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trashmouth-richie · 9 months

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𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: escaping Hawkins was impossible, but he did it. when a ghost from your past shows up unexpectedly, bringing with him old memories and holding up a mirror to the train wreck life you’re living… you find it hard to trust him again.

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ no minors, depictions of poverty, child neglect/ endangerment, drug use/abuse, alcohol use/abuse, endangerment, 18+ sex working, 18+stripping, violence, smut. no use of y/n reader has a name that’s introduced in the first chapter, and another “nickname” that is lightly used throughout this series. eddie also has a nickname given by reader.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: memories flood back of when you were younger, Eddie wants to talk but silence holds merit.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: here i come, but i ain’t the same

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨: cold before the warm

masterlist

The nub end of graphite scrawls against a crinkled back page of paper. Ripped haphazardly from a composition book labeled: Language Arts—E.M.

The yellow pencil was pocked with teeth marks, having been between a pair of teeth that weren’t yours, mind not even gathering the germs that could be harbored in the pressed wood.

Your tongue had been poked out for nearly three minutes according to the watch on Eddie’s wrist. Your brain working overtime trying to find the best phrase that would stump your friend in the game of Hangman.

The alphabet was written in a hurry on the left side of the page, parallel to the hanging post. Beneath that were evenly scratched dashes on the blue printed line, waiting for their companion of letters to be filled by Eddie’s correct guesses.

Putting the pencil down with a satisfying smack, you look up from your masterpiece confidently.

“Okay, I’m ready!”

Eddie chomps a piece of Big Red loud between his teeth, unhooking his tangled feet from underneath himself and stretching out his skinny legs, jeans from the previous school year hacked into shorts for the summer, “took long enough.”

You make a face and flip him a suggestive finger, the nail chipped and painted pink from the last time your neighbor Michelle let you play with her nail polish, and in return you listened to her gab about her boyfriend while she combed her hair like Marcia Brady.

“Don’t be a poor loser because you’ve lost the last four games, Clove.”

He laughs when your eyebrows turn into a pout, the heel of your worn sneaker kicking into his. The same black pair of converse, yours a few sizes smaller, faded and tattered, fitting your feet in a way that was uncomfortable for the arch of your foot, years of wear accustomed to another’s foot print that belonged to the boy across from you.

Letters are guessed and lines filled in. Eddie insists that you make the hangman have a face complete with nose, mouth and eyes realizing that he is close to eating his words from earlier.

“Would you like the hangman to be wearing socks and a hat?” You ask honestly, hiding a smirk behind the paper.

Eddie scoffs, working a bite mark into his bottom lip as he racks his brain for what kind of dumb phrase you conjured up, “I quit on terms that you’re a cheater.”

The insult was harsh, not worse than the words that you heard around your kitchen table or ones that ricocheted off the thin walls when you were on the cusp of dreaming. No, this word hurt. Stung into your skin like a wasp, repeating its terror until you were swollen and skin ached of heat.

Tears sprung to your eyes, clinging to your lashes ready to drop. The paper clenched in your fist as you shoved it under Eddie’s nose, proving your innocence.

“I am not!”

“Sure you are,” he takes the paper from you, folding it roughly into an uneven shape and shoving it between the couch cushions behind him, “Cheatin’ Clove. Has a nice little ring to it doesn’t it?”

Before Eddie can say anymore, a can of Coca Cola is thrown at his head hitting him with a thud, followed by your whimpers and the sound of your feet clapping against the dirty linoleum.

“Clove! ow! Wait!”

The screen door scratched your palms as you twisted it open. Jumping from the stairs and landing hard in the dirt, you didn’t bother bringing your bike home. Choosing to run the short distance instance instead, shutting the front door with a heavy slam.

Tears soaked your pillowcase before you drifted to sleep, curled up on top of the patchwork quilt on your bed.

Eddie.

His name was trapped in your mouth, dry along your tongue, unable to force its way out.

He was a ghost to you, memories that were buried and dormant were now flooding back at full speed, pinging around your brain firing each nerve tucked away deep, landing you a migraine behind your eyes.

Seven years.

Seven fucking years, since you had seen those doe shaped eyes, brown muddied colors still lost in a child’s innocence and wonderment— barely aged from the last time you had seen him. That memory burned into your retinas, like fuel to a pained flame.

His hair was longer, well past his shoulders now, fringe of his bangs still thick on his forehead. His knuckles were covered in tattoos, the little you can see of his neck is also full of dark wisps of ink.

He says your nickname, the one only he knew. A joke between best friends.

You try to open your mouth, fighting like hell to will anything to come out, but nothing does, the words choke against your throat, caught against each other in a tangled string of sharp edges.

“uh— I—E..”

His eyes grew bigger than they already were, waiting for you to say something, anything. It was as if time stood still, all the pain from years prior coming back.

Images of Eddie, his smile, the bloody gash on his knee from his longboard, small memories, painful ones that could bring someone less strong to their knees: all flash behind your eyes.

The pain from all those years ago was searing through you like a knife. Memories that you kept buried away were suddenly throttling you like they had just happened, the wounds that were licked clean were now fresh and open, blood flowing freely.

Before hot tears can spill down your face, you spin wildly on your heel, walking fast and turning back to the bar. The tray slamming onto the back counter with a loud bang, snapping.

Your breath was erratic, heart racing. Whatever lingering high you had was gone. Emotions you hadn’t felt in years coursing through you demanding to be felt.

Why was he back?

You didn’t know the purpose of his return to Hawkins, only registering how hurt you felt that he was. The day he left still stung your spine, sending shivers all over your body.

Did he ever think of you? In the seven years he had been gone did you bleep on his radar even once?

Hanging your head your fingers tap nervously on the lacquered wood, trying to calm yourself down before you work yourself up anymore than you already were.

“Be right back,” you called over your shoulder to Jolene, head down walking fast to the cooler.

The chilled air made your skin prick with goosebumps but you couldn’t care, the only thing you could feel was your heart shattering to pieces all over again.

The floor was cold under your body, shelves and beer boxes held you up as you fell apart. Deep shuddering breaths in and winded ones out, you don’t wipe the tears as they free fall down the apples of your cheeks—dragging black eyeliner and mascara with them til they trickle from your chin.

The callus of your life made it hard to feel, even harder to cry. But once the gate was open, it was challenging to close. A dam of pent up emotions broke free out of you like an angry flood, full of irreparable damage, forgotten feelings and an exploding heart. Taking with it years of questions, hopes and dreams.

Scenery wasn’t the only thing that was altered in his time away. You evolved, having to peel off layers of naivety and fear. Would he care if he knew?

Wiping another sludge of wet makeup from under your eyes you catch the tattoo on your hand.

It burned on your skin. Prickling like it hadn’t been ten years since you’d gotten it. Years that seemed like a different lifetime ago.

It practically was.

The boy who did them was long gone, and the man in his place was someone you didn’t even know.

—

It was you.

The only person in all of Hawkins who made it bearable. What should have been a joyful reunion was clouded over with painful memories. Of course there were good ones, but mostly the bad out weighed anything happy.

You had always been the little bit of sunshine that broke through on a cloudy day, the only person he trusted with silly secrets, trusted with anything.

He couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that you were here. Not just in Hawkins. But working here.

A surge of rage filled his stomach but was quickly washed out by pain as you stomped away, looking as if you had seen a ghost, a part of your past that you didn’t want to remember.

Was that what he was to you? A painful memory, one that was more sour than everything else that happened?

Jeff’s voice is muffled in his ears, as if he’s trying to speak underwater. He can’t wrap his head around this whole thing. The guilt eating him alive.

Eddie clears his throat and takes a generous sip of beer, trying to stop his hands from shaking, chilled sweat creeping down his back. He fiddles with a napkin, ripping the end into small shreds and rolling them up like a kid would for a spit wad.

He could map out every scar on your arms and legs, tell anyone the exact color of your eyes, in sunlight and in a dark room. He knew your favorite song, that you were afraid of the dark and that your front teeth didn’t come in for almost three months after he had helped you pull them out.

You had taught him how to hang upside down on the monkey bars behind the trailer park. He taught you how to play his guitar, and if he thought hard enough he could remember the smell of your shampoo.

You were everything to him.

Bestfriends since the cradle, made up handshakes and secrets sworn to the grave. But years, tear spilled miles and the guilt of broken promises wedged a distance between you.

One that couldn’t be made better by the letters he sent that went unanswered. And it definitely wouldn’t get fixed in one random night when fate lead him to this fucking dump, back under your nose.

It hurt not seeing the sparkle in your eyes, but he could only blame himself.

“Sorry, what was that?”

Jeff motions for Eddie to lean in, doing so he jerks his head to the bar where you are standing stone-still hovering over a counter with your back turned to them. “She looked familiar, right? Did she go to school with us?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, trying to shove down his emotions with another gulp of beer, “she did.”

Jeff leans back, “Chloe? Cassie, Chasity… no. Claire? Shit what was her name?”

Eddie’s eyes fell to the smudgy tattoo, he rubs his thumb over the ink, “Clove.”

“That’s right!” clapping his hands together, “knew it was something weird.”

Eddie let himself smile. Small and weak, his lip ticking up on one side. He rubbed the tattoo again, remembering that day like it was yesterday.

—

The summer breeze blows hotly through the makeshift curtains, sending the loose paper on the dresser scattering like desert tumbleweeds across Eddie’s bedroom floor, joining the litter of car magazines and unwashed clothes taking up space in the tiny room.

“gotta sit still Slick, or this won’t work.”

You were biting through your lip, trying to muffle a cry from breaking out, “ow..it hurts!”

It was your idea to get matching tattoos with your best friend, and it was Eddie who said he could do them no problem. He had already tattooed a heart on Dave with his girlfriend's name through the center last month—never mind that she dumped him a week later. The sobs coming from trailer 11 didn’t ever seem to end.

“Well yeah,” Eddie chuckles, clearing his throat and puffing behind a cigarette, “what did you expect it would be done with? A marker?”

Your right hand rested on his bent knee for precision. The other was clamped tight over your eyes in hopes that if you didn’t see how it was done, it wouldn’t hurt so bad.

The warmth of your sweaty nervous palm on his jeans felt hot, as if you were being burnt alive. But, despite the pain from the needle going in and out of your skin, Eddie was gentle.

His shoulder provided comfort as you leaned your head onto it, slowly wetting his shirt with your tears. You curl your body into his side, knees stabbing into his ribs, head pressed tight to the side of his neck, hand fisting the sleeve of his shirt for support as you intake a sharp breath when he finishes the curve of the dainty heart.

“Need a break?” he asks, setting the needle down on the carpet, rubbing a pattern with his thumb on your hand. “I made some Kool-Aid yesterday, your favorite kind.”

Lynyrd Skynyrd plays softly in the background and Eddie strums along on your palm to the guitar solo.

Muffled against his cotton shirt, your voice is hoarse from the tears, “orange?”

He chuckles around a cloud of smoke, “hell yeah, picked some up yesterday morning before my shift, got a few packets for your place too, I know how much Lolly likes it.”

“Speaking of,” you uncross your legs to stand, “I gotta go check on her.”

Eddie stands up with you, a whole head taller than you were, you pluck the cigarette from his mouth and slot it into your own, inhaling the tobacco expertly into your lungs as you examine the small tattoo on your skin.

“‘m not done yet, but what do ya think?”

Blood and ink were smeared around it messily, but it looked identical to the one he had on his left hand, yours only missing the clover.

A smile stretches across your lips and you feel the burn of tears from in your eyes, “it’s perfect, Eddie.”

He opens his bedroom door, grabbing the cigarette from your mouth and squishing it into the heaping ashtray on his nightstand. “you really think so?” he whispers.

“Are you kidding? It’s amazing!”

He blows his lips in a raspberry, long legs walking down the dingy carpet hallway to the kitchen, “let those prissy bitches try to pick on you now… nobody wants to fight someone with tattoos.”

The girls at school weren’t nice in elementary school and they somehow got nastier with every year. You went from being “stinky girl” to “trailer skank” overnight.

A far cry from any sort of originality, but that’s how Hawkins was, ruled by the dim and dumb, daddy’s bank account used as a hierarchy status.

You always brushed them off, keeping mostly to yourself and to your best friend. Eddie took it upon himself to conjure up a frenzied retort that would have them scoffing in disgust.

With Eddie, nothing else mattered, he didn’t care if your clothes didn’t fit right, or if your ponytail looked scraggly. He didn’t give a shit what people thought of him. You were just two neglected trailer park kids, but to him, you were important.

“You're an artist Eddie, could probably make a lot of money doing this someday.”

The idea fell silent between you, both knowing in your hearts what path your life would lead you down. Stuck in the nightmare of what went on behind the thin walls in the trailer park.

Peering over the counter you can see Lolly. Sleeping just as soundly as she had when you laid her down. The stolen playpen from the yard sale on Cornwalis turned out to be worth the uncomfortable bike ride back to Forest Hills with Eddie standing on his pedals and you on the handlebars holding onto dear life as he raced back home.

Her chubby cheeks were pressed against the yellow floral sheet, little curls twisted into two tiny pigtails, milk dribbling slow from her puckered lips.

You smile at the sight of such innocence, wishing that you too were unaware of what life was actually like, and knowing that you would do anything to keep your little sister safe from this reality for as long as possible.

“Can’t believe she cried that long, usually she loves pb&j’s..” Eddie points to your head, trying not to laugh, “you still have peanut butter in your hair by the way.”

Lolly had thrown every last bit of her sandwich in a temper tantrum fueled by a lack of sleep. Her aim being perfect with you as her target.

Twenty minutes with your head under the bathroom sink and Eddie cackling as he squeezed shampoo on your head apparently wasn’t enough to get the sticky treat out.

“Little shit,” you huff, a smirk on your lips, turning to the fridge, and reaching for the sugary orange drink from the shelf, shutting the door with your hip, “think she might be cuttin’ some teeth at least that’s what Patty said last time she babysat.”

Eddie reached for the plastic cups that were nabbed from Benny’s after one of his busboy shifts, holding them steady as you poured the juice.

Only spilling a little, you lifted the end of your shirt to mop the counter up. “Kids are weird,” Eddie says, smacking his lips with an orange mustache after a long swig, “remind me never to have ‘em.”

Snorting through your nose you swallow harshly, a quirk to your eyebrow, “having kids is totally normal, all of our neighbors do.”

He thought quietly before speaking again, “yeah, and nobody is ever around..” he shakes his head. “We’re gonna leave here someday, you and me.”

You roll your eyes, “sure thing, Slim.”

Eddie talked crazy like this sometimes. Always dreaming bigger than you could even fathom. Head permanently stuck in the clouds, wishing, hoping for something better than the cards you were both dealt. But you on the other hand, your feet, in hand-me-down shoes, never left the ground.

His voice was stern when he spoke to you, eyes pleading, and you had never heard him like that before.

“I’m serious, I’ll die before I stay here,” he moves forward, holding your biceps as he looks down at you, dark eyes wide, almost wild, “I promise you, we won’t end up like this...okay?”

—

He couldn’t blame you for the way you reacted when your eyes met his. Seeing you tonight hurt more than he could have ever imagined it too. To be honest, he didn’t expect you to still be in Hawkins, but then again— where would you have gone?

“…you still there dude?”

Eddie’s eyes shift to Jeff, plastering a smirk to his lips to hide the pain etched so evidently on his face, “yeah, I just uh— tired I guess.”

He scanned the bar for you, still seeing your frame behind the counter, this time turned around handing a round of beers to a couple of college punks.

“How far is the drive?”

Bless Jeff for trying to keep this conversation alive, but Eddie’s mind was anywhere but here at this table.

Questions he never thought to ask, suddenly poured into his mind. Did you finish high school? Where were you living? How’s Lolly? How old is she now? How have you been?

He felt sick that he didn’t know the answer to any of them. Guilt devouring away at him like a flesh eating amoeba.

“Six—no, probably seven hundred miles.. give or take.”

Had you applied to college? Were you still living in the trailer park?

“Damn,” Jeff said, scrubbing his hands down his face, “gonna have to visit you sometime, show me around all the cool places… you ever been out to LA? My girlfriend, well ex now, we went a year ago around Christmas time she really loved...”

Although Eddie didn’t know the answers, he figured maybe Jeff would.

He shakes his head, interrupting his friend, hand raised in apology, “hey, uh wh— whatever happened to her?” He hooks a thumb in your direction in the most nonchalant way he could, even though his entire body was fidgeting in anticipation.

Jeff raises an eyebrow, “Clove? Oh umm, shit… well I think, no.. yeah no, she didn’t graduate. I remember hearing that she had dropped out, and now she works here apparently.”

A smirk forms on his lips and he points behind him to the back corner, “forgot to tell you, rumor has it this place is more than just a strip joint,” his dark eyebrows wiggle, “if y'know what I mean.”

For the first time tonight, Eddie noticed girls coming and going from the beaded doorway, vacant expressions on their smudged faces. Trailing behind were drunk men with glazed eyes and sweaty foreheads, readjusting the threads of their belts and slacks.

He scans the bar with wild eyes in search of you. Hoping and praying to whoever would listen that you weren’t a part of this. You couldn’t be.

Who is he kidding?

If you were still in Hawkins, still under the weight and scrutiny of the inner dealings that started in the trailer park, you were very much involved.

Realization hit him like a freight train. His stomach clenched and warped with the dreaded grief and guilt he still carried. Deep down he had figured this was what your life had come to. Lying to himself in thinking that you had gotten away from all of this. But seeing it firsthand, in the flesh—he couldn’t bear the thought of it.

Choking back vomit, he slides from the booth hastily, practically spilling his beer all over the table in his desperate attempt to find you.

“shit!” Jeff shouted, “dude, you alright?”

He wasn’t.

He stumbles from the table, tripping over his own boots and knocking into one of the burly bearded men at the bar, sending his drink tumbling to the ground. Glass and liquor covering the floor like the sparkle of a fresh snow.

“What’s your problem asshole!?”

His fiery red hair matched his temper, and the weathered roughness of his cheeks, “ever been inside a bar, tough guy?”

Before Eddie can whip up a witty retort, Mr. Big Red comes back for more, grabbing him by the arm and shoving him into the high counter of the bar, “hey honey, better stop serving this prick, he can’t handle his liquor like a real man.”

The swinging doors open and there you are again, struggling beneath the keg you’re carrying. He wanted to jump up and grab it from you, but Eddie was still pinned to the bar by the guy's hand on his bicep, tightening more and more.

Your eyes reach his and it’s like you don’t even see him.

“Agh, c’mon Mick,” you say, a warm smile on your lips, “I like ‘em nice and drunk, that’s when they tip the best.”

You set the keg down with a metallic thud on the floor, grabbing a bottle of Jameson and two shot glasses. The mahogany liquid pours smoothly, much like the dark eyes watching you, and heat crawls up your neck.

Sliding one towards Mick, you hold the other up by your black painted fingers, Clinking them together with a ‘cheers’ and bringing the glass to your lips, allowing your eyes to finally glance towards Eddie.

He was taller now. His shoulders, more broad, filling in the teenage lithe muscles that fit his frame then. His baby face disappeared entirely, now his chin was stretched with a sharp jaw, which was currently clenched like he was holding back anger, his throat bobbing in a dance of tattooed skin.

You swallow the liquor in one gulp, relishing the burn as it slips down your throat, the same fire that’s staring from across the counter. Eddie hadn’t taken his eyes from yours.

A twitch forms in your eyelid and you blink it away, setting the glass down hard on the wooden countertop.

You lean your body across the bar, collecting the glassware that’s accumulated since you had been hiding in the cooler. Placing them gently into the warm sudsy sink to wash before filling the small dishwasher below.

Mickey was already turned back around, talking loudly to Wendy and trying to get her to sit on his lap for five bucks. His grip on Eddie’s arm turns limp when you slide him another shot, just for good measure.

The bar is chaotic, loud and boisterous, but the air between you and Eddie is quiet, stagnant, no warmth from you. Icicles could form from your frigid silence.

He knocks his knuckles against the bar, big gaudy rings clacking along, keeping in rhythm to the music playing overhead, but you don’t give in. Don’t humor him by asking how or why he knew Rock Me Amadeus.

“Hey V,” you call out to your work partner, “get this stranger a drink before he gets a parking ticket.”

Swiveling away from him, you squat down to maneuver the keg to where it needed to go, rocking it on its rounded edge and swiveling it into place.

Veronica’s voice is cheery and dripping with sex appeal as she asks Eddie what he wants to drink, and you can’t misplace the deepness of his voice, and the polite way he tells her that he’s fine for the evening.

Cracking the top of the keg, you hook it up to the correct tap, shoving with all your might to get it in under the cabinet and slotted in properly.

Spending more time than necessary below the bar, you avoid the warm chocolate eyes waiting for you up above.

What were you supposed to say to him? Thank God you’re home? What the hell did he even want?

An ant is huddled around a spilled drop of grenadine, you watch as it collects the sticky treat—what you wouldn’t give to switch places with the insect for a few hours.

If one thing was certain you would need a little encouragement to make it through tonight and the haunting memories that shuddered through you every time you looked at Eddie.

