otherworldly. Piercing blue eyes, dark hair against pale skin; exactly how you'd imagine the love interest in a gothic novel. Something inside you craved him with a fervor that you believed had been long dulled by monotony and routine.

This night, you'd brought up the topic of romance. You couldn't let the curiosity eat away at you any longer of whether or not you had any chance with him. He had laughed nervously, before telling you he hadn't pursued someone in years. You knew you shouldn't, but you pressed the subject.

"Well, any short-term relationships, flings?"

"No, no one."

"Not even a one-night stand?" You paused. "I'm not passing any judgement, by the way. Romance in the 21st-century is so shitty, if you can even call it that sometimes."

He laughed again, the uncomfortable edge in his voice increasing.

"Yeah, it's.. strange. But to answer your question, no. Um, I haven't done anything like that in a while."

"I mean, I think hook-up culture is kind of fucked. You're better off."

"No, I didn't mean it like that. Uh, I haven't done anything sexual."

You hesitated. "Like.. ever?"

"No, no, no, I've done it. Just not for a long time. I- I kind of have a mental block."

"What do you mean?"

"You know how I said it kind of feels like my boss is always in my head?"

"Yeah, I remember. Do you want to talk about it more now?"

"No, no, I just don't know how to explain what I'm trying to say. I feel like.. I can't do anything.. like that. Like, uh, sexual. Even if it's just alone. I don't know. I feel like he's there watching me or something, and then that kind of just makes me want to.. you know, stop."

You took a beat, processing his words.

"Are you referring to, uh, pleasuring yourself?"

He swallowed audibly. "Yeah. Sorry, that was.. I shouldn't have brought that up."

"No, that's okay. If this unhealthy relationship with your boss is an issue that's affecting your sense of privacy, and interrupting personal rituals such as, um, masturbation, I think we need to discuss it."

This conversation had certainly not gone where you expected it to, but you attempted to remain somewhat professional as you felt the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Your work is only part of you," you steamrolled on, taking advantage of his embarrassed silence. "We've talked about this - how it, how he, doesn't define your entire identity. This is an example of something in your life that has been deterred by your codependence: your inability to fulfill your own sexual needs."

"Oh. I didn't even think of it that way, but you're completely right. Shit."

"I usually am."

"So, uh, what do you think I should do about it?" he said.

You were completely unable to read his tone. He sounded so utterly earnest despite the fact that he was asking you how he should comfortably fulfill his sexual needs. You decided to test the waters.

"Um, where are you right now?"

"I'm in the apartment I rent. I was scared my boss would overhear our calls if I stayed there."

Your eyebrows shot up involuntarily. "...So you went and rented an apartment?"

"Uh, he has a lot of money."

"Yeah, I guess he does." You cleared your throat. You were trying desperately not to lose your nerve. "You're alone, right?"

"Yes."

"And you trust me?"

"Of course I do."

"I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to only say yes if it's what you want. Okay?"

Fuck, you were really doing this.

"Okay," he replied.

"Um, well... How would you feel if you.. did it? On call with me? I could guide you, make sure you feel comfortable." You held your breath as you heard only silence from the other end.

"Er.. do what, exactly?"

"Um. Touch.. yourself. Shit. I'm sorry. I realize I should not be asking this-"

"Yes. I want to," he cut you off, his words so rapid they blurred together.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I really like you. And like I said, I trust you. I'm also, uh, very, very attracted to you."

"I feel the same about you," you said softly.

"Tell me what to do," he responded breathlessly. You could hear him shifting around on the other end of the line.

"I've never done this, before, uh.. are you hard?" You cringed. "I really hated how that sounded. Fuck."

He laughed, quiet and musical. "Yes. I was almost as soon as you brought this up."

"Okay, we should probably, um, establish some ground rules. If you want to tap out, just tell me you're done. We can never speak of it again. And tell me if anything I tell you to do makes you uncomfortable. But, uh, there is one thing I want to do, if you're okay with everything else."

"Yes?"

"I want to be the one who controls when you cum."

"I'm at your service," he breathed.

Your heart skipped a beat. "Don't make me sound like your boss."

"I'm not gonna be hard for much longer now that you brought him up."

"Shit. I'm really bad at this, Renfield," you laughed.

"No, no. Just give me your instructions, please."

It was hard to ignore your own arousal pooling in your stomach, the wetness that was rubbing against you when you moved. "Okay. Uh, remove your clothes."

You heard shuffling for a minute as he complied. "Done."

You braced yourself for the next sentence. "Alright. I want you to start stroking yourself, gently."

"Am I allowed to use some kind of lubricant?" he asked.

You tried to stifle a laugh. "Yes, whatever works. You don't have to ask permission for that."

You heard squelching sounds on the other line, and then the unmistakable sound of him slowly stroking his cock.

"Hey, uh, I have something to ask you," he said softly, stopping.

"What is it?"

"Could you, um.. praise me? You know, tell me I'm doing a good job, and everything? Comfort me, I guess." His voice swelled with hope and maybe something like shame.

You hated that he probably never heard anything like this, that he was looked down upon and berated daily. You desired so strongly to be there with him, to show him how perfect he was with your touch and not simply your words.

"Yeah, of course." You waited a moment until you heard him resume.

"You're so eager to please me, huh? I bet you look so fucking hot right now, stroking yourself to the sound of my voice. You're so good for me, aren't you?" you drawled.

"Yes," he murmured. "I think I should let you pick up the pace, since you're doing so well. What do you think?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay. Faster."

You heard him comply on the other line, the sounds of slapping against skin increasing in intensity and his stifled groans amplified.

"Do you have a TV?"

"What? Oh- u-uh, yeah."

"Stop for a moment. Turn it on and turn up the volume loud enough that anyone walking by can hear."

"Al-alright."

You waited.

"Okay, I did. Can I keep going now, please?"

"Yes, but I don't want you to muffle yourself. I want you to be loud for me. I wanna hear you."

"O- okay." He allowed the moans and grunts to leave his mouth freely, the droning of some news program playing in the background.

"Shit, you sound so beautiful. Don't stop, okay?"

"Mhm," he murmured through the noises of pleasure. You shut your eyes and allowed his exclamations to fill your ears.

"I-I'm close. Can I cum?" His voice was pleading, desperate.

"Not yet. Keep going. Just a little longer, okay, keep being good. You can do that, right? And then I'll let you cum."

"Y-yes," he sputtered, a hungry edge in his voice.

"So fucking good for me. Do you wish it was me getting you off instead of your hand?"

"Yes, s-so badly," he forced out through sighs of pleasure. "I think about you all the time. I-I'm so glad I met you. I didn't think you'd- like me too."

"Of course I do. How could I not?" you whispered affectionately.

He hummed in appreciation. "Fuck, you're so gorgeous."

He grew louder, his noises more strained. You continued your soft words of encouragement, turned on by the effect they had on him.

"Can I cum now? P-please?" He begged.

"Do you think you deserve it?"

"Y-yes, I think so. But only if you do too."

"Okay. I think you do. Cum for me."

He let out a loud moan, pumping in rapid succession until he slowed and stopped, breathing heavy. The two of you sat in silence for a few seconds as he came down from his high, his panting slowing.

"You did so well, Robert. It felt good, didn't it?" you prompted.

"So good. And you- you were perfect."

"I wish I could see you right now."

"I want to see you too. I don't want this to only happen once. I loved it, doing this for you. Thank you." His voice was full of adoration.

"It was for yourself, too. But I can't pretend I wouldn't enjoy if you thought about me every time you jerked off."

"Who else would I want to think about? It's you, always."

You flushed, smiling at his words. You wanted to talk longer, but there was an urgent problem that you didn't think you could delay any further. "Hey, I'm really glad we did this. Are you good for the night? Do you need me to stay on the line while you clean yourself up?"

"No, it's alright. We'll talk soon, beautiful. I appreciate you so much. Good night."

"Good night, Robert. Sleep well."

You hung up the phone, finally free to attend to your own situation. You laid back on your bed with your hand working its way beneath your unzipped pants, Renfield's noises of pleasure playing over again in your head.

author's note: renfield is so baby girl <3 and thank you for the continued support my #1 fan (you know who you are)

#renfield movie #renfield 2023 #renfield x reader #nicholas hoult #rm renfield #renfield smut #renfield x reader smut #smut

642 notes · View notes

monzamash · 1 year

Text

when we first met — charles leclerc

summary – the love story of sophia ricciardo & charles leclerc, a story so magical that even a princess would be envious. pairing – daniel ricciardo's sister x charles leclerc (she/her pronouns) warnings – moderate language, implied sex, google translated french word count – 1.6k a/n – thank you @lverofminemcyt for the request! Such a great idea and maybe I'll continue this story in a longer format in the future. But for now, enjoy! masterlist

You were 20 when you met Charles for the first time

– or more accurately, gawked at him from across the paddock at Silverstone. You’d read in the news that there was a rookie driving for Sauber – a young, Monégasque man who by all accounts was the "next big thing" in the world of Formula One. You tried to keep up with the comings and goings of the sport while ignoring all the slander being written about your brother, Daniel. Hard to do but not impossible.

“Is that the new guy?” You asked Max once you were far enough away from the handsome stranger who was heading in the opposite direction. Max followed your eye line and scoffed, visibly irritated by your question.

“Yes but I wouldn’t say he's the new guy. He’s been racing his whole life and the pain in my arse for just as long,” Max grumbled. You weren’t aware of the rivalry between the two young men but after a long, detailed explanation, you understood that Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc had a checkered history.

“He’s not worth your time, Sophia.”

