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strangemaleswaps · 2 months

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Strange Job Swap

“Oh it's beautiful!” exclaimed the customer waiting in line. I handed her a nicely decorated cake for her son's birthday.

“It's no big deal. Just doing my job.” I acted like it was no big deal, but really I was gladly accepting the praise!

“This is perfect though. Have you considered being an artist?” she replied with a slightly more serious look.

“Yes I have actually…but the job market is tough.”

“Aww you'll get there eventually! Don't give up! Well anyway, you made my day so for that, thank you!”

“You're welcome.” I was a bit sad though, because she was right; I SHOULD be an artist. I recently earned my bachelor's degree, but yet I was still stuck in this dumb hick town, working as a grocery store cake decorator. I may have been good at what I do but I wouldn't want to do it forever!

At least my co-workers are pretty decent, especially my fellow bakery buddies, Chase, Amber, and Domingo. Amber was cool and didn't take anyone’s shit, which is why I loved seeing her because I didn't have much confidence when dealing with unruly customers. Domingo was very sweet, and even though he didn't speak very good English, he's hella good at his job. And Chase, well…he's hot! His bleach blond hair somehow always caught the light at a perfect angle. I don't know how I even kept my focus when he's working next to me.

At the end of my shift, I clocked out, and decided to buy a couple groceries like I normally did. I scanned everything at the self-checkout, put the receipt into one of my bags, and started walking towards the exit. The store had 2 exits on either side of the front, but I only took one because the other had a certain asshole at it - Richard.

The greeter position was removed a long time ago, but they bring it back for employees that have been injured or are too old, so that they can keep their jobs. Now this old guy named Richard had surgery a long time ago and became the greeter while he recovered. But yet he never went back to his old position.

He always stays at one specific entrance, and the reason I hated him so much was because he's racist. Part of his job has him checking customers’ receipts to make sure they didn't steal anything, which seems pretty unnecessary when you have those anti-theft machines at the exit. But I've seen him. The only people he checks the receipts for are minorities. It's not a subtle thing either; he’s super friendly, greeting and saying goodbye to all the white people passing but when it comes to someone who's not, his demeanor suddenly changes.

My luck must've run out today, because I found the sliding glass doors at my usual exit were broken and currently being fixed. The area was blocked off by a barricade, and I knew there was only one other way to leave. I headed over to the other exit, and there Richard was, waving goodbye to a white mother and her toddler. He was wearing his typical gray uniform shirt that was clearly too small, because you could see his gut and nipples trying to poke through. Gross.

I moved through the aisle, trying not to draw attention to myself, but it was all for nothing because right on cue, Richard walked up to me and gave a great big (and so obviously fake) smile.

“Hello sir, can I see your receipt please?”

“Richard, it's me, Marco. I work in the bakery. You've seen me a million times before.” His smile suddenly faded, and his eyes narrowed, as if every ounce of happiness in his body just vanished.

“That's no excuse. How do I know you aren't stealing?”

“Because I want to keep my job?”

“Don't backtalk to me. You seem awfully suspicious today.” He then reached for his walkie talkie and started to page a manager. I really was able to walk out with no repercussions because I truly didn't steal anything, but there's a chance he would page the Asset Protection lady, who was almost as awful.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” Nobody answered him. Thank god.

“Am I free to go now?” I said happily. The anger returned to his face.

“Just don't let me catch you stealing again. Or there'll be consequences!”

“Yeah…suuuure.” I walked out the door, into my car, and back home. I can't believe some people honestly. I was so sick of this town! I needed to move away real soon.

When I got home my dog, Kenny, was excited to greet me as usual so I let him outside to do his business while I got into my running clothes, prepping for a run. As I let Kenny back in, I went to check the mail and found a weird envelope in between the bills and spam. I opened it up and it was a letter addressed “to whom it may concern”. I threw it away without a second thought but Kenny suddenly ran up to the trash can, took it out, and placed it back in front of me.

“You really want me to read this, don't you boy?” I said cheerily as I patted him on the head.

“To whom it may concern,

Are you struggling with your current job? Unhappy with the life you have? Well I have just the cure for that! We are now selling happiness inducing coins for only $1 with free shipping! One flip of this coin will guarantee you will soon get a job you love! Get it fast before it all runs out! Just follow the link on the back of this letter if you are interested.” - VV

I wondered who or what VV was supposed to be, and $1 with free shipping sounds too good to be true, so this seemed like a scam. I also wasn't a superstitious person, but for some reason my gut was telling me that this was a good idea. Kenny seemed to think so too as he was wagging his tail under the table and I read. I followed the link listed on the back of the page, typing in each random letter and number combination into my phone and ordered the lucky coin. I went to bed that night feeling a little more hopeful.

The next day at work was just like the previous day, only the door was fixed so I didn't have to walk out the exit Richard was standing at. We did make eye contact though, and he shot me a dirty look. I got home to find that the package had already arrived, which was awfully quick. I cut open the box and inside was a golden coin with a picture of a brain on it. The other side had a picture of a person with their arms spread wide. It was a really weird design. I read the instructions.

How to use:

Flip the coin

No matter what side it lands on, you'll be guaranteed happiness in your new job!

It sounded so lame, but I followed the instructions anyway. I flipped the coin the air, and slapped it on the back of my other hand. Tails. Nothing happened. I guess it was just $1 so it wasn't a huge waste of my time. It's pretty cool looking so maybe I could display it on my dresser or something.

I felt especially tired the rest of the night, but I was fine because I had a day off tomorrow. I was gonna go to the park with Kenny, as well as do a few errands. I was just glad I had time away from my job.

The next morning my alarm went off for some reason. I must've accidently set it by mistake. The weirder thing was Kenny wasn't there. Normally at the sound of my alarm, he comes running from wherever he was sleeping, and jumps on the bed to get me up. But there was nothing. When I started to truly wake up and become more alert, I realized that my alarm was set to the default or something. Instead of my usual calming piano, it was an annoying ringing. I opened my eyes to see what was happening. My vision was blurry, but I could tell I wasn't in my own room.

What happened? Did someone kidnap me? The alarm clock wasn't even on a phone, but rather it was an actual alarm clock. I had no idea what was going on, but I reached over to turn it off so I could think. I'm certain I must've been kidnapped somehow but why? And why would they set an alarm clock? I couldn't see but felt around the nightstand for a clue and found a pair of glasses. When I tried them on, just like that, my vision returned to normal. I had perfect vision before! Why did I suddenly need glasses? I reached up to scratch my head and found my hairline was incredibly receded. I was balding! I looked down with my now clear vision to find an even worse fact. I was chubby!

I sat up and stared at the foreign gut and two large man tits, as well as numerous graying chest hairs. I ran my hands through the hair, pinching them to make sure they were real. I pinched the tits as well, and felt sensations I've never felt before as they wobbled when I let go. I ran my hands through my face and felt a mustache and double chin, and began feeling nauseous at the thought of what I actually looked like. I didn't see a mirror in the room so I walked out the door trying to find a bathroom. The fat jiggled all around as I ran.

I got to the bathroom and nearly puked on the spot when I saw who I was. Richard. Oh god no. Of all people, I had to look like this racist bastard? I stared at myself and grazed my hands along my face. Suddenly I felt angry and started pinching it instead, as if I was doing the same thing to the real Richard, but denial didn't help; that was my face and it hurt. I touched his mustache and pinched it, as if it would come off.

Just then I heard the doorbell ring. I didn't want to interact with anybody looking like this but until I figured out how to fix it, I knew I had to pretend to be Richard. I answered the door to find the mailman.

“Howdy Rich! Woah uh.” He stared at my chest. I forgot I was still shirtless. Having this much fat hanging from my body was almost like answering the door naked. “I see you've lost some weight!” he said, obviously lying.

“Oh uh, thanks.” I replied, trying to imitate Richard’s voice, which was pretty easy considering I've mocked him before.

“Well anyway, not much today; just a letter.” He handed me a letter with a purple stamp on it.

“Well uh see you tomorrow!” The mailman went on his way and I closed the door. I opened the letter and found a note similar to the lucky coin advertisement.

To whom it may concern,

Good morning! I trust that your lucky coin worked well? Welcome to your new life! As promised, you now have a job that you love. Unhappy with the results? Just flip the coin once again, and make sure it lands on what it landed on before! If not, however, your fate is sealed. Best Wishes! - VV, Venefica Viola

Shit. They're not lying though. Richard did love his job. And since I was in his body, I now had that job! But who is this Venefica Viola? It sounded like Latin somehow. I walked back to the bedroom to find Richard’s phone. Luckily he didn't have any lock screen pin so I could easily get in. I searched for a translator, dodging the random pop up ads that were everywhere on his phone and looked up Venefica Viola.

Violet Witch. So magic is involved somehow. I needed to get my coin back so I could undo this! It must still be at my own house. Shit! I just realized why the alarm clock went off. Richard worked today! He had perfect attendance and never uses his PTO, so not going in was gonna look suspicious. I glanced at the clock and realized I only had 20 minutes.

Even though I'd love to see Richard be humiliated by going to work in his underwear, I decided that it wasn't worth attracting attention so I looked through his clothes to put on a work uniform. I found a pair of boxers and accidently flashed myself when I completely forgot I didn't have my own dick either. It was all wrinkly, but honestly a lot bigger than I thought. No. I was not about to get horny over Richard's dick! I found what he normally wore to work and put the rest on. I found tucking the shirt was more difficult than usual, as I had to pull it over my belly.

I guess I could make this work…for now. I hated to admit it, but Richard wasn't all that bad looking. It was his personality and habits that made him so repulsive, but now that I was in control of him, he didn't look all that bad. Maybe I could even turn things around for now and do something nice for the people I know he hates. I grabbed the car keys on the nearby table, and drove to work.

I walked in the store, put Richard's nametag on, and clocked in. I nearly started walking to the bakery area but stopped myself. I guess I'm really going to have to be a greeter for a day. This feels humiliating. I made my way to the front entrance and just stood there, waiting for customers to enter or exit.

Soon enough customers began arriving and I tried my best to act like Richard, though one customer asked if I was all right because I guess I overdid it. I didn't ask any customers to show their receipts though, because I might as well take advantage of being a greeter. I noticed Domingo at the checkout and when he bagged up his groceries, he approached me first instead of the door. He hastily grabbed his receipt and started showing it to me. I wasn't about to let this happen.

“No no it's ok. You don't have to show me the receipt anymore.”

“No?” He looked shocked.

“Checking receipts is stupid anyway. I don't need to do it anymore.”

“Really? I can go?”

“Yep! Have a good day.” It was unnerving seeing him so scared at the sight of me, but he smiled like normally did as he put the receipt back in the bag and walked out.

As I moved towards the break room to take my break, I noticed someone who looked awfully familiar walk through the door. It was…me! I mean Richard. It must've been; if I was in his body, he must've been in mine. It became more obvious by the way he was walking, taking big steps as if he was used to having his gut swinging around…like mine was now. God I hated this. I had to talk to him to sort things out. He smirked as I approached.

“Hey!”

“Oh it's you. I mean me. I mean,” he paused for a second and rounded his mouth into an even bigger smile, which looked uncanny with my face. “The old me.”

“What do you mean ‘the old you’”?

“Well seeing as I'm much younger now, while you're much older, I think the term is appropriate.”

“Well yeah, but not for long. I'm going to switch us back.”

“Oh no you're not! I may have preferred being white, but I’m enjoying youth again! Oh, and don't worry. I saw that coin thing and that letter this morning, and I made sure it would never see the light of day again. You got that…Richard?”

He called me that in the same mocking tone that I always use to call him. I can't believe this!

“Y-you can't do this! I had a future!”

“That's my future now old man. You know maybe I could be a model with these looks. Maybe make one of those, what do you kids call it? OnlyFans?”

God no, I'm an artist, not a pornstar. He can't do this!

“The greeter is a real fun job, Richard. Enjoy it. You're hired!”

#strangemaleswaps #body swap #male body swap #male tf #weight gain

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teecupangel · 1 year

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About the templar Desmond thing, imagine from Isu bs Ezio and Altaïr are transported to the same time and Ezio Knows about Desmond (being from the future and all) and he's like, extremely surprised Pikachu face when he learns Desmond is a templar (or not completely on the Assassin's side)

Here's a link to the Templar!Desmond idea.

I’m adding Ratonhnhaké:ton to this one just because I want to XD

Okay, so… for this one, we’ll have to set up the three’s time travel bs first before we do anything.

Let’s say the Apple resonated with Desmond and that’s the reason they got yanked into another time period.

Let’s focus on Altaïr for a moment. The earliest we can yank out Altaïr is when he grabbed the Apple after Al Mualim’s death but that’s too much of a ‘charged’ point in his life. My proposal is that we either yank him out when he recovered the Apple from Abbas as seen in AC Revelations or when he used the Apple to calm the civilians in AC Bloodlines. I would suggest we yank him out after he recovered the Apple from Abbas because it’s just too tempting for me to yank him out just after he says “Have you anything to teach us? Or will you lead us all to ruin?”

Next is Ratonhnhaké:ton. The only time we are sure that Ratonhnhaké:ton handled an Apple is during the time George Washington showed it to him. We can, of course, yank the Ratonhnhaké:ton from the King Washington DLC but I would suggest we yank him just as he was about to throw the Apple into the sea.

For Ezio. Any time between AC2 to AC Brotherhood that he had the Apple would be possible. AC Revelations would only work if we yanked out Ezio once he got Altaïr’s Apple in Masyaf. Since Ezio is meant to know who Desmond is supposed to be, we’ll take out AC2 in the equation, leaving us with AC Brotherhood and AC Revelations. My suggestion would be during the time Ezio left the Apple in the Colosseum Vault because this is after the whole Borgia feud and Revelations!Ezio needs a break.

This does mean that Ezio would be in his late-40s to early-50s compared to the three who would be in their mid-20s. Of course, we can make Altaïr around the same age as well since we know he has the Apple until his death. Ratonhnhaké:ton would be hard to do since we have no confirmation if he touched any other Apple after Washington. Of course, we can just make use of our fanfic-wand-waving for that little bit and just add a scene of Ratonhnhaké:ton touching an Apple, perhaps even the Apple that Arno got in contact with? Personally, I would suggest we keep their current age because this gives us an excuse for Ezio to get a headache because he has to deal with an Altaïr who is still just learning how to be a team player and not be an asshole as well as be what a mentor should be to Ratonhnhaké:ton instead of whatever half-assed judgment thing Achilles did. Also, he can be an ACTUAL POSITIVE FATHER FIGURE to both of them whose father figures range from dying really early (Umar), manipulative (Al Mualim), and varying degrees of disappointment (Achilles and Haytham Kenway). Ezio is also going to be tasked with teaching the two of them how to work as a team because Ratonhnhaké:ton works alone and Altaïr… is trying.

Now, let’s go over their limitations:

They will only have their memories up to that point so there won’t be any memory transferring or age regression in this setup

They get transported the way they were during that specific time. In other words, all they have are their clothes and whatever equipment they have on them.

The Apple will not be transported with them because that’s a cheat code and I want them to suffer. Instead, we will make locating the Apples their ‘main objective’ because they believe it would have an answer to why they are in that time period.

Alright, now that that’s out of the way…

Let’s talk about time periods.

The Order of the Ancients:

During the Peloponnesian War: This is pretty easy, all things considered. For one, there’s no actual Brotherhood in this time period so they would hear about Desmond and be like “Assassin? Might help?”. The complications come with Deimos. If they think Desmond is working with Deimos, they might think he’s in league with the Cult and not have a semi-stalker problem. To be fair, Desmond could just go “I DON’T KNOW WHY! I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THE HELL I’M DOING HERE!” and maybe have a breakdown. Lots of awkwardness, especially from Altaïr. This one has an easy way to clear any misunderstanding.

During the end of the Ptolemaic period: Now, this one is a bit more complicated. Desmond’s going to be a free agent in this one ‘cause he doesn’t really see any reason to side with the Order of the Ancients but, on the other hand, Amunet’s loyalty to Cleopatra is a big red flag to him so he’s gonna stay away from Bayek and the others. Ezio, on the other hand, would work with them because he knows the legends of Amunet. The fact that she was one of the founders may already be lost to him but he would see her as an ally. Allying with Cleopatra would just be fine to him because it would be similar to how he was with the Medici and with Prince Suleiman. Ratonhnhaké:ton and Altaïr would definitely wave red flags because of Ratonhnhaké:ton’s past with Washington and serving a master is very similar to what happened to Altaïr and Al Mualim. In this time period, there’s a possibility that Altaïr and Ratonhnhaké:ton would break away from Ezio and work with Desmond instead (in a sense that “I have no idea what I’m doing but they’re baddies?” “That’s a good enough start for us.”) and Ezio would be left trying to find/chase them while staying in contact with Amunet. They reunite once the whole Cleopatra fiasco blows up in their faces but this is mitigated because Ezio had been working behind both Amunet and Cleopatra’s back in the first place because he knows Cleopatra is bad news. For course, by this time, Ezio learns Altaïr knew about the whole Cleopatra deal (“How do you know that?” “I read. A lot.” “He does. He’s an overachiever.” “Shut up, Desmond.”) and that’s why he left. They talked about how Altaïr and Ezio should have said something to everyone (which will be a reoccurring problem of Altaïr and Ezio because Altaïr is used to working alone and Ezio, while having recruits and allies, also spent almost half of his Assassin career alone)

During the 9th Century: This one is the most complicated of the three Order of Ancients because Altaïr would know who Ælfred is. Also… Altaïr and Ezio would have a lot of opinions on why the Hidden Ones are allying themselves with those who raid, burn and pillage the innocents. They’re too focused on the Order of the Ancients that they’ve forgotten that their blades exist to protect the people. The enemy of my enemy is my friend isn’t really going to cut it. This makes Desmond’s entire deal of being an unknown who takes down anyone who is either a member of the Order of the Ancient or a pillaging/raiding Viking more like an ally in their eyes. For this one, all the three need to do is get in contact with Desmond and let him know that he’s also working for a bad dude. Then… well… Basim and Hytham may be in for a very heated debate.

The Templar Order (Desmond Saga - let’s make this complicated. We get our trio AND their canon self in the mix.)

The 3rd Crusades: Since we’re going for Desmond planning to change the Templars from the Crusaders’ side, Altaïr would know that something is absolutely up. The events aren’t happening as he remembered them and he would definitely flag Desmond as soon as he hears of him. It would be funny if, by the end of this, Altaïr does become the mentor but it’s not timeline!Altaïr, it’s time-traveling!Altaïr instead. XD

Renaissance: For this one, we’re using the idea of a Templar civil war that happened before Ezio became an Assassin (also, we can add in some sad scenes of Ezio watching the Auditores from afar but never coming close, just making sure they’re alright). We’ll make Ezio think that this truly happened and that Desmond’s side (who he doesn’t know is Desmond yet) lost to Borgia so his idea was to kill them all immediately but Ratonhnhaké:ton would persuade him to check Desmond’s side first. Once they learn Desmond’s side wants a truce with the Assassins and to bury the hatchet, they agree to help Desmond’s side… covertly. All of these are done without them ever meeting Desmond or knowing his actual name. They only meet him maybe as the Borgia side of this civil war is at its last legs and that’s where Ezio would get his surprised pikachu face.

American Revolution: This one would be the angstiest of the three, mainly because of Ratonhnhaké:ton. Since Desmond told Haytham about Ratonhnhaké:ton early on, our Ratonhnhaké:ton would get to watch how Haytham Kenway is as a father trying to connect with his son (even calling him by his real name instead of the name Achilles gave him). Not only that, but Ratonhnhaké:ton would also see how the Colonial Brotherhood is thriving in this time period as Shay still defected but Desmond was able to stop any bloodshed before it happened, becoming a mediator between the two factions as they talked about Lisbon. Ratonhnhaké:ton would see what kind of man Achilles could have been had he not lost everything. And he would feel like he’s the one at fault, that he wasn’t enough… Ezio and Altaïr would be the ones to comfort him and be there for him because Desmond is always by Haytham’s side, making it hard for the three of them to approach him. But when they do… it would be in Ratonhnhaké:ton’s village and his mother would immediately recognize him. (this one would be more on the side of found family for the three)

The Templar Order (Nameless MCs Trilogy)

Golden Age of Piracy: This one would be complicated in the sense that the three of them wouldn’t agree to the Assassins siding with the pirates. They’d definitely make their own ‘third party’ and that’s where their paths with Desmond and Edward would cross. There’s gonna be some snark about how Desmond has a pirate under his employ but they won’t say much because Ratonhnhaké:ton would recognize his name. From there on, they’d work together with Edward being more of a freelancer. (Also, they get a ship with Ratonhnhaké:ton at the helm. Altaïr is not happy being in the sea this much.)

French Revolution: This is a very similar setup to the Renaissance as, by the time they got yanked into this time period, Desmond is already leading the moderates together with de la Serre. They don’t know it’s Desmond yet but Ratonhnhaké:ton persuades them to watch first and help out. Maybe a truce can be achieved, after all. So when de la Serre’s death is meant to happen, the three of them were there to stop it and that’s where they see Desmond for the first time. At that point, the main conflict would be to find out who tried to have de la Serre killed while keeping de la Serre’s moderate party safe. Also: Arno learns how to be an Assassin under Ezio and he, Altaïr, and Ratonhnhaké:ton start to bond because they’re of similar age. In this scenario, the promised 4 member Assassin squad will be Altaïr, Ezio, Ratonhnhaké:ton and Arno.

Industrial Revolution: Oooohhh boy. So… first things first. Ezio isn’t going to like the Rooks. They’re too… undisciplined, to say the least. HOWEVER… Ezio already has experience being a mentor sooooo… introducing Rooks 2.0 where they’re less of a gang and more of a vigilante group. ‘Course, this would take time to setup and make sure everything is in order. During that time, Starrick is converting Desmond to the Templar cause. Here’s where it gets tricky. Now, we can make Desmond actually be part of Starrick’s Templars only because Starrick made him believe the Frye twins are a lost cause. During the same time, Ezio has taken Jacob under his wing and is busy ‘reforming’ the Rooks while Evie and Altaïr are trying to find the Shroud of Eden. What about Ratonhnhaké:ton? Well… Ratonhnhaké:ton goes to the Kenway Mansion out of… sentiment shall we say? And that’s where he meets Desmond who is there for the very same reason. So… here’s the thing. Desmond has trust issues and that trust issues only got taken to new heights thanks to Lucy. Seeing Ratonhnhaké:ton in the flesh would make him absolutely suspicious that some kind of Isu bs is happening. At the same time, when Desmond trusts someone, he trusts them completely. And he trusts his ancestors because he knows them thanks to their memories. So… no matter what Starrick says, Desmond would still listen to what his ancestors have to say. Starrick would lose Desmond as soon as he gets in contact with any of his ancestors. The day Ratonhnhaké:ton and Desmond meets is the day Starrick loses Desmond.

Modern Day:

Okay, so for this one, we’re going to take the idea that Vidic got to Desmond as soon as he left the Farm and got Desmond to be loyal to him by treating him like a son. In this scenario, Altaïr, Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton would have their hands full just trying to get their minds wrapped around how different things are now. Of course, they would see the state of the Brotherhood and side with them. They will definitely butt heads with William Miles and this is when they will hear about Desmond Miles. Ezio would realize that Desmond Miles is his (technically, their) Desmond so they go looking for him while helping out the Brotherhood in any way they can.

By the time they do reach Desmond, Desmond would already be suffering from the Bleeding Effect more severe than Daniel Cross and he would assume they’re there because of his Bleeding Effect.

In this timeline, Desmond would be torn between remaining loyal to Vidic and the Templar cause or listening to Ezio or Altaïr (unfortunately, he doesn’t have any Animus sessions with Ratonhnhaké:ton because the only reason Ratonhnhaké:ton’s memories were accessed in the first place was that they needed to find the key and, in this case, they don’t know about the Grand Temple… yet).

Depending on how long Desmond has been with Vidic, this one has the possibility of Desmond staying with the Templars till the bitter end which… I do not want at all.

So… TL;DR: “The Creed does not order for blind loyalty” is the main reason why I think there’s really no actual reason for a “Desmond versus his ancestors” event even if Desmond is allied with the Templars. Ratonhnhaké:ton wants to find a different path that doesn’t involve this endless war between the Assassins and the Templars so he would understand Desmond’s actions. Altaïr comes from a time when the idea of Assassins versus Templars wasn’t even a thing yet as the Levantine Brotherhood took out anyone who abuses their power and do heinous crimes regardless if they are Crusaders or Saracens. They would be able to persuade Ezio to be more open-minded (since, by Ezio’s time, the Templars are primarily the bad guys). The only idea I could think of where Desmond would firmly be against his ancestors is if he is manipulated like in Vidic’s case and, even then, it wholly depends on Desmond’s feelings for his ancestors if he would continue down the path he chose.

#if the main point was for a bamf templar!Desmond we can still have that #it’s just more of #third parties are a thing #assassin's creed #desmond miles #altaïr ibn la'ahad #ezio auditore #connor kenway #ratonhnhaké:ton #ask and answer #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed

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chaoskirin · 1 year

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The Newest AI Bullshit

So now techbros are flooding short story publications with AI-generated writing. It's not just one or two magazines, either. It's all of them.