Your purse was in the cubby over to the right, nimble fingers find the familiar plastic of the bottle, screwing off the top and clicking three pills into your hand.

A greedy palm finds your lips, your eager tongue accepting the drugged gift. Swallowing without any liquid, your spit was more than enough to coat the tablets, watering upon knowing the relief you’ll be met with.

More shouts and hollers boom through your ears, this time in celebration.

“Where’d you go sweet cheeks? Need a round, Bobby just found out his girl isn’t pregnant!”

Duty called, and you knew those dark eyes were still waiting for you, hide and seek was done for now, and in a few short minutes, you’d feel like you were flying.

Boots planted firm on the sticky tiles, you push yourself up, fully expecting a litter of questions. But when you face him, he’s quiet. Silently watching your every move.

Not in a way you’re watched by every other slimeball in this town, his eyes never once flicking over your curves or the deep v of your shirt.

Eddie was admiring the woman you’d become. The shy girl he once knew was replaced by a force to be reckoned with. Did you become that way because he left? No longer having him around to stick up for you?

He pushed out those thoughts, thoughts of you alone.

The way you fleetingly moved from drunk to drunk, collecting tips and pouring drinks, you were a natural. no longer the girl that was afraid of spiders and slept with a nightlight. What should have been a comfort in his heart stretched into an angry bruise against his soul.

Warmth riddled your face into a smirk as you dug jabs back at the guys, making them pay up front before they tried to slink away to the back rooms.

Eddie couldn’t miss how the smile never reached your eyes, that glassy lost look couldn’t fool him, another ping of guilt cutting through him like a knife.

You were elbow deep in the warm water now, fingers pruned and slicked with soap when he finally speaks. The counter had cleared up enough that he wasn’t squashed between some greasy assholes, the regulars fighting to get to the best seats closest to the stage. Tiffany on her second set of the night, her shiny heels spinning in the air to Girls, Girls, Girls.

“So I’m a stranger now?”

Your fingers slip on the smooth surface of a glass and it hits the bottom of the sink with a thud at the sound of his voice, thankfully not breaking. Looking up, the smile fades as you stare back at him, fully allowing yourself to take him all in. “what else would you be?”

“Gee, I don’t know, Slick,” his hands twirl the rings on his left hand, “a friend.”

Your laugh is filled without humor, sheer mockery as you shake your hands above the sink ridding them of suds and water.

“Friend…” the scoff is thick in your throat, swallowing a ball of vomit before you continue, “that’s rich isn’t it?”

“Clove..”

“…y’know…I had one of those once,” you say, eyes dead behind your irises, moving to the spouts of the draft beer, “at least I thought he was.”

“Can we talk?” he pleads.

“..think I’ve heard more than enough…” slapping down two heavy beers in front of him, you glare into muddy brown eyes, trying not to let yourself feel the pain in your chest, “these two are on the house.”

Without a second glance or even a fuck you, you stomp towards the dressing room, leaving him sitting alone to sit alone at the bar, and for a split second you allow yourself to feel good it. His turn to be left in the dust this time.

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#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie fan fiction #eddie fanfiction #eddie fanfic #best friend eddie

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mostly-marvel-musings · 3 months

Text

Silver-tongued Lover

A/N: Written for @fandom-free-bingo . I do miss writing for Loki. Leave a heart, comment or reblog if you enjoyed the story!

Pairing: Loki x F! Reader

Warnings: 18+ strictly smut, bit of choking and hair pulling.

Word count: 1.9k +

Square filled: Dominant lover & Pulled onto their lap

Fandom Free Bingo Masterlist

Trays of exquisite champagne and hors d'oeuvres were being passed around, an air of general merriment floated in the huge ballroom that was filled with the who’s who of the society. The party was in honor of yet another successful mission carried out by the Avengers, it was also just an excuse to get together, wear fancy clothes and mingle.

You certainly weren’t complaining.

Not when you had a wicked plan brewing in your mind about teaching a certain silver-tongued lover of yours a lesson. Or get him to teach you one. Either way, you were winning. That little spat you had earlier would be forgotten the moment he would lay eyes on you.

The dress you chose for the event was particular, forest green satin that fell over your curves, accentuating them in all the right ways while exposing just the right amount of skin. Underneath you wore matching lace lingerie, one you hoped would end up on your bedroom floor by the end of the night. Your hair fell down your back in loose curls, curtaining what was mostly a backless gown.

Everybody gathered where Tony Stark was making his famous speech, entertaining the crowd and making them laugh at his anecdotes. Blending with the crowd, you felt his presence before his cool, slender hand slipped around your waist, his lips pressed against your ear.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, my lady.”

That voice. You were never getting immune to that, you had to accept it. The honey-dripping voice that could bring anybody down on their knees. A shiver went down your spine as he teased the shell of your ear ever so lightly with his tongue, smirking to himself.

“I mean, it’s the dress, isn’t it?” you teased, composing yourself enough to bring your hair over one shoulder, showing off the sexy, open back of the dress. It was your turn to smirk now that his sapphire eyes had darkened. Like a brooding storm on gray night. Instinctively, he covered you to avoid unwanted prying eyes. He wouldn’t want any other man besides himself to lay eyes on what was his and his alone.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he whispered, his grip on your waist tightening while you blinked up innocently.

“Enjoying the party, that’s all.” you murmured before walking away from the demi-God, adding an extra swing to your hips as you did, knowing he was watching you.

Weeks ago you had walked in on Loki working his charm over an intern to get information he needed, he had the nerve to brush it off simply by stating he had the gift of the gab and you were overreacting. Tonight you were prepared to show him what an overreaction truly was.

As the evening drew by you found yourself surrounded by men who weren’t subtle with their eyes, letting their gaze shamelessly drop to your cleavage as you chatted. From the corner of your eye, you found Loki glowering, ready to rip the men into shreds.

Around midnight, people found themselves sitting around the tables, conversations now turned into smaller groups.

“Ah there you are, Y/N! Do join us.” Thor’s baritone boomed over from one of the tables, offering you a kind smile as he sat opposite your favorite God of Mischief who looked over his shoulder, as if challenging you to join them.

Naturally, you had to.

Loki pulled you onto his lap just as you were about to pull a chair for yourself, securing you on one thigh with your legs on either side. You knew it was a deliberate move, he now had easy access to your heated core, one little brush and he’d know you were sans underwear.

“Might I say you look beautiful tonight, Lady Y/N.” Thor smiled at you, raising his glass in toast which you reciprocated.

“Loki, you’re awfully quiet today. Anything on your mind, brother?”

Clicking his tongue, Loki shifted underneath you, his slender fingers teasing the edge of the glass of mead he was having before picking it up.

“Not particularly. Lady Y/N might have an idea, although she spent half the evening conversing with other gentlemen.” His tone held light accusation, eyes holding a darkness that stirred something carnal within you.

“Ah! Green with jealousy.” Thor chuckled at his own joke drunkenly, going on about how trust is such an important factor in any relationship; meanwhile your little eye tennis match with Loki continued, each challenging the other to make the next move.

Shifting a little, you made sure to brush your core against his thigh, allowing a little gasp to leave your lips as it brushed against your clit ever so slightly. A smirk on your face grew wider as Loki’s fingers soon discovered your little secret, his eyes darkening further before he abruptly stood, taking you with him.

Without much as an excuse, he gripped your bicep and dragged you away from the party and towards the elevators. Once he had you caged between his arms, he didn’t mince his words as you’d awoken the monster that rested within him.

“What do you think you are playing at, pet?”

His breath was hot against your own, his face mere inches from yours, eyes boring into yours for answers.

“I don’t know what you mean..”

Wrong answer. That made him tug on your hair, gently but with enough force to elicit a gasp. With a knee wedged between your legs, Loki made sure to tease your core that was covered only by the thin fabric of your dress, all while the elevator traveled up to take you to your quarters.

“You are testing my patience, aren’t you love?”

Boldly, your hands found their way around his neck as you stood on your toes, lips reaching his ears to whisper the answer he was waiting for.

“I got what I wanted. You. Jealous.”

He released a breath against your cheek, chuckling upon hearing your words as the elevator promptly dinged to a halt. Straightening his robes, Loki stepped away from you and began taking long strides towards your shared room, leaving you no option but to follow.

His intentions were pretty clear when the doors were shut. To teach you a lesson.

Like a predator stalking its prey, he took deliberate steps towards you, eyes raking your form.

“Kneel.”

Even if you had planned to defy the demi-God earlier, you knew well enough to not do it after hearing that from him. Dropping to your knees with your hands on your thighs, you waited, pulse quickening as you heard him undo his pants, freeing his semi-hard length for you.

“You know what happens to pets who disobey?” Loki’s sultry voice sent tingles down your spine, a rush of excitement gathering between your legs as you looked up at him, shaking your head even though you knew the answer to that question.

His fingers traced the side of your face, ever so tenderly, admiring you at his mercy before he made you open your mouth and guided you towards his cock.

“Allow me to show you.”

Not that you assumed he’d be gentle, but as his length met with your warm mouth, Loki’s grip on your hair tightened and he bottomed out with a satisfied grunt.

With only a second to adjust, he began driving his hips back and forth, nudging the end of your throat with his sizeable length, until you gagged.

“You willingly chose to defy me. Allowed all those vile men to ogle at what’s mine.”

But you were being taught a lesson, so when your eyes met through your lashes, you saw a villainous glint that informed you that you were in for a long night.

Tears gathered in your eyes as he continued to drive his now hard cock in and out, the salty taste of precum evident on your tongue. It was torture but you endured, being rewarded with the most sinful grunts that reached your ears ever so often.

Abruptly, Loki pulled out, making you stand before pushing you against a wall.

“You played with fire today, pet.” He growled, invading your senses with all that was him once again.

“Only because I knew the fire liked to be played with.”

Your eyes flashed a hint of mischief, one you were certain he loved, but tonight wasn’t the night for it. This time your expensive dress bore the cost of your words. It was ripped until all of your legs were exposed to him.

“Another bad decision.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

Now semi-naked and vulnerable, Loki pushed your legs apart before snaking his hand between them to run his thumb along your slit. When he was met with your glistening arousal, he smirked.

“Look at you, soaked and yearning for me, my darling.”

That was his first term of endearment for you, you smiled to yourself before your mouth fell open; having Loki’s cool, slender fingers breach your entrance without warning came out in a soft gasp.

He pulled them out just as quickly as he had pushed in, feeding them to you where you could taste your eagerness.

Hiking your leg up around his hips, he entered you in one swift motion, forehead touching yours as you both sighed. The room was then filled with your needy moans as Loki’s cock dragged on your walls only to impale you until he was buried to the hilt. The continued assault made you cry out loud as your fingers dug in his shoulders, desperate for an anchor.

With your eyes shut in pleasure, you felt the fingers of his free hand wrap themselves around your throat, putting just enough pressure to add to the delectable passion unfurling between you.

“Tell me who you belong to.”

He grunted between his bruising thrusts, each one sending a wave of pleasure coursing through your body.

“You. I belong to you, my prince.” You breathed, sounding needier than usual. You didn’t want this to end, the lesson you were being taught felt like a reward.

Your walls began clamping around his length, making him twitch and groan as his lips descended towards your neck, claiming your body as his property.

Carrying you to bed, he laid you down, a little gently this time, cock slipping into your tight heat once again as he pinned your hands above your head, holding you captive. This time, his pace resumed the same brutality, your climax approaching hard and fast as he continued.

Reveling in the way your skin bloomed and flushed under his touch, Loki’s sense of dominance only grew. He’d never admit but he secretly loved the way you defied him in your ways and challenged him, it only always led to stimulating arguments and explosive sex.

The way you fell apart under him only drove him to chase his own release, his cock had been begging for it since he laid eyes on you that evening.

A few moments later while you basked in your high, his hips lost rhythm and he spilled his seed deep within your sopping cunt.

As breaths came slowed down to a normal pace, Loki found himself grinning against your warm skin, finally enveloping you in a kiss that conveyed all that words could never.

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson smut #loki laufeyson x reader #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson imagine #loki laufeyson fluff #loki oneshot #loki x you #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki odinson #loki #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson fanfic #marvel fanfiction #mostly marvel musings #fandom free bingo

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moni-logues · 2 years

Text

Even Though

Pairing: Hoseok x reader

Genre: friends/FWB(?)-to-lovers, smut

Summary: Hoseok comes running every time you call, even though he knows you don't want the same things. Unless, of course... you do?

Word count: 7.4k

Content: alcohol consumption/drunkenness, oral sex (m. and f. receiving inc. deepthroat and face-sitting), unprotected sex

A/N: It's almost Hobi's birthday, so have a repost because I won't be writing a new fic for it lmaooooo! This one has had a bit of an edit and I think is much improved for it tbh; I was always quite fond of this one (esp for having written it in one sitting between midnight at 2:30am lmao) but I've added a few bits and changed the ending so it feels a little more ~realistic I guess. I've also (I hope) knocked out the bajillion typos that I had left in it before whoops! anyway, enjoy!

* * *

You turned, huddled into a corner of the club, carefully cradling your phone against your cheek as if that would, in any way, block out the noise. The voice at the other end was quiet, groggy.

“Hello?”

“Hoseok?!” you shouted into your phone. “Hoseokieeee! Can you hear me?”

“y/n? Are you ok?”

“No! I miss you! I miss you so much! I wish you were here; no one else is any fun. Can you come out, please? Come out and playyyyy.”

You swayed on your feet and had to brace yourself against the wall with one hand, staring pointedly at a chip in the paint, studiously focusing on it, trying to get it to stop swimming in front of you, doubling and twisting before your eyes.

“y/n, I was sleeping-”

“No! No sleeping! Come and play with me, Hoseok; I want to play.”

“How drunk are you?”

“Hardly,” you said with a snort, almost tripping over your own feet. “I’m basically fine, actually. I don’t even really feel drunk anymore.”

“Are you with people? Who are you out with?”

“I’m at work!”

“No, who are you out with?”

“Work! I’m at work with club at the people.”

“You’re at a club with people from work.”

“That’s what I said. But I don’t care about them... I just want you. I miss you. I want you. Please come out. Please, pretty please a thousand times.”

“Is someone looking after you?”

“Noooo. No one looks after me like you do. You’re the only one. You’re my favourite. Of all everyone, you’re my best one.”

You didn’t hear him sigh, didn’t see him rub his face with his free hand, staring up at the ceiling, facing off with the inevitable. He would come and get you. Of course, he would. That’s what he did. He’d come and get you and take you home and tuck you up in bed and leave water and painkillers on your bedside table and you’d tell him how much you love him and how much you miss him and you’d list everything you like about him and then you’d pass out and wake up in the morning and say you couldn’t remember what you said the night before. The texts would be right there in your phone but no one would mention them. Hoseok didn’t know if your amnesia was real or feigned but it didn’t really matter either way.

He knew this is what would happen, and he knew that it would slice through his heart like a knife, but he agreed to come and pick you up anyway. Like always.

* * *

“Hoseok-y! Ho-socky and mittens! My yang-mal and jang-gab-yyy. You came!”

You stumbled over to his car and made grabby motions at him through the open window. He got out and walked to the passenger side, opening the door for you and helping you in. You grabbed at his jumper and pulled his face close to yours. You sprinkled kisses all over his face as he tried to extricate himself from your clutches and return to the driver’s side.

“-ease please please please please,” you were saying as he sat down, shut the door, and buckled his seatbelt.

“Hm? What do you want?”

“I want to kiss you, please!”

You took his hand in yours and kissed the back of it with a loud, noisy smack.

“Not while I’m driving.”

“Plleeeeaaassse,” you insisted, leaning in as close to him as you can. “If I ask really, really nicely?”

“Not while I’m driving, ok? It’s dangerous.”

You groaned, frustrated, and threw your hands in the air. The world whipping by so quickly outside made you feel dizzy and then, suddenly, tired. The kind of drunken tiredness that was like an unexpectedly strong wave that knocks you into the sea, pulls you under. If you didn’t lie down now, immediately, you thought you would pass out. So you fumbled down the side of the seat for the lever to adjust the angle and flew back with an anguished wail when it tipped all the way backwards.

“Are you ok?” Hoseok asked, eyes flicking briefly in your direction before returning to the road.

You were kicking your feet in the air, pressing your shoes against the roof of the car.

“Hey, don’t do that,” he said softly, tapping your leg gently, encouraging them down.

Hoseok was just glad you weren’t trying to kiss him anymore.

* * *

“Daisy, daisy, give me your answer, dooo,” you sang, with little consideration for your neighbours, as Hoseok half-carried you to your front door. “I’m half-crazy all for the love of you!”

He carefully propped you up as he unlocked your door and helped you inside. As he shut the door, you took his face in your hands and continued.

“It won’t be a styyyyylish marriage! I can’t afford a carriage-”

A squeak interrupted your song as he lifted you, carrying you to your bed.

“But you’d look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle made for two!

“Have we ever gone bicycling, Seoky? Can I ride a bike? I think so... I don’t own one, though, but we can rent them, right?”

You blathered on as he took off your socks and pulled the clips out of your hair and hung up your jacket.

“Come here, please!” you called for him as he brought you a stack of reusable cotton pads and your make-up remover. You took both from him and chucked them on the bed, then pulled him down next to you.

“I love you,” you cooed, rubbing your nose against his. “I love you I love you I love you.”

You flopped back, head against the pillow, and dragged him with you.

“I think you are the most best, probab- Stop it! Stop it!” You swatted at his hands as he tried to wipe your make-up off for you. “I don’t want you to do that. I want you to kiss me, please.”

He turned his head as you reached for him and you kissed his cheek and his temple and his brow bone.

“Hoseok-y, why don’t you want to kiss me?” You were whiny and pouting and your big, shining eyes were boring into him.

“You’re drunk, love.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are.”

“But I still want to kiss you!”

He gently, but firmly, took your hands from his face and held them by your side.

“If you want to kiss me that badly, you can wait eight hours and kiss m-”

“Eight hours?! No, I can’t wait eight hours! I can’t wait even eight whole seconds!”

He wished more than anything that you weren’t drunk. He wished that you would be sober, sober and still this keen, still this loving. He knew wishes didn’t come true.

You sighed, growling at the end, frustrated and pouting and pretending to be angry. But you did, at least, stop trying to kiss him.

“I just love you, that’s all,” you said, as he lay down next to you.

You turned on your side and pressed your finger against his bottom lip, flipping it up and down.

“My name’s Hoseok,” you said, as if he were your ventriloquist dummy. “And I’m so pretty and I’m so smart and I’m so kind and I’m the best person in the world but I won’t let my girlfriend kiss m-”

Girlfriend. There was that word again. You wouldn’t dare utter it sober, and nor would he. He distinctly remembered the time he tried to get you to agree to a ‘date’ and how badly that went, so he wouldn’t dream of even thinking that word in your presence. But this wasn’t the first time you’d drunkenly referred to yourself as his girlfriend. Which was what made this all the more difficult for him. Somewhere, in whatever walled-off section of your mind (and heart), you were his; you were his girlfriend and you loved him and you were willing to let him love you. And the key to this little cage was, apparently, copious amounts of alcohol. So, you went out and you drank too much and you called him up and he came running because he loved that you need him, loved that he was the one you called even in the middle of the night. And you called yourself his girlfriend and he pretended for five minutes that it might really happen.

“Just go to sleep, ok?” he said softly, tucking your hair behind your ear, pulling the covers up over you.

“Not if you’re going to leave me.”

“No, I’ll stay. I’ll stay here.”

“Good.”

You waited for him to lie down and then flung your limbs over him, holding him close to you, fisting his T-shirt. He kissed the top of your head and waited for you to pass out.

* * *

You woke, in the morning (later that same morning), thick-headed and dry-mouthed. You chugged the glass of water Hoseok left on your bedside table, finishing it before you could reach for the painkillers, which you opted to dry-swallow and then immediately regretted doing. You unlocked your phone and grimaced as you noticed the time: it was 7am, which meant you’d been asleep for all of three hours. You felt ghastly but, somehow, also wide awake. You scrolled through your phone, looking through your fingers at the messages you sent last night. There were so many.

You: Hoseeereeokkkkjjyyyy.

You: are ayou sleep?

You: I msiss you so mchu. I wish you wer hreeeeee.

You: if u coome, I wlll love youf roever.

You felt movement from the other side of the bed and rolled over, away from the embarrassment of your phone, to see Hoseok standing up. You watched him as he put his phone in his pocket, ran a hand through his hair once, twice, then turned around.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

“Catching you in the disappearing act this time.”

You sounded annoyed, but you weren’t really sure why. Just hungover. Probably.

He smiled and you wondered why he looked so shy. He was usually gone before you woke up, at least these days. Maybe he actually was embarrassed to be caught running out on you.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

You shrugged.

“Like I drank an entire bar and then had three hours’ sleep.”

“You should sleep it off; it’s still early.”

You didn’t know what compelled you to ask, didn’t know why now was the time, but you didn’t have the capacity to filter your thoughts from your mouth.

“What’s the point of you staying if you always run off so early?”

He blinked, taken aback. He replied slowly, hesitantly, almost reluctantly.

“You don’t like it when I overstay my welcome.”

It was such a specific turn of phrase, you could hear a bell ringing distantly in your brain, as if you’d had this conversation before – though, if you had, you didn’t remember having it.

