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littleroaes · 9 months

Text

a summer date with juyeon(Day 1), l.jy

request by @little-bad-bad-bad + preview of 'it tastes like slowly melting strawberry (lip gloss)'

-a summer date with Juyeon

-The beach is always overcrowded during summer, but somehow the whole friend group who has come over for a two week vacation has taken interest in the same girl. Each one of them fights for a day date with her in front of the bar. In pure panic she improvises up a deal that each guy gets one day to spend with her after work. Now, the boys has made a bet. The one who taste her lip gloss first and tells the flavour to the other guys has won and the rest have to find love without Y/n.

PAIRING lee juyeon x fem!reader

GENRE FLUFF, summer!au, first date

WARNINGS none <3, i dont play basketball, lazily proofread

WORD COUNT 3 k

AUTHORS NOTE my first ever request! You got the Juyeon one since, well, who doesn't adore juyeon. But your request gave me an idea for the DBN: summer on you event so this kind of also works as a spoiler! So even though this is Juyeon, you'll get Hyunjae later too! I hope you like it <333

Day 1

There is nearly no one out as Y/n takes her bicycle down to the beach. She forces the pedals down a bit faster than yesterday and the landscape seems to pass by her in an instant. There, by the wooden sign, she sees a silhouette standing by it. Y/n smiles for herself and turns to face the ground but quickly looks up again, as the picture before reminds her that she’s cycling. His figure is painted neatly by the sun’s everlasting shine and she recalls flowers as a wind passes by him and crashes onto her. When there is only a meter or two between them, she secures some courage within herself and chimes the bell.

The boy turns his head in all directions. At the same time Y/n watches how he moves to the side of the road as if he’s blocking it. There’s a sign right behind his back, that curve so close to the sharp edges of the wood. But before Y/n gets to call him, warn him of that possible scene. She sees how the boy falls backwards and pushes his light blue shirt against it. A groan sounds from his bent figure.

“Are you okay?” Y/n jumps down from her cycle, letting it fall to the concrete. She is concerned, but at the same time takes quiet slow steps towards him who caress whatever's left of his skin.

“It’s not bleeding?” She asks him and he does bend up again. His hair has fallen over his eyes, so much that you can only catch a glimpse of what is behind them. But at the same time, it is not long enough to cover the faint red tint on his upper cheek.

"It's good.” He laughs and scratches his back before stumbling back again. His long limbs reach for the sky to catch him, but instead, Y/n grips his forearm like nothing else matters and drags him to her.

Despite his very clear habit of injury, Y/n does not let go of the fact that having him like this feels quite endearing. He stares at her while regaining composure and suddenly takes a bit of a distance. To think about yesterday, she finds it quite impressive how his demeanor has changed. There behind the bar, he seemed to pull her attention like a passion, but today he tries to hide his tall figure.

“So you won?” Y/n asks and goes to her bicycle.

He blinks a few times before answering, “Yes”

When lifting it up, a sudden shadow drapes over her and the bicycle. When looking up, he stands there taking the steering wheel for her.

“Thank you,...”

“Juyeon.” He smiles while the bicycle stands between them, separating whatever emotions come. Like there is a mirror, Y/n reflect it back.

“Thank you, Juyeon.” He blushes at the mention of his name and moves his left hands in strange motions. Y/n starts walking past the sign with Juyeon closely after. It gets quiet and Y/n turn back Juyeon just simply adoring her existence from the background. He moves a bit like a side character, but she wants to pull him into the foreground. So she turns on herself and starts walking backwards.

“So what do you want to do, lucky number one.” Y/n tilts her head. That hand is back on his neck and he starts scratching it while looking down, she laughs before standing by his right side.

“There’s no rush though, you have the whole day to decide.”

“I-I do have one.” He stammer. With big eyes and her body slightly leaned against his direction she says;

“Okay, tell me.”

“I- do you like basket?”

Both of them take the road down to the nearby basket court. At the location the sky blue court is wrapped in palm trees and where greens aren’t colliding, you’ll see the crystal clear water horizon. There is a small yellow house further down where Juyeon takes her bicycle and throws the bag off his shoulder. Y/n stands at the center of the court as the sun works as a spotlight. Juyeon walks up there too so they both shine under this light.

“Are you good?” Juyeon stammer as they stand face to face in that white ring.

“Not really.” Y/n says in a cynical manner while peering at the hoop, “I’ve always been more of a leg person than an arm one.”

Her hand is folded out over her eyes to block the blinding light and she stares at the high hoop like it will tell her the secrets of this life. Y/n stands like temperature has dropped 40 celsius, but the daze averts when Juyeon steps out of the circle and starts throwing the ball. He targets the red ring while squinting and has it close to his chest. In a sudden moment, without calculation from Y/n’s side, Juyeon throws it. The ball balances on the red railing before falling down outside the net.

A crack in his male pride does appear as he watches the ball crash onto the blue concrete. Without looking behind himself, he bends down to pick it up again.

“I am good.” Juyeon says and looks at her. “I’m really serious.” To stand in the same position again, but this time a few more seconds pass until the ball flies out of his grip. And once again, it holds itself onto the red ring before giving up and falling to its death on the opposite side of the net.

Y/n doesn’t say anything as Juyeon finds himself in distress and desperately aims and fails. After the fifth round, some almighty lord from above pained too much watching him so he finally scores it.

“That’s embarrassing.” Juyeons voice is low while he picks up the ball again and laughs.

“It was cool.” Y/n walks closer to him. “Can you teach me?”

The ball between his limbs and something else between his thoughts. For Y/n, he reminds her of a computer being loaded with ten different tasks and by the eleventh, it needs some time to even process what she commanded. In those moments, she hits the computer, but it feels a bit brutal to start punching on a man, so she’s passive.

“O-of course.” He smiles and walks behind her.

Y/n looks up at the hoop and feels his hands gently take her shoulders. It’s a gentle force on her that indicates for her to go forward and when about two and a half meter away, he says;

“Good.”

Y/n holds in the ball and feels the warmth of his hand move from her shoulders, down her arms. Despite it being summer, a shiver goes through her like a sudden evening breeze and she grabs onto the basketball harder. Juyeon’s hands feel like fabric draping her fresh skin. Brand new satin, tightly pushed against her skin to fit her form.

“And you’re gonna do it like this.”

Her back falls even deeper into his light blue shirt and those two hands completely cover hers as they take aim.

“You need to hold it to your chest.” He says and she feels the cold material off the ball pierce her throbbing heart.

“My P.E teacher said that. I don’t believe him.”

“Did your P.E teacher do this?” Juyeon asks and gently lets his head fall onto her shoulder. Summer’s weighs on her with its heat and humid air, but the situation she finds herself in seems to absolutely drown. Y/n imagines him letting one hand fall from hers and tie itself sound her waist to conceal her closer.

“You’re breathing really fast.” A whisper touches her ear and moves through her system in a second. Each and every signal tells her body to fight for their life to continue standing, to not lose her sense of composure.

“The sun’s really hot.”

“Don’t think about it.” Juyeon whispers again.

“I-it’s a bit hard not to.” Y/n stammer and thinks of their position in third perspective, like a bird flying past them at this moment. Her body is rigid and only works in square motions. When thinking of it like that, the baby pink shyness dies and she looks at herself in third person like it is very pathetic.

Finally, Y/n feels his humid breath mark her skin as he breathes out and helps her push the ball forward. In contrast to his own efforts, the ball does a spin around the railing before falling right through the net and down to the concrete. The moment it leaves the net, she feels those hands cherish her empty shoulders again.

“That was great!”

By angle her head to the side and behind her, she sees those eyes of his, tenderly observing her own. Y/n laughs a bit and walks out of his field and faces him.

“I mean, it was mostly you who did it.”

The space between them fills with lively sounds from birds and the continuous collisions from the waves. Y/n waits for him to say something, how his lips will move and tell her the adventures of this secluded blue rectangle in the midst of the vacation spot. Instead, his lips are sealed in a faint smile, like the color of a cloud and his fringe moves left and right. Covering and uncovering his eyes. The considerate feeling he spreads with the wind affects her and Y/n takes the ball from the ground.

“I’ll try.”

Juyeon nods and moves to the side of the court to give her space. He stands to the left of the hoop and falls into deep blurred vision as the view before him seems to take every other thought off his mind. It is hard to describe, but when watching her. His view span turns to some dream-like tunnel vision. The only one left alive is Y/n. And he watches her like she's the one to have been chosen, the one who is there to be a savior. It is intriguing, like a childhood dream coming to life.

“Juyeon, move!”

He doesn’t move. Not an inch, a step or even psychologically. Soon that ball comes colliding with his head and he feels a sudden wave with lasting effects shake him off from this fantasy. It bounces off him and continues rolling away, further into the bushes. This while Juyeon bends himself to the ground and covers the spot where it hurts the most with his hands. The sound in his ears sounds like a bad air conditioner, his vision blurry like it will be if he continues cheating on his eye tests.

“I’m so sorry, Juyeon.” Y/n takes her hand on his back and bends down. The fringe of his hair covers the rest of his face, but instead he laughs and looks up. The hand lays at the top of his head to comfort it and Y/n has a bothered face.

“You can’t do it without me, right?” His lips form a smile before transforming into some godforsaken smile, and Y/n pushes him forward while pursuing her lips in.

“You’re such a loser, Juyeon.” Her arms wrap around herself and with turned back she walks away from the court. All while still smiling.

“No!” Quick steps can be heard back from that place, and his strong arm seems to have found its place back on her shoulders.

“You can’t leave me.” He whines.

The two of them chase each other around the court and soon after get something to eat. A yellow house some meters down from where they stand, is a convenience store of sorts. Juyeon takes a green basket when the glass doors open up for them. Despite it being overcrowded, it is cool. As each person opens the freezer to take out some drinks or meat, the atmosphere gets a bit colder.

One person follows the other when going to get something on the other side of the store. By the time they’re in the register, the green basket has a rounded surface of plastic bags and fruits. Y/n looks down at it and laughs.

“Isn’t it a bit much for us two?”

Juyeon stops walking to glance at it too, “I can give it to one of the guys.”

A small fridge stands by the side of the queue, and Juyeon leans over, “Don’t you want ice cream?”

“Sure.” Y/n comes up beside him and reaches for a blue rectangular bag. Juyeon has taken a white one but still stares down the freezer. At first she thinks he finds the temperature drop satisfying, but instead;

“Shouldn’t we get one more?”

“Do we really need that?” She points at the green bag.

Either way he takes out a pink one and balances it on top of the grocery mountain. Y/n rolls her eyes and leans closer to his side and runs her arm into his. She has perceived that Juyeon has a thing for the dramatics and predictably so, he bends down and covers the spot she just hit. Face all up in pain and his eyes can’t even open.

“Are you okay?” Y/n too grabs onto that spot and then his face. Her expression matches his painstrucken face as she holds her hand for her mouth like she’s gonna burst out in tears on the convenience store floor. They laugh for a short while.

“You hit hard.” He pouts, “You’re paying.”

“Fair enough, I deserve it.” Y/n says and picks up her wallet.