I'm just going to fucking scream. This is what happens when you pull art out of curriculums. You have a population who both thinks art is "too hard" and also believes it's "super easy" for the people who do it. We have a bunch of assholes who think artists who've worked hard to learn principles of design, color, and composition are gatekeepers if they tell people to stop using AI generation for profit.

I just don't know what to say anymore. I've gotten so many hate anons and braindead comments on my AI posts that I can't even fathom the true depth of hate techbros have for people who create art--whether that's visual art or writing.

And I know... Deep down the people who regularly use AI don't WANT to create art. They want to AVOID creating art. They know AI generation has nothing to do with their own creativity. What they want is something for free, even if it's mediocre or lackluster, and they definitely don't want to learn how to make those things on their own. They want it handed to them.

Worse, they don't even care who they hurt to do it. There's no appealing to their better nature. Artists on the internet are only vague concepts to them. The other day, someone RT'd my "how AI-image generation works" post and discredited my argument by saying I'm a "30-something game grumps fan..." As if I didn't work my ass off my whole life to become an expert in my field.

These idiots also don't realize that I have literally studied computer science my whole life, I'm getting a master's degree in it, AND my job description is literally tech support and software maintenance for a whole department.

But techbros don't actually know how technology works. They think it's a cool toy that they get to play with and make money off of and that's where the buck stops for them. I can no longer even count the people who've looked at my anti-AI posts and told me "NO THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS" with a billion different excuses that come in waves.

First, it was "It's just like a collage, and those are legal!"

Then, "Stop gatekeeping!"

Then, it was "It's just a computer being inspired like a human!"

Then "It's not anything like a collage!"

Then "Datasets don't actually store images!"

And the same argument comes from multiple people at the same time, as if they'll try to convince themselves of anything except that it's fucking theft and they're bad people for abusing the technology.

I'm not tagging this because it's just a personal rant. Feel free to reblog, though.

#not bestiary

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orange-waterfalls · 2 years

Text

Thunderstorms

Captain Magnum x gn!reader

ask: Don't really know how this works I haven't been on here long enough but uh- if your still taking requests for Markipliers egos and stuff could you do a Captain Magnum x reader who has a huge phobia of thunderstorms and Magnum notices while there's a thunderstorm going on and comforts them :')?

A/N: I wrote this during a thunderstorm so I could keep track of my movements when I got scared. That is my official excuse for how long this took. I missed Magnum so much. Nothing but respect for my Captain. I’ve been into pirates recently because of Our Flag Means Death streaming season 1 now on HBO Max. Also, my writing teacher has assigned us to write everyday but she never said what so expect extremely short bullshit posted more often. Maybe on Ao3. I don’t use tumblr anymore lmao.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Uh. Destiny 2 reference. Battleblock Theatre reference. Mention of. genitalia. yep. Fear of thunder.

In hindsight, you probably should have mentioned the extreme fear of thunder before you joined a pirate crew. On the sea. Where storms… happen. And they happen frequently. And strongly. And loudly.

You had no idea how they could do that. Stand out there. With the wind whipping the sails and waves throwing the boat the rain stinging their skin and the lightning striking anything it found and the fucking noise. The boom of the thunder. The explosions deep in the sky, a threat from the gods telling you mortals that you could die at any moment. It was fucking angry. Like Poseidon invited you to Olympus for dinner and you slapped him in the face.

Not that the crew cared. The crew was fucking joyous. The crew… the crew was fucking dancing, goddammit. You couldn’t tell them now. You couldn’t. It’d be the death of any respect they might’ve had for you. You were pretty sure you heard Magnum's booming voice yelling "COME ON! GIMME ALL YE GOT! YE DON'T HAVE THA BALLS".

You couldn't tell them now. You couldn’t.

The door swung open, cracking the wall, and making you flinch. Magnum waltzed in with a laugh that reminded you of Lord Shaxx to a degree.

"Hoo, the waters be wild tonight, eh, mate?" He stomped into the room, hands on his hips. He looked around, but you weren't sitting in the room. His smile fell. "Mate? Where are ya?"

"In here." You called from the wall. A hole in the wall, moreso. A hide hole. Behind the mirror. It came with the ship, or so you were told.

He bounded over and opened the mirror, leaning his head to the side to see. You were sitting on the floor, knees to your chest. He frowned.

"What're ye doin', child?" He asked. You shrugged in response. "Couldja get outta there?"

You shook your head.

"Why not?"

You shrugged.

"Alright then." He closed the mirror and you thought that was the last of it. At least until you heard the distinct sound of wood cracking and breaking and splintering, making you hit the deck for fear that the storm had just gotten that strong.

You looked up once it stopped to see Magnum holding the mirror. The one attached to the wall. That was no longer attached to the wall. It was basically a door, honestly.

"... hi." He said. You blinked at him.

"Hi, Cap." You sighed.

He looked around your cabin a moment before deciding to just set the mirror against the nearest wall. He then shuffled into the hide hole, needing to duck down quite a bit, and plopped down next to you with his legs resting high up on the wall.

"... what's tha matter?" He asked, softer than you were used to from him.

"There's no matter. Nothing's the matter. I'm fine." You rambled, avoiding his gaze. Your eyes flicked back to him, where he sat squinting at you, scrutinizing.

"Don't lie to me. I can see it in your eyes." He waved a finger at you. You looked back at him and tilted your head.

"Really?" You raised your eyebrows.

"No, but ya just admitted ya lied, so mission accomplished." He laughed. You scoffed.

"Oh, you're an asshole." You shook your head, but had a smile on your face.

"Oi! I may be an ass, but I am no asshole, y'understand?" He teased.

"10-4, good buddy." You nodded and stared at the wall in front of you.

"... what's tha matter?" He asked again.

"That mirror was stronger than I thought it'd be." You brought the conversation in a completely different direction. Magnum looked back at the new hole in the wall. He then looked at you, suspicious.

"Fuckin' strong for some glass and wood." He agreed nonetheless.

"I thought it'd shatter, but she's still intact. Fuckin… fuckin strong-ass storm, but she's intact… she's alright… for now…"

Alright, maybe not completely different a direction.

"... what's tha matter?" He repeated for the third and final time.

"Nothing. I'm fine." You shook your head.

"You said." He quirked an eyebrow.

"Then why're you asking?"

"Cause I don't believe you."

"... right. Ok." You took a deep, calming breath, reminding yourself that your captain wasn't shallow. Well, actually, he was shallow. Extremely so. But he liked you. He was your friend. Maybe a little more, though you weren't sure whether it was further in the platonic direction or veered into romantic. You exhaled and turned to your captain. "Magnum."

"Hm?" He hummed his acknowledgement, giving you the softest eyes you've ever seen from him.

"You like me, right?" You started. He squinted at you once more.

"... mm-hm?" He hummed, already not knowing where this conversation was headed.

"And you respect me?" You continued.

"Yeah…?" He snickered, bringing his hands up and dropping them back on his thighs.

"And that won't change right?" You begged.

"Not unless ya give me reason to. Where're ya goin' with this, mate?" He crossed his arms and shifted so that he was facing you a little more. His eyebrows were furrowed and he looked confused and worried. You didn't like it.

"... Magnum, I have… a confession." You turned to face him fully. He looked you up and down, trying to investigate your body language.

"... go on." He raised an eyebrow again.

"I'm afraid of thunder." You blurted out. For a moment, neither of you said anything. That continued for about 3 more moments.

"... and?" He said, eventually.

"What?" You asked.

"Is that it?" He started to laugh.

"Wh-yeah." He sighed and clapped a strong hand on your shoulder, making you wince.

"Mate, we all have fears."

"Yeah, but mine's… dumb…" You mumbled. You tucked your knees into your chest and turned away from him.

"... I'm afraid of something." He murmured after a few seconds. You snapped your head up to look at him.

"What is it?"

"... rats." He sighed. You barked out a laugh. He gaped at you, incredulous. "Oi!"

"I'm sorry I just… remembered elephants and… yeah. It-yeah. You're just so big, it seems so silly." You rambled, still giggling.

"I'm trying to comfort you on your fear, and you're over there laughing at mine!" He scolded.

"I'm not, I get it! You're just… why would they be ascolded. To you, specifically?"

"Are ya serious! Y'ever heard of the plague?"

"Vaguely aware of it."

"Nasty, nasty business."

"You afraid of mice?"

"Nah, mice're cute."

"Well, that's presumptuous. Mice can spread disease."

"So yer afraid of thunder." He cut off the debate once he knew you'd made a reasonable point. You rolled your eyes.

"Yeah. The only good thing about a storm is the rain. And rainbows."

"It's just water. And light."

"It's pretty. But I'm hiding here. From the storm."

"Mm. A'right. I'll wait too then." He stated. You frowned.

"Oh, you don't have to. Go enjoy the storm. Don't mind me." You waved your hand towards the door. He matched your frown.

"Well, no. I can't leave ya alone. What kinda cap'n doessat make me?" He scoffed.

"You like the storm." You pointed out.

"There'll be other storms." He countered.

"You can't be with me for all of them."

"I can be with ya for this one." You tried to stare him down. He stared back. You soon got very, very uncomfortable and looked away with a tsk.

"... fine." You acquiesced. He smiled apparently pleased with himself.

You both sat there as the storm raged on. You flinched and covered your ears at any particularly loud BOOM, and Magnum flinched at your flinching. Whenever he thought you were being a little dramatic, he thought back to when a rat had gotten onto the ship and he screamed like a 5 year old girl he accidentally frightened once. That shut the thought down as quick as it popped up. He squeezed your shoulder when you whimpered and rubbed your back when you curled in on yourself.

Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore. He looked at your shaking figure and it made him feel so… what, sad? He hadn't felt sad since '04. So he made a decision.

He grabbed you by your upper arms and dragged you towards him, putting you in his lap. Your back was against his chest and he wrapped his arms around your middle.

"Mags?" Your voice cracked when you tried to ask what was happening.

"Try to go to sleep." He instructed. Another loud boom made you flinch hard.

"I can't…" you whispered. He sighed and rested his chin on your head.

"... dream of quiet places. Light wind and sprinkles of rain on a sunny day. Maybe a rainbow, if you'd want. Birds and worms and koi fish. All the dumb shit ya like. I'll bring ya to land soon and you can enjoy the quiet. Just… deal with it for now." He squeezed your middle. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, the vibrations from his chest soothing you a bit.

He moved his hands to gently cup your ears. The sound it made calmed you a little. He slowly opened them again and flattened his palms to try and protect your ears from any further noise.

"Night, Mags…" You muttered.

"Night, mate." He rumbled back, not knowing if you could hear him or not.

It stormed through the night, and he made sure to wake you up to see the rainbow that appeared on the horizon. You stared at the rainbow, unaware that he had chosen to stare at you instead.

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chimielie · 2 years

Text

heaven can't help me now

summary: Suna x Reader. dating on a bet but it's ethical

word count: 4.4k

cw: a lot of kissing, cheating (not done to reader or by suna), humor to ??? to angst to ???, no joke this is all over the place, friends to dating the school player on a bet to fake dating to friends to

a/n: shh

“This is the stupidest situation I’ve ever been in,” you say, surveying the mostly-empty early morning grounds of Inarizaki High. The only noises are the breeze rustling through the trees, birds chirping musically, and the grunts of every student athlete running through their morning workout.

“No it’s not,” says your best friend, the demonic entity who put you in this mess.

“No, it’s not,” you agree sadly. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

Getting this over with actually entails waiting until the end of the school day, because you don’t want to face the consequences of your actions and would rather hide at home than suffer publicly in school.

One in thirteen people die via vending machine every year, you remind yourself as you approach the contraption warily. You should be so lucky.

Tragically, the vending machine doesn’t kill you; worse, everything goes according to plan. At 3:23 p.m., Suna Rintarō approaches for his pre-practice snack.

I’m gonna throw up, you text your friend. She leaves you on delivered. You hate her.

“Hey,” Suna says your name, effectively cutting off all trains of thought.

“Hi,” you say. You nearly chicken out, but your pride is on the line. You have to do this. You can do this. You are a badass.

“Thanks,” says Suna. Oops. Your mouth clamps shut involuntarily, so you stare mutely at him while he chuckles to himself, focused primarily on scanning the plethora of processed food the machine offers.

About three things you are absolutely positive. First, Suna is a heartbreaker of the highest degree. Second, you are trapped in a dare to prove otherwise. And third, the way his blazer drapes over his frame and he smiles at you like he’s letting you know a secret makes you feel like a dandelion being blown into the blue sky on a sunny summer day.

Like having butterflies, but instead of merely letting them flutter around your innards, you ascend into the weightlessness of fluttering flight.

Fucking insects.

“Funny story,” you say abruptly, making eye contact with Suna. “I was dared to date you. For over three months. I don’t think I was supposed to tell you but it didn’t seem ethical not to on the off chance that you would, y’know, say yes, against all known laws of physics and aviation—”

Suna laughs. His nose scrunches up when he does it, and his eyes nearly close, and the flush on his face is the same shade of pink all the French lovers wrote about, probably. You bounce on your toes in agitation.

“I know it sounds like a joke but I just really need you to give an answer so I can report back because if I don’t ask you they threatened to dye my cat purple.”

“Isn’t your cat black?”

“I have two cats,” you say. “I knew I shouldn’t have defended you. Asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he waves it off. “Let’s do it. Could be fun.”

“Are you joking?” It’s your turn to laugh.

“No,” he says simply, stepping just into your personal space so he can reach out and brush a piece of your hair back. “Not even a little.”

“Excuse me a moment,” you say, and turn your back to him to message FUCK in the groupchat with unsteady fingers. You are all too aware of his sharp eyes watching over your shoulder while you type the four-letter word three times until it’s spelled correctly. You tuck your phone back into your pocket and face him again with squared shoulders. “Cool. Sweet. Should we shake on it?”

He stretches out his hand. You take it, gripping it firmly to indicate that you will be a reliable and firm business partner.

“Is there money on this?”

“5000 yen from six people each if we last through the three month mark,” you say seriously. “I can give you fifteen percent of the winnings.”

“Fifty percent.”

“Twenty.”

“Thirty,” he says, and you shrug. “But I’m still gonna call it off if I get bored, just so you know.”

“Oh, I know,” you say. You’re still holding his hand.

He changes his grip so your fingertips are barely touching, drawing your hand up to brush a kiss over the knuckles. You want to punch him in the mouth a little bit. It’s not right for someone to be so romantic in an entirely unromantic situation. It’s confusing and upsetting.

“Signed and sealed,” he says. “Walk home with me on Friday, okay?”

Friday goes well. At first, you feel clumsy and stupid, your mind entirely consumed by the fact that you’re fake-dating him. Your friends hadn’t bought that he’d said yes (they didn’t know you’d told him about the bet) until he’d interrupted your morning briefing with them the next day, hair endearingly limp from volleyball-induced sweat and grin sharp and wide. He’d slung an arm around you while you shrieked and tried to get out from beneath him, aggravated by his moistness, and he’d finally put an end to your wriggling by spinning you face to face with him, brushing his nose against yours and telling you to be good.

That had shut you up for, like, ten minutes.

It’s easy to fake it around your friends, playing off an inside joke with him that reads as chemistry to outsiders. One on one, though, you panic.

“So...” Suna says, hands in his pockets and posture slouched while you stew in anticipatory embarrassment. “What do you think of Englebert Humperdink?”

“What?”

“You’re weird, Suna,” you bump into him purposely, bouncing off with the efficacy of a tennis ball hitting a brick wall.

“I told you to call me Rintarō,” he bumps you back. “And you’re the one being weird.”

“It’s just weird,” you say indignantly. “Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“Well, I’m weird too,” he shrugs. “No big.”

Weirder, it’s like a ton lifts off your shoulders when he says that.

“At least you’re weird cool,” you offer. “People like your weird.”

“I don’t really care, though,” he says. “People like you, they don’t like you, it doesn’t matter. You’re still weird.”

“Are you talking about you or me? Or the ambiguous you?”

He only offers a mysterious smile in response.

Your first date with Suna — Rintarō — is five days of walking home with him plus the weekend later. He picks you up fifteen minutes late, has a toxic green energy drink in hand, and refuses to tell you where he’s taking you no matter how you beg, threaten, or bribe.

It’s a classic: the movie theater. By the time you’ve finished reading all the possible movie titles on show tonight, he’s brandishing two tickets to the latest in a series of corny action flicks, smirking lazily at you.

“I wanted to see the one with the assassin romance,” you say while he pays for movie snacks, mocking you relentlessly for your choice of filler food.

“The one who pays picks the movie,” he sing-songs.

“That’s not a rule. And I could’ve paid.”

“It is for me, and I wouldn’t let you do that, because I’m a gentleman and a great time.”

“You chose a movie with four prequels I haven’t seen. I don’t think you qualify for either of those.” He shrugs.

“The tickets are bought. No choice now.”

You get back at him by making snide comments throughout the movie, pointing out every plot hole and snickering at the saddest scenes.

“You are a demon and I never should have agreed to this,” he points at you once you’ve walked out of the theater.

“Aw, no, baby,” you say, pouting exaggeratedly at him. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“Not a chance,” he laughs. “No fucking way.”

It turns out that being in a couple can be really good for your social life. You get specials at restaurants, so you go out to eat more. You like pissing off your friends with your success, so you invite them to hang out and bring your boyfriend along. You get to know the infamous volleyball team, who are a lot less intimidating when they run around hitting each other with towels than they are on the court.

Sure, the Miyas seem like they’re constantly laughing behind your back, but you can tell they’re bouncing between making fun of Rintarō and of you equally.

“He’s gonna break up with you, ya know?” Says the gray-haired one to you one day, completely unprompted. You blink up at him, caught mid-soup sip.

“Don’t make fun, Samu,” says the blond. “He’s too in loveeeeee to do that.” He tilts his head coquettishly and flutters his fingers around his face. “He told us you’re not like his exes. He actually said that.”

“I think he says that to all his dates,” Osamu muses. “Male manipulator.”

“Male manipulator my ass,” snorts Atsumu. “Yesterday he saw one of his ex-girlfriends and hid behind me until she went away. The man is a simp.”

“Maybe he still has feelings for her,” muses Osamu, staring at you with laser focus. “Does that worry you?”

“No?” You say, then take a loud slurp of soup.

“You’re borin’,” says Atsumu. “Maybe s’why he likes you so much. Bye.”

“Bye,” says Osamu.

“Bye.”

You’re on your fifth date, getting a special two for the price of one taiyaki deal when you actually bump into his ex, standing behind you in line.

“Hi,” she grins at you. “You know he’s a piece of shit, right?”

“Yes,” you say confidently, at the same time Rintarō says her name pleadingly. You sense suddenly that there is history here you don’t want to make light of.

“As long as you’re clear,” she says, taking your hand and squeezing it. Her fingertips bite into your skin. You look at Rintarō, surprised he’s not making any smart quips, but the gray shade of his skin tells you everything you need to know about the situation.

“The vibes,” you say, suddenly. “They’re arsenic.”

“What?”

“Rintarō,” you grab his hand and tug on it. “We have to go.”

You pull him out of the line, stumbling as he goes and giving her a small, pathetic wave as you storm away.

He doesn’t regain his color until you’re in your room, sitting on your bed while he drapes himself over your desk chair.

“So is there a reason why your ex makes you catatonic or should I make one up?”

“She’s fine,” Rintarō says hoarsely.

“Yep,” you say. “She killed your childhood horse.”

“What? No, you’re insane. She cheated on me.”

“She cheated on you?” You launch yourself to your feet, suddenly filled with the power of a thousand burning suns to strike her down.

“No, no, no,” he says. “Sit down. Sit down. It was my fault, anyway.”

Rintarō’s not a particularly loud guy, but he sounds so quiet now that you nearly ask him to speak up.

“How can her cheating possibly be your fault?” You arch a brow.

“I wasn’t a good boyfriend,” he says. “I was really, uh, neglectful.” He holds a hand up when you open your mouth. “It was worse than you think. She tried to reason with me a bunch of times and I wouldn’t listen. We had a pretty big fight and didn’t talk for a couple days, and when we were talking again, she had... Well. And then it was over.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. So, I dunno, I don’t blame her or anything. Plus, I went on a streak of fucking, uh, flings afterwards so I’m not faultless, either.”

“Bullshit, but okay,” you snort. “None of that is grounds for sleeping with someone else as revenge for upsetting her.”

“It wasn’t revenge—”

“It kinda was,” you point out. “And I don’t think you hooking up with a bunch of people after she hit you in the heart with a golf club is really the same thing. If anything, it sounds like you were just... trying to get over her, which isn’t a crime in anyone’s book, really.”

“It wasn’t hooking up,” he protests weakly.

“You’re running out of arguments, Rintarō,” you say. “Anyway. Um. Sorry for being all in your business. Can I get you anything?”

“I don’t know,” he says vaguely, staring into space.

“Okay,” you say, shoulders dropping. “Sounds good to me.”

You spend the next hour with him in near silence. Halfway through, you ask if he wants to sit on the bed with you, which he gladly accepts. The only noise in the room is the sound of the both of you tapping at your phones and occasionally clicking on a video and playing it out loud. You wonder if your parents would be angry that you had a boy in your room if they walked in and saw the two of you doing absolutely nothing.

“Sorry,” you say, just before he leaves. “Again.”

“No, you’re good,” he responds. “It was nice. Really, really nice.”

Impulsively, you hug him. It takes a second for him to unfreeze, but you eventually feel hands patting your back.

“Night,” you say once you’ve pulled back. “Sleep tight.”

“Hope the vampires bite,” he says, smiling toothily at you.

That’s when you become best friends with your boyfriend.

You can recall the nearly physical feeling of the click of things into place, of the way the universe shifted just slightly so you could see so much more clearly. Dates blur into one long Suna session. Suddenly, you find your afternoons consumed with sitting on the bleachers, even if you're not actually watching practice. You no longer need to invite Rintarō to gatherings; he's there when the plans are made. You text incessantly during class and he sits in your desk chair, playing games on his phone, while you ponder your homework, waiting for you to finish so the two of you can binge dramas together.

"This means we probably would've had more fun if we'd watched the assassin romance instead of General Godzilla 5: Part 2," you say snidely.

"Fuck you," he responds eloquently.

He does the dishes for you when your parents ask you to, and you wash his laundry when you visit his house. This must be what it means to be in a partnership. The two of you encounter new problems and adapt, improvise, overcome.

"Have you and Suna... you know? Yet?" Asks one of your friends.

"No," laughs your best friend (the one you're not dating). "Have you two even kissed yet?"

"Yes, of course we have," you answer extremely truthfully. "Excuse me."

Rintarō opens his front door half an hour later. You promptly scream for fifteen straight seconds. He understands.

"We just need to orchestrate a kiss and get more comfortable with PDA," you reason later, sitting cross-legged across from him on your bed. He nods seriously, fingers steepled and expression wise.

"We can do that. Have you ever kissed someone before?" You throw a pillow at him.

"Of course I have. Just because it doesn't turn into schoolwide gossip doesn't mean it's not happening."

"Low blow, but okay."

"Wait," you pause. "Maybe you're right. Not factually, but spiritually. Do you think we should practice?"

"Maybe," you watch him swallow. "Yeah."

You both scoot slowly toward each other, laughing nervously every time the bed creaks.

"So are you..." You start, throat dry. "Um. Am I or are you gonna—"

Ungracefully, his lips land on yours. Your eyes slam shut and you reciprocate enthusiastically, cupping the back of his neck with one hand to brace yourself. Despite the jerky start, you can tell that he's a good kisser, a really good kisser. He sucks hard on your lower lip, drawing a noise you're embarrassed to hear out of your mouth, which prompts him to shift around and put a large hand on your back, kneeling so he has a few inches on you and can pull you closer. You kiss him harder, desperate to drown out the intensity of your own reaction.

Too hard. You think you black out.

When you come to, your hands have migrated into his black hair and he's pulling away from your neck, which you suspect is freshly marked. He stares down at you with wide eyes, and you suspect the expression is mirrored on your face.

"Do you think that was enough practice?" You ask carefully, unsure of what the correct answer is.

"Probably," he says, leaning back. "It'll be fine. Unless you get performance anxiety and drool on my face or something."

"You're so gross."

"You love me."

"Do I?"

You're half-asleep, walking out of your final period of the day when someone pulls you headlong into a dark classroom.

"Don't scream," Rintarō says. You scream. "Exactly. Thank you."

Then he's kissing you, barely brushing his lips against yours, smirking when you pinch his ribs. You chase him, kissing him fully and turning the both of you so that he's up against the wall, his hands loosely gripping your waist while your hands wander to his hair. He tastes sweet-and-sour, like home and like trouble, a contradiction wrapped in black hoodies and burning yellow eyes.

Someone's calling your name. Someone's calling your name, and the lights are on. You blink blearily at your best friend, who's laughing her ass off, and separate slowly from Rintarō. Your lips are wet and you can't seem to catch your breath.