“You don’t have to get up at the crack of dawn, though, just to get away from me. You can sleep in; you were also up at 4am so I’m hardly going to kick you out at 7.”

You thought he looked as if he was biting something back; his face was heavy with all the things he wasn't saying and you felt frustration settling on you, slowly taking the reins.

“I don’t know why you bother, to be honest,” you told him, your lack of sleep and excess of booze making you sound meaner than you really intended. “Why get up, pick me up, take care of me and then just disappear? What’s in it for you if you don’t even stay for breakfast?”

“Well, it’s the only time you’re ever really nice to me, so...”

It hit you like a slap in the face.

“What?”

“What?” he threw back.

“What do you mean it’s the only time I’m ever nice to you?”

“You and I both know what I mean. Take a look at your phone if you’re confused.”

He turned and, after a second’s pause, started to walk out of the room.

“Hey!” you called after him. “You can’t just say that and leave! Come back here!”

He looked at you from the door and you almost didn’t recognise him; you realised you’d never seen him angry.

“What do you want me to say? We both know what this is. This...”

He floundered, looking for a word, betraying the fact that, actually, neither of you knew what this was, what had become of you.

“I want more than you will ever want; that’s a fact. I want what you can’t or won’t give me. I made my peace with that. But then you call me in the middle of the night and you tell me that you want me and need me and that you miss me and you love me and I come running every time because I know you will never say that to me sober, will never look at me in the cold light of day in the same way you look at me in the small hours of the morning. Maybe I shouldn’t. In fact, I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. That’s what I mean.”

Without another word – not that you could’ve managed one anyway – he turned on his heel and you heard the front door slam shut.

He wasn’t wrong. You knew. You didn’t want to know but you knew. It had always been complicated between the two of you.

* * *

A mutual friend introduced you because he thought you would like each other and he wasn’t wrong. But you hadn’t expected him to be so right; you were entirely unprepared for Hoseok. Entirely unprepared for the most perfect man to just waltz into your life and lay himself at your feet. You weren’t ready for that. You thought you would meet a guy who was basically fine (hopefully a little better than fine); a guy who would be fun for a few dates, good for a casual sort of arrangement, nothing serious. You thought you could see this guy and continue to sow your wild oats elsewhere. But Hoseok was different.

You hit it off immediately. Yoongi introduced you at a party and you instantly connected, forgetting anyone else was there, talking all night. Drinking, too. When he offered to walk you home, you knew you would offer him a nightcap in your apartment. He knew he would accept if you did. Your memories of that night were slightly hazy but you knew the sex had been good because you had sent almost everyone you knew a message that was simply five mind-blown emojis.

Hoseok had a party the following week and you were invited. He had been a perfect host and you had spent hours, desperately frustrated, trying to convince him to forget about all his guests and come rail you in his bedroom. By the time everyone else had left and he could finally give you his undivided attention, you had sobered up and your memories of that night are crystal clear. You had sent your best friend a text that read ‘I will never sleep with another man ever again’.

That was not a vow you kept.

Hoseok was kind and caring and considerate in a way no one had ever really been with you before. It almost began to annoy you, the way he took care of you, looked out for you, thought of you when he passed something in a shop window. You had begun to feel claustrophobic in his affections; this wasn’t supposed to be a relationship. He wasn’t supposed to like you or, heaven forbid, fall in love with you.

Your ‘dates’ had been casual up to that point because you had forced them to be. You would swing by his apartment after dinner with your friends or invite him over to yours when you had no plans for the weekend. When he had asked you, finally, to go on a real date with him, out to dinner somewhere, your response had been ‘why would we do that?’. That was when things had started crumbling.

He had insisted you could keep it casual and still go out to eat together. He had insisted that it didn’t matter what it was called and, if you didn’t want to call it a date, he wouldn’t call it a date; he just wanted to spend more time with you. You had called your mutual friend and given him an earful for introducing you; you had got several earfuls back. Hoseok dropped the subject.

Then he had started talking about a weekend away, going into the country, getting a cabin or something, going swimming in the lake and walking up the hills and stuff that all sounded far too romantic to you. You had asked him why the hell he kept insisting on treating you like you were his girlfriend. You had told him repeatedly and emphatically throughout that conversation that you were not his girlfriend. You kept telling him that you were friends and he kept telling you that he doesn’t fuck his friends like that. You told him maybe he should so he might lighten up a bit.

You stopped sleeping together after that. Mostly. Kind of. You hung out more often and you thought that maybe you had been right, maybe you were just friends and you told yourself that this was probably the ideal outcome. But a few weeks later, at another party, you had both got drunk and immediately sought each other out across the crowded room and left without so much as saying goodbye. You tumbled into bed and you cursed yourself for ever giving this up, for ever thinking you could go without him. Until the morning came anyway.

This happened a few more times and, each time, you grew colder and more distant in the morning. Hoseok wasn’t stupid and it wasn't as if he thought you would magically change your mind about dating him if only you had sex just one more time, one more time, but he wasn’t expecting you to behave the way you did. He had asked if you could at the very least not be rude to him, and you had shot back that overstaying one’s welcome was also considered rude and maybe he should think about that. He decided he wouldn’t sleep with you again.

It happened a few more times after that, too. Then he decided to give up drinking around you. It would’ve been easier to just cut you out, take you out of his life completely, but he was too far gone to do that. He would walk over hot coals for you; he knew it and so did you.

* * *

You woke again much later that morning and thought about what Hoseok had said. You dialled Yoongi’s number.

“On a scale of 1-10,” you began as soon as he picked up the phone, not even bothering with a greeting, “how much of a dick am I to Hoseok?”

“Hello to you, too.”

“Please just answer the question.”

“Ok, well, what’s included on the scale? Does the worst include like, violence and murder?”

“No! Obviously not. Just like, for normal friends, scale of 1-10, how badly do I treat him?”

“Is 10 the worst?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, then 10.”

“What?!”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. Everyone knows. You know.”

“I’m not that bad, surely.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Well then why haven’t you done anything? Why would you let your friend treat your other friend like that?”

“Well, firstly, because I don’t actually control you. Secondly, you may recall that we have spoken about this on a number of occasions and I have always made it very clear that you are being a dick and you are hurting his feelings and always told you that you need to stop dicking him about. But like I said, I don’t control you. And I don’t control him, either. I have also had numerous conversations with him about you and I have told him he deserves better-”

“Hey!”

“Are you seriously trying to argue with that?”

“Well-”

“Exactly. I don’t know what answer you wanted from me but, of course, the answer is 10. On a scale of 1-10, you absolutely treat him the worst.”

“Surely he takes some responsibility for it at this point.”

Yoongi interrupted you before you could say more.

“Don’t you dare go there. You are my friend and I am saying this because I do actually value you as a person and, this aside, I do think you’re a decent person: you are treating him like a cunt and he deserves better and, if you were anyone else in the world, I would’ve cut him off from you months ago and literally kept him under lock and key to keep him away from you if that’s what it would’ve taken.

“That said, I’m glad you’re asking the question. I hope this means you’re actually giving it some thought? You’re actually considering his feelings now? Considering your own, maybe?”

“What do you mean my own?”

“Your own feelings for him.”

“I don’t have feelings.”

Yoongi hummed non-committally and you could almost hear his eyes rolling through the phone.

“Well, anyway, let me repeat one more time for the record that you are a total dick to Hoseok and you should treat him better.”

“Thanks very much.”

“You’re welcome!” he rang off brightly, ignoring the sarcasm of your comment.

* * *

You were grumpy and hungover and tired and feeling unsettled, disturbed. It had been some time since you and Hoseok had discussed anything to do with... whatever it was that you were or had been or wanted to be, and it always made you uncomfortable. You did know, really, deep down, somewhere you tried not to look, that you were treating him badly, and on days when the hangover anxiety was at its worst, you felt sick with guilt about it. But you also felt sick at the thought of more. He wanted so much of you. More than you felt you had to give. He saw things in you that you were sure just weren’t there. And you didn’t want him to see the things you kept hidden, the dark things, the bad things, the things that would make him turn and run for the hills if he knew. He was too good for you and it scared you and it hurt you and you chose, simply, not to address it. To run away from it as far as you possibly could, which, when you’d had a drink or six, was not very far at all.

You showered to try to wash the discomfort away; you stuffed yourself full to try to distract yourself from the anxiety in your guts; you, briefly, considered drinking again but the thought brought bile to your throat. You stared, unseeing, at the TV, ostensibly watching a drama, but really replaying your own, real-life drama over and over in your head.

You wanted to be reasonable about it but the guilt and embarrassment and anxiety curdling in your gut made you feel sick and you couldn’t face it, so you chose not to be reasonable. You kept butting your head up against the fact that, if he really hated it that much, he could just not answer your calls. Sure, you could stop calling him, but you only did it when you’re drunk and who had that level of self-control after that many drinks? He didn’t have to come and get you; he didn’t have to walk you into your apartment; he didn’t have to put you to bed. He did all of that on his own. And maybe if he actually slept with you, it might've made a difference...

You tossed that thought aside because you knew both that it wasn't true and that you would not want to be anywhere near someone who would soberly fuck anyone even close to as drunk as you usually got. Hoseok was not that guy.

The more you thought about it, the more annoyed you got. You knew that you couldn’t really think straight; you were not at your best right now, but you were annoyed. You were annoyed that you had to be tired and hungover and thinking about this. Why couldn’t he just keep it simple for you both and leave you alone? Or, at least, ignore you when you didn’t leave him alone? You felt like he was making his feelings your problem. And you were done with it.

* * *

You stood outside his door, hesitating. The taxi ride over had taken just long enough that your immediate anger was subsiding and a tiny part of your rational brain was waking up again. Then you thought about the texts you sent him last night and were so embarrassed at yourself that you needed to feel something else: guilt, shame, anxiety, anything would do. You hammered at the door.

Hoseok opened it and looked surprised to see you, but nevertheless stepped back to let you in.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“We’re finishing this,” you told him and he looked at you blankly. “We’re finishing this now.”

“What do you mean? Finishing what?”

“This!”

You gestured frantically between the two of you.

“I’m fucking sick of this!” you cried. “You want me so fucking badly? Then why don’t you do something about it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying do something! I’m not drunk anymore! Why don’t you do something?”

“Listen to what you’re suggesting. We’ve done that. And it’s ended up with us here. How do you think doing it again is going to lead somewhere different?”

You opened your mouth to argue but he wasn't finished.

“Besides which, I don’t want to just ‘do something’. That’s the whole problem. We’re in this because I want more than just something, I want more than just sex and you don’t. And when I made it clear to you that I wanted more, you ran for the fucking hills. Before you came running back, that is.”

You were surprised because he’d never argued with you like this before. You realised, with a lurch, that he’d never been angry with you before. You couldn’t put a name to what it made you feel; you were too busy swimming with frustration and anxiety and anger to be able to think clearly. You just knew that this was different so, maybe, this was good.

“And why do you let me back, then? If I’m so awful and I treat you like such shit, why do you pick up?”

“I already told you. And you don’t need to tell me I’ve lost my fucking dignity and pride; you don’t need to tell me that I should be better than that, that I shouldn’t be begging at your table for scraps. I already know. Trust me, no one is as sickened by me as I am.”

“Sickened? Wanting me sickens you, does it? I sicken you, do I?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Fuck you, Hoseok.”

You stalked closer to him, stuck a finger hard against his chest.

“Fuck you for putting that on me,” you spat.

The world held its breath for one second and, the next, you were tangled up in each other, his mouth finally on yours again, his hands against your skin, yours in his hair. He lifted your T-shirt over your head and you sighed as his fingers grazed your nipple, quickly teasing it to a tight bud. You pushed down his trousers and he stepped out of them, pushing you backwards until your legs hit the sofa. He ripped off his own top before guiding you down until you were lying on the sofa with Hoseok at your feet, tugging on your jogging bottoms. You tilted your hips to allow him to pull them off and he brought his hands up to relieve you of your underwear.

His eyes were black, darker than you’d ever seen them and he looked at you like you were in trouble, like he was imagining all the things he could do to you. You gulped and arousal pooled in your core; you were suddenly desperate for him, clawing at him until his mouth was on yours so you could taste him one more time. You palmed him through his boxers and he groaned into your mouth, swearing softly as he pulled away.

You were tingling all over with anticipation as he trailed kisses down your neck and onto your chest. He licked a broad strip across the mound of your breast and bit down hard on your soft flesh. You whimpered and arched your back into him, urging for more. He clamped his teeth around your nipple and sucked, rubbing his tongue over the stiff nub and you shivered.

“Oh god,” you whispered. You had forgotten it was this good.

“Touch me, please,” you asked quietly. You didn’t want to break whatever spell was over you, but you were aching with a desire so strong, it almost hurt. And you knew how much he liked to hear you beg. “Please, Hoseok, please touch me.”

“Why should I give you what you want?” he asked, looking up at you through half-lidded eyes, his mouth slack, breathing heavy, voice rough. “When do I get what I want, huh?”

“Anything. I’ll do anything, please.”

If you had both been thinking with your brains, you would both have known this was not true. Your brains were, however, otherwise indisposed.

Hoseok sat back on his knees, looking at you, a small smirk at the corner of his mouth. He stood, briefly, to discard his boxers and then he looked down at you, slowly pumping the thick length of his hot, stiff cock.

You were on your knees in an instant, replacing his hand with your own. You brought your open mouth to his tip, softly licking across his slit, keeping your eyes on his as you wrapped your lips around him and sank slowly, slowly down his shaft. He grunted when he hit the back of your throat and outright moaned when you kept going.

“God, I’ve missed this mouth,” he said, his voice tight and gruff. He gripped your hair with one hand and slowly pulled you back. Then he kept your head still as he thrust back in, still slowly at first, gentle almost, and then, when you moaned around him, faster, and then harder when your fingernails dug into his thighs. His eyes never left yours, even though yours were swimming with tears and he was no more than a blur above you. He was always looking at you. Until his eyes fluttered closed and you knew he was close to coming, could see it when his eyes opened again, piercing in their intensity; you could feel his cock twitch in your mouth and you tapped his leg, signalling him to stop.

He fell from you in an instant and you pushed him onto the sofa.

“Don’t think you’re the only one who gets to have their fun,” you told him.

You pushed him back until he was lying and you pinned him down with your knees either side of his head. He was impatient, wrapping his arms around your legs and pulling you down to him, your core wet and dripping over his mouth. He looked at you, making sure your eyes met as licked through your folds.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “I forgot just how wet you get. I’m going to fucking drown in you."

He licked into your centre, drinking you in, taking you for everything you’d got while you rolled your hips against him, rubbing your clit against his nose, desperate for contact, for friction. You heard him chuckle low in his throat and you whimpered.

He was impatient to get started but he liked to take his time with you. He wanted you to beg: beg him to start, beg him to keep going, beg him to finish you off. He licked languidly through your folds, he sucked, he nipped, he returned again to fuck you with his tongue, all while you shivered and whined above him, pleasure building in you, urgency mounting. You grabbed his hair with both hands and tried to hold him still so you could direct yourself above him, but he was stronger than you and his arms kept you in place.

“Hoseok, please. Please, I need to come.”

He hummed against you and you tugged on his hair.

“Please, please.”

You tried harder to grind against his face, your clit throbbing and burning under the absence of his touch. He held you still. His face was buried in your cunt and you could just see his eyes, glinting at you, watching you fall apart under your desperate need for him.

“Hoseok,” you panted. “Hoseok, please.” Your voice broke as your desperation peaked, every part of you alert and armed, like tinder just millimetres from a flame.

He finally sealed his lips around your clit and you went up like a bonfire, ecstasy roaring through you, consuming everything. You were hot and sweating and writhing on top of him as he licked and lapped and sucked at you, pulling sounds out of you that only he could: loud, desperate, animal cries and his name over and over and over again.

It was only when you let loose his hair and your legs quivered either side of his head that he loosened his own grip on you and you flopped backwards, lying on top of him with your head on his hip.

“See how good I am to you?” he asked, wiping his mouth, sliding out from underneath you, towering over you once more.

“Yeah,” you whimpered. You nodded. “Yeah, yeah, so good.”

“But you don’t fucking want me.”

“Yeah, I do. I do, Hoseok, god, I do. Please.”

He rested his hands against the arm of the sofa above your head and lowered his face to yours.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” he said low, menacing.

He kissed you lightly and you lifted your head to meet him again but he moved too far off. He knelt over you, his heavy cock resting on your mound, and considered you for a while. This wasn’t usually part of your game and you were impatient, still needy for him, remembering the way he split you open, the glorious stretch of him inside you, the fluidity and power with which he moved.

“Fuck. What do you want from me?” you asked.

He tipped forward, back over you, hands either side of your head, his face so close, you could barely see him. He moved and kissed you lightly just below the ear.

“Everything.”

He stood and put on his boxers and you were overwhelmed with anger again.

“For fuck’s sake, seriously?!” you shouted, hitting him with a scatter cushion. “Are you fucking kidding?”

He turned to you, pulling his trousers back up and shrugged.

“No, I’m not kidding. I told you. I want everything. I want you, all of you, even this shitty part of you that treats me like crap, even the part of you that tells me you love me and then pretends to forget all about it in the morning, even the part of you that pretends to be sickened by the very idea of being my girlfriend, despite the fact that you refer to yourself as mine in the dead of night. Even your excessive drinking, even your emotional constipation, even your big, fat heart that you try to hide from everyone, even your insistence that you don’t give a shit despite giving a hell of a lot of a shit all the damn time, even your stupid fucking determination to do everything by yourself even when you actually need help, even your terrible taste in films and those god-awful reality TV programs you like, even your snoring, even your back turned back against me. All of it. All of you. I fucking want all of you, all the fucking time.”

You stared breathlessly at him as his chest heaved, his breathing ragged. Your heart was in your throat, blood roaring in your ears. He was waiting for you to say something but you’d lost the ability to speak. Words flew into and out of your head without your being able to catch any of them. You couldn’t think. Your mind was buzzing, static blaring, nothing but white noise. You could only stare at him, bewildered, overwhelmed, utterly naked.

His breathing slowly settled and he rolled his eyes and turned away from you.

“Of course,” he muttered under his breath.

He was walking away from you and you knew you had to stop him. Your brain had no capacity to filter anything on its way to your mouth and you said it before you even really knew you were feeling it.

“I love you. I fucking love you.”

He turned quickly and watched you, wary, unsure. You didn’t let yourself think anymore. You staggered to your feet and took his hands and pulled him close to you.

“I fucking love you,” you said again. “I love you, ok? And I'm not drunk this time and fucking fine, if I’m such a piece of shit but you still want me, then fine. Fine. Have me.”

He was still looking at you, looking into your eyes like he was trying to solve a riddle.

“I’m not fucking with you. I’m not lying. I want you. I want you and have always wanted you and always wanted not to want you as much I do because you’re terrifying. Ever looked directly at the sun? Ever looked at the fucking face of god? ‘Cause I have and it’s you. Ok? It’s you. When I get drunk and I call you and I tell you that I love you, it’s true – that's true. It’s only you I call.” Your skin was hot, flushed, but from embarrassment now, from feeling skinned, raw, exposing yourself in a way that you never did, never wanted to. Your voice broke and you desperately didn’t want to cry, didn’t want this to be more embarrassing than it needed to be, didn’t want him to see how pathetic you really were even as you were telling him. “It’s only you I want. And it’s only when I’m not sober enough to fight myself that I can admit it. I’m a piece of shit and you’re a literal angel, a fucking god, but fine, if you really want to have me, have me. I’m yours.”

He gently nudged your nose with his and whispered your name, his eyes carefully watching you. Then he kissed you, soft and slow, and wrapped his arms around you. His hands wandered, exploring your body, caressing any part of you he could reach, as his tongue rolled with yours, as you raked your fingers through his hair, as he moaned into your mouth, as he picked you up and took you into the bedroom.

He lay you gently on the bed and slipped off his clothes once more. He covered your body with his and pressed kisses into your neck. Then he bit down and you keened, arching your back into him, suddenly violently, urgently aware of the slick between your legs, of your fluttering walls, desperate for him now.

“Please, Hoseok,” you whispered. “Please fuck me, now.”

This was where you were comfortable. No more talking. Just Hoseok with his body over yours, his soft skin and softer lips, his nimble fingers and strong body, his eyes black as pitch as he looked at you like you were prey.

“Gladly,” he whispered back, his lips just grazing yours.

He pressed himself against your entrance, eyes flicking between your face and your cunt as he watched himself disappear into you and watched your face, lest you betray any sign of pain or discomfort. But there was none. There was only the perfect, overwhelming fullness of him inside you and then the tight drag, feeling every contour of his cock, as he pulled back and thrust in again.

“God, no one compares to you- fuck...”

He liked to watch your face as you whined and whimpered beneath him when he lifted your legs, pushing against the backs of your thighs, hitting you deeper, harder. You were hot and sticky everywhere; your skin was slick with sweat, your cunt slick with arousal. Every part of you was fit to bursting, coming apart at the seams. You felt like a dam about to break and then he took his hand down between your bodies and pressed hard, the motion of his thrusts knocking his hand until you were crying out for more, much more, crying out that you were close, crying out please, please let me come, let me come. And he did. The flood engulfed you; you were pulled through a riptide of pleasure, unable to scream, unable to breathe, suffocating in the swirling pool of your orgasm. Hoseok kept going, fucking you through your climax until he was coming, too, painting your walls white, falling under the surface of ecstasy with you.

