#major headache in the morning here I come | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

atlasmoonglade · 8 days

Text

Joost Klein x singlemom!reader

Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3 ; Chapter 4

Warnings: kind of a rollercoaster of emotions, smut, PiV, riding, angst, 18+ only

This turned out quite long, but I didn't want to split it into another chapter. Hope you enjoy :)

Chapter 5

Your head is resting on Joosts chest, his finger drawing mindless patterns on your arm.

There is a comfortable silence around you.

"What happened between you and Elliot's dad?" he asks.

You don't answer at first.

"We started dating in high school and were friends long before that. Basically I've known him the majority of my life. We didn't rush to have kids or get married, we were building our careers, focused on ourselves. I was truly happy with him." you stare into the distance. "I think we got too familiar with each other, if that's possible." you laugh a little. Joost is listening to you intently. "so when a new routine got introduced, we weirdly just grew apart. We both love Elliot with our whole hearts, so after we realised we are failing to make this work, we decided to separate. We are still very close, it feels like we are best friends who have a kid together. But I don't regret separating. It was the right choice for us." you turn to look at him. "What about you? Have you experienced married life?" you try to joke.

He laughs. "No, I didn't. But I want to one day, with the right person." he says his tone getting serious.

You fall into silence again. His breathing steady, but you know he is not yet asleep.

"You know, that day we met, I really wanted to stay home, I had a horrible headache. I almost didn't go." you say quietly.

He doesn't say anything, so you start to think he did fall asleep.

"That coffee shop we met at the second time. It wasn't on my usual run route. For some reason that morning I decided to go a different way and ended up there." he says suddenly.

"Funny how life works sometimes." you say.

He kisses the crown of your head. "It all works out in the end."

Waking up next to Joost in your bed that morning was even more ethereal than before. Although you'd shifted several times in your sleep, he'd found you in the darkness each time so that he could cling to you again.

You ghosted your fingers over his hand splayed out on your stomach, and the touch only served to make him pull you closer to him. You continued to run your hands along his, eventually going up his arm and quietly giggling at the goosebumps that formed. When Joost began to stir, the first thing he did was bury his face between your shoulder and neck. You giggled at the tickling sensation of his breath, and he responded by peppering the area with short, light kisses.

"Good morning" you say.

He just groans into your neck.

"You really are not a morning person, huh?"

"I am" he says into your ear, as he pushes himself even closer behind you and you feel how hard he is.

You laugh. "That is not what I meant." you turn to face him and press a light kiss to his lips.

He moves his hand to your jaw and pulls you into a kiss again. He hugs you tight against him, and trails his kisses from the side of your mouth, to your jaw and continues kissing your neck. Your hips roll against him earning a moan from him. You move your hand down to touch him through his boxers.

"Fuck" he exhales, as you continue to tease him. His hand slides from your neck down your body, he moves your panties to the side. "So wet already" it definitely strokes his ego. "Could have woke me up earlier" he chuckles and gets up to get his wallet again. You hear the sound of foil ripping and he gets back to the spooning position behind you.

"Come here" you kiss him again as he rolls into you slow and tender, the two of you entwined and sinking into the mattress.

Your head rolls back into his shoulder. "You feel so good"

His hands are holding your waist, while he is rocking his hips slowly at first. He wants to take his time with you, wants to take care of you, the sounds he hears leave your mouth encourage him to move faster. He can't believe the things you do to him and what he feels for you in this moment.

"Please don't stop" your voice feels like a prayer to him.

He moves his hand to work on your clit, a few more thrusts and he feels you clench around him. Your legs start to shake.

"Just a little longer" he says chasing his own release. A few more thrusts and he comes into the condom. You both try to catch your breath.

He kisses your shoulder and moves to lay on his back.

You check your phone "C'mon we have to get up. Nicholas is dropping off Elliot soon." you tap his thigh. "I'll make you breakfast."

"The full morning experience." he says and laughs at his own joke.

You get up and head to the bathroom.

"Stop starring" you throw a t-shirt you pick up from the floor at him.

"Why so shy all of a sudden? I was inside of you a second ago." he catches the t-shirt.

"Shut up" you laugh.

You finish showering and go the kitchen to start making eggs on toast. Enough for you, Joost and Elliot if he wants. When did this become so domestic you think to yourself.

"Hurry up, they are coming up already." you shout when Joost is still in the shower.

You put down the plates and throw your head back laughing as you see Joost rushing towards the kitchen, still putting on his t-shirt.

The key turns in the door and you hear little footsteps running in.

"Hi, mom!" Elliot runs towards you, you kneel down. "Hi, baby" you hug him.

"Hi, Joost." Elliot says looking up from the hug. "Why are you.. breathing like that?" Joost is still out of breath from trying to make it in time to the kitchen.

"He just came back from a run. He loves doing cardio in the mornings" you say trying not to laugh.

"Cardio in the mornings, huh?" Nicholas walks in and laughs.

"Hi! " you hug Nicholas. "Thanks for driving him back."

"I had time before work today to drop him off, so you didn't have to drive up." he says and looks at Joost.

"This is Joost. The one I told you about."

"Hi, Joost. Nice to meet you." Nicholas reaches his hand out to him.

"Hi. Likewise." Joost shakes his hand.

This is so weird runs through your thoughts. All of your favorite people in one room, but why is this weird, you think to yourself.

"Did you have fun?" you ask Elliot.

"So much fun! Look what daddy got me." he shows a new Lego set to Joost who is the closest to him.

"That's so cool!" Joost matches his enthusiasm and it makes you smile.

"I have to go now. Bye, Elliot. Love you." Nicholas says and heads towards the door. He gives you and Joost a wink and chuckles again mouthing cardio.

Later that week you invite Joost to join you in a park with Elliot for a little picnic. You take out a blanket and Elliot lays out the Lego set, which he was excited to build. Joost helps him sort out the pieces while they talk about cartoons and movies they've seen.

"You haven't showed him the classics? What do mean you haven't seen Shark Tale?" Joost looks between you and Elliot.

"Well, the movie for the evening is sorted then."

"You are gonna love it, lil guy." the nickname he started calling Elliot makes you chuckle.

"How is your song coming along?" you ask.

He sighs. "We haven't made much progress. We are in kind of a creative drought as my producer likes to call it." you see how much it bothers him.

"Oh. Well hope it passes soon." you hate to see him not feeling excited about his music. "What do I say to that? Do I wish you inspirational rain?"

He laughs. That infectious laugh again. It even makes Elliot chuckle as he flips to the next page of the Lego instructions.

"What do you usually do to get the juices flowing again?" you ask.

"I usually go out with a pretty girl and a lil guy to build legos"

"I am not little." Elliot pretends to be upset.

"Sure, lil guy."

You have built half of the lego car, when Elliot went to the playground. You notice Joost is being quieter than usual.

"Anything I can do to help? It breaks my heart to see you like that."

He looks at you with a smile and puts his hand on your thigh, squeezing slightly. "You are already helping." he says. "I'll work it out."

"What are your plans for next week?" you ask.

"Depends. Are you asking me on a date?" he teases.

"Nicholas is taking Elliot to stay with his grandparents." you say. "I thought me and you could also go somewhere. A little vacation."

"I would love that." he gives a little peck to your lips.

You figured time away with just the two of you would help you understand where do you stand now. What this new relationship means to both of you. You were trying to repeat his words "Let's just have fun for now" for as long as you could to distract yourself from the ticking clock when the time comes for him to leave. You don't want to scare him away by asking too many questions, like "So, what are we?", but you would be lying if you didn't say that this question is spiralling in your head. Would long distance even work between you? Those are the questions which you don't have yet the answer to.

You are helping Elliot pack for the week he will spend with Nicholas' parents. Joost has come over earlier that morning, he is working on his ipad in your bedroom.

"Let's go, you can give it to him now." you tell Elliot.

"Joost?" Elliot is suddenly shy walking up to him.

"Yes, lil guy?" Joost puts down his ipad.

"We were making bracelets in my class and I made one for you." he pulls out the bracelet from behind his back. "There were numbers we could choose from in the beads kit, it reminded me of your tattoo." he points to the 1983 inked on Joosts fingers. "Hope you like it."

Joost takes the 1983 bracelet and puts it on his wrist. He looks taken aback by this gesture. "Thank you so much, Elliot." he touches the bracelet. "That is so sweet of you. I will never take it off."

This whole interaction makes you tear up a little bit. You sit next to Joost and hug him.

You and Joost check in into your hotel room at an out of town resort for the next couple of days. As you both settle in, you remember the first time you stayed at his apartment, the awkwardness between you, which has now completely disappeared. There are still unanswered questions floating between you but you leave them in the air for now. You think of how dark it was around you in his apartment that night compared to the sun shining into the room through the floor to ceiling windows. A little laugh escapes you.

"What?" he comes up to hug you from behind.

"Nothing." you are smiling from ear to ear as you turn in his arms.

"No, no, share with the class what's going on in that pretty little head of yours."

"Just trying to imagine you in the tennis class I signed us up for tomorrow."

"You think I'm gonna be bad at tennis?" he looks at you pretending to be offended. "I will win so easily you won't even have time to react."

You laugh "Someone is competitive."

"You have no idea." he lowers his head to kiss you. The kiss is slow and sweet, he walks you back to the bed not breaking the kiss. You both fall onto the bed, his hands bunching up your dress slowly going up your thigh. A phone call startles you. He pulls away, his pupils dark and full of want. "Sorry" he says standing up.

He answers the call, while you fix your dress and sit up. He opens the balcony door to take the call there. You continue to unpack, the faint sound of Joost speaking in dutch on the phone. He comes back into the room, you can't fail to notice his tense shoulders.

"Everything ok?" you ask concerned.

"Yes." he answers. "It was my manager, sorry."

"Ok.." you look at him, when he doesn't give any more information you decide to drop it.

"There are beautiful routes for running here. Want to go?" you ask him.

"Let's go." he smiles at you.

To summarise your last few days:

He did beat you in Tennis, but only because you let him is what you say when he gloats about his win.

"Are you sure it wasn't your age?" he leans down to ask you.

"How dare you" your jaw drops. You both start laughing.

You went to a painting class where you had to draw each others portrait. His turned out pretty good, his own style very apparent. He didn't know you went to an art class in college, the accurate portrait took him by surprise. He promised to put in a frame on his wall back home.

"Something to remember me by." you smile at him.

"There is much more I will remember." he smiles back.

On an afternoon walk you met Joosts fan, who was shocked to see him here. As they talked in dutch, you tried to let go of Joosts hand, to give him a choice in case he didn't want to be seen with someone publicly. He only squeezed harder. A small gesture but it meant so much to you.

They switch to English, before they take a photo.

"Haven't seen you post online much."

"Big things coming." Joost replies in a heavy American accent on purpose.

"So, you do have fans, huh?" you say when you continue the walk.

"I should show you my DMs." he jokes.

"I would rather not go there." you laugh.

You watched his old Youtube videos. He didn't cringe once, you love how unapologetically he is himself, even to his past.

"We should have gotten popcorn. This is golden! You were so adorable as a teenager. Look at your cheeks, man!" you can't contain the laugh that escapes you.

"Okay, calm down. Now you have to show me your teenage photos."

For your last evening he booked a table at the restaurant. You are wearing a black maxi silk dress. You are finishing your makeup, when you see Joosts reflection in the mirror. He is wearing a shirt, black tie and black pants. A matching black jacket thrown over his hand.

"Look at you, handsome" you put your hands on his chest, smoothing out his shirt, going up to fix his tie.

"Love this dress on you." he says taking your hands into his own. You look up at him, loving how much taller he is than you.

The restaurant has an ambient lighting, quiet live music and murmur of people at other tables around you. You order and put down the menu. Joost hasn't said much on the way here, you see something is bothering him.

"Do you not like it here?" you ask.

He looks up at you. "What? No. No, I love it here. With you." he gives a faint smile. You smile back and wait for him to continue.

"I, uh. I actually wanted to tell you something." he says fumbling with a napkin on the table. "I talked to my manager and we figured out a plan for me to stay here for 2 more months. He will handle the paperwork tomorrow. But essentially it is done." he looks at you trying to read your face.

"What? That is amazing!" you can't hide your excitement. "Here I thought you were gonna say you killed someone."

He laughs, you wish you could bottle this sound.

"So.. any plans for those 2 months?" you say with a teasing note in your voice. "Are you sure you are not gonna forget dutch?"

He puts his hand over yours on the table. "Alles voor jou."

"I hate to bring it up again" you say. "but what happens after those 2 months?"

"You can come to Amsterdam to visit me."

"You know I couldn't stay for long. Or visit you often."

"We could try long distance relationship." he suggests. "I really like you, Y/N. I want you to know that. I will do anything to make this work."

Those words make your heart beat faster. In a room full of people, he is the only one you ever want to look at. No one has ever made so much effort for you, it has always been easy and safe with Nicholas, a clear plan always laid out in front of you, you had no idea you would crave something so risky and uncertain. It makes your head spin how loved and special he makes you feel, all your previous concerns are long forgotten.

As soon as you get back into your room, you feel his hands on you. He is kissing your neck, and presses you into the nearest wall. The mixture of his touches, a secluded room where it feels like you are living in your own little world and a light buzz you have from drinks at the restaurant, it all seems so perfect. You wish it all could last. You kiss him back.

He takes off your dress, then you push his shirt past his shoulders and reach for the belt on his pants. When you both get rid of each other's clothes, you make it to the bed.

He grasps the plush of your thigh as you bend your leg around his waist, his other hand braced next to your head as he lines himself up and pushes in.

"Oh, fuck" you wind your arms around his neck, find his mouth with yours.

Joosts brows turn into a frown when you wriggle away from him, but he doesn’t argue when you turn to push him onto his back and straddle his hips. He pulls you down to kiss him instead, panting against your mouth as you sink down inch by slow inch. You can see him watching as you move above him. He feels good like this, his chest is firm under your fingertips, his eyelids heavy and his pupils blown wide in the dark of the room.

“Feel like fuckin heaven..” his hands find your hips, holding you against him as he shifts his hips up in tight rhythm with your body. And it’s the sounds he makes, fucked-out, breathless moans that he would never let anyone else hear.

He can feel you beginning to squeeze tight around him and how slick the slide of you has become. He kneads his hands into your backside, drags his teeth against you again, keeps it going even as you collapse against him. Keeps you riding that wave as he wraps his arms around you and rolls you to the mattress, fucking into you then with the last of his energy. His voice at your ear, “so perfect.. beautiful..." For a split second he imagines a family with you. Would it work between you two? A little kid with his last name running around the house. The imagination takes over him and the words seem to have slipped past his lips. "I love you.”

You open your eyes to look at him. Did he just say...that he loves you? You are taken aback and your mouth doesn't move to say it back. Do you love him? It's all been happening so quickly, you haven't had the time to think about that question.

You are both trying to catch your breath as he lays down next to you, looking at the ceiling.

"Sorry. It just. Kind of happened."

"It's okay." is all you can say. You still can't bring yourself to say it back. You know the heavy weight of these words and you can't yet say them.

A few days after you got back, you and your friend Brianne met up to catch up on everything, after the coffee date, you decide to go thrifting to a few of your favorite spots. You are going through the vintage jackets they have.

"Y/N?" you hear someone call. You turn around and see the girl you met backstage at Joosts concert.

"Hi!" she gives you a hug.

"Hi! Long time no see! How have you been?"

"Good." she smiles at you. "It has been a long time." you hear worry in her voice. "Sorry if I'm being too straightforward, but are you and Joost still close?" she asks.

"Yes." you reply with hesitation, not having expected this question.

"I guess you don't know." she looks down at her hands. "We've been worried about him. He has been turning down our invitations to hang out, which is fine I guess. But he also turned down the gig we were supposed to play in Austria to stay here for longer."

You look at her, all color draining from your face. So, you weren't imagining things. All the pieces suddenly turning into a clear picture, him not being able to focus on his music, the secretive calls. You feel nauseous, guilt creeping up your throat.

"I had no idea." you say quietly. "I will talk to him."

"This isn't like him. Hope you find the right words to say to him, because we sure are out of those." she says and gives you an apologetic smile.

Later that night you get a text from Joost asking if he can come over. You can't see him right now.

No, sorry, I am not feeling well. I'm gonna call it a night early today.

Oh. Hope it's nothing serious. I can bring you soup if you want, give you a massage. Will that help?

I need to be alone today. I'm sorry.

Ok. Feel better soon.

You put down your phone and cover your face with your hands. You can feel a headache coming on, you need to talk to him, but you can't do it today. How could you let this go so far? It is not like you to get swept away like that and to confuse him as well. You feel like it is all your fault that he doesn't have time for anyone else or even work on his music. Has he lost his inspiration because of you too? You feel ashamed. Him saying he loves you all of a sudden? This is not just you having fun together anymore. The fact that you couldn't say it back should have been the first sign.

You knock at his door.

"Come in" you hear his voice from inside the apartment.

You walk in and see him taking out the plates to set the table.

"Hi" he comes up to you. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay. What's with the fancy china?" you ask.

"I can't really cook, but I got us takeaway. Wanted to do something nice for you. In case you didn't want to go out." he says.

"Joost, I need to talk to you." you sigh.

"Ok." his voice getting serious. "What's up?" he leads you to sit on the couch.

"I saw your friend yesterday. The one I met after your show." you say, looking everywhere but not at him. "She told me you cancelled your concert in Austria and haven't been seeing your friends."

He doesn't say anything, he stands up, and runs his hands through his hair. He turns to look at you.

"I was so embarrassed, Joost. I had no idea this is what is going on with you." you continue. "If you need time apart, just tell me. I am not trying to ruin your career."

"You are not ruining anything. Let me explain." he says with a sigh. "This is just one side of the story. Yes, I have been seeing them less, but I was overwhelmed ever since I came here. I met you and things seemed to have... fallen into place, I felt this calmness, finally a little peace of mind."

You look at him tears filling your eyes.

"I promise it's just temporary. It's not you, I have got wrapped in my feelings, I will work it out. I will learn how to balance work and my personal life." he kneels down next to you, taking your hands in his. "I'm sorry this happened."

You put your head on his shoulder.

"This really scared me." you say quietly.

"Trust me, I will do better." he says, his hand patting your back in soothing motions.

"I want to trust you." you sit back up to look at him.

He kisses your hand. "I'm sorry for scaring you."

You pull him into a hug. "Let's have that dinner you prepared. Smells so good."

He sighs with relief.

Once again you are in his bed, the smell of him all around you. His breathing is steady next to you. You close your eyes having finally made a decision.

It's deep into the night, you are sitting on the edge of his bed fully dressed. You reach to move a strand of hair, which covers his face, and continue to run your hand through his hair. He smiles in his sleep, as a tear falls down from your face. You walk up to his mirror and leave a note there. Without looking back, you close his door for the last time.

I can't let you build your future around me. You deserve so much more - see the world, create your art and never look back. The world deserves to know your name. I couldn't say I love you that night, but I want you to know that I felt it. One day you will meet someone who is brave enough to say it out loud.

I hope you move on faster than I will. You can be mad at me but please don't blame yourself.

I'm sorry, Joost.

Goodbye.

~~~~~~~

Elliot is playing outside with his friends, you can hear their chatter through the open window.

You are mindlessly scrolling through videos on your recommended page. A face you haven't seen in a long time pops up and it takes your breath away the same way it did the first time you bumped into him.

"I'm happy to have finally released this song. I showed it to someone I was close with once, she didn't react with words at first, but I saw goosebumps spreading on her skin. I've been chasing that high ever since." you put down your phone. Tears start blurring your vision, you wipe them away.

You put Elliot to bed, kiss the top of his head, quietly close the door and go into the spare bedroom, which now has a crib prepared, rolls of new wallpaper ready to be put up. You open the cabinet, which you have yet to go through and take out a box. Dust is covering the top of it. You take a deep breath and open the box.

An envelope with a wristband pass, an old receipt with a barely visible ink from your favorite breakfast spot, a label you took off from the wine bottle and a polaroid photo of you dancing at a concert. You take the polaroid, turning it in your hands.

He has never tried to reach out again, you only found this polaroid in your mailbox a week after you left his apartment. You read his neat handwriting on the back of it.

Since I didn't get a chance to say goodbye, I guess I'll do it now. I spent the last few days trying to process why you did it, I wanted to call you, but I won't - it will hurt too much.

I meant what I said that night in the hotel room, but I hope I never see you again. Live a happy life, Y/N, I'm glad to have been a part of it.

Forever yours,

Joost.

The door opens softly. "Honey, you coming?" your fiancé asks.

~~~~~~~

"Here is to the sold out tour!" Joost's manager raises a toast.

"Woooo! Cheers!" everyone clinks their drinks together.

Joost's friends and crew came to celebrate a successful show they just played and a world tour ahead of them. This place starts to bring back memories, he's been here before, although seems like a lifetime ago. A bar now turned into a venue for private events.

He notices a woman with a dark haired teenager standing next to her, he can tell by her pretty dress and people around in formal wear - they are celebrating something. There is a brand new guitar wrapped up as a present.

You look as good as the day he first saw you heading to the bar. The rollercoaster of emotions, which almost swept him off his feet. Sometimes he thinks it did. You see him, your eyes wide in surpise and softening as quickly, smile spreading across your face. The smile that he has almost forgotten. You look at each other, all the years between you disappearing. Suddenly it's that summer again, the morning runs, late night texts, a movie playing in the background as you take off his clothes, deep conversations hidden by the comfort of the dark. He thinks back to the note you left on his mirror, he couldn't take it off for days, he kept reading it again and again hoping to find an answer, looking at his own reflection. The night he said those words flashes in his mind. He blinks and the moment ends, the chatter of the room separating you. You go back to your conversation.

He watches as a man joins you with a little girl in his arms, he puts an arm around your shoulders bringing you closer, you lean in comfortably.

Elliot doesn't recognise Joost.

At this moment he stops blaming myself. He can move on.

#joost klein #joost klein x reader #joost klein smut #my writing

181 notes · View notes

ghostkennedy · 8 months

Text

Workplace Romance

~ID! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

Word count: 7213

Content warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, non-con, dub-con, serial killers, murder, leon's a major asshole and mean to reader, lots of arguing, confrontation, drugging, kidnapping, use of shock collar, degrading, pet names, serious bodily harm, forced self-harm, crawling, descriptions of blood/pain/body mutation, forced blowjob, cum swallowing, piss, reader pisses self, removal of an appendage/body part, capital punishment, death row, lethal injection, masturbation, very little comfort, no happy ending

the content warnings are a mess, but i think i included everything.

!!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!

Agent Leon Kennedy. A name you weren’t familiar with until a few weeks ago. Now, he’s the leading cause of all your headaches.

He’s a renowned FBI agent. Not only is he an excellent detective, but an expert in serial killer psychology.

He’s successfully led in the investigations and captures of eight serial killers and helped in the convictions of upwards of a hundred murderers.

He’s spent years studying the minds of serial killers. He can find the smallest bit of information and utilize it to get inside a killer's head. He’s the FBI’s serial killer specialist and if there’s ever a suspected serial killing, the case files land right on his desk.

And that’s what’s brought the two of you together.

You had just made detective at the Raccoon City Police Department, but the training was subpar. Any case that goes through this department is almost guaranteed to go unsolved. It’s not the station's fault, but the lack of funding and resources that has led to its downfall.

You’re up to your neck in cold case files. And crime that needs any sort of investigation is immediately your obligation. You’re a one person department and absolutely set up to fail.

When the FBI finally shows interest in the series of murders taking place throughout the city, you’re honestly relieved. Anything to ease your heavy workload. But it all changes when you meet him.

Agent Leon fucking Kennedy.

He’s a cocky bastard who undermines your department, which is solely you, constantly. He is unimpressed with the investigative work done on the case and won’t hesitate to insult your abilities as a detective.

And the man is basically untouchable.

He’s the FBI’s golden boy who can do no wrong. Everyone in the station worships the ground he walks on because he’s here to save the town, like a superhero. He’s the best of the best and everyone is expected to tolerate him. No exceptions.

It doesn’t help that he’s absolutely gorgeous. Always looking so well put together, a calculated appearance that never falters. Men and women alike gawk at the man. Whether they want to be with him or be him, you’d be stupid to not acknowledge it.

A brown fringe cascading around his face. Pretty blue eyes matched with a prominent nose and jaw line, a dimple centered in his chin. Even the stubble lining his jaw is flawless. His eyebrows are knitted together in a permanent scowl. He looks like he despises the world and it makes him that much more enticing.

And it pisses you off entirely. If he was just some mediocre, average looking man, it’d make hating him so much easier. But of course the jackass is incredible. It makes you wanna pour acid in your eyes just to give you your peace of mind back. Seeing is believing, right?

Without a single break in the case and no solid leads, you’re happy to take a step back from the case. It doesn’t mean you don’t care, but the crime rate in town has been steadily rising and you know you can help better elsewhere.

You walk into the station on what you thought was a typical Tuesday morning. But you’ve barely made it through the front door when you’re met with chaos.

People are running around, coming in and out of the station. The noise level is atrocious and has you wishing you’d caught the fucking plague because it would be less exhausting than this.

You barely make it five paces into the station when one of the coworkers you actually bother with appears at your side.

“It never stops, does it?” Jill says breathlessly.

You shake your head before replying, “What’s going on now?”

“Wait, you don’t know? Shouldn’t you be the first to know, actually?” She stops dead in her tracks, which in result causes you also to abruptly stop.

“Considering I don’t know what you’re talking about, I have no idea.” You cross your arms over your chest and turn to face her.

She sighs and places her hands on her hips. “They found another body early this morning. Everything matches up with the previous ones, so it’s basically confirmed to be one of his.”

“Another body? This will be his tenth fucking kill.”

“Thank God we got the FBI on it then?” Jill quirks an eyebrow at you, causing you to roll your eyes in response.

Jill is one of the few people seemingly in the world to not care for Leon’s bullshit. She can’t stand the man and isn’t afraid to voice it. She’s your number one defender and isn’t shy about arguing with the dreaded FBI agent.

“Maybe he’ll finally be good for something other than making my life a living Hell.”

Jill reaches out and squeezes your shoulder as she shakes her head. “But at what cost? Let’s hope the sweet, tender boy can magically solve the case and fuck back off to wherever he flew in from.”

Another coworker comes up and pulls Jill away from you. As she marches away behind the man, she turns and waves at you. You hate that you instantly wave back, but it’s Jill. You’ll look like a dork over and over for her sake.

You lower your hand and sigh, but before you can even begin walking again, a presence takes shape beside you.

“What are you doing?” An unmistakable snarky voice calls out to you. Your muscles instantly tense up in his presence, like your body is physically rejecting him and his aura.

You scoff as you begin walking again. “None of your business, Leon.”

You’re annoyed when Leon meets your big strides, keeping up with you pace for pace. You both remain silent as you quickly arrive at your office door.

You go to close the door behind you, but Leon pushes past, welcoming himself into your office. You’re frozen in place for a second in your confusion, but you quickly snap out of it and sink into your desk chair.

“What’s up?” You fold your arms over your chest and lean back in your chair. Being around Leon is exhausting and you can already feel this conversation draining you.

Leon doesn’t take a seat, instead choosing to stand tall above your desk, looking down at you.

“None of your business.” Leon mocks you in a shrill voice.

“What’s up?” His eyes meet yours, locking in an intense stare.

“You need to address me properly. Agent Kennedy, not Leon.”

You furrow your eyebrows at the sudden authority in his voice. When he doesn’t speak up again, it prompts you to instead.

“Okay. But I would appreciate it if you addressed me properly too, Agent Kennedy.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

You quirk your head to the side, shocked by the pure audacity of this man. The audacity to demand respect when he can’t even give it. It’s infuriating.