"It's not what it looks like."

"God, imagine if I'd been a teacher," your friend howls and backs out of the classroom, beckoning you to follow. "Oh, the looks you guys gave me..."

"Remy," Rintarō whispers in your ear as he jogs to catch up with you, slinging his bag on. "You're like the rat in Ratatouille. Pulling me around by my hair."

"You are so, so bad at romance," you hiss. "See if I ever do it again."

"I mean, we weren't going to," he says. "But I'd like to."

You punch him lightly in the arm, but your heart's not in it.

Comparatively, PDA isn't hard after that. Your friends make fun of your hickey, which you shift up your collar to hide self-consciously (and which Rintarō pulls down constantly and secretly, for reasons unknown to you), and you hold hands without even thinking about it. You kiss him hello on the cheek and he hugs you goodbye, and you're starting to become hyperaware of the upcoming deadline.

Will everything change the way it did when you asked him to do this crazy, stupid thing with you? Will it all slip away, like a dream you can't quite remember by the time you wake up?

All these worries add up to something worse, you realize, lying in bed staring at the ceiling. You're not quite sure you can make it to the three month mark without wanting everything that's been smoke and mirrors and espionage to be real.

Only two weeks, you tell yourself, checking over your calendar again and again like it'll make the days pass faster. Fourteen days, three hundred thirty six hours, twenty thousand and one hundred sixty minutes. Everything is fine.

He takes you to the movies again.

He buys tickets for a movie from the fifties, buys you your favorite snacks without having to be asked, wraps his arm around you when you shiver from the air-conditioned interior. He likes the seats in the middle, but you nod toward the back.

"Really?" He asks, voice strangely high-pitched. "Oh. Sick."

You don't remember much of the movie.

Your last date with Suna Rintarō ends on the train. The world is a smear of blue and gray in front of you; behind you, arms embracing you almost too loosely is him. You turn your head to speak into his ear.

"It's been good," you tell him. "Happy three months."

"Happy three months," he repeats, the words nearly foreign in his mouth. "And one day. We're gonna be rich."

"And one day," you smile, and reach for his hand, his bony fingers cold to the touch. "Should we stage a big breakup?"

"I've had enough of big breakups for a lifetime," he laughs. "But if you want to, let's do it. Could be fun."

"No, it's okay," you shrug. "They're gonna know we gamed them, anyway. No need to lay it on anymore."

"Yeah," he replies. "Does that mean this is it?"

The conductor announces your stop, one neighborhood before his.

"I guess so," you feel strangely light, a little out of body. "See you tomorrow, Rintarō."

You should kiss him, maybe. Something dramatic should be happening right now; at least an emotional embrace. That's not how the two of you operate, though, and it wasn't anything real, anyway, you try to remind yourself. He won't be losing any sleep over this, so neither should you.

You lick your lips and smile at him, giving a little wave. He lifts a hand, head down while he looks at his phone. You can close the book on your relationship, and it feels just right. The train starts to move, and you turn around and walk home.

This is the stupidest situation he's ever been in, Rintarō thinks to himself.

It's been two weeks since what should have been the easiest breakup of his life, and things don't feel easy.

At first they were: your friends were annoyed but good natured, handing out the money reluctantly but with knowing expressions on their faces. He'd become too much a part of your life to simply pull out, and vice versa, so things had stayed similar.

But he felt so different, and he couldn't figure out why.

"Good one," Atsumu crows when he hears the truth of your relationship. "Really had me fooled. 'Samu, too."

"Was not!"

"Yes, you were. You thought he was playin' a fling again, not us."

"They were playin' their friends!"

"Are we not their friends, too?" Atsumu asks, wounded. "Hey, since Y/N is single now— or always was, whatever, could I—"

"Are you joking? No," Rintarō says. "What kind of question is that?"

"A perfectly valid one," sulks Atsumu. "Hey, mine!" He dives after a stray volleyball, and Rintarō stares after him distractedly.

It's almost metaphorical, the way Atsumu's easily pulled away from the topic of you by the game. Would that happen to Rintarō again? If he put in effort, and he could tell you how he felt— that he was miserable like this, that he'd gotten addicted to the way you tripped over your words because they came out too fast and the way your room smelled entirely like you and to your all-encompassing presence and touch, and he needed it, needed you back the way he'd had you and hadn't even known it— and by some miracle, you accepted, would he take it for granted? Would he ever be good enough for you?

Would he lose even the half of you he held in his palms now?

He's losing his mind, he realizes. Metaphor? In his volleyball? Unlikely.

He casts a longing look at the bleachers, then shakes his head. He needs to get his head in the game.

It's a Saturday night, and he misses you.

hey, he texts you, after forty-five minutes of agonizing deliberation. do u want to watch something? i think there's a ghibli showing at the theater but we can just stream if u want

sorry :( You respond three minutes later. can't.

rip, he sends. You don't answer. He slams his phone facedown on his comforter and lies on his back, his hands shaking. It's not until he rolls over and feels wet fabric against his cheek that he realizes he's been crying.

You feel so distant and only now he knows what he's doing wrong.

Rintarō's fallen in love with you.

"I don't know," you're saying. "I think I prefer the little jelly strawberries."

He can't focus. Every time he's around you, he nearly works up the courage to confess, to spill out every bloody, messy feeling he's had since you broke up and pray that you'll bear with him for it, but he always talks himself out of it. He can love you like this, he tells himself. His emotions aren't any less real for not being validated.

"What do you think? Rintarō?" You're snapping your fingers in front of his face. He hunches his shoulders and leans away.

"I think about your mom," he musters. You peer at him, your face far too close to his. He imagines bonking himself in the head with a thick textbook several times to remain stoic.

"You're being weird."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Walk home with me today."

"Are t— what?" He shrugs. "Okay."

He sits a little straighter. He can make it another few hours. You got this, man, be normal.

He's pretty sure he fails miserably in that regard, but he recalls you looking at him with sparkling eyes and telling him people liked his weird. He hopes you were talking about yourself.

The sky is clear and he's nearly too hot beneath his school blazer. Beside him, your steps are light, taken to the beat of a song he can't hear. Cars honk in the street and dogs bark in their backyards. He bites his lip.

"Is everything okay?" Is somehow the way he chooses to open the topic.

"Yes," you say. "But I don't think it is with you. Tell me." He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them. What is he doing? He's not sure.

"It's really stupid," he says. "Well, not really, I just think it's kind of weird, maybe, and you might not like it. Or me. I guess that's the gist of it. I like you. I think I love you. And it hurts like we broke up for real when we weren't even dating for real. You're a really good friend, and I don't want to lose that, but," he flounders. "If you wanted to try dating, again, for real, I would love to try dating, again, for real, because I think I could... I don't think I did badly, but I want to show you that I can do better." He laughs, quietly, self-deprecatingly, and slows to a stop, turning to face you.

You stare at him, lips parted and brows raised.

In the eternity stretching between the two of you, he feels something inside him crack. It's not a clean break, either. He can feel shards of himself falling to the sidewalk while you look on, his usually icy demeanor revealing the lovesick boy beneath.

You take a deep breath, and he swears he can feel it inflating his own lungs.

"Oh."

part two here

#suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintarou x reader #suna rintarō x reader #suna angst #suna fluff #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu!! angst #haikyuu!! x reader angst #haikyuu x reader fluff #hq!! x reader #hq x reader #hq x reader angst #hq x reader fluff

3K notes · View notes

yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

bad boy good thing xiv.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 5, 690

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a/n:

hello!!!! we’re here at fourteen chapters omg ✨✨when i first started this series it was mostly self-indulgent and now there are people who actually enjoy reading it??🥺 it almost doesn’t seem real T.T

thank you so much for the love and support!!! just so I don't give too much spoilers for this chap - I apologise to my fellow geminis for the potential slander 🤣 this is more of a self-drag lmaooo

anyway, I hope you enjoy this chap!!!

“Ah. I’m getting allergies.” Yena sniffs, scrunching her nose.

You furrow your brows in concern, “Are you okay? Do you need any medicine?”

“It’s just the seasonal changes,” She brushes you off.

You nod in understanding, “I get it. My mom has horrible reactions towards pollen so—”

“I’m not allergic to flowers.” She blinks.

“Then what—?”

“It’s Gemini season. It’s like—literally the worst time of the year.” She blinks.

You gawk at her, taking a whole ten seconds to process her serious tone when she doesn’t waver under your scrutiny.

“I’m a Gemini,” You inform her slowly.

“I mean …” She shrugs all as you scowl at her, opting to throw the closest object you had, which was your favourite pen so you decide against it; simply shooting her the meanest glare you could possibly muster.

“Look, it’s not you,” She sighs, and you’re half-expecting her to finish with an it’s me to make you scoff, “It’s me.” And there you go. “I mean, it’s Gemini’s in general because they’re two-faced bitches who have the worst emotional attachment issues. Like they’re literally what the opposite of glue is. And they’re so over-analytical. How is it like psychoanalysing every person you meet only to hurt your own feelings and sulk about it?”

You blink.

“I mean it’s not you but if the shoe fits.” She says casually, plopping a grape into her mouth that you’re tempted to slap away.

“You’re so mean!” You pout indignantly.

She cackles, throwing her head back as you continue to sulk. You weren’t that bad. You just … you were risk-averse! You liked having the freedom to observe everyone and anyone and package them into tiny compartments in your head so you could understand them better. You weren’t … that Gemini.

“You’re so cute,” She coos pinching your cheeks. “No wonder Beef One and Beef Two like you so much.” She teases.

Your first reaction is to blush because you know who exactly she’s talking about, but you have more pressing matters, like—

“You have nicknames for them?” You ask, baffled.

“Hey, I wasn’t friends with many girls in high school. Don’t girls usually have nicknames for their crushes?” She says through a pout.

You stay expressionless as you try to gauge the level of seriousness you can extract from her tone.

You realise she’s dead serious.

“Yeah, but we’re in college,” You argue, scrunching your nose, “And sides’, it’s not like they’re strangers. We know them.”

She rolls her eyes, waving you off like you were the inconvenience here. Then she leans forward, her eyes twinkling as she takes a complete one-eighty that you try to adjust to.

“So … you Gemini hoe, what’s your plans?” She nudges you.

You raise a brow, “Did you just call me a—?”

“Plans, ___. Stay on track.” She scolds.

You sigh, still fond but you pretend to be annoyed. You really couldn’t get annoyed with Yena. After all, the more time you spend with her the more you realise how much life sucked before you had her in your life. You spent each moment learning more about her quirks and habits, her choice of words that made you giggle or laugh until you were crying.

And you realise that this is how she loves, a little rough but welcomed nonetheless.

“If you’re talking about my birthday then … not much. I’m probably stuck doing admin work for the college’s charity programme.” You shrug, stabbing a fork into your soiled salad.

Yena gapes at you, “Not much—excuse me? It’s your birthday! You’re turning twenty-five!”

You look at her dryly, “I’ve been twenty-five since the year—”

She groans, “That’s not the same! You’re like—officially twenty-five. You’re literally hitting the mark for a quarter-life crisis. Isn’t that something to celebrate?”

“Me going through an existential crisis at the end of my degree is not how I want to celebrate my birthday but okay,” You blink.

She rolls her eyes at your realism.

“That’s not the point. Point is, this is our first birthday together and I want it to be special.” She points out.

You snort, “What? Are we doubling my birthday as our monthsary or something?”

She shoves you with a brute force that has you snickering but she continues to pester you anyway.

“You’re so dumb. So smart, but so dumb,” She shakes her head, “You’re always studying or doing some form of work that requires the use of more than one brain cell. You deserve a break. Besides, you have two dudes to pick from on how you’d like to be wined and dined and—”

“Yena!” You whine.

“—it’ll be like an episode of the Bachelorette! But just with a super cool and smart best friend that’ll make the decision for you. It’s not your birthday. It’s ours.” She emphasises towards the end.

You stare at her for a long second, before the two of you are bursting into laughter at the absurdity of her statement.

It was nice, just to laugh about things without having your heart feel so heavy. Even if it was a mild distraction, it was still wholly pleasant to be able to just talk about mindless things that didn’t require much mental gymnastics to navigate the conversation with.

“What are the two of you laughing about?” Taehyung and Jimin arrive at impeccable timing, sliding into the booth with their own packaged food. It’s very college-student-esque, a cute paper (because no plastic) container filled with an array of assortments.

“None of your XY chromosomes business.” Yena retorts.

Jimin blinks, “You are literally so hostile.”

“Then don’t give me a reason to be.” She sticks her tongue out petulantly.

You laugh, nudging her with your shoulder, “Be nice.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes but manages to keep a civil smile on his face. Always the more rational one between the two.

“Anyway, Yena definitely isn’t going to answer me so, what’s up?” He turns to look at you.

You roll your eyes but it’s half-hearted, “She wants to celebrate my birthday like we’re on the Bachelorette.”

“Like you’re on the Bachelorette.” She corrects.

“Oh my God, our baby’s turning twenty-five!” Jimin coos at the reminder, pinching your cheeks as he coddles you. You scowl and weakly shove him away, even if you preen under the attention.

“I’m literally older than the both of you.” You huff.

Yena blinks, “There’s no way I’m the oldest person at this table.”

Taehyung furrows his brows, “Wait—how old are you?”

She sends him a scathing glare that has his arms raised up in defence.

“Jeez, okay. Don’t answer.”

“I’m going to answer because you told me not to.” She clips. “I’m twenty-seven.”

Jimin blinks, “No wonder you and Yoongi hyung are so alike.”

You almost miss it, but as Yena so eloquently pointed out, you were a sucker for psychoanalysing people (even if you didn’t want to admit it yet) that you notice the way she flushes ever so slightly as she scoffs.

“Him? How dare you compare me to that sorry excuse of a—!”

“Okay, everyone is beneath you. I’m sorry your highness.” Jimin rolls his eyes.

You make a note to ask her about it because you know for a fact that Yoongi ‘complains’ about Yena every hour he can. It’s almost as if he can’t go long enough without mentioning her.

You smile to yourself as you duck your head.

“Exactly,” She flips her hair over her shoulders before turning to face you. “Anyway, back to you—our baby.”

Taehyung nods, “Exactly, the baby.”

You scrunch your nose, “Don’t coddle me.”

He pats your head before cooing at you like he would to an actual baby, “But you’re just so cute. You’re too good for this shitty world. Too good for the likes of mere mortals like us.”

“Not me.” Yena blinks before gesturing to their bodies, “You.”

Jimin sticks his tongue out in retaliation as you sigh at their never-ending bickering.

Somehow … it felt right. You think it most of the times but you don’t know any other way to describe how it feels to be back with your friends, laughing, bickering and just appreciating their presence.

When you and Jungkook had your issues, it was like you made the conscious choice to avoid everyone and anyone as much as you could, and any interaction you had during that period was purely out of coincidences and not the intention. You remember actively avoiding Jimin and Taehyung because it felt too draining to pretend like you didn’t have a battle in your head. Even studying or spending time with Namjoon made you feel guilty, the thought of Jungkook lingering in your mind. Yena was there through it all, but even then you saw her as much as you did with any of your classmates you so happened to share a class with.

In fact, if it weren’t for Yena you’d probably have zero social interactions as a whole because she just knew. She somehow picked up on your internal conflicts but never outwardly shamed you or confronted you about it. All she did was be there for you, offering you her presence and you were grateful.

So, yeah. Things were better, but your heart was still at its core—confused. Your feelings for Jungkook didn’t disappear overnight and you knew that you were the one that asked for space.

You forgave him … you did, honestly. But there are things you can’t forget, and those are the things that you wished you could. The words he said in principle, was outright shitty. But the fact that it came from him only poked at every single one of your insecurities that you developed over the years.

You knew it wasn’t healthy to compare yourself to other women when they were living vastly different lives than you were, but it’s proven difficult when you’re forced to see these type of women every day, at college, in your community work or on the media.

Believing Jungkook’s apparent feelings for you was harder because, well. Jungkook was Jungkook. He wasn’t just another guy, and despite his shortcomings, he had more merits than he’d let on and you knew that people saw that. It was also the fact that Jungkook had a charm that drew all types of people in. He was soft-spoken but passionate, and people loved a quiet achiever.

You … knew about the women. Way before Jennie and way before the thing between the two of you happened. Jimin and Taehyung would always update you about the new fling or girl he had tied to his hip just as he was in his final year in high school. You had to force a smile every single time they’d snicker and joke about how your Jungkook suddenly became a man overnight.

And you noticed the trend with the women he liked. They were … captivating. Beautiful wasn’t even enough to describe them because they looked like they could carry the world on their shoulders and spark immense change with just the movement of their lips. They were confident and charismatic, outgoing and just the right amount of flirty. You were anything but.

It sucked, majorly, because you spent years agonising over the fact that you were already coined with the older sister title in the group because of the way you acted—just a little more uptight than the average woman your age. You were quiet but loud in the right company; you didn’t like crowds, socialising or mingling around with people you didn’t know and based on your observations it seemed like that was the only thing that Jungkook’s been doing ever since he made it to senior year in high school, and even in the first years of college.

You don’t resent him, you think. You couldn’t blame him because you weren’t honest either. You consented, to all of the kisses and touches even if he hadn’t officially had sex with you. You wanted to, but you were terrified. Not at the prospect of penetration but at the prospect of not being enough and the fact that Jungkook was the only person you wanted to have sex with while he had options that were far more attractive and experienced than you were.

That’s why you needed time because at least you could get your shit together even if it was an uphill battle.

“Earth to ____?” Taehyung waves a hand in front of your face with a concerned expression.

You blink, snapping out of your daze as you offer a meek smile and an apology.

“We just asked you if you wanted a small get together at Tae’s and I’s place for your birthday?” Jimin asks.

“Really?” You beam. That was exactly what you preferred.

“Yeah, we know you don’t like clubs and stuff. Just a small and intimate gathering with all your best buds.” He grins.

You nod your head, but Yena beats you to a response.

“By best buds you mean the three friends she has, which is us and the two meatheads duelling for her affection.” She snorts.

You flush, “Y-Yena!”

Taehyung snickers at your embarrassment.

“It doesn’t help that both of them are literally the biggest dudes on the football team. It’s literally like watching King Kong and Godzilla getting into a fight for world domination.”

Jimin throws his back in laughter as you fold your arms across your chest at post at the way your friends are practically crying in laughter at the image. Jimin was clutching onto Taehyung for his dear life because if he didn’t then he’d fall off the chair.

“Stop,” You whine, “you guys are being mean.”

“Oh my God, you’re literally the only person on this earth that would take two people fighting for your attention as an offence.” Taehyung groans.

“I-It’s not that!” You deny exasperatedly, “I-It’s just … awkward …”

Jimin sighs with a small smile, patting your head.

“If it’s any consolation I think it’s offensive that Jungkook thinks he even has the right to breathe in—”

“Jimin!”

“Wow. It really is like King Kong and Godzilla.” Jimin whistles lowly, eyeing the scene before him with amusement lingering in his eyes.

“Do you think they’re gonna start slamming their chests soon or …?” Taehyung trails off in a whisper, leaning into Jimin so that the two other men wouldn’t notice.

“I can literally hear you.” You say dryly.

Jimin offers you a plastic smile, “You’re meant to hear us, babe. How about you try to tame them like Jane did with Tarzan?”

Jimin nearly shrieks when you shove him so fiercely that he topples over into Taehyung’s grasp as the second part of the duo only catches him in the process.

You sigh, completely ignoring the way that Jimin’s muttering curses that were directed to you under his breath. Instead, you were transfixed on the scene before you—which specifically is Jungkook and Namjoon staring each other down through the mirror of the gym. You were lucky that it was just the five of you since Namjoon was able to use his captain privileges to book the gym because you had no idea how to explain the fact that two big-sized men were attempting to outdo each other in their circuit reps as if they were on a suicide mission.

“Listen, when I agreed to help you out with your sets I thought I was meant to help log it in for a report.” You exasperate, but the two men continue their manly lift-off as they huff and puff their exertion away.

“Trust me, you are helping. Being the motivation is more than—”

This time it’s Taehyung who faces your wrath as you thwack him upside the head.

From where Jungkook and Namjoon were, Jungkook can only deliver death stares into the direction of his captain who returns it tenfold. He wasn’t even sure why they were doing this but something a flicked definitely switched in Jungkook when Namjoon (purposefully) revealed that you were helping out with something. At the gym. Supposedly alone.

Jungkook’s primitive side came out because the next thing Namjoon knew was that Jungkook managed to drag himself, and Jimin and Taehyung as a diversion. He still feels his chest swell with pride when recalling the scowl on Namjoon’s face when he entered the gym, all fake smiles and a pep in his step.

“____, could you help me spot?” Namjoon breathes, sitting up from whatever the hell he was doing with the barbell. You weren’t fixated with gym language and you weren’t even sure why he was asking you when there was an entire Jimin and Taehyung right next to you.

“Uh, okay sure—“

“Noona,” Jungkook calls.

You freeze.

“Jungkook … I thought we established that you don’t need to call me that anymore.” You raise an eyebrow.

You miss the obvious glare that Namjoon shoots his bitchass friend, as well as the snorts that leave Jimin and Taehyung’s mouth.

“Pay attention to me,” Jungkook pouts. Like, actually pouts. You somehow flush because he seemed so much like the younger version of Jungkook who used to always coddle you for attention.

“Okay but after I help—”

“Yeah. After she helps me.” Namjoon interjects, and you nearly jump at the way he’s suddenly behind you, more so—pressed against your back with his hands on your hips as he moves you aside to get to another piece of equipment.

Your breath hitches because while you weren’t exactly invested in Namjoon in the romantic sense, he was undeniably attractive and … big. You could salivate in private.

“Oh my God, do you see that?” Taehyung hisses in a hushed whisper.

“Hyung is petty,” Jimin gawks.

“This is Namjoon we’re talking about. Didn’t he steal all the umbrellas from your dorm because you ratted him out to the librarian when he broke a bookshelf?” Taehyung recalls.

Jimin pauses to retract his mind to that moment.

“He’s so petty and I’m living for it. Look at Kook’s face,” He snickers, nudging Taehyung with his shoulder.

Jungkook only can clench his jaw in return because he knew that you wouldn’t be a fan of him reaching out to strangle the shit out of Namjoon. But the older boy seems fine, if not pleased with how Jungkook’s fuming in his own spot.

“Let me just …” You cock a thumb to Namjoon, before releasing a breath of your own and going to help him with whatever he needed in the first place.

“Jimin can help him. I have a more pressing problem.” He complains.

You stop in your tracks before turning around, raising an eyebrow at Jungkook who finally sits up, still staring at you like you held all the solutions in the world.

“Literally wait for your turn,” Namjoon scowls.

“My arm hurts,” Jungkook says, raising his arm to show you.

“I don’t … see anything?” You furrow your brows.

“Because my muscles hurt, Noona,” Jungkook emphasises with a flex of his bicep and you can feel yourself get hot in the way your eyes can’t stray away.

You’re momentarily distracted by the blatant display of muscle by Jungkook that you completely miss the way that Jimin and Taehyung are struggling to breathe because of how hard they’re stifling their laughter or the way that Namjoon is contemplating on throwing the nearest dumbbell into Jungkook’s direction.

You flush, “Okay, you know what? Wait here. Let me get the first aid kit.” You mumble, quickly scampering off to alleviate yourself from the situation.

The moment you leave the room, Namjoon takes two long strides until he reaches where Jungkook’s sat, before wrapping a hand around the arm that was supposedly hurt—and squeezes.

“Ow! What the fuck hyung?!” Jungkook shrieks.

“Don’t hyung me, you brat.” Namjoon seethes, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jungkook gapes, while Jimin and Taehyung watch in amusement.

“Me?! What’s wrong with you?” Jungkook retorts, equally as agitated, “Oh, _____, help spot me! Woe is me! Like she wouldn’t get crushed under you, you meathead!”

“Like you’re any better,” Namjoon snaps, “Oh, Noona, pay attention to me. My arm hurts. You might as well have asked her to change your fucking diapers at the rate you’re acting like a damn child.”

“You’re the one that started all of this!” Jungkook exasperates, “With all due respect hyung, I love you and you’re my captain but I really feel like smashing your head into the wall right now.”

“That’s it?” Namjoon scoffs, “Well I’ll do you one better and let you know that every time you breathe in my direction I feel like—”

“Oh my God will you two idiots shut the fuck up?” Taehyung interjects, snapping at the two boys who pause, staring up at him with wide eyes.

Even Jimin is surprised at Taehyung’s intervention, purely because he was the type that usually let shit slide or let other people put problematic individuals into place. He was the mediator, the diplomat—not usually the aggressor.

“Wha—”

“Another peep and I’m going to smother your body under the dumbbells and leave you here to rot and die.” Taehyung seethes, staring straight into Jungkook’s soul.

That shuts him up.

“Both of you are acting like goddamn children, and for what? To battle out your masculinity to see who gets ____’s attention first?” Taehyung exasperates.