He fell down next to you and you lay, quiet save for your heavy breathing. When he took your hand in his, you let him, despite the thrum of anxiety in your heart.

“So,” he said, and he looked nervous when you turned towards him.

You were nervous but you’d said it now. And you’d missed him—you had. And Yoongi’s words were ringing in your ears, about your feelings, about how badly you treated Hoseok, and words from much, much longer ago, about how much you’d like him, what a great guy he was, how much Hoseok had liked meeting you, how much he liked you.

He was waiting for you to speak, not daring to go first. You looked down at your joined hands, looked up at the ceiling, looked at his face.

“I’m,” you began, your voice quiet and croaky. You cleared your throat but still didn’t know what words were going to come out. “I’m… I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you mean?”

He rolled onto his side, facing you, and you took your hand from his so you could use both to cover your face. You gave a frustrated sigh and slapped them onto the mattress on either side of you.

“I don’t know how to be a girlfriend. Not to you.”

“’Not to me’? What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing! That’s my whole point!”

You squirmed, embarrassment heating your cheeks again, and ended up on your side, facing him.

“There’s nothing wrong with you and it’s… intimidating. I’m not like that. You said it yourself. There’s a lot wrong with me and-”

“That’s not what I said. I actually think you’re perfect.”

You blinked, stunned into silence.

“But you said all those things.”

“I still think you’re perfect. Even though I said all those things, even though you do snore and even though you have handled this situation in about the worst possible way and even though it’s hurt my feelings. Even though all of it. I still think you’re perfect and I still love you.”

You turned onto your back, staring at the ceiling, blinking away fresh tears.

“I think you’re crazy,” you told him.

“There you go; there is something wrong with me after all.”

He leant over you and cupped your cheek with his hand. When he kissed you, it was soft and sweet and it wasn’t going to go anywhere—nor did you need it to.

“I don’t want to get it wrong,” you whispered to him, his face still close to yours, his breath fanning over your face.

He shrugged lightly.

“It’s ok if you do. We can’t be right all the time.”

“You’ll still love me?”

“Yes. After all this, I still love you. I’ve tried not to, I promise. So, yes, I will still love you if you get it wrong. As long as you love me.”

“I do.” You wanted to say it back, felt it stick in your throat. You swallowed hard, blinked slowly, took a deep breath. “I love you, too.”

He kissed you again, still soft, still gentle, and then settled back on his side.

“So…”

“So?”

“So can I actually call you my girlfriend now?”

You rolled your eyes playfully and couldn’t stop the little thrill in your heart or grin on your lips.

“I guess, if you must.”

He grinned back at you, wide, beaming.

“Yes, I fucking must!”

You thought that sounded just fine.

#hoseok x reader #hoseok smut #hoseok fic #jhope x reader #bts x reader #jhope smut #bts smut #bts fic #jhope fic #mmm repost

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ohtobeleah · 1 year

Text

Thank You to @ailesswhumptober for providing us with this amazing prompt list for Whumptober this year.

-> Rules & Information below ⬇️

Strictly 18+ There will be heavy themes associated with this whumptober. Please remember to curate your own experience by following the trigger warnings associated and allocated to all blurbs.

The author will not be posting or accepting requests for any other ongoing project during the month of September so that all spare time can be allocated in preparation for whumptober.

All work associated with Whumptober contains mature themes that may be triggering to some.

Masterlist will be updated accordingly as blurbs / One-shots are written and edited.

To be tagged in any work associated with Whumptober please ask in the comments below, only on the Masterlist. Requests on daily postings will not be looked at.

All associated media related for Whumptober will be tagged with #AIlessWhumptober2023

Day One: [Poison Ivy] // Robert Floyd:

-> Bobs got the hots for the admirals assistant. Bad. So bad it makes him feral. But what happens when he gets the dosage wrong and messes the whole thing up.

Day Two: [Dream A Little, Dream Of Me] // Bradley Bradshaw:

-> How are you supposed to sleep when all you see when you close your eyes is your dead and soaking wet husband?

Day Three: [Sixth Sense] // Mickey Garcia:

-> A freak accident occurs at the Hard Deck and Fanboy is faced with the challenge of being left to care for you, his not so official girlfriend.

Day Four: [My Brothers Keeper] // Jake Seresin:

-> Five seconds faster and Jake Seresin wouldn’t be standing in his bedroom telling the love of his life the biggest lie he’d ever told.

Day Five: [Odds Are?] Robert Floyd:

-> A quiet night at the Hard Deck doesn’t stay that way when two men hold you at gunpoint for the combination to the safe.

Day Six: [Mind Over Matter] // Bradley Bradshaw

-> Your mind is not your own when you’re exposed to a kind of ‘Sex Pollen’ your date spiked your drink with. But the worst part of it all is that Rooster takes advantage of your willingness to give your body to him.

Day Seven: [Gift Of The Gab] // Bradley Bradshaw

-> Throat Cancer. It’s never the way Rooster thought he’d go out. But when he does—he gets to give Jake a piece of his mind.

Day Eight: [Panic Room] // Jake Seresin

-> Between his ex, bird strikes and suicidal mission parameters it’s hard to keep a lid on things. So when you help Jake through a panic attack in the locker room, you become his lifelong lifeline.

Day Nine: [Battle Scars] // Bob Floyd

-> Robert Floyd doesn’t take his shirt off at the beach. But when the shirt stays on during sex? You start to wonder what he’s hiding.

Day Ten: [The Eternal Mark] // Jake Seresin

-> When at the Abbott Ranch for thanksgiving, the sound and sight of a cattle prod has you feeling like you’d been thrown back in time into the arms of the man who swore blind he was going to kill you.

Day Eleven: [Dark Red] // Jake Seresin

-> Jake Seresin is usually pretty cool, carm and cock sure of himself. But when his wife has an accident? He hits the deck pretty hard.

Day twelve: [Self-Flagellation] // Tom Kazanksy

-> After the death of Goose Bradshaw rocks the TopGun class. Iceman struggles with the ideology that his death could have been prevented if he wasn’t sure sure of himself.

Day Thirteen: [Damn You Seresin] // Jake Seresin

-> After a near fatal car accident sends Jake into a coma, you come to terms with the fact that saying goodbye was always going to be tough. No matter the situation.

Day Fourteen: [Bleed For This] // Bradley Bradshaw

-> It’s not Maverick that goes down in Snowy Mountains, but you. And someone doesn’t make it back.

Day Fifteen: [One Hit Wonder] // Bob Floyd

-> Robert Floyd was a pacifist, he didn’t enjoy confrontation or anything that resembled an argument. He preferred to use logical responses and persuasive reasoning to identify situations that might not work well in his favour otherwise.

Day Sixteen: [Trade Places] // Jake Seresin

-> It was supposed to be Hangman. And if you could go back in time? You’d let it be him. Without a shadow of a doubt.

Day Seventeen: [My Future & Past Javy Machado

-> You left Javy at the altar three years ago. In that time he put him back together again and moved on. But what happens when you show up in North Island looking to apologise for your actions.

Day Eighteen: [Lessons in Love & War] Bradley Bradshaw

-> On one of your first shifts back at work after the events of ToE. Odette is plagued with an illness that sends her to the emergency room with a very panicked Bradley Bradshaw.

Day Nineteen: [Never Good Enough] Mickey Garcia

-> People always leave Fanboy. He goes through pilots like chump change. Is it him? Is he the problem? What happens when one of the many times you’ve tried to console your husband when his demons become to brutal?

Day Twenty: [The Secrets We Keep] // Jake Seresin

-> A Father, Son & The Holy Shit Blurb. You and Jake argue over the practicality of your entanglement. Suddenly you feel like you have nowhere to run, or hide.

Day Twenty One: [Goodbye, Goodbye] // Jake Seresin

-> Jake & Amilia have been trying for a year, when they do fall pregnant it leads to a much bigger discovery and an even bigger heart heartbreak.

Day Twenty Two: [Before You & After You] Mickey Garcia:

-> Fanboys got a crush on the knew Hard Deck Barkeep. But when he’s still getting over the traumatic loss of his wife, crushes and new beginnings aren’t always so ease. (A Jekyll & Hyde backstory)

Day Twenty Three: [Sun & Moon] // Jake Seresin & Bradley Bradshaw:

-> Jakes got a secret he’s keeping close to his chest almost as close as he’s keeping you. Bradley comes face to face with a demand he can’t comprehend, but he doesn’t have a choice.

Day Twenty Four: Flight Deck Prologue

-> In an attempt to prevent Bob from running for the hills believing you’re a murderer. You sit him down to discuss your past.

~ Complete ~

#Leahs whumptober #Leahs whumptober Masterlist #AIlessWhumptober2023

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aggro-my-beloved · 23 days

Text

Trash Polka (AsherxBabe)

note: this hasn’t been fully looked over/edited so if you notice my mistakes just pretend you don’t. k thx.

summary: *doodles that a person draws on themselves will appear on their soulmate’s skin* [babe is tired of wearing hoodies in summer, and leggings in the spring. but their soulmate seems too caught up in his career to mind leaving little notes and drawings on their skin, rather than revealing himself. babe DOESN’T take matters into their own hands, but they soon won’t be covered by a mod-podge of their soulmate’s scribbles. one can hope, at least.]

pairing(s): AsherxBabe (romantic), AsherxDavid (platonic)

warning(s): none

word count: 1.4k

estimated reading time: 7 mins

taglist: @ther3alsweetheart @darlin-collins @professionallyyappinabtangst @elles-roses @ashertickler mwah

“GLOVES AGAIN? IT’S A HUNDRED degrees outside.” Katherine quips from her desk. As usual, Babe’s morning is all swearing and stumbles through the office building as they don a more than modest collection of clothing.

“I think it’s a hundred and one, actually.” Vinny chortles from his cubicle. Since turning down his invitation to be his plus one at the office holiday party the year prior, he’s been more prone to poke fun at them. Babe illustrates the smirk tugging at his lips and fantasizes ripping it clean off his visage while preparing for another busy morning. Bag strap on the back of their chair. The largest iced coffee Starbucks could provide them on the ceramic coaster gifted by Katherine, which reads some motivational slogan Babe would be caught dead uttering in any unironic fashion.

“I still don’t know how you manage to work like that.” Their colleague’s tone is the perfect balance of judgment and concern; a siren song can draw the most taboo answers from anyone she crosses paths with. Babe is aware of this, and yet they still respond. Katherine is approachable, but isn’t as prone to flapping her lips compared to others who lurk in the office.

“I told you before, Kat, I get cold easily. Low iron, and stuff.” Babe clears their throat and wiggles their chair closer to the computer before them. A few minutes pass, and they flicker their eyes between the two cubicles on either side of them, harboring a yapping Vinny on his phone, and Katherine engrossed in her bookkeeping tasks. Babe’s movement is subtle as they sink lower in their chair, and stretch their arms beneath their desktop to flick on the fan to its highest setting. Another glance back and forth. More nonsense gabs from Vinny. Even more sounds of filing papers from Katherine. They are sandwiched in a personal hell, but the heavy dress pants and turtleneck strangling their figure may be to blame for that.

Relieving wool gloves from their hands has grown to be an orgasmic experience for Babe. One of the few things they miss about working remotely is the pleasure of joining video meetings half-naked, and feel content with the fact that their colleagues are none the wiser about what their lower half is lacking. In this office full of prying eyes and passive-aggressive chatter, though, the simple act of baring their hands fills them with equal amounts of pleasure and shame of a lambasted stripper.

Babe’s eyes cascade over the swoops and strikes of black ink on skin, written in their spoken language but still holding no significant meaning—the lines embedded in their palm act as lines on ruled paper.

Sm Tourn @ Davey’s Fri 8

Buy milk, almost out

DO NOT DRINK MILK IN FRIDGE!

For whatever reason, the person who left these notes for themself also found it apropos to doodle a smiley face below the crease of their thumb. Babe stiffens at the tickling sensation on their opposite hand and draws their attention toward the writing slowly appearing on it. It’s messier than chicken scratch with some typos, like every other message this person leaves for them to discover, but Babe’s witnessed these messages long enough to decode them, or at the very least, try to.

The first time their parents discovered the writing on their skin, it couldn’t have come at a worse time. They were freshly tween, overflowing with naivety and curiosity, and they assumed their anonymous messenger was too. Babe’s father clocked them at the dinner table and demanded they show him their hand, where a “naughty” word written in bold lettering was spelled out on four out of five of their knuckles. Any excuse Babe mustered in that moment would have been a lie because they were still clueless as to how random notes appeared on their skin, or who the person writing them was.

They chalked it off as a word they heard from their classmates, but it didn’t satisfy their parents in the slightest. Babe missed a whole week's worth of Pokémon and Spongebob on the family television and held that grudge for as long as they could remember. But with no face or name to target their anger towards, they learned that stewing was pointless. Soapy water was the obvious solution in Babe’s mind. Just scrub hard enough and there would be no proof, right? Wrong. Whatever mystical power is embedded in this ink, or Babe’s skin, allows it to last twenty-four hours when fighting against soap, stain sticks, or even concealer. From that point on, Babe wrestled themselves into floor-length bottoms and long-sleeves up until high school graduation.

They’ve struggled falling asleep at night, trying to view this anomaly as a “gift”. Nobody else they’ve come across has poorly drawn Star Trek characters or names of midwest emo bands littering their epidermis like a composition notebook. Not to mention the person distributing these excerpts of their life–who are they? Do they know they’re capable of something like this? Do they even know Babe exists, and ponders the consequences of this condition in their life, and cries at the reminder that they can never purchase that crop top on sale or be stared at walking down the beach with a sweatshirt on?

Babe is broken out of their spiraling thoughts by Madelyn’s request to fetch the mail from the lobby. They didn’t catch the particular reason, but their ears perked up at the words “big check we need to run.” Babe feels invisible strings urging their eyes to roll and fights them, seizing the pair of gloves and bustling towards the nearest elevator. Once upon a time, Babe would take any excuse to waltz down the seventeen flights of stairs to dilly dally. But that was before their thoughts became consumed with dying of heat stroke between concrete walls and cotton layers.

Babe finds solace in the empty elevator, and decides to savor the feeling of bare hands in every way imaginable by cracking their knuckles, reaching them up to the fluorescent lights of the lift and drenching their skin in the gleam. In seconds, they become clenched fists, clammy and unresponsive at the sound of quickly approaching steps and voice growing in volume.

“Look, I know I left the stove on. I’m sorry, buddy. It was just a little flare up...” In a panic, Babe reaches forward to jab the button to close the doors, and halts at the sight of their hand, covered in more scribbles than before. They reduce themself into the corner, hastily cloaking their hands with the gloves. Amidst putting on the second one, the voice introduces its body in the picture as it squeezes through the elevator doors right before they shut. His phone is situated between his ear and shoulder, as he shuffles through the large stack of paperwork between his hands.

His hands…

Look just like…

“Bye buddy, love you!” His blonde hair swishes against his forehead as he cranes his neck down to end the call. “He’s really trying to turn me into that guy who’s being super loud on their phone in the elevator.” While pocketing his phone, Babe’s eyes follow his hands, scribbled in black. He retrieves a pen from behind his ear, uncaps it with his mouth and lets the ballpoint make contact with his skin before he begins writing. Babe feels the familiar tickle, but is too in shock to respond. Halfway through his latest entry, he shakes the pen violently with a grunt. “Damn, this thing’s getting low on ink.”

Through his peripheral vision, the blonde peeks over at the second set of hands in the elevator, and notices some writing peeking out from the half-worn glove overtaking Babe’s left hand. “Another avid notetaker, I see. My friends can’t stand it when I write on my skin. They say it's a one way trip to ink poisoning. But it’s saving the trees, right?” Again, the nervous chuckle floats through the space, and then awkward silence. Babe’s lips remain parted in awe, too caught up in the current revelation to grab hold of anything as the elevator’s motor stutters and comes to a sudden halt. Before they could tumble to the floor, his coated hands caught them amidst their teetering. Blue eyes pooling with an intimidating level of concern, stare them down.

“Aw man, I think the elevator got stuck. Hey, are you alright?” The eyes flicker down, and the man appears to harbor the same revelation as Babe when he further inspects the writing on their hand. At least, they thought…

“No way! You like Star Trek too?”

soulmate september schedule | main masterlist | abt author

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted shaw pack #redacted headcanons #redacted asher #redacted david #redacted baabe #redacted fluff #redacted fanfiction #redacted fanfic #redacted audio au #redacted audio imagine

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archieimagines · 2 years

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Imagine patching up Geralt after a hunt.

warnings: contains blood and injury! written by: jesse requests for Geralt and friends are open!

You've heard stories about witchers for as long as you can remember. The adventures they've had, the monsters they've slain, and the people they've saved. But also how unnatural they were, as no one was born a witcher but created. Whispers about how witchers are just like the monsters they kill would pop up in your village.

You weren't sure what to believe until the day you met one.

A very anxious bard had stumbled into your home carrying his silver hair friend with an arm struggling to support the other man's weight. If it weren't for the situation, you would've found it comical at the time. But as the village healer, you had gone to work, and from that day on, the White Wolf had been a recurring patient.

Geralt of Rivia was the first and only witcher to come your way, but about every year or so, he'd come back with a new wound for you to patch up. You'd come to enjoy his company, and despite the talk of your village, he was certainly no monster.

"Tell me, what was the beast that brought you to my home tonight?" You asked curiously, weaving your needle through the wound on the witcher's bare shoulder and carefully wiping away blood.

He craned his neck slightly, and his yellow eyes cut toward you. "A Bruxa. A kind of vampire that drains blood from men. They're always female."

You nodded without losing focus on fixing up his wound. "Sounds scary. Seeing that you're currently with me, I'd say you've killed the Bruxa. Though she got you pretty good, I don't think there'll be a scar."

"Scars don't bother me."

"I'm aware. You've got plenty on you." You chuckled, motioning to the few on his toned back. From what you've observed over the years that you've known the monster hunter, Geralt had many variations scattered on his body. Some older and some fresher than others, but you could see that he was very battle worn.

Geralt gave you a grunt in response just as you got in the last stitch. From every encounter you’ve had with him, it seemed that he had an excellent pain tolerance. You supposed that was due to his background as a witcher.

"That should do it! You probably won't take my advice, but do take it easy with the hunting. I wouldn't want you to rip a stitch," You reached over to a shelf, grabbed a vial containing a blue liquid, and handed it to him. "Though this should help with any discomfort. Drink a small sip of this when any pain starts acting up."

The witcher opened it and scrunched up his nose in disgust at the scent. "What's in it?"

You put your hands on your hips and laughed. "Nothing that'll kill you, I promise."

Geralt raised a brow at you before stuffing it into his trousers pocket. You shook your head at him and went over and plopped down in your chair, feeling your back relaxing after being hunched over sewing stitches in your patient.

"You should stay the night," You advised, looking back over at him. "It's rather late out, and I'm sure both you and Roach are exhausted from your journey."

Geralt raised a brow, and a faint smirk appeared on his chiseled features. "I'm surprised you remembered his named."

"With a name like that for a horse? How could anyone forget," You snorted, lifting your feet on the stool before you. "Besides, I think we trust each other enough not to steal or kill each other in our sleep, hm?"

The silver-haired man paused in thought for a moment before nodding. "I'll take you up on that offer, but just the night." He assured, gabbing his shirt and pulled it over his head.

Your eyes couldn't help but linger on his muscular build as he stretched. You've seen quite a bit of his physique, though never really looked. Blinking, you quickly averted your gaze and got up to your feet.

You scolded yourself for thinking like that towards Geralt. He was your patient and a good friend. That isn't any way to behave.

"You can have my parents' room just down the hall. It's plenty suited for you, and I'm just across if your wounds reopen or you even lack sleep." You assured him with a smile.

Geralt returned the smile, and you felt your face flush but blamed it on the fireplace. "You're too kind."

"It's no trouble," You waved your hand and chuckled sheepishly, hoping not to humiliate yourself in front of him. "I'm only being a good healer and host. Have a good night, Geralt of Rivia,"

You nodded towards him, and the witcher left you to yourself with a returning gesture. You let out the breath you didn't realize you were holding, and wondered what had come over yourself just then.

#geralt imagine #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher imagine #the witcher x reader #witcher imagine #witcher x reader #requests open #written by jesse

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light-yaers · 1 year

Text

Take Care: Chapter Three

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

A/N: Have another one because I can’t stand not posting chapters when I have them written. Thanks for all the love, seriously! Absolutely insane that this has blown up so fast. I’ve written 30k in a week. God damn.

Word Count: 7.7k+

Chapter Three

“Fast and painless, right?” you said, looking at Roy. The two of you stood at the end of the red carpet, before the entrance to the charity ball. Paparazzi yelled at players on the carpet, snapping pictures incessantly.