“Well, Leon, I don’t appreciate being disrespected in my own-“

“Earn it.”

You shake your head in exasperation at his interruption. Yes. Infuriating is the best word to describe this man.

“What?” You release a heavy sigh, already exhausted from the few words exchanged.

“Respect is earned. Earn respect and you will receive it.”

“You haven’t earned-“

“I’m the FBI’s best asset when it comes to convicting serial killers, not to mention all of the side work I’ve done in homicide prevention and precaution. I’ve earned goddamn respect and I expect it, no exceptions.”

He slams his hands down on your desk, causing you to jump, your chair screeching across the floor as you put more space between you two.

Your voice is shaking as you throw your hands up in the air, “Fuck! Okay! Sorry, Agent Kennedy.”

He gives you a final death glare before backing up and causally stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. It remains silent as you two stare across the room at each other.

“Anyways, I needed to talk to you.” He finally sits in the chair and your shoulders visibly relax. You hate yourself for being so visibly nervous in his presence currently, but it was out of your control.

“What about?”

He clears his throat. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but my bosses have instructed me to take you under my wing. Teach you what I know. And it’s my obligation to follow those orders and I think it’s in your best interest to do so as well. It would be very beneficial to you.”

Your eyes fall closed as you barely manage to hold back a groan. Your head falls back, scalp connecting with the back of your chair.

“You just made detective, correct?”

You sigh and look back up at him, “Yeah. Not even a month ago.”

“Then let me help you. There’s no one here to train you on how to be a good detective, a good investigator. I know a thing or two. You just have to let me help you. Also, it’ll be better on my conscience if I leave here confident in this station's sole detective.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m being serious. I have a lot to teach and you have a lot to learn. You’d be stupid to not take full advantage of this opportunity.”

You remain silent, lost in your own thoughts. You were confident with your abilities as a detective. Confident with your capability to solve cases, but he has the experience that you don’t. But he’s also Leon Kennedy and that alone is almost enough to make you say fuck no.

“How many people have died at the hands of this killer? That we know of so far.”

“9 I believe.”

“10 after the discovery this morning. And there could be more we don’t know about. You don’t wanna solve this case? Wanna bring this sick fuck to justice?”

“Well, of course-“

“Then work with me. How many more innocent people need to die?”

You release a heavy sigh. “Alright, alright. We have a deal or whatever.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Weeks have passed and Leon’s arrogance has only gotten worse.

The belittling, the undermining, just everything he does has you raging. You’ve given up on helping with the investigation because anything you do is scrutinized. You found a solid piece of evidence that could have easily been looked into, but he rejected it and told you to disregard it.

No matter how hard he tries to make you feel like it, you’re not an idiot. You’re a great detective and nothing about this situation is right. His behavior, his attitude, his methods of operation are all suspicious as hell, so how could you not look into him?

You’re not exactly sure what you were looking for. Maybe a sign that he was taking credit for work he didn’t actually do? Or maybe a sign of him planting evidence?

Why couldn’t you have just minded your goddamn business?

You’re the only two left in the station, working late on the case. To say things are tense is a fucking understatement if you’ve ever heard one.

“Can I ask you a question, (Reader)?”

Your head shoots up from your computer screen. The way he says your name has chills running down your spine, has you struggling to swallow.

“Um, yeah. What’s your question?”

His elbows are on the table, his chin resting on the backs of his clasped hands. “Did you find what you were looking for?” His tone is accusatory and it confuses you.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean?”

“Don’t play stupid.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why were you looking into me?” He brings his hands down to the table and leans in closer to your side of the table. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Your heart is in your throat as you struggle to find the words to explain yourself. “What kind of detective would I be if I didn’t?”

He snickers. “Answering a question with a question. Classic. But I’m not interested in beating around the fucking bush, so how about you just tell me what you were looking for.”

You take a deep breath before straightening your spine and feigning a confidence you definitely don’t feel. “Okay. You’re suspicious as fuck. And I don’t trust you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“And what did you find?” He snaps at you. You don’t understand why he’s taking such offense to a detective doing detective work? He didn’t anticipate this?

“Nothing. I didn’t find anything.”

“And do you still have your suspicions about me?”

“Yes.” You answer his questioning immediately. You’re not sure what compels you to do so, but your mouth moves faster than your mind. “I still don’t understand why you act the way you do.”

He looks away from you, pulling a file out of his briefcase and flipping through the papers inside of it. “What were you hoping to find?”

“I-” you’re once again stumbling over your words. No one has ever made you so nervous, no one has ever triggered your flight or fight as much as he does. Alarms are constantly going off in your head about him and you hate it. “I just wanted some answers.”

“Then fucking ask.” He slams the folder shut and tosses it down the table. “Ask me your questions. Don’t be a baby about it, going behind my back to find them. You’re a big girl. If you want answers, come and get them.”

“Why are you such a dick?”

“Because I can be. Next question.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Obviously.”

“We’re getting nowhere. Nevermind.”

“Wait!” You yell at him, reaching out and grabbing his wrist as he goes to stand up. “I’m sorry. You just piss me off.”

He pulls his wrist from your grasp with a disgusted look, but he doesn’t get up from his chair. He stares at you silently, which means he wants you to speak up. He’s so fucking entitled, you have to refrain from going off on him for the billionith time.

“Why do you brush me off constantly? I bring you solid, concrete leads and you treat them like they’re nothing. You’re leaving so many loose ends. We’re not any closer to solving this case. Why?”

He hums at you like your question is invalid. You don’t know what you expected. Of course he was just going to be a prick like he always is.

“That’s your perspective on it. A false perspective, but one nonetheless.”

“What does that mean?” The offense is obvious in your voice. More belittling, more brushing off your valid concerns. Of course. Of fucking course.

“Because I’ve followed every last lead and every little piece of evidence. It’s not my fault you can’t keep up.”

“Bullshit!” You’re both surprised at your outburst. You can’t hold it back anymore. You can’t stand the lying and fucking diversions anymore. “I’ve been watching you, Leon. I haven’t seen you investigate shit. You pick and choose where you pay attention. This is the FBI’s very best? It’s fucking pathetic.”

He keeps his expression blank and neutral. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually. I’m trying to figure out what the fuck it is you do that’s so fucking incredible that you’ve solved so many cases. Are you taking credit for other people’s work? Are you planting evidence? That’s the only thing that makes sense. You’re an opportunist. It’s like you’re just silently waiting to find the perfect person to blame. Is that it? You frame people to make yourself look better? What is it?”

Your voice is desperate and it’s genuinely embarrassing. But you are desperate. And you don’t wanna sit by anymore, not with the terrible suspicions constantly plaguing your exhausted mind.

“You think I’m covering up for serial killers? You realize how crazy that sounds, right?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. It’s not that fucking farfetched.”

“Why would I do that?”

You let out a noise of frustration, “I don’t know! To make yourself look better? Everyone worships you for the work you’ve done. Maybe it’s for the praise and glory, to stroke your ego.”

He smirks at you and it only enrages you more.

“You told me to ask you questions!” you yell at him, “Now give me fucking answers!”

“I don’t give a shit what people think. You think I would cover up for serial killers to make myself look better? That’s stupid.”

“Then maybe you have another reason!”

“Like?”

“I don’t fucking know! For all I know, you’re the serial killer and you just frame people to cover your own ass. Your job would be the perfect guise wouldn’t it?” It’s just word vomit pouring from your mouth at this point, but something about what you’ve said has Leon jumping to his feet.

Before you even have time to react, he’s leapt across the table. His hand wraps around your neck, pushing you back in your chair until you go crashing to the floor. You cry out in pain as your skull connects with the ground.

Your vision is fuzzy from the impact, but you slowly blink your eyes until they focus back in on Leon’s body hovering over yours. With the grip he has on your throat, you can’t speak. All you can do is look up at him and the unhinged expression on his face.

Leon shifts and there’s a sudden sharp, burning pain in your neck. Your arms shoot up and your fingers connect with the syringe in your neck. Your eyes widen in fear.

“Good detective work, baby. You’ve figured it out. Congratulations! You found your guy!” His smile is huge and combined with his crazy eyes, has you shaking beneath him.

The muscles in your body quickly start to tingle as you lose control of them, slowly going limp beneath him.

“Goodnight.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you pass out.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

You’re awake, your eyes are open but your brain still isn’t able to process anything. You stare blankly as you try to actually wake up. The room is a blur and you can hear a voice calling out to you, but you can’t make out what it’s saying.

Sudden white hot pain has your consciousness finally catching up with you. You’re gasping for air as you finally take in your surroundings.

The room is dirty, trash littering the floor around you. The only object in the room is a chair on the other side of the room.

“Good morning. Thought that’d wake you up.”

You push yourself up into a sitting position as Leon appears in front of you. He gently pats your head causing you to cower away from him, but he just laughs at you and walks over to the chair. Every step he takes makes a loud crunching sound as his shoes connect with the debris covering the floor. The only cleared spot is the space surrounding you, just enough for your body to lay in.

You try to speak, but all you can manage to do is cough. Leon sits leisurely in his chair as you struggle through your coughing fit.

The second it passes, while you’re still gasping for air, you call out to him, “Wha-what are you doing? What do you want?”

“Crawl to me.”

You look at him like he’s insane, and in all honesty he is, but he only smirks at the look you’re giving him. He leans back in his chair so casually, legs spread open as his left hand dangles between them. It pisses you off that he looks so good like this. Maybe if he hadn’t just kidnapped you, you would be more willing to appreciate how good the view definitely is.

“I said, crawl to me.” His voice is filled with venom as he points to the ground between his legs. He cannot be fucking serious right now.

You look at the stretch of floor between you two. It’s littered with broken glass and who knows what else. It’s obviously been intentionally spread around. This house may be old and abandoned, but the sharp shards are too clean and perfect to have been sitting here long at all.

He wants you to crawl through shattered glass on your hands and knees to him. Kidnapping you wasn’t enough. Having complete control isn’t enough, he has to exercise it.

“Leon…” you struggle to find the right words, because what are you supposed to say? It’s obvious that you don’t want to crawl across this fucking floor. “Please don’t make me-”

You gasp as your body goes tense from a sudden, unfamiliar pain. It feels like several wasps just stung your neck, and as quick as it hits, it’s gone.

Your muscles finally loosen and your hands shoot up to your neck, feeling some sort of rough fabric with a rectangular plastic box at the front of your throat.

“What the fuck is this?” Your voice is strained, still panting as you try to recover from the pain.

He chuckles at you. “You will address me as sir and you will crawl to me.”

Your fingers are still fiddling with the device strapped to your throat, trying to find some way to take it off. But it’s complicated not being able to see what you’re doing. Just when you think you might be able to slip a finger under the tight, firm fabric, the pain comes back.

The stinging pain is more intense this time and longer. You’re about to collapse, unable to keep yourself in a sitting position, when the pain once again subsides.

You can’t stop the tears pouring down your cheeks, body still shaking and in shock from the intensity of the pain to your neck.

“Now. Stop fucking with your collar and crawl to me.”

Your head shoots up to him at his choice of words. “Collar?”

He licks his lips while a look of amusement lights up his face. “Yes, dumb little bunny. A shock collar. To help you behave.”

The hand that’s been lazily lying between his legs flips around to reveal the remote in his palm. Your eyes widen as your pain riddled brain slowly catches up to the present. A fucking shock collar. He put a shock collar on you like you’re some fucking dog.

“Crawl. To. Me. Now.” He spits out angrily, his tone sending chills down your spine.

When you don’t make any movement, he makes a big show of fiddling with the remote. Taunting you, warning you.

You let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, shit okay. I’ll crawl to you.”

“Crawl to who?”

You push yourself up on your knees and lightly bring your palms to the ground, gently sitting them over top of the shattered glass. “You, sir. I’m going to crawl to you, sir.”

He relaxes in his chair once again at your answer, seemingly pleased with it. “Go on then. What’re you waiting for?”

You take a few deep breaths, attempting to will yourself to move forward. You know you have to do this, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to make the first move.

“Unless you need some more motivation. We could make good use of that collar.”

Your eyes shoot up and look up at him pleadingly, “Please, no.”

“Then fucking move.”

Leon’s patience is completely gone and you don’t want to see what other lengths he’s willing to go to to punish you.

You reach out with your right hand and your right knee slowly follows. You hiss out as your skin connects with some of the shards.

“That’s it, being such a good girl right now.”

Your breathing stops for a moment as a blush creeps up your neck at the praise. You’re so mad at yourself for your body’s reaction to his words. This is already fucking humiliating, how much worse can it get?

You move your left hand forward, breathing through the pain as it connects with the floor and your left knee follows. You’re going slow, being careful not to cut yourself up worse by being hasty.

You move your right hand carefully, blood already spilling from the cuts and onto the glass covered floor. It’s making shards stick to your skin and making everything that much more slippery.

Your right knee connects with the floor, right as the stinging pain returns to your throat. The sudden shock has you digging your knees, hands, and toes in the floor, heightening the pain you were already in.

The pain in your neck is once again gone and you’re left shaking and sobbing as blood puddles around your hands and knees.

“You know how to crawl. Go faster before you piss me off.”

You don’t know why you’re surprised he wants you to crawl faster, causing worse damage to your body. Of course he does. Why would you ever expect to be granted mercy?

You take a deep breath and squeeze your eyes shut tightly. At least you won’t have to see the glass you’re crawling into.

You’re still crawling fairly slowly, but a lot faster compared to your previous pace. You’re whining and groaning in pain and you feel the glass embedded deeply in your skin connect with even more glass. Your lower legs and toes are dragging glass behind you.

You feel the burning pain throughout your hands and legs, but you focus on moving your body forward.

“Open your eyes.”

You ignore his demands. You’re doing what he’s asking of you and he has the audacity to ask for even more.

“Look at me when you crawl to me. I will not tell you again. Unless you’d like another… shock of encouragement.”

You raise your chin up from your chest and shakily look up at him, opening your eyes. He smiles at you for listening to him and you wanna rip his fucking face off.

Your heart sinks when you realize you’ve only crawled half way so far. The pain is absolutely nauseating and you’re choking down the bile that keeps rising in your throat.

You begin crawling once again, vision blurry from the tears that are continuously falling.

All you feel is the agonizing pain as you force yourself to Leon’s blurry figure. You’re on the verge of passing out from the pain when you finally place yourself between his legs.

He runs his fingers through your tangled hair, almost soothingly. And you want so badly to jerk your head away, to run from his movements, but you can’t help but give yourself over to the gentle touch. His comfort somehow pulls you back down to Earth from your pain induced robotic state.

“Show me your hands, bunny.”

You go to push yourself up but red hot pain rages through your hands and knees, causing you to scream out in pain. Your body goes to collapse from the sheer exertion, but Leon is quick to catch you, steadying you and forcing you on your knees with your wrists in his hands.

You’re shaking as the glass embedded into your knees is forced deeper into your skin beneath your newly distributed weight. You take deep breaths as you adjust to the new level of pain. Bile fills your mouth, but you’re able to force it back down, the burning sensation of it only adding to your misery.

Your eyes open again after shutting in response to the pain. Your vision clears and you find Leon studying your destroyed hands.

Blood is still oozing from your countless wounds, shards of glass sticking out of your palms and fingers. Your hands and forearms are covered in blood, you can barely see your skin tone through the mess. Your hands are unrecognizable.

He tsks as he continues to look over them. “These are useless to me now. Shame.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his words, not sure what the implications of his words are. He releases your wrists and you let your hands fall limply into your lap. When his hands move to his belt and he starts unbuckling it, you gasp and try to move away from him but are instantly met with sharp shooting pains in your legs from your injuries.

You’re stuck in place and there’s nothing you can do about it. Anything you could possibly need to do will require Leon’s help. Just how he planned it.

Rope, duct tape, or any other typical restraints are so boring. Glass being embedded into your skin as you sit in your own blood? Now, that’s new and fascinating. You’re a cute little test subject for his vile thoughts and ideas.

He slides the zipper down his pants and you finally look down at what he’s doing.

What the fuck? He’s hard, not just hard, but really fucking hard and about to pull his dick out right in your face.

Your throat is raw from your previous wailing so your words come out scratchy. “What, what are you doing?”

“Oh, baby… Look how hard you’ve made my cock. It’s only fair that you let me cream that tight, hot throat in return.”

“What?”

“Oh don’t be such a fucking prude.” He rolls his eyes as he stands before you, sliding his pants and boxers down just enough for his cock to pop out, his tip poking your lips. You attempt to pull your head back, but his hand is quick to grab onto your hair and push your face into his cock. You’re frantically trying to turn your face away from him, but it only has him gripping your hair impossibly tighter.

“Now, now. You don’t need another shock of encouragement do you?”

“N-no. Please.”

“Then start sucking. And don’t try anything smart because I am more than happy to shock your annoying little ass again.”

Before you can even prepare yourself, he’s pressing his fingers into your cheeks and forcing your mouth open, immediately shoving his cock into the back of your throat. You’re instantly gagging. And you’re already so close to throwing up that you’re certain you’re going to puke all over this man's dick.

“See, princess? You don’t want me to do it my way. So fucking behave and don’t stop until I’m creaming that fucking mouth.”

He pulls his dick out and you’re immediately running your tongue up and down his tip. You’re ready to do anything to keep him from choking you like that again.

“Make me cum in less than two minutes and maybe I’ll consider sparing you.”

You suck his tip into your wet mouth, the taste of his precum flooding your taste buds.

“There ya go. You’re so hot, all dirty and bloody for me. Fuck, I’m gonna cum so fast. Pretty bunny has such a good mouth when she’s not running it.” He chuckles at his own words as you quickly bob your mouth up and down on his dick.

“Just like that. You ready to taste me, baby? Need to cream this throat.” He speaks quickly as he starts to thrust, meeting every bob of your head. His grip in your hair tightens as his hips still and he holds his tip against the back of your throat.

You resist the urge to gag and cough as you feel his cum fill your throat. You think he’ll never be done when he finally pulls himself from your mouth and stuffs his cock back in his pants. He refastens his belt and turns to walk away, but stops and looks down at you.

“Here.” He grabs your shoulder, causing you to gasp, as he pushes you down to the floor, until you’re laying on your back. “I’ll spare you.”

And then he’s quickly leaving the house, confident that you’re not going anywhere anytime fast. You realize you’re in less pain being off your hands and knees and breathe a sigh of relief. Your weight is distributed better over the glass, so your back and legs only tingle and sting slightly.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

You’re not sure how much time passes as you drift in and out of sleep, but when the front door finally opens, you can’t mask your excitement at Leon finally returning.

“Leon?” You call out in a happy, relieved voice.

“Hi, bunny. How are you doing?” His tone is lighter than you’ve ever heard it before and it fills you with hope.

“I’m gonna piss my pants, can you take me to the bathroom?” The back of your legs are getting badly cut up because you can’t keep your body still as your bladder throbs and aches.

“Sweetheart, you’re so silly.”

His tone is mocking. “What?” You're obviously confused and it has him shaking his head.

“That’s not my problem.”

“I can’t get up.” You whine out, praying he’ll give in and help you.

“I know,” he coos at you, “You’re gonna have to just piss yourself then. But don’t worry, I’ll stay here and watch.”

“What?”

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. It hurts so much.”

“And you know exactly what will relieve you of that pain don’t you?”

“But I can’t get myself up.”

“That’s too bad.”

You’re so fucking confused. You don’t understand what his game is here. It has to be about control, the humiliation it’ll bring you. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly and try your best to pretend this isn’t happening, but the pain is only getting worse and worse.

“Bunny… Just relax. You’ll feel better if you just relax.”

“Fuck no, Leon. No fucking way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes!” You open your eyes and give him a dirty look. “I’m not going to lay on the floor in my own blood and piss! What’s wrong with you?”

He smiles as he shakes his head, “You don’t have a choice, baby.”

You don’t know what to say to him. What can you say? Beg for his help? Hope he actually cares? It’s all so useless. You find yourself squeezing your eyes shut and clenching every muscle in your body. This is so stupid, so fucking stupid.

“You really want my help?” Leon breaks the silence, pulling you from your thoughts.

You look up at him once again, “Please.”

“Okay, I’ll help you.” You breathe a sigh of relief. He’s going to help you, there’s some sort of hope. If he can find it in himself to help you now, maybe you’ll be okay. Maybe everything will fall into place.

He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a familiar remote. Your eyes widen in shock, realizing what he’s about to do. “Wait, Leon, don’t-”

But you aren’t even able to finish your statement before the shocks are shooting into your body and every muscle tenses up in resistance. A few seconds feel like minutes before the pain stops and your body goes limp on the ground. Every muscle in your body softens.

Before you can even process what’s happening, before your mind even comes back to yourself, you register a warmth growing on your thighs and ass. The warmth spreads further as you come back to yourself.

The second you realize what’s happening, you wish you’d remained oblivious. You try to stop it, but your body is so weakened that you have no more control.

You lay on the floor in your dried blood mixing with your hot piss. You’re no longer peeing, but the humiliation has tears welling up in your eyes.

The liquid starts to cool quickly in the chilly air and it has you shivering on the floor. It has you wishing you were dead.

Suddenly, Leon’s petting your head and hushing you. “You’re a good girl, you know that? Did such a good job for me.”

Your eyes dart up to his face. “What?”

“So pretty like this. All wet and helpless.” Your thighs clench together at the praise, furthering your humiliation. Leon notices immediately and smirks down at you. “Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”

You whine as he lifts you in his arms. You’re slack in his arms because of the extensive injuries to your body. You feel your piss soaked body pressed against him and knowing your piss is getting on him makes you wanna vomit.

But that’s not the only thing you feel. This time it’s a lot less surprising, but doesn’t make things make any more sense. His erection pressed against your ass and you don’t have the energy to point it out or try to push yourself away from it.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Thankfully, not a whole lot of glass is embedded in the skin of your back, so you can happily lay in the blankets piled on top of the mattress without causing yourself any more pain.

You lay with your arms against your sides, avoiding making contact with your hands. Every time you look at your hands, your stomach twists and turns at the deformed skin. They’re cut to shit and glass shards stick out haphazardly all throughout the skin.

“Are you comfortable?” Leon asks as he runs a cold, wet washcloth across your forehead.

“As comfortable as I can be.”

“Good, good.” Leon gets up and walks across the room. You let your eyes fall shut, your body crying out for blissful sleep.

You hear Leon’s footsteps approach your bedside, not bothering to open your eyes. You’re not even sure you could open your eyes if you wanted to.

“Baby, keep your eyes shut for me, alright?” You nod as he softly caresses your cheek, pushing your hair from your face.

“Can you stick your tongue out for me? I got a surprise for you.” You hum in response, too tired to question him. But you couldn’t help the hope growing in your stomach at the thought he might finally give you some water or food.

You lol your tongue out as far as you can and feel him grab it with his thumb and pointer finger. He grips it tightly. You’re not sure why he’s doing it, but once again, you’re too exhausted to question him or resist it.

“This will be quick.”

You make a “huh” sound as best as you can with your tongue in its current position, and that’s when you hear a disgusting snip sound followed by squelching.

You start screaming as excruciating pain sets in. Your screams are cut short as you start choking on your own blood, the liquid pouring from the wound and slipping down your throat.

Leon grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you into a sitting position, allowing the blood to pour down your chin rather than your throat. Your body is shaking from the pain, you’re on the verge of passing out, feeling the darkness creeping up on you, awaiting to consume you completely.

“There you go, baby. I got rid of the thing that causes you the most trouble. You’re perfect now.”

Your tears pour down your face, mixing with the blood coming from your mouth. You look down at the bedspread in front of you and the sight of your severed tongue has your vision going foggy. You let out one final cry before passing out from the pain and blood loss.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

It’s been fourteen years, but you still remember it like it was yesterday. You relive those events every fucking day of your miserable existence. It doesn’t help that you have optimal time to think about it in your small prison cell on death row.

Of course he handed you over to the police with some elaborate story on how he found you out and when he confronted you, you went crazy and mutilated yourself. And of course, you can’t properly defend yourself, considering he took your fucking tongue. You could write out your claims of innocence over and over, but how could you possibly convey it with words alone?

Leon framed you for all of the murders. Planted all the evidence at your apartment and in your car, “finding” all the overlooked leads in your office. It was a pretty open and shut case. Took the jury less than an hour to find you guilty and for you to get sentenced to death.

Tomorrow’s the day. You’ll finally get the lethal injection and be free from your own personal purgatory. You’re confined to a prison cell by yourself 24/7 considering if you show your face outside of it, other inmates are instantly on you. You’re America’s most brutal female serial killer, how could they not want to kill you?

It’d be too easy if the prison would just let the other inmates go through with it. Just put you out of your misery and throw your body into the prison’s graveyard. But no. No amount of suffering will ever be enough to pay for “your” crimes.

You hate yourself. You look at your unrecognizable, mutilated hands and all you can do is sigh as you slip one down between your spread thighs to relieve the ache you feel between them.

In your line of work, you were well aware that trauma could cross wires in your brain. You can’t control your trauma responses. But the fact that your pussy is always soaking wet when you think about his dick in your mouth and the praising words he spoke to you is torture in itself.

You try to think of anything else, anything else at all. Even when your fantasies don’t revolve around that man, you can’t get yourself off without thinking of what he did to you.

As you lay in bed, shirt stuffed between your teeth to silence your sounds, you feel your climax grow closer and closer and his face above you is all you can see. And no matter how many times you go over it with yourself, telling yourself it’s a trauma response, you know the truth. You know that deep down you loved what he did to you and the only thing that makes you so angry is the fact that he put you here.

Here in this cold, lonely cell to waste away for the rest of your days. Leaving you with a heart, soul, and cunt that aches for him. You know what he’s done and you hate it, but you can’t bring yourself to hate him.

And as your wetness runs down your fingers, coating your palm in the proof of exactly what he does to you, all you can think about is that fucking day. You’re going to die tomorrow and here you are touching yourself to the man that put you here.

Your orgasm tears through you, leaving you a shaking and shivering mess in your threadbear sheets on your paper thin cot. It’d be so much easier to hate him, but you have the curse of hating yourself instead.

Tomorrow you will die and pay for your crimes. And maybe the crimes you’ll be dying for aren’t yours, but you still deserve to pay for being so fucked in the head. So you’re happy, almost giddy to be dying tomorrow.

Maybe you’ve gone mad, or maybe you were always mad to begin with and it took him coming along to pull it out of you. Either way, not like it fucking matters. You’ll still be dead and he’ll still be a free man. But you caught the killer and for that, you’ll always be a good fucking detective.

~masterlist~

487 notes · View notes

seungmoonandstars · 3 months

Text

Kim Seungmin/gn!reader

wc: 1.3k

rating: fluff -`♡´- (contains some very light smut and teasing)

Post-first pitch Seungmin. I was going to get into heavier smut, but it just didn't seem necessary. Just wanted to write cute whiny Minnie and try to unblock my brain.

Thank you for the reblogs! 🤍🤍🤍

★────★────★

Seungmin can’t sleep. He’s buzzing with adrenaline and leftover excitement —the afterglow of his trip to throw a first pitch at a major league baseball game. It’s happened and it’s done, and he still can’t believe he threw the ball right down the middle. No dirt, no accidental curve, no slip up on the mound.

He talked about it all night, and you listened happily until both of you finally dozed off.

“Hey…hey you up?” He turns over in bed and gently pokes your side, the spot he knows is ticklish.

But you don’t stir, so he whines a little. “I can’t sleeeeep.”

You grumble and roll onto your back. “Huh…what’s wrong pup? It’s so early.”