Of course you didn’t listen to Max. The ‘karting incident’ he described when they were literally children sounded like child’s play (because it was) and you weren’t the type to take one persons word for anything. Max had become a fast friend to you in the paddock when you’d join your family on race weekends but he had a reputation for stretching the truth and you weren’t about that.

The first time you were officially introduced to Charles was at Seb Vettel’s birthday party three days after his stunning British GP win. And the celebrations were in full effect. Daniel was also in the points that weekend and practically begged you to come along, not that you needed a lot of convincing. You knew a certain Monégasque driver would be there and you loved a party, especially one thrown at Lewis Hamilton’s lavish London pad.

It didn’t take long for your paths to cross, almost as if you were both searching for a moment to be introduced. Charles had been guilty of staring at you across the paddock on race weekends and it was shocking that the two of you hadn’t officially met yet. But he felt like he knew you already.

“Dunno know if you two have met yet but this is Charles,” Daniel introduced, putting a particularly thick French accent on your new acquaintances name, making you both snicker silently, “And this is my much younger and much less attractive sister, Sophia.” Arsehole.

Charles extended his hand towards you and as cheesy as it sounded, you could feel the sparks flying as your hands clasped together. They were softer than you imagined, bigger than you imagined and boy had you been thinking about them lately – pathetically desperate, of course. His green eyes glistened under the dim lights and you could have sworn they sparkled like in the movies. His dimples danced on his rosy cheeks as he smiled small and it was if time had stopped, you couldn’t look away.

“Hello,” You squeaked out, unable to form a full sentence before Charles stepped in and saved you from total embarrassment, “Nice to meet you, Sophia."

The way your name fell from his perfectly accented lips had you spinning and clutching his hand for way longer than normal. But Charles held on too, taken by your light brown eyes that were gazing into his own. He felt like you were staring into his soul, searching for his darkest secrets and he loved every second – the intensity intrigued him. Your long brown hair cascaded down the back of your silky dark green dress, accentuating every curve that had him scrambling for his words again. He was in love.

“So, yes, your Daniel’s sister,” Charles quickly cleared his throat and gently dropped your hand before stuffing his own, shaky ones into his jean jacket pockets. Get it together, he thought to himself.

“Umm…” You had been so caught up in your daze that you hadn’t realised Daniel had left your side and was making his way around the house, greeting everyone he set eyes on, “Yes… Yep! Danny's little sister.”

Little sister, you grimaced internally. You were hopeless when it came to matters of the heart, which was why you were perpetually single with no end in sight.

“I assumed so,” Charles politely replied with a nod, “So are living here in London or…”

Charles knew the answer to his question. He’d found himself mindlessly scrolling through your Instagram after the Monaco Grand Prix, hoping to find out everything he could about the mystery woman he'd noticed wandering around with the Red Bull Racing team. That’s how he found out you were Daniel’s sister and felt his heart skip a beat when he got to the end of your profile and hadn’t seen a photo of a boyfriend.

He brushed away that thought almost immediately, knowing it was probably a case of wishful thinking. There was no way you were single, he thought. From his perspective you seemed to be the life of the party, much like your older brother. You waltzed around the paddock as if it was your own fashion runway, saying hello to everyone you passed on your walk to the RBR motor homes. Smiling until your cheeks hurt. Charles was convinced you were an angel sent from above.

“Well technically I live in Oxford – doing university there at the moment or at least trying to,” You explained, nipping at your bottom lip nervously, “But Danny has an apartment in London that he rents here and I crash there when he’s away, which is pretty much all the time.”

Charles smiled and tried his best to follow what you were saying. Although he had worked with a few Aussies in his short career, he still struggled to understand some of the lingo from time to time. But he didn’t care if he only understood every fifth word you said. He could've listened to you talk about the fine arts degree you were studying or that the uber you took to the party charged you extra forever and a day. He was utterly captivated.

And that was the beginning of your blossoming friendship. Charles had become your new comrade around the paddock on the off chance you got away from uni and showed up at a race. You had also been making a few extra trips to Monte Carlo to visit your brother – or at least that's what you said to your friends and family. The friendly smile emoji quickly turned into a heart when you signed off a message and you could feel your heartbeat skip every time his name showed up on your screen. Charlie ❤️

Six months. Six whole months of flirting and pretending like you wanted to be anywhere else but with the man of your dreams. Every day started and ended with him, either via text or on Facetime and all that back and forth, wondering which one of you was going to make the first move was answered in a matter of seconds. There’s nothing quite like a few too many glasses of red wine to reveal one’s true feelings.

“I’m in love with you, chéri. Have been since the second I laid my eyes on you.”

The rest of that night with Charles was a blur and before you knew it, you were tangled somewhere between his chest and bed sheets, moaning his name into the cool Monaco air. His fingertips explored every inch of your skin with feverish lips following closely behind, leaving small, barely visible marks as he went. His eyes rarely left yours as you savoured every movement, every kiss, every breath – you wanted it all with him. All those sleepless nights wishing you were the one making him moan with pleasure, hearing your name tumble from his mouth like you’d never heard before. Watching his eyes roll into the back of his skull, gripping, praying that he could hold on a little bit longer. He'd yearned for it for too long to not savour every second.

All your wishes had been answered as you laid in Charles’ arms, slowly returning to earth and closing your weary eyes. Sighs of contentment the only sound swirling through the air.

“Tu es envoyé de ciel, mon amour.” you are heaven sent, my love.

You didn’t speak French but whatever he'd whispered sounded sweet as he gently pressed his lips to your temple and said goodnight.

Whenever you took a second to reflect on your four-year relationship with Charles, you realised that you'd effectively grown up together, side-by-side. He was sitting in the crowded auditorium when you graduated from University, cheering you on when you received your bachelor’s degree and you were standing in pit lane when he won his first GP in Belgium, crying and celebrating in equal measures. You were both very different people compared to the two stuttering 20 year olds loitering in Lewis Hamilton’s mansion, searching for the right words to say.

“I’m so unbelievably in love with you, Charles.” You whispered in Charles’ ear as he popped open the champagne, laughing hysterically when gravity brought the cork back down to earth and landed in your lap.

You couldn’t stop staring at the diamond that now sat proudly on your left ring finger, endlessly pinching yourself that it was real. He’d caught you by surprise on your birthday, no less. Out on the Mediterranean Sea, looking back at the place that you now called home. Charles had anchored down the boat and dropped to one knee before you could even comprehend what was happening. Your hair blowing around in the wind with Monte Carlo twinkling in the background as the only a light source. You bobbed up and down in the bay, not knowing if you were seasick or lovesick - or both. Either way, you were gripping onto Charles for dear life as everything you'd ever wished for came true right in front of your eyes.

He carefully placed the ring on your finger once you whispered a soft ‘yes’ into the ether, eyes teary and smiles the size of the moon on your windswept faces. You couldn’t believe that the man of your dreams had asked you to marry him. You were on top of the world but most of all, you felt like the princess Charles had always claimed you to be.

“And I’m in love with you, Madame Leclerc.”

let me know what you think!

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 #formula one #charles leclerc one shot #monzamash #mmrequested #charles leclerc smut #monzamashmasterlist #formula 1 one shot

950 notes · View notes

pumpk1n-writes · 1 year

Text

Tell Me About The Dark Places You Hide ~ Part Five

➥ in which the reader figures out that their best friends are the infamous Woodsboro Killers and decides to help them rather than turn them in. {ft. Mentions of murder; language; stalking; mentions of the stuff in part four; Billy being an idiot and Stu being an even bigger idiot}

Part Four; Part Six || Word Count ~ 806

Taglist ~ @wasawattpadkid @itzlovelyautumn @katie-tibo @laurajmcmanus

A/N: So… I don’t usually do these lol 😅 but I’m really proud of some of the emotions in this chapter and some of the writing techniques I used in this one are a teensy bit different from what I normally use, so let me know if you like it better than normal or not! I’m just experimenting here!

You were right. School the next day was awkward. But not for you. You couldn’t help the small smile that broke through your mask every time Billy made eye contact with you and flushed a deep red. You caught up to him after class, ignoring the blush dusting his cheeks, and began talking. “I really thought you’d be a better actor, Loomis. You know, considering everything.”

Billy glared at you. He was confused at why you seemed so nonchalant, despite everything that had happened the night before. “What?” Smooth, Billy. Smooth.

“Well, you’re blushing like a madman every time you look at me, which is a lot, considering you can’t stop your eyes from wandering. To me.”

Goddamnit. Billy scowled, which made you laugh. “You really should get better at hiding what you’re thinking, Loomis.” You patted his cheek and walked away, quickly disappearing into the crowd of other seniors. He watched your retreating form as if he was in a trance, unconsciously reaching up to feel where you touched him. He shook his head to snap himself out of it, walking briskly to his fountain.

Goddamnit! He thought once more, seeing that you were already there, talking animatedly to Stu. Billy pulled his best friend away, glaring at your knowing smile. You merely turned around as if nothing happened, however, and began talking to Sidney.

“Stu, I fucked up,” Billy started, running his hand through his hair and gesturing to you.

“Whatever do you mean?” Stu asked in a horrible British accent. “You found one of the hottest people in our school, and got her to hang out with us.”

“So. . .” Billy glanced around. “I may have visited her last night.”

Stu’s jaw dropped. “You what? As. . .?”

“Yeah,” Stu didn’t even need to finish before Billy was interrupting. “Yeah, and somehow, she didn’t die—”

“Obviously.”

“I wasn’t finished, asshole,” Billy was getting more frustrated as this conversation went on. “She may have. . .”

“What? Spit it out,” it was obvious that Stu was also getting frustrated at Billy’s hesitation to finish his thought. “What, did she fuck you or something?”