Namjoon clears his throat, “We were just—”

“—acting like a bunch of barbarians who’s never seen civilisation?” Taehyung retorts dryly, “Yeah. Because that’s exactly what this looks like. The two of you are so petty and for what? You two are literally rubbing the last remaining brain cells you have with each other but nothing is coming out from it. Like—nothing. Do you think she’d give a shit which one of you can lift more reps? That means absolutely nothing! She’s already freaked the fuck out at the prospect of her childhood best friend being in love with her and now we have Big Tit Number One and Two battling it out like you’re in the Greek Olympics.”

Jungkook blinks, and Jimin is mildly impressed.

“So before she comes back and tends to Jungkook’s hurt muscle,” Taehyung sneers, eyes narrowing at a guilty-looking Jungkook, “Both of you better sort your shit out.”

Namjoon flushes, embarrassed at the prospect of being called out, all while Jungkook is avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“Oh my God, do you have a crush on each other or something? Apologise!” Taehyung gestures towards the two boys who awkwardly blink at each other, feeling much like reprimanded children.

It’s Namjoon who breaks the silence first, clearly the more mature one in the situation.

“Look … Jungkook,” He sighs, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to … drag it out like this. I don’t mean it maliciously and you’re my friend and teammate, so I’d really hate if a girl got in the way.”

Jungkook nibbles on his lips, eyebrows still scrunched; and the irrational part of him tells him to ignore the apology. But with the way that Taehyung is glaring him down, with Jimin’s expectant gaze, he knows that he doesn’t have much of a choice.

“I’m sorry … too,” he winces at his own voice, “But just to let you know … I really …” He shuts his eyes, feeling his chest tighten when he tries to force the words out, “She isn’t just … a girl to me, hyung. I really, really like her. And—I know you like her too but … I fucked up and I really want to make things right and seeing you—”

Jungkook is flushing while he rambles on, fully aware that the rest of his friends are listening intently to him speaking his heart. But a hand rests itself on his shoulder, and when Jungkook opens his eyes he sees Namjoon offering him a gentle smile.

“I know,” He says, “I know I said I wouldn’t back off …” He trails off and Jungkook recalls the conversation he had with him in the very same gym just a few weeks back, “But I don’t think I can compete with a decade long love story.”

Jungkook scoffs, though his ears are flushed.

“It’s really not—”

Namjoon waves him off, clasping a tight hand onto his back that tells him it’s okay, and whatever that was going on would get better. And Jungkook feels marginally better and allows himself to let out a sigh of release.

“So are the two of you gonna kiss or what?” Jimin asks in the midst of the silence.

Namjoon glares at the boy, “Don’t make me give you an extra ten laps.”

He backs down immediately, raising his hands up in defence. And at that moment, you return, all smiles and with a pant as you raise the first aid kit up.

“Your arm?” You smile sweetly, and Jungkook can only offer a weak on in return.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Depends. Will I have to run from the government if I answer you honestly?” Yena ponders out loud.

You roll your eyes but shake your head anyway. The two of you were meant to be cooking dinner but you’ve surrendered yourself to Netflix and Yena’s witty live commentary on horrible films you were scrolling through an hour earlier. Though, your head wasn’t quite in it, to begin with; your thoughts drifting to other aspects, ones that you thought too hard for and didn’t necessarily know the answer to.

It was frustrating, the way that you wanted to have a solution for everything but overthought every single case that happens to pass by your mind.

“No one’s hunting anyone down, your anarchist,” You say, “This is a little … personal.”

You didn’t have any girl friends prior to Yena, and that was your first mistake. You weren’t the person that actively avoided having girl friends because you thought they were dramatic or overly emotional but purely because you never knew how to befriend women. It was weird—being a woman yet being muddled with your own sense of femininity that suppressed your ability to form meaningful friendships with your women peers.

Throughout most of your childhood and teenaged life, you only had Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook. While they were more than enough to keep your memories cheerful and filled with laughter, there were more personal things that you couldn’t quite approach them with. They had each other to confide in their ‘manly’ discussions, small talk that you’d often flush at—but you couldn’t ask them the same things you wanted to.

You knew, that on a fundamental level that your personal things were just … things. It wasn’t that deep, nor did it require a PhD in Gender Studies to fully understand the nuance of periods or apparent ‘girl’ problems; you just needed to listen. But you were timid, and you got embarrassed super easily—so that never boded well whenever you’d want to approach them with a question of your own.

But now, you had Yena—debatably the most open and understanding person you’ve met in your life; and you owed it to yourself, and her—to be honest, to live yourself vicariously in your girl best friends eyes—and ask:

“How do you have sex?”

Granted, there was definitely a smoother way of peeling off the bandaid, but you supposed if you were going to be discussing this one way or another, you’d go big or go home.

“I’m sorry,” She coughs, “What?”

You blink.

“Sorry, I guess I should’ve asked if you were a virgin first …” You mumble.

Yena stares at you with a stupefied expression as she gapes at you.

“Hey, repeat after me: candy, tree and cat.” She grabs you by your shoulders.

“I’m not cerebrally compromised, Yena,” you say dryly.

“Repeat,” She glares.

You huff, shoving her hand off your shoulder.

“Candy, tree and cat. There, happy?” You huff.

She eyes you weirdly as you sigh.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes!” You exasperate, “So like … how? Do you just? Penetrate?”

Yena blinks one more time, her eyes trailing to the ceiling as she asks for a higher being to give her strength before she returns her gaze onto your figure.

“Babe, that is literally the unsexiest way to approach sex.”

“Penetration?” You furrow your brows.

She scrunches her brows, “No.” She gestures to you, “That.”

You scowl.

“I don’t know how to approach sex! That’s why I’m asking you. I literally don’t know who else to approach. If I went to Jimin or Taehyung I’m pretty sure they’d just stare at me and cry. Namjoon is out of the picture because he’d likely approach sex textbook style and I don’t need that level of detail right now. I definitely can’t ask Jungkook because he’s the guy I wanna have sex with. So yeah. I’m here because you’re a woman and the only person I can have a full conversation with without losing my will to live.”

Yena gawks at you, jaw slack as you finish your ramble; ears flushed.

“… you …” She begins, wracking her brain for the words that seem to fail her, “… okay. You know what, the fact that you’re here and putting your big girl pants on and asking me this is a feat in itself so I’m going to just ignore the fact that you said you wanted to have sex with Jungkook.”

You flush, “I was word vomiting—”

“Ah,” She holds her hands up, levelling you with a knowing glare, “If you want honest, you be honest too.”

You slump in your seat, sighing as you nod your head defeatedly.

“Firstly, I’m not a virgin. I could never be a virgin.” Yena declares, “Granted, I’ve slept with three people and two of them were women. But the idiot I lost my virginity to was, unfortunately, of XY chromosomes so … I guess I can answer your questions.”

“I mean … I know how sex works but … approaching it …” You mutter.

“And sex isn’t this groundbreaking act that requires Einstein’s IQ to partake in. It’s both intimate and not, and that’s definitely a personal preference. You can know the semantics of how people have sex, for hets in this case, which is just the classic ol’ penetration method where the penis enters the—”

“Your point?” You exasperate.

“—okay, I got a little carried away. But really, sex isn’t … difficult. It’s scary, I’ll give you that. But you don’t go into your first time thinking you’ll be great at it. Hell, you won’t even like sex that much your first few times unless your partner is a sex demon or something.”

“I mean when Jungkook …” You shudder, “When he … I … you know, did things … it felt …” You fiddle with your fingers. Your ears were undoubtedly on fire, and you were so embarrassed saying these things out loud because it was just so awkward!

“Good? You know I’m not going to judge you for it,” she says pointedly, “That’s what friends are for, right?”

You flush, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment. You knew that Yena would never judge you for something as trivial and as unimportant as your sexual endeavours, but this was still a road you’ve yet to properly navigate yourself.

“I … came,” you wince at your breathy voice, “It felt good. And … he’s experienced, you know? I just don’t want to …”

Yena looks at you inquisitively.

“You don’t want to …?”

You sigh deeply, considering your next words with a soft murmur, “I don’t want to not live up to his expectations, you know?”

She frowns at you, “Jungkook’s made some mistakes but you said it yourself. He’s in love with you,” she says softly, “There’s no pressure to have sex with him just because it’s out in the open now, you know?”

You nibble on your lips.

“It’s … more than just that,” you tell her, “I told him I needed time, and really, I do. But it isn’t because I’m confused. I mean, kind of—but really it’s because I don’t want to walk into something and disappoint him … I’m just … scared.”

Yena holds your hand in hers while offering you a gentle smile.

“It’s valid that you’re scared. But there really isn’t anything that can come out of being scared right now. The two of you worked through an obstacle, and here you are creating another one that doesn’t quite exist yet. Trust me, when the time feels right, it does. And you’ll feel ready. Will you still be scared? Maybe. But it’ll feel like it’s meant to fit within your timeline.”

You nibble on your lips, “Is it bad that I’m overthinking this?” You wince.

Yena shrugs her shoulders, “Like everything else in your life?” She teases.

You whine, shoving at her shoulder playfully where all Yena does is snicker in response. You weren’t quite sure what you were expecting out of the conversation, even if it was vaguely about the ins and outs of sexual exploration. And she was right, you’ll always be afraid of something, whether it’ll benefit you or harm you because that’s what change does. It shifts your comfort zone into a space that may be unfamiliar but necessary.

You lean into Yena’s shoulder, and a wave of overwhelming emotion washes upon you when you look at her. You really didn’t know how you survived a time without Yena in your life. And as if she’s noticed your glassy gaze, she raises an eyebrow at you.

“What are you looking at?”

You grin at her, all teeth and gums on display as you hug onto her arm like a koala.

“I’m just really happy you’re in my life.” You sigh wistfully.

She pauses for one whole second before she snorts.

“Wow, talk about sex once and suddenly you’re in love with me?” She wiggles her eyebrows at you, “Tell Jeon and Kim that you’re mine now.”

You giggle, rolling your eyes.

“They’re not even competing in the same league as you are,” you assure her.

She smiles.

“So … does that mean I don’t need to get you a birthday gift?”

That earns a thwack on her shoulder.

541 notes · View notes

honeypiehotchner · 4 years

Text

delicate -- Hotch x Reader one-shot

Here’s that one-shot I’ve been holding for a while! Named her delicate after Taylor Swift’s song, purely because of the whole “dive bar on the east side/where you at?” imagery. I listened to the Spotify Singles (acoustic) version of the song while writing this, if you wanna listen while you read! Enjoy!! xx.

Summary: Hotch doesn’t go to bars very often. Until he meets you at one.

Warnings: age gap (reader is somewhere around 24-25), mentioning of being safe at a bar (so alluding to date rape drugs), harassment from one drunk dickhead

Hotch Masterlist

Hotch doesn’t go to bars.

When he’s not on a case, working on paperwork for a case, or caring for his son, he’s normally asleep.

Not at a bar.

But some nights, the memories are too much. Some nights, the cases take a toll on him — especially the children that never made it back home to their parents.

He doesn’t know why he’s in a bar. The only time he comes is when the team goes out and wants to drag him with. It’s normally Dave who manages to get him to agree to a beer or two.

But Aaron is alone this time.

You, on the other hand, know exactly why you’re in a bar.

You’re bored, you’ve just finished your masters degree, you need a drink and some time to yourself to people-watch.

It’s fun, really. Observing people while they’re drunk. You usually have one drink and switch over to water, wanting to remember the things you see while also staying safe.

But occasionally— or, well, more than occasionally by the sheer unfortunate fact of you being a woman alone in a bar, you get the typical man sliding into the seat next to you before he’s even all the way through his rehearsed, “Is this seat taken?”

You never answer. There is no point in trying because their ass already hits the chair before you can say, “Yes, it’s taken, by my foot, now move before I kick it up your ass.”

You never say that, not often. Sometimes the guys can be pretty big assholes, but the bartender, Vanessa, knows you well, so she usually threatens security before you get yourself in trouble.

Unfortunately, tonight looks like it’s going to be one of those nights.

The bar is packed for a reason you aren’t privy too until you see (and hear) the random band start a new song. Great. Performance.

Still, you snag the last seat at the bar, waving to the bartender when she sees you. You barely get the seat warm before she’s sliding your usual in front of you.

“It’s on the house tonight,” she yells.

“What?” You shake your head. “No the fuck it’s not.”

She leans closer so she doesn’t have to yell as loud. “You are my saving grace in this sea of assholes, so yes it is. We can fight about it later.”

“Fine,” you roll your eyes. You dip your hands underneath the bar to switch your diamond ring from your right to left hand.

Tonight, you’re married.

You got this ring when your last relationship ended so badly. It was a long time coming, and once you were finally able to see the other side, you went out and bought yourself an engagement ring. Just for you. A promise to yourself to start loving yourself harder, and going out with dickheads less.

So far, it’s been wonderful. You’re loving being alone. It was exhausting going on so many first dates, trying to love someone else instead of letting yourself heal.

It’s been two years of singleness for you now, and you’ve loved almost every day.

The “wedding” ring usually makes most of the guys turn the other way. A few that are oblivious will try talking to you, but once they glance at your hand, they excuse themselves.

It’s hysterical, if you’re honest.

But some, unfortunately, don’t give a damn.

Like the guy who has just squeezed his way into the seat next to you.

You roll your eyes and prepare yourself for the shallow conversations because, for some ungodly reason, the band decided now was a good time for a break.

“You come here often?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Nope.”

“It’s a pretty good place,” the guy says, waving down the other bartender, his name is Nick. “You should come here more often.”

“Should I, now?”

“Yeah,” the guy grins. “You’ll see me.”

You roll your eyes so hard it nearly hurts.

“Wanna dance?”

“Not in the mood.”

“Can I buy you another drink?”

“No thanks.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Why, do you work here?”

“Look, I’m just trying to be nice.” Ah, there it is. The “nice guy” line.

You turn your head, raising an eyebrow. “Good for you. I’m not interested.”

“Ooh,” he feigns hurt, holding an open hand to his chest. “Ouch.”

You shrug. “You’ll get over it.”

“Damn.”

“Mm.”

“You sure you don’t wanna dance?”

“I’m married,” you say easily, picking your glass up with your left hand to show off your ring. You don’t drink from your glass because you made the mistake of looking away for only a moment, so now you’re paranoid that he might’ve slipped something in it.

The guy looks around, then back to you. “I don’t see a husband.” Oh, he sounds so smug. Like he’s pulled one over on you. Moron.

“He’s on a work trip.”

“Well, he’s not here.”

“You don’t want to get on his bad side, dude.”

“Oh really? What’s he do for a living?”

“He works for the FBI.” The lie slips from your mouth before you can stop it, and you almost laugh.

It’s something you’ve pulled from the countless guys that have said they work for the FBI, but have no badge to show for it. It’s always cracked you up. You’re aware there’s an FBI office around here, but you doubt a greasy, blackout drunk works for them. Let alone more than five greasy, blackout drunks in one night.

“The FBI, huh?” The guy says, just taking it in stride. “What’s his name?”

Right as you’re about to make one up until Vanessa can get back over here to threaten security, two arms slip around your waist.

You’re ready to throw caution to the wind along with your fists, but the owner of the arms says, “Just go with it, I’m Aaron.”

You turn your head to see a very handsome older man peering down at you, a smile on his lips that you can’t help but mirror. Something about his face has your gut screaming that you can trust him, so you play along.

“Honey! I thought you were in Texas!” You throw your arms around his neck for good measure, and also for a moment to casually get a good whiff of his cologne. Goddamn. You’ll gladly be his fake-wife. Any day. Forever.

“I was,” Aaron says, squeezing you before letting you go. He moves to stand next to you, his arm around your waist in a protective manner. “We landed early, wanted to surprise you.” He kisses your knuckles to keep up the act, and then settles his eyes on the man who was bothering you.

“You must be the husband,” the guy mutters bitterly. “You really work for the FBI?”

Oh, fuck, you think. This guy just doesn’t give up. A few future scenarios flash before your eyes, but the one most alarming is a fight erupting, which isn’t all that far-fetched. You’d never be able to come back if you caused something like that.

But before you can stumble through some excuse, Aaron is pulling out a badge. An actual badge.

“Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner. I’m the unit chief of the BAU,” he says easily, holding his badge out for as long as it takes the guy to inspect it. You have no clue what BAU stands for, but you’re just thanking whatever Gods might be real that this is happening.

The idiot is scowling by the time Aaron puts his badge away. He leaves without a word.

Your jaw nearly drops as you watch the guy go, and literally leave the bar. You had hopes that he’d leave you alone, but leaving the bar entirely is even better.

Aaron’s arm slips from around your waist as he moves to take the now empty seat next to you. All the while you’re gawking at him like you’re in some fever dream.

When he catches your eyes, he says, “What?”

“Am I dreaming?” You blurt. “Do you really work for the FBI?”

He chuckles and pulls out his badge again, holding it out to you where you can read it. And sure as shit, he’s an actual FBI agent. What the fuck.

You look up as he pulls his badge away. “Did you hear me tell the guy my husband worked for the FBI?”

Aaron shakes his head. “That was pure luck. By the way,” he holds his hand out to you. “I’m Aaron.”

“Y/N,” you shake his hand, smiling at the fact that Aaron wanted to go through the official pleasantries and that you got to feel how soft his hand is again. “Thank you for that. I thought he’d never leave.”

“No worries. And it’s best he did, I really didn’t feel like arresting anyone tonight.”

“Arresting him? For what?”

“Well for starters, harassment. But since that usually doesn’t hold up very well, I’d have to say it was for his cocaine addiction.”

Your eyes widen. “He was doing coke?”

“Well, not out in the open, of course, but there were traces of it on his nose and his eyes had that look to them. Addicts are easy to spot when you run into them enough.”

Who the hell is this guy?

“Oh, and forgive me, what’s your husband’s name?” Aaron gestures down at your left hand. “I might know him, but I can’t say that I recognize you.”

“Oh,” you move the ring back to your right hand, much to Aaron’s surprise. “I’m not married. I only put it on the left hand to try to avoid assholes like that.”

“I see,” Aaron nods, and if you’re not mistaken, he almost looks pleased.

Vanessa returns to get Aaron’s drink, and then gives you a look.

You want to scream, yes, I’m well aware he is dangerously attractive and that he’s talking to me but don’t you dare say a word to embarrass me.

Instead, you say, “Can you make me another?”

She nods in understanding and pours out your drink, setting off to make a second after sliding Aaron his beer.

“So,” you turn your body and prop your head in your palm. “What’s got an FBI agent in a bar on a Tuesday night?”

He takes a long swig of his beer before answering. “What’s the real story behind that ring on your hand?”

“Answer for an answer,” you sing, smiling at Vanessa when she brings you your drink. She leaves without a word, raising her eyebrows at you.

“The cases can be rough,” Aaron says vaguely, bringing your attention back to him. “You?”

“Got it as a promise to myself to never date another prick ever again,” you chuckle, gazing down at the ring. “It’s worked its magic, so far.”

“So far?”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

He smiles through his next swig of beer.

+++

It becomes a routine, you and Aaron sharing a drink at the bar.

To your surprise, he has the same views as you about alcohol. It’s fun to have one drink, but getting wasted and blacking out isn’t.

It’s refreshing, if you’re honest. Everyone your age wants to get absolutely shitfaced every time they go out, and that’s just never been for you.

It helps that Aaron is older. Well— You’re not sure if it helps or not. Because he is significantly older, the farthest you two have gone is sharing a drink at the bar. He usually leaves first, needing to get home to his son, to do more case work, or there was one time when he actually got a call about a case mid-drink. He was gone for two weeks after that.

But he always comes back, and he always finds you here, at this bar.

You mostly come every night to keep Vanessa company for an hour or two. To give yourself a break from the chaos of reality and to give her a familiar face in the sea of drunken customers.

Every night that Aaron isn’t here, Vanessa asks you where he is. Like you would know (you only do if he tells you of a possible up and coming case). Like you have his number (you don’t). Like you care (you don’t want to admit that you do).

“No Daddy tonight?” Vanessa teases, sliding you your drink.

“If you don’t stop calling him Daddy, I swear to God.”

“Oh, don’t swear to Him. He doesn’t need to get involved.”

You send a glare her way, but you’re holding back a laugh.

“Is he still on a case?” She asks, trying to be serious again.

You shrug. “Who knows. They can last pretty long. He was gone two weeks for the last one.”

“Keeping track, are we?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying, you two are killing me here, sharing drinks and not saying how you feel. It’s torture to watch you every week, you know.”

“He’s like...twenty years older than me. Or something.”

“And?” She scoffs. “Age is but a number. You’re an adult. He’s an adult. It’s fine.”

You shrug. “He probably just sees me as a friend. He would’ve given me his number or something by now, right?”

“I dunno, men are weird. But he’s older, he’s probably scared to make a move, scared he’ll make you uncomfortable.”

You shrug again. You appreciate her trying to show you the possibilities, the logical reasons for why the two of you haven’t gone any further from the bar, but you aren’t sure what to believe. Plus, it’s been a week since you’ve seen him. The last time you two shared a drink, he didn’t say anything about a case.

So, he’s either on a case again, or has stopped coming.

The latter thought has you debating getting shitfaced wasted for the first time in years. Being blackout drunk would probably hurt you less than if it’s true that he’s just suddenly ditched you.

But what stops you is when Vanessa runs back over, eyes wide. “Just spotted your hottie.”

Oh, now he’s my hottie? “What?” You inwardly scold yourself for sounding a little too giddy at the prospect of him being here.

But if he’s here, why isn’t he sitting next to you?

Vanessa answers that one for you. “At a table in the back. He’s with friends I think.”

Friends? Never mind then on sharing a drink with him. “Oh, cool.”

Vanessa looks like she wants to say something, but is called away to another customer.

You don’t want to butt in with Aaron’s time with friends, so you stay at the bar, facing forward, nursing your one drink. Your mind conjures a plan in two seconds flat: finish your drink, head out for the night and discreetly look in Aaron’s direction, hopefully catch his eye, but if not, just go home and...shower and go to sleep.

Because if he wants to see you, he will. If he doesn’t, then he won’t.

Good plan.

Or at least, it is, until Aaron is sliding up beside you.

Your heart launches itself into your throat. You don’t say anything because you have no idea what to say. You were too busy assuming he’d rather be with his friends (which is...fine because it’s not like the two of you are...dating) to notice him walking up.

He says something for you, though. “Hey.”

Well, he might as well have stayed silent. What are you supposed to do with that?

“Hey,” you return casually, then offer a small smile. “Thought you’d be gone longer.” You operate on the assumption that he was on a case.

And he was. “This one actually worked in our favor.” He leans his elbows onto the bar, and naturally your eyes follow the movement. He’s not in a stuffy suit like the last few times, but he’s still in a dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Arms. You’re a complete sucker for arms, and he’s practically teasing you like this.

“That’s good,” you comment, taking a sip from your drink. “Here to celebrate?”

“Yeah, we are.”

Nick brings Aaron his beer, thankfully, because you know Vanessa would’ve made some not-so-vague comment about Aaron being up here -- and maybe let an “accidental” Daddy comment slip.

To your surprise, Aaron sits down.

Your eyebrows furrow. “I thought you’re here with friends?”

Aaron looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “Just my team, yeah. I imagine they’re tired of me, though.”

You doubt that’s the case, but you know that if you say that, he’ll just brush it off.

“Not even gonna introduce me?” You tease instead, but you honestly want to smack yourself. You need to get a better hold on your word vomit. Inviting yourself is insanely rude.

Aaron’s eyebrows raise slightly, clearly not expecting you to say that — or to even want to be introduced to his team. “They’re a lot,” he says. “They’ll make a big deal out of this.”

“This?” You question, gesturing shortly between the two of you. “What is this?”

“What do you want it to be?” He asks carefully, averting his eyes shyly.

“Well,” you exhale dramatically, swirling your drink. “I think when you’ve shared a drink with a woman more than...twenty times, it should at least be considered dating.” You cut your eyes in his direction, your chest swelling as you see a grin breaking out on his face.

“I think I’m a bad date,” he says, confusing you. He chuckles, adding, “You don’t even have my number!”

“I’ll get it at the end of tonight,” you say, touching his arm gently for reassurance. “Come on, I think the back of my head is burning from how hard they’re staring.”

He looks through the corner of his eyes and sighs. “I’m sorry in advance for them.”

“No need to apologize,” you shrug. “Friends can be the worst. Vanessa has already started asking questions about you.” You nod toward the bartender that is feigning interest in clearing a space behind the bar.

“I figured,” Aaron murmurs. “Okay.” He slides off the stool, grabbing his beer in one hand, and holding his other one out to you.

Your heart jumps harshly when you take his hand. It’s warm and soft and secure, everything you want and need. You grab your drink in your free hand, giving Aaron’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

As soon as you and Aaron approach the table, the older gentleman is punching the one with tattoos. “Pay up.”

Aaron witnesses the cash exchange and stares at them tiredly. “Seriously, guys?”

Meanwhile, you’re holding back a giggle.

“Well, hello,” the woman with the colorful fashion sense says. “Introduce us!”

Aaron looks ready to pretend like he doesn’t know any of them, so you step up and say, “He told me you guys would be like this.”