Y/n didn’t get to pay though. As they rounded up all the food, Juyeon pushed her aside and told her he’ll do it. The cashier sat stone faced before them as they bickered about paying. It all ended with Juyeon paying for everything except the extra pink ice cream.

Back on the court, under some sort of ceiling, they sat and ate while the ocean played out its waves for them. For one moment a seagull came up to Juyeon, he moved away and the seagull jumped after. Y/n laughed as the desperate orange nib chased after Juyeon's ice cream. The seagull won since Juyeon wouldn’t either sit up and run away, or shove it in his mouth.

Time can’t be stopped, even in moments we wish to. So foreseeably so, the sun has started to set and in turn faded the blue sky to slight orange. There is still quite a lot in their flimsy plastic bag. Juyeon stands up first from their little spot and holds his hand before her. He tells her it is hers to take and Y/n does. Her bicycle is in the same spot he left it in when the sun stood at the top of earth.

“Should I ride you home?” Y/n asks and claps onto the back of the bicycle.

“Are you sure? "It won't break.”

“I’m sure it won’t” She is not sure. But either way he jumps on and hugs her waist like her five year old cousin.

Juyeon points left or right without much of a clue when one road splits into two, but somehow they do arrive. That orange light hangs at the horizon of earth like it is about to fall at any moment. So she doesn’t jump off the bike when they stand outside his hotel.

“You don’t want your ice cream.” Juyeon holds the pink package out to her. She shakes her head and smiles.

“Put it in your freezer and say to the next guy that it’s from me.”

He gives the concrete a weak smile.

Sounds from the plastic bag fills the space in between them and Juyeon bites his lip. Y/n has her feet ready to push down the pedal, but she looks at his face. The boy has neither turned around or said a goodbye, and his eyes sparkle like there is something important to tell.

“Did you forget something?” Y/n asks and Juyeon shakes his head while scratching his neck.

“I-did you like today?” He blushes.

“Of course.” Her bicycle moves closer and he feels her presence intertwining with his own. Her face is so close that even his heart picks up on it and his own head is still. His hands hold the plastic bag like it’s the only thing left on earth. And when her humid breath smells of sweet ice cream, he closes his eyes.

“You have a leaf in your hair.”

His pride cracked before, but now it did really die. When he opens his eyes, the green leaf lays on the concrete and Y/n is already up on her bicycle, looking back while waving.

“Bye, Juyeon ! "I loved today!”

When the door swings open to reveal their messy room, all ten guys sit in a variety of corners and positions. Juyeon drops the plastic bag on the counter, right next to Hyunjae before stretching his arms.

“It’s for you.”

He falls onto the couch with a smile brighter than the midday sun. The closed eyes tell the other guys around the living room table he is in another place than their hotel room. The rest of them stare at each other, quietly waiting for something to come out of his mouth. But Juyeon just lays there, like a corpse.

“So, won’t you tell us?” Eric asks who can’t do that thing called persevere and hits Juyeon with a bothering smile with the pillow beside him.

“She likes me.” His hands are under his head.

“Sure man.” Eric scoffs and throws that pillow again.

This time Juyeon catches it and sits up, “You should have seen her. When we played basketball I could feel her heartbeat going dum dum dum.” He demonstrates it by doing some incomprehensible hand moves over his chest.

“Like that means something, she just thinks you’re handsome.” Hyunjae turns away from the counter and holds Y/n's pink ice cream. Juyeon stares at him before falling down again.

“Who is next then?” Juyeon asks, hugging the pillow he just got hit with.

“We haven’t decided yet.” Changmin jumps out from his room and goes to the plastic bag.

“Rock, paper, scissors!” Eric shouts.

#the boyz imagines #tbz juyeon #deoboyznet #the boyz juyeon #tbz imagines #the boyz #tbz fanfic #deobi #tbz #requests #preview #lee juyeon #the boyz fluff #tbz fluff

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swirlysmile · 2 years

Note

sooo i have this prompt if you like it: hangman x reader, she's a pilot too but jake finds out she forgot how to ride a bicycle (not like it just happened to me heheheh🥴), you can decide how it goes from there

honestly such a mood. i grew up in utah, hills galore so learning to ride a bike was so hard 🥲 thanks for the request, anon!

word count: 721

warnings; small mention of a wound

Scrapes

“You’re kidding me,” He says. His eyebrows are furrowed, tone dead serious. It would be a little bit threatening if it wasn’t coming from Hangman of all people.

You’d insulted him, bruised his ego, far too many times to be intimidated by anything he does.

“I wish I was,” You groan into the palm of your hands. You’re sitting with Hangman in the corner of the bar, and that beer you’re nursing looks far more appetizing than the conversation placed in front of you.

“I didn’t even know that was possible.” He snickers, almost as if he’s ridiculing you.

“Yeah, neither did I.”

“How’d you even find out?”

You wince, taking another long sip of your beer. Then, you stand to show him the gnarly scab forming on your mid thigh.

“Fell.”

He can’t hold back the hearty laugh that erupts from his throat, and any other time you would have been at least a little proud to make him laugh.

“Don’t laugh, it’s embarrassing.”

“Exactly.”

You sigh and take your seat again, glaring at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s still laughing at you, the pretentious dickhead.

“If only I could have been there.”

“You can ask Rooster. He’s got all of the inside details. It’s too upsetting for me to talk about,” You say, wiping fake tears. He laughs again, and it’s definitely an attractive sound.

“I could teach you?” He asks, almost a little nervous. It sure snaps you out of your stupor.

“You say that as if I don’t know how.”

“Yes, because someone who knows how to ride a bike falls in two seconds.” He’s taking another sip of beer and you’re tempted to get up and leave the Hard Deck.

“More like one and a half.”

Somehow, he convinces you though. You’re sitting on a bike, sweaty hands gripping the handlebars. Both of your feet are on the ground because, fuck that. You’re not toppling over again.

Your breathing is a little heavy, and Hangman is trying to “coax you out into the light,” as he’d say. Really though, he’s just torturing you.

“Remind me why I promised to let you do this?”

“I paid for all your beer. Now get going, sweetheart.” He grins, giving you a gentle nudge. You’re lucky that you are rooted to the driveway, or you would have fallen again.

“Are you trying to kill me!?” You shout, accusatory tone in tow. He’s shrugging it off, as if to say maybe I am.

“I’ll be right there to catch you if you fall, darling.”

“Yeah, because that’s so reassuring Hangman.”

He knows you’re using his callsign as an insult, but honestly he couldn’t care less. He was just hoping to see an entertaining crash, make some flirty remark, and then have you go on your way.

He finally manages to persuade you to go. His driveway is on a bit of a slant, so you're going downhill.

He can’t help himself from laughing when you fall, but he “caught” you. You’re thinking that this is the most reliable Hangman has ever been.

“That’s it, I’m a lost cause. I’ll never ride again.”

“Try again, you’ll get it soon, gorgeous.”

You scoff because, wow. He is laying it on thick, but also because he has too much faith in a girl who forgot how to ride a bike.

You tell him as much, and he laughs, again.

Then he has the bright idea of moving to the street. It’s a little bit flatter, probably easier to start on.

“I’m right here. Good luck.” he calls.

He gives you, or the bike moreso, a little push the second you lift your feet to the pedals, and you’re praying you won’t fall down.

You’re sure that if you could, without fear of being run over by any passing cars, you’d have your eyes closed.

Then, in a split second, he’s running up to you to celebrate.

“You did it, you actually did it!” He says, helping you off the bike in a more graceful way. You can’t help but give him a hug.

“We should probably get out of the middle of the road.” You mumble into his shoulder.

“Yeah, probably.” but instead of going to move to the driveway, he moves to give you a kiss.

“Good job, sunshine.”

…

the devil works fast but swirly works faster 😉

#hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader #hangman #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake ‘hangman’ seresin #top gun #top gun fic #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fic #hard deck #the hard deck #hangman likes petnames #boom i said it #swirly writes #swirly anon

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kellanved-ammanas · 1 year

Note

If you are still taking requests, can I please have a drabble medic/pyro/engineer with the prompt dealing with spies (medic and engie were getting targeted a little to much for pyro's liking)?

TF2 Drabbles: Engie/Pyro/Medic (Mostly Pyro) - Spy Hunt

[A/N] I really should do more for this OT3. In game, Medic is my main and Pyro and Engie are my secondaries, depending on the situation and what the team needs. So this trio speaks to me. And when playing Pyro, protecting the Engie, his stuff, and the Medic is high on my list of priorities (even if I am really bad at reflecting rockets away from the sentry gun T.T I try my best though and I've been getting better at it) so it works on multiple levels. So I should do more for them. … Will I though? I don't know yet. We'll see.

And wait, and also, content warning; some kind of intense violence in this one.

Back here, so far from the front lines, it was almost quiet. The roar of near ceaseless gunfire and explosions could still be heard of course but not so loud as to drown out everything. The mask was still a liability though, covering his ears and making it more difficult for Pyro to hear the decloak or the sound of footsteps with no visible source.

The enemy Spy was back here somewhere though. This was the third time Pyro had chased him back here. He wouldn’t be getting away to go back to harassing Medic and Engie this time though. Pyro simply would not allow it.

Scanning the area, the world shifted from the pretty pastel colours playing with fire for long enough always brought upon him and the drab colours of the ‘real’ world. Another liability perhaps as it would make it hard to spot if something looked off. But like with the mask, muffling his hearing and obscuring his vision somewhat, he was used to working around that.

He sprayed in a few likely hiding spots, careful not to hold the trigger for too long lest he run out of fuel before finding the Spy. Alas, he found nothing. Ugh! Where had the damn Spy got to? How did he keep getting away?

What if he was already on his way to stab Medic again and then Engie too before sapping all his stuff? The thought made Pyro’s blood boil. How dare Spy go to so much trouble circumventing Pyro just to…

A barely heard sound from behind him. He snapped around to face it, already pulling the trigger on his flame thrower.

The enemy Spy, disguised as Scout again, tried to back pedal out its range but was too late. He screamed as the pretty rainbow flames engulfed him, destroying the hologram that made up his disguise. Back pressed against a wall now, he scrambled to draw his gun. His first shot missed and he didn’t have time to fire a second as Pyro stopped firing, freeing his hand to reach down and pull out his hammer off his belt. He whacked the gun out of Spy’s hand, no doubt breaking his hand in the process.

Before Spy could even try to recover from that or the fire still burning through his suit, Pyro swung the hammer again, this time on Spy’s face. His head exploded in a shower of gory brain matter as his still burning body fell lifeless to the ground. Just for good measure and to work out a little bit more frustration, Pyro hit him one more time, caving his rib cage in with a satisfying wet crunch. There, much better.

Taking a step back, Pyro hooked his hammer back onto his belt and readjusted his grip on the flamethrower. He felt a little better now. Of course that wouldn’t stop Spy from coming back through Respawn and continuing to be a nuisance but at least Pyro had finally gotten him. Hopefully he would start being a bit more cautious now which would result in him being a bit less frequent in his attempts to be a problem.