Billy’s silence told him everything he needed to know.

“No, what? Without me?” Stu gasped in mock hurt. “Why do you get to hog all the action?”

“That’s not all, Stuart! She knows who we are.”

At this point, they’d both walked a ways away from the rest of the group, so they didn’t grow suspicious of Billy’s frantic whispering. The guilt and shame of last night had settled deep between his shoulder blades, but now the panic of you having access to this, the biggest secret of his life, was wriggling it’s way into the deep cavities of his chest.

He wanted to hate you, wished he could will his mind to forget your voice in his ear as he came undone, low and sultry and utterly perfect. He wished he could throw aside the image of your body above him, forget how nice it felt to lose control for once. But no. How easy it was for his mind to wander to the recent fantasy of bending you over a table and making you feel as good as you made him. How easy it was to imagine how delicate you would feel under his fingers.

“We could do our thing?” Stu suggested. “Or kidnap her.”

“Shut up!” Billy glanced around, hoping the strange glances from around them were due to his muted panic attack and not Stu basically incriminating them. “She said that she wanted to help us.”

“Well, how about this. We both visit her tonight, not as you-know-who, just ourselves, and discuss how this will work. Cause we need to get rid of her if we get bad vibes and think she’s gonna turn us in, but maybe we need someone else.”

Billy shook his head and rubbed his temple. “I don’t know, Stu. I don’t want to be anywhere near her after what happened.”

“You mean after she fucked you senseless? What really happened back there? Cause every time you look at her you blush. Sid’s gonna catch on and our entire plan is ruined.”

“So she may have, like, tied me up, or something. And I might have been slightly into it.”

“Ooh, Bill-Bill’s got a bondage kink!” Stu looked delighted. “Did you actually fuck or?”

“No she just, kind of, gave me a handjob and I left. Can we move on?”

Billy was blushing again and Stu seemed to revel in that. “So it’s settled. You’re coming with me tonight and we can hope that we both get action.”

“No!”

Stu shook his head at Billy’s protests, just patting his cheek the same way you did and left to rejoin the group. Billy was left to glare towards your general location and reluctantly rejoin you.

Goddamnit.

#billy loomis scream #scream #scream 1996 #scream 1996 smut #scream smut #poly!ghostface #poly!ghostface smut #poly!ghostface x reader

560 notes · View notes

everythingelseisextra · 10 months

Text

Poetic Justice

Request: No Description: You meet Tommy Shelby on his way to war, finding a cheerful and happy young man. A few years later, he returns to you, drastically different. Warnings: Mentions of war, alcohol, language Word Count: 1748 Tag List: @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul

You meet a boy on the way to war. WIth boyish charms and a glint of mischievousness in his eyes, bright and blue and slightly disconcerting. He tells tales of riding horses through the countryside and of petty thievery, of curses and Roma superstition. He cusses like a sailor and lives life on a wild and reckless edge, an Atlas who didn’t feel the weight of the world on his shoulders yet, an Icarus who hadn’t yet peaked.

He grins at you, speaks to you with a lilting, rugged accent, and you can’t help but be bewitched by him. You let him take you out from behind the bar and hold you flush to his body. He teaches you to dance like that, moving to the pound of the other soon-to-be soldiers’ feet, and you smile and twirl and let him spin you til you’re dizzy. You think it’s love when his touch sends you into a tizzy, smiling and laughing and on top of the world. You stay with him long into the night, talking and drinking and meeting his friends with accents like his and stories so wild you can hardly believe them.

“We’re off to war,” he says, leaning his chair back and giving you a devilish, dark smile. “The lot of us won’t come back.”

“That’s awfully dark humor you’ve got.” You grin back, arms on the table in front of you, having completely abandoned your job.

“Come on, love, we’re soldiers! What do we have except for humor?” He raises his glass, and a cheer rises from his friends around him. He takes a hearty gulp of the beer you’d given him.

“Let’s not talk about the war.” It saddens you, to imagine these boys so full of life going to risk it at the front.

That glint brightens, sharp and deadly intelligent and playful. He laughs and switches his voice into a jaunty, posh British accent. “Too good for the war, then. A lady doesn’t speak of such atrocities.”

“Oh, shut up.” You shove him, lunging across the table just as he lifts his drink. It sloshes over his front and he yells, eyes flashing momentarily with an anger that sends panic through your body; you’re about to be attacked. But before you have time to stand, he’s back to laughing.

“Guess that’s what I get for questioning such a rogue.” He flashes you a grin and stands from his seat, the blotchy amber stain on his white shirt sticking to his front, giving you a very welcome view of the thin, wiry muscles over his stomach. “Care to help fix your mistake?”

You grin, eyes on his chest. “It would be my pleasure, Mr…?”

You don’t know his name. After all this, the revelry of a last hurrah mixed with the joy of a woman playing along, the bodies moving and the tap of your feet on wooden tables. His laugh in your ear, his hands on your waist, teaching you to dance but also gently feeling at your hips, all that, and you didn’t get his name.

“Thomas Shelby.” His arm slips around your waist, assured, and he starts walking, guiding you. You happily turn your brain off when he presses his lips to your hair, then whispers. “That’s Tommy, to you.”

“Tommy,” you say slowly, letting the syllables stretch over your tongue. “Why is it you’re going off to war, then? You don’t seem like a fighter, I’m pretty sure you’re meant to be a lover.” You run your eyes down his body, an eyebrow raised, your own body filled with an elated, and possibly drunken, kind of hunger.

“Brilliant question.” He flashes you another grin. “Saw a man beating his horse and happened to have a weapon. I solved that problem. Turns out, the guy has friends, and all of those blokes out there with me are running from something or to somewhere.”

You step towards him, watching with great interest as he pulls his shirt off, tossing it into the sink. He gives you an expectant look and you laugh, reaching forward to cup his face and pull him towards you.

“How bout I give you something to come back to?”

Soldiers enter your bar and you run your eyes over them. Faces drawn and pale, or, worse, bandaged and bloody. All of them uniformed but covered in dirt and stains and unknown substances. Some of them limp in, others walk with their heads bowed, and others, the ones you take the most interest in, move with their shoulders drawn back, heads raised as though they own the place, eyes taking in the room as though there could be danger in any corner.

“Holly!” You call. “Get another round going!” To them, you say; “On the house, loves. God knows you’ve paid enough already.”

A murmur goes through them. The majority sit at the tables, staring down at their own reflections in the shined dark wood, slumped down or sitting bolt upright. A few, though, situate themselves in front of you at the bar, looking up with a lack of interest and dark eyes. They talk quietly, secretly, with a hint of anger in each word you catch.

The drinks come slowly but surely. You pass them out, one at a time, and take time to speak to each desolate soldier. In your mind, people aren’t born to fight the way they do. People aren’t made to murder each other, aren’t made for battle and blood. People aren’t born for war. So, you give them the time of day, meet their eyes and smile, because you know not everyone will. And you know that their fight isn’t over, that some of them will take their own lives or lose them in a panic. You know their kind, they come through often, those hit with shell shock and broken by things they saw. No matter what, groups like these are given free drinks. It doesn;t do much, doesn’t give them anything they don’t already have. Injuries of the body heal. Those of the mind bury in like a disease and grow like a seed, leech out what hope is left.

“What’s your name, love?”

“Freddie Thorne.” The soldier’s sullen face stares up at you as you return to the bar, almost challenging, eyes large and strangely gaping. A covered wound bores out from under his shirt, bright white bandages in contrast to the dirt and grime of his skin. “And don’t call me love.”

“I won’t, then.” Not receptive. You hand him a drink and turn your attention to the soldier sitting next to him. “And you? What’s your name?”

He sits back, crossing his arms against his chest and fixing you with an icy stare. “You know me.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I…” You study him, then it hits him. Now bleak and sullen, hopeless, no hint of brightness or light. His body has changed, too, from wiry and thin and boyish to the body of a man, broad in the chest and muscular. But his eyes, you remember that gaze. The question in them, searching for something in each person he comes across, wanting, needing, hungry. That remains the only signifier of life in the corpse-like body of Tommy Shelby. “Oh. Yes. I spilled my drink on you.”

“You said you’d give me something to come back to.” His eyes never leave yours, seeming to hold a curse underneath, some anger you can’t decipher. Whether at you or at the world that so betrayed him, you can’t tell. There used to be joy in his voice, a laugh in each word. Christ. “Here I am.”

You exhale a slow breath. “I’ll pull up a chair.”

He nods once. The others around him watch him closely, waiting for a cue, and he inclines his head, giving permission. They visibly relax and some begin to drink, talk to each other, sounding less like men and more like small boys who are new to speech and unable to piece together their phrasing.

You pull up a chair to the boy returned, letting Holly take over the rest of your work. “So… it’s been, what, three years?”

“Less.” He raises an eyebrow, a bite to his words. “You’ve been here, eh? Serving drinks and flirting with soldiers.”

“No,” you sigh. “No, that was just you.”

He shakes his head. “I thought, what the hell, might as well come back here. See if she still knows me.”

A sharp pang of guilt crawls through you. “I remember your name.”

“Yeah?”

“Tommy Shelby.”

“That is my name, yes.” He leans forward, drumming his fingers on the bar between you. “Thank God the girl in the bar still knows my fucking name.”

“Sorry.” You lean back, cautious, almost scared. That anger that flashed in his eyes those years ago seems to be all there is now, wrathful, unadulterated. “I know it’s little consolation, but—”

“Nothing is consolation. Our prayers never made it out of the gas they threw.” He gestures vaguely to the air. “The poor returning soldier, godless, because they gave us nothing to believe in.”