“That’s the plan. I’ve been doing this for too fucking long. Trust me,” he replied, and just for that brief moment, you found that you trusted Roy Kent wholeheartedly. He stuck his arm out for you. “Come on.”

You laid your hand on his forearm, slinking it together with his own, until you were secure. Roy peered down at you subtly, just for a second, before he started walking. You had no choice but to follow him and match his pace. The two of you booked it down the red carpet, ignoring the sudden flashes of cameras, and the way they were practically begging Roy for a photo.

“No, no, no, no,” he whittled off, and when that didn’t work, he transitioned to, “Fuck off! Fuck off! Fuck off! Fuck off!”

Inside, it was much more subdued. You were thankful for Roy’s support beforehand, even if you felt so fucking silly now that you’d made it. People mingled happily, shaking each other’s hands in introduction. It was easier than you expected. You sat at a table with the guys, alongside Ted and Keeley. Roy placed two beers in front of you, before he dropped down into the seat next to yours with a sigh.

“Made it in one piece,” he said, picking up a beer and bringing it to his lips.

“I’ll definitely be using that method in future,” you replied.

“What, when you become a professional footballer?”

You scoffed. “Exactly.”

You all quietened when Rebecca took the stage. She looked positively frazzled, but you couldn’t deny that she still held such a presence over a room. You admired her, truthfully. Taking over the football club, ignoring whatever shit the tabloids wrote about her, still taking charge where she could.

As she welcomed everyone to the charity ball, a sinking feeling hit your gut in the form of a man in a white fucking suit. He waltzed into the room like he owned it, whispered hello’s to people who recognised him. Suddenly, it was as if no one was listening to Rebecca, instead replacing their gazes onto the man in white, who chose to stand directly in the centre of the room.

“Rebecca, darling!” he announced suddenly, and that’s when your face soured.

Rebecca stopped, frozen. “Rupert,” she said, gobsmacked.

As they kept up their back and forth, you leaned closer to Roy. He shot you a side-eyed glance, taking in the utter confusion on your face. “Who the fuck is that?” you asked him in a whisper.

“Fucking hell,” Roy whispered in reply. “You don’t even know who that is?”

You shrugged, catching his eye. “I told you, I know fuck all.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Roy let out. “That’s Rupert bloody Mannion. Ex-owner of Richmond, and–”

“Rebecca’s ex-husband,” you finished his sentence, before grimacing to oblivion. You’d never seen his face until now, and you silently thanked some god out there that you hadn’t. “I think he’s the biggest sleaze I’ve ever fucking seen.”

Roy choked on his drink loudly, alerting the room to his presence suddenly. Rupert stopped gabbing over Rebecca’s speech to look at his old team Captain, and let out a sickening chuckle. You elbowed Roy in his ribs abruptly, and he looked up instantly.

“Is that Roy Kent?” Rupert asked, projecting his voice around the room. He spread his arms out in welcome. “Oh, how good it is to see your face! And the rest of you boys, too.” He addressed the rest of the table, strolling closer to all of you.

The guys stayed where they were, silent and glued to their seats. You, however, wished you could leave immediately.

“I swear, Roy,” you whispered frantically, as Rupert continued to approach. “If this man so much as looks at me I’m going to whack him in the–”

“And do my eyes deceive me, Roy, or is that a lovely lady that you’ve brought with you?” Rupert continued. You wanted to vomit.

Quickly, you looked to Rebecca on stage. She was utterly frozen, dealing with both the shock and anger of having Rupert arrive out of the blue, only to upstage her in the middle of her welcome speech. You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that Rupert was a narcissistic piece of shit, just from one bloody look. You’d been around men enough to spot a red flag in a sea of blue and red Richmond shirts.

Roy straightened himself out, as Rupert placed his hand on the top of his chair. He peered down at the pair of you, smiling in a way that could only be described as utterly disgusting.

“Rupert,” Roy said plainly, ignoring his prior question. You kept your eyes forward, ignoring the sickening look that Rupert was flicking between yourself and Roy.

“Nice to see you again, Captain.” He slammed his hand down on Roy’s shoulder once, before he went back to addressing the entire room.

You let out a pent up breath that you didn’t realise you’d been holding. Beside you, Roy relaxed back into his seat the further Rupert walked from your table. At the same time, the both of you reached for your beers. You both downed the remainder of your bottles, dropping them, utterly empty, back onto the tabletop afterwards.

“Another beer?” Roy asked, and you got his message immediately. He was saying let’s get the fuck out of here.

“Please.” You stood immediately, not giving a shit when you sauntered past Rupert, with Roy on your tail.

The two of you stayed at the bar until things had died down, which by all accounts, was a long fucking time. The room had gone back to its normal level of stardom, and Rebecca had managed to finish the rest of her welcome address. A few empty bottles covered the bar where you and Roy stood, gabbing away as if you were at the fucking pub, instead of at a prestigious charity event.

You clutched your fingers over your mouth, trying to hold in a colossal laugh. In front of you, Roy kept digging deeper into the story he was telling you, and it was only making it worse. You were laughing so hard that you were sure you’d burst, and when you got a few seconds of peace to glimpse at him, you were happy to see the smallest curl of a smile on his lips, too. You’d been talking about boy bands for an hour and found yourself thinking– if it stayed like this for the rest of the night, then you’d be happy.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you burst finally, letting the last of your agonising chuckles trickle from your mouth. You clutched your middle, feeling the welcomed pain of too much laughter. “I used to be a massive fan of them growing up, you know?”

“One Direction?” Roy questioned, almost like he was offended, until he skidded his eyes down you quickly. “Oh, well, that makes sense. You were a teenage girl at one point, surely?”

You scoffed, actually offended. “What do you mean surely?” you let out. “Incase you forgot already, Roy, I do happen to be a woman.”

“No fucking waaaay,” he breathed out, faking amazement. “That’s insane.”

A few trickles of laughter erupted between the two of you, but were abruptly cut off by a flustered Rebecca. She bombarded towards the bar, as if on a warpath. “The auction is in a minute, Roy. Back to your seats,” she directed, leaving both of you with a scolded look upon your faces.

“The auction?” you asked. “I had no idea you were such an… art curator.”

Roy picked up two new beer bottles, as the two of you started heading back to your table. “It’s not a bloody art auction.”

“What kind of auction is it, then?”

As if on cue, Rupert emerged onto the stage to a round of applause from the audience. You couldn’t help your scowl, but you perked up when you saw Jamie follow him onto the stage. “Now, now, it’s time for the best event of the night– the auction! And first up, we have none other than Richmond striker, number nine, Jamie Tartt!” Rupert announced, and your quizzical look turned into full on disgust.

As you and Roy sat back down, you erupted. “Are you fucking kidding me? They’re auctioning off you guys?”

“It’s a tradition,” Keeley said, though she didn’t look any more impressed as you.

“Oh, sorry. It’s just when someone says charity that doesn’t usually bring trafficking to mind.” You leaned back in your chair and crossed your legs. Roy handed you a beer, but you were so annoyed that you didn’t even think to thank him.

“Shall we start the bidding off at one thousand pounds?” Rupert continued, and an all-out bidding war began– just not with Keeley.

For a moment, it was only an older woman who was interested, but when a different woman- younger, blonder, fitter– got involved, Keeley could barely contain her anger. She cleared her throat, looking at you sternly. “Not fucking today,” she said, before she raised her own paddle. “Five thousand pounds!” she bid.

“Eight thousand!” the blonde behind her said, and all it did was piss Keeley off further.

“Ten!” Keeley said.

“Eleven,” the other woman said.

It was constant, and as stressful as it was sat next to Keeley herself, Jamie was lapping up the fight for himself on stage. He stuck his tongue out arrogantly, taking in the bidding war with nothing less than the smile that he wore on the pitch, right after scoring a goal.

“This is vile,” you commented, and Roy perked his brow at you.

“Even worse when you think about her,” Roy added, pointing to the older woman who had been adamant to snag Jamie for herself. “She wins me every year, and each date has been worse than the fucking last. I had to leave her on the street in Hammersmith last time, ‘cause she’d booked us a cab to go back to hers for dessert.”

You grimaced. “You’re footballers, not fucking escorts.” For a second, Roy casually contemplated a career as an escort. He shrugged, almost like he didn’t mind. You scowled immediately. “I hate this.”

When Jamie’s bidding war finally ended, going to Keeley for a steep fifteen thousand, Roy readied himself to go on stage. He did up the middle button of his jacket and cleared his throat, before he stood. You had the strangest urge to protest, to stand up and say that this was all fucking weird, but you kept your mouth shut.

When Jamie returned to the table, Keeley was sharp with him. The blonde sat behind you had obviously got to her, and for good reason. You didn’t know the extent of Keeley and Jamie’s relationship, but you knew them individually, and that was enough to know that Keeley definitely deserved more. You could appreciate his talent, his skill, his work ethic, but the way Jamie Tartt treated people didn’t match up.

You peered back at the older woman; she licked her lips as Roy made his way onstage. It made you feel somewhere between sick and angry. “Next up is Richmond’s Captain, number six, you all know and love him– Roy Kent!” Rupert announced, and Roy reluctantly took the stage.

“God, don’t let her bloody win,” you muttered, and Keeley let out a small laugh beside you.

“She’s always on a rampage,” she said, smiling, but you saw a glint in her eyes– she was hurt, and Jamie had done fuck all to make her feel any better.

“Shall we start the bidding off at–?”

“Five thousand pounds!” the older woman interrupted Rupert, booming her shrill voice over the room.

Onstage, Roy mouthed fucks sake. On Keeley’s other side, Jamie started laughing. You wanted to whack him because of his overly obnoxious behaviour, but instead settled on rolling your eyes. Keeley froze next to you, and you felt like something was brewing within her.

“Five thousand going once,” Rupert said. “Going twice!”

“Six thousand!” Keeley erupted suddenly, and you snapped your gaze onto her.

You weren’t naive. As Keeley and the older woman got into another bidding war, you knew exactly why she was getting involved with Roy’s auction. It was to piss off Jamie. She wanted to spite him by bidding on Roy– his obvious fucking enemy. You let out a silent groan, sending up a prayer to whoever was listening for this shit to end. It was like you’d been sat at a table for secondary school kids instead of professional athletes.

“Eight thousand!” the older woman said.

“Ten thousand pounds!” Keeley yelled louder, and that was your last straw.

Quickly, you grabbed her by her bicep. “Keeley,” you whispered harshly. “Stop it. This is childish. And this isn’t fucking fair on Roy.”

Keeley turned to you, looking thoroughly chastised. It took her a moment, but when she breathed out, you saw her true nature return. “Yeah,” she said sullenly. “You’re right.” She sighed, and put her paddle down. Sending an angry look at Jamie, she got up and left the table.

“Eleven thousand!” the older woman countered.

Rupert perked his brow. “Oh? Is that it, then? Eleven thousand going once…”

You peered over at Jamie, who didn’t look happy at all. The atmosphere on the table had dropped significantly, but you were just glad that it was almost over.

“Eleven thousand going twice!” Rupert continued, and you looked towards Roy onstage.

He caught your eye as you looked towards him, and there was something that switched within you. Almost instantly, you held the determination of your whole table– all of whom were tired of being paraded around and bought, even if it was for fucking charity. You weren’t going to let the old bat win another year in a row.

You stood up quickly, grabbing your paddle and raising it to the sky. “Twelve thousand pounds!”

Rupert’s grin was practically off the charts. “Oh, we have a new bidder! Twelve thousand for the Richmond Captain!”

“Thirteen thousand!” the oldie hit back.

“Fourteen!” You peered back at her, shooting her a death stare.

“Fifteen!”

“Sixteen!”

She stood up, her knees creaking as she did so. “Eighteen thousand!”

“Eighteen thousand for Richmond’s Captain!” Rupert exclaimed over the mic.

You hesitated just for a moment, before taking another look at Roy. He must know you didn’t actually have eighteen fucking grand to give away. He must know that you were only doing this to save him from another god awful date with that geriatric nymphomaniac.

You smacked your hand on the tabletop suddenly, scaring Jamie out of his skin. “Twenty-five thousand!” you practically screamed it, and in response garnered a huge round of applause and cheers from the other guests.

“Twenty-five going once!” Rupert said, and the oldie behind you finally started to falter. “Going twice!” he added, as tension stuck itself to every corner of the fucking room. “Gone!”

The crowds erupted even further, with a few actually coming up to shake you by the hand afterwards. Rupert’s laughter reverberated around the entire hall, and when you looked at Roy, you were happy to see relief all over his face.

Rupert whacked a hand down on Roy’s shoulder. “Well, well, well, Mr. Kent,” he began. “It seems to me that you’ve found yourself a real keeper.”

As the hall died down to a better level, Roy returned to the table. Ted and Rebecca had disappeared off somewhere, and you were biting back the adrenaline that coursed throughout your whole body. You could see now why people got hooked on gambling.

Roy sank into the seat next to yours, picked up his beer and downed the contents. When he put the empty bottle back on the table, he leaned closer to you. “I’m assuming that I’m forking up twenty-five grand, right?”

“Yep,” you said immediately. You gulped back your own beer, copying him by placing your empty bottle next to his.

“Another beer?” he asked, and you sent him a surprised look. You’d just forced him into giving up twenty-five grand, all to avoid a bad date, and he didn’t seem angry in any way.

“Why aren’t you pissed at me?” you asked.

Roy draped his arm over the back of your chair and crossed his legs comfortably. He leaned towards you, looking so relaxed now that you wouldn’t have been able to recognise the man he was on stage. “Do you want me to be pissed?”

“No,” you said, crossing your arms. “I was just wondering why not.”

“Because you just saved my fucking skin, that’s why,” Roy said.

“Yeah, and lost you twenty-five fucking grand, Roy,” you whispered harshly.

Roy scoffed. “I’m a fucking footballer.”

You shrugged. “Fair enough.” The two of you rose together, headed for the bar again, leaving Jamie and Keeley to their awkward silence.

The rest of the evening seemed to run smoothly, until the abrupt announcement that Robbie Williams was sadly not performing. You frowned from the bar, while Roy silently rejoiced by downing another beer. The atmosphere had mellowed to something you were better suited for, but that all went to shit when Jamie approached the bar. Keeley was nowhere to be found, but the immediate daggers that shot between Jamie and Roy were more than noticeable.

You tapped your nails against your beer bottle, waiting for either of them to speak first. It seemed to be a running theme, you noticed, that Jamie and Roy fucking hated one another. You could understand why– Jamie was overly arrogant, on and off the pitch. Roy had dealt with all kinds of people throughout his career, and simply didn’t have the tether to put up with them anymore.

“So,” Jamie broke the silence. “Twenty-five grand.”

Roy growled in reply. You took that as the perfect time to leave them to it. You headed to the bathroom, just from the sheer lack of where else to fucking go. You weren’t in the mood to mingle in the main hall, too afraid that Rupert would do the rounds once more. Opening the door to the bathrooms, you immediately found Rebecca and Keeley by the sinks.

“Oh!” you exclaimed. “Sorry. I was wondering where you’d both gone off to.”

Keeley turned to you first, and you instantly knew something was wrong. One glance at Rebecca confirmed the fact– something had definitely happened. “What’s wrong?” You placed a gentle hand on Keeley’s shoulder. “Jamie?” Keeley nodded sullenly. “You deserve more, Keeley. So much more.”

She smiled at you sadly, but there was a finality within her glistening eyes. She looked almost relieved, even though she hadn’t pulled the bandaid off yet. Secretly, you knew this would be a reality call for Jamie, too. Just because he was young and successful didn’t give him the right to treat others like dirt. Outside at the bar, you hoped Roy was saying the same, just not in a way that would start a fucking fight between them.

You headed to a stall, but stopped before you could shut the door. “For the record,” you said, turning back to the ladies. “Rebecca, you deserve more, too.” Rebecca’s face softened into something warm. “Even looking at Rupert made me feel like I needed to take a fucking shower.” Rebecca scoffed abruptly. She raised her martini to you, and you finally shut the stall door.

You had always been good at Irish goodbyes. It was one of your top skills, and had a close to one hundred percent success rate. At an event like this, you didn’t doubt it would also work wonders. After the bathroom, you glanced at the bar to find it empty of any footballers. That was a good enough cue to finally call it a night.

You left the venue, only to be hit by a crisp Richmond breeze. Immediately, you regretted not bringing a jacket. You knew it was a matter of time before it came to bite you in the arse, but you hadn’t been thinking before you’d jumped into Roy’s Jeep earlier. Another breeze rushed past you, making goosebumps prickle against your skin. “Fuuucking hell,” you muttered, descending the steps outside and trying to remember the way home.

You stood on the pavement, looking left and right, trying to gauge where in Richmond you actually were. Your bare arms shook as another breeze hit you, but they were relieved when something warm draped over them without warning.

Peering behind you, you caught the sight of Roy’s strong jawline. He finished draping his jacket over you, before he stuck his hands in his pockets and stood next to you.

“You just ruined it,” you let out, sighing. “I was trying to sneak out without anyone noticing.”

Roy perked his brow at you. “You fucking failed, then. And, by the looks of it, would have frozen to death on the fucking spot if it weren’t for me.”

“And I saved you from a borderline unethical date with a geriatric millionaire, who only wanted to jump your fucking bones,” you hit back with.

“Yeah, you did,” Roy acknowledged. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

You shrugged. “I figured it was better me, over her or Keeley.”

“You can fucking say that again.” Roy scuffed his feet on the pavement.

“I told her to knock it off,” you said. “It’s not fun when you get unwillingly involved in someone else’s relationship problems.”

“You sound like you’re talking from experience, there.” Roy peered down at you questioningly.

You scoffed, looking back at him playfully. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Oh, really? Care to tell me on the walk home?” he asked, sneaking in a quick ask about walking home together in the process.

A wall of caution sprung up within you. It dawned on you then that you’d spent the entire evening with Roy, tied at the fucking hip. He’d bought all your drinks, comforted you before arriving, driven you here, and was the very reason you’d been invited in the first place. Sure, you were a bit drunk, but not too drunk to realise that this wasn’t exactly casual.

You felt like you knew Roy well enough to know he wasn’t anything but decent, but he was also a professional footballer. His face was present in tabloids twice a week, with stories ranging from women, to messy nights out that people had somehow photographed without him knowing. There was a fine line between colleagues and friends, and an even finer line between colleagues and whoops, we just fell into bed together, didn’t we? You didn’t want to cross that line to oblivion.

That’s what you kept in mind as the two of you stumbled home. Roy’s jacket did make a world of difference, and when you slotted your arms through the sleeves they went past your fingertips. The two of you navigated Richmond neighbourhoods, commenting on the big fucking houses down Roy’s road.

“That one is far too bougie,” you said, pointing at a mansion that was entirely glass-fronted. “It’s literally a stalker's dream. From a high up window you’d be able to see every fucking thing that went on inside.”

“Sounds like you’re talking from experience about that, too,” Roy said, smiling at his own dig subtly.

“Oh, you caught me,” you said, melodramatically clutching a hand to your chest. “I’m Richmond’s biggest mansion stalker. I see a house made completely from glass and orgasm on the spot.”

Roy huffed through his nose, amused. “Who are your targets? Billionaires? Lawyers? Footballers?”

“Depends,” you said. “Is your house made completely out of glass?”

“Fuck no,” Roy said. “I do have a skylight above my bed, though.”

“Damn,” you said. “I’ll have to expand my stalking to drone footage, too.”

“Sounds like a good investment,” Roy added, before he peered down at you. You took a moment to look up at him, too, and shared a smile with one another. Inside your head, you were screaming at yourself about the wall you’d erected earlier.

Roy stopped walking suddenly, and you let out a small squeak as you tried to stop at the same time as him. It was clear you’d both drunk a lot, but it was all in good fun. “This is me,” Roy said then, pointing to the house before you.

Your eyes widened immediately. Before you stood a huge house, decorated with bushes and a large blossom tree out front. You felt the absence of his Jeep in the driveway, but it allowed for you to see the massive front door– made from solid oak, with a shining knocker right in the centre. It was easily three storeys high, and through one of the large windows, you caught a glimpse of a framed football shirt. This was definitely Roy Kent’s house.

“Fuck me,” you said involuntarily. Roy actually scoffed, which was a different kind of shock entirely. “You weren’t kidding about it being one of the big, fuck off houses, then.”

“Why would I lie about having a great fucking house?”

“No, no. I’m not judging here,” you said, keeping your gaze on the building before you. “You’re right. That’s a great fucking house.”

There was a moment of silence that settled over the two of you, only made more intense by the light of the moon, and the utter lack of stars that graced the sky in London. You sucked in a deep breath as you looked back at Roy, only to find his gaze on you already. You smiled, he smiled back subtly, and your gut lurched within you.

Roy shuffled on his spot, before clearing his throat. “Wanna come in for a drink?”

There was a feeling that descended upon you, one that was not at all mature and one hundred percent giddy. You’d been in this position multiple times, but with Roy it felt different. He was your work colleague, for starters, and that wall that you’d forced yourself to build was still erected, as much as a part of you was trying to knock it down with a fucking sledgehammer.

You sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s waaay past ten-thirty,” you let out.

“Ah,” Roy said, catching on immediately. “I forgot you were a boring uni student.”