Pyro turned and started jogging back towards the front line. He needed to get back to Medic and Engie’s sides before the Spy finished Respawning and returned to harass them. Not to mention all the other things Pyro needed to protect them from like rockets and sticky bombs and the enemy Pyro. So he couldn’t afford to dilly-dally for long.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 drabbles #pyro #pyro/engie #pyro/medic

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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years

Note

Gene... My baby mama... I need... More alt!dream... Whatever you got fr. I just need more I'm.. I love him (probs not as much as you) but I love him

You're in luck bc I'm running on rip fuel for him. [ALSO I WROTE THIS BEFORE EVERYONE DID THE TECHWEAR STUFF FOR HIM I'M SORRY. I'LL GET IT IN NEXT TIME. I PINKY SWEAR.]

𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐃. ♘ 𝐚𝐥𝐭!𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 (𝟏𝟖+)

pairing: alt!Dreamwastaken x fm!reader

warnings: smut (18+), language, semi-public sex, light mentions of needles, domination

previous part ♘ fanart that i can't stop crying over

recommended listening: Hi Frequency by Vague002

The bus swayed slightly, your grip on the cool bar tightening to keep you from knocking into Clay as it turned. The dark city outside the windows bustled with sparkling lights, catching your eye every few seconds. As more people filed into the cramped space, Clay grabbed your hand, looping your arms around his waist and smugly grinning as you fought not to blush. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Will this be your first time in a parlor?” He asked, voice low and raspy as he whispered to you, not wanting to disturb the other members of society who just wanted to get home after a long day of work.

You nodded your head, making him chuckle. You knew it would be a different experience, mainly because it was taking place during the tattoo shops “after hours,” which Clay had only briefly explained the benefits of attending. “What are you getting done again?” You asked, moving so your hands were holding onto his arm instead, fingers brushing against the exposed skin peeking from beneath the cut-up shirt under his dark jacket.

He shrugged. “I couldn’t decide. Why don’t you pick?” He joshed, smirking at the way your eyebrows raised.

“I don’t want to be responsible for a mark on you,” you murmured, making him snort.

He hooked his fingers into the neckline of his shirt, stretching it down enough to reveal the litter of hickeys peppering his skin that you had left the night before. Your eyes widened as you swatted away his hand, looking around carefully in hopes that no one had seen them. He looped an arm around your shoulders, loving the fact that you were so worried about the crowd when all he wanted to do was fluster you.

He pressed his lips to your cheek, the warmth of his body encompassing you. “I love it when you get all blushy,” he teased. “Seriously though, you should pick. I won’t look at it if I don’t like it,” he snarked.

You groaned lightly. “Clay, come on.” He brushed his lips against yours.

“I trust you, sweetheart,” he cooed almost mockingly, his nose moving to press into your hair.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying your best to remember what was already on his body. You thought about the impending reality that whenever he saw the new tattoo, his mind would linger on you, and for some reason, heat traveled to your ears at that thought. “Um… what about a bird?” You asked, voice uneasy as if on eggshells.

His face twisted into a pleased smile. “A bird?” He repeated. You shrugged beneath his arm, making him chuckle. “I like that. George likes doing bird tattoos too, so you might just make his night,” he added, his praise and approval making your stomach fill with confidence. He pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your shoulder. Your mind began to forget what the two of you probably looked like to the other people as his scent invaded your senses. “Will you hold my hand while I’m in the chair?” He joked.

You scoffed. “Are you gonna cry?” You teased, making him chuckle.

“No, I’m just clingy,” he answered without skipping a beat. Your grin was hidden in the soft corduroy of his jacket.

The tattoo parlor was nothing like you had expected. The door was locked behind you after a bouncer let the two of you in, the man leading you two up a staircase and into a dimly lit room. The sound of heavy metal music and the buzz of tattoo guns swirled together, echoing off the dark brick walls. You slipped your hand into Clay’s as he talked to the receptionist, your eyes attempting to focus on one detail instead of letting the atmosphere overwhelm you.

The thick layer of smoke above your heads made you scoff, realizing it was coming from the opposite corner of the shop, a hookah lamp sitting on a coffee table like an outstretched octopus. The people around it seemed to be discussing something rather intense, their haircuts sharp and defining almost as if they stepped out of some kind of alternative fashion magazine. There were three tattoo artists, each with a white lamp focusing on their work as they carried on to the beat of the music.

Clay’s description of the place flashed into your mind, making you realize just how off the cards the parlor actually was. Clay took a toothpick from the receptionist’s desk, taking it between his white teeth before being waved down by a shorter man with dark hair across the floor. You followed closely behind him as Clay greeted the man; you quickly realizing that this was the famous George.

As Clay shrugged out of his jacket, George pulled out a binder, standing beside you as he flipped to a page with scattered drawings of different flight poses of birds. Your eyes drifted away from the page as Clay’s arms came into view. His old t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off was doing wonders for his biceps. Before you knew it, the two of you agreed on a mix of a few designs resembling a crow and Clay was laying on his back with his hand tucked behind his head. The spot he was filling was in the dead center of the flesh of his upper arm; a spot that George had grumbled about being awkward to reach, especially on someone as large as Clay.

You watched closely with curious eyes as George began to tattoo the design on Clay’s arm. Clay’s other hand was wrapped around the back of your elbow as you leaned on the chair at Clay’s side. His finger pads drew circles into your skin as you asked George about how he got into tattooing, making small talk here and there.

You liked George, mainly because he was quiet until he conjured up some kind of relentless backhanded comment. His tattoos revolved around a giant tree stretching from his back and down his arms. You wondered how long he had to sit for it and what the healing process was like. As he worked, his teeth played at his snake bite piercings, his dark eyes focused intently on the work in front of him.

Clay switched his toothpick to the other side of his mouth, his hand tightening around your arm with a small groan as George reached a sensitive spot. “Don’t be such a pussy,” he grumbled, continuing his work. He stopped, cleaning off some of the sprayed ink and filling a new cap with grey. “You have any work, pretty girl?” He asked you, voice low and charming.

You shook your head, earning a small tsk from him. “This is the closest she’s been to a tattoo gun,” Clay prided, making George sarcastically raise his eyes.

“A total virgin, huh?” He joked, winking at you. “Dream’s not corrupting you, is he?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek trying not to blush. “I’m trying,” Clay leered, smirking at you with his smug ego hinting at his lips.

George bit back a laugh. “Don’t get horny in my chair,” he muttered, eyes trained on the lines he was scaring into Clay. “Speaking of, I heard you got busted up by Punz, and by the looks of it… seems right,” he commented, gesturing to Clay’s eye that seemed to have started fading finally.

Clay let out a dry laugh. “His ribs are still healing,” you added, making George smirk with a shake of his head.

“You know what all that’s about right?” George asked you, taking his foot off the pedal to grab more paper towels from his desk. You looked up at Clay whose jaw tense as he chewed on the toothpick. After you shook your head, George continued. “Punz’s sister is stupidly in love with Dream,” he plopped back in his seat, swiveling his chair, and drawing a hand through his locks, revealing the bleached undersection. You had the fleeting mental image of him tying his hair back to reveal it.

He pulled on a new glove. “Madly in love, huh?” You pried, twisting your chair closer to Clay’s shoulder. Clay rolled his eyes at the fact as if he had been bugged about it for years. “You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend, Clay,” you teased, and he looked up at you with a tired expression, making you bite back a giggle.

After George finished, you followed Clay through the door, breathing in the fresh air; or as fresh as it could be in the midst of the city’s industrial square. Clay’s fingers knitted together with yours as he led you down an alleyway, flicking aside the toothpick. You chewed on your lip in anticipation before he pinned you against one of the walls. His devious grin sent shivers down your spine as you looked up at him.

You swallowed. “Shouldn’t you take it easy? Let your arm heal a bit?” You asked, voice coming out in a soft whisper as his lips pressed against your neck. “Won’t it hurt a bit with your ribs, too?” Your heart hammered in your chest at the fact that someone could turn the corner and catch the two of you.

He chuckled against your skin, slipping his hands beneath your skirt to grip your ass. “I like the pain,” he mused, tongue grazing against your skin as he pulled your hips against his. He kissed you hungrily as if not being able to press his body against yours for that hour was too much for him. His hand dropped to wrap around the back of your knee, moving his own leg to prop your thigh up against his hip as your hands dug into his hair.

The friction from his jeans made you moan into his mouth as his hand moved beneath your shirt, fingers fitting beneath your bra to palm your breast. He mumbled praises against your lips at how good you made him feel and how beautiful you were.

He turned you, your hands planting against the coarse brick as he ground his hips against you. You bit your lip, trying not to be loud enough to draw attention to the two of you, which seemed to be the last thing on Clay’s mind as you heard him unbuckle his belt behind you. You could practically picture his cocky grin, controlling eyes set as his hand gripped onto your hips, shoving your underwear to the side. “You were so much fun to show off tonight,” he chided darkly, lips brushing against your shoulder. “Such a good girl.”

As he pushed into you, one of his hands moved to knot into your hair. He moaned at the feeling of you clenching around him, tugging on your hair as he pulled your hips back against his. A low grunt tumbled from his lips as he set his rhythm, basking in the fact that you were secretly ready for him to ruin you as soon as you stepped into the parlor.

His fingers moved to wrap around your neck, the thought of his tattooed hand tightening around your pristine skin sent shivers through your body and heat flushing your cheeks, the tension in your body tightening. As he pressed you closer against the wall, you thought about the power he had over you; his height and build would make it easy for him to break you if he wanted, yet even as he pounded into you like he wanted you to forget your own name, the restraint he showed was enough to send you over the edge if you let yourself divulge in the thought.

Clay pulled out of you, only to turn you, your shoulders hitting the wall again with a soft thump as he hoisted you up ever so slightly, thrusting up into you as his hand dig into your thigh, the other resting against the brick beside your head. Your arms looped beneath his jacket, raking down his skin as you held onto him.

He groaned as your thighs tightened around him, making his hips stutter as if he were trying not to let himself finish too early. He dug is face into the crook of your neck, burying his teeth in your neck to stifle his grunts of your name. Your head tilted back against the brick, hand moving to tighten around the wrist that was beside your head for some kind of anchor.

His hand wrapped around your waist, driving himself deeper into you, brushing the part of you that needed him the most. You moaned, carding your fingers into his hair as he pressed his lips to yours roughly, wanting to taste your pleasure as it washed over you from his movements.

You tugged on his hair, making his cock throb inside of you, him finishing inside you with a low groan, his hips snapping against yours to stimulate a reaction from you. The feeling of his sloppy pleasure as his movements lost their rhythm sent your hips grinding against his, his teeth marking your shoulders as a reminder of his work on you.

Your toes curled, finally reaching your orgasm as he murmured dirty expressions of him ruining your pretty clothes against the wall. As he pulled out of you, your knees felt weak, threatening to buckle beneath you. You tried not to give off how much he had trashed you, but the warmth snaking down your thighs and your bliss-ridden mind proved otherwise.

Long story short, the bus ride home was rather interesting.