You struggle to find the right thing to say, then land on something, anything. If you’re here, and he remembered you, you might as well give him something. “Tell me more.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I mean, if you want to, I don’t—”

“You want me to tell you about what happened?” An incredulous hint of humorless laughter lingers cold in his voice.

“I thought—”

“Here’s what happened. I’m underneath waves of mud and all I hear is rockets from their truck. Everything shakes and I think, wait, maybe it’ll kill me. Underground, anyway, here’s my grave. Dug it myself and all. Poetic justice.” The bar falls silent. They listen to his story. “No one digs you out anyway, because you’re dead and they’d just bury you again. And so I think, fuck, alive. No one survives this. But I did. We did. I got out because they want to save the unshot.”

You take in a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

He stands. Most of the soldiers follow his lead. “You’ll have to forgive me. Still a fucking sleepy eyed kid.”

He walks to the front door of the bar, trailed by the others, then stops, looks over his shoulder. Dark hair over glinting blue eyes, no longer bright and happy, but shrewd, calculating, powerful. “If you’re ever in Birmingham, ask for the Peaky Blinders.”

#peaky blinders #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaker blinders fandom #tommy shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders fanfic

314 notes · View notes

padfootagain · 10 months

Text

Professional

Hello everyone! Answering a request made by an anon today:“And then I thought about this other scenario where reader and Ben had done a movie together and they are dating and now they are doing the press tour and they are doing the vanity fair lie detector interview. (you know what i’m talking about?) I remember Natalia Dyer and Charlie Heaton did this years ago while promoting Stranger Things and they were super cute. I just love fics about doing these kind of interviews, like the wired autocomplete interview, for example. (I sometimes imagine myself doing it, pretending I’m famous🙈 but if you ask me about that I’d deny it) + they try to play it cool and hide that they are madly in love and act as if they weren’t a couple but the whole game outs them completely and it’s hilarious and they laugh like mad about it Anyways, that’s it and I hope I’m not bothering💗”

Thank you so much for your request, anon! I hope that you like what I’ve written for you!

I hope you all like this adorable fic! Tell me what you think about it!

****

Pairing : Ben Barnes x reader

Warnings: Fluff. Tooth-rotting fluff. So adorable you might actually melt.

Summary: You and Ben answer the lie detector interview to promote the new season of SaB, where you have worked together. But the interview reveals a lot more about your relationship with Ben than what was intended to begin with.

Word Count: 2869

Ben Barnes’ Masterlist – Main Masterlist

You thought this would be fun, but Vanity Fair really does take this thing seriously.

The room you’ve walked into with Ben has something a little intimidating about it. Low lights, a simple table set in the middle of the room, a couple of chairs that face each other, and of course, a man setting up a lie detector in a corner. The journalist gives the two of you a warm smile and asks you who wants to start. She’s holding some papers, on which you have no doubt you’ll find a list of questions for both Ben and you.

Speaking of Ben, he turns to you then, his gaze questioning and the ghost of a warm smile on his lips.

He looks ridiculously handsome today, with a white t-shirt, some dark jeans and a brown oversized cardigan… But then again, you did help him choose his outfit for the interview this morning. You’re the only one to blame for your own suffering. The fact that he’s let his hair grow a little more these days, the curls starting to roll at the nape of his neck, doesn’t help at all.

“Do you want to start asking the questions or answering, Y/N?”

It’s weird to hear him say your name. You love it, of course, how it rolls on his tongue, deep voice filled with warmth as it leans on the syllables in a heavy British accent that you adore. Still, it feels strange because after dating him for so long, living with him… you’re used to answer only to love, darling, gorgeous, beautiful…

But then again, you remember Ben’s words from this very morning, while he was tying his shoes in the hallway, looking up at you while kneeling on the ground.

Today, we’re colleagues! No lovey-dovey reactions! We need to remain professional!

You smile. Professional. Of course, you’re an actress, you can do that.

“I’d rather start answering. Plug me in!”

Ben can’t refrain a chuckle at that, and you sit down, waiting for the wires to be tied around your body and for the camera to roll.

You’re more nervous than usual. It’s intimidating, to be surrounded with strangers, in a tiny room dimly lit, with wires connecting you to a lie detector. You won’t be able to lie to get out of a weird question. You feel a little safer though as Ben sits down on the other side of the table, picking up a sheet of paper and scanning questions with a focused frown on his brow. He looks warm and cozy, yet elegant. You’re not sure how he does it, but he does. You have to refrain your sudden urge to stand up and snuggle into his chest, arms around his torso to let him wrap his cardigan around you. He loves to do that, to wrap you around his coat and pullover to keep you warm. It gives him a good excuse to hold you close…

The interviewer gives Ben a thumbs up, and so he clears his throat to start the interview.

When he looks up at you, your nervousness is obvious, and his polite smile grows soothing, reassuring.

“You’re alright over there, Y/N? Comfy with all these wires?”

“It’s incredibly relaxing. I don’t feel at all like I’m about to be thrown in jail.”

He chuckles, shaking his head.

“The only threat is you revealing that you secretly hate me.”

“Oh shoot… I wanted to hide that.”

You both laugh, and you feel yourself relax a little. You focus on Ben, and all seems better again.

“Alright, I have a few general questions I need to ask for the lie detector to work. So don’t lie just yet,” he adds with a wink, making your heart skip a beat.

Damn, you’ve been together for a while now, yet, he still makes you feel like a lovesick fool every single time…

“Is your name Y/N Y/L/N?”

“It is,” you nod.

“You played a character in Shadow and Bone, correct?”

“I did, yes.”

“Are you ready to take the lie detector test?”

“Not really. I’m a little nervous.”

You chuckle, but you keep fiddling with your sleeve nonetheless.

You’re surprised when Ben reaches across the table to give your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“You look terrified,” he teases you.

“It’s intimidating! I can’t lie!”

“You never lie anyway, you hate it.”

“Sometimes I do lie.”

Ben suddenly wears an outrage face.

“Even to me?”

“Especially to you. You’re insufferable.”

He dramatically gasps, and you both laugh. You feel yourself relax a little more as Ben leans back in his chair, giving your hand one last squeeze before leaving your fingers.

You need to focus on him. It’s merely an interview, why are you so nervous in the first place?

The man on your right, who is looking at the results from the detector, tells you that the machine works perfectly. Ben can start asking you real questions now.

“Alright!” he gives a happy wiggle, clearly enjoying himself as he rubs his hands together. “Which of these are the most embarrassing…”

“Hey! Be nice! I’ll ask you questions too, after that! If you’re mean, I’ll choose the worst questions too!”

“It might be worth it.”

But he takes a couple more seconds to pick a question from the list, and you reckon he’s being kind. It’s nothing too embarrassing. Just a couple of general questions about your childhood, nothing to worry about.

You’re more relaxed now, and he notices it. Good, he can tease you a bit more then.

“You joined the cast of Shadow and Bone during the second season. Did you get along with your co-workers?”

“Yes, everyone was nice. I had a lot of fun.”

“Have you ever dreamt about the Grishaverse?”

“Yes. While we were filming, sometimes I’d dream about some scenes. And now as well, a little bit. Because we’re talking about it a lot in interviews and such.”

Ben nods at your answer, a dreamy smile on his lips as he takes you in. You look so beautiful today…

But he shakes himself out of his thoughts. He was the one claiming that the two of you ought to remain professional during this interview. He can’t catch himself thinking about kissing you like this…

He scans the list of questions again, more to distract himself from his urge to reach out and hold your hand and kiss your knuckles than anything else. But he explodes with laughter as he finds the perfect question.

He reckons you’re relaxed enough now for him to tease you a bit.

“Oh dear… what have you found now?” you ask, your voice cautious but an amused giggle bubbling on your tongue too.

He clears his throat, shakes the piece of paper with a flourish, his grin full of mischief.

“You have recently commented on the season finale. And especially, Patrick’s Gibson transformation…”

“Hmm…” you slowly nodded, waiting expectantly.

“You have pointed out that his appearance was… distracting.”

You both laughed at the phrasing.

“Yeah, I was a bit more direct than that, but that’s true.”

“Out of your castmates, which one do you think is the best-looking?”

You shake your head, feeling heat spread across your skin as you bury your face in your hands in embarrassment.

The little shit… He knows the answer is him. Of course it is, he’s the man you live with, the man you love, the man you join in bed every night.

You can read in his amused gaze that he’s waiting for your answer, that he’s waiting for you to say his name.

You won’t give it to him that easily. Lie detector be damn. He’s fishing for compliments and you won’t yield.

“Well… I can’t lie.”

“You can’t,” he shakes his head, struggling to hide a grin.

“Then… I have to be honest…”

“You do.”

“I think the most beautiful person of the cast is…”

He loves it… the way you’re struggling to keep a straight face, the way you look a little embarrassed and are fleeing his gaze… he loves it. You’re adorable like this.

But then you look up at him all of a sudden, and you’re the one grinning with mischief.

“… Lewis.”

His mouth falls open in shock, and you can’t refrain your laughter as you see him clenching his jaw.

That backfired alright…

He nods slowly, tapping the paper against the table.

“Fair enough,” he concedes. “Can’t compete with this guy.”

You’re still laughing, and think you’ve gotten away with it, when the man next to you frowns at the readings of the lie detector, and he lets out his conclusion in a cold voice.

“That was a lie.”

You and Ben exchange a glance, before both of you would explode with laughter.

“You’re so cruel!” Ben waves a finger at you.

“I tried! I tried! But then again, you were being mean with that question.”

“Mean? Me?”

“Obviously.”