“I can’t get back to sleep”

“Do you want some coffee? Are you hungry?” You pick up your phone and look at the time, then to the window to see some faint morning light starting to show in the sky.

“No, I wanna pitch some more,” now he flips onto his back, shaking the bed, and mimics a throw toward the ceiling.

“Mmm yeah, you did a great job. I thought you had a headache.”

“I feel better. Will you be my catcher?”

Your eyes pop open and stare at him. The grin on his face is undeniable—cute, sincere, so eager. There is no such thing as saying no to Kim Seungmin when he gives you those eyes. But…

“I would love to be your catcher…but there’s nowhere to do it. We can’t do it in the apartment unless we wanna break something. And I think it’s raining.”

“No, it stopped! Let’s go out, just for a few minutes…just a few throws.”

“Okay, give me a minute to finish waking up”

“I’ll make coffee when we come back in”

—

It’s nice outside. Not warm, but not too chilly. The smell of rain is still in the air, and it feels like more is coming. Best of all, it’s quiet and empty—it doesn’t feel like there are any prying eyes. You watch as he flexes his gloved hand open and closed, tosses the ball (not the one he threw hours ago, but an older, more loved one) into the air and back into his bare palm.

“Are you ready?” He peeks back at you from his pretend pitchers mound and smiles.

“Yes. Don’t do a splitter, I’ll miss it.”

“No splitters.” He readies himself and winds up, and it happens so fast you’re surprised you have time to react. It’s way too early for this.

“Oh, good catch! I taught you well.” He holds up his glove and waits for your return throw.

The sun is mostly up, but it’s so overcast it might as well be twilight. Still, you can see Seungmin’s big smile glowing at you from this distance. He hops on the balls of his feet a few times while he waits for you to get ready.

“How does your shoulder feel from all the practice yesterday?”

“Not bad,” he throws you another, slightly harder pitch, but you catch it. “Throw me a good one.”

Seungmin catches your attempt at a ‘good one’, but he has to jump forward a few steps to get there. “I’m still stiff from sleeping, I guess.” He rolls his shoulder and shakes his arm a few times.

“You’re what?” You giggle and stick your tongue out, "you’re stiff? That sounds nice..."

“Dirty mind,” he smiles at you and licks his lips, and now your eyes drop and watch his sweatpants as he takes a few more steps toward you. "Come on."

“Come? What do you want me to come on?”

The look he gives you is a bad attempt at being annoyed. His giggle floats all the way over to you with his pitch, and the throw this time is soft…a little high. When you look back up from your glove he’s already splitting the space between you in two, grinning stupidly, biting his lip.

“We’re done already?”

He grabs your hand without a word and pulls toward the entrance… "we could just do it out here, ya know" …into the elevator, still silent as it slowly rises up and up to your floor. Your hand is squeezed tight in his warm grip, and he swings it a few times as the doors finally slide open.

It doesn’t take much to see he’s been on an adrenaline high for hours, even as he tried to sleep, and it was no fun not being able to go with him on his little trip—you felt lonely all day. But he’s home now, and he’s all yours again. And he’s definitely wide awake. Now you are, too. No coffee needed.

Still he doesn’t say anything, but he’s humming happily to himself.

“Minnie?”

“Yes love?”

The door closes behind him, and he’s all over you. Lips kissing and teeth biting, hands pulling at your sweatshirt, trying desperately to get it off. You pull away and do it for him, and you feel his hand run up your sides, under your shirt. It’s off and on the floor. His eyes move down your body, and slowly back up to your face. You know what he’s waiting for—Seungmin likes it when you undress him. He prefers it, actually.

Now you can see what’s going on in his pants, he can’t hide that. Before you go for his shirt, your hand slides down his front for a feel. Seungmin is ready to go, now, and you’re surprised he’s being so patient. You grab the hem of his shirt and lift, revealing his heaving chest and shoulders, and as you run your eyes over his neck and collarbone, he pulls his arms back and stretches.

A moment later you’re up and clinging to him, fingers clawing into his back. Then you’re on the kitchen table, legs wrapped around his hips. His dick, still tucked away in his sweats, pokes into you as he kisses your chest and neck, squeezes playfully at your thighs. It’s more forward of him than you’re used to.

“You are not fucking me on this kitchen table, Seungmin”

“Aw, whyyy?” He pulls you against him and stares hard, “please?” The puppy eyes again. Cute and sincere and so, so eager.

“The couch is right there”

“But you’re already on the table”

The warmth of his hand is on you, down your stomach, underneath your clothes, fingers teasing.

“Yeah, yeah I am…”

“Lay down,” he whispers.

“Ooh, you’re cute pup”

“Please”

You shake your head, “gonna have to make me.”

Seungmin swallows hard, and you watch as his eyes trace along your neck, and your chest. He rarely makes you do anything; he’s usually the one being made to do things, and he likes it that way.

“Make me…pleeaase?”

“Please?” He grips your thighs and pulls until you’re snug against him, cock pushing right where you need it to. “Uh…make you…hmm,” he starts, and you think he might do something, but he hesitates.

“Look at me”

His arms wrap around your waist and squeeze, and he looks. Eyes big and dark, cheeks blushed. Seungmin is too soft for this. He whines and throws his head back.

“C’mon big boy, make me”

“But…” Seungmin laughs, kisses your throat.

“What do you think about when you’re all riled up and horny and I’m not there to fix it?”

The sound of his breaths and needy whimpers is driving you crazy. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep going like this—all you have to do is stop teasing and take over—get him to the couch, fuck him until he begs you to make him come.

“You…taking care of me.” He says it so softly, so sweetly. “Making me feel good.”

It sends a shiver up your back and down your arms. "I wanna make you feel good.” Once again, denying him is useless. Seungmin is your prince; your sweet little pup. You will take care of him and give him what he needs, whether that means waking up at dawn…or this.

“Pick me up”

He grabs your hips and holds you close to him, but his eyes linger for one more long moment.

“Pick me up…and take me to bed”

#kim seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader #skz seungmin #sub!seungmin #sub seungmin #seungmin x you #kim seungmin x you #seungmin x y/n #kim seungmin x y/n #kim seungmin fluff #kim seungmin #kim seungmin fanfic

211 notes · View notes

schrijverr · 3 months

Text

Stiles as a Roommate

Classic outsiders POV of Stiles in college, where his roommate, Mike, and their other friends try to figure out who all these people are that keep calling Stiles.

On AO3.