Dream Taglist: (follow this link to be added :))

@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake @unstableye @tinyegg @behzzyboo @darphobic @twist3dtinkerbell @sparkletash @lindsayhunz @shroomieissmall @mintmochiii @clubfairy @aroyaldarknessblr @camerondiaz48104 @madsbbg @victory-is-here @rat-poisin

#dream x fem!reader #dream x reader #alt!dream #alt!dreamwastaken #dreamwastaken imagine #dreamwastaken smut #dreamwastaken fanfic #dream smut #dream imagine #dream x you #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x reader #mcyt smut

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luna-writes-stuff · 3 years

Text

Motion Sickness, Xu Shangqi

Yes, I wrote this out self projection. I myself have a very weak stomach and can therefor very easily and quickly catch motion sickness.

For those interested about what motion sickness is and what it means for me: Quick story of it, my stomach cannot stand a lot of motion, especially when my brain is unaware of the direction my body is moving in. I get nauseous and light headed and just feel the bile rising up in my throat. So when I go on long car rides for vacation and I cannot see the navigation, I could easily throw up in the car in a matter of seconds. When I sit on the wrong side of the car, I get sick. When I look anywhere else but outside in the car, I get sick. When the car is taking turns instead of driving straight ahead, I get sick. It’s really annoying and it’s still something I struggle with a lot. I get it on amusement rides, rollercoasters, boats; even when I just move around to quickly or too much. So when I was watching that scene in Shang-Chi where they drive to Ta Lo, all I could think about was how terrible I would’ve been in that situation. And it inspired me to write this (stupid as it may sound.) Yes, I am aware there is medication for this, but it happens a lot of the times and would I keep using and buying it, I would spend way more money than I actually need to. I only use it for long car rides and boat trips.

Fanfic, female! reader

Fluff, bit of angst

Tw: SPOILERS, motion sickness, description of nausea, lightheadedness, description of vomiting, rising temperature, half consciousness, self projected, description of losing consciousness (but not really), Shang-Chi being worried, established relationship, use of Y/N. Also, I could not find the script anywhere, so half of the dialogue is probably wrong.

Summary: When escaping Wenwu’s home, you join the ride to Ta Lo, even as you are aware that you get severe motion sickness in cars and most definitely will end up throwing up later. Shang-Chi knows this and tries to help, but you can’t talk nausea out of someone. Upon arriving in Ta Lo, you’re barely conscious and Shang-Chi gets concerned.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Shang-Chi asked, as you sat outside the car you just escaped in.

The ride from Wenwu’s home had been difficult to say the least. You got very nauseous in car rides, and you knew that, yet you wanted to be there for Shang-Chi when he would travel to his mother’s village. It was already clear it was not going to be an easy journey, but you insisted on joining the ride.

At the moment, you were catching some fresh air after the eventful car ride earlier. You forced your nausea down, smiling up at Shang-Chi.

“Oh yeah. I’ll be fine.” You assured, standing up and taking a deep breath in.

“You know you don’t have to come along.” He tried again, but you ignored his offer.

“I said I’ll be fine.” You insisted, walking back towards the car. Shang-Chi let out a sigh of defeat before opening the door to the passenger seat.

“Actually, Trevor was going to sit there. Seeing as he kind of holds the information and stuff.” Katy said, gesturing towards the man behind you two.

“He can do that from the back.” Shang-Chi said, but you shoo’d him, opening the door behind the passenger seat.

“I can sit here too.” You announced, sitting down before your boyfriend could say anything about it.

“Y/N-“ “Don’t Y/N me.” You interrupted. “If I get sick, it’s my own damn fault.”

He groaned before stepping in on the other side, his sister seated between the two of you.

“Is something wrong?” She asked, looking towards you with a worried glance.

“She gets sick in car rides.” Shang-Chi announced, putting on his seatbelt.

“Don’t worry.” You reassured her, “If I’m going to throw up, I’m going to aim for Shang-Chi. You’ll be fine.”

“You’re going to throw up?” She questioned, frowning at the statement.

“I’ll try not to, if it’s any consolation to you.” You offered, throwing off your jacket before bundling it up and letting it rest on your lap, holding it against your stomach lightly.

“I hope you’re strapped in. Morris tells us we need to leave now.” Trevor announced, simultaneously making Katy push the gas.

As you’re driving, Katy keeps a steady pace, causing a feeling of relief to wash through you. If this was going to be the pace you’d keep during the ride, nothing could really go wrong.

In front of the car, the trees suddenly started to separate, creating a road for Katy to drive on. You gasped at the sight, having never seen anything like it before.

“This is so cool.” Katy quietly awed. You hummed in agreement, staring at the greens out of the window.

“Morris says you might want to speed up.” Trevor announced, looking at the rearview mirror. Katy followed his look, before letting a curse word slip and speeding up. All three of you in the back quickly looked behind, eyes widening at the sight of the trees closing back.

You turned around the second you saw what was happening, not ready to move forward while looking back.

“Take a left.” Trevor instructed.

“When?” Katy wondered, sparing the man a single glance.

“Now!” He ushered.

Katy took a sharp turn at his words, causing you to immediately grab hold of the handle on the door. Xialing and Shang-Chi both fell towards your side, not having prepared for the turn. You let out a little chuckle at the sight of them, but stopped as the familiar feeling of nausea hit you again.

“Right!” Trevor instructed. Yet again, Katy listened to him, taking a sharp right turn as the woods split into two again.

You had yet to let go of the handle, but you figured it might the closest thing you’d get to grounding at the moment. You felt Shang-Chi’s eyes drill holes into your head, but you refused to look at him. Instead, you kept you eyes on the window outside, knowing shooting your glance anywhere else might lead to some unfortunate consequences.

“Right again!” And at those words, the car stumbled around. Your stomach started feeling heavy as your head grew lighter, but you refused to acknowledge it, silently wishing for it to be over soon. You knew what would happen. You brought this upon yourself and you had no one to blame but yourself. You were in this now and you would not complain about it.

“Left!”

The next turn came completely unexpected to you, causing you to lose grip of the handle and the jacket on your lap, your hands trying to hold onto the seat in front of you.

As the car was on a straight line again, Shang-Chi quickly leaned over, grabbing your jacket and handing it to you, before opening your window slightly, allowing fresh air to fill the car. He shot you a silent look before returning to his seat.

“Drive faster!” Trevor urged, looking in the rearview mirror again. The forest seemed to close in behind you in an even faster rate now.

Katy just followed his lead, pushing the gas pedal down all the way. The car was hurled forward as your stomach began to flip. You leant your head against the window, your jacket pressed tightly against your stomach.

“Right!” Trevor yelled, the wind that blew into the car now becoming louder than his voice.

As Katy followed his directions, your clothes began to uncomfortably cling to your body, your hair slowly sticking to your forehead. You felt the bile rising up your throat, but you swallowed it back down, knowing there was no way of stopping now.

As Trevor kept shouting instructions, you began to wonder when this maze would end. It had been more terrible than you predicted. Perhaps the nausea of the earlier car-ride still lay heavy on your stomach, which only increased with the current journey. Or maybe the fact that there were no blinkers or navigation used, made your brain confused and uncomfortable, leaving you with a sickening feeling. Perhaps it was a combination of both.

Had this been a bad idea?

Definitely.

Would you ever confess it?

Never.

“Close the window!” Trevor yelled to Katy, holding his hands over his ears.

“Do not close the window!” Shang-Chi shot after him, holding his hand beside Katy’s seat, leaving her unable to access the window buttons.

Your head rested against the backside of the chair in front of you, trying to keep the dizziness at bay, but with every following turn, you felt that uncomfortable substance rising back up. Your head felt too light to lift it now, but your stomach forced you to keep it up before everything would come back out.

You let your head fall towards the window, keeping it up in order to swallow everything down again. The sour feeling stung your throat, nearly making you gasp in uneasiness, but you did your best not to show it. The open window that provided you with fresh air, had begun to lose its purpose, now only filling you with a loud pounding in the ears, every other word suddenly passing by unheard. It wasn’t until you felt a warm hand on the one that clung to your jacket, that you moved your head.

Before even looking, you knew it was Shang-Chi, but there was little he could do for you now. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he held out a bottle of cold water and a plastic bag. You gratefully took the offer, taking small sips from the bottle before placing the plastic bag on top of your jacket, just in case things would go sideways.

Your hands had grown all warm and soggy, nearly gliding off of the fabric. Your shirt was now nearly glued to your back. The hair you had refused to put up earlier was now suffocating your neck with a heat attack. You could feel the sweat of it fall down your body, making you move uncomfortably in your seat. A sharp ringing filled your ears, your vision showing black dots from time to time.

The car increased its speed suddenly. You had no idea what was happening, but you closed your eyes, not willing to look outside anymore. You needed your focus on your body, trying so desperately to maintain it.

Katy’s screaming disturbed the ringing in your ears as you felt an annoying banging against your brain.

And just like that, the car stopped moving. Heavy breathing was heard all around the car, but you had yet to open your eyes. The nauseating feeling was far from over. You figured it was best to continue driving before you would have to experience everything again.

“Everyone okay?” Katy asked, which went answered by multiple hums.

“Morris says to go right through there.” The man in front of you announced.

“Through the waterfall?” Katy asked incredulously.

“Yes.” Was the simple answer.

And then, the car was moving again. You heard the window beside you shut, but you made no intention to open your eyes yet.

“Y/N?” You heard Shang-Chi ask, but you ignored him, waving your hand towards him in a “let it go” manner.

How long the car had been driving afterwards, you did not know. You didn’t look outside, the earlier trip still heavy on your stomach. It wasn’t until the car suddenly stopped, that your stomach decided enough was enough, and resorted to throwing everything out.

You were hunched over the bag in your hands, the vomit slowly leaving your throat, much to your discomfort. You felt two gentle, yet unfamiliar hands wrap around your hair before tying it in a simple pony tail.

Your body felt as if it was on fire, your shirt definitely drenched by now. You tried to catch your breath, but you threw yourself back over the bag before you knew it. A second round falling out just as terrible as the first one.

You could hardly comprehend the door beside you opening, followed by a hand slowly, but steadily rubbing your back. You kept yourself above the bag, even though you were fairly sure you were done now. You began tying it, but it was taken from you before you could grab the ends.

As you unbuckled yourself and stood back up, black spots appeared in your vision again, making you stumble outside, before forcing you to sit down, your back against the car.

“Babe, can you hear me?” You faintly heard, making you hum silently, leaning your head against the car too, your eyes closing again.

“Are you okay?” He asked again, the voice now nearer.

“I just threw up twice. What do you think?” You mumbled.

Your statement went ignored, a soft hand being placed on top of your head instead.

“You’re burning up.” He remarked, untying your hair and wrapping it in a bun instead, making you sigh in relief.

“Give me a few minutes.” You stated quietly.

“Can you give me that bottle of water?” You followed up in a whisper. It was quiet for a moment before you felt the cold bottle back in your hands. You finished it quickly, handing it back when you were done.

“Do you need anything else?” He wondered again, his hand softly touching your cheek.

“A cold shower.” You mustered out, throwing your head forward, making it rest against Shang-Chi’s chest. “And a few painkillers.”

A low chuckle escaped his throat as his hand rested on your back, making you since slightly at the hot and sweaty shirt now being pushed against your body.

“Can you move yet?” He whispered patiently, letting you go, though he allowed your head to keep resting against him.

“Give me a moment.” You muttered, one of your hands falling to your stomach as if it would calm it down.