That gets him laughing, and he finally says, “Y/N, this is Penelope, Emily, JJ, Spencer, Derek, and Dave.” Each person nods, waves, or smiles when their name is called.

“I’ll try to remember,” you joke. “But no promises.”

You squeeze Aaron’s hand in yours, trying to get him to loosen up. He does, barely, so when he tugs on your hand, silently asking you to step closer to him so his arm can fit around your waist, you oblige.

“What was the bet about?” You ask, nodding toward the men who exchanged cash a bit ago. It was Dave and Derek if you’re remembering names correctly.

“Rossi thought Hotch was going to bring you back over here, but I didn’t agree,” Derek says, nudging Dave’s arm. “I didn’t think you’d go for him.”

“Well, that’d be embarrassing if I went for someone else, considering we’re dating,” you chuckle, leaning your head back to look up at Aaron.

“Dating? So it’s official?” Emily asks, looking a little more excited than you thought any of them would.

“I think it was official the first time we met,” you snicker. “He pretended to be my husband so some dickhead would leave me alone.”

Aaron’s arm tightens around your waist at the memory.

“Okay,” Penelope grabs her drink, then moves over next to you, linking your arm with hers. “Hotch, we’re stealing her. We need details.”

Aaron doesn’t look like he wants to let go at all, but you press a kiss to his cheek. “Told you it’d be fine,” you whisper to him.

He surprises you by pressing a kiss on your lips. Midway through, your brain reminds you that this is technically your first kiss with him. And it’s in front of his friends. Swoon.

After so many dates with guys who were ashamed to be showing any sort of affection toward a woman, it’s nice to find a man who doesn’t care who sees his affection.

What can you say? After dating so many boys, it’s nice to finally find a man.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #hotch x reader #hotch x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch fluff #fluff #cm #delicate songfic #because i can't NOT think of taylor swift when i write

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ifmywishescametrue · 3 years

Note

"You didn't deserve that... You deserve so much better." for buckytony pls 🤓

thank you for sending one! it got kind of out of hand lol so here's 2.2k of breaking up and making up. hope you like it!

Tony loses track of what the fight is about fairly quickly. He knows it started with what seemed like playful bickering, the kind their relationship was practically built on, but somewhere along the way the jabs turned much more pointed. Barbed wire wrapped around them, until each one was like a knife wound.

The first real cut came from him, he knows. Bucky's witty comment hit a little too close to one of his hundred insecurities, and reflex made him return it with too much sharpness. He can't blame Bucky for reacting, but they're both to blame for letting it get this out of hand. That’s not something that matters in the moment, though.

In the moment, all that matters is the careless insults and merciless words they lob back and forth. They chip away at each other and their relationship until it’s crumbling around them, but even that doesn’t matter. It becomes secondary to getting in the last word and one-upmanship, like it’s a competition for who can hurt who the most that they both desperately want to win, consequences be damned.

“You know this is why people keep leaving you,” Bucky says. “At some point it should be pretty damn obvious that it's you, not them.”

Tony laughs bitterly because the only other choice is crying. “Cause you're a real fucking prize, right? Bet people are just lining up to date a guy they're barely allowed to touch. And God forbid you ever try to do something nice for him, because it'll never actually be right.”

“Better than a guy with daddy issues so severe it'll take him two years to even tell you he loves you. Don't bother saying it in the meantime to him either, because he'll run off to hide for a week after each time.”

“Well, you know what, I'll make it easy for you, then,” Tony says, backing away to grab his jacket. “You don't have to worry about me and all my issues anymore.”

He forcefully shoves his arms into the sleeves and grabs his keys from the hook by the door. Bucky watches with a clenched jaw and doesn't try to stop him, not even when he pauses to give him the chance.

“What are you waiting for? Go ahead and run off. Prove my point.”

Tony shakes his head, an ache already forming in his chest that he ignores. “I’m not proving your point, because this isn’t running. This is breaking up with you because you’re a fucking asshole.”

He lets the door slam shut behind him and speedwalks down the hall, repeatedly pushing the elevator button. It doesn’t come quickly enough, and he flings open the door to the stairwell to rush down them. His vision blurs dangerously, and he can hardly see where he’s going, but he doesn’t slow down. The tears come freely with no around to see, until he’s out on the sidewalk and violently swipes them away with the back of his hand. He doesn’t pay attention to where he’s walking, only on getting as far away as possible.

Where he ends up shouldn’t come as a surprise to him. It’s muscle memory to come here at this point, a walk so familiar he could do it in his sleep and still manage to avoid all the cracks and uneven parts on the sidewalk on the way.

He stands outside of Shield’s Bar, neon lights coloring his face blue and pink, and he contemplates going in. It’s a Thursday, which means Clint is working the bar until midnight. Natasha will be waiting tables, and Steve will come in to replace her at ten.

All Bucky’s friends. He won’t get any of them in the breakup.

Steve will be the first to turn his back on him with his unwavering loyalty to his best friend. Clint will follow next because he hates tension and it’s the easier side to take. Natasha will be last, and she’ll claim that she loves them both and choosing sides is childish and ridiculous. But she’ll go, too, eventually. When none of her other friends will be in the same room as him, and all of their usual hangout spots become off limits. It’ll grow awkward and uncomfortable until promises to meet up turn into vague excuses and texts spaced months apart.

But where does he have to go if it isn’t here?

Rhodey’s on base in California, and Pepper moved back to New York the second her business degree was done. Staying in Boston was never the plan, not until Bucky and his found family welcomed him into their lives and made it feel like home. Where is there to go if home isn’t an option anymore?

He stands there long enough that people start to whisper as they pass by. They must think he’s lost his mind, staring blankly at a brick wall and hardly blinking, but he doesn’t hear what they say. Doesn’t hear anything but his own thoughts running in circles, going from anger to regret to shame and back again.

He wonders if Bucky’s right. If he truly is the reason it never works out. He knows he’s too insecure and emotionally unavailable. He demands too much and gives too little in return and doesn’t know how to communicate.

He used to watch his parents fight, orbiting around each other with avoidance and unspoken words until the dams broke and silence turned to screams, and he would swear that he would be better. If he was lucky enough to be in love with someone and have them love him in return, he would understand just how rare and beautiful that is and never take it for granted.

Easier said than done. Harder to face the fact that sometimes his words sound exactly like his father’s once did and sometimes he feels like his mother when he quietly lets himself be walked on and overlooked. The worst of both of them is tangled up inside of him, and it always kills whatever he touches.

Natasha finds him there eventually. She opens the door roughly, with intention that falters momentarily before she asks, “Do you plan on coming in at some point or are you staying out here all night?”

“I should probably go,” he says, quietly enough that it’s nearly lost to the wind.

Natasha watches him for a long moment, then steps out of the doorway to take his hand. She leads him over to an empty booth and slides into the opposite side.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

She shrugs, “Steve will be here in a few minutes. No one’s going to die if they have to wait for their beer.”

Silence stretches on, and he stares down at his hands on the table. It’s warmer inside the bar, and he doesn’t realize that the cold has turned his fingers numb until they begin to unthaw.

“People coming in here were talking about some guy loitering outside. Some were saying he looked sad, some said lost. A few less optimistic people voted for strung out on drugs, but I think it’s safe to rule that one out now. Same with lost, seeing as you’ve been here a thousand times. That leaves sad, which means you had a fight with Bucky, and you didn’t come in, which means you think it’s your fault. Am I right so far?”

Tony nods, hanging his head low, and she continues to ask, “Do you want to talk about it or drink about it?”

“We broke up,” Tony mumbles. “I did it.”

She takes a long breath, and her hand is warm when it slips back into his. “Are you planning on fixing it?”

“Not sure it’s fixable. I said some things, he said some things. Can’t really take any of it back now.”

“People say things they don’t mean all the time. Doesn’t make it unforgivable.”

He shrugs like his heart isn’t broken. “Maybe it’s better off this way.”

Natasha sighs, “Tony.”

“What?”

“Go home.”

“Pretty sure I don’t have one of those anymore.”

“Of course you do,” she says softly. “I promise you that he wants you to come back.”

Tony shakes his head. “You weren’t there, Nat. You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened to know that he wants you to come home. If he feels even half as terrible as you look, he wants you. Just because you broke up doesn’t mean it’s over. It’s only over if you don’t go back.”

Tony bites his lip to keep it from quivering, and he asks, “What if you’re wrong? What if he doesn’t want to see me?”

“Well, it can’t exactly make things worse, can it?”

He huffs a humorless laugh, “I guess not.”

Natasha slides out of the booth, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Go home before he comes out looking for you, and text me in the morning to tell me I was right.”

She walks away, greeting Steve as he comes in, and Tony lingers there for another minute before getting up. He waves to them both on his way out and tries not to think about what she’ll tell Steve about his reason for being there.

The walk back to his and Bucky’s apartment seems quicker than the walk away from it, and Tony resents it for not giving him more time.

He takes the stairs again and hesitates outside the door, what ifs overwhelming his mind. What if he walks in and all of his things are packed up for him? What if Bucky isn’t even there or all of his belongings are gone instead? What if he can’t fix it and this is where it really ends? He doesn’t know if he could recover from that.

Turning the key in the lock, he opens the door slowly and holds his breath in trepidation.

Nothing looks different. No packed boxes, no smashed picture frames, no sign that anything ever went wrong.

Bucky is on the couch, curled into the corner with his legs held tight to his chest, and he doesn’t seem to notice that he isn’t alone anymore. It’s painfully quiet, and the single light that was on before isn’t enough now that it's grown darker outside, but he hasn’t turned any others on.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says into the silence. It’s as good a place as any to start. “You didn't deserve that. Any of it. The whole stupid thing. You deserve so much better. I should be better at this, but I’ve done a real shit job of it lately, I think. Maybe not even lately. Maybe I’ve been a terrible boyfriend the whole time, and in that case you should probably tell me to go and not come back, but I’d like to think there were at least moments where I was sort of okay, and I’d like to try to be more than just okay if you’ll let me.”

Bucky stares at him, lips parted and red-rimmed eyes unblinking. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Tony freezes, unsure of how to answer that, and Bucky unfolds himself to walk over and stand in front of him.

“You broke up with me,” Bucky says.

“Yes, but I -”

“No,” he interrupts. “You broke up with me.”

Tony frowns in confusion and slowly says again, “Yes.”

“That means I do the grovelling here, because I fucked it up. I beg for the second chance, because I crossed the line so far that you left. And I did it on purpose, too, because I had a shit day so I pushed until you pushed back,” Bucky explains. “And apparently I did such a good job being horrible to you that you think it’s your fault.”

Tony tries to process that, but it’s taking some time to work through. A complete turn around on his thoughts that almost makes him dizzy.

“Why did you have a shit day? What happened?”

“Is that really what you’re focusing on in all of that?” Bucky shakes his head in disbelief and runs a hand through his hair. “God, it’s you that deserves better. That’s what I’m telling you here. You were right to leave, and I should be the one telling you I’m sorry.”

“You had a bad day and took it out on me. How many times have I done the same to you? You never once left.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”

“No,” Tony agrees. He reaches for one of Bucky’s hands, because he needs the contact and has a feeling that Bucky does too. “But it doesn’t mean it’s not worth working on. I meant what I said about wanting to be better for you.”

Bucky nods, looking down at their joined hands. “I want to be better for you, too. How do we do that?”

“A lot of talking about our feelings, probably.”

Bucky pulls a face. “God, that sounds terrible.”

Tony laughs, taking his other hand to pull him in closer, “Yeah, it does, but we’ll get better at it eventually.”

“Can we start tomorrow?” Bucky asks. He leans down to rest his forehead against Tony’s. “I’d really like to just hold you tonight.”

“Yeah, baby,” Tony murmurs. “Hold me tonight. It’ll be better in the morning.”

#buckytony #winteriron #my fic #my writing #prompts #prompt fill #warmachinesocks

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

Stubborn

Everybody taking care of old Hotch because... I don't like it when old Hotch gets left to just die on his own :( don't ask why that's where I draw the line

No pairings

No warnings

In Jack’s second semester of his junior year, Hotch collapses again. He’s home this time, out in his garden under the glaring sun. The day had begun no different than any other. The birds on the powerline chirping and causing their disturbances, as eager for the day to begin as the school-aged children shouting in the street. He’d watched them from the sliding glass door facing the street, his tea warm in his hands. He’d waved at a few, the older ones who recognize him as a mystifying adult with stories to be unlocked. The younger children give him a face akin to a monster’s, his mystery horrifying in their already confusing enough lives.

It’s an hour before lunch. Two hours before Spencer shows up because it’s Thursday and he teaches a class on this side of town every Tuesday and Thursday at 2. One that he occasionally asks Hotch to attend -- as a guest lecturer, as a treat to his students, or just for the company.

He could call just about anyone.

Emily’s downtown, on her way back from a meeting with the Department of Justice. She’d be thrilled for an excuse to not go back to the office and spend an hour or two in his kitchen telling him about those pretentious assholes.

Garcia’s about ten minutes away, working at a nonprofit teaching “at-risk” kids how to code. Being the guiding hand she’d needed as a teenager so that they might not repeat the same mistakes she made. She was lucky, Hotch saved her but he’s not around to catch any more kids like her.

Morgan got hired by a family two streets over to fix up their house before they move in. He’s there now, tearing out rotting beams.

This collapse is not of the life-threatening kind. Not to Hotch at least. There’s no internal bleeding, no emergency surgeries. He doesn’t even need stitches but he’s on so many medications that thin his blood that it’s just on the safer side. From the hospital, he calls who he needs to. Reid first, he’ll worry when he gets to Hotch’s house and sees his truck gone. Then, Jack, it’s better to hear this sort of thing from him and not Emily in half an hour when she needs to yell at someone and who better than the son of the idiot she hates right now? Dave and Emily follow and he trusts them to carry the news the rest of the way. Rather, he simply doesn’t want to talk about it anymore and he’d rather Garcia and JJ and Morgan and everyone else just be mad at him than go on to have another conversation about how he’s feeling.

Fine. He just got light-headed. It was the heat and his perpetually low iron and probably his thin blood (the killer had been his blood pressure but they’re working on that). He just needs to get better about remembering to eat breakfast -- a larger breakfast than just tea and toast. Fainting, he assures Dave, happens. Jack’s seen it happen. The heat makes it worse, the summertime drains him. He’s come in from the garden and gotten weak in the knees plenty of times. He actually moved some chairs around the sliding glass door to the yard, prepared for this exact problem.

This over clarification does not help.

Made only the more complicated when he explains his head is fine. The fainting thing really isn’t a big deal, he just needs a ride home. He’d landed weirdly and pulled his back. He left with a new problem entirely, a torn ligament in his shoulder. That is a problem for a different day.

The surgery is set for the week just before Jack’s finals. Armed with a suitcase full of textbooks, his laptop, notes from this semester (and a few from last), and just enough clothes to recycle a few and still be fine, Jack shows up on his father’s doorstep. “I mean, the hospital isn’t exactly the library… but it’s not the worst place I’ve studied.” It’s far too late to send Jack back but Hotch is reluctant to let him stay. Even if he does prefer Jack be his ride rather than the likes of Penelope and that tiny green eye-sore of a car she drives or leave him to Reid and his defensive, jerky driving.

To the sound of “Aaron Hotchner November 2, 1971”, Jack settles down with his books. He tries to put himself in the right headspace for studying but it’s harder than he anticipated. The constant motion of the room unsettles him and he looks up several times to see his father’s reaction. To gauge the anxiety in his face, in the deep breathes that he pulls in through his nose. In how tight his fists are holding the sheets underneath him. It’s a simple surgery and they’ll be out of here in no time.

“Young” his heart had not handled the heavy sedatives and morphine well. Then again, those incidents are always hard to measure against a thing like this. Rushed into the ER with nine chest wounds and having nearly bled to death, it’s natural to conclude the stress of his depleted blood supply and his very recent trauma had caused his heart to stop on the table. That said trauma was the reason his heart had maintained to be a steady problem up until they released him. Again, when he was brought in with some of the worst internal bleedings the staff had ever seen. His heart had given them trouble too.

Jack is staring blankly at his flashcards when the doctor comes out.

Hotch had gone to Georgetown to be a lawyer like his father and his grandfather. Jack went to Georgetown to get an Art History degree. He was lead by something else. Not chasing some shadow, clutching at a lie he spoonfed himself. Jack didn’t live in anyone’s shadow, never felt the pressure to look and act a certain way. Was never beaten into submission or told to hold his tongue. Jack went to museums every Saturday with his father, preferred them to the aquariums and the zoo. Hotch held him close to the artwork, pushed his dense schedule around to go to new shows, and learned the names of pieces just to recite the knowledge back to Jack.

In his lap, Jack is memorizing pieces of art like his father had years ago for him. He’s stuck on The Anatomy Lesson, eyes glued to the details. The way colorless skin is held in forceps, peeled back to reveal angry red. He can feel the pinching teeth on his own skin, feels the heavy flow of hot blood spilling down over his arm.

“Hotchner?”

Jack flinches, caught completely off guard. He stands, flushing as he tucks his notecards into his textbook, and stands. “Ugh, yeah. That’s me.” He wipes his hands off on his pants, rubbing away the nervous sweat he’s built up.

The doctor recognizes him from earlier. He’d watched Jack and Hotch get out one last goodbye. Jack pulling up a nervous smile, dirty-blonde hair, and light eyes a complete contrast to Hotch’s ever-darkening features. Somehow more solemn, voice taken by the sedatives already working through his body. He hadn’t said a word, eyes vacantly following Jack’s movements but unaware.

Jack expects the same monologue he hears every time. The one that comes out so dry and perfect that they must practice it in front of the mirror, say it softly to themselves as they as they get ready each morning. He’s got it memorized himself -- the bits about recovering in post-op, make a full recovery, and whatever on the fly timeline they give for access back to the room.

“But he’s-- He’s okay? He’s--”

Jack feels impossibly childish. Five years old and Emily’s chilled fingers brushing his tears away, “baby, I know you miss your mommy. But you’re being so terribly mean to your daddy.” He had been, a terrible little monster squirming away from his father and refusing to eat anything. Throwing tantrums about nothing and everything. Screaming and crawling under his bed every chance he got. Pushing himself to the wall knowing he couldn’t be reached.

Now he can remember Hotch just sitting at the edge of the bed. There on the floor for hours. Sometimes he read, would pick up a book, and just start from wherever just to make it so his voice was reaching where he couldn’t. He slept there too, on the hard ground just to make sure Jack knew he was there. Slipped strawberry pop tarts on crazily designed animal plated under there, offered bites of his own food to the darkness under the bed. Sippy cups full of chocolate milk and juice.

He feels like a little boy again, getting news that he has no idea how to handle.

“He’s okay?” Jack stammers. “He’s going to be okay? I can see him?”

Hotch remembers those days under the bed too. Waking up in the middle of the night as Jack groggily curled close to him, still under the bed but crawling under his blanket. The ends of those awful sobs, Jack’s little chest jerking as he hiccuped. The force of his sorrow was too much for his little body. And Jack would fall into his lap, exhausted and needing comfort. His little fingers tracing the scars on Hotch’s face. How he whispered “thank you” and “please” from underneath the bed and how he’d pop his head out to say, “Daddy, I’m going to potty. I’ll be right back.”

Jack’s legally old enough to drink now and Hotch still sees that little boy. The three-year-old wiping his snot on Hotch’s dress shirt. The six-year-old holding his hand and reminding him to look both ways twice before crossing the street. The eight-year-old he left the hallway light on for, old enough now to think he needed to brave the night without a nightlight. So Hotch would offer to keep the hallway light on, not for Jack but for him because he doesn’t like the dark. The ten-year-old sheepishly offering him a father’s day gift he bought with saved allowance, a t-shirt he’s now worn the words off of. The fifteen-year-old curling up beside him on the couch, seeking his comfort but not sure how to ask anymore. The eighteen-year-old as tall as him talking his ear off while he tries to get dinner ready, sticking his fingers in the pan and sitting on the counter.

How did he grow up so fast?

He’s not a little boy anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time.

The creaking of a chair moves Hotch’s attention and he looks away from Jack. Away from the sight of his little boy curled up on a cot, drooling onto a pillow and notebook still open, a pen dangling from his fingers. He looks over and Emily’s sitting up, her reading glasses precariously sat on the tip of her nose. “Oh look,” she mumbles. She stretches out, groaning as her joints complain from being held in this miserable hospital chair for hours. “You’ve decided to join the land of the living.”

Hotch watches her fold the thin black frames of her glasses up, gently sits them down by his hand as she stands up. Jack had called her, even though he promised he wouldn’t worry anyone. Hotch didn’t want anyone else coming to the hospital over something so small and though Jack protested that their concern wouldn’t be because he was bothering them but because they love him. The very same reason he’d come home is that people gather after these sorts of things. They need reassurance that he’s alive and he’s just going to have to accept that. They compromised in the end, everyone could come to smother him in worry after he got home from the surgery.

But Jack was scared. He called the only person he could think to, the woman whose role in his life that was never really clear. She’d gotten on him about his grades, smacked the back of his head when he said something stupid, and always let him taste-test her wine at Thanksgiving dinner. Emily knew things that not even Jessica knew and she could be sterner than both Hotch and Jessica and also more relaxed, more understanding. She was always there for both of them, in the same capacity as Jessica and yet her own unique one. A friend Hotch trusted and loved and Jack could understand that. His friends always wanted to know if they were dating and he knew intuitively that the answer was no but he would hesitate to try and explain. But he didn’t understand the gravity that pulled them together, adults and their relationships far too complex to fit it into his simple understanding of love.

He did understand she was the only person to call.

“What’d he do this time?” she asked and knew she was playing the wrong role for the wrong Hotchner because no sooner than she could ask she had an armful of Jack. She sat with Jack for hours, let him get his fear out. Held him while he sobbed, felt pulled to the past. When it was Aaron on her shoulder, terrified he’d lose his son. Life has this very odd way of bringing everything full circle.

“I bet you’re hurting.” Emily moves to the table and pours water into the little paper Dixie cup left by the nurses. “Been right dramatic this afternoon,” she informs him, a dissatisfied matter-of-fact tone in play. “I know you find that to be particularly taxing.” She holds the cup for him, gentle despite her annoyance. She’s close enough to see the iodine on his skin. Dark orange swipes across his pale skin, the smell burns with its strength.

He pulls greedily from the cup, mouth impossibly dry. Stopped only by how little she poured, he sinks back heavily into the pillows behind him. His shoulder hot and angry from forcing himself upright.

“They’re going to let you go in the morning,” she says, sitting back down. He won’t remember this in the morning. Emily holding his hand, whispering thickly how angry she is with him as tears fall down her face. How scared she was getting that phone call from Jack, racing down here to be a composed person to comfort his son thinking her best friend was in the morgue.

He’ll wake up with a pit in his stomach, residual feelings from the night before he can’t tie down to memories. Emily shows no inclination to repeat herself, just coldly informs him that she’ll have Penelope make him a cardiologist appointment (it’s unspoken that no one trusts him to do this himself). Jack walks on glass, close by but terrified of being pushed away. Hotch is too out of it to put up much of a fight, by the time the morning shift has their hands on him he’s silent. Properly dosed up for a ride home and out of his mind.

He’s groggily propped up on pillows, watching Jack and Emily fight over if he has the right to wear shoes or not. Emily wants to hold them captive, he won’t run off or refuse the wheelchair without them and Jack shakes his head, “he’s not our P.O.W, Emily. He’s even going to get that far if he does try to run.” He’s given his shoes but Emily makes a point to collect his cane, holds it while the nurse helps him into the wheelchair. He’s a flight-risk and she’s not going to trust him, he’s run off on her too many times for that.

At the house the other’s have gathered up, having nothing better to do evidently on a Wednesday at ten in the morning. Penelope’s frying eggs and bacon, the carnage it takes to feed their brood spread out on his kitchen counter. Reid sitting on the counter, Hank in his lap, and the two of them watching Penelope. Derek’s on the sofa, feet kicked up on the coffee table, and Savannah learning on his shoulder. Dave’s getting orange juice from the store declared them all lawless, and didn’t trust them to get the right kind.

Hotch is granted his cane to get back inside the house but Emily threatens to kick it out from underneath if he tries anything fast. He smacks her ankle and Jack has to actually step between them to keep them apart. It’s in times like these where Jack finds himself wondering how these two ever had any role in raising him at all.

“Don’t you have jobs?” Hotch asks, hooking his cane over the coat rack and toeing his shoes off. He ignores the hand Emily places on his arm, afraid he’ll knock himself over. He manages just fine, has the whole house set up so that every other step is within arms distance of something to lean on. Fingers trailing the back of the couch he limps past Derek, smiling when Savannah offers a soft “glad you’re okay”. She pats his hand and he nods back.

“Up for some food, sir?” Penelope asks and she’s not taking no for an answer. They might be having heaping servings of eggs and bacon and gravy and orange juice but she’s made two small bowls of oatmeal. She takes the medicine Jack tosses up on the counter, puts it at the end where the rest of his medication sits. “I cut up apples,” she tells Hotch with a wide grin, sliding the bowl in front of him. “Dashed a little cinnamon and sugar in there, it’ll stick to your bones. Keep you healthy.”