Ships: Sterek

Warnings: they think Stiles is wrapped up in some bad shit (which valid tbh)

~~~~

Mike’s roommate is profoundly disturbing and highly hilarious to have around. On the first day he comes crashing into the room, tripping over himself like an old school physical comedy, before assuring Mike that he’s fine and it doesn’t even come close to being beaten to a pulp by a grandfather.

It’s quite the introduction and for a while Mike was worries that his roommate is going to suck. Stiles isn’t the typical college student, you see.

He has amassed an entire herb garden in the windowsill, skips out on most parties, keeps a metal baseball bat by his bed and calls home every single day. On top of that, he doesn’t know how to shut up and his rants devolve into the strangest bullshit about the most random topics that make Mike wonder why the hell criminology major had looked into them.

So, Mike thought he is stuck with a weird paranoid kid, who doesn’t know how to have fun. He worries about Stiles getting mad about him getting back in late or judgmental about not studying as much. However, his worries had soon been put to rest.

Because Stiles is fun and Stiles is easy. He can become anyone’s friend in minutes and is up later than healthy most of the time, doing weird bullshit on his laptop that he calls research, though Mike never knows what for.

He might not be a party-goer himself, but he absolutely doesn’t care about what Mike does, just jeering at him to use protection when he goes out and waking him up with a smug smirk and coffee when Mike wants to disappear into his mattress with a hangover, kicking his ass to classes.

Stiles is probably what is keeping him from failing right now and Mike will go to great lengths to keep him as his friend, because, yeah, they’re friends now.

It’s impossible not to befriend Stiles, he grows on you like a very persistent mold.

His friendship with Stiles starts six weeks into rooming together. Classes are in full swing alongside parties and Mike has just started to get worried about his roommate being a stick in the mud, when he comes home at 4:00 AM piss drunk.

Naturally he tries (and fails) to quietly enter the room, trying not the be the dickbag that wakes people up every night to find the lights still on. He blinks a few times at Stiles, who is sitting on his bed with a laptop and smartly says: “Huh.”

“God, you’re so fucking drunk it’s not even funny, dude. I can smell it from here and I don’t even have a freaky nose,” Stiles comments, before he gets up from the bed.

Mike sways slightly in the doorway, mentally trying to decide if he can do a stumble and drop to his bed or if he’ll sleep on the floor when Stiles is suddenly in front of him. He startles and nearly falls over, saved from faceplanting by Stiles, who is usually the one meeting the floor.

“Oh, hey, there, hey, buddy,” Stiles says, righting him. He slips an arm around Mike and masterfully stumble-drags him to the bed, depositing him on it. He points at Mike, who is still reeling from the movement and sternly says: “Don’t move,” as if Mike had any big plans.

Moments later he returns with a glass of water and gets Mike upright, telling him to sip and not allowing him to stop until the glass is empty.

Mike isn’t sure what happens next, but the next morning he wakes up with a groan to find two painkillers, a glass of water and a glass of orange juice on his bedside table along with a note reading: go to your classes! And you’re not a very eloquent drunk

In that moment, it feels like the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him, swiftly forgetting all his parents have done under the pounding headache. He takes his painkillers, drinks his drinks and actually manages to drag himself to his lecture, deciding that Stiles might not be so bad.

When he comes back from his class, Stiles is there, typing away on his laptop again. He greets Mike when he enters and Mike returns it: “Hey, dude. Thanks for the painkillers and stuff.”

“Yeah, man, no problem,” Stiles smiles back. “It’s just instinct at this point, I’ve had to drag worse people off to bed.”

It’s a bit of an odd reply, but something Mike can work with. “You friends with many party-goers?”

A strange look flits over Stiles’ face, but it goes as fast as it comes and Stiles says: “Something like that. I was the one with a car, who wasn’t a prick about it getting dirty on the inside when in crisis. I have passed up on many party experiences except the clean up. All my friends are idiots.”

Mike chuckles at that and plops down on his own bed, as he comments: “Do you have a big friend group back home?” See, he can have conversations, mom.

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles tells him with a grin. “We’re like a family. A very weird family.” A brief pause. “But how about you?”

“Nah,” Mike shrugs. “I’m making up for it now.”

“Yeah, I can see,” Stiles grins. “Alcohol is a poison, my man. Besides, I’m not sure you’re remembering the friends you made.”

The bluntness is something Mike has encountered before and turned him away, but it doesn’t sound mean. He remembers that he is going to try with Stiles, so instead of ending the conversation there, he shrugs: “Probably, but it’s fun while it lasts.”

“Come on, man, that’s not fun,” Stiles says. “I have some friends from introduction. We get fries on Thursdays and study on Sunday. You can come sometime, it’s fun.”

Okay, so the bluntness was genuine concern and Mike honestly could use some actual friends. He likes parties, they’re fun, but the loneliness is starting to get to him. So he replies: “Sure, sounds fun.”

“Hell yeah,” Stiles does a genuine fist pump and Mike snorts. Yeah, alright, maybe Stiles isn’t so bad at all.

“Why were you awake so late anyway?” Mike asks, suddenly remembering that Stiles was just sitting there when he stumbled in.

“Oh, Jackson called me,” Stiles says. “He’s in studying in at Cambridge, because his parents are pretentious fuckers. He needed to check in about… something and I was still awake. I had to look something up, I was just emailing him the details when you came in.”

“All the way in England?” Mike whistles, a bit impressed.

“Tsk, don’t let hear him that. Dick has a big enough ego as it is,” Stiles rolls his eyes.

“I thought you were his friend?” Mike says, a bit confused, because Stiles had literally picked up the phone at 4:00 AM for this guy, couldn’t be that much bad blood, could there?

“Surprisingly enough. He had a restraining order against me in high school for a while,” Stiles informs him casually, before realizing how that sounds and quickly amending: “Obviously, he revoked it, because it was completely unnecessary and a big misunderstanding. We’re cool now, promise.”

And that’s Mike’s cue to drop the conversation, giving Stiles a tight nod, before turning to his own work. He’s giving the other a chance, not inviting crazy. Though he does allow himself to be invited for fries on Thursday with Stiles’ friends.

There is Maya a shy, but enthusiastic biology major; Aalif, a kind but serious looking pre-law student; Nikki, a hilariously insane art major; and Kai a bit of a dorky English major. How Stiles had found this ragtag group Mike doesn’t know

“Mike,” he introduces himself. “I do history. I’m Stiles’ roommate,” before he’s pulled into a discussion about whether or not fries can be classified as a salad. (Potato salad exists, Mike, and it’s a side dish).

It’s honestly a lot more fun than expected and it’s nice to see that Stiles does know how to have fun, he just has fun arguing about nothing with someone studying to argue professionally instead of getting wasted.

While Mike doesn’t think he’ll keep away from parties entirely, he might cut back to make place for this. The genuine connection is way nicer than not remembering who you talked to, or if you even did.

They’re about to start opening the famous is cereal-soup debate when Stiles’ phone starts to ring. He nearly hits his head on the table as he dives to get it out of his bag, calling out a quick: “Sorry, guys, gotta take this real quick.”

But since he is stuck in a booth, all he can do is turn away from them as he greets: “Isaac, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

It’s not the most standard greeting and Mike raises his brow at the others, who all shrug. Apparently this has happened before. Mike watches as Stiles gets a reply, fascinated by how Stiles seems to melt, worries leaving him as he grins fondly, before practically cooing: “You missing me already? I am flattered, pup.”

He grins some more at what Isaac is saying, before raising a brow, voice turning into a tease: “I feel used here. Like a cheap replacement. You knew Scott was going to be busy with Allison, I even warned you. Not my fault no one in this p- family ever listens to me.”

Another reply to which Stiles says: “Yes, you heard correctly, I’m with friends, you can make those at college. I encourage you to try.”

An eyeroll at Isaac’s answer, then a sigh: “Yes, Isaac, having your own friends will get their attention again. But try also for yourself, meeting new people is fun. Maybe you even meet someone you like.”

“Bye, Isaac,” Stiles says pointedly, it sounds faintly like Isaac is protesting his departure, but he hangs up on him.

“Sorry about that, you know how they can get,” Stiles grins, trying to play it off, while Mike tries to ignore how much it sounds like the conversation he had with his mom last week, before deciding to join the others in not commenting.

And after that it their friendship takes off until they’re at the ‘waking him up with a smug smirk and coffee when Mike wants to disappear into his mattress with a hangover, kicking his ass to classes’- stage.

Turns out that if you’re closer to Stiles, he’s even weirder. He goes home pretty often, now that he has settled in alright, nearly every other weekend, at least once a month, though he complains about his dad forcing him to stay at college to get the full experience, air quotes obvious in his voice.

Mike doesn’t say anything, since he kind of agrees with Stiles’ dad. It’s a bit unhealthy how much Stiles’ calls home. Or at least, Mike thinks he does, though it always sounds like it’s someone else on the phone, because Stiles will tell the same story a bunch of times or tell the person that another person told him to tell them etc, like they couldn't call themselves.

The conversations are also just weird. Stiles cuts himself off sometimes, sending Mike looks, or he’ll fuss over whoever is on the other side of the line like he’s their therapist, or their fucking mother. Not to mention the fact that he always – always – picks up.

Mike has tried to call Stiles a few times, a lot of the time his roommate won’t pick up, or call back apologetically, yet he’ll leave a lecture if someone from home calls.

It’s just odd.

So, brave soldier as he is (as well as the head investigator of their little friend group, who are all more curious about Stiles than Mike expected when he first met them), he asks: “Hey, man, who are you always calling?”

Stiles look up from where has just hung up with a: “You be careful okay? I love you,” looking a bit confused, before smiling and shrugging: “That depends, honestly. It’s a bit much.”

That sounds like a deflection, but Mike is curious and got better at talking to people and standing up for himself. So, he goes: “I have time. I’m smart. I think I can take it.”

“Alright,” Stiles shoots him another uncertain look, before starting, “Well, my dad and Derek are holding down the fort, so I call them just to see how life is going. Boyd and Erica are there too, so I call them too, but Boyd doesn’t talk much, so I mostly call with Erica. She is my Catwoman, you know, we chat, she spills about Boyd. He has his own carpentry shop, it’s been going well. I’m glad for him, you know. And Erica is taking a gap year, but to be honest, I think she likes being a park ranger too much to ever go back to school.”

Mike nods along to Stiles’ rambles. His dad is explainable and the fact that he added Derek in there must mean they’re a unit in his mind, maybe a brother? Or even his father’s boyfriend. Erica is someone he’s close with and knows well, called her his Catwoman, so maybe girlfriend? But he connected her to Boyd, who sounds like a far friend of sorts, so maybe not.

“Of course there is Jackson in England,” Stiles continues on happily. “I told you about him. He is a bit of a dick, but we’ve forgiven him. Well, Lydia did and we all trusted her and it worked out okay.”

And yeah, Mike remembers Jackson with the apparent restraining order and wonders who Lydia is. Luckily he doesn’t have to wait long.

“Lydia,” Stiles sighs, making Mike think he loves her, which he naturally immediately disproves by going, “I used to be in love with her, but turns out, no. She’s being an absolute genius doing mathematics at CalTech. She terrifies me in the best ways.”

That’s not concerning at all.

“And then you have Scott, my best friend,” Stiles rambles on and Mike knows that the other probably won’t even notice if he leaves. He gets like that. “Now my man Scott is at Colorado State

to become a vet alongside Allison and Isaac.”

Those two names are also familiar and Mike feels awkward staying silent, so he says: “They’re all become vets?”

“No, just Scott, but they’re all at Colorado State, because Scott will probably perish without Allison and Isaac hates being lonely and didn’t get into Stanford with me,” Stiles says, like that’s the most obvious reason to pick a school.

Mike is distracted by Stiles hitting his arm enthusiastically: “Allison is also doing history, man, I hadn’t even thought of that! I don’t know how it would be relevant either, but you know, fun fact! I love fun facts, like did you know that human teeth are the only part of the body that can’t heal themselves, because enamel is dead tissue. That was fun to find out.”

He senses that there is a story there, but Stiles is already moving on: “And Isaac, my beautiful boy, is doing social studies, which I think will really help him. He’s come so far and he’s really happy with his courses.”

Isaac was the one that called during that first Thursday fries run Mike was a part of. He recalls the nicknames and the fact that Isaac was missing Stiles, not to mention how fond Stiles sounded and the fact that Isaac wanted to go to college with him. Maybe Isaac was the boyfriend?

“Anyways,” Stiles ends his rant. “I told you it’s a bit much, but I like knowing they’re okay and getting by and if I only call one, the others will get jealous. There’s only so much Stiles to go around and everyone wants a piece,” he grins.

Mike thinks Stiles has a weird relationship with his friends from back home, but also that he doesn’t want to create any friction with his roommate and best friend on campus, so he just nods and smiles a bit.

“But how about you?” Stiles returns the question. “You never call home, at least, not that I’ve witnessed.”

Since Stiles decided to share, something he rarely does, Mike knows he should return the favor, so he shrugs. “Not really much to call.”

“Is no one there?” Stiles asks, all concern.

“My mom and dad are, but you know,” Mike shrugs. “Dad just cares about my grades and mom is always prying, like she thinks I can’t manage by myself or something. It’s fucking annoying. I’m an adult now, she doesn’t need to hover.”

Stiles frowns at his reply, then bites his lip as if he isn’t sure he should say something, before he breaks and blurts: “But isn’t that nice? To have someone who worries?”

“What?” Mike hadn’t thought Stiles would pick his mom’s side, though maybe he should have seen it coming.

“I mean, I don’t know your situation of course, but I get it,” Stiles shrugs, backing off a bit. “You’ve always been her baby, who she saw every single day and knew when you had a bad day, when you got a good grade, etc, now she has nothing and you don’t tell her, so her mind makes up all the horrible things that could have happened to you between calls, resulting in what is practically an interrogation until she is satisfied that you’re truly as okay as you claim you are… Wow, that was one hell of s sentence,” Stiles ends his keen observation with a joke to lighten it up a bit, since he got way too into that.

Mike attempts to wade through the sea of words just slung to his head, before he realizes Stiles kind of has a point. He breathes: “How do you even know that?”

Stiles scratches his nose and shrugs: “I might be a bit of the mom-friend.” And Mike is reminded of the fact that Stiles is really weird with his friends and that he probably knows that because he does the exact same thing his mother does.

Next Sunday, he reports all this to the study group, which Stiles has had to skip out on, because someone called at midnight, which obviously meant Stiles immediately packed is bags and left, something that is more common than Mike would like.

“That’s a lot of friends,” Maya comments once he is done. “But it’s sweet he cares so much about them.”

“He cares mom-levels about them,” Mike points out. “I’m telling you, he got so intense while defending my mom, like it was personal.”

“So, he’s a bit intense about is friends,” Nikki shrugs. “One girl in my class is making a shrine to her boyfriend as a final project. We’re not at that level yet, so I think we’re good.”

“He took off in the middle of the night on a three hour drive, because someone called,” Mike replies.

“I don’t think it’s really any of our concern,” Aalif interrupts, before it can get out of hand.

“But what if they’re like a creepy cult or something?” Nikki asks.

Aalif levels her a look as he says: “I don’t think Stiles would get drawn into a cult.”

“You don’t know that,” she raises a brow. “It happens, even to smart people like Stiles.”

“He has a metal baseball bat by his bed,” Mike offers, not sure why he is backing Nikki in this debate.

“He does?” Maya asks, a bit concerned.

They all now look at Mike and he suddenly realizes that they’ve never been into their room, which is why he has become Stiles source number 1. He shrugs: “Yeah, he took it with him when he left for home tonight. It’s all damaged and shit, though I think some carvings are intentional. They look a bit like runes.”

Nikki raises a brow as she looks at Aalif and says: “But you don’t think Stiles could have joined a cult.”

“I don’t think a cult would have allowed him to leave for college, not to mention do criminology,” Maya offers. “I think he’s following a seminar about cults right now actually.”

“Okay, but even without a cult, still suspicious and weird,” Nikki huffs. “And it’s still a possibility, right, Mike?”

Mike startles a bit unsure how he got on the pro-cult side and not sure he isn’t agreeing. “I mean, he does have all these herbs and some weird books, but those could be from the library.”

And now they’re giving him more looks. Great. He puts his hands up defensively: “It’s not like I know, alright. Stiles never exactly cooks, maybe he just likes the smell of the herbs. And the books could be an aesthetic thing, though he keeps him under his bed in a box if they’re his.”

“What sort of books?” Kai asks after a beat.

“They’re leather bound. Old,” Mike shrugs. “I haven’t seen him with them much. He shoves them out of sight when I get in and the only times he hasn’t was when he thought I was asleep or very drunk.”

“Creepy,” Maya shivers.

“Come on, this is Stiles,” Aalif says. “He is not in some creepy cult. Do you all even hear yourselves? Seriously. Now, the midterms are coming up and I would like to get some passing grades.”

That gets a few boos and boring’s thrown at him, but Aalif doesn’t falter and they do all giggle a bit at the ridiculousness of Stiles in a cult. Before they can truly get anything done, Nikke snorts: “Maybe he tripped into it,” sending them all into giggles again.

It isn’t a joke anymore when Stiles reappears again on their Thursday fry run his face more bruise than skin and his hands both wrapped in bandages.

“Stiles!” Kai exclaims, already out of his seat. “What happened to you?”

“Hey there, guys,” Stiles attempts a grin, wincing at the action. “I’m good, I’m good.” He eases himself into their booth, wrapped fingers taking some fries and popping them into his mouth as the rest watches him with careful eyes. Of course he notices as he chews slowly, whispering to himself: “Knew Derek was right about the liquid diet. Fucker.”

“What happened?” Aalif asks when Stiles seems like he is going to ignore the whole situation that is his face and hands. “Stiles, if someone did this to do, you have to go to the police, file a report. You can sue.”

“Of course you’d say that, lawyer-man,” Stiles grins again, falling flat once more when his already split lip, re-splits and starts to bleed. “Ah, fuck,” he hisses, grabbing a napkin to press against it as he makes a disgruntled face.

“Stiles,” Nikki snaps.

“What?” he replies as if it’s not incredibly obvious.

Mike surprises himself by jumping in: “What the hell happened to you, man?”

It dawns on Stiles that they’re not letting it go and he sags a bit in his seat. Then says: “Nothing, I promise. It was just an accident, really.”

That’s just a thousand red flags there and Maya takes the lead for them, putting a hand on Stiles shoulder and saying in a soft voice: “We’re not going to judge you, promise. But right now, not knowing is so much worse.”

“Derek told me not to come,” Stiles sighs after a moment. “I knew it was stupid, but I wanted to come. I mean, he only had Boyd and Erica with him, because all the others were too far away. That wasn’t enough.”

“What were they doing?” Nikki asks, unable to keep her mouth shut and be patient.

Luckily, Stiles isn’t silenced by it. “Derek lives on the preserve, it’s in the middle of the forest and something was killing the animals. It was a mountain lion, we have a lot of animal attacks. They wanted to take it out before it moved into the town.”

Mike remembers Stiles telling him Erica was a park ranger, but Boyd was a carpenter and he knew nothing about Derek, which is weird on its own. Stiles loved bragging about his friends, or would casually comment about them or pick up the phone with their name on his lips, but Mike had before now heard the name Derek only once.

“Of course I tripped over a few branches in the dark,” Stiles laughs self-deprecatingly. “I should have known better. I’m a klutz, you know. Though I did get a hit in, before I went down in a not so glorious blaze of branches and a curse.”

“You hit a mountain lion?” Kai whisper yells.

“Yeah, with my bat,” Stiles shrugs, like it’s a normal thing.

“Dude, are you insane?” Mike asks.

“Oh, okay, I see what’s happening here,” Stiles backs up, like they didn’t make sense before now. “I didn’t want to admit I fell, because it’s embarrassing as fuck. And like, I know I’m clumsy, but after all the running away from shit trying to kill me, one would think I’d have gotten better at it, but noooo. I am surrounded by people who can do crazy shit, while I hit my head on a fucking branch, because why not.”

“Stiles!” Nikke cuts him off. “Running away from things trying to kill you? What the hell.”

“I was getting there,” Stiles says, though it’s obvious to all of them that he was getting further and further away from the point. “When I was in high school there were all these murders in town. My friend was targeted at one point, I got caught up in it. Nothing makes a friendship like getting locked into a school and running from a crazed murderer or holding someone up in a pool for two hours. It was a whole thing. Plus my father is the sheriff.”

“What the fuck,” Nikki voices the shared sentiment after a moment to process.

“Wait, here I have proof,” Stiles taps away on his phone, before showing a news article with the tagline reading: Five teens trapped in high school with murderer still on the loose

After letting them read it, he puts his phone in his pocket and proudly says: “We’re having a project about crimes in our hometown right now and I have an advantage over the rest.”

“That’s- That’s not-” Maya stutters. “…Stiles…”

“What?” he says confused, as if what he just bragged about isn’t heartbreaking. God, no wonder he’s a bit fucked from it all. Mike would want to know if all his friends are okay if he nearly saw them all killed alongside him.

“Are you, like, okay?” Mike asks.

“Probably not, like in general,” Stiles tells him honestly, “but I am really fine. As fine as I get anyway. Derek says I have to work on that, but he’s not the boss of me and I actually am doing better. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Maya smiles kindly. “We just want to know you’re okay. Thanks for trusting us with that. Did you get those wounds checked out?”

“I did,” he returns her smile. “Got a clean bill of health and everything. Dad wouldn’t let me drive back before that.”

“Good,” Aalif says.

They’re all quiet for a moment, before the thing that has been niggling on his mind comes out. He asks: “Who is this Derek person anyway?”

Stiles regards them all for a moment, before saying: “I don’t think we reached that level of friendship yet. Sorry. Like, you’re all my friends and stuff and I like bragging about my other friends to you, but I don’t know.”

“What?” Mike exclaims as Nikki points out: “You just told us you nearly got murdered, but telling us about a friend is a step too far?”

“You know, that is actually a good point,” Stiles says. “I must still be a bit lightheaded from everything, I normally don’t tell people that.”

“Should we take you to a hospital? Kai asks worriedly.

“No, no, I’m kidding, I think,” Stiles jokes, before quickly adding, “I am truly kidding, please don’t take me to a hospital. God, no one appreciates my humor.”

“Stiles,” Aalif sighs tiredly when Stiles deftly gets them on a different topic than Derek.

“Derek is my husband,” Stiles finally tells them, shutting them all up as they stare at them with their jaws on the floor. That explains Stiles trips home and lack of partying or otherwise getting laid, he had a whole fucking husband waiting for him at home.

None of them could know that Stiles’ reluctance to talk about Derek and his relation is that as a prominent alpha, broadcasting that they were ‘mated’ (and yes, Derek, that term is still weird to a human) isn’t really smart. Especially after everything that had already come to Beacon Hills.

“Y- Your husband?!?” Kai squeaks.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you all,” Stiles groans. “You can’t imagine the rumor mill at home when it happened, like seriously, people were acting like I was signing my life away to the devil or something.”

“Why?” Maya asks and Mike has to agree. Marriage so early isn’t exactly uncommon, it just took them by surprise this time. What would make this different.

“I-” Stiles looks genuinely sheepish, “I might have gotten him arrested for a murder he didn’t commit and stuff. But that was like, what? Two, three years ago.”

Immediately their table exploded, voices overlapping, because – again – what the fuck.

“He didn’t do it!” Stiles exclaims, shutting them all up. “He was framed. Set up. Look, I know he wasn’t the killer. Derek saved my life, like a bazillion times at this point. I love him.”

Despite the bruises, the look on his face is quite clear with love oozing off of it. Like full on, ‘Disney princess, soulmate, found the one’-love. It’s a bit disgusting in Mike’s terribly single opinion.

“Well, then I want to see him,” Nikki demands. “You can’t tell us you got swept off your feet by a mysterious would be murderer and not expect us to want to see him.”

Stiles shoots them all a suspicious look, which is pretty rude all things considering, but Mike lets it slide in favor of satiating his curiosity. Then Stiles pulls out his phone, showing them a sequence of pictures that said more than words could.

It’s obviously their wedding day. They’re both in full suits, standing in a forest with the sunset hitting them, putting them in a glow of light. Derek is apparently a handsome, muscled man, who screams not bad boy as much as serial killer.

The first picture is pretty standard. They’re looking at each other, Derek’s bad boy vibe killed by the fact that he is smiling softly at Stiles, who is smiling back. Derek’s smile is toothachingly fond in a way that Mike feels in his chest.

In the second picture, the murder vibes are back in full force, with Derek glaring at Stiles, who looks like he’s saying something, his face smug like it’s an inside joke, his hands up to gesture like he always does.

Then, in the last picture, Stiles has Derek’s cheeks between his hand, face contorted in something Mike would call a coo, if Derek didn’t look like the kind of guy who would allow anything resembling a coo being directed at him. Though, Mike might have to rethink that assumption, because while Derek is raising one murderous eyebrow, the smile has returned again.

“I am his favourite annoyance,” Stiles announces proudly. “It’s wonderful how much bugging someone can do.”

And all of them would have guessed Derek was the one, who had pursued Stiles, but here Stiles is, telling them all about how he is a master at befriending people and Derek honestly needed someone to tell him how horrible he was at decorating or socializing, before fixing it for him.

Beside him, Nikki mutters: “Dear god, he has an ‘I can fix him’-mentality. We’re doomed.”

“I heard that!” Stiles exclaims indignantly, though he doesn’t deny it per se. But when Nikki’s soda arrives, it explodes in her face and Mike would almost suspect Stiles had something to do with it if he had to go off the smug look.

They drop the topic of Stiles injuries and apparent husband, for the evening, which Stiles seems grateful for at least, before catching him up on campus gossip. Still, they keep their eye on him and it’s hard to forget with his face all fucked up.

When they leave, Maya leans in and whispers to Mike: “Keep an eye on him for us, okay?”

He nods quickly, before hurrying after Stiles, who is yelling at him to hurry or he’ll drive back without him.

Mike also keeps his word, so when Stiles’ phone starts to ring, he pretends to be engrossed in his book, while secretly keeping an ear on Stiles’ conversation. He usually doesn’t listen in, unless something is so weird it breaks through his mental barriers, but he feels like this can be an exception.

“Hey there, big guy,” Stiles greets, voice much gentler than Mike ever remembered it being.

“Yeah, worrywolf, I’m fine,” Stiles tells whoever is on the other side. “Dad wouldn’t have let me drive otherwise and neither would you for that matter. You checked me yourself before letting me go, quite thoroughly I might add.”

And that last part is definitely an innuendo, dear god, Mike did not want to know that. However, it is confirmation that it’s Derek on the line, so he listens even harder.

“I know I overdid it, but no one got hurt except a few bruises on me,” Stiles argues. “And I get hurt even when I’m not in danger, you know how doors and the air are my biggest enemies. Come on, Derek. If it was bad, I would have told you. We promised remember? You made it part of our vows, because you are a complete softie.”

Okay, Mike isn’t going to lie, that’s actually pretty cute and he slightly hates that he’s becoming team Derek when all he knows is that he was (falsely) arrested for murder and married to Stiles, who comes running home when called on.

“I promise not to run into danger again,” Stiles tells Derek. “Well, I promise not to run needlessly into danger again and honestly one could argue that this time wasn’t needlessly, because you are my damsel in distress as much as you want to cast me in that roll.” A beat. “Yes, I will never let you forget the pool, we discussed this.”

“Yes, Derek, I always take care of my wounds,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “I’ll even send you picture updates and call you every day. How does that sound?”

Oh god, Derek is actually a concerned boyfriend – excuse me, husband – who needs updates and called the day Stiles left because he was worried. Mike is never going to be able to tell the others that without it turning into a riot.

“Great, because I am going to bed,” Stiles says. “Midterms are coming up and while spending time with you is a hundred times better, I actually need to pass these if I ever want to get a degree. So, goodbye, I love you.”

A bit of silence, then a very love-filled chuckle: “Of course I’m going to think of you. I always sleep better with you, you know that. Now bye. Love you, again and always.”

Fucking hell, Mike is going to die of a toothache, caused by his happily married roommate, which is honestly where his life is at right now.

Though, Mike can honestly live with a weird roommate. It’s a source of entertainment and he now can rest knowing Stiles has someone watching out for him, preventing him from going off the deep end, which was an honest concern.

Stiles is weird, but with what Mike knows, he’s allowed to be a bit strange and he honestly doesn’t want to know more than he does.

A/N:

Disclaimer: I am not shitting on parties, if you like them, go nuts. I just don’t drink and hate social interaction, so I wouldn't know how to write a good party scene even if I wanted to, lmao.

Idk how well it came through, but Stiles is magic and burned his hands while overdoing it in the fight he got injured in. He also totally exploded Nikki’s drink as petty revenge, his herbs are also related to magic.

#rr writing #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #sterek #derek x stiles #teen wolf stiles #derek hale #OCs #college student stiles stillinski

143 notes · View notes

itsnotgray · 10 months

Text

twins | mark estapa

…be nice. this is the first time i’m posting a fic.

thanks for the giving me the kick to write this @hischierhaze

and @thatintrovertedwriter here’s part one!

part two will come in a bit

now goodbye while i panic over peoples reactions

in which you and mark are two hotheads

it wasn’t like people didn’t know mark. he infamously had led the big10 in penalty minutes, was a good player to go along with said stat, and was incredibly easy on the eyes.

but it wasn't that people didn’t know you, either. “y/n” or rather “sunshine” as you were more commonly called, was a bit of a household name on campus. the irony in the name? you were anything but. known for not only leading the michigan women’s soccer team in yellow and red cards, but also the big10.

so safe to say, both of you were fairly known, and for quite similar reasons. yet, no one seemed to see your relationship coming.

you guys first met at a party during welcome week. the party wasn't exclusive, per say, but it was safe to say the majority of the crowd was athletes, looking for a safe place to party, ensuring no pictures would make their way back to their respective coaches.

you had been stumbling around the kitchen, drunkenly searching for the cooler your teammate had said she had hidden in the maze-like kitchen of whatever frat house you were in. but as you turned around, ready to settle for the bud light in the living room, you spotted your bottle of vodka in the grasp of a blonde boy.

and while this wouldn’t have pissed you off normally, the bottle had “property of sunshine” boldly printed on it in sharpie, so safe to say, you were a little more than pissed.

“who the fuck do you think you are?” you screamed, shoving your finger into his chest.“woah uh-” the blonde boy tried to get out, but you kept going. “drinking someone else's bottle of alcohol?! i mean i’d get it if it didn't have a name on it, but it quite literally says “property of sunshine” but apparently you just can’t fucking read, can you?”

the boy was silent for a moment, until he laughed. “you're- you’re sunshine? isn’t that ironic.”

“ha, ha. kind of like that’s the fucking point, dumbass,” and as his mouth drops from your comment, you take the opportunity to swipe the vodka bottle from his hands. “i’d say thanks for finding my vodka, but seeing as i found you drinking it, to that i say, fuck you,” and you staggered away, lifting the bottle to your lips, the boy staring longingly after you.

mark was completely and utterly fucked, to the point where it took him a moment to realize… he didn’t even get your name.

~ the morning after

now the day after the party, you weren’t doing too hot. safe to say, you definitely should’ve let the blonde boy keep your vodka.

as shitty as you felt, by the grace of everything holy, you managed to muster up enough strength to walk to the cafe, seeking a cure to the pounding headache and extreme nausea you were nursing after your bad decisions the night prior.

however, someone you didn’t expect to see in your place of solace? the blonde boy you had screamed at the night before, tucked into the corner booth of the cafe, seemingly in a state similar to yourself.

in a split second decision, you decided to apologize for your behavior the night before, regretting (only slightly, but regret nonetheless) how you had drunkenly handled the situation.

you quickly made your way to the bar to order. “can I get a venti iced caffe mocha, and a croissant?” and then shyly added on, “and another of whatever the blonde boy in the corner is having, please.”

“trying to shoot your shot?,” the barista asked teasingly. “trying to apologize,” you muttered back, backing up to wait for your order.

once they called your name, you quickly grabbed your order. you took a deep breath, turned around, and cautiously made your way to the boy.

once you got within a foot of his table, you accidentally made eye contact with him, before holding the drink out, and quietly saying, “here… this is for you.”

he apprehensively took the drink in his hands, but before taking a sip, he spun the drink, glancing at the name on the order. “just trying to make sure it doesn’t have your name on it y/n, wouldn’t want you to scream at me again,” he let out, words laced with an emotion impossible to detect.