“That’s okay.” He answered, shifting a little bit before resting his head on top of yours, one of his his hands connecting with the one that was on your stomach.

“Xialing is doing the talking anyway.” He explained, his second hand falling to your neck and stroking it affectionately.

“Tell me when to get up.” He proposed, letting you pick your time and comfort.

You hummed in response, happy to be in his arms back on solid ground. You tried turning in your position, but your body quickly show down the idea, fresh nausea returning fast.

Shang-Chi understood what you were trying to do, luckily. He grabbed your waist, carefully turning you around, making your back rest against his chest.

“You’re drenched in sweat.” He noticed aloud, though that was the only thing he did about it.

Your head fell back in the crook of his neck, making Shang-Chi smile and rest his head against yours. Your hand tried reaching for his, even though you could not see anything right now.

“You want more water?” He misunderstood, his voice vibrating through his chest.

You just shook your head lightly, grabbing his arm and letting your hand slide down it until your hand connected with his. He squeezed it in comfort, before wrapping his arms around your body, holding you against him tightly, your hands toying with his fingers.

“I’m tired.” You whispered. “Do you mind if I fall asleep right here?”

Once more, Shang-Chi chuckled. “Of course not, babe.”

“Thank you.” You mumbled, sinking into his arms, nausea slowly subsiding as your mind finally drifted off.

You were glad he had been understanding, instead of cocky and full of himself at the moment. He did not mention your stubbornness earlier or your stupid comments. And you were thankful for that. You were far too tired or nauseous to deal with these comments now. They’d have to wait until tomorrow morning. Besides, a cold shower was next on the agenda, whether Ta Lo had that or not.

Taglist: @wlfstxr

#shang chi and the legend of the ten rings #shang chi #Xu shanqi #simu liu #marvel #MCU #Avengers #shangqi x reader #shang chi x reader #shang chi imagine

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gaybitchfx · 2 years

Note

Heyyy can I u pls do a wakasa x reader?? Where wakasa and reader are forced to be married. The beginning of marriage wakasa was still cold to the reader but after some time its gonna be a fluff hehehe

A/n: I don’t know if this is a female reader or male reader since you didn’t specifically say it in your request so for now I’m gonna use a male reader for this one I hope you don’t mind.

Oh My God

Imaushi Wakasa x M!Reader

Category: Angst to Fluff

Warning: Cursing

“I have to marry HIM?!”

Key words: F/n = Friends name

I’m so sorry this is so long 😭

“I hate this so much!” You grumbled as your right hand man, F/n* helped fix your tie since you were having trouble yourself.

“You’ll be fine Y/n—” “No! This is not fine!! I’m being forced to marry someone I don’t even know or love!! I don’t even know what he looks like F/n!” You snapped causing F/n to flinch a tad.

“You’re stressing yourself out Y/n. Just think positive.” He said and patted your shoulder causing you to sigh.

“Are you done yet?” Your mother asked when she opened the door. You nodded your head with a displeased look. “Good. Now let’s go, the groom is waiting for you sweet heart.” She said and pinched your cheek.

You rolled your eyes by this. You inhaled and exhaled trying your best to calm down as you and the grooms mother made your way to the end of the isle and that’s when the music starting playing.

A little girl with a white dress started throwing red rose pedals on the ground as she walked down the isle.

You wrapped your arm in with the grooms mothers arm and walked down the isle with her once the little girl had finished throwing the flower pedals.

You hadn’t looked at the groom yet till you were now standing right in front of him. He was actually handsome, but that scowl he had on his face showed he also hated the event that was taking place. You both turned to look at the priest as he began.

(You can skip this part it’s just what happens at a wedding!)

“Dearly beloved, we have gathered here today to witness and bless, the joining together of these two men in holy matrimony. Imaushi, will you take this man to be your husband? Will you love him and cherish him?” The priest asked.

“I, Imaushi, take you, Y/n, to be my husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, or for poorer, in sickness and in health…to love and to cherish you till death do us part. ” Waka said averting eye contact with you and you also did the same as he put the ring on your ring finger.

The priest singled you two to hold hands and you let out a sigh before holding both of his hands. “Y/n, will you take this man to be your husband? Will you also love and cherish him?” The priest asked turning to look a you.

“I, Y/n, take you, Imaushi, to be my husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish you till death do us part.” You said, but of course it didn’t really mean anything as you also put the ring on his ring finger.

“Now that Y/n and Imaushi have given themselves to each other with these vows and the giving and receiving of rings, I now pronounce you, husband and husband.” The priest has said.

The morning after the wedding it was awkward. “Do you want something to eat?” You asked peaking your head inside your shared room with Waka.

He ignored you and continued scrolling on his phone. You squinted your eyes and went over to him before snatching his phone out his hands making him flinch from the sudden movement.

“Give me back my damn phone.” Waka said with a hard glare. “I asked if you want something to eat.” You said, your voice stern. “I don’t now give me my damn phone.” Waka said and snatched his phone from your hand and continued to do what he was once doing.

A small huff sound came from your mouth before you turned on your heel and went back to the kitchen making yourself something to eat. You sat silently at the table mumbling under your breath. Half way through your meal Waka came out and grabbed a banana from the counter.

“I thought you said you weren’t hungry.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Waka didn’t say anything but just stood there watching something on his phone as he ate the banana.

“Can’t believe I was forced to marry you of all people.” You muttered under your breath and placed your dishes in the sink. Waka watched as you stormed off and went to do your own thing. He scoffed thinking the exact same thing.

Over the past few months this continued over and over again and you were just getting sick and tired of it. You sat down on your shared bed, Waka sleeping on your left.

Once you felt like he was actually asleep you called your dad and waited for him to answer and so he did. “Hello?” Your father said from the other line. “Hey dad, it’s me.” You said with a small smile present on your face.

“Y/n? It’s 12 in the morning what are you doing calling me this late?” He asked, he did sound like he just woke up too. “It’s about the marriage.” “What about the marriage?” He asked, confusion present in his voice.

“I hate it. I hate it a lot. For the past few months every time I asked if he was hungry or if he wanted to do something he wouldn’t even answer me, he would just do his own thing as if I’m not here and it bothers me so damn much dad!” You chattered on and on. You father sighed from the other line.

“I know you didn’t want this just from how much you were yelling at your mom when she told you you were getting married. You know how she is when she doesn’t get her way.” He said trying his best to sound as comforting as possible.

“I’m just so sick of it.” You muttered as he pinched the bridge of your nose. “There isn’t much I can do Y/n. Just try not to stress yourself out so much, alright?”

“Alright… Night dad love you.” You said before hanging up. You exhaled through your nose and placed your face into your hands taking a small breather before turning your phone off and putting it on the charger.

You laid down and draped your covers over you sleep slowly taking over your exhausted body. You didn’t know this, but while you were talking with your dad Waka was listening in and actually felt bad. He has been a absolute jerk to you these past few months. He sighed and fell asleep.

The next morning you were making breakfast and didn’t bother asking Waka what he wanted to eat. “What’s for breakfast?” Waka asked yawning.

“Why do you care? You never want to eat what I make.” You grumbled as you flipped the pancakes perfectly. “Well now I do.” He said and stood next to you. You squinted your eyes at him. “Pancakes, eggs, and bacon.” You said.

“Want some help?” “Sure, can you crack the eggs and mix them.” You said and pointed to the egg carton. Waka went over to the eggs and cracked enough for two people and did as you said. You watched him a tiny smile appearing on your face.

“How big do you want the pancakes?” “Medium, please.” Once your pancake was done you made his. After everything was finished you both sat at the table across from each other eating in silence before Waka decided to speak up.

“I heard you and your dad talking last night.” He suddenly said making you choke on a piece of bacon. He quickly handed you your glass of water which you gulped down quickly. “You did?” You crooked.

“Mhm, sorry I’m being such an asshole to you. I just didn’t want to get married so soon, especially to someone I never met once in my life.” Waka said as he poked at his eggs.

“Actually, we did meet once. When we were younger that is my dad had a picture of it in his house.” You said.

“Oh. Well, I’ll treat you as an actual husband, and actually love you.” Waka said his voice getting a tad bit quieter as his cheeks reddened. “I would like that.” You smiled making his heart run miles.

“Yeah, me too.”

#wakasa fluff #Waka angst #anime #tokyo revengers #fiction #gender neutral imagine #manga #writers #fluff #male reader #imaushi wakasa

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needleandhammer · 3 years

Text

From Simmer to Score

Pairing: Soft!Curtis Everett x Reader

Summary: Curtis is good with his hands. And other stuff.

Warnings: 18+ only, explicit, smut, oral sex, penetration, fingering, dub con breeding, unprotected sex, breeding kink sort of, size kink, petite!reader, Curtis' fingers

Word count: 4k

A/N: This doesn't really fit the prompt i chose from @stargazingfangirl18 's 5k Soft Dark Challenge: "You hire a local handyman to help you with a few home projects." But the prompt still inspired this. I wanted to take the prompt somewhere more explicitly dark but once again my contribution to this challenge turned marshmallow soft. This is an au, non-apocalypse au, normal life au, idk. Just self-indulgent. Also, it was a struggle finding a gif of clean Curtis. Because he's clean in this and not living on a train, i swear.

“Try again. Very good. Let’s have you run through the exercises and then we’ll take a look at the new homework."

At your smile, the little girl nods and quickly turns to concentrate on coordinating her footwork on the pedals of your old Altenberg while reading the notes in front of her.

You back away, heading to the kitchen for some iced tea. You nearly forget your other guest who sits at the table.

This is the third time he’s accompanied Wendy for her lessons. For a man of his size, Curtis makes no sound except the faint swish of pages turning in his book. Like before, he arrived with Wendy, nodded a greeting at you, waited for your invitation to the kitchen, and then spent the entire hour silently reading.

You pull the fridge door open and pour tea into three glasses. You quietly slide one towards him. Curtis’ eyes flicker up to you, brilliantly blue, and he gives you a low murmur.

“Thanks.”

You’re about to return to Wendy when you hear your name in Curtis’ smooth baritone.

He nods to the notepad left on the table. “I, uh, noticed your reminder to call for maintenance. Something wrong?”

“Oh.” You tidy up the table, sheepish at being caught procrastinating house chores. “Just needed a second look at the water heater. The repair company came by and we tested things out when they were done, but the next day I had no hot water.”

You grimace, thinking of taking another cold shower.

“If you’re okay with it, I can grab my tool bag from my car and take a look,” he says.

You’re not prepared for the offer. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

He shakes his head, no hesitance. “I don’t mind at all. As long as you don’t.”

“I mean. I-I would really appreciate the help.”

Your time with Wendy ends after you review practice goals with her until her next lesson.

Curtis joins you two. “Hot water is running again.”

Your jaw drops and you skip to the kitchen. Hot water pours out of your faucet. You return, unable to resist grinning widely at him.

“Thank you, Curtis. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Curtis taught my dad everything about fixing houses!” Wendy chirped. He offers her a crooked smile.

“Do you have everything?” you ask your young pupil.

While Wendy thanks you and you help her pack, Curtis watches on with a faint curve to his lips.