“Boring masters student. But, yes.” You took a small step back, fully cementing that you wouldn’t be joining him for another drink this evening. “Another time,” you added, simply because you wanted to grab a drink with Roy in future. You didn’t want to ward him off, or make him feel like you were rejecting him, as much as that would be okay, too.

Roy shot you an expression he’d never shown you before. It wasn’t blunt, so to say, but it wasn’t sweet, either. It was some form of middle ground. It told you that he understood, but also reassured you that this wasn’t a big deal. It was crazy how much of an expression interpreter you became when you weren’t bloody sober.

“Another time,” Roy repeated after a moment. Gently, you started taking off his jacket, but he waved at you in dismissal. “Keep it for the walk home,” he said.

You huffed at him, but did as you were told. “Thank you,” you let out.

Roy nodded, as you took another step back. “See you on Monday?” you asked rhetorically.

“See you on Monday,” he confirmed.

You took another step back, almost stumbling into the road. Roy lurched forward quickly, just in case he needed to grab you and stop you from falling flat on your face, but you stabilised yourself. Flustered, you let out a breathy chuckle. Laughter echoed down his fancy as fuck road, before disappearing into the crisp night.

You sent one final smile Roy’s way, before you finally swivelled on your heels, headed for your road a bit further down. Roy slowly stepped towards his front door, keeping a watchful eye on you as you tread further down the road.

“Goodnight,” he let out, raising his voice a bit to reach you down the street.

You turned back to him, walking backwards for a few paces. “Goodnight!” you replied, waving your arm wildly in the air at him.

When you faced forward again, you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. Nothing would come from this, you told yourself, but it didn’t stop it from feeling nice. Having a genuinely pleasant night with someone that you’d never– in a million fucking years– thought you’d gel with, was oddly fulfilling. When you thought back to the month before, it made you want to cackle maniacally to yourself. It was funny, wasn’t it? How things could change so fast, how they could evolve into you having a really great fucking evening with someone you previously couldn’t stand to be around, let alone talk to.

You pulled off your shoes when you arrived home, ready to utterly collapse into bed. Your phone dinged in your clutch before you could. You picked it up, utterly surprised to see a text from Roy waiting for you.

Get home safe.

You replied simply.

I did.

Roy replied instantly.

Good.

You thought that would be it, dropping your phone onto your bed as you went to strip off your clothes. Heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed, you shut the door behind you. Roy texted you again, one that you wouldn’t see until you woke up in the morning.

Sleep well.

A week later, as you sat in the owners box next to Keeley and Rebecca, your heart was in your throat. As Ted bombarded down the steps back to the field, you were in the same boat as everyone in wondering why– Ted had decided to bench Jamie Tartt for the rest of the game, despite him scoring a goal for Richmond not two minutes before.

Rebecca looked slightly shaken, but there was also an underlying happiness to her mood. You noticed that she acted odd, sometimes. Such as when Richmond were doing well, she would join in with fake enthusiasm. When they were doing terribly, it was customary to find her with a smile stamped all over her face. It was the same one she showed now, as Ted made a show of benching Jamie, and the home crowd at the Dogtrack exploded.

Jamie Tartt was pissed off. He was seething as he went to sit down, and went as far as kicking one of the chairs for the rest of the team reserves. You winced when you saw it, alongside hundreds of other fans, but that’s when you chose to look over to Roy.

He was on the pitch with his hands on his hips, and an oddly calm expression stamped on his face. Within you, you silently relaxed. You knew that if Roy wasn’t freaking out, then he understood Lasso’s reasons for what he’d done. You leaned back in your seat casually, causing a flustered Keeley to peer at you.

“What are you so bloody relaxed for? Jamie’s going to burn this place to the fucking ground.” She turned back to the pitch, watching the remaining two minutes of extra time before half time. Despite breaking up with the ace at the charity ball, Keeley still knew Jamie through and through.

You leaned forward and pointed to the pitch. “There,” you said, and Keeley followed your finger. “Look at Roy. He’s the calmest I’ve ever seen him on the pitch.”

“Yeah, because his arch nemesis has just been benched,” Keeley said.

“No, no. As much as Roy hates him, I know he’d be equally as fucked off and confused if Lasso had pulled Jamie for no reason. But, look, he’s absolutely fine.”

Keeley turned to you. “So, you think it was the right decision?”

You shrugged. “I don’t fucking know. All that I know is that, when I’m confused, I look at Roy’s reaction. I go with whatever emotion he’s sending into the void, and somehow it all just works out fine.”

Keeley leaned back slightly, looking at you in confusion. “It’s like you guys are telepathic, or something.” She snapped her head towards Roy again. “That’s fucking amazing.”

Over the next few weeks, things start feeling like home to you. Two months down the line and it was as if you’d known the guys for years. It was normal for you to join them for team nights out, and normal for them to poke their heads around your office door from time to time. Every time you passed the gym, or the locker room, or the pitch, there would always be at least one lad who spotted you. He’d wave, and that would alert everyone else to your presence, until all of them had waved at you in greeting.

Roy was the same, but in his own way. Since the charity ball, it was clear that there was something there, no matter how small. There was a shared understanding between the two of you that was larger than what you had with the rest of the team. You couldn’t explain it, not even when you dedicated time to try and work out what it was.

You still had his jacket at home, up on the peg by your door, just waiting to be returned. There was something that halted you from dropping it around to him, however, and Roy hadn’t brought it up since the month before, either. There was some unspoken thing about it, you felt, that travelled back to when you’d both said another time.

Maybe that was it, hm? When that inevitable another time happened, you’d return the jacket then. But for now, it offered you a gentle reminder of Roy fucking Kent everytime you entered or left your flat. It was odd to think about it, but you saw everyone at Richmond most days of the week. Weekends were reserved for friends and family, naturally, but on a dull Saturday night you often found yourself with the urge to call one of the guys and see what they were up to.

Was this what having attachment issues felt like? You fucking hoped not.

Jamie had been off with everyone since Ted benched him. He was ruder, and more disrespectful, often showing up late for practice or leaving early without warning. To the team, he was still arrogant and self-serving; even more so towards Roy. Ted’s attempts at laying a stable groundwork with Tartt hadn’t seemed to stick, and everyone had been feeling it.

That was made worse by the arrival of a new striker by the name of Dani Rojas. Jamie had already been pushed into the proverbial corner, and when Dani showed off his moves on the pitch for the first time, it was clear that they were on par with each other. You spent those first few days confined to your office, trying to avoid the lot of them and miss being within firing range of Tartt’s next tantrum.

Later on, after Jamie ditched another practice session, you checked your inbox to find an intriguing email. It was forwarded from the university, but originally from the Independent. You read it silently, and after you were done, you immediately went to find Keeley. Rebecca had recently set her up with a job doing PR for the club, which made your life exponentially easier. She was better at social media, at getting brand deals and the like. You were a writer, not a publicist. You entered the press room and found her sitting at her temporary desk.

She turned to you and smiled. “Hey, babe,” she said sweetly. “You okay?”

You sighed, taking a seat opposite her, on the front row. “The Independent is running a competition for all MA students in London. Writers, journalists, sports students, all of that,” you explained. “If we write an article about a sportsman or woman, it could get published in the paper, on the front page of the sports section.” You dragged your hands down your face when you’d finished, and Keeley let out a huff at her desk.

“Babes, that’s an amazing opportunity!” she exclaimed.

“I know,” you whined, and dropped your hands into your lap.

Keeley straightened in her chair, looking at you softly. “Is there any reason why you don’t seem particularly excited about it?”

You peered at her, and it clicked instantly. She returned your stare with a knowing look, one that was warm and gentle, one that understood. After that, she furrowed her brows and sent you a soft smile. It wasn’t often that people could read you so easily, and when Keeley did it, it only made you feel more connected to her.

She let out a sigh. “There’s no harm in asking him.” Roy. She meant Roy.

“No,” you said immediately. “I said I wouldn’t ask him about any of this shit anymore, even if it is a great opportunity for me. You know how much he hates it,” you said. “I suppose I could do it about Ted, but Trent Crimm wrote a great article for him last month. And the boys, I mean– Richmond are always in the paper and the tabloids. I feel like I wouldn’t be adding to their stories.”

“That’s why you want to write about Roy,” Keeley stated.

You leant forward, finally bursting. “Yes! I do! Roy’s career has been explosive and intriguing and heart-warming. His Chelsea days were legendary, and the way he’s captained Richmond has been second to none. Why would anyone not want to write about him?”

Keeley stood up slowly, rounding her desk to sit in the chair next to you. Gently, she placed her hands over your knuckles. “Just ask him.”

“I don’t know how to,” you let out.

“Tell him the truth,” she said. “Say this is a great opportunity for you, and you can make it as painless as humanly possible for him.”

“I mean, I wasn’t going to shadow him, or anything. I thought we’d go to the pub and talk for a few hours, really. It wasn’t going to be a proper interview.”

“That’s good,” Keeley said, squeezing your hands in approval. “Tell him that, too.”

“And if it all goes tits up?” you asked.

Keeley shrugged her shoulders, and let out a small laugh. “No one can know which way it’ll go with Roy. I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you’re thinking right now, though.”

It was then that the anxious pit in your stomach started to clear. You looked at Keeley with your eyes large and glassy. You wondered if she knew all the thoughts that were rushing through your brain about you and Roy– how the main reason for not wanting to ask him was about not wanting to fuck up the friendship you’d both stumbled into. Especially after how things had started, you didn’t want it all to revert to that hostile environment.

“Babes,” Keeley whispered, leaning closer to you. “I don’t think you realise how likeable you are. The guys love you, and the coaches. Roy fits into that box, too.” Her reassuring words sunk into your skin, until you finally felt at ease. “And me, obviously,” she added quickly.

You huffed. “Thanks, Keeley,” you whispered. She draped her arms around you then, and you rested your head on her shoulder. Sometimes, a hug was all you needed to feel grounded.

You went back to your office to find another book from Sam, on your desk. He wrote small post-its for you and stuck them on the covers of each one he gave, and you secretly kept them all in the bottom drawer of your desk. You sat down and huffed to yourself, picking up his newest pick. The post-it read– Truthfully, this one did make me cry. Tell me if you do, too.

You stuck the post-it onto the pile of others in your bottom drawer, before you placed the book on a small shelf to your right. Shuffling in your bag, you found your next book for him. It was like clockwork, and you loved that this was something you’d started up with him. You left your office and headed for the gym, knowing it was time for the guys to do their second work-out of the day.

When you arrived, you sent a quick wave to all the guys, before seeking out Sam. He was on the bike, pumping his legs hard as he kept up his heart rate. You approached him, and draped your arms over the top of the stationary handle-bars. He smiled at you hugely, and you hovered the book out before him. “Fantastic,” he said softly, taking it from your grasp. “I was waiting for the day you would share your favourite classics with me.” It was a copy of The Great Gatsby.

“Am I that predictable?” you asked.

“Very,” Sam let out.

You huffed, amused. “Well, enjoy it. I look forward to reading yours, too.”

Sam clutched the book to his heart in thanks, before you swivelled on your heels and headed back towards the door. On the way, you noticed Roy on the treadmill, doing his normal incline walk. Keeley’s words surged within you, and you told yourself not to chicken out. Now was as good a time as any to ask. It would save you the time it took to worry beforehand.

You let out a deep breath, before walking towards him. He peered down at you, as you turned yourself round to face him, and leaned against the windowsill before him. He perked one of his black, bushy brows at you. “Can I help you?” he asked. There was a running theme between you. Most of your conversations started with that same question.

“The Independent is running a competition for MA students in London. It’ll result in one of us having an article published, and run on the first page of the sports section.” You laid it all out for him, expecting him to shut you down immediately, but he stayed silent. “I know how you feel about this sort of thing, which is why I’d never force you into doing this for me, again. But…” You looked up at him strongly, almost pleadingly. “This is a great opportunity for me, Roy. I can’t just write about anyone, either.”

“Why not?” he asked. His voice croaked, like he was struggling to get them out.

“Because.” You shuffled on your spot, something that you did when you knew you were being openly vulnerable. “I want to write about you.”

Roy looked to his feet, rhythmically stomping upon the treadmill beneath him. You could hear the cogs in his brain turning and whining, and you instantly felt guilty. You didn’t want to put him on the spot, and you’d seen what he could be like when he was. You half expected him to tell you to fuck off, but he didn’t. He just kept looking at his feet, walking to nowhere.

You inhaled deeply, taking matters into your own hands. “Don’t worry about it,” you said, and Roy looked at you once more. “I just thought I’d ask. This isn’t compulsory, so don’t worry.” You smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back. Instead, his mouth dropped open like he wanted to say something, but simply couldn’t get the words out. “See you around, Roy.”

You made to leave quickly, not wanting to stick around. Innately, you cursed at yourself for even asking in the first place. Keeley was right about it not doing any harm, but all it had done was make you feel bad.

“Hold it!” Roy boomed suddenly, and you turned back to him abruptly. The guys in the gym stopped working out, and you felt your stomach drop once more. Roy switched off the treadmill and jumped to the floor. “Just the one article?” he asked.

You nodded, gaining back some of your composure. “Only one.”

“How many people compete in this thing?” he asked.

“Um.” You wracked your brain, trying to figure out the average. “A few hundred, at least.”

“So, there’s a high probability that you won’t win,” Roy said, and you widened your eyes. He didn’t mean it offensively, but it still stung a bit.

“Yes. Very high probability, actually,” you said smally, feeling a tad embarrassed now that he’d explained it that way.

Roy looked at the ground, before he caught your eye strongly. “Okay. I’ll do it.” You sucked in a sharp breath.

“Really?” you asked, taking a few steps towards him.

He nodded, letting out a small growl. You let out an excited squeal, before you rushed at him. You wrapped your arms around his neck in an impromptu hug, muttering thank you over and over again. To the rest of the guys, all they saw was the shocked expression on Roy’s face, and the way his arms were tense at his sides from surprise. He didn’t know what to do with himself, didn’t know whether to wrap his arms around you in response. You pulled away too fast for him to come to a conclusion, and he peered down at you as you started towards the door again.

In the door frame, you turned back to him one last time. “Seriously, Roy,” you let out. “Thank you.” You tried to fit as much genuine feeling within your words as you possibly could.

Roy’s face softened subtly. You sent a final smile at him, before you left and headed back to your office. The gym stayed awkwardly silent as the guys laid their eyes over a statuesque Roy. He balled his fists when it all got to be too much, and let out a guff “Fucking get back to work!” to break open the tension.

The lads restarted their work-outs immediately, acting as if nothing had happened whatsoever. Roy jumped back onto the treadmill and started his walk once more. Through the window in front of him, he saw the open door to your office. If he moved slightly to the left, he could catch a glimpse of you, sitting at your desk, writing frantically on your laptop– utterly beaming.

CHAPTER FOUR

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yandere-sins · 2 years

Text

Downfall

[My Commission Info] | [My Ao3] | [Ko-Fi]

a/n: I mean, I did kind of teaser this one, but I had it written and only now got to clean it up a bit. But yes, I just really want to be smooshed between yandere please, roughly and brutally okay thanks.

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairings: Yandere!Alhaitham x GN!AFAB!Reader x Yandere!Kaveh Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Blowjob/Throatfuck, Creampie, Masturbation, Non-/Dub-Con, Lots of juices, Rough fucking, Degradation, Praise, DP mention), Violence (Manhandling, Biting), Jealousy, Possessiveness, Punishment mention, Forced Relationship, Forced Feelings

The long fingers raking through your hair didn't make the pain in your throat any more endurable.

His touch, as gentle and praising as it was, did nothing to stop your drool from overflowing. Nothing to make his cock less long and his hips less enthusiastic about burying every inch of it inside you. Your tongue was just a helplessly lolling muscle underneath Alhaitham's instructions, all while his other hand was busy working on the table above you.

He was angry. Not at you, per se. Yet, you hated how you were his outlet, regardless of which emotion that man felt. Or… didn't. He still used you when he wasn't particularly stirred, but that was another story entirely. Kaveh must have really ticked him off that morning, though, as Alhaitham had barged into his room, pulling you out of Kaveh's soft and plush sheets while you were still dozing, and taken you to the Akademiya with him before his roommate could even notice you were gone.

Only for you to go through the horror you had to face every day but in a much less comfortable space. Once again, you were the punished one in their argument.

Once again, you suffered the consequences.

No matter how much he appreciated you forcing yourself to wrap your lips around his cock, Alhaitham never cared to wipe away your tears. He never asked how you felt, squeezed under his table, sucking him off as if your life depended on it (a partially true sentiment, as the air was getting thin with the massive blockage of his cock). He never even so much but cared to put you into proper clothes rather than the skimpy nightgown Kaveh liked to dress you in when he was in the mood for admiring the sight of you.

You were cold, uncomfortable, scared, and felt like an object while in Alhaitham's care. Not a good look for a man who still declared that what he felt for you was love while he locked you up in his home, forced you to study his texts so he'd have someone to talk about them with, and then bent you over and fucked you roughly whenever he saw fit. Even worse than that, at times, Alhaitham, completely captivated by his books or missions, just gave you up to his roommate without a second thought, as if you were a pet in need of a carer. The two had created something akin to a schedule, who got you when, a truly disturbing concept considering you were all adults. However, you questioned their sanity every day. And Kaveh was… perhaps even worse than the roommate currently relishing at the feel of you choking on his cock.

"Alhaitham."

Kaveh's voice emerged pressed through his teeth, anger boiling under his tongue. You didn't need to see him to know fury replaced his pupils, his joints cracking under restraint. Alhaitham let out the hint of a sigh, noticeable by how his cock pulled out at the intake of air, only to fill your throat again as he breathed out, the gentle fingers from before now turning tense as they gabbed into your hair to shift responsibilities. Instead of fucking his hips into your face, he was now bopping your head up and down, pitiful gurgles leaving you as you stained his pants with your drool and tears, though he was relentless. The peaceful quiet was disturbed, so it was time to get it over with.

He wasn't too harsh with guiding your head, but he wasn't careful either. And while your wrists strained in the cuffs behind your back, you tried to elevate yourself to make it less painful to take him in deep, even beyond your capabilities. It would be over soon. Now that Kaveh had appeared, there was no doubt Alhaitham would finish up quickly to eliminate any nuisances like his desperate needs or Kaveh's nagging. Marking you with his cum, which would linger as a taste on your lips and a smear down your thighs, was an additional pleasure for him to piss off his roommate.

"Where are they?" Kaveh demanded to know, and Alhaitham let a shuddering breath, his demands of you becoming rougher as he neared his orgasm. "How dare you just take them out without telling me!"

"They're busy today. They have obligations other than to humor your sick fantasies, Kaveh."

"Sick fantasies–?!"

Interrupting Kaveh, Alhaitham suddenly rose from his chair, pulling you out from the legroom under his table. Your muffled complaints as he handled you undoubtedly pleasured him, vibrations quivering against his cock shoved deep inside you from above. Alhaitham pulled you taut against him, your lips kissing the fabric of his clothes, spluttering drool as you were cut off from a chance to breathe with your throat used to its best capabilities. Flailing in his grip, you were so helpless with your arms bound, having to rely on his strength to keep you upright. Alhaitham pressed you backwards, bracing himself with one arm against the table, hovering over you. His fingers clutching the edge were the only thing that kept your head from bumping into the wood with every push as he picked up the pace even faster.

Now in a less confined position, he pulled his hips from your face before plunging back down. Over and over, letting out moans and groans of pleasure, Alhaitham much more open and vocal while having sex than one might take him for. Kaveh let out a loud gasp at the sight of you being mishandled, but what could you do except endure being used and throat-fucked? Even if you had wanted to appease the other psycho in the room, there was no way you could have escaped.

Alhaitham's voice cut off suddenly, breathing ragged, and he stopped all the way down your throat, shuddering. Hot splurts of cum made you want to gag as they dripped into you, your only ability being to swallow it as it was given to you. Unable to catch a breath as he came, your body let out more tears while you felt appalled by his cum warming the inside of your throat, your insides burning as if they were on fire.

When he was finally done, Alhaitham slowly retreated, inch for inch, waiting for you to lick him clean before his tip finally popped out of you. Releasing you from his hold, you plummeted to the ground, coughing up spit and semen. You felt so pathetic and disgusting, but Kaveh was by your side in a matter of seconds, pushing Alhaitham away and wrapping you in his arms. Shivering and sobbing, he pressed your face into his shoulder and allowed you to cry. It was all you could do, even if you wanted to scream and howl, but you were too afraid of the repercussions of your actions to let go of your inner restraint.

Your life was so unfair, setting you up for failure no matter what you did. When Alhaitham approached you the first time, you thought he was taking pity on you. A handsome man showing interest in you never was a good sign. Turned out he had just been interested in you because of the information you had, useful for his mission. However, he never stopped visiting your place of work, and you two had developed a relationship—or so you thought. His interests seemed more peculiar than he'd ever let you know, and you never got around to understanding him, even after he took you to his home against your will.

"Why are you doing this to them?!" Kaveh hissed at him, clutching you to his chest. Once again, it was Alhaitham's roommate playing knight in shining armor, defending your virtue that he liked destroying at night. Not without his hands clutching you, of course, squeezing your body possessively, waiting for you to flinch, so he had more reason to go off on Alhaitham. "Do they mean nothing to you?! Don't you love them?!"