“that’s actually what I came over here for. I wanted to apologize for acting like that. normally if that happened, i’d just move on with my night. it just pissed me off that someone decided to take the bottle, even though I had written “property of sunshine” on it,” you said, quickly word-vomiting your thoughts out.

“I get it, I shouldn't have taken alcohol that was clearly hidden. i promise to look before drinking next time, sunshine,” he stated with a matching teasing grin and tone.

“I know it’s probably a little late for introductions, but you wouldn’t mind telling me your name, seeing as you know mine,” you questioned. “mark, mark estapa,” he responded with a grin, teasing tone now absent, replaced with what you hoped to be a more genuine tone.

and with that simple utterance, you knew you were fucking screwed.

~ weeks later

in the weeks following your conversation with mark in the cafe, you got impossibly close. if you guys weren’t hanging out on “study not-date-dates”, or having movie nights cooped up in your room, you were constantly texting, constantly talking to one another. yet, you guys never spoke about the obvious feelings the two of you had for one another, both too nervous to actually broach the subject.

until after your first game of the season.

more specifically, it was on the way back from the first game of the season. a game in which, despite the team coming out on top, and you also managing to bag a goal, you also picked up your first yellow card of the season. a teammate had even declared as much, belting out a “sunshine is back in business everybody!” as the team left the field.

unknowingly, the social media admin had clipped the moment, even including a glimpse of your cocky, but tired grin.

mark was now a little confused. of course he knew you were on the soccer team. in fact, it was one of the first things he learned about you. but the fact that the team was where the nickname “sunshine” came from? now that- that was new.

he quickly shot you a text, waiting eagerly for a response.

miles away, your phone dinged with a text tone specifically reserved for your favorite blonde haired boy. at the sound, you quickly darted for your phone.

“sunshine’s lover booooy is texting her” a teammate teased, reaching over to ruffle your hair affectionately.

you groaned at the action, before opening mark’s text

“i never asked, but why do they call you sunshine?”

and at that, you froze, instantly hit with the brutal words of a past boyfriend, “you do realize how fucking unattractive that is, right? losing your shit like that isn’t as cool as you think- it just tells people that you have serious issues, you fucking psycho.”

while you almost considered lying for a moment, you knew the truth would be better in the long run.

“last season, i led both the team, and the big10 in yellow and red cards. because of that, they thought giving me a nickname completely opposite of my attitude on the field was the funniest shit ever. it doesn't help that my personality off the field isn't too different from me on it- only true difference is that im a hell of a lot less aggressive.”

and quickly followed it up with a message reading, “I'm sorry if you don’t want to associate with me anymore. I know losing your temper constantly isn’t the most attractive thing in the world, but I can't control it. I’ll leave you alone, if that’s how you end up feeling,” before shutting off your phone, prepared to lose the boy who had managed to weasel his way into your heart the past few weeks.

mark froze for a second. there’s no fucking way the universe led him to someone exactly like him. what was it that one tiktok ethan had sent him said- twinflames? there was no fucking way.

except there was. because she was on the other side of the phone, probably freshly showered after her game (which he had seen they had won 3-0), with her hair cutely braided to the side, like she often did during their movie nights.

once he came out of his daze, he glanced down at his phone again, seeing her most recent text- “I'm sorry if you don’t want to associate with me anymore. I know losing your temper constantly isn’t the most attractive thing in the world, but I can't control it. I’ll leave you alone.”

and he panicked, quickly hitting facetime.

you glanced down at your ringing phone, seemingly in disbelief, and a little scared, at hearing the custom tone.

“I THINK YOU'RE PERFECT! you losing your shit doesn't matter to me- in fact, im the same damn way. I dont know who the hell had the audacity to shame you for your attitude while playing, but fuck them. they do not matter. they're not the ones that play the game, so they don’t have a say in how you play. you are the most kind-hearted person i know, and your heart is one of the reasons i love you. if your in-game attitude really is that big of a problem-”

and then mark froze, seeing your stunned expression. “what’s wrong baby?” noticing the nickname slip, but not drawing attention to it.

“I-i, you- i- i love you too.”

“what?”

“you said you love me, and i love you too, unless you didn’t mean i them i totally didn't eit-”

“NO- i love you baby. I’d honestly go as far as to say I've loved you since I met you. something about your fiery attitude immediately had me hooked, and as i’ve gotten to know you, i've become downright infatuated.”

both of you were now grinning at each other ear to ear, a blush rising quickly to the both of your faces.

“wanna go on a date tomorrow?” you both blurted out at the same time. “let me plan it baby, promise i’ll impress you.” “okay- its a date.”

and if mark immediately texted ethan for date ideas after you hung up the call a few minutes later- well you didn’t need to know that.

#umich hockey #mark estapa #mark estapa x reader #hockey imagines #umich hockey imagine #mark estapa imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #nhl fic #mark twins fic

304 notes · View notes

cher-rei · 5 months

Text

afterglow- pt.2 [ T.A.A ]

pairings: trent alexander arnold × fem!reader

summary: young and aspiring marketing and business major jamie carter (you) is privileged with working alongside the liverpool marketing and public relations team while also getting entangled with their star player and right back, trent alexander arnold.

[wc: 2,1k] [part 1] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8]

genre(s): friends?? to lovers, work romance, fluff

warnings: swearing

notes: guys I totally forgot that curtis has a girlfriend help💀 so I'm just gonna remove her completely and in here they're not together... it's for the plot I swear

"what the fuck?!"

"jamie!" your sister's voice echoed through the house to your bedroom that early wednesday morning. it was normal for her to scold at you whenever you swore anywhere near her. which was all the time seeing as the two of you shared an apartment.

you didn't bother apologising as usual though and sat up straight in your bed, your blankets dishevelled and a look of confusion plastered on your face. "no way," you gawked at your phone screen and ran your fingers through your hair to try and comprehend what had just happened.

"there's really no reason to be shouting at 7 in the morning." you brushed your sister's comment off, the older girl taking it as a sign to join you on the edge of your bed to see what had gotten you all riled up.

she let out a heavy sigh as she moved you over so that she could sit with you. "speak woman. I don't have all day."

you took a breath and turned to look at her, eager eyes staring you down for any sort of explanation you could give her. "Okay so basically I just woke up and obviously my first instinct is to check my insta and twitter notifications because I got a bunch."

she gave you a look. "which isn't anything new. probably just a few followers or something."

you pointed your index finger in her direction. "exactly. but then--"

you turned your phone in her direction, your twitter feed showing up. "--I saw that I was being tagged like crazy. only to realise that this whole liverpool pr thing is blowing up."

maya gave you another look. as if you to say 'what did you expect?'. she began to get up from the bed but you quickly caught her wrist and pulled her back down again, urging her to stay for the rest of the story.

"jamie," she sighed. "you have an entire fanbase, of course they're going to go crazy over something like this."

you shook you head. "that's what I thought. but then I decided to go check my instagram notifications because apparently..."

you turned your phone screen to maya, displaying your follower list and lo and behold right at the top, your most recents followers queued up.

"what the fuck?!"

you jumped up at your sister's reaction. "that's what I'm saying!"

jude bellingham was one thing. but the entire liverpool squad?? there was no reason for that to happen at all. you were just some random twitch streamer on the p.r team, nothing more.

was it because I kicked the ball on monday?? it was so because I kicked that ball on monday.

you weren't going back to the training center for a while though. there were too many errands to run and meeting to sit through. and today's meeting at 10 was sure to pile even more projects on your table.

the match on saturday against wolves was going to be a premier league match so a lot of preparation had to be done for the interviews. yesterday's meeting already gave you a headache so today was going to be something for sure.

"is jamie not coming in today as well?" curtis asked no one in particular while his eyes roamed the hallways, yet there was no sight of the girl anywhere.

from beside him, trent quirked an eyebrow and nudged his arm. "you're on a first name basis already huh? you work fast."

curtis scoffed at his comment, recalling mpnday afternoon's events all to clearly after jaimie had left. "hey I'm not the one who stalked all her socials the second she left."

"what?" trent raised his hands in defence. "she looked familiar so I had to check."

"who looked familiar?"

the two jumped up at the sudden question, their glares shot at dominik who had pushed in beside trent who only shook his head, not bothering to brush off dominik's arm that was slung over his shoulders.

"the new p.r girl," he answered and put his phone away.

"jamie?"

trent shot him a weird look and then to curtis who was smiling from ear to ear with an 'I told you so' look. "what so you're all just on a first name basis? how did that even happen?"

the conversation carried on until they got to the field and even during their warm-up session. but it still seemed off to trent who grew more an more confused whenever someone chimed in with an "are you talking about jamie?"

it didn't make sense to him. they barely knew her or had any decent conversations. what difference did asking about where she was from or how many siblings she had make? but either way, the team wondered why trent has such a big issue with it.

"did you guys know that jamie's a twitch streamer?"

"what the hell?" trent groaned in obvious frustration when ibou chimed in while they were doing their laps around the field.

"what? are you just going to call her 'ms carter' for the rest of your life?" ibou asked again with a low chuckle which got a small shrug from trent.

"obviously not. it's just that she's a staff member and has a job to do." he turned his head to look at curtis who seemed fed up either the mini lecture that he was getting, but he felt that it needed to be said.

"she's not here to be your friend or--"

"--I fully agree with you trent. I'm glad some of us have common sense," harvey retorted out of nowhere.

seriously. they didn't even know he was there. the smallest of the group was adorning a look of determination as he jogged alongside his teammates. one that screamed, 'I hate jamie carter.'

ibou scoffed from beside him. "oh shut up. you're just mad because she's taller than you."

the group couldn't hold back their laughter as they watched harvey go quiet, a look of defeat on his face as she shook his head to the side. he'd get her back. one day.

but with trent's issue, everyone's argument was that they were just trying to make her feel comfortable. and he could give them the benefit of the doubt there, he knew how fans tended to react to situations like this and their presence in general was probably a lot to her.

but there was no reason to be involved with her personally. okay so what if he was the first one to follow her on Instagram?? when dominik saw that he was stalking her account his first instinct was to take trent's phone and follow her, just to tease him.

but then everyone followed her so that was kind of pointless.

after a bit more back and forth banter curtis let out a sigh. "but either way, she's friends with jude in a way or something." he gave trent a cheeky smile and the right back couldn't help but roll his eyes, knowing very well where he was leading with this.

"and any friend of jude, is a friend of mine," he finished and put his hand on his chest causing ibou to laugh but oh boy he wasn't finished just yet.

curtis took a moment to clear his throat and looked behind their group to see dominik running along with darwin and cody, laughing about what ever.

"if this is like any movie I've watched, then someone is walking out with more than just a premier league trophy."

that earned him a harsh slap on the arm from ibou but he didn't care and instead ran up in front of trent, now taking the liberty to jog backwards to take him head on. "what do you say? are you going to keep that 'ms carter' thing up until she becomes mrs alexander-arnold"?

"boys!"

everyone immediately halted at the sound of virgil's voice booming from the front with robbo and salah. "am I going to have to chase you to make you run any faster?"

you sat in the meeting room that afternoon with your laptop in front of you and your attention drawn to the front where the projector was with the media teams director, marvin colesmen.

he was a a slender man no older than 40, with blonde hair that was styled to the side. he wore a polo shirt underneath his blazer with a very obnoxious pair of socks as well.

"regarding our performance, we're doing fairly well but there's much room for improvement. but let's all thank clara for the last minute camera replacement last week since the last one broke."

everyone at the table immediately turned to look at someone who you remembered to be shaun. all he did was roll his eyes, and judging by the death glares he was receiving he definitely broke that camera.

mental note: don't break anything. ever.

"ms carter?"

your head snapped to the front at the call of your name, a bubble of anxiety filling your stomach now that you were put on the spot.

"do you have any thoughts on anything I've said?"

thoughts?? I don't have any thoughts??

"uhm..." you sat upright in your chair as you trailed off to formulate a response. "I think that more attention should be drawn to the team's more laid back promotional content."

great answer.

marvin tipped his head to the side at the response in intrigue. "care to elaborate?"

not really.

you licked your lips as you thought. "coming from a supporter, the occasional training video and interview don't really attract attention."

you watched as marvin urged you on with a nod. "and I think we should expand our content to something more entertaining. it'll be more rewarding for them team that way as well, I'm sure they're tired of answering the same questions every other week," a small laugh left your lips but you immediately stopped.

the room was dead silent and the atmosphere was a little too hostile for your liking. it was obvious that everyone was waiting for marvin to either shoot you down mercilessly or agree with you. but the experience was nothing short of terrifying.

the director nodded his head and continued to mutter something to himself before sending you a smile. "I'm giving you a week to come up with entertaining alternatives. if you convince me enough, I'll give you what you need since you'll be with the team from next week onwards unless I need you. you'll be joining them on the trip to molineux saturday morning as well. I'm sure the fans wouldn't mind seeing you in the booth either."

what's that supposed to mean?

when the meeting was finally over you didn't waste a second and rushed to pack your things and get in your car. you needed to hurry if you wanted to miss the rush hour traffic but of course you were wrong and sat in the car for an extra 40 minutes. lovely.

by the time you got back home, you felt as if every bit of energy had be drained from your body. you dropped your keys onto the counter in front of the door and kicked off your shoes.

"jamie?"

you let out a groggy "yeah" and dragged yourself to the kitchen where your sister was finishing up supper. you didn't say much and took your usual seat on one of the barstools and rested your head on your arm.

"so," maya poked your head. "how was work?"

as an answer you gave her a mumbled run down of your day, and by the time you were done the only words she heard were "broken camera".

she let out a hum regardless to show that she was paying attention and continued to stir the pasta in the pan. "well a kid fell down the slide today. I know I'm the teacher but I still laughed."

you couldn't help but cough up a laugh at her sudden confession. you looked up at her with a smile and she slumped her shoulders. "I just hope no one saw."

by the time you had gotten out of the shower. finished your night routine and ate dinner you were surged with a sudden burst of energy and needed to get it out. after a bit of scrolling through your socials and interacting with your followers and a much-needed poll on instagram, you decided to start a twitch stream.

and boy did it lead somewhere.

#trent alexander arnold fluff #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander arnold imagine #footballer x reader #footballer imagine #liverpool x reader #liverpool fc #writing prompts #fanfic #cherrei writes

138 notes · View notes

sourwolf-sterek32 · 1 year

Text

Migraine

Summary: Whilst on set you suffer from a bad migraine but try to hide it, not wanting to stop filming. Pedro eventually catches on and looks after you.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: language

A/N: This is literally just a comfort fic that I wrote on my phone while lying in bed with a bad headache. I get chronic migraines and it sucks and wish I had someone like Pedro there to help me, so I wrote it.

Also I wanted an excuse to write something with Pedro in his Mando suit, so here it is.

It had been a long day, between meetings in the morning and filming in the afternoon, it was safe to say that you and Pedro were exhausted. But the crew still had more scenes to be shot in this location and only today to do it.

The headache that was pulsing through your skull had started around midday and had only gotten worse, despite taking probably too many pain killers than recommended on the packet.

You knew normal pain killers weren't going to fix it. You had suffered from enough migraines to know which ones would be cured by painkillers and which ones would stick around for 24 hours regardless, and this was the latter.

"Cut"! The directors voice boomed across set.

You sighed, "sorry. That was my line next, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Yes, it was." The director responded from behind the camera for probably the seventh time in the past hour. "Start back from when Mando walks into the room."

Pedro nodded from where he was standing on his mark in the middle of the room, but instead of walking out the door to redo the scene, he walked over to you. His helmet was still on, but you could feel his soft brown eyes looking at you from behind the black visor.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asked, still in his Mando voice.

"Yeah."

His helmet tilted to the side a little as he stared at you, and you knew he didn't believe you.

"It doesn't usually take you this many shots to get a scene right." He teased, trying to lighten the mood as if he could tell that something was wrong.

The two of you always teased and made fun of each other. After working together for Seasons 1 and 2 of The Mandalorian and in those few episodes of The Book of Boba Fett, and now filming season 3, you had grown close, sometimes annoyingly close if you ask the crew around you. The two of you were always getting in trouble for laughing too much on set, but neither of you ever listened.

"I'm sorry." You replied, not feeling up to teasing him back.

Usually, you'd come back with some witty or sarcastic comment, but right now, you didn't have the energy for it. Not when it felt like there was a drill constantly digging into the side of your skull.

"Hey, no, no, it's okay." Pedro quickly reassured, stepping forward and grabbing your shoulder gently. "I was just teasing. Don't worry about it."

His voice had turned from playful to concerned within a split second and you were grateful that he was still wearing the helmet because you didn't want to see his beautiful brown eyes looking at you worriedly. You were fine, it was just a headache. It's not like you didn't have one a few days ago anyway, you were used to it. You were fine to keep filming then and you were fine now.

"You guys ready to go again?" The director called out impatiently.

Pedro's helmet turned in the direction of the director, but he didn't say anything before he looked back over at you, waiting for you to give him the go ahead.

"I'm good. Let's do this scene."

He hesitated for a moment like he wanted to push this topic, but he simply nodded and went over to his mark to start the scene again.

To your relief and the relief of the director, you managed to get through the next scene without any major screw ups. The next couple of hours went by in a blur. You had shot a bunch of different scenes, but you could barely remember which ones you had just done. Katee Sackhoff had showed up at one point to do a few scenes as Bo-Katan with you and Pedro, but left after her scenes were finished, leaving you and Pedro to film your last scene of the day together.

The scene that you had been dreading ever since you felt the headache coming on.

A fight scene.

"Just like you guys did in rehearsals, okay? Take it from the top." The director instructed.

"Are we starting with Y/N holding the blaster to my head?" Pedro asked, looking over at the crew behind the cameras who all nodded.

Pedro walked over to his mark just as an assistant placed a foam mat on the floor for him to kneel down on. Once he was on his knees, you drew your blaster from the leather holster on your thigh before pressing the barrel of the prop to the side of his helmet. You closed your eyes for a moment, fighting off the dizziness. Trying, even through the pain, to remember what the steps were for this fight sequence.

"You okay?" Pedro's voice suddenly asked.

You blinked your eyes open to find the black visor of his helmet tilted up towards you, and you nodded which turned out to be a bad idea because that small movement made your headache flare.

You tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it was more of a grimace than anything. But before Pedro had a chance to comment on it, the director shouted action.

A switch flipped inside of you. The pounding headache momentarily forgotten as you shifted into character like you had done hundreds of times before. Your expression hardened, glaring down at the Mandalorian below you, finger resting on the trigger of your blaster.

"It's over Din Djarin. We have you ten to one." You said, glancing around your empty surroundings where your Troopers will be added in with special effects in post-production.

A beat of silence past between you before Pedro's gruff Mandalorian voice responded.

"I like those odds."

He suddenly shot his arm out to the side, his hand forming a fist and your eyes widened in shock, pretending to see his 'whistling birds' missiles shooting from his wrist and killing the Troopers around you.

"No!" You screamed, looking back down at the Mandalorian just as he hit your arm, knocking the blaster from your grasp.

Mando jumped to his feet in an instant and you hastily pulled out the knife from the back of your waistband and swung the prop at him, the foam blade slicing along the beskar armour on his chest.

You took a step back as Mando marched forward and you swung the blade again, but he blocked it with the armour on his forearm.

"Moff Gideon is controlling you." Mando grunted, blocking your next attack. "You have to fight it. I don't want to hurt you."

"Then you will die." You spat, swinging the blade again, but this time Mando grabbed your wrist and squeezed. Pedro didn't actually squeeze it tightly, but made it look like he was, and you fake winced before the knife slipped from your fingers.

Mando suddenly spun you around until your back was flush against his armoured chest, his forearm wrapped around your neck in a chokehold. Your vision blurred momentarily from the sudden movement, your ears ringing a little as Pedro said his next line, but you barely heard him.

The rhythm of blood throbbed in your temple reminding you of the migraine that you had been trying very hard to ignore. But as the minutes ticked by, it was getting harder and harder to ignore.

"You have to fight his control." Mando's voice said, breaking through the ringing in your ears.

"No. I have to fight you." You growled, throwing your elbow up as Pedro flung his head back at the right moment, making it look like you had hit him hard in the helmet.

His arm loosened around you and for a moment, you found yourself missing the close contact. It was nice being held against his body, wait, no. You buried that thought deep down in a box in the back of your mind because where the fuck did that come from?

You switched back into action and slipped out his chokehold with ease, but Mando was already advancing on you. He swung his gloved covered fist towards you which you easily ducked before he tried to punch you again. You were meant to dodge both fists before he would draw his blaster. You and Pedro had done this too many times to count during rehearsals and training, you knew there was a second punch to duck from.

If only your head would stop pounding because you were so focused on the pain that you completely forgot to duck to the left and the next thing you knew, Pedro's fist collided with your jaw.

A collective gasp came from the crew behind the cameras, but it was Pedro's shaky sharp intake of air that caught your attention.

The hit itself wasn't that hard. Pedro must have realised that you weren't going to duck in time and pulled his punch a little because you knew he could punch harder than that. It had happened once back in Season 1 by accident, and this was nowhere near as hard. Your jaw didn't even hurt, but the hit made the thumping pain of your head worsen as you tried to blink away your dizziness.

He was in front of you in an instant, yanking off his helmet and tossing it to the ground without a care. In the distance you heard one of the crew telling him to be careful with the costume, but Pedro didn't acknowledge them, his panicked brown eyes focused on you, and you only.

"Oh my God. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't... shit, Y/N. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" He frantically questioned.

The world around you was spinning and you weren't sure if you were going to pass out or throw up, but yeah, you were okay, you had to be.

"I-I..." You began to say, about to reassure him that you were fine, but then black dots started to cloud your vision.

You stumbled back a step, but Pedro quickly grabbed your shoulders to steady you.

"Whoa, easy. Just sit down for a sec."

You didn't try and argue, not sure if you could even if you wanted to as Pedro slowly lowered you to the ground. He knelt in front of you, those worried brown eyes searching your face for some kind of reassurance that you were okay, but you couldn't give that to him. Not yet.

You rested your head in your hands and began to rub your temples, trying to sooth the sharp pulses of pain searing through your head.

"Can we get some help here!" Pedro shouted over his shoulder in the general direction of the crew.

"No, no, it's fine. I-I'm fine." You winced, lifting your head to meet Pedro's worried eyes.

"I just punched you and you nearly fainted. That is not fine." He responded, his voice laced with so much guilt it made your heart break.

"It wasn't you. The hit wasn't hard. You pulled it back, right?"

He nodded, "well, yeah. But it clearly still hurt you-"

"It didn't, but I've had a migraine all day and it just kinda aggravated it. It's fine. Just... just give me a minute and we can redo the scene." You reassured, rubbing your face with your hands as the dizziness slowly began to fade.

Pedro's eyes widened, "fuck, you've had a migraine all day? We aren't going to redo the scene, you are going to rest in your trailer."

"Pedro-" You began to protest, but he cut you off.

"This scene is not as important as your health, sweetheart."

Your heart swelled at the last word. Pedro had gotten into the habit of calling you that recently, it sort of came out of nowhere, but it stuck and you weren't complaining.

"Okay." You agreed because you did not have the energy to argue with him.

"Is she good to start the scene again? You guys can have a five-minute break if needed." One of the directors called out.

Pedro sighed, "I'll be back."

You nodded, but winced at the pain that movement caused and made a mental note to stop doing that before you watched Pedro stand up and walk across set towards the crew behind the cameras.

He was speaking with them quietly, but you couldn't hear what he was saying, although whatever it was, the director clearly did not like it if the frustrated expression on his face was anything to go by.

"Jamie, go and grab some pain killers from the first aid kit. They'll kick in within 30 minutes and then she'll be fine to do the scene." You heard the director say to one of the assistants.

"No. We're done shooting for the day." Pedro stated sternly before he turned and began to walk back towards you.

"We only have this location booked for today. It's your job to act. That is why you two are here. We have to finish the scene-"

Pedro stopped dead in his tracks, his head snapping in the director's direction so fast you feared he had given himself whiplash from the movement.

"Pedro, it's okay." You called out, slowly getting to your feet and silently relieved that the room didn't start immediately spinning when you stood up. "I can keep going."

"No." He said, shaking his head and walking back over to you, grabbing your arm as if he was scared that you would pass out on him or something which, yeah, okay that fear was warranted. Passing out was still a possible outcome at the moment.

"But the location-"

"You guys will figure something out." Pedro's stylist, Coco, suddenly called out, glaring at the director before glancing over at Pedro. "You okay with her?"

"Yeah, I got her. Can you bring some painkillers to her trailer?" Pedro asked and Coco nodded before he began to walk you out of set in the direction of the trailers out the back.

The sun was setting along the horizon, painting the sky various shades of pinks and oranges, but you squinted at the brightness unable to enjoy the beautiful view because looking in that direction simply hurt too much.

Pedro led you to your trailer, holding the door open as you stepped inside and instantly flicked the light switch that you left on and turned it off, trying to reduce the brightness. Pedro seemed to catch on because before you could say anything, he was walking around your trailer and closing all the blinds covering the windows for you to reduce the light.

"What can I do? Coco will bring some painkillers. Is there anything else you need?" He asked softly, seeming to realise that loud noises probably weren't good for migraines either.

You opened your mouth to tell him that you were fine, but then the nausea that you had been fighting earlier suddenly came back.

"Stay here." You managed to say before you rushed across the trailer into your bathroom, only just managing to kick the door shut behind you before you dropped to your knees in front of the toilet and threw up.

Your head pulsed in pain as the little food that you had eaten today came back up. This was always the part you hated the most about migraines. Sometimes you didn't throw up, sometimes you did, and you could never figure out why.

Your stomach heaved as you continued to throw up, when suddenly the door behind you opened and a second later, Pedro was grabbing your hair and pulling it out the way.

"Don't. It's gross." You mumbled.

"I don't care." Pedro's gentle voice responded.

You flushed the toilet to try and get rid of the horrible smell, knowing if you could smell it, then Pedro definitely could. But you didn't dare get up and leave yet, unsure if your body was done throwing up or not.

You leant your elbow against the porcelain edge of the toilet and held your aching head in your hands while Pedro remained silent behind you, holding your hair and rubbing soothing circles over your back.

After a few minutes, you deemed it safe to leave the bathroom and slowly stood up, Pedro quickly grabbing your arm to help.

"I'm not helpless." You sighed, glancing over at him.

"Just let me take care of you."

"You shouldn't have to take care of me."

He smiled softly, "I know, but I want to."

Your heart fluttered a little, but didn't get a chance to respond before there was a gentle knock on your trailer door. Pedro led you over to the couch and you sat down wordlessly before he opened the door.

"I got aspirin and Advil. I wasn't sure which type she wanted." Coco's voice said from outside. "I also convinced the director to give you guys the rest of the week off."

How the hell did she manage to do that? The last time you tried to ask for a weekend off, they shot you down straight away.

"You're the best." Pedro sighed with relief, taking the painkillers from her.

"I know. Don't ever forget it." Coco replied causing Pedro to chuckle softly as he waved goodbye before closing the door.

He walked over to your small kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge before he returned to your side, handing you the water before holding out the two different types of painkillers.

"You probably heard, but we got the week off now." Pedro informed as you took one of the bottles, not having the heart to tell him that painkillers won't fix your migraine.

"Thanks." You replied, swallowing down the pills with water.

You shifted one of the pillows to the end of the couch before you kicked off your boots and laid down, trying to ignore the thumping in your head.

Pedro watched you silently, but his brows furrowed a little before he looked over at the wall of your trailer like he was stopping himself from saying something. You had known Pedro for long enough to know that he felt guilty. The way his shoulders were slightly slumped and how he kept fidgeting with his fingers by his side, let alone the guilt washing over those beautiful brown eyes whenever he looked at you.

"Hey, it's not your fault." You whispered, but he just kept staring at the wall. "Look at me. P, look at me."

He sighed, but glanced down at you anyway. His soft chocolate eyes meeting yours sadly, "I punched you, Y/N."

"It wasn't hard."

"It was still a punch."

"Dude, you punched me harder back in season 1. That one left a bruise. But this?" You said, motioning towards your jaw. "Doesn't hurt."

"That doesn't make me feel better. I still punched you."

"Yeah, so? I threw us both off that speeder bike back in season 2. You have nothing to feel bad about." You reminded him and Pedro's face cracked into a small smile which you were calling a victory.

"That was a good day." He chuckled.

"I spent the rest of that day plucking sand out from between my boobs and ass, man. That was not a good day." You pointed out, but that just made Pedro laugh even more and you smiled.

The two of you fell into comfortable silence for a while thinking of that day on set. You lied, it was a good day. Just you and Pedro sharing a speeder bike that the prop team had designed and engineered to actually work. It was awesome, and the best thing was, Mando was injured and had to hold onto you while you drove it.

Nearly 12 hours of Pedro with his arms wrapped around your stomach from behind. It was a long day, but it was great. Even after you crashed the bike, the two of you still had fun.

You must have fallen asleep at some point without meaning to because when you opened your eyes, you realised that there was a blanket now draped over your body that definitely wasn't there earlier.

How long had you been asleep for?

You looked around your trailer in confusion trying to find your phone to check the time before you spotted Pedro sitting on the chair across the room reading some kind of book.

He was no longer in his Mandalorian costume. The beskar armour now replaced with his yellow vintage Lakers shirt and grey sweatpants.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep." You said, speaking up to try and stop yourself from thinking about those damn grey sweatpants.

Pedro practically jumped out of his skin, not expecting you to be awake as his wide eyes shot over to you in surprise. "You're awake. How do you feel?" He asked, concern written all over his face.

Your head was still aching, but the sharp pulsing in your skull had gotten a little better, so that was a win.

"A bit better." You answered honestly.

"Good. Good." He nodded, seeming relieved with that news. "Why didn't you tell me that you had a migraine?"

"I didn't want you to worry. It's no big deal, I get chronic headaches anyway. I'm used to it."

"I never knew that." He whispered in shock. "How long have you had them for?"

You shrugged, "ever since I was a kid."

"Shit, I'm sorry."

"It's fine. What are you reading?" You asked, changing the topic.