“Edgar’s changing over to late shifts for the next couple of months. I’ll probably be driving Wendy to lessons again.”

You nod. “Sounds good. See you both then.”

After they leave, you enjoy a glorious steamy shower and then you settle onto your couch with a plate of leftover grilled veggies and fish.

Reviewing your schedule, you consider taking on one or two more students. It was years ago that you gave private lessons to help pay for college. Nearly a decade of moving between a few jobs, you are now in a quiet suburb working with a team of digital designers. The job allows you to work from home half the week, a flexibility you take great appreciation in. The professional stability encouraged you to return to music and to helping others develop their musical interests.

Wendy is your only student at the moment as you want to ease into taking on this additional responsibility. You smile, recalling your initial meeting with Wendy and her father, Edgar. Her father’s bubbly energy is such a stark contrast to Curtis. Edgar opened up quickly, sharing that he and Wendy’s mother were no longer together, that he would support whatever Wendy wanted to do. There was a perpetually youthful vigor to the room when Edgar was present.

Wendy calls Curtis, Uncle, and his adoration for her is clear. He barely said two words when he was here the first time. It doesn’t bother you. You get the impression Curtis purposely tries to not draw attention to himself, and you can empathize with that preference for tranquility.

_ _ _ _

It’s a windy day, heavy with rain clouds, the next time Wendy and Curtis are over.

“I saw your screen door was down. Planning on replacing it?” Curtis asks when you wrap up with Wendy.

“Nah. I was just going to look up what I would need and try fixing it myself.”

“It’s kind of heavy.”

His tone doesn’t imply any skepticism aimed at you and you’re not offended. You’re used to people calling you ‘small,’ though you’re not small so much as you’re short. You like to think you take up ample space. You also admit strength is not something you have in abundance. Your whole life you relied on family and friends for a lot of literal heavy lifting. But Curtis already helped you out once.

“I could fix it up.”

“I won’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s no bother, really. I’m happy to help out.”

He promises to be quick about it. While he works, Wendy happily practices on your piano.

“I have Oreos,” you announce.

She pauses to grab a cookie. “Thank you so much for letting me practice longer.”

“Of course, dear.”

She chats a bit about her upcoming birthday plans, as children are wont to do.

Curtis pops his head in. “All set. Do you want to take a look?”

You follow him out back. Swinging the screen door on its hinges, you nodded appraisingly.

“I suppose it passes inspection.” You look up with a cheeky smile, pleased to see Curtis’ lips twitching. “Thank you. Really, Curtis. I do wish you’d let me pay you.”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Besides, you’re great with Wendy. I’m grateful for that.”

You can tell he loves Wendy just as much as if he was her father. “In that case, I shall give Wendy her next lesson for free.”

He blinks at you, trailing behind as you make your way inside and calling out to Wendy.

Curtis has resigned himself to a quiet, bare life. He doesn't think he wants anything much. He has Edgar’s loyalty, a result of the brotherhood he formed in his impoverished teen years. They survived together, looked out for each other. Once Wendy came along like a little star burning in a smoggy midnight, Curtis counted himself lucky to witness the little girl growing up. A chance to help nourish one seed.

The first time he arrived with Wendy at your home, Curtis couldn’t help listening in on the entire lesson, making no progress in his book. Your clear voice, your generous encouragement. You, light on your feet moving so swiftly. You, barely reaching his shoulders yet mighty in spirit, curvy and sensuous. Curtis had an urge to lift you in his palms to be stored safely in his pocket.

_ _ _ _

And so things follow. Wendy diligently learning and Curtis primarily accompanying her, taking his place at your kitchen table. You come to enjoy his steady, grounding presence just a couple steps away from you and Wendy.

Now and then, he’ll notice some upkeep you’re doing – a leaky faucet, a box of new light bulbs on your counter – and volunteer his assistance. You are reluctant to put him to work, sure that he spends enough of his days working and doing chores in his own home and besides these are tasks you can handle even if you find them tedious. Curtis is always gentle in his offers, always obtains your permission first. As time goes by and you grow less shy about accepting his help and he grows more comfortable in your space, you realize working with his hands is second nature to Curtis.

It doesn't take long for Curtis to admit to himself he wants to be near you.

Curtis doesn’t meddle. He doesn’t mingle. He doesn’t have any interest in widening his social circle. He is aware you thrived on your own for a long time, just like him; and like he has Edgar and Wendy, you have a small close-knit group of friends. Lending a hand to you doesn’t count because you are like him.

Maybe this is why he lets his guard down under your roof. There is something kindred in your calm nature that his soul responds to. Under your roof, no silences need to be filled; no pretenses forced upon him. Your invitation to rest is unspoken – he hears it and almost weeps. The more time he spends with you, like two wavelengths in tune, the stronger his urge to insert himself. To fix, or in some way leave his mark on your home. Curtis doesn’t have any interest in widening his social circle. Lending a hand to you didn't count. Until he cannot help it. He doesn’t reach out for you, doesn’t try to prove you’ll curve perfectly within his arms; but he’ll ensure your softness can curl up in a sturdy home and delight in simple pleasures.

One evening, when Edgar works later than usual, you ask if Wendy and Curtis would join you for dinner.

“Nothing fancy. I have some noodle soup and salad. Curtis, can you call Edgar to meet us here?”

Wendy sets the table. Curtis assists with the food.

He’s quick to cup your hand in his when it's nicked with a knife. You can’t help leaning into him as he runs your finger under water, wraps it in clean paper towel. He finishes with the salad, making you sit at the table.

Edgar joins you all, tired but quickly gaining energy with food and a few sips of wine. You are full and warmed by their company. While Edgar cheers on Wendy while she practices from her book, you feel Curtis’ fingers curl over your hand. His thumb brushes over your cut. You share a smile with him.

_ _ _ _

You settle into your little Toyota only to find it won’t start. It stumps you because you never had issues with this car before. You have no experience with car maintenance and don’t know the first thing to check for an engine that won’t wake.

Calling Curtis to see if you can reschedule, he insists that he can swing by to pick you up.

He had called you, his voice almost shy. He wanted to surprise Wendy for her birthday with a piano and asked for your help.

You direct Curtis to the string instruments shop in the city’s downtown area. The two of you are greeted by a sales staff upon entry. When asked, Curtis looks to you, wordless, so you do your best to describe to the salesperson what you're looking for.

There are several options of acoustic and digital instruments. You give little demonstrations on a few pianos that you consider reasonably priced.

“Curtis, check this one out.” Your hold on his sleeve is loose and propels him towards one of the upright Baldwin pianos.

“I think any of these would suit Wendy. The sounds are clear, and they don’t take up too much space. The salesperson said this one is second-hand and it’s in really good shape.” You press a few chords, then look up at Curtis with a smile.

He looks at you, gaze gentle. “I’m not worried about price. I’ll take whatever you recommend.”

That was his general response when you asked his opinion during your time in the shop: he was up for anything you recommended. Other than that, he trailed behind you so that the salesperson assumed you were the primary purchaser. Much like in your house, Curtis seemed to try hard to not draw attention. Oddly, you didn’t think anyone in the same room with him could help noticing him. Even with the dark apparel he favored, Curtis’ reserved nature can't hide all the intensity and strength just thrumming beneath the surface of his tall imposing build.

You convince him to sit beside you on the bench. He’s never played before, but humors you and tries random combinations of thirds with you. You watch his hands – clean, wide, with thick fingers – hover and slide along the keys.

He nudges you.

“Sorry. I was just impressed your sausage fingers are quite nimble.”

A half-hearted glare. “Thank you. For coming with me.”

“If I say you’re welcome, will you take a look at my car when we get back?”

He stays for dinner.

It starts raining and you have to rush out to gather hanging linens. He helps and you both run back inside. You're giddy at his eagerness to assist, resulting in damp clothing on you both.

“Oh, let’s dump it here. I’ll fold it tomorrow.” You are happy to leave the laundry in a pile on an armchair, in too good of a mood to care.

You catch him with his attention on you, a look so soft you have to look away, walk blindly a few steps. His touch is on your arm, turning you around just as you reach the piano.

He dips his head low to press chapped lips to yours, capturing your lips more, closing in to envelope you in his heat.

Curtis’ hands grip your hips with a quick jostle against the piano, prompting a slur of bright notes ringing from the keyboard that you are pressed against. And then he’s hitching you further up and firmly in his arms. His tongue licks against yours. You slant your open mouth, inviting him to taste, to devour you from the inside out. Your legs wrap around his waist like you belong there, tethered to this point in time. There’s no past or future, only Curtis, only feeling safe and real in his arms now now now.

You barely register Curtis moving, tipping you onto the couch cushions to hover over you so close. You can’t remember burning for someone like this. You can’t remember much of anything, focused on Curtis, solid and unyielding between your thighs, muscles buzzing with raw strength.

You want so badly to know more of him. Your hands wander shamelessly under his shirt, sliding up his wide back, grazing under to squeeze appreciatively at his pecs only to be called south by a narrowing of hair that leads you on until you bump his belt buckle.

You’re distracted by the tease of hot kisses he drops along your neck. There’s something sweet, vulnerable in how you allow him access to the delicate skin there. It makes Curtis bury his nose against the crook of your jaw, a long moment for him to whisper something like a prayer, before his tongue swirls and he nibbles your ear lobe. Your high pitched gasp hastens his desire. Your shirt is gone. Your bra untangled from your arms. Your breasts, oh, Curtis takes a mouthful of one fleshy breast, sucking greedily when you moan, breathless and aching now.

You claw at his shirt until it too disappears. You wriggle to help Curtis pull your pants and underwear off. Your legs want to yank him back to you, but he braces himself to allow just a bit more space between you both than before.

“Let me.” It’s almost a growl, and you want to say yes, but you want to kiss him more. You’re clinging by his neck, drinking from his soft lips, until you both part to draw breath.

His hand caresses your cheek, sliding over to slip two fingers into your slack mouth. Your tongue swipes at them, lips close to suck them in, eager to touch and taste any part of him. Jaw tight, Curtis pulls his fingers away and down. Down. His hand spans large over your curves and you hold your breath, grit your teeth. One finger saturated with saliva, sinks into your cunt. You swear you can feel more arousal dripping from you to soak his hand and he adds another finger, drawing short whimpers from you as his fingers withdraw and plunge in. God, you won’t ever tease him about his fingers again because they’re perfect. Agonizing in their quest to undo you.

His voice is husky groans, wanting so bad to feel your oh so tight cunt around his cock. Soon.

He tortures you, adds a third finger. You’re riding them, whimpering as he pumps them in you and parts the digits to stretch you. His weight slides away and you can only grasp at his hair, you’re barely glimpsing his head between your legs before you arch high when his thick wet tongue swirls and licks your folds, dialing up the white hot blooming inside you. His fingers curl just enough inside to press that patch against your pelvis that strings you tight as a bow. Pressing insistently, scratching with finger pads, until you burst and all you can do is chase more of that pulsing pleasure, humping against his face. Your hips quiver while Curtis laps at your slit.

His sucks grow gentle, thumb teasing your bud, helping you come down from the intense high.

You sigh his name.

“I’m here.”

“I want you.”