He’s at a healthy weight at the moment, not as thin as he leans to when he’s sick but with Hotch, it’s always a good thing to have some collateral weight for the “in case”. Lifting the spoon in his left hand he scoops some of the oatmeal up, doing his best to hide his annoyance at how weak his extremities still are. How his hand shakes under the light strain of the oatmeal. He looks up, watches Spencer carry Hank over to the highchair sitting at the table beside him. He’s distracted so Emily swoops in, takes his spoon from his hand, and tries his oatmeal. He lets her do it. He raises an eyebrow and she shrugs. She likes it. He nods, it’s pretty good.

Hank immediately knocks his spoon on the ground and makes a low whining sound in the back of his throat. “Hop help,” he whines, pointing down at his spoon. His speech is still developing so he pronounces help and hop nearly identically but Hotch understands the difference. He just can’t bend over like that. His right arm is still pinned to his chest in an intricate web of gauze and this sling.

“Reid,” Hotch calls. His voice is deep, strained from intubation and anesthesia. It makes him sound sick. “He’s dropped his spoon.”

Reid nods, he already knows.

Hank points to his shoulder and frowns, “Hop fall down?”

Hotch nods, that is pretty much what happened and at the same time, Emily sweeps in and tickles Hank. She presses kisses to his face and making him laugh loudly. “That’s what happens,” she says. “Hops is just old.” Hank is too distracted by the ongoing attack to defend Hotch not that a toddler rising to his defense is very helpful.

Hotch sighs as Jack comes up behind him, stealing his spoon too. He takes a bite of the oatmeal and deems it nearly as good as the kind that Jessica makes. Hotch wants to be annoyed by it and yet all he does is nod and finds himself smirking just a little.

Penelope calls everyone in for breakfast and Hotch ignores the kisses pressed to his cheek as people drag chairs to the table around him. To the hands that slide over his back, assurance of life he remembers Jack calling it.

Derek slides him a mug of tea, made exactly how he likes it. He sits across from Hotch, close to Hank in case either needs assistance. Emily sits to his left, slides her coffee up beside his tea so he can have some if he’s quick about it. Jack sits beside her and the rest is a blur, too much motion at once for him to take in without his contacts or glasses. Penelope slides a tea plate to him, his medicine on it, and kisses his head while he’s still scowling at the plate.

They don’t leave him alone all day.

He ends up taking a nap with Hank, the toddler’s sticky little fingers holding onto his shirt as he finds himself unable to fight off the effects of the medicine and his full stomach.

He’s squished on the couch between Derek and Dave, forced to watch baseball because he can’t worm his way upright again just yet.

They change the dressings on his shoulder, his teeth clenched tightly so that he doesn’t let anything slip.

At midnight he wakes up on the couch. Jack’s bedroom door is shut, he’s sleeping peacefully inside. His heating blanket is pulled up to his chin, the heat turned up all the way. He can’t remember getting into this state himself but he has a fate memory of JJ helping him move his hand to his mouth, encouraging him to take the pain killers before bed. Of Derek making sure he didn’t just fall straight over onto his side. He manages to find Dave stretched out on the Lazyboy -- the chair he got Hotch for his fifty-something birthday. He’ll wake up in the morning to more food being made in his lonely kitchen, JJ this time. She’ll make blueberry waffles.

If he’d wanted attention, Emily will tease the next morning, he could have just asked. And he didn’t even know he wanted this. He never finds the words to ask for it to continue but every Saturday morning it happens anyway -- his kitchen and living room full of pajamas and suits in varying degrees depending on who has what to do that morning. The fainting thing is not cool but he considers this to be a good trade.

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #savannah hayes #hank morgan #jack hotchner #emily prentiss #david rossi #penelope garcia #spencer reid #jennifer jareau

63 notes · View notes

ot7always · 4 years

Text

Yes, Sir

Word Count: 4.1k

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers AU, smut, fluff

Warnings: dom!Yoongi, sub!Reader, sir kink, degradation, choking, hair pulling, spanking (hand and belt), dirty talk, unprotected sex, overstimulation, spit kink, squirting, aftercare

Rating: 18+

Summary: After being promoted to head of another department, you thought your days of needing to deal with Yoongi were over. As it turns out, you were wrong. He still loves to hold his experience over your head, despite no longer being your boss. Let’s just say, after all the times he’s had your blood pressure through the roof, you really did not expect to end up back under him.

A/N: This fic was commissioned by the lovely @meowxyoong for @ficswithluv’s ChangesWithLuv project to raise money for the Black Lives Matter movement, as well as other movements supporting the Black community. Please check it out if you haven’t already! I hope it lives up to your expectations!

Lastly, huge thank you to @wwilloww who beta-read this for me yesterday and gave me tons of useful feedback!! Also tagging @dee-ehn so we can thirst together.

Masterlist

Yoongi, head of Marketing. You, head of Sales.

It’s almost like Romeo and Juliet.

Fitting, because you really wanted nothing more than to throttle him.

That’s how the story goes, right?

Min Yoongi had to be the devil incarnate. There was no other explanation for the emotional turmoil he put you through each day. While he’d never been outright mean to you, the perceptive asshole knew exactly what to say to push your buttons, despite having no recollection of ever deserving such a thing. It was torture.

You’d worked closely with him for three years before getting promoted, moving from Marketing to Sales. At first, you enjoyed his presence. He mentored you kindly yet sternly, and who wouldn’t want to be mentored by someone who looked like that? But you should have known it was too good to be true. It only took months before he became a constant thorn in your side.

Summoned into his office towards the end of the workday, you shut the door behind you as you moved to stand in front of his desk, hands clasped at your front. You eyed your boss, glasses perched on his nose as he flipped through the analysis you’d submitted that morning. You’d worked hard on it for weeks, determined to set yourself apart from your peers. You were confident that it showed in the completed product.

“Sir?” you called out to him after he failed to raise his eyes from the sheets.

“A little long, don’t you think?” he drawled without looking up. You couldn’t tell whether he was unhappy with that fact.

“I was just trying to be thorough, sir…” your voice trailed off, suddenly insecure about the very thing you were so confident about only hours ago.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were trying to impress me,” he smirked, dark eyes finally meeting your gaze. You balked at the statement, unsure if your blood was boiling out of embarrassment or vexation.

“Just doing my job, sir,” you stated, voice clipped. Why were you here? Just so he could tease you? If you weren’t trying to keep a favourable relationship with the higher-ups you would question him about his professionalism.

He continued staring at you for what felt like a lifetime. You shifted on your feet, face hot but determined not to be the first to look away.

Finally ending this strange pseudo-staredown, Yoongi flipped your report shut and placed it in the corner of his desk. The prolonged silence had you feeling a bit dazed.

“It’s good. Thank you. You can go,” he declared abruptly, spinning around on his chair, effectively cutting short any response you may have had.

Brows furrowing in indignation, you spun around on your heel and made your way out of his office, forgoing any attempt to shut the door quietly.

Asshole.

Sitting at your desk after a long day of meetings, you yearned for nothing more than a long, hot shower. Things at work had been crazy lately, the company organizing a large collaborative ad campaign that had you working extra hours everyday. It was extra exhausting considering you always had to sit through senior staff meetings with Yoongi, who loved to ask you questions he already had the answers to as if to trip you up.

Quickly organizing your desk before you planned to leave for the night, loose sheets scattering around had you sighing lightly to yourself. Stapler, stapler, stapler…

No stapler.

Are you serious? You swore you literally saw it on your desk this morning –

Yoongi. That bastard always loved to take your stuff, seemingly enjoying the chase of having you hunt him down and demand he return it to you. Well, you really weren’t in the mood for that today. You’d already been in the office for 10 hours, and you really just wanted to go home. Mouth set in a firm line, you set out to march your way straight into his office, only down the hall from your own.

Bursting into the room, you were startled to see him still sitting at his desk, typing away at something furiously despite your interruption.

“Yes?” he inquired, amusement lacing his tone as he raised a brow at you. He pissed you off, but did he have to look so good doing it?

“You know what I want,” you said bitterly, eyes lighting with barely-concealed anger as you spotted your stapler on his desk. Quickly stepping up to grab it, you were taken aback when his hand reached out to halt your motion, fingers gripping around your wrist.

“Excuse me,” you huffed, appalled at his actions. Sure, he loved to tease you, but he didn’t usually opt to touch you like this. Reaching forward to snatch it with your other hand, your fury grew exponentially as he grasped your other wrist too.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you snapped, irritation crystal clear in your voice. Glancing up to meet his gaze, what you saw there was dark, staring into you with unparalleled intensity. That look accompanied by the fact that your wrists were still in his grasp had your breath quickening slightly, butterflies churning in your stomach. You tried to pull away, but he must be stronger than he looks because you couldn’t move an inch.

“Sweetheart,” he pouted, but the hardness in his gaze made it evident that it was definitely for show. “I miss the days when you treated me with a lot more respect.”

Confusion washed over you then. Since when did you not treat him with respect? Sure, you could be a bit brusque, but you couldn’t recall any time where you spoke to him any worse than he spoke to you. Frowning, you opened your mouth to question his statement, but he continued before you could speak.

“’Yes sir,’ ‘no sir,’ ‘yes please.’ You were so adorable back then,” he reminisced, head tipping back to look at the ceiling. “I think about it a lot.” He returned his vision to your face, reading you as he begun stroking the soft skin of your wrists with his thumbs. “You were such a good girl for me before,” he murmured lowly, eyes full of hunger.

Your eyes widened in shock. Surely you misheard. He couldn’t be stood here telling you he fantasized about you, right? …Right? Your heart felt like it was about to leap out of your throat. You couldn’t deny that you’d done the same once or twice… or more… but that was just your horny brain talking. Not your rational one.

“Tell me you want this as much as I do,” he implored, an ounce of insecurity somewhere deep in his voice. You didn’t know what to say. How were you meant to process something like this? This is definitely not how you planned for this encounter to go, and you simply stared at him, disbelief colouring your features. You dropped your gaze to his hands still clasped onto you. Yes, you wanted him, but how would this affect your professional relationship? How could you sit through meetings next to him if all you could think about was him inside you?

Taking your silence as answer, he dropped your hands and backed away as if he had been burned. “Sorry, I thought – I just,” he stuttered out, nervousness and shame evident despite his previous actions. “Sorry, I don’t know what possessed me-”

“Yes,” you blurted out, unthinking, bending forward over his desk to grip at his hands. Curse your horny brain. “I do want it,” you pleaded, searching his eyes for the desire that was present only moments ago. As if a switch was flipped, his expression became ice cold. Yanking you forward by your arms, you gave a surprised yelp as he pulled you as close to him as possible, your hipbones digging painfully into the edge of his desk.

“What was that?” he growled, the animalistic sound sending a wave of arousal through you. You gritted your teeth, determined not to give into him so easily. Not a patient man today, Yoongi’s right hand whipped out to place itself at your neck. At its presence you let out a low moan, leaning your head back to bare your throat to him.

“Thought about this, have you?” he chuckled darkly, thumb stroking up your jaw. You shuddered at the touch, teeth biting into your bottom lip in anticipation.

“I may have,” you mumbled, desire replacing any shame you might have felt at admitting your fantasies. At your words, the grip at either side of your throat tightened, squeezing just enough that you struggled to take in air. The brutal action sent a new rush of wetness to your panties, but you continued to hold his stare.

“You know what I want,” he taunted, mockingly using the exact words you’d so assuredly said to him earlier. His hand tightened its hold slightly, your eyes fluttering shut as you attempted to hold back a moan at the situation you’d gotten yourself into. You could not, however, say you weren’t enjoying it. Realizing there was no way he would let up on you, a minute later you finally relented, desperate for his touch elsewhere.

“I want it, sir,” you gasped out, struggling to catch yourself on the desk as he suddenly released you. Bent almost 90-degrees over his desk, you worked to catch your breath, papers and other supplies digging into your chest. Glancing up, you found Yoongi smirking down at you, hands in his pockets as his eyes swept over the sight of you prone across his workspace.

“Stay just like that, princess,” he uttered lowly, your walls clenching around nothing at the name. He circled around to the other side of the desk until he was no longer visible, standing somewhere behind you. About to stand up so that you could see him properly, your breath huffed out of you in surprise when a hand harshly shoved your chest back into his desk. Your struggle against his strength was fruitless.

He used his other hand to yank your skirt up over your ass, exposing the lacy tops of your stockings and your black thong. Part of you was grateful at the dark colour, hoping the arousal already pooled there wasn’t visible to him behind you. He groaned at the sight.

“You mean to tell me you come to work dressed like this and don’t expect to be fucked like a filthy whore?” he jeered, hand tracing over the curve of your ass. You shivered at the touch, pushing back into it ever-so-slightly. The unexpected harsh sting of that same hand delivering a cruel blow to your left asscheek had you quivering.

“Such a bad girl,” he tutted, rubbing at where he had hit you before delivering an even harder smack to your other asscheek. The sensation burned, but the fire of your heat only grew with each passing moment. Hitting you again and again, your mind became unable to focus on anything besides his actions, moaning out as his next hit was dealt closer to your thigh, the ache heavy but so, so good.

“Say it,” he ordered, tone leaving no room for argument. Though, it felt as though with every blow your ability to argue left you, slowly but surely. Seems like your rational brain left for the night, you thought. Obviously unhappy that your focus was no longer on him, his ruthless hand made contact with your cunt instead, tears springing to your eyes.

“I won’t ask you again,” he cautioned, and it was at that point you decided to throw your pride away. As you’d already said, you wanted this, and like hell if you were going to ruin it now.

“I’m a bad girl, sir,” you whispered, but thankfully it seemed that was enough to appease him.

“And bad girls get punished, don’t they?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathed out, face hot. Despite your embarrassment, you don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on. Your panties were pulled down to your thighs, and you resisted the urge to try to hide.

At the sight of your folds glistening with arousal, Yoongi let out a moan as he roughly dragged his thumb across you, spreading the wetness. The touch had you moaning out, desperate to press back into him if not for the hand holding you down.

“This needy little cunt is sopping already. You like it rough, don’t you?” he goaded before abruptly sticking his thumb inside you. You whined at the contact, walls gripping at his finger, wanting more of him to fill you up.

“Please, sir…” you begged, moaning wantonly at his slow, unsatisfying movements.

“What was that?” he chuckled, removing his thumb to replace it with two of his fingers, scissoring apart and thrusting roughly.

“Fuck me,” you pleaded, overcome by pleasure, needing so badly to be stretched by a cock instead of his hands. When he pulled away from you entirely, you whined out.

“Such a needy little slut, aren’t you?” he sneered, “You haven’t even gotten your punishment yet and you think you deserve to get fucked?” He unbuckled his belt, pulling it out of his pants and doubling it within his grasp. You jumped at the feeling of the cool leather stroking your ass gently, swatting lightly as if to test the motion.

“This is for every time you’ve ever talked back to me. Every time you’ve turned me on with your tight ass blouses and tiny skirts. You drive me absolutely insane,” he barbed, “Five on each side and you’ll get rewarded. ‘Red’ if you need to stop, ‘yellow’ if you need me to ease up. Repeat it back to me.”

“Red to stop, yellow to ease up,” you panted, squeaking when a hand came down on your ass.

“Sorry, I don’t know who you’re speaking to,” he berated, part of you cursing your slip-up after doing well for so long.

“I – Sorry, sir,” you stammered, eager to please him so that you could get what came next. At your words, the belt came down on your left asscheek, and though the force behind it was weak, it was the loud noise of leather on skin that startled you. After giving you another of the same intensity, you almost thought he was going soft on you. Boy, were you wrong.

Satisfied with your reactions thus far, the belt came down harder, reaching the same strength as Yoongi’s hand earlier. Compared to his palms, though, the impact of the belt felt so much deeper, the pain radiating from the hit leaving you trembling. Two smacks of the belt hit you mercilessly in quick succession, causing you to cry out, only remaining standing thanks to the desk supporting your upper body. Your ass felt like it was on fire, but you could feel your arousal running along your inner thighs. You were sure if he thrust into you right now you would be more than ready to take him.

When he hit you again in the same spot even harder than before, tears sprung to your eyes. Your breath was coming out in pants, but you knew this would all be worth it in the end. Another two hits on the opposite cheek had you choking out a moan. You went limp, body instinctively wanting to curl away from the source of pain but the edge of the desk digging into your hips reminded you that such a thing wasn’t possible in your position.

“One more. Can you take it?” he inquired, taking in the shaking of your body and your loud gasps for air. One more. Despite the overwhelming sensation of pain radiating through you, you knew you could do it. You knew you wanted nothing more than the pleasure that followed. You nodded frantically.

“Yes, sir,” you gasped out, bracing yourself for a hit that never came. You burrowed your brow. Several more seconds passed, and you wondered whether he changed his mind. You should have known he was too cruel for that.

Just as you had let your guard down, the hit came, hard and unpitying. You let out a squeak, breath catching in your throat. Relief at your punishment being over quickly made its way to anticipation at the sound of the belt hitting the floor.

“You took it so well,” he cooed, “Are you gonna be a good little whore for me and take my cock too?” You moaned at his words, whimpering when you felt three fingers enter your dripping hole.

“I was gonna take the time to stretch you out, but it seems like this needy little cunt is ready for me already,” he snickered before removing his fingers. He sunk other hand into your hair, harshly yanking your head up and shoving his fingers into your mouth when you gasped. You sucked on what you could as he pressed his fingers as far as was possible, smirking when you gagged around him.

“Fuck, that’s a pretty sight…” he said wistfully, “Maybe next time I’ll stuff this pretty mouth.”

Removing his hand from you, he moved to unzip his pants, pulling them down just enough to remove his cock, slicking himself against your folds. When he started pushing into you slowly, you wanted so badly to thrust yourself back on him, but a firm hand held you down at the hips. His painfully slow pace had you whimpering for more.

“Please, sir, I need it,” you cried, desperate for the friction of him inside you. You couldn’t feel shame anymore, could only feel him fucking you, but you needed more.

“Your little cunt wants to be pounded, huh?” he growled, suddenly shoving himself all the way inside and starting up a brutal pace. “Just remember you asked for it even though I tried to ease you into it,” he said, punctuating his words with cruel, deep thrusts that left you reeling. His roughness left your mind blank, and you swore you could feel him in your stomach. All you could do was lay there open-mouthed, small moans and whines making their way freely from your mouth.

“You don’t seem to be talking back now, do you? I’m going to fuck you so dumb you won’t be able to say anything, you little whore.” True to his words, you couldn’t even form a coherent thought as he was pounding into you, your walls clenching around him as cries left your lips.

Suddenly, hands pulled you up so that your back moulded against his chest, one hand holding you up at the waist, the other wrapped around your throat. He squeezed in time with every thrust of his hips, and you felt utterly boneless in his grasp. Feeling lightheaded, you surrendered yourself entirely to his hands and his cock, mindless except for the feeling of him. After being wound up so long, you were already so close to falling over the edge, walls squeezing tighter and tighter as you approached your end.

“Gonna cum for me already, hm? Do you think I can’t feel this pussy gripping me for all it’s worth? Well, go on, cum for me then,” he commanded, hand around your waist moving to rub mercilessly at your clit. At the sudden onslaught of pleasure, you cried out loudly as the orgasm hit you in waves, Yoongi’s thrusts never pausing. When his strokes continued, your moans became laced with pain, cunt too sore to take the beating he was giving you.

When he pulled out of you abruptly, you thought it was over, but he turned you around quickly, seating you on his desk and sliding back into you without missing a beat. You whined at the stretch to your sore walls, but the sight of his face contorted in pleasure, teeth biting into his bottom lip as he thrusted against you had you thankful. You were moaning shamelessly, head tilted up to admire his features when his hand reached up to squeeze at your jaw, forcing it to open to relieve the pain.

When he pulled his own face close to yours, you didn’t know what you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t him spitting in your mouth, saliva hitting your tongue. You stared up at him wide-eyed, mouth only closing when he pushed your chin upwards.

“Swallow,” he demanded gruffly, eyes looking like they were going to devour you whole. A shiver went up your spine at possessive action, following his instructions and sticking your tongue out to show him once you were done. The moan you received in return was loud, thrusts quickening to further chase his pleasure.

“Such a good little whore for me, you’re getting better at following instructions,” he grunted out, pulling you forward to change the angle. With each thrust he was rubbing against that spongy spot inside of you, your head falling back as you let the sensation run over you.

The wave snuck up on you again, his thrusts relentless, the grinding of his pelvis against your clit every so often had your eyes rolling back. You were so sore, but it felt too good to stop. As he changed to shallow thrusts that had him only grinding against you, you felt that intense tightness in your abdomen. As he alternated between thrusting shallowly against your g-spot and slamming all the way in to grind against you, you shook in his hold, unable to catch your breath before another rush of pleasure had you weak.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, the release you felt was immaculate. Walls pulsing with seemingly no end, your orgasm left you seeing stars, all the tension in your body gone in exchange for mind-numbing bliss.

Your heat clenching around him had Yoongi groaning lowly, thrusts shallow and sloppy as he felt his own end approach. When he looked down and spotted the wet spots on the stomach of his button-up shirt, his mind blanked. Shoving himself all the way inside, he muffled his moans into your neck as he came.

You let out a small mewl when he pulled out of you, the day’s exhaustion hitting you all at once. He hushed you, guiding your body down to the floor to rest against his desk, disappearing momentarily as you shut your eyes. Returning with wet paper towels, he dabbed lightly at your inner thighs and between your legs.

Eyelids fluttering open as you felt a hand in your hair, tired eyes met concerned ones as Yoongi inspected you from head to toe. “You okay?” he asked simply, hands moving to fix your misplaced panties and skirt. You nodded despite your fatigue, pausing when you spotted wet spots on Yoongi’s shirt. No way –

“You squirted,” he smirked, looking satisfied with himself, the devil in him returning for just a moment. At the confirmation, your face felt hot, your hands moving to hide as if that would quell your embarrassment.

“Hey,” he called softly, hands pulling your own away, “Don’t be embarrassed. It was hot. I like making you feel good,” he said. His words brought a small smile to your face, though you still couldn’t help but to feel a bit shy.

“Have you done something like this before?” he questioned, any judgment absent from his voice. You assumed he meant the spanking, the belt, the… everything, you guessed. Shaking your head in denial, he smiled gently at you.

“Will you come home with me?” he asked, watching you closely to gauge your reaction. His question had you pausing. Home? With him?

“Why?” you responded, wariness clear in your tone. He couldn’t blame you for your disbelief. After all, it wasn’t normal for someone to spend all his time teasing you, then suddenly fuck you into next year, then ask you home.

“I want to make sure you’re okay. And I wanted to cook you dinner. And I was hoping you would stay and talk. Please?” he urged you, gaze imploring. While you were sure this wouldn’t instantly fix the irritation you’d had with him all this time, he really did seem sincere. And you honestly weren’t sure if you could walk on your own anyway. If anything, this seemed like a good first step to repairing your relationship.

Of course, sex would be the thing to fix your despise for this man, you thought. Curse your horny brain once again.

“Okay,” you sighed, relenting. It was the least he could do to make it up to you, right?

#houseofddaeng #changeswithluv #bts fic #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #bts smut #bts fluff #bts enemies to lovers au #bts fanfic

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fizzychocolatemilk · 3 years

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You've Got a Friend in Me (You've Got Troubles. I've Got 'em too.) (A Bakudeku Tropetember Fic)

Another Tropetember thingy (this one is a little late though...oops). I classify this one as a fic because it surpassed 1K. This one is for day eight: 5+1 / 3+1 (Five Times + One Time). AO3 link is here. It’s slightly angsty...so beware of feels.

tw: use of the f slur, homophobia, unsupportive parents, bullying

(1.)

“You’ll always be nothing but some dumbass, lightning-bolt faggot! You should just pack up and quit the hero course now. You’re too stupid to ever make it further than some lowly sidekick position,” the boy finished his abuse before dissolving into obnoxious laughter.

Said boy was one of Denki’s middle school classmates. Denki had accidentally run into him because he was texting Eijirou. The boy had looked over his shoulder and seen Eiji’s name (along with a heart) and started making fun of him for being “a faggot”. Denki knew he shouldn’t take what some asshole said to heart, but the things that he said reminded Denki of other times when he had been put down similarly. Lots of people seemed to think he was an incompetent dumbass who could never do anything right unless he had help, and, while sure, he was a little slow in academics...he definitely had other skill sets that made him a kick-ass hero! That didn’t mean that it was easy to convince himself of that.

“Denki-kun! Hi!” a voice broke Denki out of his spiral.

Denki turned toward the voice and, low and behold, it was Izu-kun. Denki gave Izuku a weak smile and a wave as he stood tensely next to the bully.

“Denki! Who’s this? A friend?” Izuku asked as he walked up to the two. His voice sounded dangerous, and Denki could hear the “or foe?” that came after his words. At 17, Class 3-A knew that Izuku was dangerously protective of his friends, and they all did their best not to provoke his fury in any way. Because a feral Izuku was terrifying.