If Pedro noticed your quick change of topic, he didn't point it out. Instead, he looked down at the book in his lap with a small smile.

"It's The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann."

"What's it about?" You asked curiously.

He flicked through the pages and chuckled to himself before looking over at you. "It's basically a 706-page book about, uh, death."

You laughed, but that laugh turned into a wince when pain in your head flashed hard and hot. "Don't make me laugh."

Pedro's expression softened, "sorry. I can't help it. I'm just a naturally funny guy."

"More like naturally annoying." You shot back.

"Ouch." He gasped, resting his hand over his heart dramatically. "You, my dear, wound me."

You rolled your eyes at his antics before you sat up, wrapping the blanket around your body tightly as you looked around, still trying to figure out what time it was.

"It's about seven-ish. Do you think you can eat something? Coco offered to drop off takeaway if we wanted." Pedro suddenly said, like he could somehow read your mind.

"I'd like that."

"Great. I'll call her now." He beamed happily. "What do you feel like?"

"Whatever you want. I don't mind."

He sighed, expecting that answer after knowing you for so long. You could never choose where to eat, and he knew that, despite his best efforts over the years to make you choose.

"Five Guys? They do a really good strawberry milkshake." He suggested instead of trying to force you to pick something.

"I would love you if you got me a strawberry milkshake."

"You love me anyway." He teased, bookmarking his novel before pulling out his phone from his pocket.

"Yeah, I do." You replied honestly.

He would never know how true those words actually were though, but that was okay. There was no way you'd admit your feelings to him. You'd rather have Pedro as your best friend than risk losing him forever.

His beautiful brown eyes locked with yours across the room when he mentioned two large strawberry milkshakes over the phone. He smiled brightly at you, and you couldn't stop yourself from smiling back at him, soaking up the moment not wanting it to end.

THE END.

MASTERLIST pinned to profile.

Commissions open! Link in bio & DM for enquiries❤️

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #the mandalorian

929 notes · View notes

simpxxstan · 9 months

Text

perfect complements (ch. 1)

pairing: professor!seungcheol x professor!f.reader

genre: fluff, enemies to lovers, angst, slight smut

series summary: four and a half years of working together breeds familiarity, resentment, and everything in between. it's almost like living together.

chapter word count: 2.1k

warnings: bickering (will be a major feature in this story, so please do not read if verbal fights are not your cup of tea), seungcheol smokes.

a/n: seventeen is my new addiction and i'm not backing off! this is inspired from my dream life (hehe i want to be an econ prof). the series title is an econ term lolol sorry if it's too geeky. i think this series will have multiple spinoffs, maybe you can guess for which characters? all i can hope for is that i'll be able to pull through the plot till the very end and not get writers' block midway :(

slight heads up? seungcheol is 32 here, and the f. reader y/n is 33 here. wonwoo is 35-36, and minghao is slightly younger than seungcheol, probably 30. chan is 24-25 years old. y/n is shorter than seungcheol, and wears glasses. not much other physical description of y/n. also, this fic will probably have different povs, so this chapter is from seungcheol's pov.

thank you so much for reading! your reblogs, likes and comments mean sooo much honestly. i know every content creator says this, and i know we all mean it from our hearts.

enjoy some of my ult svt bias, seungcheollie!

series masterlist

With four and a half years of working together comes a ton of familiarity. Choi Seungcheol knows it annoyingly well: annoying because he’s greeted by the sight of your coat on his chair again, and well because this is a sight he sees nearly every Monday. Four years ago, he would have tried to explain to you that it’s a Monday morning, he didn’t want to come to take classes this early, and his patience is running thin, so it would be very nice if you could remember which chair was yours every morning when you came and took off your coat. Three years ago, he would have shrieked out, irritation burning through his veins. Two years ago, he would walk up to your desk, and spill your coffee all over the term paper you were currently checking. One year ago, he would purposely ruin your day even if it increased his headache tenfold just thinking about ways to annoy you.

But not any more. Choi Seungcheol has decided you are not worth a penny of his hard earned money, a moment of his precious time, and a nano atom of his genius brain cells. He simply picks your coat and dumps it on the ground, deliciously close to the dustbin. He knows his ears shouldn’t perk up, but they do, and when they hear your reaction, it is so gratifying, it feels like he has won a World War.

“Prof. Choi, if you feel you cannot respect the personal property of others, feel free to accompany me to the Dean’s Office.” You have somehow stomped up to him, standing right before him, as he pulls out the chair to his desk, taking in the endless papers and books that are arranged neatly before him. Your attitude never ceases to surprise him, given that you’re an entire head shorter than him, and even if you’re wearing heels, he can tower over you whenever you stomp up to him in these little furies. It makes you look like a little furry puppy, your hands on your hips, and Seungcheol thrives off the fire burning in your eyes. “There, there. I’d actually love to, but it seems that you need to remember how to respect public property and not hog over the space of others.”

You’re staring at him above your glasses, which have slipped down to the middle of your nose, and god, Seungcheol finds it hilarious. He wants to burst out laughing, the only thing holding him on is his determination to not break character and push you further.

“And if your routine morning tantrums are over, Seungcheol and Y/N, please settle down in your seats. It seems like I have to send you both to college again.”

Said Dean’s voice booms out behind you, and although his voice is surprisingly firm, there’s a shit-eating grin on his face, and he walks towards the two of you. He picks up the coat, lying on the floor, and hands it to Y/N. Jeon Wonwoo does not miss out on how flustered you both look on getting caught during your little lovers’ quarrel, as Wonwoo likes to call it in his mind, all alone in the Economics Department Staffroom.

“Morning Wonwoo! Enlighten me why no one else is here. Why am I stuck with this lady through this sad Monday morning?”

Seungcheol leans back on his chair, casual now that Wonwoo has calmed down the mood. You walk back to your desk, which unfortunately is right opposite Seungcheol’s, but he’s used to your ugly face to stay unfazed by it now. It’s like a terrible gift from a nosy relative you’ve hung up on the wall for long enough that it doesn’t catch the eye anymore and is just… there. But he’s quick to take note of how you’re smiling at Wonwoo, your glasses have been pushed to the top of your head, revealing your forehead and the same tiny pair of diamond hoops you wear every day.

It is, like he knows well, a scene of familiarity. And he really despises that fact.

“Minghao has a conference, he’s in the States. This is in preparation for his exchange program thing.”

“Oh yeah, he texted me on Saturday that he’s leaving soon… wasn’t aware it’s today.” You speak softly, already opening your laptop to get started with your work for the day.

“And Minhee is in the Girls’ Hostel.”

“Why?” You both ask, confused. “I thought Prof. Kim from History is the warden?” “Yes, but they’ve recently gone on their maternity leave. Minhee has to take over. And, bad luck for her, but on the very first day, there’s been a kind of emergency. Some punches were thrown while drunk, and now Minhee’s lecturing them.” “As if anyone’s gonna take her seriously,” Seungcheol scoffs, since everyone knew Minhee to be one of the coolest professors in the university.

“Hey! They took me very seriously, thank you. This is the problem with men. Give them a woman with good tits and a kind face and they think she’s a dumb bitch to run over.” Minhee walks into the small Staffroom, looking very much exhausted but she’s never going to admit it. She plops down on your desk, pushing away the laptop. “Is the situation better now?” you ask, holding out your coffee to Minhee, asking her silently to take a sip. “Yes, thankfully. I’ll have to go and check again after classes get over for the day.”

“Well then, you’re all up to date. Don’t forget the meeting with the Faculty Coordinator today at 5 pm!” “Yes Sir,” you all echo unenthusiastically, as Wonwoo chuckles and walks out of the room. It’s going to be a long day and Seungcheol can already feel his temples buzzing.

Six classes down, and he’s feeling the Monday blues wear off into a blissful exhaustion. At the end of the day, this is a profession he has not once regretted choosing. He absolutely adores spending time with his students- mostly. There’s always going to be a black sheep, like Lee Chan from his Advanced Game Theory course. Chan isn’t a bad guy, per se. He’s just over-enthusiastic and is always looking to impress: which results in him reading texts beyond his level just to try and make Seungcheol happy and end up confusing the entire concept.

But at least dealing with the well-meaning Chan is better than going to the faculty counselling meeting with you. Well, not just with you. But he knows very well what he’s going to hear at the meeting, and he’s absolutely dreading it. He has nearly the same look on his face as his students do when they get the term results, he’s just better at masking it.

As he walks into the Faculty Coordinator’s office, he sees you’re already sitting in a corner, staring outside the window, while Minhee is chatting with the Coordinator. He notices you glancing his way once, before turning your eyes towards the sky again. “Good Afternoon Prof. Choi! How are you doing?” Ms. Song looks at Seungcheol with warm eyes as he takes a seat. “I’m fine, thank you, and you?” It seems that nervousness has rendered Seungcheol incapable of forming sentences beyond nursery-level, and both Minhee and Ms. Song let out a small laugh at his childish response. “I’m sure you know why you’re here, Prof. Choi, as does Prof. Y/L/N. I’ll spare you the intro.” Minhee asks, “Am I really needed to be here?” Ms. Song says, “Prof. Jeon, unless you seriously want me to be alone with this pair who want to murder each other, I would really prefer if you could be here.” Seungcheol is blushing now, embarrassed to the toe. He can hear you groan, and Minhee somehow finds it all funny enough to smile. “If it's so amusing to you, Minhee, you can leave. We swear we won’t kill each other today, if we’ve been able to control ourselves all this time.” Seungcheol’s not even looking at you, but the sarcasm is biting his skin.

“Alright, alright. Calm down, Prof. Y/L/N. Remember, aggression is not the key. We’re here for resolutions.”

“Well then, could we please proceed to the point directly?”

“You’re in a rush on a Monday? You play baseball with the kids after class-” you ask him, staring into his face.

“I have a date today after class.”

That shuts you up for good, and Seungcheol feels queasy. It’s one thing trying to get the last word in, and it’s another to hit your weak point just to get the last word in. He wants to explain but Ms. Song interrupts. “I’ll cut the chase. From what I can see now, and from all the reports I’ve received in the last three months, there’s been not much improvement from the situation we had observed earlier. In fact, it’s only gotten more alarming-”

“Ever since I’ve turned thirty-three,” you sigh, but Ms. Song ignores you.

“I’ve spoken to the Dean, Dr. Wonwoo, and also to some of the other faculty members you share your classes and university space with. We collectively think it’s only fair to say that your interpersonal relationship is harming the kind of environment we want to foster in our university. It is, by no means, a new development, and students of several batches have noticed this relationship of yours as well. This kind of banter, which includes quite serious threats at times-” she raises a hand to quieten Seungcheol’s attempt to interrupt, “is not conducive to a healthy academic environment.”

You both sigh, you whisper something along the lines of it’s not that serious, and although Seungcheol hates to say it out loud, he agrees with you.

“I would recommend you both to go to the University Counsellor and take a few… bonding sessions over the next semester. We think this kind of banter is not too serious, we’re extremely hopeful of a resolution. It’s just not happening right now, because you’re not aware of the efforts to be taken. Once you sit with a counsellor, the path will be clearer-”

Seungcheol doesn’t even realise when he’s stood up. It feels stuffy. He had thought he was long past the age of getting reprimanded for fighting with his peers.

“I really have to leave now. Thank you for the talk, Ms. Song. I’ll get back to you with my schedule and we can set up the meetings with the counsellor.”

“Prof. Choi.” The voice is stern, and Seungcheol holds up. He needs a cigarette, or fresh air. Neither is really available right now, so he grips on to the chair to steady himself. “I will mail you the meetings and Plan of Action, and you shall adjust your schedule accordingly. You know the consequences-” Seungcheol nods before the threat gets completed. Wonwoo has explained the consequences several times to him.

“I will do so. Don’t worry, Ms. Song. You shall get nothing but my best efforts.” “I hope so. Really.”

Seungcheol finally steps out of the room, and heaves deep breaths to get his brain working again. His phone rings, as he walks down the stairs to get away from the building. He picks it up while lighting the cigarette between his lips as he leaves the campus-

“Hello Cheollie! Should I come over to your place to pick you up or-”

“Hyerin?”

“What? Did you forget about our date? Yah! Oppa!”

“No no, I just-” he realises that you’ve just left the campus walking past him, not even sparing him a glance. He watches you as you walk farther away from him, your car blinking in the distance, and the tap-tap of your heels fading out amidst the sounds of the wind. The campus is remarkably quiet for this time of the day, or maybe he’s just too out of it all.

“I’ll meet you at the cafe. We can go to your place later, right?”

“Yes yes, I’ve talked to my roommate already, but why not Oppa’s place this time?” the sickly sweet voice from the other end of the phone irritates him, but he knows she’s acting cute just for fun.

“You know why-”

“Oppa, Kkuma doesn’t care about the girls you bring over.” “She does! She’s a very sensitive princess.” “Cheol-ah, you can just say you don’t care enough about me, and I’ll get it. Don’t bring the poor baby into this.” Seungcheol sighs. This is why he likes Hyerin, she can be mature when she wants to.

But it seems like now is not the time.

“I’ll see you later then, Oppa! Maybe tonight will change your mind!” ��Hmm!” Seungcheol hears the call get cut, and he finally drags a puff from his cigarette. You’ve disappeared out of sight, and Seungcheol’s mind is clear now.

#choi seungcheol #s.coups #s.coups x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen fluff #seventeen series #s.coups series #s.coups fluff #s.coups fanfiction #seungcheol fanfiction #seungcheol x y/n #seungcheol series #seungcheol fanfic #seungcheol x reader #seventeen fanfic #perfect complements series #simpxxstan

178 notes · View notes

midnightsxblue · 2 months

Text

UNDER THE WEATHER

carl grimes x reader

(you’re sick and carl takes care of you.)

tags: fluff but warning for sickness!

masterlist here!

Living in the apocalypse, the only sort of sick you were ever worried about was getting infected. For some reason it’d never crossed your mind you’d actually maybe catch a cold or a fever until the prison. Even then you never got sick. The most you’d ever actually been ill was throwing up when you killed your first walker and you got a bit sniffly as the seasons changed.

Thankfully, Alexandria was the first place you actually gotten a cold at, which left you room to rest and get better without worrying about walkers n such. You didn’t worry much when you became sick, but Carl definitely did.

It’s not like you were extremely unwell, you had just a sore throat, unsteady body temperature, headache, all the annoying symptoms. You tried to act normal all morning as you were supposed to go on a supply run. You were exhausted though and it showed in your face. You arrived at the gates to meet with the group. Daryl, Rosita, and Aaron were waiting at the cars when you walked up.

“Where’s Carl?” You croaked out before clearing your throat. They all sort of consider the rasp in your voice before Daryl responds. “He’s comin. What’s wrong with you?” You try to act like you have no idea what he’s talking about. “What?” Before Daryl can respond, Carl arrives and taps your shoulder. You turn and greet him with a smile.

“Yeah, you’re definitely not going.” Rosita states, placing her hand on your forehead. “You’re burning up.” She adds. Carl looks to you and notices how pale you’re looking. He did look at you before but didn’t particularly think anything of it, he was excited to go on the run. “She’s right. I’ll stay with you.”

“No I’m going.” You complain, it’s practically a whine. “We won’t allow that.” Aaron chimes in. You release a sigh of frustration and look at Carl, realizing you’re definitely staying home for this one. “Such bullshit.” You roll your eyes and begin to walk back to the house.

“You’re welcome!” Rosita laughs and they begin to get in their cars, Carl behind you somewhat. “Hey we should get you checked out.” You hear him say. He speeds up a bit to catch up with you. “I’m okay I’d rather just go home.” You give him a small smile and continue to walk. “Well what’s wrong? I’ll try and get whatever you need-” You cut him off. “Carl it’s okay, seriously. I can handle myself.” Coincidentally, as you say this you feel an itch in your throat which prompts you to cough, turning into a chain of very violent coughing. How embarrassing.

“Yeah okay I’m gonna get the stuff you need.” Carl remarks concerned. You accept defeat and nod at him. “Fair. I’ll be at home.” You explain your symptoms and he nods, heading wherever he needed to go to find anything to help you. You go home in the meantime and change into comfortable clothes to sleep in. You grab a blanket as well as a comic and sit on the couch to wait for Carl to get back. He comes home about twenty minutes later with a bag in his hand. He greets you and goes to place the bag on the counter.

“Don’t get mad, but I told Denise to come check on you since you’re too stubborn to go to the infirmary.” Carl explains as he begins unloading random stuff from the bag he brought home. You look at him from the couch with a peeved look. “Seriously? The last thing I want is a checkup.” You frown. “It’s not a checkup if you know you’re unhealthy. Now just lay down and rest, I’ll take care of you in a moment.” He smiles. Your eyes linger on him for a moment before you continue to read your comic on the couch.

Carl later comes over with medicine that Denise told him would help with majority of your symptoms. Times like these made you appreciate being able to breathe through your nose regularly a lot more. Denise came over and checked on you as well to make sure your temperature wasn’t too high. After that you rested for a while.

“Hey.” You hear, feeling a nudge as your eyes are basically glued shut while you were napping on the couch. You pry them open to see a smiling Carl. “I made you soup.” You open your eyes fully and prop yourself up on the couch. You look at the coffee table to see a bowl of chicken soup and then back at him, sort of concerned. He wasn’t the best in the kitchen when it came to specific dishes. “Um…it was canned actually. Not sure why I lied but…yeah you can enjoy that.” He says awkwardly, you sort of giggle and he sits beside you on the couch.

“Aren’t you worried about getting sick?” You pull the bowl of soup onto your lap and stir it a bit. “I don’t care.” He responds shortly. “You don’t care?”

“Not if it’s because I’m taking care of you. You’re my top priority.”

You stare at him, sort of appalled that he cared that much. He was a great boyfriend, he was but…you never expected him to be that perfect. He stayed home from a supply run he was so excited to go to just because you were feeling under the weather. He isn’t making you feel bad about it either. There’s no way he can get any better than this. You find it a bit hard to respond to that but before you can muster up any sort of response, he continues.

“Anyway I asked around hoping people would spare some of their teabags since we’re out and so is the pantry. I got a few. Do you like honey?” You shake your head, still slightly appalled at the fact he’s putting this much effort in. He got up to go make your tea and you sit there silently as you eat your soup. He later comes back and sits next to you, placing the cup down on the table in front of you. “I hope I made it right. I had to ask Carol.” He giggles.

“Thank you.” You say genuinely. He kisses your forehead and then your cheek, not a care in the world if he were to get sick.

“No problem.”

a/n: hey guyss i’m feeling a bit better and i thought i’d try and write today and i was able to do it comfortably soooo woot woot! i don’t love it butttt i’ll live :) sorry it’s so short. (mac read this first.)

#carl grimes #carl grimes twd #the walking dead #twd #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes fluff #carl grimes x fem!reader #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes angst #carl grimes the walking dead #the walking dead carl #twd carl #twd fanfiction #fanfic

119 notes · View notes

thewintersoldierdisaster · 7 months

Text

a/n: i know i said i probably wouldn’t write more for brady, but, uh, here we are. this is porn with the barest minimum of plot. like genuinely this is so deranged but i had a wild time writing it. MAJOR props to @smileysvech for the title because i couldn’t think of a single one 😭

word count: 10.5k (😳 i had NO idea it was this long omg)

tw: period sex, like big time. this is essentially all smut and you’ve been warned. blood, obviously

summary: when you’re on your period, brady just wants to make you feel good

When Brady comes home after practice and his workout, a full five hours after he left the house in the morning, he finds you in the exact same spot on the bed - curled up in the fetal position. You have the plush Stormy he bought you as a joke when one of your date nights accidentally ended at the pro shop cuddled against your chest, your face pressed into the top of the pig’s stuffed head. You lift your head slightly when you hear him step into the bedroom and mumble a soft, pitiful ‘hi’ before pressing your face back into the stuffed animal.

Brady lets out a sympathetic hum and sits down on the edge of the bed, a plastic bag crinkling in his hand. “Hey, sweetheart, still feeling crappy?” His fingers are cool against your skin when he reaches over and brushes a few pieces of hair off your forehead. His forehead is creased with concern, full lips downturned in a frown.

“Every damn month, Brady,” you whine, pulling your knees up closer to your chest, trying to add pressure to alleviate the cramps. “Every month and somehow I’m still always knocked on my ass.”

Your periods had always been difficult, lasting a full seven days and coming with headaches, sore breasts, nausea, and raging cramps. Days one and two were always the worst and it blew your mind how you were surprised that you felt like hot garbage every time. It’s like you forgot about the symptoms and misery the second it was over. Being on birth control had helped a bit, but birth control came with its own side effects - a rapid weight gain, migraines worse than you’ve ever had before, and a total death blow to your sex drive. So, off the birth control it was. The weight had slipped off and the migraines were reduced back to a normal headache. It had taken a second for your libido to come back, worrying you, but thankfully it was back a few months after stopping the pills. Now you just have to suffer through the worst two days of your period, the edge coming off with a borderline unhealthy amount of Advil going into your body.

“Maybe this will help?” Your boyfriend grins a little as he rustles through the plastic CVS bag and withdraws a can of raspberry Arizona iced tea and two king sized Butterfingers bars. He holds the candy bars between his fingers, splayed out like he’s displaying a deck of cards.

Tears prick at your eyes, overwhelmed by Brady’s thoughtfulness and the flood of hormones in your body. You nod a little, giving him a wavering smile. “You’re too good to me,” you reach out and flatten your palm over Brady’s grey-sweatpants clad knee, the closest body part of his that you can reach from your position in the middle of the bed. Brady snorts a laugh.

“Sweetheart, this is nothing,” he leans back a little and sets the candy and drink on your bedside table, knocking the family-sized bottle of Advil to the floor and pushing your half-finished Tessa Bailey novel to the edge, nearly sending it to the abyss between the piece of furniture and the wall. “Whatever you need from me, I’m all yours for the rest of the day.”

It’s game day tomorrow, at home, which means Brady really is off the hook from team responsibilities until morning skate tomorrow. A sharp cramp works its way through your uterus and you wince, wiggling a little to stop your butt cheek from going numb.

“Can you just…like, cuddle with me?” You ask, rolling your neck so you can look up at Brady’s face. His eyes are soft and a low throb of want fights the cramps. You feel gross though, bloated and sore and right now all you can handle is being the little spoon to Brady’s big.

Brady’s nodding, already laying back on his side of the bed, “whatever you need from me, sweetheart,” he says, rolling onto his side and opening his arms for you to scoot in. His body is warm and inviting and you could cry with how badly you just need to be held right now. You feel stupid and silly and fragile, but Brady’s never shied away from giving you the comfort you need. He’s still and patient while you settle your head on the inside of his bicep, pressing your back against his chest, your ass flush against his groin, your knees bent and his knees slotted in right behind yours. Every inch of your body is pressed against Brady’s and the body heat coming off of him is better than any heating pad.

He wraps the arm that’s supporting your head over your chest, his forearm resting against your collarbone, and slides his other hand under the hem of your sweatshirt so his warm, broad palm can rest on your lower stomach, pressing down with gentle pressure to help your cramps. You sigh happily and relax back against him, tension seeping out of your shoulders and spine.

“Better?” He murmurs, breath hot against your ear and cheek. You nod, closing your eyes. Brady curls his knees up a little more so you’re both bent closer to a fetal position and there’s more relief for your lower back.

“Perfect,” you mumble, wiggling just a little so you’re even further in the cocoon of Brady’s arms. You can feel the slight press of Brady’s cock against the curve of your ass, but even that’s comforting, more so mentally than physically, since it’s proof that Brady still finds you attractive even when you feel your grossest. “How was practice?” You ask, happy to listen to Brady talk while you ignore the twinge of cramps.

He chuckles a bit, his chest vibrating at your back. “Same old,” he says and it feels so good when his chest moves against your back, the soft rumble of his voice in your ear. “Brett says to tell you that Amy’s gonna text you about a viewing party for the away game next week, thinks it’s her turn to host?”

You hum a confirmation, nodding against Brady’s arm. “It is. I get the game when you’re all up in Montreal,” you reply, knowing you’re probably going to have half a dozen texts from Amy when you eventually muster up the energy to pick up your phone. Brady’s hand rubs soft circles against your lower stomach, releasing more of the tension that’s built up without you realizing it. You shift again, stretching your lower back and feeling the giant pad you’re wearing move around. Brady has to be able to feel it with how closely you’re pressed against him and the thought makes you tilt your hips forward, away from his dick, so he doesn’t realize that you’re basically wearing a diaper.

Brady presses gently on your stomach and on your shoulder with his other hand. “Sorry,” he mumbles a little sheepishly, and you wonder why until he continues, “I know you’re not in the mood to have my dick poking at your ass. Swear I’m not that guy that’s worried about getting off when you’re feeling so crappy.”

“Oh!” You bite down on your lip to smother a little smile even as your nose burns with hormonal tears. Honestly, it hadn’t even occurred to you that Brady would think you were shifting away because of him. “No,” you rush to reassure him, twisting your neck so you’re looking at him from an awkward angle. “I’m not…I didn’t think…oh fuck, I just didn’t want you to, you know, have to feel everything that’s going on,” you wave at your lower half with one hand vaguely, “down there.”

“Sweetheart,” Brady’s lips quirk up in a little smirk, “I’m thirty years old, I don’t have any issues with what you’ve got going on. Besides,” he chuckles a little before kissing your temple, “I’ve seen the box of pads under the sink.”

Your entire face flushes hot and you grumble, “well, let’s just not talk about that.” Brady laughs again and kisses your hot cheek. It’s almost unnatural how sweet he is, but you suppose after the string of terrible boyfriends in your early twenties, this is what it’s like being in an adult relationship with an adult man.

“How about you close your eyes and try to nap?” Brady suggests. He subtly pulls you closer again, until your ass is back where it belongs against his semi-hard dick. His thumb strokes an arc under your belly button and you sigh, warm all over from Brady’s body curled around yours. “I know you tossed and turned all night.”

“Sorry,” the words get lost in his bicep, your cheek pressed against the fabric of his t-shirt. “Tried not to move so much.”

Brady’s hand moves in lazy circles against your skin and he keeps you pressed tightly against his chest. He’s functioning like the world’s greatest weighted blanket. When he replies, his breath ruffles the little pieces of hair escaping your messy bun. “Should’ve woken me up, I would’ve spooned you until you fell asleep again,” he sounds almost hurt that you didn’t wake him up.

“Next time, I’ll wake you up,” you promise, pressing a soft little kiss to the inside of Brady’s bicep, brushing your nose over the soft skin. His arms tighten around you and you feel him kiss the back of your head.

“Just wanna be there for you,” he says, yawning a little. The yawn is contagious and your jaw cracks a little with the effort. Brady tucks one leg in between yours and you settle back, your head resting under his chin.

You must fall asleep at some point, because when a sharp, persistent cramp stabs at your abdomen, sending you curling forward in a tight little ball, the sun is a little lower in the sky and blinding you from where it peeks out under the partially opened blinds. Brady’s arms are still wrapped around you, keeping you mostly in place even as you’re pressing your hands to your lower stomach to try and alleviate the cramps. Whatever brief reprieve you had during your nap is gone now, the pain back with a vengeance, and you groan a little, waking Brady from his nap.

“Bad again?” He asks, voice rough with sleep. The arm around your chest drops flat down to the mattress and you roll a little onto your stomach, pressing your hand tightly against it. His other hand is caught in between your body and the mattress, tangled in the waistband of your shorts. He wiggles his fingers ineffectually.

“Mhm,” you mumble into the pillow your face is pressed against. “C’n you give me Advil?”

“Yeah, whatever you need,” Brady rolls onto his side and hangs his upper body off the side of the bed to scoop up the bottle of Advil off the floor. He pops the top off and starts shaking pills into his hand before stopping and squinting at you suspiciously. “Wait, how many have you had already?”

“Two?” The lie comes out as a question and Brady rolls his eyes at you, lips twisted in an amused expression.

He cups his hand and drops the pills back into the bottle. “You want to try that again?” He asks, raising an eyebrow and leaning back to set the bottle on your bedside table.

You roll back onto your side, facing Brady, and poke your lower lip out in a pout. “Okay, so maybe it was like five or six, but I think I know how many Advil I can handle, Brady,” you can’t help the sharp edge that colors your response. The cramps are a stabbing pain, radiating through your lower back and hips. “Just give me one at least.”

Brady reaches out and settles his hands on your hip to pull you closer. He huffs your name on an exasperated sigh. “No way, your liver’s going to give out if you take any more Advil. Come here and I’ll give you a massage, see if that helps,” he says already rubbing one large hand over your lower back. His thumb digs into a particularly sore spot and you let out an involuntary moan, gasping a little. The muscles in your back are so knotted and stiff that even Brady’s gentle touch is painful.

“I…s’not gonna help,” you whine, wiggling under his touch. Tears fill your eyes involuntarily. “Hurts too much.” You exhale a harsh breath and roll away from him, wincing when you sit up. You have to change out your pad and moving might help. Brady doesn’t say anything, but you can feel him watch you as you rush off to the bathroom, hunched a little when another sharp stab of pain grips your stomach. Fuck this. One-tenth of the pain of actual childbirth contractions? If that’s true, you’re making sure you’re completely knocked out when you have kids.

You don’t linger in the bathroom, cleaning up and getting yourself ready to crawl back under the covers, making a mental note to see your gynaecologist again and harass her about a possible endometriosis diagnosis. Because this shit is just not natural.

Brady’s propped up against the headboard, his phone in his hand. He looks up when you come back into the bedroom and you’re not entirely sure you love the look on his face. He holds up his phone, displaying the screen even though you can’t see the webpage, and says, “you know, orgasms are a natural way to get pain relief from cramps.”

You’re shaking your head before Brady’s even finished talking. “No, no way. I’m never able to get myself off properly anymore, I’ve been spoiled,” you shoot him a mock glare and his smile turns smug. You continue, cutting him off when he opens his mouth, “And! It’s gross, I’m gross, I’m not letting you anywhere near me. All the blood and…and…well, stuff.”

Hands on your hips, you stubbornly remain standing at the foot of the bed, shaking your head at Brady. He tosses his phone onto the mattress and gets on his knees, crawling down the bed towards you. “Sweetheart, a little blood doesn’t bother me,” he waves his hand in the general vicinity of his face, where a cut across his nose is still healing after he took an elbow to the face two games ago. The resulting nosebleed had been fairly epic, to hear him tell the story. “Plus, I want to help you. Let me help you feel better.” He sits back on his heels and wiggles the same hand in the air, fingers splayed. “You know I’m good with my hands.”

He is REALLY good with his hands. And your poor swollen cunt throbs a little, arousal building low in your stomach despite everything else happening in your body.

“I’ll make it good for you, sweetheart,” Brady promises, looking earnest as hell. “If it doesn’t work, we can go back to Advil overdoses.”

Reluctantly, and chewing at your lower lip, you nod. “Okay, yeah, I guess we can try it,” you sigh. Truthfully, you’ve never tried to orgasm yourself to pain relief with your periods. It always felt so messy and gross.

Brady nods and hops off the bed, “I’ll be right back.” He disappears out into the hallway, leaving you standing at the foot of the bed, wondering just what you’re getting yourself into. You can hear a closet opening and closing and then Brady’s back, holding an old, but still semi-plush towel in his hands. He pushes the comforter on your bed to the side and spreads the towel out. You look at it and wrinkle your nose. This is going to be such a mess. But another cramp sends your stomach into a spasm and you grit your teeth. Okay, whatever it takes to relieve some of this pain.

“Come on,” Brady’s hand rubs wide circles over your back. “I’ll prop up and you can lean against me, okay?”

You nod and Brady’s on the bed, in the same position he had been before - propped against the headboard and legs spread wide so there’s room for you. “I’m keeping these on,” you huff, snapping the waistband of your shorts before crawling onto the bed. “It’s already going to be a mess, I want to keep everything contained.”

Brady laughs, “we both know it’s not the first time I’ve made you come while you’re fully clothed.” He pauses, smirks. “And it won’t be the last time.”

Your face heats up again and you push gently at Brady’s shoulder, “shush, you. This is so embarrassing.” You gingerly settle in the vee of Brady’s legs, stiff and sore. He kisses the crown of your head and gently tugs on the back of your sweatshirt so you’ll relax back against his chest.