“You still haven’t answered.”

“You know the answer.”

And you think that he’s going to drop it, because going on would reveal too much of your relationship, but he doesn’t back down. Instead, he leans a little over the table, tilting his head, a devilishly charming smile on his lips.

“Well, it’s still a nice thing to hear. Especially from such a beautiful woman.”

You’re quite taken aback at the obvious flirt in his tone. Not that it’s anything unusual between the two of you, but during an interview?

You bite on your lower lip as you smile, trying to hold back a cheeky remark, without a doubt; and he can’t control the way his heart swells with fondness and love at the sight.

God, he loves you so damn much…

And he knows he’s taking the game a little too far, that he’s fishing for compliments, but he can’t help it. Sometimes, he still struggles believing that you really think this of him… but you prove it one more time.

“You. I think you’re the most attractive member of the cast.”

The grin that’s plastered on his face and his proud, delighted little wiggle are worth your burning cheeks.

He turns to the camera.

“I’ve obviously paid her to say that.”

“He did,” you confirm.

But the lie detector expert chooses this moment to chime in again.

“It was the truth.”

Both you and Ben explode with laughter, just like everyone in the room.

“Well, thank you, Y/N,” Ben grins.

“When is it my turn to ask you questions so I can torture you?”

“Soon.”

“Good…”

“Actually, we’ve just run out of time. It was a pleasure to be here!”

“No! Ben! Absolutely not! I want to ask you shitty questions too!”

“Shitty questions? I’ve literally chosen the best ones. The last one was the only one teasing!”

You mumble something unintelligible under your breath, making him laugh fondly at you again.

“Okay, one last question, cause that’s a nice one,” Ben clears his throat, calming down again. “Do you think working on Shadow and Bone had a positive impact on your life?”

You think again of the first time you had met Ben for the script read-through. The way he smiled that day, all shy and charming. Your long afternoons spent learning your lines together, your evenings spent talking for hours while eating pizza, your sleepless nights as you told him everything about you, your first kiss in an empty street of Budapest…

And to that, you have to add all the friends you’ve made along the way…

You’re grinning as you answer.

“Yes, most definitely, yes. I’ve met amazing people on this project. I’m very lucky to be a part of it.”

You exchange one last smile with Ben, before the interviewer speaks up again.

It’s Ben’s time to answer questions, and you keep teasing him about it, as you browse through the list.

“So… which ones are the most embarrassing…?”

He rolls his eyes as his fingertips are being covered with wires.

“Very funny,” he replies, and with much maturity, sticks out his tongue at you, making you laugh.

But he does look quite uneasy as he sits down, although he’s still much calmer than you were.

“You’re alright?” you ask, your voice soothing now instead of teasing.

“It is quite uncomfortable to be plugged to this thing,” he admits. “It does feel… intimidating.”

“Right! I told you!”

“I swear, ma’am, I know nothing about the secret services.”

You laugh at that, shaking your head at his silly joke.

“Right, let’s begin!” you declare, as the journalist gives you a nod. “Your name is Ben Barnes.”

“It is.”

“You are British.”

“I am.”

“Are you ready to start the lie detector test?”

“I am. Fire away.”

“Confident!” you narrow your eyes at him. “Let’s find a terrible question to bring that cockiness down a notch…”

“Cocky?”

“Ha! Found one!” you ignore his protest. “Do you find an American accent sexier than a British accent?”

He frowns a little.

“No,” he answers truthfully, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips.

“Do you ever wish you could move back to the UK?”

“Yes, I do. My family lives there, and many of my friends too. It’s hard sometimes.”

“Do you prefer British or American snacks?”

“British.”

“Jaffa cakes?” you ask, rolling your eyes.

“Obviously. And these… chocolate biscuits you have with your tea… delicious.”

You go through the list, ask him a few questions about his role, but they are all rather tamed, and by the end of the interview, you’re not satisfied with how much you’ve managed to tease him.

Until your eyes read through the last line.

Ask a question of your choice.

Oh yes…

“Alright, last question,” you say, struggling not to smile.

You’ve got ‘mischief’ written all over your features, and Ben narrows his eyes at you at the sight.

“Oh… I’m in trouble with this one…”

“I’m using the last one.”

“Which one is it?”

You turn the paper around so he can read the line, and he bursts into laughter.

“Oh… that’s bad! What are you going to ask me?”

You put the sheet of paper down, and lean over the table.

“Ben Barnes,” you speak in a low voice.

“Yes?” he answers with a nervous giggle.

“Remember that you cannot lie.”

“I remember.”

“Ben.”

“Yes?”

“Did you eat the last of my chocolate chips cookies yesterday?”

He laughs at that, but you can see him blushing hard.

“Oh… no… I’m in so much trouble now…” he winces.

“Because, yesterday, you denied it!”

“I did.”

“And the truth is…?”

He bites on his lip, but closes his eyes.

He can’t lie anyway because of this bloody machine…

“I ate the cookie,” he confesses.

“I KNEW IT!”

“I was very hungry,” he argues.

“I knew it was you!”

He laughs at that, shaking his head at you.

“If you didn’t eat it, who else could it be, darling?”

Your eyes widen at the pet name, and so do his. He glances over at the camera, blushing more than ever, red spreading over his skin all the way to the top of his ears.

He clears his throat, but his voice sounds deeper now.

“Anyway, I’m the culprit.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you answer.

Damn be the interview. When Ben smiles again, he’s more relaxed, the flush leaving his cheeks.

Damn be the interview…

“I’ll buy you some more tomorrow, I promise.”

“You’d better not forget!”

“I’ll make you forgive me.”

“Cocky, once again…”

But he shoots you a smug grin.

“Confident, that’s all.”

“I’m sure I’ll hear all about your plan to reach forgiveness soon.”

Someone starts to detach all the wires from Ben’s fingers, and you both assume that the camera is turned off and that you can act like your normal selves once more.

“What about flowers, my darling?” Ben asks softly, so as not to be overheard by too many people in the room. Only the technician who is taking care of the lie detector seems to hear him.

“Hmm… that’s a good start.”

“You ate the last of my jaffa cakes last time we came back from London, remember? And my mom had bought them for me!”

“For us, honey. Your mom bought them for us.”

He rolls his eyes at that, before heaving a sigh.

“You’re going to use that to decide what we’ll eat tonight, won’t you?”

You nod, excited all of a sudden, and Ben wishes he could be annoyed, but he fails miserably. Your smile is too bright for that, it gives him butterflies and a stuttering heart and he adores every second of it.

“Very well, then. You can pick whatever you want.”

“Yes!” you wiggle happily, standing up to leave the interview.

Little did you know that the camera was still rolling, the mics still recording. When you watch the interview a couple of weeks later, you both laugh uncontrollably. The comment section is on fire, and you spend the evening with Ben, lying on the couch together, laughing at all the crazy reactions to the interview.

You don’t mind. You don’t mind one bit, and neither does Ben, actually.

Although, you tease him about it for weeks.

“So much for being professional, huh?”

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

Taglist : @sergeantbuckybarnes @reg-arcturus-black @wolfmoonmusic

#ben barnes #ben barnes x you #ben barnes x reader #ben barnes x y/n #ben barnes fanfiction #ben barnes oneshot #fanfiction #fanfic #writing

290 notes · View notes

smytherines · 2 months

Text

Fuck it, here's an Owen Carvour dissertation

We don't have canon ages for Curt & Owen, but personally I headcanon Owen as being born in 1928, making him 29 when the banana incident happens. This leads to a lot of thoughts that are fascinating to me, because growing up in London during WWII could inform so much of his character.

Personally, I believe DMA's accent is much closer to Owen's natural accent. I think the Owen Carvour accent is something he puts on to make himself sound neutrally British while working abroad, because he grew up working class. RP is how most people (at least in the US) assume British people speak. This also works with the Texan agent mega headcanon, like they both have to put on an act to be spies, just like they have to put on an act with their relationship.

And class is really really important to how you conceptualize this character, because your experience of the war could be radically different depending on how much money you had. Food rationing began in 1940, which in this case would make Owen 12. Rationing isn't fully lifted until 1954.

At Elizabeth II's wedding in 1947, the palace made a big deal about how she was saving ration coupons for the material for her wedding- a full two years after WWII ended.

Here's WWII London:

This is the city Owen would've grown up in. This is a war zone. A city where food is tightly rationed, where sirens were constantly going off and you had to draw down the blackout curtains and go sleep in the tube station with bombs dropping constantly overhead:

If Owen were upper middle class, he might have had a shelter at home, some people did. But I imagine him sleeping in dark, cramped, noisy stations. And he learns to keep his cool. He starts to enjoy the danger because he has to to survive it.

Maybe he has lost loved ones to the bombings. Maybe one morning he comes home from the tube station and half of his house is in rubble on the ground. Maybe he's used to hand me down clothes and simple homemade toys and not having enough to eat. He's used to having nothing, having nobody. That's a headcanon a lot of folks have, and I think it makes a lot of sense for his character.

Even if Owen were one of the kids evacuated to the countryside, maybe that happens when he's 15 or so, it wasn't a Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe situation. For a lot of those kids they were leaving their parents behind in a war zone, sleeping in barns or basements, and most importantly working almost non-stop on British farms because all the regular farmhands were fighting.

I think, if this happened, Owen would be itching to go off and fight in the war. My personal headcanon is that he's an intelligent guy, and he figures out how to forge some basic paperwork to claim he is older than he actually is, so he can go fight in WWII.

But by some fluke he couldn't account for, he gets discovered. And because of his skill and his ability to keep his cool under interrogation, he gets recruited to MI6. A lot of MI6 operatives are upper class men, recruited young from the top schools. He mimicks them.