The bully didn’t know this though, and he simply laughed before “greeting” Izuku, “Ah, guess we’ve got another faggot. Or did you not know that Lightning Dolt here was a twink?”

Izuku’s aura darkened several degrees at the boy's statement but still he shot the boy a bright (but fake) smile, “I’ll give you three seconds to run before I fucking destroy you.”

The boy’s face dropped and he blinked, “Uhhh...what?”

Izuku continued to smile, “One.”

The boy’s eyes widened in panic, “Wait, man!”

“Two.”

The boy started running, “We can talk about this!”

“Three,” Izuku immediately gave chase—or he would have if Denki hadn’t given him a small shock and held him back. Izuku struggled for a second before sighing and turning to Denki, “Denki-kun, you are more than just a brainless idiot and more than just a...a...you know. You’re amazing and talented in your own right and I’m proud to call you my friend.”

Denki blinked in surprise before blushing lightly, “Thanks, Izu. I really appreciate it.” He smiled genuinely at Izuku.

(2.)

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Momo,” the dark-haired woman stared harshly down at her daughter, “You may feel like this now, but one day you’ll find a nice, upstanding gentleman that captures your heart. Not some...punk-rock freak-girl.”

Momo stared down at her feet and sighed softly before replying, “Yes, mother.”

However, as she turned to make her way into the dorms, and her mother turned to meet with the chauffeur, she heard a very familiar voice. “Excuse me, ma’am! Yaoyorozu-san! May I have a word with you?” Momo turned to see Izuku-kun coming down the dorm steps and speed walking down the lawn to meet with the two women. He had a slightly dangerous aura (someone outside of Class A wouldn’t even notice), but Momo stood rigid as her friend stood up to her mother, “Yaoyorozu-san. I think you should consider taking your daughter more seriously.

“You might not know me well personally, but Yaomomo-chan and I know each other very well and I would consider us good friends. She’s smart, resourceful, and talented, and I think we can both agree that she will make a fantastic hero. But Yaomomo-chan is also responsible and mature, definitely mature enough to make her own decisions about her relationship choices.

“My own mother is very protective of me too, but I think that part of being a parent means accepting and supporting children through their choices and the consequences of those choices (good or bad), even if they aren’t choices that you, yourself, would make. I hope that you can come to respect Yaomomo-chan’s decisions about her own future, and find comfort in the fact that I, and everyone else in Class A, will always offer her our full support. Thank you for your time.” Izuku bowed politely before turning to Momo. “Kacchan made dinner. You should come eat it before it gets cold,” he smiled before heading back inside.

Momo’s mother looked surprised for a second before saying a quick goodbye and hurrying away. Momo smiled after her before whispering under her breath, “You are a marvelous friend, Izuku-kun.”

(3.)

Hanta was in a rush to get to class. Usually he was pretty punctual, but today he missed his alarm so he wasn’t feeling the best. Anxious and rushed, he accidentally ran into the worst person reasonably possible.

“Ahah, if it isn’t the plain-faced tape dispenser from Class A!” Monoma laughed, “Late to class, I see! Tsk, tsk, yet another reason Class B is superior! At the very least we’re punctual!”

Hanta deadpanned at the slate-eyed boy, “You know you’re late too, right?”

Monoma’s jaw dropped for a second before he regained his composure. He huffed and took another angle, “Well, at least I have a personality! You’re so boring that it’s a wonder anyone pays attention to you at all. You’re almost more invisible than the invisible girl in your class! Not to mention that you’ll probably never get a girlfriend, hah!”

Hanta rolled his eyes, despite the pang in his heart, before maneuvering himself to speed-walk past Monoma. “I’m literally dating Shou. It’s been the hot gossip for the past few days, and you’re definitely shallow enough to keep up with the gossip mill.”

Monoma guffawed, “How did a plain-faced peasant like you end up with someone as high class as Todoroki? It’s a wonder, isn’t it? But, of course, I’m sure you’ve been hearing that for the past few days, haven’t you?”

Hanta knew that he shouldn’t take anything that Monoma says seriously, but he’d been hearing how “unworthy” he was of Shouto for the past few days (since their relationship became public knowledge). The scathing words got to him and it made him doubt himself a little. He sped off towards his classroom, ignoring Monoma’s jeers in the background.

That day, during a joint training session, Izuku requested to be paired with Monoma...and maybe Izuku went a little harder than he usually did. Maybe Monoma ended up in the infirmary before class ended, but it was training so Izuku couldn’t really be blamed for accidentally injuring his classmate, could he?

Hanta smiled as he now had an explanation for the flash of green he swore he saw out of the corner of his eye as he was rushing to class after the encounter.

(+1.)

Katsuki slapped Deku on the back after training. “What the fuck was that, nerd?! You fucking beat the hell outta the Copycat Freak! Why can’t you ever go that hard when we train?”

Deku’s face flushed as he turned a blinding smile at Katsuki. Cute. Katsuki shook himself from his thoughts as Deku started talking to him. “I guess I just got really into the exercise, Kacchan!”

Katsuki could tell that Izuku’s words weren’t the whole truth but he decided to gloss over it for now in favor of focusing on a topic that had been bugging him. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Mochi Head lately. Skimping on our training. Any specific reason, Deku?”

Katsuki watched as Deku’s face flushed again, but this time it made a pit grow in his stomach. The pit grew as Deku stumbled over his words for a few minutes before answering, “We’ve just been helping each other study, Kacchan.”

“You’re fucking lying, stupid Deku,” Katsuki scoffed as his heart started cracking, tiny pieces falling into the void. “But it’s fucking fine. If you’d rather waste time with your girlfriend like a dumbass then I’ll take the number one spot all the more easily,” he said, but the words felt ashy in his mouth, empty and non-fulfilling.

He started walking away when there was a sharp tug on his wrist. “Kacchan!” It was Deku. It was always Deku. Katsuki stopped trying to pull away, but he didn’t turn around yet. “I love you! No one else! Ochako-chan has just been helping me work through my feelings for you! She has feelings for someone else!” Katsuki turned sharply to see Deku staring intensely at him. “You are my symbol of victory. My hero. My Kacchan. It’s only ever been you, so please. Please allow me to stand by your side!”

Katsuki sniffled before completely breaking down in tears from the emotional taxation of the last few minutes. Being the empathetic crier he is, Deku broke down with him and they held each other and sobbed. After a couple more minutes, Katsuki had pulled himself together enough to respond, “Y-yeah, dumb Deku. Keep your eyes on me.”

Katsuki stood and extended a hand to Izuku to help him up. Izuku stared at him fondly for a split second before taking his offer. They walked back to the dorms side-by-side and hand-in-hand.

#fizzy's fics #tropetember #bakudeku #bakudeku fics #bkdk #bkdk fic #seroroki #momojirou #kirikami #midoriya izuku #kaminari denki #yaoyorozu momo #sero hanta #bakugou katsuki #other mentioned characters #light angst #tw: homophobia #tw: bullying

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petalsrdead · 3 years

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LOVE WITHIN VILE RICHES

pairing: tobio kageyama x female reader (hinata, yachi, tsukishima, tadashi, two original female characters, and parents of both you and kageyama featured)

word count: 2,209 words

summary: your fathers are business partners, so you two have known each other forever, but have always hated and competed to see who was the best. high school graduation has come and gone, and you and tobio decide to face any feelings and hatred you have for each other one on one

warnings: 18+, smut!!, arguing, angst, swearing, bully!kageyama(kinda???), underage drinking (for americans, not those with 18+ drinking ages), kageyama is smart unlike in the manga & anime, oral (f receiving), praise kink, praising in general, some fluffy aftercare,

a/n: this is my piece for @bakugohoex ‘s rich boy collab. read everyone’s pieces here! congrats on the milestone ria! also thank you to @fallxngstarr for helping me with the title for this and beta reading! also if this seems rushed im sorry! work has been kicking my butt.

the idea of another party between your two families had your head reeling. tobio kageyama was your worst nightmare, and even though your fathers were business partners and friends since junior high, their two children couldn’t get along to save their lives. kageyama always picked on you when one of your mothers watched both of you. he pulled your hair, took your toys, ate your snacks… your mothers joked it was just a way of showing that he liked you.

as the two of you got older and went to school together, you competed academically. the two of you were born four months apart, kageyama being the eldest, so you were in the same class quite often. you both wanted to prove you could be the heirs of the business your fathers worked so hard to build, and you just had some unspoken competition with one another.

you’re both 18 now and having a joint high school graduation party. you were head of the class, tobio right behind you, so everyone was ecstatic. the party was both of your families, friends, and business partners.

it’s a hot summer day, lemonade and watermelon set out for the guests to enjoy. you smooth down your sundress and stand at the door of the kageyama’s mansion.

though your fathers are the heads of the business, kageyama’s dad is the technical ceo, and since he already came from money, it made sense that they lived where they did. kageyama’s mother greets your family at the door, pulling everyone in for hugs.

“(y/n)! you look so stunning! that dress is beautiful!” his mother beams, smiling at you.

“thank you mrs kageyama! i bought it just for today!” you run your hands down the front of it again and smile.

“tobio is in the game room if you’d like to see him.” his father says.

‘that’s not really a suggestion.’ you think to yourself, but nod and excuse yourself, heading into the game room down the hall.

you can hear him yelling, probably at hinata as you walk through the open door. he’s playing some type of combat game.

“dammit hinata! im down!” he yells, slamming his controller against his thigh.

you stand behind him as he sits on the couch and look around the space. he’s got every gaming console a boy could ever want or need, a huge tv, and an amazing surround sound system. a large sectional fills up the room with a mini fridge in the corner.

you walk towards tobio, your nerves kicking in as you step into his view.

“fuck. gotta go hinata. the bitch is here.” he mumbles and throws off his headset.

you wave and smile softly at him, trying to be friendly. “congratulations tobio… i heard about the volleyball commitment—“

“shut up. gods you’re really annoying you know that? why are you even in here? i don’t want to see your stupid face.” he huffs and stands up, walking out of the room.

your smile instantly falters, as you fall into the couch where he was sitting. you play with the hem of your dress as you try and hold back tears. memories of him pushing you off the swings or into his pool when you couldn’t swim without a life preserver surface your mind.

“why is he so mean to me…?” you whisper.

——————————————-

everyone’s family and friends finally arrive, the adults in the kitchen and on the patio drinking wine, and the kids in the pool. shoyo, yachi, tadashi, tsuki, and kageyama are swimming, splashing each other and playing cliche pool games. you’re sitting in the jacuzzi, relaxing along with two of your friends.

“do you think kei will let me suck him off tonight?” your friend chizo whispers, staring at the blonde in the pool.

you scoff. “i doubt it. he’s as much, if not more of an asshole than tobio…”

“well, i think tadashi and i have a shot before summer ends!” your other friend namiko beams.

“i can’t believe kageyama actually agreed to both of you coming over here…” you say, sliding out of the jacuzzi and sitting on the edge of it, sliding your feet back in.

“well, we are your friends and this is a joint graduation party…” chizo mumbles.

“hey guys!” yachi yells, waving and running over to the jacuzzi.

“you wanna play truth or dare and spin the bottle with the rest of us?! i didn’t think it was fair being the only girl…” she mumbles.

namiko and chizo are practically flying out of the hot tub to dry off and get dressed. you just shrug. “i guess were in.”

yachi jumps up and down and claps. “yay! okay everyone’s meeting in the game room in ten minutes, see ya!”

she runs off again, most likely into the house to go make out with hinata.

————————-

“namiko, truth or dare?” tsukishima asks, expression as hard as always.

your group is downstairs in the game room, bottles and cans of alcohol scattered around, playing the first round of truth or dare.

“um! dare!” she bites her lip as she looks at the blonde.

“i dare you to make out with tadashi.” namiko and tadashi both gasp, cheeks flushing as they look at each other.

they’re sitting next to each other and their lips desperately collide, the desire for each other obvious through their actions.

“okay. you two can stop now…” chizo mumbles, rolling her eyes.

tadashi and namiko laugh, looking at each other. “okay, (y/n)! truth or dare?”

you shrug and smirk. “how about a dare?”

namiko smirks and looks at you, then kageyama, then back to you. “i dare you to spend seven minutes in heaven with kageyama. in his bedroom…”

“woah!”

“namiko are you serious?!”

“she’s bold… bolder than i thought…”

kageyama’s nostrils flare as he stands up from the floor. “a dares a dare. let’s go (y/n).”

you nod slowly, still in awe of namiko’s dare. you get up and follow tobio. you’ve been in his room before, but it’s been a while. there’s volleyball trophies and certificates all along dressers and pinned to the walls, there’s not a single object out of place, which is shocking for a teen boy’s bedroom.

his expression is harsh as he motions to his bed. “sit.”

you sit, watching him pull out his phone and set a timer at seven minutes. he sits next to you, tossing the phone on the bed.

“we’re not doing anything except sitting here… cool?” he mumbles, glancing at you.

“i was thinking the same thing.” you say, glaring at him.

“what’s that face for?” his brows furrow.

you sigh and shake your head. “i-i’m sick of you being mean to me! you’ve been mean to me since we were little! why?!”

tears peek at your eyes and he shrugs. “i don’t know! maybe i was jealous of you!”

you stand up and move in front of him, glaring once more. “jealous?! of me?! what on earth are you on about tobio?! i should be the one that’s jealous!”

he stands up now and looks down at you, cheeks flushed red with anger. “you’ve gotten to do whatever you wanted! it was practically set in stone that i was going to be the one to take over the company and you were going to go to college. in fact i overheard our parents deciding that once! i don’t want to take over the stupid company (y/n)! i want to play volleyball!”

“y-you heard them say that?” you whisper, looking down at your feet.

tobio’s hand grips your chin so you look up and into his eyes. “yes. that’s why i was an asshole to you all these years. why i never wanted anything to do with you. because you were free to make your own decisions and i wasn’t. it’s not fair.”

you shake your head. “i don’t want to go down the path i’m going either.” you say. “i’d rather run the company than go to college, at least for something other than a business degree.”

his eyes widen at your words, dropping your chin. “you’re serious? when did that decision come to be?”

“only a few nights ago. you should too. maybe we’ll run it together some day. if we both have business degrees, then…”

“i don’t care about the stupid business!” he practically screams.

you flinch away from him and against his bedroom door, hand going to the knob. tobio notices this and sighs. “shit… sorry… sorry i scared you…”

his expression softens and he sits at his computer desk now, putting his face in his hands.

“our lives… they’ve always been planned for us by our parents. you and i getting married, you going to college for like… a doctorate degree in something, my degree in business so i can continue to run the business… i thought… i thought being mean to you would change things, so i could write my own story…” kageyama lifts his head to speak, before placing it in his hands again.

your eyes widen. “y-you’ve… you’ve never really hated me?”

he looks up and opens his mouth to speak, but the phone alarm goes off. you walk over and stop it, staring at him. “kageyama…” you whisper.

he nods. “i… i like you… i really do…”

your cheeks flush and you step over to him, bending down to his level and kissing his lips deeply. he’s in awe, but wraps his arms around your waist and kisses you back. he soon pulls you into his lap, and you knot your fingers in his hair, continuing to kiss him deeply.

the two of you pull away, gasping for air as you look in each other’s eyes. “s-shit… tobio…” you whisper.

he smirks and picks you up, carrying you to the bed. he lays you down, gently, sliding his hands under your sundress. “(y/n)...”

you nod. “g-go ahead…”

he pulls your dress over your head and looks over your form. “beautiful…” he mumbles, large and calloused hands trailing down your stomach to your clothed sex.

he slides his thumb over the material of your panties, catching your clit which causes you to gasp out. he smirks and runs his thumb over it again. “t-tobio!”

he stops and holds a finger to his lips, shushing you. “we have to be quiet…”

you whimper at his words and nod. his brows furrow as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your cunt to him. you cover your face with your hands, embarrassed at the predicament you’re in. “this is to make up for all these years, okay?”

you peak down at him through your hands and see him sliding his tongue along your folds. you whimper and he does it again, faster and faster he flicks his tongue through your slit. you push the back of your hand down on your mouth and moan, eyes rolling back into your head.

“feels good? you’re doing so good for me baby…” he whispers against your skin.

he dives back into you, lapping at your clit this time, suckling and teasing it with his tongue. you moan louder this time, bucking your hips up into his face. he then wraps his lips around the sensitive bud, sucking at it harshly. you can’t help but yell out, a hand gripping his black hair tightly.

“t-tobio!! it’s too much!!!” you yell out.

he pulls off and wipes his lips on the back of his hand. “c’mon baby… cum for me… let it out…”

as if he couldn’t get more aggressive, his tongue slips between your folds and inside of you, lapping at your juices that come out once again. you pull his hair and he thrusts his tongue in and out of you.

kageyama takes a moment to stare at you. your hair askew and face contorted in pleasure. one hand over your mouth and the other in his hair. he smirks and continues his quick pace.

“t-tobio!! i-im—!” you gasp out, creaming all over his face and tongue.

he slowly licks at you through the orgasm, helping you down from your high. he pulls away and licks his lips, savoring every last drop of your essence.

he takes a finger and collects the rest from his face, then sliding the finger into his mouth and sucking at it. you sit up on your elbows, watching him closely.

“do… do you need me to…?” you mumble nervously, looking to the tent in his shorts.

he shakes his head. “it was all about you… i’ll be fine…”

you nod and reach for your dress, pulling it over your head. he watches you carefully, unsure of what to say. “we should… we should do that again. not now! but sometime…”

you shrug. “i mean we don’t have long until uni starts… so i guess that’s cool…”

“not just that… i-“ he sighs and yanks at his hair. “let me take you out tomorrow? okay!?”

your eyes widen, but you slowly nod. “sure tobio. just don’t bully me…”

he lays next to you, wrapping his arms around your stomach and pulling you back into his chest. “no promises i won’t tease you, but i won’t be an asshole anymore.”

tags: @lustforyuu @beelziee @bummie @missuga @ultimate-astridwriting

#petalsrdeadworks #rich boy collab #tobio kageyama #tobio smut #hq tobio #kegayama tobio #tobio x you #tobio x y/n #tobio kageyama x reader #tobio kageyama x you #tobio kageyama angst #tobio angst #[🌺] — calamity’s collab pieces #[🎀] — calamity’s works #🌷 — anime messes

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cedriccullen00 · 4 years

Text

it’s not like that.

-your jaspers mate

-he gets jealous as he hears mike flirt with you

-lots of fluff

I let a chuckle escape through my lips as I walked beside Bella and Edward down the hall. “C’mon Y/N, you know it’s true.” Bella said elbowing me in the ribs lightly. “S’not true. He wasn’t drooling. He was just... shocked?” I said making her and myself laugh. “You don’t want to know what he was thinking.” Edward said smirking as he looked at me. “Oh shut up Edward, you disgusting perv.” I said with a smile, Bella wiped her eyes that got wet from laughing so hard. “Look all I’m saying is that he was imagining you ti-,” he started and I threw my hand over his mouth. “Okay, okay, enough.” I groaned and he took my my wrist to remove my hand from his mouth. “It doesn’t take a mind reader to know what he was imaging.” Bella said from the other side of Edward. “And to believe you are my best friend Swan.” I said shaking my head and she rolled her eyes playfully. “Look it’s your class, so go.” Edward said pushing me a little towards the Math room. “Fine. Bye Bells, bye perv.” I said smirking and Edward took his hand and pushed my head in a sibling manor while Bella waved at me. “See you at lunch Mrs.Newton.” she teased and I made a gagging noise as I stuck my finger at my mouth, her and Edward laughed before they walked away. I turned around and huffed, I hated math.“You’re late Ms.Cullen.” the teacher said as I walked through the door. “Should I apologize?” I asked smiling at her and she frowned. “I thought your mother would’ve raised you better than that.” she murmured. “And I thought going to college and getting a degree made you smart. Guess we’re both wrong.” I said with a shrug and I heard Emmett give a low chuckle. “Take your seat. Now.” she snapped and I saluted her before walking to the empty seat beside Emmett. “You are such an asshole.” he whispered to me with a wide smile on his face as I slid into the seat. “I’ve had 78 years to learn from the best.” I said looking at him and he grabbed his notebook and hit me on the head. The sound was not loud but the people near us probably thought he just smashed a pan on my head. “Bitch.” I grumbled at him and he winked at me. “Cullens! Get yourselfs together or I’m calling your father! You two know he’d be very disappointed.” the teacher snapped again from the front of the room. “If you want to call him I can give you my phone.” Emmett said from beside me. “Or you can use mine! It’s red and has a cute little ringtone.” I said after him darting my eyes at the teacher. “Out of my class both of you!” she screeched. Emmett and I stood up slinging our bags over our shoulders. “Bye teach. See ya Monday.” I said as I strode by her. “Or not.” Emmett added behind me winking at the teacher. As soon as we were in the hallway he gave turned to me smiling. “Sweet.” he said raising his fist for a fist bump. “Right? Hope she doesn’t call Carlisle though, that’s the 5th time we’ve pulled a stunt like that this month.” I said smiling at my big brother as we started to walk down the hall. “Who cares, we’ve been taking classes like that for 50 years.Let’s go relax before lunch.” he said and I nodded. “Your smart.” I murmured and he chuckled. “Why thank you.” he responded.

“There they are.” Alice said looking up as Emmett and I walked closer to the table. “I don’t like the way you said that.” I said to my sister as I sat next to Jasper, my mate. “You’re in big trouble darlin’.” he said as I rested my head on his shoulder. “Oh yeah? And why’s that cowboy?” I asked and he chuckled. “We heard your smart remarks towards the teacher.” he said and I sighed. “Not just mine, you heard Emmetts too.” I commented looking at my brother. “Oh of course we did, but you’re going to get in more trouble with Carlisle than Emmett is.” Alice said smirking and I groaned. “How bad?” I asked and Edward smirked. “We’re talking 4 lectures at once bad.” he said and I groaned again. “Please, please, please tell me he isn’t making me-,” I started but Rosalie finished. “Apologize to the teacher and by her a bouquet of flowers. Yep, he is.” she said and I nuzzled my head into Jaspers neck. “Take me to the Volturi.” I muttered and they all laughed. “I want to know how bad Emmetts getting it.” Bella said laying her head in the palm of her hand. “Yeah I’m with her! Take the steam off me!” I exclaimed taking my head off of Jasper looking up with a smile. “He’s only getting one lecture and he has to simply apologize.” Jasper said and I huffed. “I don’t the vibes here even though I’m next to Jasper so I’m excusing myself to go... I don’t know to the car I guess.” I said with a shrug. I got up and Jasper did too, I looked at him with furrowed brows and he laughed. “What? It’s not like I’m going to eat anything.” he said smiling. Bella have a small giggle along with Alice as he grabbed my hand softly and lead me out of the cafeteria. “You have to admit some of remarks were funny.” I said with a shrug and he laughed quietly. “Yes I will admit one of them had me laughing during my history test. But was it worth it?” he asked looking down at me and I nodded. “Obviously, c’mon I’ve dealt with angry Carlisle before. Remember?” I asked and he nodded. “How could I not darlin’? It was the highlight of my 1947.” he said smirking and I punched him lightly, well as lightly as a vampire with non-human strength could. “It was hilarious. You jumped from the stands onto the Yankees baseball field screaming, ‘Let me pitch! Let me pitch!’ and ‘C’mon my grandma can hit the ball better than you!’” he said mimicking my voice, his accent poking through at points. “Hey, I was just telling the truth.” I said with a shrug and a giggle. “Carlisle was so mad, you know he still refuses to ever go to New York again? He says he’ll never do it. He even stopped watching the Yankees!” Jasper exclaimed and I started laughing really hard. “He did... didn’t...he.” I said in between laughs while Jasper laughed with me. After a second out laughter settled and I sighed shaking my head. “What if this was the last straw? What if he kicks me out of the coven?” I asked suddenly getting worried, I’m not necessarily bad I just like making jokes and teasing people, Carlisle knew that. “He would never do that.” Jasper whispered as we walked hand in hand in the opposite direction of the jeep. “Jasper you don’t know that. He may think I’ve gone reckless. Oh god what if he sends me to Tanya?!” I asked, my left hand rising to my mouth. “He knows you don’t get along with her, he’d rather send you to the Irish coven.” he said smirking and I frowned. “He wouldn’t do that sweetheart, if he did he’d be losing me too.” he whispered softly and I looked up at him. “Really?” I asked and he nodded bending down to plant a soft cool kiss to my lips. “Of course.” he murmured, leaning back. I smiled at him as he started to lead us to the library after our sudden stop for the kiss.