“Why are you embarrassed?” He asks, running his hands over your thighs and up your hips. Your stomach clenches a bit when he slowly works his hand up your shirt and brushes his knuckles against your abdomen. He knows not to go any higher than your waist, that your breasts are so sore you’ll cry if he touches them, but he touches everywhere else. “I told you, I’m thirty years old. I’m not grossed out by your period, sweetheart. I hate that you’re in so much pain and if I can do anything to help,” one hand slides down the front of your stomach and his fingertips dip beneath the waistband of your panties, “I’m going to.”

His fingers slide lower and you tense a little, knowing he’s going to hit up against the pad and even though he’s so chill about it, you’re not. “Relax, sweetheart,” Brady murmurs into your ear, kissing your cheek. “Let me take care of you.” You nod faintly, forcing yourself back against Brady’s broad chest, feeling the hardening ridge of his erection against your lower back. That helps, and when Brady’s fingers finally start to stroke your swollen, sensitive flesh, you shudder a little and then relax completely. His movements are maybe less firm than usual, his fingers slipping around a little more. He takes his time, finding your clit easily and circling it with the tip of his index finger.

“Oh, Brady,” you gasp his name, sliding down his chest a bit, opening your legs wider so he has better access. Your eyes flutter closed and Brady’s free hand rests on your left inner thigh, holding it open.

“Doing so good, sweetheart,” he mumbles, angling and reaching forward. His middle finger is at your entrance, carefully pressing inside. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

You shake your head. Heat is building in your stomach, the throbbing between your legs overtaking the pain of your cramps. “Not enough,” you sigh, breaking off into a little gasp when Brady’s thumb presses a little more firmly over your clit. You blink rapidly, his fingers slipping too easily from where you need him. “I…more…s’fine. Put your fingers in me, Brady, please.”

Brady’s middle finger slides in, deeper and deeper until the knuckles of his other fingers are pressed against your folds. “Whatever you need,” Brady says, running his other hand over the outside of your thigh. Your legs start to tremble and he pumps his finger and out of you, sliding easier than he normally would with just your arousal to help. You try not to think about the kind of mess his hand is going to be covered in. He crooks the finger and taps against your inner wall and your stomach clenches.

“Oh!” You gasp, clenching around his finger. “More, Brady. I’m so…I need more.”

“I’ve got you,” he reassures you, taking his free hand and brushing your hair off your face. He kisses your neck, sucking gently while he wiggles his ring finger up next to his middle finger inside your cunt. His thumb ghosts over your swollen clit and you bite back a moan, grinding down on his fingers. “Come on, sweetheart. You feeling good? Tell me what you need.”

“Faster,” you whine, your stomach tightening with every pump of Brady’s fingers. The sound his fingers are making as they work in and out of you is obscene even when it’s partially muffled by your shorts, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when it feels so good. Brady wraps his free hand around your thigh, pulling it open slightly so he has more room to work. His hand is trapped by the constraints of fabric and can only move so fast. But the pace he’s pumping into you is perfect. His fingers slide deeper inside of you, pressing against your g-spot and your toes curl against the mattress, a low wail escaping from your lips. You clamp your mouth shut, face flushing hot with embarrassment at how loud you’re being.

Brady keeps pumping his fingers, murmuring in your ear, “go ahead, sweetheart. Be as loud as you want while you come for me. Scream, let me hear you.”

He flicks his thumb over your clit and you scream his name, your entire body going taut as he works his fingers harder, bringing you right to the edge. Your orgasm builds low in your stomach, a coil of heat and tension. His fingers curl and you finally let go, surrendering to the wave of pleasure that loosens your entire body. It’s not the strongest orgasm you’ve ever had, but it’s strong enough, making your brain a little fuzzy and sending endorphins rushing through your veins. Your head drops back against Brady’s shoulder and he peppers your exposed neck with soft kisses. He mumbles terms of endearment against your skin, encouraging your orgasm with his words as his fingers continue to work you through the aftershocks.

You slump back against Brady’s chest and his free arm wraps around your waist. “Feeling better, sweetheart?” Your legs are a little shaky and you stretch out, inadvertently clenching around Brady’s fingers.

A satisfied hum leaves your throat even as Brady sucks in a breath from the feeling of being knuckles deep in your cunt. His cock stirs against your lower back and in the back of your mind, you feel a little bad for him, that he’s going to have to use his hand in the shower. But your cramps have settled to a minimal ache that’s completely bearable, so you tuck your head under Brady’s chin and mumble, “thank you, baby. That was perfect.”

“Happy to be your personal orgasm provider,” Brady chuckles, pulling his hand from the waistband of your shorts. You wince at the blood that streaks his skin, reddish-brown and dripping down to his wrist. Behind you, Brady shrugs a little and wipes his hand on the towel under your bodies. He kisses the side of your head. “Sweetheart, gotta clean up for a minute. I’m gonna go clean off and uh, take care of something.”

The ‘something’ is pressing insistently against your lower back and you manage a soft hum of empathy as you lean forward so Brady can slide off the bed. He snatches the towel out from under you in one smooth move, balling it up in his hands. “Mhm, clean your hand and come back, I’ll take care of you,” you offer sleepily. The orgasm has your head fuzzy and your entire body relaxed.

Brady kisses your forehead and you slump against the pillows. “Take a nap,” he grins against your skin. “I’ve got this.”

You hum again, wriggling against the warm sheets. Brady chuckles lowly and you hear him pad off into the bathroom. The shower turns on and you can imagine Brady stripping down to nothing, his cock jutting out proudly, stepping under the spray and gripping himself. Your clit gives a faint throb at the mental image - honestly, it could be a memory with how often you’ve had sex with Brady in that shower - and you press your thighs together. Now that your cramps have faded away and the initial embarrassment and awkwardness of sex on your period is cleared from your mind courtesy of Brady’s fingers, you’re feeling horny. Mingled with the sleepy haze, you can’t really do too much about it except press your thighs tighter together and listen to Brady’s grunts and moans that the running water can’t cover up. You press your face into the pillow, wiggling and clenching around nothing, biting down hard on your lower lip when Brady’s strangled ‘fuck!’ echoes from the bathroom a few moments later.

The water shuts off and you’re feeling more awake, the fuzz in your brain from the orgasm fading away. You can hear Brady moving around in the bathroom and he emerges a few minutes later in a cloud of shampoo and Dove soap scented steam. He’s back in his grey sweats and black t-shirt, with the towels balled up under his arm. His hair is damp, darker than usual from the water, and slicked off his face, which is tinged pink from the hot water. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him, all of your blood pooling between your legs.

“Thought you were gonna nap?” He says, eyes twinkling.

You manage to shake your head. “Not sleepy,” you say, rolling onto your side.

Brady’s grin is teasing as he comes to stand at the side of the bed. “Guess I didn’t do my job well enough,” he jokes, leaning one knee down on the mattress, making it dip under his weight. His warm, broad palm comes to rest on your cheek, thumb swiping over your cheekbone. “Let me throw on a load of laundry and order some dinner for later, then I’ll come back and cuddle, okay?”

“Okay,” you sigh, leaning into his touch. You lick your lower lip and Brady tracks the movement, but says nothing. He nudges your cheek with the knuckle of his index finger and heads out of the bedroom. You watch him leave, eyes locked onto his stupidly firm ass. With a frustrated exhale, you slump further back into the pillows, surrounded by Brady’s scent. You yawn, surprising yourself with how quickly your energy levels shifted the second Brady was out of the room. You let your eyelids flutter shut, figuring you’ll just get in a quick little nap before jumping your boyfriend.

By the time Brady slips back into bed, you’re more than halfway to sleep, eyes closed and limbs loose. He settles himself on his side of the bed and you gravitate towards him naturally. “Warm,” you mumble, tucking your head under his chin and pressing the tip of your nose against the hollow of his throat. Brady’s arms tighten around you, the best kind of weighted blanket.

“Ordered Chinese for later,” he tells you quietly. “With extra fortune cookies.”

“My hero,” you grin sleepily against his skin. He’s really so warm, like a personal radiator, and you sling your leg over his hip, notching your core against his groin without really comprehending it. The stretch feels good on your sore hip and lower back muscles and Brady slots one leg over yours, his muscled thigh pressing gently against your cunt. He can feel the warmth of you through the leg of his sweats and his cock twitches behind the fabric.

“Anything for my girl,” he says, stroking your hair and back, lulling you right to sleep in the warm cocoon of his embrace.

It’s not a very long nap, less than half an hour, but you wake up feeling semi-refreshed. Your cramps are starting to increase in intensity again and you’ve shifted while you slept so that you’re pressed flush against Brady’s half-hard cock, leg wrapped snugly around his hip. His thigh is pushed against your cunt, making it throb. He smells so fucking good and one of his hands is resting low on the curve of your ass. You wiggle experimentally and Brady laughs above you, his chest vibrating.

“Was wondering how long you were gonna sleep,” he says, bringing his hand over your hip to run against the outside of your thigh. “You’ve been making these little noises,” he continues and he sounds half tortured. “Little sighs and grunts. Feeling okay?”

You can’t think, not with his thigh in between your legs, his cock nudging against you. Your stomach flips, not with the cramps though, and you grind yourself over his thigh. Brady’s hand moves to grip your hip, helping guide you over his thigh. He laughs a little, “guess I have my answer. You want more than this, sweetheart, or you just want to use me?”

“I don’t know,” you tuck your chin to your chest, your forehead pressing into the hard edge of his collarbone. Your hips move and it feels good but it’s not enough, not with the extra layer of your pad between you. You can’t get enough friction and you whine low in your throat. “Brady, need you, please, I don’t…” you babble, trying to figure out what you need even as heat builds low in your stomach. The hand that isn’t on your hip falls to your ass and kneads gently, his fingers digging into your skin.

Brady drops a kiss to the crown of your head and mumbles, “okay, sweetheart, I’ll take care of you. I’ve got you.” He rolls onto his back, taking you with him. You plant your palms flat on his chest and grind brazenly against his cock, sighing happily at the increased pressure. His hands grip at your hips and he helps you grind down harder, “this good for you, sweetheart? You going to get off like this?”

You shake your head against his chest - no, this isn’t enough for you. It feels good and the tension is building in your stomach, a gush of arousal and, likely, blood flooding between your legs. It’s like the feeling of sneezing on your period, but worse and you almost hate it. “Can I - can,” you stumble over the request, knowing that it’s gross, starting to feel embarrassed again. “Ugh,” you frown into his shirt, rolling your hips against his like a teenager, “I need more, Brady.”

He nods seriously and lifts you gently off of him, setting you on the mattress. When you whine at the loss of contact and grab at his shirt, he clicks his tongue and says, “trust me, I’m going to give you everything you want. Just gotta get another towel, okay?” He untangles your fingers from his shirt and kisses your fingertips before practically hopping out of bed and beelining for the linen closet. He’s back before you can process, laying out the towel and pulling you to the edge of the bed. Brady tugs at the waist of your shorts, “these are coming off and then you’re gonna tell me how you want it. You want me on top or is that going to be too much?”

His voice is soft with concern for your pleasure and a shiver works its way down your spine. You wiggle your hips and reach for the waistband of Brady’s sweats, curling your fingers beneath the fabric. His cock tents the front of the sweats, a perfect imprint in the fabric for you to stare at. Brady’s big and he knows it, knows that when he gets going it’s a pleasure-pain sort of stretch. When you ride him it’s a little easier to control the pace and how deep he can hit. A cramp ripples through your lower stomach and back and you wince, making a decision.

“Wanna be on top,” you chew at your lower lip, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of Brady’s sweats and brushing against the coarse hair at the base of his cock.

“Whatever you need, baby,” he grins, certainly not going to object to having you ride him. He hisses when your fingertips graze his cock, twitching under your touch. He pulls you to your feet and wraps his arms around you in a tight hug, the pressure easing some of the soreness in your body, before ducking his head to capture your lips with his. You melt into his arms, licking at his lower lip until he opens his mouth for you. Liquid heat rushes through your body, warmth pooling low in your stomach. Brady deepens the kiss and moves a hand up to tangle in your hair. He tugs gently, manoeuvring your head to the side so he can change the angle of the kiss.

You sigh into his mouth and Brady turns so he can sit down on the bed after he breaks the kiss. “Pants off, sweetheart,” he grins, scooting back so he’s sitting on the towel, his back against the headboard. He tosses all the pillows to the other side of the bed so they can stay clean.

Your heart is still pounding in your chest from the kiss and you only hesitate briefly before you shimmy your shorts down your legs, kicking them off your ankles and off to the side. “You next,” you grin, another flood of arousal pooling between your legs when Brady gives you that cocky smirk you love so much. He pulls his shirt off over his head, discarding it to the floor and messing up his hair. A few strands fall over his forehead and he makes no move to brush them to the side. The fading sunlight glints against the greys and another pulse of desire throbs through you.

His hands fall to his crotch and he grabs at himself through the grey fabric, emphasising just how big and hard he is. With a groan, Brady grinds his heel over the base of his cock through the fabric, a little damp spot from his pre-cum turning it a darker grey. He makes a show of it, pulling the waistband of his sweats down one side of his hip and then the other, the red, leaking tip of his cock appearing above the elastic. You lick your lips again and Brady lifts his hips off the mattress so he can pull his sweats down further, tucking the band under his balls and letting his cock spring free. He’s thick and hard and curves towards his stomach. His balls are full and heavy looking, resting on the band of his sweats and it’s stupidly erotic, the fact that he’s keeping his pants on.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, wrapping his hand around his cock and pumping a few times to get himself as hard as possible, “sit on it and I’ll make you feel good.”

Even as arousal floods between your legs, you hesitate, thinking of the mix of blood there as well. “You’re sure?” You ask, twisting your fingers in the sleeves of your sweatshirt. Brady’s hand is still wrapped around his cock and you can barely focus on anything other than the pre-cum leaking from the red, angry looking tip. Your clit gives a painful little throb in time with a twinge of a cramp in your lower stomach. Your body knows how it feels to have that broad head of him push past your folds and it’s reacting.

Brady leans forward, his hand falling away to rest on the mattress, “hey, if you don’t want to, I’m good. It’s whatever you’re comfortable with, sweetheart.” He smiles, eyes crinkling up at the corner, “I’ll make myself presentable and we can watch TV or something.” His cock bobs in his lap, bumping up against his stomach and to his credit, Brady barely winces at the sensation against his sensitive tip.

His willingness to go along with your mood changes only makes you want him more, so before you can second (or third) guess yourself, you rush into the bathroom to wiggle out of your panties and get rid of the pad, hurrying back into the bedroom with your thighs clenched together so you don’t get anything on the carpet. Brady’s lips are pressed together to suppress a little laughter at the way you’re moving and you roll your eyes at him. “Laughing at me isn’t very nice, Mr. Skjei,” you huff with faux annoyance.

Brady opens his arms and cocks an eyebrow, “I would never laugh at you.” His gaze drops between your legs and you flush hot.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you grumble. “I’m not wearing pants.”

“That’s exactly why I’m looking at you,” Brady teases in a low voice. He pauses and mutters, “oh fuck,” before leaning to his side, reaching for the drawer on his bedside table. “Should’ve done this while you were in the bathroom,” he mumbles, withdrawing a condom.

“It’s like you’ve never done this before,” you tease with a giggle, watching Brady’s movements like a hawk. His fingers deftly tear into the foil and wrap around his cock again so he can roll the condom over his length. He pumps himself a few more times and it seems like his cock swells in front of your eyes, filling the latex obscenely. You press your thighs together tighter, throbbing and ready to sit on him.

He mock glares at you, “making fun of the man who’s planning on giving you multiple orgasms to help your cramps is a low move, sweetheart.” He crooks his fingers at you. “Now come here so we can get to work on that pain relief.”

Your stomach tightens and you shuffle over to the bed, awkwardly trying to get up onto the mattress without dripping everywhere. “Brady…” you can’t help the little whine that escapes your lips and he takes pity on you, leaning onto one hip and wrapping his hands around your waist to haul you up on the bed. You kneel at his side and throw your leg over his lap, straddling him with your back to him. As soon as you open your legs, it feels like a tidal wave of liquid, even though you know that’s not how it works. At worst, a few drops of blood and arousal make their way down your inner thighs and you know they’ll be stopped by the fabric of Brady’s sweats. Even still, you feel impossibly exposed.

“What are you doing?” Brady asks, smoothing one hand down over your ass cheek and giving it a quick squeeze. His other hand is warm on your outer thigh. “I don’t get to see that gorgeous face?”

“No,” you huff, hovering over him with your knees planted on the mattress on either side of his thighs. “I don’t want you that deep, it’s going to hurt.”

“Okay,” Brady kisses behind your ear, “whatever you need, sweetheart.” He grips the base of his cock in one hand and rests the other hand on the curve of your hip. “Ready?”

You nod, chewing at the inside of your cheek, your inner thighs already trembling. Brady lines himself up at your entrance, the broad head of his cock nudging against you. You sink down on him with a sigh, the stretch of him filling you forcing all the air from your lungs. Behind you, Brady grunts at the feeling of you sinking down on his cock, his grip on your hip tightening. His hand pulls away from his cock and he gets a solid grip on your hips, making sure you don’t sit on him too fast, giving you time to adjust. Inch by inch, you take him, bracing your hands on his thighs in front of you.

“There you go, sweetheart,” Brady rasps an encouragement in your ears, holding your hips like his life depends on it. “That’s it, let me fill you up.”

It’s so easy to have him slide into you, easier than usual due to the extra slickness from your period. You can feel the mix of your blood and arousal drip down your thighs, surrounding his cock.

You babble his name, gasping when you sink down onto the final few inches of him, your ass making contact with his lap. He’s fully sheathed inside of you, thick and hard, still so deep despite the position that you imagine you can feel him all the way up to your throat.

Brady’s still underneath you, the fabric of his sweats rubbing against your thighs as he lets you get adjusted. You lean back against his chest carefully, the underside of his cock rubbing pleasantly against your swollen clit. A soft whine works its way up your throat and Brady’s hands trail from your hips down to the inside of your thighs, pulling gently to open you up further. “No, no,” you mumble, “too wide. Too much.” You squirm on his lap, trying to catch your breath from just the sensation of Brady keeping you full.

“Doing so good, sweetheart,” he kisses your neck, gently rolling his hips up into yours, making you gasp. Your nipples tighten into painfully hard points, desperate for Brady’s hands. “Tell me what you need.”

You grind down on Brady’s cock instead of responding, slowly riding him to build up the coil of pleasure in your lower stomach. You clench around him and Brady grunts into your hair again, fingers flexing around your thighs. “Fingers, Brady, I need…” you mumble, head thrown back to rest on his shoulder. “More, need more friction.”

The slow glide of his cock in and out of your cunt, against your clit, is pleasurable, but not nearly enough. Brady’s fingers are on your clit in the next second, pinching gently, and you gasp out his name, arching your back and forcing his cock deeper into your cunt. “Yes, yes, there. More…please, B-brady!”

“So fucking wet, baby,” he murmurs, one hand on your hip to help you ride him. His fingers work deftly over your swollen clit, sliding around easily. He bends one knee, planting his foot on the mattress and driving his cock even deeper.

You yelp, leaning forward to brace yourself, fisting the material of his sweats. “Stop, too deep, too much,” you whine, pushing at his knee so he’ll flatten his leg again. He compromises, straightening his leg a bit, but still keeping it partially bent. You breathe heavily, panting as you ride Brady’s cock. Pleasure builds in your lower stomach, hot and tight, growing as Brady’s fingers keep sliding over your clit, his cock thick in your cunt. He glides his hand over your back, down over your ass cheek, kneading your flesh.

“Come on, baby,” he encourages you in a strangled voice. “Use my cock. Know you can do it.”

You grab Brady’s wrist, holding his fingers against your clit, pressing down for friction and Brady takes the hint, rolling your swollen nub between his fingers, keeping his hand in place between your legs. Still gripping his wrist, feeling his muscles and tendons move under your fingers, you bounce on his cock. The sound is obscenely wet, filling the bedroom, louder than your breathless little moans and whimpers. Brady’s hand is tight on your hip, guiding you up and down on his cock while he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to the side of your neck.

“Brady, please, faster….I need….” you break off, chanting his name when he bucks his hips up into yours, meeting you thrust for thrust. His cock swells inside of you, painfully thick, and you reach down with your free hand to stroke at his balls, skimming your nails over the sensitive skin. Brady moans against your neck and his hand moves from your hip, wrapping his forearm around your lower stomach, adding more pressure and guiding you to lean forward slightly. Your nipples brush painfully against the fabric of your sweatshirt and you yelp, clenching involuntarily around Brady’s cock.

He thrusts up into you, thumb planted firmly on your clit and tears roll down your cheeks from the simulation, grinding down on Brady’s pelvis. You let go of his wrist and brace yourself on his thighs again, leaning forward and bouncing on him, the underside of his cock sliding against your clit. That, combined with Brady’s fingers, sends you over the edge, black spots dancing in front of your vision as your orgasm rips through your body. You chant Brady’s name, barely coherent while you rock on him, his cock hitting deep. Brady’s palm presses flat against your lower stomach and you let go, feeling your body gush around his cock.

“So good, sweetheart,” Brady murmurs, sounding dazed. “Keep riding, honey, take what you need.”

You cry out when he thrusts up into you, overwhelmed by sensation, but don’t stop circling your hips over his. Your brain is melted into a puddle of sensation, all of your nerve endings on fire as you clench around him again and Brady’s abdomen tenses. He hauls you flush against his chest when he finishes, shouting your name and filling the condom with cum. He reaches down and grasps the base of his cock, pumping himself into you and filling the condom faster. The warmth of it is different than when you decide to forgo the condom, but you still hum happily in Brady’s arms, stretched wide over his cock, your thighs trembling on either side of his lap.

“Brady…” you mumble his name, turning your head to bury your face in his neck while he fills the condom. Your hands grasp at his forearm wrapped around your waist and he peppers your face with soft kisses, grunting into your mouth when he’s wrung dry.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he mutters against the corner of your mouth. “Got carried away at the end,” he brushes his knuckles against your sensitive clit and you shiver in his arms. “So fucking hot and wet.”

“S’okay,” you slur your words, your body coming down from the orgasm and leaving you limp against Brady’s chest. “I liked it. Felt good - feels good,” you amend, clenching absently around Brady’s softening cock. Every thought and sensation other than being filled up by Brady is gone from your head. He laughs against your skin and you can feel him wipe his hand off on the towel under his ass.

Your thighs and ass feel wet, sitting in a mixture of blood, your arousal, and Brady’s cum, and you wrinkle your nose a little, shifting on his lap. You can’t help but look down at Brady’s lap and you regret it almost immediately. His lap is soaked in your combined fluids, the grey of his sweats stained red. His cum is leaking out of the condom, out of your cunt, and dripping down his balls to pool on the towel. “Oh, Brady!” You yelp, less drowsy now, trying to scramble off of his lap. “Your sweats, the towel!”

Brady adjusts his grip on you so you can’t go very far. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve never liked these sweats anyway,” he jokes, gently manhandling you so he can slide out of your cunt and pull off the condom. He ties it off efficiently and makes no comment about the mess of his hands and lap.

“Well I liked them,” you pout, cheeks heating up for a different reason. “This was such a mess.”

“Are your cramps gone?” Brady asks, carefully swinging his legs to the side so he can stand up. You’re still pressed close to his chest, on your feet too now, thighs pressed together to prevent anything getting on the floor. The towel on the bed looks like a crime scene. Brady lets go of you briefly so he can tug his sweats up to rest on his hips, but then his hand is on your hip again, nudging you towards the bathroom.

“Yes,” you reply, toddling on shaky legs.

“Then it was worth it,” he leans down to kiss your cheek. “Get in the shower, I’ll clean up and join you.”

He tosses the condom in the wastebasket and wipes his hand on his thigh - the sweats are clearly a lost cause - before he reaches out and swiftly pulls your sweatshirt over your head. You shiver at the cold air on your sensitive nipples and Brady grins at you, raising an eyebrow in a silent question. You wrinkle your nose, but nod, bracing yourself for Brady’s tongue to flick gently over one nipple. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he presses a soft kiss to the swell of your breast. “You know I feel bad not paying attention to your entire gorgeous body.”

Despite the sensitivity, both nipples tighten just from Brady looking at them and you resist the urge to cross your arms over your chest. He’s seen everything, there’s no point in being embarrassed. You reach behind you and turn the shower on, making sure the knob is on a high temperature. “Don’t even bother trying to save the towel,” you sigh, “just toss it.”

“That was the plan,” Brady winks, kissing your forehead before disappearing from the bathroom. He leaves the door open behind him and once you step into the shower - groaning in pleasure when the scalding hot water hits your sore muscles - you can see him in the mirror, wadding up the towel and stripping the sheets from the bed. You really hope the sheets aren’t ruined since they’re beyond comfortable.

“Just swapping them for fresh ones,” Brady calls out to you, apparently a mind reader now.

You smile to yourself and focus on scrubbing shampoo into your hair, the eucalyptus scented steam relaxing your entire body. By the time you’re rinsing and repeating, Brady’s stepping into the shower behind you, sliding warm broad hands over your waist. He leans in and brushes his nose against your ear, lips ghosting over the sensitive skin at the hinge of your jaw.

“Hi,” you giggle, wiggling a little in his grip. Your legs are shaky.

“You smell good,” he mumbles, massaging at your lower stomach. You lean into his touch, still trying to work shampoo into your hair.

“I always smell like this,” you reply, ducking your head under the spray and letting the suds wash down your body. Brady’s fingers trail along with the soap, drawing lazy patterns against your wet skin. You shiver under his touch, unsurprised when the familiar tingle of pleasure starts at the base of your spine, in between your legs.

Brady notices the subtle move of your thighs and he lets his fingers trace the crease of your thigh, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Smell like mine,” he murmurs. “My girl.” His fingers move to the left, mere inches, and tease at your entrance. The tip of his middle finger circles your clit, still swollen and sensitive and you can’t believe you’re about to let him give you a third orgasm.

“Brady,” you gasp his name a little, closing your eyes against the sensation. Your hips cant towards his fingers, chasing his touch.

“Sweetheart,” Brady groans against your neck, his cock twitching against the back of your thigh. “Gotta let me feel you. No mess in the shower.”

He continues to slowly, gently circle your clit, making your brain fuzzy again and your knees week. You press a palm against the shower wall to hold you up, but there’s no chance of falling, not with Brady’s arms wrapped securely around you. You whine when Brady’s finger slips inside your cunt, curling gently.

“Feels good?” He asks, massaging at your lower stomach with his other hand. You nod against his shoulder. “Good,” he continues, “just want you to feel good.”

Brady’s usually chatty during sex, but this feels different, his words alternating between concern and filth, his fingers working their way over your clit. You can feel yourself dripping for him, slick and hot. “Brady, Brady… p-please,” you hiccup the words when he grinds his hardening cock against the split of your asscheeks. “Give me more.”

You plant both of your hands on the wall and widen your stance, feeling Brady line himself up at your entrance. The broad head of his cock slides through your folds, entering your cunt with an easy roll of Brady’s hips. You moan his name, still stretched out from earlier, so the feel of him inside of you is just pleasure. He kisses a hot trail over your shoulders, sucking gently at your pulse point, laughing when he can feel your heart skip a beat at the feeling of his fingers pressing against your clit.

“Feels so good,” he groans, thrusting into you, more gently than you’d expect. The drag of his cock against your inner walls has you clenching around him, arching your back, pressing your ass firmly against his pelvis. One of his hands holds your hip in place while he thrusts and the other snakes down your stomach to play with your clit. Brady’s fingers bump up against his own cock and he grunts, choking off the noise. You can feel his cock twitch from the contact.

Honestly, if you had known that being on your period would make the both of you this horny, you might’ve given in to period sex months ago.

Brady drives his cock into you deeper, punching air from your lungs in a sharp gasp. Your head falls forward, chin to your chest, and you watch with hazy vision as Brady’s cock splits you open. Water drips down your face, into your open mouth, nearly drowning you until you spit a little, angling your face away from the stream.

You’d barely come down from your last orgasm when Brady shuffled you into the shower, so it’s easier for him to build up this one. Pleasure works it’s way through your body, your clit throbbing under Brady’s touch, and before you know it, before you can really focus on it, he’s bullying that third orgasm from your body. Fingers and cock working together to send you over the edge. “Come on, sweetheart,” Brady talks you through the orgasm. “Go ahead, scream, cum on my cock.”

You shriek his name, fingers scrambling on the wet tile for purchase as Brady rocks his hips up into yours, rolling your clit between his thumb and index finger relentlessly. Nonsense words spill from your lips while Brady keeps up his pace and it’s only a few more heartbeats before he’s tightening his arm around your waist, his stomach muscles pulling taut, and spilling inside of you. He groans and drops his forehead to your shoulder, his hair flopping forward and brushing your skin. Brady’s fingers only stutter in their movements when he jerks to a finish inside of you and by then it’s too overwhelming so you reach down to push his hand away, whining that it hurts.

“Sorry, sorry,” Brady mumbles against your shoulder, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss there. He pulls his hips back a little, his softening cock slipping from your cunt and releasing a flood of his hot cum down your inner thighs. You shiver at the sensation, rubbing your thighs together a little and looking down to see the drips of blood and cum wash off your legs and down the drain. “Didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head, dizzy and exhausted. Brady’s palms skim up your stomach and sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, and he turns you so he can kiss you on the mouth. You melt into his touch, warm and pliable for him. Brady kisses the corner of your mouth again, a soft little peck, before he says, “okay, let’s get you cleaned up for real this time.”

A mumbled noise of agreement leaves your body and Brady keeps you propped up with one thick arm around your waist while he gently soaps you up and helps you rinse off. He gives his own body a quick scrub, paying extra attention below the belt, giving you a little smirk when you watch him clean himself up. You lean against the shower wall on shaky legs, letting the hot water keep you warm. You watch him shower, muscles bunching under his skin, and blurt out, “god, I love you.”

Brady rakes his hand through wet hair, slicking it off his face, and looks at you with warm brown eyes. “I love you too, sweetheart,” he grins. He leans forward and brushes his lips over your forehead before turning the water off and reaching an arm out of the shower to grab one of the big fluffy towels that wait for you. He wraps you up, rubbing his hands over your arms to warm you, and once he’s confident that you’re grasping the towel around your body, he gets a second towel to wrap around his waist. From there, you let yourself be taken care of - Brady leaves you alone in the bathroom to grab you a pair of panties, handing them to you with a knowing smirk, before leaving again so you can get yourself settled with a pad. He’s dressed in a pair of boxers and a worn out University of Minnesota t-shirt when you eventually pad into the bedroom after lotioning up your entire body.

“Sweats or shorts,” Brady holds up both items of clothing and you reach for the pair of his joggers that he offers, wanting to be bundled up and cozy even though it’s not that cold out. You step into the sweats while Brady attempts to pull one of his shirts over your head, only for you to get tangled up in the fabric, blinded by the cotton, and tip forward with a little squeak of surprise. Brady grabs you before you can fall onto the bed, hands hot against the bare skin of your waist. “Ah, shit! Sorry, sweetheart,” his voice is muffled from the fabric around your head and you wiggle from his grip, tugging the shirt down so you can breathe again.

“You already killed me with orgasms,” you huff on a laugh. “No need to actually try and kill me.”

Brady laughs and lifts his hands in the universal sign for surrender. “I’ll let you handle getting dressed,” he chuckles. “Undressing you is my specialty anyway.”