I think many years later, when he and Curt are escaping a Russian weapons facility, Owen loves Curt and trusts in his capabilities (maybe a bit too much- especially when he's been drinking), but he also feels frustrated that Curt is impulsive and cocky and thinks he is untouchable.

Because Curt didn't grow up the way Owen did. He didn't grow up waiting for the bottom to fall out over and over again. He's certainly got his own shit from adolescence, but he doesn't have that survival impulse hardwired into him the way Owen does. So Owen is careful and cautious for the both of them, trying to keep them both safe and alive.

I think about Owen being trapped in the rubble a lot. He would almost certainly be critically injured. Maybe he has PTSD from the WWII bombings, and he's just trapped in an exploded building, trapped with his own memories of childhood until he's almost feral from it.

This also, btw, is why the AU of Owen as Eurydice from Hadestown is so so poignant to me. Someone who grew up cold and hungry and turned their collar to the world, and then suddenly they fall in love and everything is sunlight all around them. All I've Ever Known is such an important owen!Eurydice song to me

I could keep going from here, but I'll stop for now. This isn't as neat and concise as I wanted to present these thoughts, but I can't stop thinking them

#spies are forever #tin can bros #agent curt mega #owen carvour #curtwen #spytown #spytown renaissance #saf headcanon #saf #SAFtistic

55 notes · View notes

eddiemunsons80sbaby · 1 year

Text

I'm Gonna Love You Through It

Pairing: JoeQuinnxFemReader

Summary: Request

You have family issues and they've cropped up so you've been hiding in your room from everyone. Joe thinks you're sick so he shows up with chicken soup and to comfort you.

18+

You lay in bed, where you had been all day. Getting up, facing the day, trying to do anything…it all just felt far too exhausting. You hated yourself when you got like this but every time you had to deal with your family it led here, to you in bed unable to function as you tried to claw your way from the dark place they sent you.

You had thought about calling your boyfriend, Joe, but you’d only been dating a few months and you didn’t want to subject him to this side of you. What if it scared him? What if he decided he was better off not being attached to someone who broke down after a simple phone call. He’d just said he loved you. This would change that real quick.

You knew how this went. No one in your life had ever truly loved you. You’d always had to jump through hoops to earn love. It was never just given. The problem was every single time you thought you were crossing the finish line, that line got erased and moved farther away. Nothing you did was ever enough. Everything was always your fault.

Of course it was. When you met Joe, you’d been so swept away by him completely. Those soft brown eyes that pulled you right in, those full lips that were so delicious pressed against yours, those curls with that one rogue curl that always fell over his forehead. He was perfect, but you’d been keeping him at arm’s length, terrified to let him in completely, to give him the power to destroy you as others had. You’d been terrified to let him really see you because…you hated what you saw. How could he not? When he’d said those words the other night, you’d felt the anxiety building within you because you knew the truth. You were unlovable. You’d been reminded of that your entire life.

A knock at your front door stirred you from your morose thoughts. You turned your face into your pillow, hoping whoever it was would go away when you didn’t answer. Your body didn’t have enough strength to get up and open the door and your brain definitely didn’t have the capacity for a conversation with anyone.

“Darling!” Joe’s voice called and a whimper escaped your lips at the sound of his voice. All you wanted was his arms around you, that sweet British accent whispering assuring words in your ear, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t let him see you like this. “Come on, love, I know you’re in there. I was worried because you haven’t been answering the phone. Janice said you called off work the last couple of days because you weren’t feeling well. I brought you chicken soup. I just want to take care of you.”

You pulled the comforter over your head, wishing you could drown out that honeyed voice, his words that were dripping through all the empty, hollow places within you. How did he do that? How did his mere presence just shine light in all the dark places? But no, you couldn’t let him in. You hadn’t showered in three days. You’d been lying in your dark cave, curtains drawn to block out all light. You couldn’t imagine how awful you must look right now.

“Sweetheart, are you going to let me in?” he asked, knocking again. “Come on, I don’t care if you’re not feeling well. Let me nurse you back to health.”

You stayed silent, barely breathing, silently wishing for him to abandon this plan and leave. Your whole body lay still, terrified to move, to give away the fact that you were in here. You had no idea how you would explain ignoring him, but that was a problem for another day. You couldn’t focus on that right now. You had to get your shit together before you faced him again.

A slow sigh escaped your lips as silence greeted you. He was gone. Your weakness and instability remained a secret. Just as you were closing your eyes, you let out a scream as a loud bang echoed through the room. Sitting up quickly, you turned your head to find Joe climbing in through your bedroom window.

“What the hell, Joe?” you exclaimed, eyes wide with terror and shock at this man just breaking into your house.

He paused, tupperware in his hand, and offered you the sweetest, contrite smile. Holding up the tupperware, he looked back at the window and then at you.

“Okay, I know this might seem a bit extreme, but you weren’t answering me, darling. I was worried. What if you were so sick that you couldn’t get out of bed or needed to go to hospital? I thought of breaking the door, but I didn’t want to cause damage so I decided to try the window and well, here I am.” He shrugged, holding the soup out to you. “Chicken soup for you. I made it myself. My mum always made me some when I was sick and so I thought…I don’t know. I thought it might make you feel better.”

You took in the sight of this man, this sweet man who’d broken into your place just because he wanted to bring you soup and make sure you were okay. Not only that, but he’d made the chicken soup himself. Jesus, he was the most precious man. You wanted to break your walls down and let him in but it was so difficult. You’d been hurt in the past, every time you’d decided to break a little piece of your wall and allow someone to sneak through, you paid for it deeply.

Joe walked over, sitting down on the bed next to you. He set the soup on your nightstand and then stretched out beside you. His arms wound around you, pulling you against him and you melted into his warmth, burying your face against his shirt, inhaling the scent of him, feeling it loosen all the tight spaces that had knotted within you over the last few days.

“So, what is it, darling?” he asked, his palm rubbing circles over your back. “Upset stomach? Cold? Flu? What is ailing my sweet girl?”

“I…uh…” You had no idea what to say. How could you explain that what was ailing you had nothing to do with your body but with your mind and your heart? You considered lying but this man who had gone so far out of his way to care for you deserved better than that. “I’m not actually sick.”

“You’re not?” he asked, no judgment in his tone, just concern. “Then what is it? What has you so down?”

“Joseph…I…shit,” you muttered. You really didn’t want to have to share this with him. Once you told him, would he see you the same way your family did? As expendable? As worthless? As someone who didn’t deserve love?

“Hey, love, look at me,” Joe urged, his knuckle pressing under your chin, raising your face so your eyes met his. “You can tell me anything. I love you. I told you that. There is nothing you should ever be scared to share with me. I just want to be here for you, darling.”

You released a slow breath, “It’s just family bullshit. I try not to deal with them as much as I can. I left when I was nineteen and I avoided them at all costs. I’m basically estranged from them. But sometimes, shit happens, and I have to deal with them. It always fucks with my head. My whole life…” You paused, swallowing down the lump of tears that had lodged in your throat. “My whole life, I’ve never been good enough. I’ve felt like I was the expendable member of my family. I always had to earn love but nothing I did was ever enough. Every time I thought I had the game figured out, they would change the rules. And every time that I have to talk to them, they remind me how unlovable, how unworthy, I really am.”

“Oh my darling, you are anything but unloveable. You are the most loveable person I know,” Joe assured, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You are so worthy and anyone who doesn’t see that, who missed out on the chance to have you as a part of their life, that’s their loss.”

“That’s sweet, but…”

“No buts,” he stated firmly, taking your face in his hands. “You listen to me. You are beautiful. You are kind. You are intelligent. You are strong. I’ve always thought you were strong but now I know how very strong you are for getting through what you’ve gone through and still being open to love. You haven’t shut down. You haven’t hidden from the world or become jaded and nasty. You are more than worthy, my love. You are exemplary. You are a wonder.”

Tears stung your eyes and you nibbled on your bottom lip as you took in his words. Could it be true? Could someone as perfect as Joe actually see all of that in you? Could you be worthy? Could the problem be them and not actually you? You wanted to believe it more than anything.

“My poor, sweet, beautiful girl,” he whispered, pressing gentle kisses against your forehead, your eyelids, your nose, your cheeks. “I am so sorry that your family are a bunch of bloody idiots, but know that I see you and I value you and I am so thankful that you chose me. I know how very lovable you are because I am hopelessly in love with you.”

Need unlike anything you’d ever known pulsed through you. The need to be as close to this man as possible, to feel his love for you, to feel like you were as worthy as he told you that you were.

Crawling over top of him, you smashed your lips against his in a frenzy of lust and need. Joe groaned, his arms coming around you, crushing you against him. You parted his lips with your tongue, sucking on his tongue and then your tongues were warring against each other in a frenzy of chaotic desire.

“Too many clothes. I need your skin on mine,” you muttered, your fingers working at the buttons of his shirt, pressing the material away from his chest. Joe sat up so you could pull the sleeves down his arms and toss the shirt. You make quick work of your own shirt before collapsing against him, your mouth finding his again.

“Damn darling,” Joe hissed as your mouth blazed a fiery trail over his skin, savoring every delectable inch of him that your lips could find.

He sat up, his hand cupping the back of your neck and bringing your lips to his, his kiss setting a fire in your belly that needed to be quenched with an unsettling urgency. His mouth fell upon your breasts, working one nipple and then the other until you were writhing, desperately rubbing yourself against him in an attempt to find relief that would not come until you’d done away with the rest of these clothes.

“Joe…” you groaned, moving off him to pull your sweats and panties down in one swift movement. “Pants…get your pants off now.”