His arms wind around you, holding you tight while he kisses you. You can’t remember feeling anything better than being cradled like this as Curtis languidly kisses you.

He’s not rushed to move from you, so you cling to him and he loves you for it. Yes, he’s hard, but he wants to savor this. Already high on the sensation of your soft flesh underneath him, your thick thighs tight at his waist, your quiet hums of pleasure the evidence of his thorough work.

He ran from his past, from early years strife with despair, washing away those memories like dust and grime. He thought his life of isolation was one that moved him forward; but he has been stuck all this time.

Seeing you care for Wendy, Curtis realized he wanted that. He wanted what his friend had. He wanted you, and the precious something conceived between two souls that sing for one another. Soon. He’ll make your sweet little body his to protect, to warm through the nights.

_ _ _ _

“Thanks so much for having us for dinner,” Edgar says. He was been watching Wendy run around your humble backyard, chasing butterflies and searching for little frogs. He turns to you with a toothy grin. “And for your help with the gift. Wendy’s going to flip. I’m lucky to have you and Curtis both around.”

Your smile is just as affectionate. “Happy to have you here. Although,” your smile turns sly, “I’m a little disappointed that your special lady friend didn’t join us.”

“Curtis,” Edgar mutters under his breath. Curtis is washing dishes at the sink and pays no mind to any half-hearted curses directed at him.

Your brow arches, urging Edgar to talk as he can't help an embarassed grin.

“Well, she was traveling for work, unfortunately. But I know Wendy doesn’t mind her.”

The girl has whispered to you that Edgar’s girlfriend is beautiful and she wished she would become her new mom; this you keep to yourself, not wishing to embarrass or pressure your friend further.

“I’m happy to hear that.”

Edgar’s eyes slide sideways, quiet for a moment before he jumps out of his seat and heads to the door leading to the backyard. “I’ll just…uh…” He exits, trailing off without finishing his sentence.

You sigh and take another bite of your cake, indulging in the moist chocolate flavor. Glancing up, you find Curtis watching you. His attention is singular, a warm simmer in those bright blue eyes, causing you to freeze except for your tongue that finishes sweeping over your upper lip. His gaze narrows, grew weighty, tracking your tongue as it retreats into your mouth. He pushes away from the counter, steps close until he is able to drop to his knee beside your chair. One strong yank has your seat turning so you face him.

The door creaks open again.

“Well, the sun’s getting low so I think we’ll head home and wind down.” Edgar announces with his daughter close at his side. He has a boyish grin on his face, pulling Wendy towards the front of your house. "Wendy, say good bye.”

“Isn’t Curtis leaving too?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll leave when he’s ready.”

“Have a good night, you two,” you say, walking with them to the front. Though Edgar is still cheerfully thanking you for the meal and insisting you stay inside and not see them off.

“You go on and just have a good time, both of you.” He sends a wink your way. You shake your head at him. “Curtis! You be a gentleman now.”

Quick as he can, he has Wendy secured in the car and they are on their way.

“Huh.” You lock the front door before turning to find Curtis. You can tell he wants to roll his eyes at Edgar’s antics. Instead, he closes in on you.

“Are you worried about me not being a gentleman?” he murmurs. His fingers hook under yours loosely.

You smirk. “I’m worried about you being too much of a gentleman.”

That smolder returns to his gaze. For a second, your body shivers, overwhelmed and you side step him, if only for a moment’s relief from the heat of his eyes.

You reach out. He takes your hand.

Once you’re down a layer, he grows even hotter seeing the mesh and lace number you have on. A tantalizing tease with the hard peaks of your nipples veiled in barely-there maroon. Just daring him to unwrap you. So he does.

His mouth leaves a wet trail seeking sensitive spots on your neck, you breasts, your thighs. Even as he moves, he still covers nearly all of your body, his heat and weight drowning you in want.

Your shudder has him grazing his beard up the inside of your thigh so that you arch and plea for his touch. God, all your uninhibited responses spur the blazing hunger in him. Curtis peels the mesh underwear down, impatient for a taste of you. His mouth waters, catching wafts of arousal and then he’s sucking and lapping your wet pussy. His rumbling groan is like a physical nudge that bows your back, and you remain rigid in the air at the sensation of his thick tongue pushing into you. Wide shoulders part your legs, shifting until your thighs rest on vast muscles.

You rock against him, keen at the hard sucks. Two fingers dip into, fucking you and rubbing with a dizzying rhythm that brings you over the edge.

With little effort, he holds up your hips and you feel a pillow slide under you to angle you higher. Then his muscled arms hook under your knees and he finally lines up and rocks forward. The tip of his cock parts your folds. Your breath hitches. His cock slides in, forcing your walls to stretch, to mold tightly to his girth.

“Curtis” – your hand was going point to the little bedside table with condoms.

Instead, you’re gripping a blanket. Gasping as he withdraws and your pussy tries to hold him in.

You mumble against his lips, incoherent. “The…inside..”

And then he feeds you his length again. And again, that delicious, addicting friction.

"Yes, inside," he agrees softly. "Like this."

With every pump, the spark catches and blazes higher. Curtis rises onto his knees, thrusts harder, watching your eyes flutter open and shut. He’s panting with the pretty picture of a needy you. He grips your thighs. As if his life depends on how tight he clutches you. Concentrating hard, his eyes drop low. Fuck. He can see your pussy clench, your puffy outer lips suckling his cock. Curtis swears your little body is refusing to give him up, and you’re wet but your cunt squeezes him so tight he has to drive harder into you to avoid slipping out.

You’re not even aware of your breathy moans, so turned on by his groans, the rough thrusts he gives you. There’s no grinding. Curtis can tell he’s rubbed against your g-spot and he keeps his snapping hips angled just right, one callused thumb circling your clit too lightly. And then your breaths stutter, your legs seize, your back arches. Curtis grits his teeth, keeping the exact same pace, draws out the storm of your pleasure. It’s so consuming, you lose your voice.

Just as you are able to breathe again, able to sense the physical realm around you, Curtis speeds up, bucking hard with low grunts, powering into you.

A high gasp – you feel him flood you. He drops to press his chest to you, still pumping his release into your clenching walls; and it’s too much, his cock merciless within your sensitive channel. He can’t help it, even as your legs start writhing with his unrelenting stimulation, even as he hears your hitched whimpers.

He finally stills. His lips find yours, tongue stroking deep.

Long moments later, his name is gentle, falling from your lips. “We didn’t use protection.”

Curtis nuzzles you, rubs his nose along the planes of your cheeks. Returns to suck your bottom lip. “It’s okay,” he whispers.

There’s a soft frown upon your brow that he kisses, and then scatters more kisses on your face.

“But, what if?”

“I want you. I want everything with you.”

You’re barely able to react as he nips hard at your collarbone and then rolls his hips. He’s half-hard inside you. You’re quickly losing yourself in Curtis, overwhelmed by the combination of his hungry mouth on your skin, unyielding clasp on your thigh. His thrusts persist, pins you in place, lights you up and scorches you. You’re right where he wants you, whining for more more more.

Now with each beat of his heart, Curtis has his mind’s eye on the prize. He’ll have you over and over. And you’ll grow a piece of him inside you. You are the way forward. You are his.

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

A/N: Hurrah, this one felt like it took forever. I blame Curtis. He didn't give himself up to me easily. Let me love you, ya broody boi! Thank you for reading!

#curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #smut #fanfic #siris5ksoftdarkchallenge

407 notes · View notes

dreamerstreamer · 3 years

Text

Telltale Talent

Pairing: Dream / Clay x gn!reader

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] When Dream tries to teach you how to spar, he learns that you’re more than what meets the eye.

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: this was requested by an anon who wanted a fun sparring practice with a surprise! here’s to the first fic of 2021, and i hope you enjoy <3

Clay stared down at the map on his desk, his fingers curling tighter around the quill in his hands. A mess of scribbles and circles gazed back up at him as he made another mark. He bit back the sigh that threatened to escape his throat, his brow twitching.

You were doing it, again.

He could feel your eyes on him from the other side of the room, practically boring a hole through his skull. He clenched his jaw, chewing on his lip as he tried to focus his attention on the map lying before him. If you were going to do what he thought you were going t—

At that exact moment, you opened your mouth, but he spoke before you could.

“No.”

Almost immediately, a whine flew from your lips, and you thrashed your legs in annoyance. “What?! Why not?” You frowned, determination etched into your features. “It’ll be a good experience!”

This time, he actually did sigh, lifting his head to look at you dead on, balancing his quill between his fingers. “For one, it’s not like you’re not going to go into battle, anyway.”

Your frown deepened, a line forming between your brows as you shot him a longing look. “That doesn’t mean you still can’t teach me how to spar.”

He pursed his lips, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. “There’s no need to.”

For a few seconds, you simply stared at one another, your eyes swimming with resolve as he grimaced. Then your face lit up, and you shot your arm into the air, making him jump.

“Self-defence!” you shouted, your entire body practically glowing with hope. “If you teach me how to spar, then I could use it for self-defence purposes.” Before he could open his mouth to retort, you cut him off with a cold look. “Clay, you can’t tell me that there’s no chance that I won’t ever have to defend myself—you just can’t.”

Clay blinked at you, glowering. You weren’t wrong, per se. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, but there was still a very real possibility that at any point, you could be in danger, regardless of whether or not you were on the battlefield. It wasn’t that he didn’t think you were capable of keeping yourself safe, but teaching you how to fight would mean having to admit that there may come a time where he couldn’t be there for you.

The mere thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He stared at you for a long moment, taking in the sight of your pleading face and clenched hands, your eyes desperately searching his. Then, he sighed once more, setting his quill down in its holder. “Fine.”

You let out a delighted squeal, springing to your feet before bounding over to his desk. Bending over, you pressed a quick peck to his cheek. His heart skipped a loving beat in his chest, and his cheeks flushed pink.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Clay!” you cried, flashing him a bright grin as you pulled back. Your eyes curved into crescent moons as you giggled with glee. “You won’t regret this, I promise!”

He rested his head on his hand as he watched you cheer to yourself, pumping your air in a successful dance. A small smile flitted across his face, his emerald eyes crinkling at the corners as his map lay forgotten on the desk.

Oh, who was he kidding? You were far too cute to say no to, even if he wanted to.

“So, what’s first?”

He hummed, tucking a hand under his chin. Above you, the midday sun beat down on you both, the clouds watching with eager eyes as Clay paced around the clearing.

He was lucky to have found a spot within the forest that was both open and had plenty of soft grass. This way, you’d have a proper spot to practice while also having some semblance of cushioning beneath you in case you fell. As much as he wanted to simulate a real fight scenario for you, he didn’t want you to actually get injured. He could hardly manage to keep his cool when you got a simple scrape on your finger—there was no way he’d remain calm if you got hurt in a fight, practice or not.

His steps suddenly came to a halt, and he turned on his heel to look at you with a thoughtful glance. “Before we even properly start practicing,” he began, raising two fingers, “there are two things you should know and remember.”

Your eyebrows knit together as you let out a small whine, your shoulders sinking at your side. “Aw, is this a lecture?” You frowned. “I just want to skip to the fun part, already.”