You couldn't see Alhaitham's reaction, but he didn't feel the need to respond verbally. You heard the slick sound of him cleaning off his cock of the excess fluids, jerking it a few more times to the sight of you before packing it away. Alhaitham's hand fell to the back of your head, his finger ruffling through your hair as if to say "well done". Kaveh cursed him under his breath, rubbing his hand reassuringly over your back. All of Kaveh's questions were just attempts to get under Alhaitham's skin, but his mind was resolute against almost anything Kaveh said. Would Alhaitham be stirred at the news of you getting away? He loved you, and he saved you from a miserable life; that's what he believed. Even though you suffered, Alhaitham had decided this was the life you should be living, by his side in revered admiration. So would he react at hearing something happened to you? Or would he be just as calm and composed as he was now? His attitude making Kaveh even angrier towards his roommate.

Producing a handkerchief from his pocket, Kaveh cleaned up the mess on your face. Even if the disgust didn't disappear with the wipe of the soft fabric, it helped to feel a little less dirty. A little less used and discarded. However, even without looking, you felt Alhaitham's eyes drill into your back, watching as Kaveh took care of you.

"You okay, Love?" Kaveh cooed, and you bit your lip, knowing it was better to lie than to further aggravate the two. Nodding, you lowered your gaze, not wanting Kaveh to read your eyes rather than trust your confirmation. "Everything's going to be okay. I'll take you away from this bastard soon. Don't cry, Love."

Sometimes it was easy to forget he was worse than even Alhaitham. Sometimes, with his warmth and care, the nicknames and sweet promises, Kaveh had you forgetting how cruel he could be. How his jealousy and competitive nature made him even needier and ruthless than the man who had carelessly throat-fucked you just to annoy Kaveh. It was hard to see how either of them could claim they loved you—love anyone, really—when you were more like a prize they were throwing back and forth, not caring about what you wanted or how hurt you got in the process.

Their egos were your downfall.

"Make sure you clean them up properly when you get home," Alhaitham muttered, and Kaveh's movements halted. You watched his chest puff with air, anger radiating from him as he returned, "Excuse me?"

"I said clean them up properly when you get–"

Even before the sentence was finished, Kaveh reached between your legs. Fingers digging into you without warning, you jolted, crying out pitifully before grinding your teeth, the tears returning. Kaveh pressed his pointer and middle finger inside you, thumb instinctively finding your little know at the front, causing a shock of electricity to jolt through you. You bit back a moan as he scissored his fingers, brushing against your wet and sensitive walls before pulling them out again to examine. Forth came two slick fingers coated in the leftovers of the creampie you received, and Kaveh's face turned from pale to a deep shade of red. He didn't need to be a scholar to know that wasn't his cum inside you from the night before. Not after he made sure to bathe you after his session yesterday.

"Leaving me the seconds to clean up, huh?" Kaveh mumbled eerily as he stared at the little strings of cum forming from his fingers, eyes darkening with terrifying anger as he knelt next to you, knowing you had been thoroughly used.

"Don't be so sensitive," Alhaitham sighed, the previously raging madness at what his roommate did to upset him that morning, lost in the thought of Kaveh being dramatic about the nice gift he gave you.

"Sensitive? Me? After you took my beloved darling out of my bed—kidnapped them even!—knowing fully well it's not your day! We have rules, Alhaitham. And now you are making your mess my responsibility?"

Letting out a surprised gasp, you were suddenly pulled to your feet. Digging his fingers under your ass, Kaveh demanded your cooperation and to wrap your legs around his hips. You didn't dare to disobey when his mood was fouler than both of their intentions towards you. Walking you around Alhaitham's table, for a moment, you were hoping he'd just let it be and take you home. Maybe vent his feelings to you while all he demanded from you was cuddles and to kiss him when he asked for it. Sadly, that was the only and best way to avoid his anger shifting onto you, no matter how appalled you were by his affection.

But it was wishful thinking anyway.

Instead of saving you from the horror that was Alhaitham's office and giving you the bath you desired desperately, Kaveh turned towards Alhaitham's desk, facing him. Before you knew it, your shoulders and back hit the table, your pulse racing as pain spread through your whole body. The hands shackled behind your back made this position beyond uncomfortable, and you cried out in distress as you were slammed on your limbs. Recovering from the shock, you took a deep breath, opening your eyes again, only to find yourself staring at Alhaitham's slightly disgruntled, slightly curious expression. At the same time, you felt Kaveh push your legs forward, the nightgown easily giving way and baring yourself fully to him.

"N-No! Please, no more!" you pleaded, forcing your chin to your collarbones to look at Kaveh. He only glared at you, his voice a frosty threat that you better not challenge him now too. It was as if he was blaming you for what happened, more tears springing into your eyes as you found no way to reason with him when his mind was deceived by things that didn't happen. You certainly didn't ask Alhaitham to steal you away and, even less, force himself on you. But in his jealousy, Kaveh wouldn't believe you even just a little bit.

"Shut. Up."

Immediately, you closed your mouth, letting your head fall back to give Alhaitham a pleading look for help instead. Even after such a long time, you still hoped that your eyes would one day let either of the two have pity on you. However, the latter had already leaned back in his chair, making no attempts to assist Kaveh or save you. His work was interrupted with you taking up most of the table, and his hand gripped into the fabric of his pants where his cock perked up, watching as you were spread out in front of him.

Horrified, you couldn't help but shiver at the sound of fabric between your legs. More tears streamed down your face. This time, you didn't hold back from sobbing out loud. If they didn't have the decency, why should you? So what if someone heard? If neither of them were to be reasoned with, maybe someone walking in and seeing you in distress would get them off you. Though it wouldn't keep you from the embarrassment of a stranger walking in on the three of you doing things that were definitely not permitted inside the Academiya.

Propping your legs over his right shoulder, Kaveh kissed your cold calves, taking a moment to really feel your soft skin against his lips and taste you on his tongue, a sight of worship for your body. Not like you could forget about his tip positioned to rub along your folds. Not even for a second. But as your thoughts drifted off to the danger waiting to pounce, Kaveh opened his mouth, perfect rows of teeth sinking into you the exact moment his hips snapped forward. Gasping, you stirred helplessly in your awkward position, the slickness of your cunt letting him slip in much too easily for your mental state. Yet, you moaned as he filled you, your walls recognizing his cock as if it belonged inside you. Though you wished you could have kept him outside by clenching down hard on his cock, instead, Kaveh let out a myriad of moans as he buried himself deep inside your warmth, thinking you were welcoming him.

Enjoying you, his personal toy, the anger he had felt after finding out what Alhaitham had done was only noticeable in the way his fingers dug into your skin as he turned you to your side, the wet noises growing louder as your thighs parted to give him access. No matter his feelings, now that he was fucking you, Kaveh couldn't resist being enamored, his hands unable to hold as much of you as his mind wanted. In his fantasies, it was you holding on to him, begging for and praising his cock, asking for more, and for him to make you his. Using you as he needed and wanted was just the build-up to make this fantasy into reality, he hoped. But it made him a little more attentive, even though that didn't mean any less rough and needy.

Though you tried to hide the moans slipping out between your sobs, you couldn't, the treatment of the two so cruel and yet leaving such a burning passion behind, crawling from your pussy up your stomach and to your brain with every thrust. You hated thinking your body had already adjusted and synched with them. Still, you knew that no matter who fucked you, you'd be betrayed by the joy of pleasure.

"So pretty," Alhaitham suddenly murmured above you, and you cracked open your eyes again to look at him. His eyes gleamed with mischievous affection, and he cupped your face from above, thumb wiping your cheeks in admiration. "Do you like it, Sweetheart? Does it feel good when he fucks you raw? Or do you prefer me?"

Kaveh let out a disgusted grunt at Alhaitham's suggestion as he pushed his hips forcefully into yours, lodging his cock so deep inside it made you squeak before you let out a hearty moan, surrendering to the fact you couldn't win no matter what you said. Weakly, you shook your head, barely noticeable as you focused on Kaveh's rhythm instead. He kept breaking it to punish you, doing a quick session of pounds before rolling his hips, creating delicious friction. Just as your limbs began to tense, he pulled out completely, leaving you whining without him inside you. With an especially rough push, your walls tingled with pleasure as he hit the sweetest of all spots with the slight curve in his cock. Angels singing and bells ringing in your head, you exhaled a shuddering breath.

"Don't lie," Kaveh grunted. "Tell that bastard how good you feel."

Nails digging into your calves, this wasn't a request but a demand. Everything in your body refused to say it, the signs so clear the two should have known that you were very close to cumming if Kaveh managed to caress that sensitive spot inside you again. You bit your lip, sniffling before letting your head hang, complying pitifully.

"... good," you mumbled, even though it was hard to temper your voice when you were so out of breath. You were constantly on the verge of tipping over into the abyss, your mind going down the gutter as Kaveh kept prodding against your sweet spot. It was a fight you couldn't win, no matter how hard you tried to keep any sound from leaving you.

"Louder!" Kaveh demanded, pushing forward and right into the place that made you tremble.

"IT'S GOOD!" you finally screamed, releasing all the pent-up tension. Your whole body was captured by violent shakes, muscles tensing up to your toes as you were pushed over your limits. It was pure mercy that Kaveh eased you after the orgasm, undoubtedly having a smug grin on his face.

"That's how you do it," he bragged proudly to Alhaitham, their tense eye contact lost on you and your muddled mind. Kaveh knew you, inside and out. He knew what felt good and what really hurt you. While for Alhaitham, you were an object to possess, perhaps even a golden bird that he put into a cage, Kaveh was out for your blood. He was the one forcing you to sing, or he'd tear out your feathers and strangle you. He knew the words to say to make you weep and those to comfort the wounds he inflicted on you. It was no wonder—especially not after being forced to experience pleasure by Alhaitham before him—that you were no match for Kaveh's expertise.

Releasing your legs, he turned you onto your stomach before slipping back inside. Looking ahead tiredly, you came face to face with a very eager, pulsating cock that you knew all too well from it being shoved down your throat minutes prior. But now, Alhaitham was all too happy handling himself while Kaveh finished his business inside you. This had never happened before. They had never shared you willingly. But things were changing.

You weren't sure if you liked that.

"That's it, babe," Kaveh groaned behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and sinking his face into your shoulder as he picked up a stimulating pace for himself, hammering his cock inside you as if his life depended on it. Desperate, thrilled, completely enraptured. He came in floods of his own cum, straining himself as he tried to press as far as possible into you, spread his jizz so far it would cover up his rivals'.

"You're doing so good, [Name]," Alhaitham cooed at you, placing his fingers around your chin and squeezing your mouth open to receive his tip, forcing you to play with it and lick off the excessive precum with your tongue. The taste tingled your memories, your throat clogging up as it anticipated being penetrated again, but even though your eyes opened wide and you tried to jerk away, there was no escape.

"Open up, Angel," Kaveh sighed blissfully, urging you on behalf of his rival. Alhaitham didn't wait for you to welcome him before making himself at home inside you again, his pulsing member only needing the nudge of your tongue and tight constriction of your throat to cum for a third time that day. Infatuated as he was, having watched you get fucked silly, Alhaitham was already so sensible after working your sore body over his length twice before.

"You're so hot," Kaveh mumbled, his hands massaging your ass. Their touch left nothing but hotness behind, your pussy clenching every time Kaveh squeezed you. And every time, he muffled his groans in your shoulder, unwilling to separate from you yet, kissing up and down your shoulder while clogging your pussy with his cock, making sure his cum would stay inside you. Making the sloppy seconds especially sloppy.

"I wonder if they could take us both," Alhaitham pondered, and your eyes snapped upwards, catching the hint of a grin on his face. A truly rare but even more so, frightening look. When it came to researching, one could always count on Alhaitham to have his curiosity picked. Especially when it involved you.

"No… No more…" you coughed as he finally pulled his cock out of your mouth. Your jaw felt like it was going to be permanently fractured, and your throat was sore and burning. And yet, your pussy still quivered around Kaveh, a smirk settling on his lips as well, suddenly having a change in opinion about his roommate.

"I think they'd really like that! Judging by how eager their pussy is."

You always thought Alhaitham was bad and Kaveh was worse. But them working together? It was your damn ruin even though you had to admit... Their cocks felt so damn good as they fucked out the last of your sanity.

Turning you into their pretty, perfect, darling slut.

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reidsaurora · 2 years

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"Midnight Muffins" ~ S. Reid

Summary: When Spencer and Reader find themselves pulling an all-nighter for a case and Spencer accidentally reveals that midnight marks his birthday, Reader has the perfect way to celebrate—chocolate muffins at midnight.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader (no use of Y/N, Reader carries a purse tho)

Word Count: 1,888

Content Warning: food consumption, very mild swearing, honestly i think that's it? lmk if i missed anything though!

Genre: chocolatey, sugary Fluff 🥰

Extra Notes: none that i can think of!

Based On the Prompt: "What Doesn't Kill Me" - sleep deprivation (from 2022 Whumptober Prompts)

Originally Written: between 10/11/2022 and 10/12/2022

Beta Read By: @dungeons-are-too-cold 🫶🏻

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

Whumptober masterlist/schedule can be found here!

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Hotch wiped the sleep from his eyes as he let out a loud yawn. "Alright, everyone, it's been a long day. Head back to the hotel and get some rest. We'll meet back here in the morning," he instructed, followed by another yawn.

Everyone headed toward the door sluggishly, being hit with a whiff of night air as Derek opened the door.

"Shoot," Spencer exhaled as his foot hit the second stair.

"What is it?" I managed to ask through a yawn of my own.

"I forgot my bag," he explained, heading back toward the door.

"I can wait here."

A crimson color flushed over his cheeks. "No, that's OK. You go ahead with everyone else. I'll be right behind you guys."

I shrugged my shoulders in response, watching as he disappeared back into the police station. Little did he know I wasn't taking no for an answer, promptly sitting down on the brick steps and pulling my windbreaker tighter to my arms to shield them from the coldness of the October night air.

I nearly fell asleep on the steps as I waited for him, checking my watch just to see how long I'd been waiting. "Twenty minutes is a long time to search for a bag," I thought, pushing myself up.

I wandered through the precinct, eventually pacing into the office we'd been previously working in. I immediately spotted Spencer, who was writing something on the whiteboard and Hotch, who was looking over some files at the desk.

"What are you two doing in here?" I asked, one of my eyebrows cocking upward.

"I'm working," Hotch answered, "He's supposed to be searching for his bag but apparently he's decided to work as well."

My hands flew to my hips. "I thought you were right behind us," I mentioned, directed at Spencer.

He had the face of a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar. "I was…" his voice dragged off.

"Then what are you doing in here?"

"Well, I figured if Hotch was staying all night that he might need some help," he answered, his puppy-dog eyes prominent. "Honestly, I didn't think anyone would notice if I stayed behind."

A pang stung my heart as I listened to his answer. "Of course I'd notice. I promised I'd wait for you."

His brows furrowed as he asked, "You've been waiting out in the cold for me for almost a half hour?"

"Yes, I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me," I answered deadpan.

"Never," he chuckled, "I honestly thought you'd gone with everyone else."

Hotch walked toward the doorway, fist tight around the files he carried. "Well, if the two of you are going to stay, could you actually work and stop gabbing?" he sassed, stalking out the door.

Spencer's cheeks blushed red as he turned back to the board in front of him. He quickly put his attention back on the geographical profile.

I couldn't help but giggle as I placed my bag down and promptly got back to work.

A couple hours came and went, I wasn't sure how long it had been exactly. I found myself combing through the suspect list, my eyes growing heavy as I scanned over each page.

I let out a long yawn as I glanced at my watch. "How is there only a half an hour 'til midnight?" I grumbled, looking up at Spencer from my spot in the office chair.

"This is not how I imagined I'd be spending my birthday this year," Spencer commented nonchalantly.

My mouth fell agape in disbelief. "Tomorrow's your birthday and you didn't remind me?"

He shrugged his shoulders before turning to face me. "I didn't think it was all that important."

"We have to celebrate!" I told him. "I'm not quite sure where I could get a birthday cake at this time of night but I'm sure I could find something."

"You aren't going anywhere," he insisted. "If you leave, I swear my ghost will haunt you forever."

I pouted, the same pout a kid would give their parent when they told them "no" to eating sweets before dinner. "But I wanna celebrate you!"

He rolled his eyes, turning back around. "You act like a child when you're sleep deprived," he commented.

"How about this? I won't leave, but I will treat you to whatever snack you want from the vending machine."

He mumbled something under his breath, just loud enough for me to understand his aggravation. "You aren't going to let this go, are you?" he commented at full volume.

"Nope," I answered, the p popping loudly.

"OK, fine," he muttered, "but you aren't allowed to celebrate until after midnight."

"I'll have my alarm set."

And with that, I turned my attention back to the files in front of me, most of my strength being put into the act of holding my eyes open.

I wasn't quite sure how it happened, but just as soon as I'd closed my eyes to blink, I was awakening from a short slumber.

Or what I thought was a short slumber.

I frantically rubbed the sleep from my eyes as I pushed myself up from my previous position of resting my head on the hard, wooden desk. I looked down at my watch, registering that the clock had somehow magically skipped from 11:45 to 2:15.

"You let me sleep for two and a half hours? And miss your birthday?" I whined, sleep heavily coating my throat.

"To be fair," he answered, pausing for a yawn, "I wasn't born until the afternoon so technically you didn't miss it."

I pushed myself up from the office chair, stretching out my arms as I plodded toward him. "What would you like from the machine?" I asked, pulling my wallet out of my purse.

His mouth scrunched as he thought, presumably attempting to figure out his answer. "What's your favorite?"

"No," I argued, "it's your birthday. I wanna buy you a snack."

"Buy something we can share," he instructed.

And with that, I trudged out of the office and over to the vending machine. My eyes scanned all the options, contemplating what he'd like most.

My eyes landed on a bag of those mini chocolate muffins. Bingo. Sure, it wasn't a traditional cake or cupcake, but Spencer liked chocolate more than anyone I'd ever met.

I punched in the number, watching eagerly as the bag slid down to the bottom of the machine. After marching back to the meeting room, I held out the muffins in front of the birthday boy himself.

"You like these?" he inquired, his eyebrows ruffling.

"Why? Do you not like them?" I fretted, my eyes darting away from him.

"No, they're my favorite," he answered reassuringly. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't buy them just for me."

I shook my head. "They're for us to share. If you want to share them, that is."

"Of course."

And with that, he ripped open the package, placing a muffin in my hand before popping one into his mouth.

I tossed the muffin into my mouth, savoring the taste of chocolate and sugar. I watched as Spencer turned his attention away from the muffins and back to the files in his hand, mentally deciding that he worked himself too hard.

"Coffee delivery," Hotch said as he paced through the door with a drink carrier, three steaming hot cups of coffee being held in place.

"Where the hell did you find coffee at this hour of the night?" I asked, taking the cup marked pumpkin spice latte from the cardboard carrier.

"You'd be surprised how many twenty-four-hour coffee shops New York City has to offer," he chuckled, taking his presumably plain black coffee from the container and pressing it to his lips.

Spencer took the last drink, looking over the label on the side. I assumed it was most likely a caramel latte—Spencer's favorite—my suspicions being confirmed when he commented, "Thank you for remembering my order. Morgan and JJ usually get it wrong."

My heart felt heavy when I considered Spencer's comments throughout the night—his comment about nobody caring if he stayed behind, his comment about how his birthday wasn't important, and now his comment about everyone forgetting his coffee order. If it hadn't been considered weird, I might've given him a reassuring kiss just to let him know that even if no one else did, I cared.

I pushed my feelings to the back of my mind, placing them in the "to figure out later" box in my mind. One good thing that came from this job was learning how to be good at compartmentalization.

One hour turned into two, two turned into three, and before we knew it, the sun was on the brink of rising, light orange colors painting the sky outside the slightly ajar window (Spencer had claimed the fresh air from the window helped him think better).

"You two head back to the hotel," Hotch instructed.

"What about this?" Spencer fretted, motioning to the stack of files that sat on the edge of the desk.

"I've got this. The others will be here in about an hour. You two go rest up. Enjoy your day off."

"Day off?" I questioned. "Hotch, we don't-"

"Go," he commanded, "you two have worked harder than I've seen anyone work in a long time. If I see you come back within the next twenty-four hours, I'll have to write you up and then Strauss will get involved. Do you guys really want that?"

The two of us shook our heads, managed a quick, "Thank you," before heading out into the coolness of the morning air.

Luckily, our hotel was only a ten-minute walk from the precinct, prompting us to not drive in our exhausted state.

I watched as the sunrise glistened over Spencer's skin, the rays practically sparkling on the dark freckles of his arms. The oranges and pinks in the sky nearly illuminated his lips, making them look even more plump and pink than they did before. He looked pretty like this.

"What?" he said, a chuckle sitting at the edge of his tongue.

"Nothing," I answered, internally embarrassed that he'd caught me staring.

We walked a few more feet in silence, a comfortable kind of silence that I'd probably only enjoy with Spencer.