“Oh…uh, yeah,” he nodded, hastily pushing them away. “But darling, don’t you want me to…”

“No, no time,” you argued, straddling him again. “I need you now.” You gripped his cock, holding it in place as you lowered yourself over him, your eyes rolling back at the feel of him stretching you in the delicious way only he had ever done.

“Fuck, yes,” he growled, raising his knees so you could rest against them. You grabbed the back of his neck, using it as leverage as you moved your body against his, both of you moaning at the sweet relief of your bodies being joined. “Love, that’s so bloody good. Don’t stop my sweet girl.”

Oh, you had no intentions to. Your body was vibrating with the feel of him inside you, this angle allowing him to hit that sweet spot that always sent you over the edge. His hand slid between your bodies, his thumb working over your clit and you whimpered, your head falling back.

“Oh Joe! Yes baby. Fuck,” you muttered, your hips moving at a frenzied pace, rocking against his cock and his hand, your body desperate for the sweet release only Joe’s body could give you.

“Look at you,” he growled, gripping your hip with his other hand as he lifted his hips to meet yours, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing through your ears. “Tell me this isn’t a worthy fucking woman. You are a warrior. You are fierce and sexy and gorgeous and…Jesus!”

At his words, your orgasm crashed upon you, your body convulsing with the relief you felt, everything you’d been feeling the last few days just seeping out of you. You shrieked in ecstasy and as your body spasmed around him, you felt Joe follow, filling you with his release.

Your entire body shook, completely spent with adrenaline and pent up emotion that you’d finally let flow through you. The tears you’d been fighting since he’d come through your window began spilling down your cheeks and you fell forward, burying your face against his neck. Joe’s arms instinctively came around you, cradling you close, him still inside you.

“Oh darling,” he murmured against your hair, one hand coming to cradle the back of your head. “It’s alright. You let it out. I’m here for you. Just, let me clean up and then…”

“No,” you replied, shaking your head. “Can we just stay like this for a bit? Please? I just…I want to feel as connected to you as I can. I want to feel…I don’t know, like I am a part of something.”

“My love, you are,” Joe assured, his lips pressing against the top of your head. “You are a part of us. You are a part of me, and I am not going anywhere ever. We can sit like this for as long as you want. I am never going to complain about having my cock nestled snugly inside you. Your pussy is his home, you know?”

You laughed softly, looking up and kissing him. “I know I didn’t say it the other night. I’m sorry. It’s just…love has always been a complicated thing for me. It always came with strings and I…”

“Shh,” he said, pressing his finger to your lips. “I said it because I felt it at that moment. You don’t have to say anything until you’re ready.”

“But I do feel it, and I am ready,” you said. “Joe, I love you. And that scares the shit out of me. It does. Because loving you means that I have so much more to lose, but it doesn’t change how I feel. And, if I didn’t know before tonight, I know now with absolute certainty that you’re worth the risk.”

That smile, that warm smile that made all your insides as gooey as the marshmallow in the middle of a s’more crossed his lips and you couldn’t help but smile back. Those big puppy dog eyes looked at you with such affection that you could believe, at that moment, that this could be different. He could just love you. No games, no strings, no ultimatums. Just simple and pure.

“Hey, who needs your family? Just because they’re blood doesn’t make them family. You and me? We can be a family. We can create the kind of family you’ve always deserved,” Joe said and you swallowed hard as the sentiment behind his words settled in.

“You really think about that stuff with me?”

“Oh darling,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve been thinking about those things from the moment our eyes met. I know what I want and I am not saying we have to rush anything, but I promise you, I will spend my life making sure you know how very worthy and loved you are.”

You tucked yourself against this man, thinking he was absolutely perfect. How could one man be so fucking exquisite? You were one lucky girl and regardless of what you’d been through in the past, if it ended with a life shared with Joe, then everything was going to be okay.

#joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn smut #joe quinn #joe quinn x fem!reader smut #joe quinn x you #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn #fluff and smut #smut #fluff #joe quinn comfort #comfort

240 notes · View notes

abiiors · 8 months

Text

1. she's american // george daniel x oc

a/n: erratic is literally the only word i have to describe it. like i don't have a posting schedule, i don't have a masterlist for it yet (i'll add the link when i have one). idk how many chapters. this literally doesn't even have a canon-accurate timeline!! but i wrote something and i wanted to publish it so i did. hope you enjoy! discussions about it in my asks are always welcome hehe <3 cw: arguments and yelling?? can't really think of any hard warnings wc: 3.2k masterlist

it is a truth universally acknowledged that something must go wrong every time i land in london. this time, it’s matty texting me that he can’t come pick me up from the airport.

soz, mate. his text reads, really urgent work came up. i’m sending a friend to pick u up tho. i’ll make it up to u tonight. xx. to compound the annoyance of it, a blast of july heat hits me square in the face when i step off the plane and onto the tarmac.

“make it up” i lightly scoff to myself; make it up is code-word for plying my with cheap beer, greasy pizza and, sure, great weed. i have this routine rehearsed—it’s the same thing we’ve been doing since the age of 14.

friend? i text back and start making my way towards immigration and the luggage carousels. heathrow is just as big as i remember—massive and winding and really fucking beige for some reason. stepping onto the escalator, i take another peek at my phone and at the three dots bouncing in place, waiting for him to finish typing his message.

yeah. george. he responds.

george… i try to conjure up a face for the name. somewhere in the back of my mind, i know it’s familiar. george…matty’s friend george. my phone dings again.

[attachment: 1 image]

it’s a photo of a man, a boy really… he looks like he’s matty’s age and it clicks in my head. this is george and i have most definitely seen him before. his wavy, dirty blond hair is piled on top of his head haphazardly, like he couldn’t be bothered with them at all. the dark roots peek from underneath. george stares directly at the camera, a straight face—straight nose and straight full lips. everything about him screams cool nonchalance. right down to the nondescript white t-shirt he’s wearing.

and this boy is coming to pick me up after i’ve just travelled for eight hours all the way from new york.

subconsciously, i sniff at my t-shirt. yep, the sweat combined with the general stink of the airport clings to me like cobwebs. what i really need is a long, cold shower followed by an even longer nap. what i get, however, is a long line at the immigration counter.

passport clutched in my hand, i look around the area. behind me, an american couple chatters excitedly and plans their itinerary. ahead of me, a british mother reprimands her child for biting his nails. it’s jarring that the american couple’s accents are more familiar to me than the mother and her child’s.

it’s jarring that despite being gone only four years, everything about london already feels foreign.

“next please,” the immigration officer calls out, jerking me out of my thoughts. it’s a simple process really. once he sees my british passport, all he has to do is match my face to it and stamp it.

“thanks,” i mumble when he hands it back to me.

“welcome home,” he responds and smiles that kind, old man smile.

my heart snags on the word. home. and my life back in new york briefly flashes in front of my eyes; a quick montage of tall skyscrapers and glittery new york nights—but i shake my head and clear the thoughts away.

yep, home is here now. and that’s all that matters.

bags in my hand, i make my way to the exit, craning my neck and looking all around me for any sign of the dirty blond hair from the photo.

this is not how i had imagined it would be. i had imagined running into matty’s arms and breathing in his familiar scent, shoving each other playfully until we dissolved into fits of giggles. i had imagined familiarity and comfort; not having to find a practically unknown man in a sea of other unknown people. and even though i had his picture on my phone, i had no way of—

“cleo?”

i turn mid-thought at the sound of my name. the voice that speaks it is rich and deep, gravelly even. yet it’s not a voice i recognise. and then i spot him standing about ten feet away from me. george.

he stares at me in a scrutinising way, then looks at the phone in his hand and looks back up at me. looks like i’m not the only one with a stranger’s picture in my phone.

“george?” i raise my hand in greeting and smile slightly. there’s no doubt it’s a tired, pathetic smile but it will have to do.

this is the first time i’m seeing him properly. and wow, he’s tall. all my life i’ve been used to matty and his almost six feet (the thought makes me smile, i know how mad he gets at the “almost”) but george is so much taller, with broad shoulders and toned arms that are littered with tattoos; colourful tattoos that i try not to gawk at but fail anyway.

he nods once and starts walking in my direction; long graceful steps that should not belong to someone so huge. and yet in five long strides, he’s covered the entire distance between us.

subconsciously, i lose a sigh. after the last 24 hours, all i want is for someone to carry my bags for me and preferably gently manhandle me so i won’t have to do the laborious task of walking.

george does no such thing.

he walks towards me and right past. and then, while i stand there gaping slightly, he turns around. “the car is parked this way.”

translation: are you an idiot?

that’s what his tone screams anyway, and confusion along with annoyance washes over me. what the fuck is his problem? i get that he probably got saddled with the task of picking me up on a hot summer day but taking it out on me is hardly the fair thing to do. i roll my eyes and follow him out of the airport and towards the car park.

dragging my two large trolley bags behind me and trying to keep up with his long strides is no easy task. by the time the entrance to the car park comes into view, i’m jogging lightly and panting to keep up with him. sweat rolls down my back in rivulets while the sun blazes overhead. it’s only 10 am but i am ready to go back to bed for six hours preferably.

fuck george and fuck his long legs. i refuse to ask him to slow down.

a mildly beaten-down ford focus comes into view and george opens the trunk before motioning at my bags. i resist the urge to baulk at him—so now he wants to help? wordlessly, i hand the luggage to him and mumble a quick thanks.

then i turn around and make my way to the passenger side door.

i realise my mistake far too late. or rather as soon as our hands brush, attempting to open the same door and i jerk mine away like i’ve just touched a live wire. george looms behind me, quiet judgement radiating off of him, probably wondering why i’m on his side of the car.

i turn around, face burning with embarrassment and something unexplained, only to come face to face—face to chest, rather—with a very unimpressed george. heat radiates off his body this close, heat and an earthy, sweet perfume that i’ve never smelled on anyone else before.