You snort a laugh, managing to get yourself dressed and comfy, the sleeves of Brady’s shirt hanging over your hands. “No more undressing tonight,” you sigh, twisting your wet hair into a loose knot on top of your head before crawling into bed. “I’m tapped out, done, ready for a pile of lo mein the size of my head and a solid eight hours.” You fluff up your pillows and draw the comforter into a little nest shape around your body, curling up like a cat and yawning so wide your jaw cracks.

“Lo mein, I can promise since the delivery should be here any minute,” Brady replies, looking at you with a soft smile on his face. “Eight hours of sleep? Well, if three orgasms doesn’t wear you out enough, I’ll go for four tomorrow.”

You shoot him a sly little smile, even as your eyelids fall slowly closed. “four orgasms? Might have to start complaining of cramps all month long.”

Brady’s laughter fades out as he heads downstairs to check if your food’s been delivered. You snuggle into your little nest of blankets, feeling warm and impossibly relaxed, like all the stress and tension’s been completely removed from your body. You’re pleasantly sore between the legs and you stretch out a little, impatient for Brady to return so you can eat and cuddle up against him.

The mouth-watering smell of Chinese food precedes Brady’s return and you pop up into a sitting position like a cartoon animal, wide awake. Your stomach growls a little too. Brady laughs loudly at the expression on your face. He’s got two white cartons in his hands, a bottle of Gatorade under one arm, a wad of paper towel tucked in the crease of his elbow, and two pairs of chopsticks stuck into the top of one of the cartons. “You’re wide awake now, huh?” He asks, handing over one of the cartons and snatching his hand back like he’s afraid you’ll chew it off. He settles down next to you with his own carton, placing the Gatorade and napkins down on his bedside table.

“I am suffering, Brady,” you inform him primly, shoving a wad of noodles into your mouth and chewing happily.

“Poor thing,” your boyfriend pouts at you, taking a bite of his orange chicken. “And here I thought I helped you so much.”

You swing your legs over to drape over Brady’s thigh and lean in to kiss his lower lip. “Oh, you helped very much,” you grin against his mouth. “You’ve been such a big help.”

Brady laughs into your mouth. “See, now I know you’re teasing me, sweetheart. I might not be so generous with my help next time.”

You fake a gasp, “you wouldn’t!”

“Nah, you’re right, I wouldn’t,” Brady leans in to whisper against your ear, “not when I know how needy you are on your period. Or how easy it was to slide into that sweet, wet cunt.”

Lo mein noodles slip off the end of your chopsticks and your entire body flushes with heat. “Brady…” his name leaves your mouth on a shaky exhale and he laughs, rests his hand on the inside of your knee, and leans back against the headboard. His thumb draws lazy circles on the inside of your knee and you shiver a little.

“I’m here for your free use, sweetheart,” he offers, toasting you with the carton of chicken and rice. “Just say the word.”

You kick lightly at the outside of his thigh with your heel, still flustered. “Insatiable,” you murmur, unable to deny the flutter of interest in your lower stomach at Brady’s words.

“You love it,” Brady counters, feeding you a piece of orange chicken. You hum, not about to lie to him, and lean forward to get closer to the heat Brady’s radiating off his body. You’re both quiet for a bit while you eat, trading bites off each other’s chopsticks. You sip at your mostly warm raspberry Arizona, starting to feel sleepy again from the food and the warmth off Brady’s body. You don’t even realize that your head is drooping forward to rest against Brady’s bicep until he gently takes the mostly empty carton from your hands and sets it on the bedside table.

“Hey, time to sleep a little,” he says softly, lifting your legs off his lap and straightening them out so your entire body shifts.

You hum, eyes shut, and press your face into your pillow, scooting around and getting comfortable. Brady pulls the comforter over your chest, making sure your back is covered and you’re cocooned in the warmth. You reach out a hand from the covers and grab Brady’s wrist, wiggling your fingers until he laces his fingers with yours. He brings your hand up to his mouth and kisses your fingertips. “I’m going to clean up, get some stuff ready for tomorrow, and I’ll be back,” he says against your fingers.

“Best Brady ever,” you mumble through a yawn, hearing his chuckle.

He strokes a piece of hair off your forehead and you’re passed out before he can let go of your hand and climb out of bed.

Cuddled under the covers, you don’t quite manage an uninterrupted eight hours of sleep, but when you wake up in the middle of the night with Brady’s entire body wrapped around yours, legs tangled together, heartbeat thumping steadily under your cheek, you don’t really mind.

#brady skjei #brady skjei x reader #brady skjei x you #brady skjei fic #brady skjei imagine

123 notes · View notes

wexhappyxfew · 3 months

Text

crash landings and all

(a/n): to my annie x brady girlies, here is the piece i’ve since promised and since fallen in love with!!! featuring annie, brady, coffee cups and the rising sun + some heartfelt talks about reality. and of course all those emotions annie doesn’t really need but feels instead. enjoy!

It was 0600 and she couldn't sleep.

But this had been happening far too many times in the past few weeks for her to ignore it and call it nerves, or worry, or any other bothersome symptom that would have one of the girls nudging her and asking her if she was okay.

Which she was, alright?

Or she was at least trying to tell herself that.

When there were mornings without missions, that's usually when she would come and sit out, just outside of the mess hall, and stare out towards where the B-17s sat, silhouetted against the purple and pink skyline as the sun began to appear. She'd usually sit there for about an hour, before she started seeing people moving about, and then she'd disappear inside, grab herself a coffee, avoid one of Major Egan's horrible jokes in the morning, and then be on her way to her crew, or to Silver Bullets, or to anything really - to distract herself, get her mind active, get her brain focused on something other than the worry.

This morning was no different - beautiful as the early dawn was, it was also incredibly reflective. She'd sit in the silence, the only noise the breeze in the trees and past her ears, the birds beginning to wake up and sing. It was usually a lot of her convincing herself things were fine and that everything was okay. That she was okay. But usually that didn't last very long and she was off worrying about one of the girls, or that one damn engine on Silver Bullets, or better yet if Lemmons had screwed that one bolt in enough. It kind of ate her alive at the worst of times.

"Hey." Annie looked up and found, stepping down onto the step, and nestling in beside her was Brady, an outstretched hand with a steaming mug of coffee opposite her, and a tired smile on his face.

"Hey," Annie said, trying to hide her surprise and current spiral that she thought was normally drawn across her face, "you're up early. Thanks." She took the coffee and watched as he settled beside her with a sigh, sipping at his own cup of coffee and glanced her way.

"I could say the same about you." he said back, his voice still waking up it seemed from sleep, knocking her shoulder gently. Annie watched him, the first rays of the morning son painting his face a beautiful golden with his eyes and she nodded.

"Couldn't sleep." she told him honestly, "Haven't been sleeping too well anyway, so. What's not to lose with a sunrise, you know?" Brady watched her for a moment, his lanky knees bent up to his chest, the mug resting on his kneecap and his expression quiet.

"Something worrying you?" he asked her, seemingly the first assumption of many on this base - was something worrying her? The sun would shine and she'd be worried, she'd be sat at a table and someone would cough and she'd think she'd have to get the doctor, someone would come in with a headache and she'd assume the worst. So, yeah, maybe there was something wrong, but she wasn't about to spill that to Brady at 0600 in the morning.

"I just worry about the girls, you know how it is. Making sure people are sleeping, eating, feeling okay, not feeling too homesick they're bedridden. That their letters get sent, get read, they get comforted, listened to." Annie said, "Just making sure they're keeping what smiles they can on their faces." Brady caught her gaze as she glanced his way and she found a small smile lingering on her lips.

"It's just what I have to do. Make sure things work like a well-oiled machine." she told him honestly, sipping at the coffee, "I must say, you know how to make a coffee taste good." Brady smirked slightly, a bit of a laugh escaping his mouth, before he looked at her.

"I'm glad you like it," he told her, his voice tender, "but don't try to worry yourself over your crew. They're a good group of ladies flying a B-17. And they've got a great pilot to lead 'em."

"Thanks, John."

"Just make sure you keep an eye on yourself, alright," Brady said, leaning into her side a bit, causing her to glance his way, "you're a part of that crew and just as important." He spoke with a gentle ease of tone, but equally just as serious, like he was coaxing someone to calm down.

"John Brady, you are full of compliments this morning." Annie said quietly, sipping her coffee and peering at him over the edge of coffee cup, just in time to watch his ears flame red a bit and he gulped and smiled at her.

"I don't lie." he told her and Annie grinned and held his gaze for a moment.

"Humor me then," Annie said and a brief moment of reflection passed over Brady's face, "Croz sort of let it out, about those 'mechanical failures' when he mistook France for England…..what was that about…..?" Annie watched him expectantly and Brady's ears flamed a deeper red to the point it spread to his cheeks.

"Supposedly you covered for Croz, real gentlemanly, too, I must admit." Annie said, "Lying to Major Egan of all people, John Brady, I wouldn't suspect such a thing." Brady chuckled at her words and shook his head.

"I was putting it how it was," Brady said, "God, it was embarrassing though. In front of both Buck and Bucky. Land the plane on its belly, Croz vomiting just below, the thing about to blow up but it doesn't, our first introduction to the base. You do what you gotta do for the crew. I was a bit of a shithead to Croz, but to be flying over France -Nazi-occupied France - it wasn't the most pleasant." Annie smiled, watching him as he spoke.

Knowing how he cared how he flew, how he coped. He was so fluent in what he thought and believed, right and truthful. Caring, gentle, but firm and purposeful in his speech.

"The worst was that belly-landing though," Brady said, shaking his head as he sipped his coffee, "that was horrible." Annie watched as Brady seemed to relive it for a moment. She bit back her lip and then reached a hand forward and placed it on the sleeve of his wrist, the touch warm and welcoming and causing their eyes to meet.

"I crashed an AT-6 when I was doing hours for my license." Annie said - she had never dared to tell a soul such a thing, she wanted to take that to the grave, bury it, hide the humiliation. She'd jumped out of it like she was losing her mind, a lunatic sprinting across the base, with her hair ends crispy and black, her blonde hair suffering from the smoldering smoke, looking more monster than woman in that moment. Not her finest, but it had taught her a whole lot of lessons. Brady watched her for a moment, surprised.

"You?" Brady said with a nod, "Crashed not only a plane, but an AT-6? No, I don't believe you." Annie could get his joking tone pretty solid by this point and instead laughed at his words, leaning back to wrap her slightly cold fingertips around the mug and nodded.

"I did in fact crash-land it. Crazed eyes, hair-on-fire and all." Annie said and Brady watched her as if amazed.

"I must admit, it's hard for me to picture that because you're one of the best pilots I've ever met." Brady said and if she were honest, they both looked surprised as that came out of his mouth, but he was quickly talking next and she took a moment to relive those words.

"I mean, you look so calm and collected….what…what happened to warrant that?" he said, leaning a bit closer, evidently interested in the tale that had her losing her mind for weeks after.

"Truth be told, me learning to fly was like telling a fish to live in a tree," Annie said watching as Brady chuckled, "I wasn't always….this." She pointed to her face and Brady smirked.

"Oh c'mon, you're a goddamn good pilot, Annie, really." Brady said, and then smiled, "Go on though." Annie sent him a look with a playful smirk.

"You, asshole." she said and nudged his shoulder, "Don't try to get back at me with that or something in the future."

"Never, my lips are sealed." Brady said, sending her a wink - why would he do that at six am when she's somewhat still fogged with sleep and brain exhaustion.

"Anyway," Annie said, catching his smile again, "all the engines crapped out on me as I was coming in for the landing, the tower was telling me to eject, ejector was jammed, and the wheels were stuck at 45 degrees. So, I did what I could, braced myself and the thing slid across about hundreds of feet of sand before tilting to the side, me pouring out like Ma's soup for dinner. It was so bad, and horrifically embarrassing. God."

"Hey," Brady said, leaning into her peripheral, "'least you can say you know how it's done." Annie let out a laugh at his words then and there, her heart feeling warm for one of the first mornings sat out here; usually alone and now in good company.

"I mean, it wasn't the first time I even crashed landed." Brady offered with a shoulder shrug. Annie stared at him, trying to keep the smile from her lips.

"You're joking."

"Wish I was, Annie," Brady said, "back in training, went down, Croz could tell you all about it. Became pretty well-known among the base and the training groups." He smiled.

"But," he said, "'least I can say I did it." Annie let out a laugh, clasping a hand over her mouth as she glanced at him and watched him chuckle, his eyes glowing in the morning sun that was slowly peaking its way over the horizon line.

"You should join me for mornings like this more often," Annie said quietly, looking out towards the sunlight, "get some things off your chest. It's why I do well….usually alone, but it helps me think. Through things like that." She looked over and met his gaze and smiled. His expressions in the early morning were so much gentler than at dinner, and it almost made her wish he could stay like that forever in some selfish way. All of them, truth be told.

"I think I will," Brady said, "I'm glad you like the coffee. I wasn't sure what you went for, but….you seemed like a cream type of person."

"You either are really good as guessing or someone snitched." Annie said, catching Brady smirking.

"Nah, Bessie was in there the other day getting coffee for you two. I know she drinks straight black and was wondering who the hell she'd be getting a coffee full of creamer for so…." Brady admitted, glancing her way, "I hope you enjoy it." Annie looked to the cup of coffee and took another lingering sip. She wanted to stay like this for a while, freeze time maybe. But that would never be such a thing in their lives.

"We should take a spin together some time," Annie said looking towards him, a smile growing on her lips, "if you ever wanted to be in Silver Bullets when she gets going in the air. You could be my co-pilot." Brady watched her, his face still for a moment, held in a graceful balance of seriousness and surprise and then the corner of his lips ticked upwards.

"I think Francis would drop-kick me from the cockpit." Brady whispered quietly to her and Annie chuckled.

"She'd be fine with it, I swear to you," Annie said, "maybe not anytime soon, as long as we're going up, dropping bombs and all. But maybe when this whole thing ends. And we just get to be. When we get to go home." Looking over, she found Brady already watching her. Home, seemed to echo in her mind the longer she held his gaze.

"Hey! That you Brady?" Annie watched Brady turn away from her face and glance behind her, her own gaze following to find Crank coming towards them, waving an arm, "Buck's been trying to get a-hold of you!" Brady nodded and then looked back at her, a sudden shift in whatever it was that existed between them. He slowly got to his feet, brushed off his pants and then stopped to lean down towards her ear.

"I'd love to be your co-pilot," Brady whispered, sending chills up her neck, "ma'am." Then, he was up and off, sending her cheeks flaming red, her eyes going over her shoulder, as he went and caught up to Crank, shaking his hand and nodding to him, exchanging all the pleasantries. Annie caught his eyes one final time as he glanced back at her. He winked.

#im so normal about them i swear #THEM!!!!#annie bradshaw #john brady #annie x brady #john brady x oc #listen they were going through and its john brady so ofc he had to find a way to make her blush :'))))#very excited to continue just writing them #can promise they do get to take that spin in silver bullets together ;D #THEMMMMM #an absolute joy these two #proud of this one :)#enjoy!!#masters of the air #mota #mota writings #silver bullets

70 notes · View notes

chiffiorra · 1 year

Text

╰┈➤ Let's Go into Overtime

➜ Synopsis: You, a broke college student, weren't satisfied with the hours that your job was giving you. Seeing that you needed another way to pay your tuition on time, you decided to look for some other options and found the best one.

➜ Pairings: Sugar daddy!Kento Nanami x fem!college student!reader

➜ This Fic Contains the Following: modern AU, sugar daddy and baby relationship, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Nanami is in his late 20s), unprotected sex, minor alcohol usage but both parties are still aware of what they're doing, Nanami is a little soft here, possibly ooc Nanami, oc of mine is a friend of reader, a bit of unrequited love from reader's side

➜ WC: 1,352

➜ Note: for the sugar daddy collab by my bestie @sleepysnk! i haven't written for nanami in forever so i apologize for him seeming off (y'all know the obligatory from me by now lmao) ;w;. despite kinda struggling on this one a bit, i hope i did my hubby justice~

➜ Song as Inspiration: Overtime - Jessie Ware

You felt your breath hitch as you felt him kiss and nip at your neck. Already feeling buzzed from the drinks you two shared earlier and this rush of excitement that you haven’t felt in forever, you couldn’t even remember the last time someone made you feel this way. The thought of it making your knees weak as he gently laid you down on the bed.

As for how and why this was happening, your mind began to wander back to the days leading up to this arrangement.

—

‘Good start to my morning’, you thought sarcastically as you plopped down onto your couch, letting out a long sigh.

When you checked the mail this morning, you thought it would be the typical mail you got almost everyday. What you found was a letter from the college you attended, and you didn’t think much of it… that was until you opened it and read what was inside.

It was the last thing you could’ve imagined and also dreaded: your tuition bill.

You gulped and began to sweat as you read the letter over and over, hoping that your eyes were playing tricks on you and that it was all in your head. But no, this was reality. And there was one problem: you didn’t have enough money to pay for said bill.

As you sank into the couch more, you dropped the letter and began rubbing your temples with your fingertips, as if you were feeling a headache about to happen. How the hell were you gonna pay this off? You used the majority of your savings to pay off utilities and to put food on the table. It wasn’t easy due to the fact that you lived alone but you managed. But with this bomb dropped on you, you felt that your time was starting to run out.

You sighed again, unsure of how you were going to do this, you were already in debt as it is! And so, you called a friend of yours for advice, in which she agreed to come over.

—

“Why not just get yourself a sugar daddy?” Your friend Hoshiko asked, giggling at the spit take you just did. You really wished you weren’t drinking at that moment as you began to cough, not expecting such a question.

“Are you serious?” You wheezed out, trying to breathe. Meanwhile Hoshi just giggled at the scene happening in front of her.

“Yeah! I know someone who has a sugar daddy and it worked out perfectly for her! I’m telling you, you should at least try it out and see how it goes!” She said, patting you on the back.

“I dunno, Hoshi… I feel like this is gonna be a bad idea,” you add, unsure about this. “What if it doesn’t work out?”

Hoshi pats you on the back, “Well, you can at least say that you tried, right?” She asked before playfully nudging you.

With that final push, you decided to try out the dating app specifically catered to sugar daddies that she introduced to you. It took some time to find the right man, but it seemed so difficult at first. You just couldn’t see yourself dating whatever man the app would recommend you.

And that was when you met him. He was a salaryman who appeared to simply never dream of labor but was still looking for someone to spend his extra earnings on and take as a plus one to events that he was most likely dragged to.

He was a serious, no nonsense man when you first met and yet he intrigued you like no other. He eventually let his guard down around you once he became more comfortable around you.

The best part? He was better than the college jocks that you hooked up with in the past. You began to think that all you needed was an older man to take care of you. And take care of you he did indeed. He brought you everything you could ever desire, he helped you pay for your bills, he did anything for you… but not without a price of course.

For every time you needed his help, you would pay him back in full with pleasure. This was no issue for you, but every now and then you couldn’t help but feel a tad insecure. You would always get a nagging feeling in your head, that feeling being that you were starting to fall in love. And that aches you knowing that he would see you as nothing more than his sugar baby. But that still never stopped you from fantasizing about him officially being yours in your alone time. It was something you craved more than the finest jewels and designer clothing that he brought you.

You felt yourself come back to reality after feeling his lips kiss at your neck. The kisses would soon turn to him licking and nipping at your neck, before those nips would turn to bites. You felt like you were in heaven.

“Is this okay?” You felt him whisper in your ear. You felt flustered at his care for you, always seeming to put your pleasure before his despite his being repayment for you needing his money.

Nevertheless you nodded, hearing him chuckle into your skin as he left one more love bite on you. Your breath then hitched, feeling his warm tongue along your neck. It made you relax under him, his body seeming to cover yours.

After spending time with you over the months, it was like he knew your body better than yourself. Maybe this should’ve scared you but at the same time it turned you on, this was much better than your previous hookups. So much better.

“It’ll be alright, don’t worry,” he reassured you, this not being his first time doing so during your private time together. Usually you wouldn’t start tearing up until you were overstimulated, but this was different. His touches, reassurances, and kisses made you think: what if he was more than just a sugar daddy? What if he was your boyfriend? Your fiance? Maybe even your husband?

The thought of it made you tear up a bit.

Soon enough, you began to feel him thrust into you; deeply but gently. Your legs trembled, feeling him hit your sweet spot with barely any effort. He sure did seem to know your body better than yours.

Your hands were already ready to move on their own, one tangling into his hair and the other lacing your fingers together with his. You never held hands with him before until now, but something about tonight seemed more intimate compared to your previous nights.

If Nanami was surprised, he didn’t express it as he leaned down to kiss you deeply, his pace picking up. The squelching sounds from the both of you sounded so obscene that you felt flustered.

Not too long, his pace began to pick up, making you moan loudly. It was a good thing that there were no neighbors living nearby, otherwise you two would hear a complaint. Not that you and him would even bother to care.

“Ken… I’m close,” you moaned out, your hips deciding to move on their own to gain your release. This made him chuckle.

“Go on, baby. Let go for me,” he said to you, before kissing you again.

The kiss was enough to have you cream for him all over his cock, making you let out a loud moan in the otherwise quiet room. A few thrusts later, you felt him finish inside you.

As he slowly pulled out and went to get you some towels and water, you began to think. Was it worth the risk to pursue a relationship with him? Despite how it all started? Did he have any feelings for you as you did for him?

When he came back to clean you up, you smiled to yourself when he wasn’t looking. Even if he didn’t return your feelings, this relationship you had now could at least be the next best thing.

You could live with that.

#candy uploads 🍭#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #kento nanami #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #lemon pastries 🥐#SugarDaddyCollab

280 notes · View notes

aftgficrec · 5 months

Note

hi besties! can i be a bit weird and ask for sick fics here? old/new/favorites, any will do! just some big ol’ hurt/ comfort, especially if combined with some emotional hurt/comfort 🥰

There’s nothing weird about this at all! Apart from the fics below, there’s also our sickfic tag as well as our hurt/comfort tag for more (see our tag page under the heading ‘themes - injuries/illnesses/conditions’). - S

Previous recs:

cool andreil sick fics here

sick fics here

foxes with headaches/sick fics here

10k+ sick fics here

Andreil in hospital here

Neil with major injury here

Neil gets injured (post canon) here

Neil & car accidents here

accident-prone Neil here

Andreil with amnesia here

medical Andreil/Aaron & Neil here

Neil getting roofied here

Also see…

‘we're one (there's nothing to be done)’ here

‘Just like that day’ here

‘head case (what to do with you)’ here

‘Such Stuff as Dreams are Made’ here

‘Neil Josten Is a Lucky Man’ here

‘Broken’ here

‘If Only I Were Enough’ (completed) here

‘I'll Come Back To You’ here

‘glass in the trees (objects in the rearview)’ here

‘Running Ragged’ here

‘To Love and Be Loved’ here

‘all that looking down’ here

‘next best thing’, keep telling me that it gets better (does it ever?)’ and ‘no matter when and where, we’ll be alright’ here

‘Can Nobody Hear Me (I cannot breathe)’, ‘I remeber tears streaming down your face (for me to wipe them away)’, ‘you crawled inside my head’, ‘living leaves so many holes in us’, ‘Ciggarette Smoke Cure’, ‘Breathless’, ‘i've done my time’ and ‘cats and close calls’ here

‘The Highs and Lows of Pre-med Majors' here (Aaron)

‘Hold My Hand?’ here

‘Echo’ here

I’m More Than This Body of Mine by yall_send_help [Rated M, 88811 words, incomplete, last updated Jan 2024]

The doctor took a pause, which Nathaniel was able to use to ask, “what about my leg?” The two pigs had the audacity to look surprised. The doctor looked over at them with a hint of confusion. “You didn’t tell him?” Towns shook his head as Browning said, “you told us not to.” Dr. Byrd nodded her head in approval and turned back to the bed. “Nathaniel…” she trailed off, reevaluating her words. “Would you mind if I sit?” and only after his own nod did she. “The damage done to your leg… it was unlike what most of the staff at this hospital had ever seen. The surgeons tried to save it, but…” She looked down at where his legs were and Nathaniel did too, only to feel himself pale at what he found. “The surgery took about three hours,” Dr. Byrd continued. “The only reason why it took so long was because the surgeons really did try to save your leg. They did. Amputations usually take only half that time. Eventually, Dr. McCoy called it. Because of the damage done to your leg, we couldn’t wake you up to ask. It had to go. I’m sorry.” or - the one where neil goes to baltimore and comes back missing a leg

tw: torture, tw: amputation, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attacks, tw: blood, tw: animal cruelty, tw: implied/referenced drug overdose

fireproof by mostly_maudlin [Rated T, 2097 words, complete, 2024]

Andrew gets his flu shot.

Things Always Gets Worse Before They Gets Better series by Renee_Walker_09 [Rated G, 40141 words, incomplete, 3 complete works, 2024]

Part 1: Beginnings & Endings (G, 1083 words)

It's 1:30 in the morning. The Foxes are celebrating their championship win against the Ravens the only way they know how to: booze, partying, and a little bit more booze. Nothing could possibly ruin this?

tw: car accident, tw: major character injury

Part 2: You Mean Everything To Me (G, 12767 words)

There are two crashed cars. There’s blood on the floor. Lights are flashing all around. Andrew is standing in the middle of the crash site with a blanket draped across his shoulders as he stares straight at Neil, lying on the floor.

tw: car accident, tw: major character injury, tw: (temporary) major character death, tw: suicide attempt, tw: drug overdose, tw: blood, tw: self harm

Part 3: Hours, Days, Weeks (G, 26299 words)

Andrew is lying in a coma following the accident. His condition is critical. And Neil and Aaron have to find a way to cope. Neil and Aaron’s POVs of the crash and the past 6 weeks

tw: car accident, tw: blood, tw: major character injury, tw: (temporary) major character death, tw: self harm, tw: panic attacks, tw: seizures

NB: find art for the fics by the author here as well as embedded in the fics

Even goalkeepers can’t block sickness by BlowingYourMind [Rated G, 12768 words, complete, 2024]

“Rabbit,” Andrew peered up at him with half lidded eyes, “Yes or no?” “Yes ‘Drew,” Neil clasped his hands at Andrew’s elbows, “it’s always a yes, you know that.” “No ‘s not,” Andrew weakly argued as he took hold of Neil’s chest pad, using it to leverage himself upwards. It was awkward work of walking half-delirious Andrew back to the locker room, shielding him from the crowd while keeping him on his feet, but they managed. Or Andrew becomes very sick at an away game, and Neil and the foxes take care of him.

tw: vomit

the upswing by missgivings [Not Rated, 45569 words, incomplete, last updated Jan 2024]

The next universe over, life has gone a bit easier on Andrew. He’s gainfully employed as a nurse of all things, working beside his best friend Renee, and living in relative harmony with his brother, the recently graduated Dr. Aaron Minyard. Everything’s fine. It’s fine that he hasn’t spoken to Kevin in person for three years. It’s fine if Aaron’s leaving him to marry his stupid doctor girlfriend. It’s fine until the boy with the box-dyed hair stumbles into the ER and passes out at his feet, bringing a world of secrets and trouble with him. And Neil? Neil’s looking for any port in a storm.

tw: major character injury, tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced self harm

please (don't bite) by Major_816 [Rated M, 5478 words, complete, 2024]

Genioglossus. It’s a fan-shaped muscle and forms the bulk of the inferior part of the tongue. It stretches to the hyoid bone too. ~ Neil wakes up to a bad day and it just gets worse.

tw: blood, tw: self harm, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: nightmares, tw: flashbacks, tw: vomit

Will you love me for who I am, not for who I was? by something_boring [Rated T, 1580 words, complete, 2024]

Neil is sick on New Year's eve, wakes up to the fireworks, and continues to have a panic attack about his time on the run.

tw: nightmares, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Your Needs, My Needs by TogeMythia [Rated T, 1073 words, complete, 2023]

‘Neil.’ He whined, his face still buried under the blankets. ‘Hrmph?’ Neil responded with a confused noise from somewhere across the bed. ‘Do you feel as shit as you sound?’ - Or Neil and Andrew wake up sick on Christmas day.

tw: vomit

To be safe by HushedStars [Rated G, 2116 words, complete, 2023]

Neil is feeling unwell. He seeks comfort from Matt. It was late at night. Neil stood in the kitchen, deep in thought but still with one ear alert for any movement of his roommates. He shifted from foot to foot, hands digging into his sore neck

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attacks

Safe with him by 1mNot4Hum4n [Not Rated, 2434 words, complete, 2023]

Neil is sick but doesn't want to admit it. He can't be sick. He can't be weak. Luckily Andrew is there to make sure his junkie is okay, and remind him that he has people around him who are willing to do anything to protect him.

'tis the season by moonix [Rated T, 5579 words, complete, 2023]

Five holidays Andrew had to let Kevin take care of him and one time he got to return the favour.

i called your name ‘til the fever broke by cyanica [Rated T, 5632 words, incomplete, last updated Nov 2023]

Neil’s breath is hot and awful against Andrew’s thigh. “I can’t be sick on your birthday,” he says, like it’s that simple. “I can’t be sick on you on your birthday.” “How considerate,” Andrew’s voice is a bland murmur, and he is left watching Neil’s bloodless, wet lips, as he curls into Andrew’s lap. Neil gently pulls away after a moment, leaning back into Andrew’s hand on his neck. “Is me being sick still making you anxious?” he asks. Fever-stricken with dizzied-eyes and delirious thoughts, he knows Andrew without more than a moment beside him, a look into his eyes that makes Andrew feel undone, found. Or Neil is sick and Andrew isn’t coping well.

tw: vomit, tw: panic attacks, tw: dissociation, tw: anxiety

You Know I'm Good On My Own by sambutwithbooks [Rated G, 4568 words, complete, Aftg Then And Now 2023]

Andrew breaks his arm two games into the season and it feels a little bit like Neil’s world snaps with it. (A snapshot of Neil and Andrew between Andrew coming home from the hospital and going back home to Palmetto State.)

tw: major character injury

that's my line by sillyunicorn6154 [Rated G, 1291 words, complete, 2023]

Andrew is definitely not sick. But he is a little stubborn.

You're not fine, but you will be by karmenvi [Not Rated, 616 words, complete, 2023]

Neil is sick, so Andrew takes care of him. So it was supposed to be a sickfic, but it turned into 'Andrew stares at Neil and thinks his boyfriend is the prettiest boy in the world.' Anyway, enjoy some fluff.

I'll be okay if he's here by obsessivereader156 [Not Rated, 1673 words, complete, 2023]

“Thank you, Drew,” Neil says for the twentieth time, feeling so lucky to have someone take care of him. “Say it again and I will kill you.” “You’re just so nice to me,” Neil says a bit deliriously, “I’ve never had someone take care of me when I’m sick.”

If it means losing you, then no by LostMess_24 [Rated T, 6712 words, complete, 2023]

There was something against his hand, a pressure he knew too well, a hand that fit so perfectly against his, making Andrew’s presence known, making Neil’s entire body relax, slowing his breathing a bit. But before Neil could see the man at his side, it hit him. He was starting to feel it, all around him. Those white walls, the mattress he was in, the soft yet old sheets, the pressure on his arm. And finally, unmistakably, the regular and aggressive beeps, signs of a life that was his own. He was in a hospital bed. There’s an accident. Those idiots would do anything and everything to protect each other.

tw: major character injury, tw: car accidents

cause and effect by mistyrie [Rated M, 13107 words, complete, 2023]

"Andrew realized what he was seeing but he couldn’t comprehend it. He didn’t know how to help. There was no enemy to deal with – there was just Neil seizing on the floor and Andrew didn’t know what to do." Neil starts having seizures and Andrew tries to help.

tw: seizures (epilepsy)

how the foxes act when they're sick by @detectivebambam [tumblr, 2024]

headcanons on the foxes and illness

headcanons on Neil getting sick by @24-0z [tumblr, 2022]

Neil doesn't get sick very often, so when he finally catches the bug that had been going around campus, he's suddenly 8 years old again, sweating and trembling with fever

SICK!Neil for my soul. by @satan-in-a-v-neck [tumblr, 2021]

Neil is acting strange. Ask every fox and they'll tell you that for the past three days Neil Josten wasn't acting very Neil Josteny.

tw: vomit

illness/injuries as background event:

The Songs Around Us by doodlingstuff [Rated M, 80075 words, complete, 2022]

The mission was simple: Nathaniel would join Astral Foxes as Neil Josten and make them part of Moriyama Music. In reality, Neil became real, found a home, and fell in love despite his lies. When the Moriyamas send the Butcher to remind Neil of his mission and Andrew's life ends on the line, Neil will have to find a way to escape his fate and bring Andrew back. As he gets closer to losing the man he loves the most, Neil will realize that sometimes, music is the only answer, and others, truth is the only weapon he can use. Another Band!AU. This time extra angsty.

tw: torture, tw: car accident, tw: major character injury, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attacks, tw: violence

NB: find art for this fic by @doodlingstuff here

89 notes · View notes