“I’m not interested Mike.” I said in a sing song voice as I walked out of the school, Mike Newton on my tail. “Oh c’mon Cullen, leave your creepy blonde for one evening and I’ll my you fall for me.” he said as I walked to Bella’s car, I didn’t want to lead Mike to Jasper. “Sorry all my evenings are booked.” I said with a shrug and he huffed. “Have you always played hard to get?” he asked and I came to a stop and turned sharply to him. “I’m not playing hard to get. I have a boyfriend and you need to respect that.” I snapped and he smirked. “She’s feisty.” he said and I bawled my hands into fists. “And he’s an ass.” I growled and he chuckled. “I’d like to see that ass.” he said and I raised my hand up. Before my hand could make contact with his face strong arms were around me. “Shhh stand down.” Edward whispered softly. “What did you say to my little sister?” Emmett asked as he softly pushed Edward and I aside. “N-nothing.” Mike stuttered looking up at my older brother and frowned. “Oh I think you did. Come with me pretty boy.” he growled before taking Mike by the arm and dragging him away. “And you come with me.” Jasper grumbled taking my hand and yanking me from Edwards grip. He lead me across the parking lot and to Emmetts jeep, he was so angry you didn’t need his power to tell. He let go of my hand and climbed into the driver seat as I walked to the passenger side. “Jasper...” I whispered and he shook his head. “Maybe he was right! Maybe you should leave your creepy blonde boyfriend...or husband I should say!” he shouted as he started the vehicle and angrily pulled out of the parking space. “I’m sorry but do you hear yourself?! You sound insane!” I shouted and he scoffed. “Do I sound insane or do I sound smart!? Maybe you should go home and destroy your wedding ring, then call up ol’ buddy back there!” he spat and I shook my head and crossed my arms. “You really think I’d leave you. I expected you to think higher of me.” I growled and he pushed harder on the gas pedal. “Maybe you should leave, you obviously deserve better. Maybe not Newton but better.” he growled and that was all it took. “Stop the car.” I ordered but he didn’t listen. “No.” he shot back. “STOP THE DAMN CAR JASPER!” I shouted and he slowed to a stop pulling to the side of the road. “What?” he growled. “I’m not having this pointless fight with you. I don’t know who screwed with your damn mind but Id rather turn myself into the Volturi and have them murder me than be with anyone else.” I said quickly. “But-,” he started but I shook my head. “You listen here cowboy, I didn’t sign up for you putting yourself down. You are the best man I’ve ever came across us and I’ll be damned if I let some white washed Forks boy change your mind! I love you Jasper, I always will! There won’t be a second that goes by that I don’t love you! So I’m not going to sit here and have this stupid fight with you because you think I don’t love you! I love you like a human likes air, like a bear likes honey, like... like Alice likes shopping. Okay, so get that through your thick skull!” I said looking him dead in the eyes. He let a strangled sigh leave his lips and he nodded. “You’re right. Love, I’m sorry I got that way you didn’t deserve it. I love you more than anything and I just didn’t like seeing someone else try to match their love of you to mine. Please forgive me.” he whispered lookingat me with his round honey orbs. “Of course I forgive you. Now come here.” I said opening my arms and he hugged me across the console. “I love you.” I whispered kissing the side of his head. “I love you too angle.” he whispered rubbing my back. We never fought, but when we did it always ended with us in each other’s arms, and honestly I wouldn’t have it any other way.

#jasper hale x reader #jasper hale x y/n #jasper cullen #jasper hale #twilight one shot #twilight #team edward

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imaginesbymk · 3 years

Text

“Find Me Under The Giant Rabbit.”

Reservoir Dogs/Pulp Fiction One Shot

SUMMARY: I read a Reddit fan theory that Mr. Pink survived, escaped the cops, got arrested and was then put on parole - leaving behind his old life and lying low as a waiter at Jack Rabbit Slims. What happens when you show up to the restaurant one night?

PAIRING: Mr. Pink/Buddy Holly waiter x Reader

TAGS: swearing, smoking + mentions of basically everything that happened in reservoir dogs which is the heist, violence, etc

NON REQUESTED

WORD COUNT: 2,870 (it’s long i’m sorry)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is probably the cheesiest thing i’ve ever written, and it’s nothing tarantino would ever put in his films, also there’s no way PF and RS can legitimately tie in together 100% even though there are some factors to support otherwise, but i wanted to write this and see something lol :( leave a like/reblog + feedback!!!

[gif credit]

YOU put your car in park, shutting off the engine, and observed it from afar. It was one hell of a big restaurant, almost a bit too cartoon-like. There was a giant anthropomorphic rabbit on top, and the lights claiming the name were glowing a bright red and yellow. Mind you, this was in Los Angeles, so who wouldn’t blame you if you took one look at Jack Rabbit Slim’s, and mistake it for a restaurant at Six Flags?

Dozens of bikers came in with their motorcycles, yet their engines couldn’t even overpower the chatter coming from newcomers left and right. You ignored a heavy tattooed biker dressed in all leather and denim catcalling you from afar, and you reached the front desk.

A man dressed in uniform, most definitely in character, tipped his hat at you and led you to a table with only two chairs. You weren’t expecting anyone to join you in the other seat across. So what if you went for dinner by yourself? You didn’t bother asking anyone to join you for that matter. Not anyone you could think of at the top of your head would be any less boring.

You began tracing your fingers around the rim of the ketchup bottle when not even five seconds after sitting down, a lady approached your table with ruby red lips.

Of course, you thought. Servers were dressed up as icons from the 50s era.

“Marilyn,” you say in awe.

“Close enough,” Instead of being seated in the Marilyn Monroe section being served by a Marilyn Monroe-looking Marilyn Monroe, you were greeted with a tall Mamie Van Doren, who is just as breathtaking as Marilyn refilling everyone’s coffee mugs from the other side of the restaurant. “How about I get you started with drinks?”

Ricky Nelson’s performance on stage came to an end when Mamie arrived with your food. You looked around the place while eating. People weren’t eating by themselves. Families, friends, dates, all of them occupied their seats. Now that you’ve noticed, you sort of wished you brought someone with you, otherwise the seat across from you is used as a footrest.

So there, you propped your feet on top, and relaxed… then you sat upright. Your eyes fixated on the waiter in his section, which were the cars back in the 50s used as booths. You watch him walk towards one of them. The couple was a young woman in a blunt bob cut with bangs, and a man wearing a black suit with long black hair tied back.

You squint your eyes. It couldn’t be...

“Hi, I’m Buddy. What can I get ya?”

You blinked, dropping the half bitten French fry from your mouth. Holy fucking shit.

It was all coming back to you. The news broke out about the heist going wrong at the wholesale, all dead except for one, a cop who laid dead on the ramp inside the rendezvous was identified as Mr. Orange. Since he wasn’t supposed to know where you were from, Mr. Pink never turned up to your door as an emergency hideout, or to drag you with him on his getaway because he never had one. You never heard of him ever since.

Here he was, Mr. Pink, alive and well, wearing glasses. What the hell happened? How long has he been working here? Is he supposed to be Buddy Holly?

“How do you want that cooked? Burnt to a crisp or bloody as hell?” you hear him ask the man in the suit who ordered a steak.

“Bloody as hell, and oh, yeah, look at this- vanilla coke.”

You noticed the irony. He left you in a black suit - and he comes back in white. Like he’d ever want to be caught dead in white, or pink.

“What about you, Peggy Sue?” he asks the woman, jotting in his notepad. You recognized the pun.

“I’ll have the Durwood Kirby burger, bloody. And… the five dollar shake.”

Were you about to laugh? Call out his name? That was enough for you to get antsy in your seat, but you didn’t want to draw attention. You saw him again while finishing up half of your meal, giving the couple their drinks and disappearing back into the kitchen. He was doing his job, but it wasn’t like he was giving his one hundred percent. For someone who preached to the Gods about professionalism, Mr. Pink sure lacked work ethic. Every employee was on point with their character impersonations as if you had travelled back in time. Meanwhile, he acted like himself and seemed bored while wearing an emotionless face, as if he hated his job and epitome of his existence. It was never a dull moment for him whenever he was with you, though.

You got up to use the restroom.

“We’re lucky we got anything at all. I don’t think Buddy Holly’s much of a waiter,” you heard the man at the booth tell the woman as you walk past them, spotting their food from the corner of your eye. It’s no surprise hearing that. Mr. Pink never looked like the type to work at a job like this.

You sat back down and soon, Mr. Pink reappeared, standing over to the side and watched the announcement of the twisting contest, smoking a cigarette. You see him eyeing two pretty blonde women walking past him, and he looked back his way, now in your direction.

He finally did what you wanted him to do, and he stares at you for nearly a solid minute.

You waved awkwardly.

Mr. Pink tosses the cigarette in a random person’s ashtray and disappears behind the door once again. You darted out of your chair, and marched your way to where he headed, just as the couple he served got up on stage to participate in the twisting contest.

A Zorro waiter jumps in front of you. “Stop right there, mi amor!” his eyes darted at you through the cheap black mask he was wearing. “I believe the bathroom’s on the other side of the bar.”

“Where’s Buddy?” you ask Zorro.

“I’m afraid Mr. Holly is taking a quick break from unenthusiastically serving love birds in their cars.”

“Can you tell him I’m looking for him?”

“Once I see him.” Zorro then took out his sword and pointed it at you, a grin plastered on his face. “Now, shall I escort you back to your dining spot?”

Although you were aware this guy was only in character, you didn’t wanna risk getting kicked out, or having a realistic looking sword ripped through your body. You sighed and turned around, heading back. You noticed at your table a folded napkin beside your empty plate. Mamie Van Doren was last seen there, her back facing you with her heels clicking away on the tiles.

“Excuse me!” you called after the waitress. She ignores you, smiling down at new customers at an umbrella table.

Cocking an eyebrow, you used your finger to flatten the crease and read the note in bold handwriting.

FIND ME UNDER THE GIANT RABBIT. - BUDDY

You threw the door open and ran outside, precisely under the giant rabbit of the Jack Rabbit Slim’s sign, just like he said on the napkin. You felt like an idiot checking every direction to find no one. Not a lot of the bikers were seen riding or hanging out around the parking lot, some people were coming and going, but you couldn’t find Buddy Holly.

Defeated, you turn to walk back inside.

Mr. Pink rushed out the door and caught his breath. It looked like he was chasing you down before you could take off. A song used for the twisting contest kept playing from inside.

You didn’t run up to him and jumped in his arms or anything dramatic in that matter. You both stared at each other.

A few days before the heist you two stood across each other waiting for Mr. Brown and Mr. White inside the hideout. It was a quiet moment, not an awkward one. He just took that opportunity to study you, as you did him. It took him that moment to realize he was warming up to you.

“Well hello there, Buddy,” you smile smugly.

YOU and Pink loitered at the side of the eatery, where the back door to the kitchen was located. He had taken off his fake glasses, showing his full frame.

“Okay,” you watch him lean against the wall, lighting his cigarette. “Talk to me. What happened to you?”

“What the hell do you think? Cops tagged me when I tried driving away. I was put behind bars, and by some fucking miracle this place took me in when I needed money.”

“You didn’t know any other crime bosses looking for a lanky dude?” Pink rolls his eyes at your joke. “I know the heist went terribly wrong, I saw the news. Everyone’s dead as Dillinger.”

“That briefcase had a shit load of two million dollars worth of stones,” Pink blew smoke out. “I swear, if that asshole undercover cop was never sent to set us up, I could have been enjoying a cocktail in Santorini. You’re lucky you called in sick that day.”

You shuddered, remembering how god-awful the illness was. “Never again. I felt like I was being hot glued to a sauna.”

You remembered the day of the heist. In fact, you mentally prepared yourself for something that you’ve never done before. You braced for what was supposed to go smoothly as Joe promised. Instead, you were woken up by the worst case scenario above 38 degrees. You were thankful Joe took it easy on you and promised another job next time.

“All right, your turn. What did you do after that shit show went down?” Pink asks you.

“Just did my own thing. I wasn’t there so the cops never searched for me.” Pink took a slow drag, staring at nothing. He didn’t really look the same as before. Still lanky, except his hair was a bit more darkened and styled in curls, possibly because Buddy Holly had it permed that way. But his face read that he had been through a lot. Normally you felt zero pity for assholes like him, but you managed to blurt out, “I missed you.”

Pink, blowing out smoke in the air, eyed you up and down and furrowed his brows. “Likewise.”

Not only did it suck not being able to make money, you also couldn’t do it with Mr. Pink. As much as he kept his professionalism to a T, he squeezed in time to get along with you. It was no wonder Joe hired you - you were different than the guys, you moved differently and never felt small. Mr. Pink was drawn to that.

Maybe that was just an understatement. He grew intimidated by something he expected to experience the least from in the job, and of course, straight out of a fairytale, you had to stop and ask yourself if you felt the same way, and if what you felt was right. Neither of you had any idea. It was against the rules to give out personal information to each other, and Mr. Pink took those rules very seriously, even if it was just one job that he most likely wouldn’t come back to unless a higher pay was involved and Joe Cabot liked him enough to recruit him again.

If Mr. Pink grew too attached, if he let his guard down for one second, God forbid something would have happened to you. Without a doubt, he would have heavily blamed himself and walked away from the job without saying another word.

His options were to wait until after the robbery to make a move, or do his job, get paid and leave. Whether or not it was out of selfishness was out of the question. Mr. Pink is already selfish in an intuitive kind of way, he’d rather avoid spiraling into a wave of emotions for one person - so he chose the latter.

“What?” Pink looked at you, feeling a bit tense. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Huh? No. It’s nothing,” you blinked, realizing you were staring at him longer than you should have. You shook your head, most likely shaking off the intrusive thoughts. Maybe this wasn’t a good time to tell him what’s on your mind.

If anything, he’s most likely sleeping with the Marilyn Monroe waitress. “It’s just… you shaved the goatee.”

Pink nodded, looking a bit annoyed that there was no facial hair left on his chin to rub. “Buddy Holly had a clean face. For the record, the only advantage of this job is that I’m under disguise. Other than that, this place is a circus. I’m zooming back in time whenever I clock in.”

“It’s a 50s themed restaurant,” you state. “Working here sounds like fun. At least you get to dress up and experience pop culture.”

He scoffs. “No, fuck the 50s. Shit was all I Love Lucy and those puffy ass dresses.”

“They’re called poodle skirts, Pink.”

“Like I give a fuck what they’re called.”

“You know Buddy Holly smiled. He was a singer and a guitarist. If you keep up the attitude, no one’s gonna tip you. Nice Guy Eddie told me about your rant on tipping.”

“Ha! And? You will never find me up on that stage performing That’ll Be The Day, moving like a fucking animatronic.” Halfway finished, Pink tossed his cigarette aside and looked at you. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

You felt your cheeks flushing. Fuck. “I am?”

He nodded, putting his Buddy Holly glasses back on his face. “Yeah. It’s a breath of fresh air seeing you here.” He stares down at his wristwatch for a moment.

“Your break’s done?”

“It’s been done,” he says. “Fifteen minutes ago.”

You shook your head, chuckling. “You’re so fired.”

“This isn’t the first time I stopped caring, so my boss isn’t gonna bat an eye.” He had his hand wrapped around the back door which was supported by a wooden block to keep it open. “Look, I’ll see ya arou-”

“Pink?” Your heart rose up to your throat.

He turned back to you. “Hm?”

You just had to do it. You reached up and kissed him softly. Pink didn’t shove or curse at you. His features softened, pulling you close to him and kissed you deeply. Even when you two pulled away, his arms didn’t unwrap from your waist. His forehead was pressed against yours now.

“My name’s Y/N,” you tell him.

He stares at you, no snarky, sarcastic comment left for him to give.

“I know you’re not willing to give your name up just yet, you can’t fully trust me, and I get that, but I won’t tell anyone what happened. You got lucky, I think… but I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I’m serious.”

“Y/N,” he says your name for the first time. “You don’t have to go all sappy for me. Karma came in hot. Jesus Christ, I mean, I left you.”

“Not really. You didn’t know me. The cops had the place staked out the entire day, there was nothing you could do.”

He looked down at his shoes. “All right. But still, I feel shitty. Can I at least make it up to you?”

“How?”

Pink shrugs. “I get paid tomorrow.”

“Good for you,” you reply. “Save it like you’re gonna lose it.”

“I’ve had this job for a while now, I got enough to last. But once I win the lottery, I’m gone.”

“To Santorini?”

“With a cocktail in my hand. But that’s besides the point, right now I got enough to take you out on a date… if you’re down.”

“Where would you plan on taking me? Here?” you laugh.

“You’re funny. How about the movies? Overruled, I’m taking you to see a movie. I gotta know where you live first. It’s okay to know now.”

You nodded, you couldn't argue with that. Besides, you two would just be making out in the dark the entire time.

His hand was back on the handle of the back door. Pink pulled it open, looked back at you and smiled for the first time tonight. That warmed your heart, and you were certain it warmed his. He watched you stuff something inside his pocket square as you told him your address. He went back inside, shutting the door on you. You walked back to the front of the restaurant to pay for the bill, and went straight home.

Mr. Pink shuffles past the chefs in the kitchen, feeling through his suit pocket to pull out his notepad and whatever you stuffed inside just moments ago.

I didn’t even serve them. Is this supposed to be for Mamie Van Doren? He stares down at the dollar bill crumpled in his hand. His frown suddenly transitions to a small but genuine smile.

Fuck it. Nothing could stop him now. He definitely owes you a date night. He quickly stuffs the tip back in his pocket square, and comes out the sliding door.

THE END

—

TAGLIST: @locke-writes @aryn-the-bearheart

#reservoir dogs x reader #reservoir dogs fic #reservoir dogs fanfic #mr pink x reader #mr pink #reservoir dogs imagine #reservoir dogs #mr pink one shot #reader insert #reservoir dogs one shot #one shot #imagine #mk's faves

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angstyaches · 3 years

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Hey flick! Just read your last fic with poor el and I was just thinking about a potential dynamic between Elliot and Charlie, where Elliot is sick from maybe going through vamp transition stuff and Charlie is around somehow (maybe visiting Shane, or if you can’t figure it out you could just swap him with Shane lol). I could see if Elliot was just mildly sick that Charlie would know to back off and give him some space, but if it was more serious I feel like his deep and intense drive to mother the everloving shit out of people might be too much for him to resist trying to take care of the poor grumpy boi. And besides, Elliot is Shane’s family, so like he feels like he’s GOTTA help even more😂 meanwhile Elliot is annoyed at first but slowly warms up because a) he’s sick as hell and could really use someone to make sure he doesn’t die, and b) Shane trusts Charlie and that’s gotta mean something, right?

I hope this is okay!! My brain has NOT been cooperating with me lately so it's a little messy. This sort of focuses on Charlie’s issues with Elliott.

CW: emeto, blood mention (drank), fear, mistrust

___

"Shit," Shayne sighed as he stared into the boot of Elliott's car, where he and Charlie had just shoved their luggage for the weekend.

"What?" Charlie asked, twisting on the back seat to look back at him.

"I forgot to pack my Docs. Can I get the keys?"

"Lovely, it's 25 degrees all weekend," Charlie laughed, pushing open the car door to lean out and talk to Shayne properly. "Do you really think you'll need them?"

Shayne curled his lip in an exaggerated pout and put out his hand. Charlie dug the house keys out of his pocket and relinquished them, finding himself rewarded with a dark-eyed wink.

"I'll only be a sec," Shayne promised.

"Mmhmm, take your time," Charlie grinned. He shut his door again and watched Shayne jog back towards the house. That was when his gaze fell on the back of Elliott's head, and then on the vampire's hand, which was draped over the top of the steering wheel while his fingers drummed rapidly against the dash.

"Sorry," Charlie chuckled anxiously, wondering when he'd started feeling the need to apologise for Shayne. He tilted his head to try to meet Elliott's gaze in the rear-view mirror, with little success thanks to his dark aviator sunglasses.

"It's fine," Elliott murmured.

"Thanks again for driving us."

Charlie's heart sank when seconds ticked by and Elliott didn't reply again. He really couldn't tell if Elliott was mad or if he was just this closed-off.

Shouldn't have told Shayne to take his time. Should have told him to hurry the fuck up.

Charlie sat back in his seat and put on his seatbelt, taking his time and smoothing out the strap over his shoulder. The awkwardness in the car was as much his own fault as it was Elliott's. He still got shivers down his spine when he recalled that day in the park, and the fear and panic that had taken hold of Shayne when he'd realised Elliott was spying on them; he just couldn't shake the mistrust that had planted itself in him.

Not just that, but on the drive home that same day, Elliott had refused to pull over when his own boyfriend claimed to be carsick, resulting in the poor boy throwing up all over himself.

Plus, Elliott was way too conventionally attractive for Charlie to trust him.

Asshole.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Elliott asked lazily, presumably meeting his eye through his sunglasses in the mirror now.

“I – I, my what?” Charlie stammered, shifting in his seat. For a horrible second, he was worried that Charlie Two’s thoughts had slipped out through his mouth. “Nothing. I have no thoughts.”

“Right,” Elliott mumbled, and he might have burped quietly into his fist just then, but Charlie couldn’t be sure. He could have been clearing his throat. “I’m sure you’ve got absolutely no thoughts on any subject.”

Charlie shook his head and turned his head to look out the opposite window. The wind was brushing across the edges of the trees.

Sarcastic asshole, Charlie Two pointed out from inside his head.

Shayne is also sarcastic.

Yes, but he’s our sarcastic asshole.

Stop saying ‘asshole’!

There was a harsh click as Elliott pushed open the drivers’ side door. He was huffing deeply, as far as Charlie could make out.

Shit. Charlie cleared his throat.

Shit, indeed. Was it something you said?

“Elliott?” Charlie called out, throwing open his own door when Elliott slammed his shut. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, just excuse me a minute.”

“Oh, okay.” Charlie sank a little further down in his seat, stomach sinking. Had he really said something? Did Elliott now think he’d muttered ‘asshole’ under his breath, referring to him? He knew he should go after him and explain, but the idea of facing Elliott when he was mad at him made Charlie’s guts turn to water.

His car door was still open and he could hear Elliott’s shoes crunching on the gravel. The sound halted abruptly when the vampire was a few more feet away, and then there was a harsh retch that made Charlie’s hair stand on end.

“Oh, god...” Charlie fumbled to release himself from the seatbelt he was still strapped in with. As soon as he was out of the car, he spotted where Elliott had stopped to hunch over, hands planted on his knees and his ponytail flopping over the top of his head.

Elliott looked up at the sound of the gravel crunching, and Charlie almost physically recoiled at the sight of the blood and bile clinging to his lips and chin. Charlie took a deep breath, feeling endlessly thankful that he hadn’t had any breakfast yet.

“Are you okay?” he asked, as steadily as he could.

“Don’t come any fuckin’ closer.”

“Right. Sorry.” Charlie’s feet rooted themselves dutifully to the spot, but his heart still twisted with sympathy at how frail Elliott suddenly looked when at the mercy of his own rebelling stomach. “Do – do you need something?”

“No!” Elliott yelled, though as he did, he doubled over again, jaw wrenched apart as another gag ripped through him. Nothing seemed to come up but a deep, nauseated belch, but it still made Charlie shudder and swallow thickly.

Another belch brought up a splash of liquid, and Charlie had to turn away. He was feeling hot and squirmy. Without thinking too much, he decided to be productive despite Elliott’s resistance; after all, it wasn’t exactly his first time dealing with a sick person who didn’t want to be taken care of. It was almost “his thing” at this point.

Charlie paced back to Elliott’s car and turned out the contents of the glove box until he found a pocket-sized packet of tissues. He also remembered that he had a bottle of water in his backpack, so he grabbed that from the back seat.

Luckily, by the time he crossed the gravel again, Elliott’s body seemed to have finished purging itself. He was standing upright at least, and had pushed his aviators up into his hair. He only gave a mild glare as Charlie approached him.

“Here,” Charlie said softly.

“Do not touch me,” Elliott growled as he took the tissues. He did a double-glance towards Charlie as he pulled one out of the packet. “Thank you.”

“Mmhmm.” Charlie smiled tightly and looked away as Elliott mopped his face. To his relief, the front door of the house opened just then and Shayne stepped out, glancing over at the two of them before locking it behind him. Charlie gave him a listless wave.

“Water?” Elliott rasped next to Charlie, making him jump.

“Right! Sorry. Here you go.” Charlie turned to hand it to him, that pained smile still plastered across his face. He seriously couldn't shake the fact that this guy could sprout massive fangs and rip the side out of his neck with no effort at all.

Elliott’s eyes were so golden they almost glistened in the low sunshine, yet without the sunglasses, Charlie could see the dark circles they cast. His eyebrows were furrowed and flecked with sweat, and yet the vampire managed a half-smile as he unscrewed the cap on Charlie’s water bottle.

“Thanks, Charlie.”

“You’re welcome,” Charlie replied, and although it felt a little stiff, it wasn’t quite as stiff as it could have been.

"Everything okay?" Shayne asked, crunching his way across the gravel towards them, his Docs hanging from one hand and the house keys dangling from the other.

After filling his mouth with water, Elliott spat the liquid back out again, making a queasy face. "Much better now."

"Yeah," Charlie breathed, grabbing the keys from Shayne and taking his hand while he was at it. "Better now."

#emeto #emeto fic #sickfic #vampire emeto #vampire sickfic #swallow the world #StW Elliott #StW Charlie #my OCs #OC sickfic #OC emeto #stomach kink #stomach ache fic #vampire fic

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