“sorry,” i back away, “american habits.” but his face remains passive and his eyes trained on the door handle.

“right. sorry,” i squeak and practically run back to the right door this time.

i curse softly, at the wind, this entire day. this city and this entire fucking island. but mostly i curse at stupid american habits and stupid british girls who get used to them.

london is crowded as always; at least, that part is similar to new york. except here i see red double-deckers crawling along leisurely instead of yellow cabs zooming by, waiting for no one. in the twenty minutes, we’ve been on the road, the sun has disappeared giving way to grey clouds. the only sound in the car is the whirr of the aircon and the radio playing some old 80s hits at a low volume. everything else is an awkward silence.

“so matty’s not free today?” i ask. well, i try but all i get from him is a shake of the head before he angrily overtakes the car in front of us.

“and he’s not going to be free all day?”

“dunno. later maybe, in the evening.”

that’s the most words he’s said to me at one go. and it’s also a pretty clear indicator that he’s done with this conversation—well, ‘conversation’ is pushing it anyway. i just look out the window and at the taxi next to us.

it’s the american couple from before; excitedly looking out their windows and pointing at all the buildings. i imagine it’s their first time, they certainly have the ‘americans in europe’ air about them. i imagine their day is going leagues better than mine is; i imagine them going back to their hotel room, spending their day being loved up and excited about their holiday. they’ll take photos, eat nice food. they’ll laugh around being silly and saying exaggerated british slang in exaggerated english accents. and then they’ll go home, back to some place that is theirs.

i snap my gaze back to my lap.

london is not so bad. matty is here. if i could make a life in new york from scratch then i can do it again. besides i already have friends here, it can’t be that difficult. right?

my phone buzzes in my hands bringing me out of my thoughts.

nate.

i have the sudden and violent urge to be carsick. nate, after everything, he has the nerve to try to call me. with more force than necessary, i stab the red button and close my eyes. if george has noticed any of this, he doesn’t react.

images flash in front of my eyes in a dizzying blur after that—nate. new york. nights that used to blend into dawns. nate. champagne that flowed freely. laughter. friends. happiness. nate. heartbreak. and quite possibly utter ruin, if i want to be dramatic about it.

my phone buzzes again and this time i don’t even pay attention to it.

george, however, side-eyes it and then shakes his head. “are you gonna get that?”

i whip my head to look at him, riffling through several responses in my head to politely tell him that this is none of his business.

half an hour of knowing him and i can already feel annoyance settling between us. george stares at me while we wait for the light to turn green. one of his perfectly shaped eyebrows is raised high, his mouth twisted in almost a grimace. what the fuck is his deal? has he never heard a phone buzzing before?

“no,” i reply curtly and go back to staring straight ahead, glaring at the double decker blocking my view of anything else.

half a minute later, the phone buzzes again. and george stares. again.

“for fuck sake,” he grumbles to himself, looking like he’d rather run us straight into the bus than sitting here with me for two more minutes.

“have i done something to you?” i turn to face him fully, eyes trained on him as he shifts the gear and starts driving again.

his jaw ticks at my question. i imagine his molars grinding down hard against each other in frustration as his fingers drum restlessly on the steering wheel.

“no,” he grits out in the same tone i had before.

“then what the f–then what is your problem with me?” i ask, controlling myself last minute. there’s no need to get rude just yet.

george, obviously, ignores that and continues to mutter something to himself that i can’t quite clearly make out.

fuck this and fuck him.

i think back to the last 24 hours i’ve had. i think back to packing my bags while sobbing so hard that i couldn’t see two inches in front of me. of having to figure out a way to get to the airport without nate. of having no one to say goodbye to, no one to tell me that they will miss me. i think back to four years in new york and how by the end of it i was almost back to square one.

“it’s distracting,” he replies and i resist the urge to scoff. it’s hardly that bad. it’s literally just a phone buzzing. “if you don’t want to get it then turn it off.”

i’m almost certain that by now my jaw is on the floor of his messy car—no, seriously. i don’t know how someone would want to have that many receipts and empty beer cans in their backseat—but george has some nerve!

“what the fuck!?” i glare at him, not even bothering to conceal my irritation now and i have no doubt that if it weren’t for the busy road, he would be glaring right back at me. his hands grip the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turn white.

“listen,” i continue, “i know you’re mad that matty made you come pick me up—”

“oh you think you know why i’m pissed off?” he retorts, cutting me off halfway. strike fucking two.

“but i’m not going to sit here and take your shit.” i finish, ignoring him entirely. almost as if the universe were on my side, george turns onto a familiar street. extremely familiar, in fact. i know where i am, i know matty’s house is a five minute walk from here. internally i whoop with joy.

“in fact,” i continue, mustering up all my snark, “i am not going to sit here at all.” then like a maniac, i put one hand on the door handle and jut my chin up in defiance. “stop the car right now and open the trunk.”

predictably, george stares at me like i’ve lost my mind. and maybe i really have because the next thing i’m doing is unbuckling my seatbelt and tightening my hold on the door handle.

“stop the car right now, george or i swear to god, i’ll start screaming for help.”

if i weren't so pissed off, it'd be funny how his eyes go as wide as saucers in the span of half a second, how fast his head whips to me.

“you are fucking INSANE!” he yells and pulls over as fast as he can, “fuck, i don’t know what matty sees in you,” he spits and yanks his door open.

i sit there frozen for a second, all the anger and snark almost leaving my body at his words. almost. but then i hear the trunk opening and the sound of two bags being harshly thrown onto the pavement.

letting out a string of curses that are aimed at him, his family and at least ten generations of his ancestors, i stomp over to where he’s thrown my bags casually. i don’t stop there. i march up to him, staring him right in the face until i am on the curb and tall enough to reach his chin.

“you!” i stab my finger in his chest, “don’t get to say that about me.”

george rolls his eyes looking down at me as if i were about as threatening as a baby penguin. and i have the sudden and insane urge to climb on his car so i would finally be tall enough to look down my nose at him.

“i don’t know what matty sees in you!” i continue the finger-stabbing, just once more to drive the point home but the insufferable man in front of me only scoffs lightly.

“very original of you,” he drawls, “now if you’re done…” he trails off before his massive hand wraps around my wrist and pushes my hand away. his fingers are warm and rough. calloused hands.

someone who’s used to being rough with everything he touches.

and just like that, he’s walking away and back into his car while i’m left fuming on the pavement. honestly fuck george and fuck everything else, i’m just ready to write this entire day off and rot in bed.

with more force than necessary, i start yanking my bags behind me, practically stomping till the end of the lane where matty’s house stands. george and his car don’t move.

i imagine him in there fuming like i am right now and then scream out in frustration. a bird in a nearby tree flies away in panic.

i should not be thinking about that dickhead at all.

when i’m halfway through the lane, the car starts back up. driving behind me, following like a creep. well, that’s an exaggeration—i imagine he has to report back to matty that i made it to the house safe. still, i want to turn around and yell at him to fuck off.

between planning his evil demise and chanting all my angry thoughts, i finally reach the house at the end of the lane and freeze. because i realise i don’t have his keys, matty’s not home and i have no way of getting in. and the only person who probably has said keys is currently sitting in his car right behind me.

slowly, like in one of those cheesy horror movies, i turn around and look in the direction of the car. through the window, i see george rhythmically tapping on the steering wheel, glancing at me while a slow smirk curls onto his face. i can feel the smugness radiating off of him all the way to where i’m standing.

evil little shit.

he takes his sweet little time, getting out the car and sauntering toward the front door. before he gets to the door, he stops in front of me, face carefully blank once again with only a hint of arrogance in his eyes.

“need my help again?” george asks and my god does it take all my restraint not to punch him right in the face.

“just give me the bloody keys and leave, george,” i spit at him and watch his face morph into confusion.

he stares at me for a second longer than he should, eyebrows creasing and eyes hardening as wariness creeps in. “why would i give you my keys?”

“so i can get in, you idiot—wait your keys?”

i open and close my mouth like a fish, trying to make sense of his words. he doesn’t mean what i think he means, right? this is all just a stupid misunderstanding?

“my keys,” he confirms and dangles them right in front of my face so that a tiny metal g smacks me in the nose.

my throat feels drier than the nevada desert. beads of sweat roll down the back of my neck. and it’s not just sweat from the humidity—no, this is a cold sweat. impending doom and bad omens and whatnot.

trying to clear my throat, i speak again in a rough, whispery voice, “why do you have keys to matty’s house?”

but even i know how stupid that sounds before it’s even left my mouth. because why would he have keys to matty’s house. unless…

unless it’s not just his house. and george is not just his best friend. no, george, stupid and utterly infuriating george is also his housemate.

and now he’s about to be mine too.

lemme know what you think <33

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855 @beachesgetpeaches, @you-muppet, @mcabister, @alexmarie29, @at-her-very-foreign, @hfkait, @squishysoupy @sierraeslaprincesa @harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet @thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @theoriginalwhatsername @celestcies

add yourself to the taglist

#the 1975 #george daniel #george daniel x oc #george daniel x reader #george daniel x you #matty healy #ross macdonald #adam hann #the 1975 fic #the 1975 fanfic #enemies to lovers #george x oc #george x reader #george x you #george daniel fanfiction #george daniel fanfic #keep your enemies closer

119 notes · View notes