He ended up being the one to break the silence, initially letting out a verbal yawn before saying, "Thank you, by the way."

"You're welcome," I replied, lightly nudging his shoulder with mine, "It's the least I could do. I'm sorry you had to spend your birthday pulling an all-nighter and sifting through suspect files."

"Eh, it's OK. At least I got to do it with you."

For a second, I thought he might kiss me. To be honest, I was hoping he would. Instead, he just looked down at my hand for a moment before looking back up so as to ask for permission.

I nodded in approval, a half-smile finding its way to my lips as he wrapped his fingers around mine. He caressed the back of my hand with his thumb, his silent way of saying, "Thank you again."

I lay my head against his shoulder as we continued our trek, my silent way of replying, "You didn't even have to ask."

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Happy birthday, my favorite libra boy!! You really have completed 41 trips around the sun!

Alright, I know you aren't real in this universe 🥲 but someday, I'm gonna shift and get to tell you all this in person.

I love you so much Spencer Reid, happy birthday my chocolate-loving genius 🫶🏻

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liltaz-asatreat · 2 years

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This is for @ame-at-your-service for the 2022 @thecandlenightszone Candlenights Gift Exchange! Happy Candlenights! :D

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Adventure Zone (Podcast) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jake Coolice & Hollis, Jake Coolice & Keith, Jake Coolice & Hollis & Keith Characters: Jake Coolice, Hollis (The Adventure Zone), Keith (The Adventure Zone) Additional Tags: Campaign: Amnesty (The Adventure Zone), Post-Canon, TAZ Candlenights Exchange 2022, TAZ Candlenights Exchange, Emotional Hurt/Comfort Summary:

It's the summer directly after the events that lead to Sylvain returning to her home and rejuvenating the planet and the destruction of the gate connecting both Sylvain and Earth. The Hornets are in the process of really getting their extreme sports facility underway, and newly rejoined member Jake Coolice takes a break from the hard work along with Hollis and Keith. They reflect on a certain past choice that was made and Jake's life as a former citizen of his home world.

#taz #taz amnesty #taz fanfic #jake coolice #taz hollis #taz keith #hollis #keith #written works of Gab

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leeflagoon · 1 year

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The meet-cute: Tiana x Nanami

Heyyy guys so this is the Tanami fic LMFAOOO. Uhhh this fic was written for a close friend that loves jjk. Gab on top fr!!! I don't know much about jjk but I will try my best!! I hope you guys like it!!

Tiana spent most, if not all, of her days working at Duke's Cafe. It was all to achieve her and her dad's dream, to buy that old sugar mill and make a restaurant. Tiana was well known across the city for her 'man catching' beignets, as Charlotte puts it. So well known, in fact, that she even started getting customers from outside New Orleans.

That includes Nanami, who adores sweets. He heard about a specific little cafe that sells amazing beignets, from a coworker who went on vacation.

What even is a beignet? New Orleans sounds like a nice trip, though.... Nanami thought to himself.

Unfortunately for Nanami, he unknowingly made the trip during Mardi Gras.

The bustling streets, bright colors, cars and floats and train cars passing through large crowds of partying people in the humid southern city was definitely not what Kento Nanami was prepared for.

Tiana is working hard on a Mardi Gras noon in Duke’s Cafe. She’s mainly focused on her work and juggling her tables’ orders when she notices a tall blonde man walk in and take off his glasses, waiting to be sat.

“Just sit anywhere and I’ll be right there with you, sir!” Tiana calls out as she carries a mountain of plates on her.

Suddenly Charlotte squeals and bursts into the soft atmosphere with sparkling excitement, clutching a newspaper and bouncing into a booth. Mr. LaBouff cheerily greets Tiana and sits down across from his estatic daughter.

"Tia! Tia! You'll never believe it!-" Charlotte starts with her excited rambling. Tiana listens as she walks toward the table Nanami is sitting at, serving him some coffee.

Nanami looks at his cup of coffee and the beautiful woman who served him, flowing through her work unbothered by the noise around her. She didn’t actually take his order, but he was going to ask for coffee anyway. Additionally, Nanami saw that the (mostly) graceful waitress was already working hard and decided not to make a problem of it.

Eventually Tiana did get to Nanami's table to take his order. Nanami didn't mind the wait, enjoying the atmosphere of the homey and friendly cafe.

"I'm so sorry sir, did you want to order anything?" Tiana hugged her notepad close to her apron, worried and intimidated by the stoic man.

Nanami notices Tiana's nervousness and puts on a soft smile to ease her stress, "I'll have an order of beignets, I heard they're very famous."

The pretty brown-skinned waitress smiled back at Nanami, causing him to blush just a little.

"They sure are. I'll make sure to get them to you right quick, sir!" Tiana's worries of a rude customer washed away.

My god this man is fiiine... Tiana thought to herself while striding away to tend to her other customers, a smirk coming across her face once she was out of Nanami's sight. This customer had a chiseled face and a stoic expression, making him look like a hot actor Tiana can't exactly put a name on. Nanami’s suit and sophisticated, tiny glasses made him look very elegant compared to the other customers in casual clothes; with the exception of Miss pink over there… (Charlotte)

Nanami's eyes follow Tiana as she talks to Charlotte, admiring the working girl. Tiana laughs for a moment after trading a few quick jokes with her, then goes off to serve other tables. Once the pretty waitress is done with that, Nanami sees Tiana walk over to the bakery section of the counter.

Tiana is in a flow now, taking out the warm, fluffy beignets that were in a warmer out onto the counter. Then she gets her two final ingredients. She swoops the honey onto the beignets as if she was waving a magic wand, then spins the whole tray and dances a little while topping the beignets with powdered sugar. Boom. Done. Tiana smirks while looking at her creation that smells so good.

Nanami watched all of this from his table, seeing how other customers are also looking at the beignets with anticipation.

She is really beautiful…. Nanami throught to himself as he tried to peel his eyes away from her in vain. A few of her tight black curls have fallen out of her messy ponytail, the collar of her dress was uneven and disheveled, and her dark brown skin glistened with a light sweat she was putting up; nonetheless, it’s undeniable how beautiful Tiana is. Nanami hides his expression—he hides it well—and looks at his newspaper to distract himself, but before he knew it, he was served his beignets! Unfortunately, Tiana was busy and a bus boy helped her out, so Nanami couldn’t speak to her again.

Nanami smiles with contentment as he takes a sip of his coffee before trying the beignets for the first time. He overheard the pink, princess-like lady growl about how the beignets were ‘man catching’, and he snickers a little.

If they do draw men in…I’m in for a long ride.. Nanami thinks to himself as he takes the first bite. His stoicness prevents him from making any real reaction, but in his head he is dancing, singing Wonder Girls, moaning, and in utter bliss over the amazing and fluffy taste of the beignets. Before he knows it one of the beignets were already eaten by him.

Fuck…I’m in love.. Nanami sighs and looks at Tiana, the woman who made these beignets. He even starts to drool a little before shaking his head to catch his composure.

After Tiana's shift Nanami decides to be bold and approach her. Tiana takes off her work apron and rubs her temples as she sees the blond hunk that she served start to approach her, getting a little anxious and giddy at the same time.

Oh my god he's tall, what does he want? Is he mad? Is he happy? Oh my god he's actually approaching me...hey sexy, my god.. Tiana's mind raced and geeked, like any girl would.

"..May I help you with something, sir?" Tiana asked while taking in the sight of the tall man.

Nanami builds up his confidence in his head and takes off his glasses, looking Tiana in the eye. "Excuse me, miss, but are you single?"

Tiana's lips curl into a smile, her dark complexion develops a pink blush across her face, and she tucks in a loose curl behind her ear. She looks up at Nanami before she answers his question.

#tianami #tiana x nanami #jjk nanami #fanfic #princess and the frog #princess tiana #love at first bite

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pixelatedraindrops · 1 year

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About my Illness Whump Guilty Passion:

I really enjoy it ^-^

The only whump content I enjoy is illness whump. (no others) Why? Because content around it is usually super fluffy and wholesome. (plus anime characters specifically look really cute when they're sick. The flushed faces, the messy hair and the cozy pjs... and the weak tired voices… gah its all so cute!! >w<)

My personal favorite trope to play with is high fevers, migraines, and exhaustion/fainting 🌡️

Colds/Flus are super fun too (tho I'm not too graphic on it as some people are) 🤧I'm not too into snz (its fine) but I do like coughing a lot.

I'm not into emeto as an actual emetophobic with irl people…💦 However, sometimes I can write it in an implied sense with little graphic detail. And at times I do enjoy reading it if its not TOO graphic. 🤢 (I'm better with it in fictional media and art, but if it's irl emeto with real people vomiting, then nope THAT triggers me.)

Reasons illness/caretaking hurt/comfort tropes are my favorite

I love when a usually strong, serious, stoic (or asshole) character becomes more vulnerable when they're taken down by illness (bonus points if they become super needy >w<)

Really great fluff fodder for a Parent/Guardian and Child type of relationship. Or even a found-family situation.

Super wholesome and sweet for shipping, siblings, or close friendships. In sickness and in health as they say :3

It is not in any way a kink for me. It's just a trope I really enjoy and fangirl over, but I never get off on it. It just makes me genuinely happy. Its a comfort of sorts to me💜

Its my favorite type of genre to read and watch. And I even write/draw/edit it myself sometimes c: And I usually have my favorite character as the victim of it :3c

It's also made me really like nurse-aesthetics. Especially masks and thermometers >w<

Just wanted to gab a bit about this.

Here's my AO3 if you wanna read my few fics I have written~

And this is my prime whumpee~🌡️💊

Rain Code Whump Tag

Art Tag

Thanks for listening!

Fluffy sickies ftw~ <3

#illness whump #whump tropes #whump writing #NOT A KINK #rambles #sickness #sickness whump #fever whump #whump #caretaker #whump community #whumpee #me explaining why I like something odd because I feel like I have to justify my weirdness lmao

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callsigndragon · 2 years

Text

Desperate times, desperate measures | Ch. 2: Till death do us part

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x fem!writer!reader (Most of the times, she will be called Page)

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: mentions of death, angst, Jake and Page fight for the first time, and the wedding-

A/N: THANK YOU ALL FOR ALL THE COMMENTS AND FEEDBACK I'M GETTING FROM Y'ALL. It's absolutely wonderful to see the amount of love i get from you guys, i love you all so much.

It's okay if you like it and all, but please... a comment is also welcomed and if you reblog it? I'll kiss you on the forehead.

Masterlist

When the lawyer leaves the room, you remember that there’s someone important that you haven’t called and who will be suffering as much as you when she knows that Anne is dead.

But so many things happened yesterday that you completely forgot to call your other best friend.

“Heeeeeeey, how’s my favorite writer doing?” Gabby says, and the background noises make you guess that she is at a Starbucks at the moment.

“Gabrielle, can you go to a quieter place?” You tell her, sitting down and bracing yourself for what’s about to happen.

“Holy shit, that serious? Okay, okay, let me go to my car.” It only takes her a few seconds, but it feels like a lifetime. “Okay, in the car already. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Luke and Anne got into a car accident yesterday, they died, and they wanted me and Jake to be Emma’s legal guardians in case something happened to them, but Jake’s work is really dangerous, and I’m ‘too young’ to be a single mother, so the only way we can get Emma’s custody is by getting married, and I can’t get married to fucking Hangman, Gabby, I can’t!” You let it all out before you even realize that you’re just rambling and rambling, and that probably Gabby hasn’t understood a thing and she’s going to freak out.

“Luke and Anne are… dead?”

“Yeah… they’re gone.”

She starts sobbing, and you want to punch yourself for the way in which you delivered the news. “Send me your location, I’ll go get you.”

“Don’t worry, Matt is here with me. I’ll go to your house.”

“I’m… I’m staying at Anne’s.” You clarify, wincing when you hear her swearing with a shaky breath.

“Of course you are, Emma needs all the stuff that’s in that house. I’ll see you in 20.”

Just wait until she finds out that you two cannot get Emma from CPS until you accept to be her legal guardians... and you can only do that when you get married.

“....And Hangman just went to get a marriage license because apparently it's faster and easier if you’re a member of the military.” You finish the story, watching how Gabs' knuckles tighten when she grabs the mug with force.

“Man, life couldn’t get more complicated even if it tried.” She sighs, wiping her face with a tissue. “How are you holding up? We all were best friends, but you’ve known her all your life, honey… And now you have to take her place, and raise her daughter.”

You nod, eyes unfocused as you drift away, remembering a conversation from a few weeks ago, in which you told Anne that you ‘envied the life she had’. A life that now was yours.

Yesterday, when you woke up, you were a single writer who had just published a new novel. You had good friends, you had a good life, a good house, a good car. It was everything you ever wanted, and you worked so damn hard to make it happen.

When you wake up tomorrow, you are going to be a married woman and a mother. You’re going to have to give up your car and your house. You’re going to have to reschedule all your promotions and the release of your new book. It’s going to take a few months before you settle down and manage to find time for yourself and time to write again.

How much can a life change in one day, huh.

“With a man I hate. This feels like shitty fanfiction written by a teenager.” You scoff, letting your head hit the back of the sofa while you close your eyes.

“Honey, you started with shitty fanfiction written as a teenager.” Gabby says, making you chuckle.

“I hope that nobody ever finds them.”

The main door opens, and you see Jake, followed by all the members of his squad. “Hey, Gabby.” He greets your friend.

Gabby only answers with a nod, turning her head towards the rest of the aviators, noticing that Nat is between them. Gabby may or may not have a tiny crush on her. But she knows that this is not the time to be a teenager with a crush.

“You got the license?” You ask Jake when he sits next to you, taking a deep breath and nodding.

“Yeah, it was easy. I called the squad to act as witnesses; I thought Gabby was in Texas working on her next movie.”

“We’re switching locations, and they gave me a few days off. I have to call them and let them know that I have to attend a service.” She grabs her phone and goes to the kitchen, probably to call her agent.

Sometimes you forget that you met Gabby a few years ago, when one of your first books was turned into a movie, and you went to the studio every day to help Anne, who was the director. Gabby was cast as the main actress, and soon the three of you turned into the bestest friends.

Gabby and Anne were always ready to listen to your craziest ideas and plots for upcoming books, even if that meant staying up until 3 AM and chatting on a video call. Anne used to prepare her pitches with you and Gabby, so it was perfect whenever she had to meet the producers or studio executives. Gabby prepared her scripts with you two, getting ready for her next audition.

It was the perfect team. You wrote. Gabby performed. Anne directed.

The three of you were preparing to work together soon, as you had written your first screenplay not long ago. Anne insisted on you giving it a try, because your books ‘felt like movies most of the time, so it’s not that different’. And you did, finding that it was funny and really entertaining. Auditions are being made at the moment, and the only thing you know is that Gabby was the hilarious best friend of the main character.

It made you sad, though. The amount of times she had performed that role over the years... And even after she won not only a Grammy but was nominated for another one! Why is she still getting these roles? Gabby said that, in this film, she felt more connected to that character than to the main one, so she was not mad about it.

But you’re getting tired of Hollywood’s hypocrite ass. They always talk about inclusivity and giving more opportunities to other actors, but you don’t usually see a black actress in the main role of a big movie. That’s Hollywood for you.

“I guess we’re going to the courthouse now.” You question, observing as all the members of the squad, some of whom you can consider friends but others whom you don’t know as well, are standing in their dress uniforms.

“In a bit.” Jake clears his throat. “Look, we only have to pretend until the caseworker approves us. Then it’s all over.”

“Oh, so you want me to get a divorce as soon as we get a seal of approval?” You retort, turning your body in his direction.

“What, you want to be my wife?” He scoffs, looking at Javy, who is shaking his head, as if he was telling him to stop with the jokes.

Jake should listen to Javy sometimes.

“I’m a public figure, Jake. Once I get married, everybody will know! And if I get a divorce in three months, right after CPS gives us their blessing, people will know too!”

“What do you mean? Do I have to play the doting husband for the rest of my life?” He raises his voice, and you can see from the corner of your eye how Rooster takes a step in your direction, but Bob and Payback stop him.

“This was your idea, Jake. Don’t yell at me.”

“Then tell me, what was I supposed to do? Let a bunch of strangers take my goddaughter away?” You can see the unshed tears in his bloodshot eyes. He had been crying, too. Probably even more than you and Gabby.

There’s a different level of connection between people who risk their lives together. It’s unsimilar to everything you've seen. The stronger the connection, the bigger the loss.

“I think that you took the only option we had. But we’re gonna have to fake being in a marriage for longer than you initially thought.” You get up from the sofa, moving to the kitchen, only pausing midway when he asks his next question.

“How long?”

How long? Well, that’s a good question. Long enough for them not to suspect. Long enough so they forget about you two.

How long is that?

“A year.” You proclaim, feeling as if your words echo all over the house.

“Do you have any cute dresses in your suitcase?” Gabby says, rummaging through the small suitcase you packed for the three days you were supposed to stay away from the city.

“No, I don’t have anything appropriate for a fake wedding.” You groan, sitting on the bed.

“Maybe we can go buy something before we get to the courthouse?”

“I don’t think we have time for that, Gabs.”

A soft knock on the door makes you tear your gaze away from your friend, waiting for the newcomer. Nat’s head pops up from the other side, eyes closed. “Are you girls visible?”

“Yeah, we’re trying to find a dress.” Gabby says, checking her reflection in the mirror before Nat opens her eyes.

Rolling your eyes, you see that the pilot has a bag in her hands. “What’s that?”

“On my way here,” Nat starts, walking into the room and handing you the bag. “I thought that maybe you didn’t have anything to wear. So I bought you this.”

You get the dress out of the bag. It has a vintage air to it, and it’s white. The skirt stops over the ankles. It’s the kind of wedding dress that was used for civil weddings. Just like yours.

“It’s beautiful, Nat. Thank you. You didn’t have to.” You hug her, trying to understand how a beautiful soul like hers is friends with Jake.

“Me and Bob will take you to the courthouse. Take as much time as you need.” She nods in Gabby’s direction and leaves the room.

You start crying as soon as you realize that your best friend will not be attending your wedding.

The ceremony isn’t long, and you’re grateful for that. Because you’re not sure how much time you can hold Jake’s hands on yours, while faking to be madly in love. Jake plays the part like a champ, even telling the officiant that he didn’t want to rush this wedding, but he’s going to be deployed soon and wants to marry the love of his life before he has to leave for a few months.

It takes all your strength not to take off your high-heels and throw them at his head. But the shoes are Anne’s, and you don’t want to damage them. It’s something borrowed. The sapphire earrings are an heirloom given to you by your grandma. It’s something old, and something blue. And the dress, bought for you by Nat, is something new.

You didn’t care about these small traditions because this wedding wasn’t real, but if you’re going to be married to this idiot for a year, at least you’re going to do it right.

“The future promises many happy days ahead,” says the officiant, making you take a deep breath to avoid laughing at his face. No, there are no happy days ahead for you. “filled with unique opportunities, adventures, and challenges. It is through trust, love, and the unfailing support of each other that you will meet these inevitable ups and downs.”

You and Jake look at each other, feeling the weight of the words on your shoulders. There will be adventures and challenges, and as much as you hate to admit it, the only way you are going to survive this year, is by supporting each other.

“Do you, Jacob Seresin, take Y/n L/n to be your spouse and to live together as partners, to treat them her love and respect, and to build a marriage that grows stronger and more loving as time passes?”

Jake doesn’t even blink when he answers. “Yes, I do.”

“And do you, Y/n L/n, take Jacob Seresin to be your spouse and to live together as partners, to treat him with love and respect, and to build a marriage that grows stronger and more loving as time passes?” The officiant repeats the same words, but they don’t feel as the ones he said to Jake. They feel heavy. Like a doom.

“Yes, I do.”

“The wedding ring represents the promises and potential of marriage. It has no beginning and no end, and is a timeless symbol of the love and commitment you have pledged. As you wear your ring, let it remind you of the love you feel here today.”

Love. The only thing that you don’t feel towards your soon-to-be husband.

“Jacob, place the ring on Y/n’s finger and repeat after me.”

Javy gives Jake the ring, that is soon placed on your finger. It’s cold. A coldness that burns your skin.

I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and devotion, as we join our lives together, today, tomorrow, and for as long as our love shall last.

Those are the words that Jake and you have to repeat, each of them damaging your soul and leaving behind small crecives that you hope time can heal.

The officiant’s next words make you cry, but he believes that you’re just an ‘emotional bride’.

True marriage is more than just a ceremony or a piece of paper – it is a lasting bond that joins two lives and two hearts.

You don’t want him near your heart.

Marriage is love.

You don’t love him.

Companionship.

He will spend most of his time away.

Trust.

You don’t trust him.

And Respect.

The only thing you respect is his job and his dedication to Emma.

May you always find strength in each other, laugh with each other, and find safety and comfort in each other’s words and company.

What strength? What laugh?

May you celebrate many joyful seasons together, support each other when days are difficult, and continue to learn and grow closer together with each passing year.

Only four seasons with him. Nothing more.

“You may kiss!”

And when he kisses you, Jake doesn’t know if the saltiness in his lips is because of his tears or yours.

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