Clay rolled his eyes as shook his head, but you didn’t miss the tiny smile on his lips as he wagged his fingers at you. “Ah, ah, ah. I’m the teacher here, so you better pay attention.”

You shot him a sour look, then quietly grumbled, “Well, you’re not a very fun teacher.”

He scowled at that, placing a hand on his hip. “We’re getting there!” His gaze softened, and his tone grew gentle as he offered, “Let’s just do this first, okay? I promise I’ll keep it short, and you will get to try a real spar, today.”

Your frown was slowly replaced by a smile, and you sent him a keen look, shifting forward onto your toes. “Okay.”

He grinned, taking a few steps back from you until he was standing on the opposite side of the clearing. “Good. First,” he said, pointing his two fingers at his eyes then to yours, “never take your eyes off your enemy.” He cocked his head as he lowered his arm. “It may seem obvious to you, but you’d be surprised by how often people forget in the heat of the moment.”

Your gaze was serious when you nodded, and he was almost taken aback by how quickly your demeanour had changed. “I can do that.”

He blinked for a second, then sent you another encouraging smile. “Perfect. Second,” he carried on, pointing downward, “remember that your feet exist.”

“Okay—wait.” You froze, your eyebrows furrowing together as confusion flickered across your face. “What?”

He chuckled at your confused expression, dropping his arm. “I know it sounds dumb, but it’s true! You see,” he explained, tapping a finger against his temple, “the human brain is kind of dumb, and a lot of the time when it comes to fights, a person’s first instinct is to focus on their enemy’s hands and immobilize them.” He raised his hand toward you, curling it into a tight fist. “After all, they are pretty effective weapons. But your feet can be just as, if not more, powerful.” His gaze darted back to yours. “Do you follow?”

Slowly, you nodded, your eyes staring directly at his knuckles. “In the same way,” he continued, “it’s also good to remember that your elbows and knees are two of the strongest parts of your body.” He raised one hand, the other reaching over to tap his elbow. “Don’t be afraid to use them, because they can be especially useful.”

Your lips parted as you bobbed your head. He could practically see the gears churning in your head, and he almost wanted to coo at how focused you looked. “Feet, elbows, knees,” your murmured quietly to yourself, huffing. “Got it.”

He dropped his arm, his lips quirking. “Awesome.” He turned slightly to the side, shifting his weight onto his back foot. “Now that the so-called boring part is done, do you just want to give it a first go and try a practice fight? First person to knock the other person over wins.”

Your eyes lit up, and for a split second, Clay could have sworn he saw something dark flicker through your gaze. But it was gone as soon as it had appeared, and he was soon blinded by your dazzling grin. “Sure!”

His expression mirrored yours as he brought his arms up in front of him, his hands forming fists. In front of him, your eyes quickly scanned him up and down, and you slowly moved to copy his stance. He felt a tinge of satisfaction shoot through him. You were a fast learner.

“I’m ready when you are,” he called, cracking his neck with a grunt.

Your eyes narrowed, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, and for a moment, all was still.

Then, in a flash, you were charging toward him, stopping only just in front of him to throw your fist at his skull. He smiled at your earnest effort, quickly twisting to the side. You nearly toppled forward when your fist met empty air, and he reveled in your widening eyes. A split second later, you leapt back, swinging your left leg up and into his side. But just before your shin made impact with his hoodie, he lifted his arm, his hand quickly latching onto your ankle and holding it in place.

“Ooh, nice try, sweetheart,” he hummed, shooting you a crooked grin. He drank in the shocked look on your face as his expression grew a fraction darker and his grip on your ankle tightened.

“But not nice enough.”

He swiftly threw down your foot, watching as you stumbled back at the force. You didn’t get the chance to regain your balance before he was suddenly looming beside you, his fist flying toward your nose. With a yelp, you ducked, your arm shooting above your head to grab his arm in midair. He blinked as your fingers dug into his sweater, curling tightly into the fabric. Then, a devious grin crept onto his face.

As much as you may try, he had the upper hand when it came to brute strength.

But to his shock, he felt something sharp and hard slam into his gut, knocking the air straight out of his lungs. He quickly back-pedaled, but your hold on his sleeve didn’t let up. He only barely caught a glimpse of your kneecap before you stepped behind him, twisting his arm around and pinning it to his back. Just then, he felt something brush against his ankle.

No way.

In the blink of an eye, his legs were flying out beneath him, and he was flipping into the air. With a thud, he slammed into the ground, a dull ache shooting through his back as the grass cushioned his fall. Before he could even react, you quickly placed your foot on his chest, keeping him thoroughly pinned down.

His eyes were the size of saucers as he took in your half-shaking figure, your eyes trained on his fallen form. You panted above him, your fists slowly uncurling. “Was—was that good?”

Clay gaped at you, his head spinning with what you’d just done. You had just knocked him, a trained soldier and practiced assassin, flat on his back with practically no instructions whatsoever. He had only given you two—well, two and a half—simple tips before putting you on the spot, and you still managed to take him down.

There was no sugarcoating it—you were a prodigy.

If he wasn’t in love with you before, then he definitely was, now.

Pride swelled in his chest as he closed his mouth, swallowing. He stared at you for a moment longer before shaking his head free from his reverie. He couldn’t wait to teach you more.

“[Y/N],” he breathed, his lips stretching into an awed grin, “you’re amazing.”

You blinked, pointing to yourself in surprise. “I-I am?”

He nodded without even an ounce hesitation, his grin growing even wider. “Very.” With a small grunt, he pushed himself back onto his feet, dusting off his behind before turning back to you. “Now,” he said, “do it again.” His eyes glinted with something akin to mischief. “I won’t go easy on you this time.”

You tilted your head at him as a devilish smile of your own tugged at your lips. “In that case, neither will I.”

He raised a brow at you, but he couldn’t stop the affection bubbling up in between his lungs. He felt his heart beat faster as you settled into a fighting stance, your arms raised in front of you. “That’s the spirit.”

Your eyes locked onto each other, and for a moment, all was still.

Then, you came barreling towards him, your eyes glimmering in the sunlight. His lips curled into a smirk as he raised his foot.

Perhaps teaching you to fight wasn’t too bad of an idea, after all.

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your-highnessmarvel · 3 years

Text

From Bleak to Bright Part Six

All other parts on on my masterlist, link provided below.

AN: damn okay wow i REALLY loved writing this part ommggggg

Warnings: angst, language

Enjoyed this and want more? Send in your requests!

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MASTERLIST

PART SIX

You went to bed late, tossing and turning, replaying Loki’s words in your mind like a mantra. He couldn’t eat too. He suffered just as bad as you did. You fell asleep somewhere around two in the morning, clutching your sheets. The dreams took you back to him, momentarily dropping you in a reality you knew could never exist when you woke up.

The sky was a deep purple - like a bruise - when you woke up. You lay there, staring at the ceiling. You knew sometime during the day Steve and Nat and probably Bruce would listen to the call from Loki last night. You groaned just at the thought, sighing under the covers.

You got up and showered, mentally preparing yourself for the day. When you got out, there was a missed call from an unknown number. You entered the contact as Idiot, then opened up the messages to text him. You weren’t sure if Loki had bought a burner or a full phone, but you tried anyway.

Stop calling me.

You didn’t wait for an answer. You got dressed in a green hoodie and black jeans, pulling your hair into a ponytail.

Your phone dinged.

Do you prefer we talk here?

Oh so Loki had an iPhone. Texting in blue texts and all.

You debated answering, wondering if it would just spur his insanity. You left your phone in your room, deciding that it would only be a distraction.

You went down to the kitchen, eating breakfast alone, enjoying some peace before the storm.

And here it came.

Bruce came barreling through the dining room, eyes round, wide, fear written clear on his features.

“Loki called you last night!?”he exclaimed, leaning over hands on the table.

That was quick. “The line’s tapped,” you answered, fighting a blush, gulping down the last of your cereal. “And he didn’t say anything about where he was or whatever.”

Bruce sighed, hanging his head. “Did you do what Nat and Steve trained you for?”

You shrugged. “He saw me coming.”

“That was to be expected.”

You struggled with the lump in your throat, fighting the want to go to Bruce and wrap your hands around his shoulders. Tell him everything would be fine. That Loki would never get you.

But you weren’t so sure about that.

Instead, you sighed, playing with the last Cheerio floating in the milk. “Bruce,” you began, biting the inside of your cheek. “How - how am I going to do this?”

He looked at you, all that older brother worry written clear on his face. “It’ll be fine,” he said, covering his hand with yours. “We’ll all be there to back you up. He won’t hurt you.”

It came out all in a rush. “But that’s not what I mean. What am I going to do about the fact that he’s my fucking soulmate?” You heaved, fighting tears brimming in your eyes.

Bruce stood there silently, then took a seat, dusting off imaginary dust from his dark blue t-shirt. “Y/N,” he started, voice low, serious. “The soulmate bond is... the research proves that it’s mostly based off the animal instinct to provide better genes to your progeniture.”

You frowned. “Ew.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s what the science says,” he chuckled, trying to hide the reddening of his cheeks. “And I know that there are stories out there about people finding their mates and it all goes well, but sometimes, it doesn’t. Nature gave you the most perfect match for yourself, but evolutionarily based, it’s all about babies.”

“Oh my God, Bruce, stop being so gross.” You played with your cereal, fighting your blush. You didn’t want to imagine yourself making babies with Loki because then, that’d be all you thought about. You didn’t want to go there.

“My point is, little sis,” he continued, tone soft. “You don’t have to fall in love with him. You don’t have to do anything. Trust me. You can get over the bond.”

Nat had told you that you simply got used to the emptiness. Wouldn’t that make you... miserable?

There was a burning in your chest, spreading slowly like melting butter down your limbs. It was longing.

Bruce got up without a word and left you to your one-Cheerio bowl and coffee. You stared out the window, at the greying sky, the rising sun, the freedom of the world beyond the trappings of the Avenger’s compound.

Nothing kept you, really, from leaving. There was no law keeping you here. You could actually walk out and find Loki. You weren’t the criminal.

He was. He was a war criminal. A psychopath. A mass murderer. You could leave here, go find him, tell him you’d stay by his side, but at what cost? Losing your family? Your friends? A normal life? It’s not like Loki would play the good boyfriend and bring you coffee at work. He’d burn the place down for a stupid reason like they didn’t give you enough vacation days.

All this thinking had you boiling at barely nine in the morning.

And the one person you wanted right now was Loki.

You cleaned up your dishes methodically, then rushed back upstairs to your room. The sun was now out and shining through your windows, and you used the light to gather a few items into a bag. There was no one in the hallway, which gave you all the peace you needed. Most of the Avengers were out dealing with whatever Loki had unleashed on the city, and the other half, like Nat and Bruce, were downstairs in the computer lab.

You grabbed a baseball cap and loosed out your ponytail. You grabbed your phone. Heart pounding, knowing you must have less than fifteen minutes before you were found, you sent a quick text.

Number. Now.

It took a few seconds until a reply came in. It was a phone number. You quickly scribbled it on the back of your hand, deleted the messages - even though you knew it was futile - and left the phone on the bed.

Something wild was stirring in your chest, something akin to adrenaline. Your blood roared as you leaped out of your room, quietly down the hall, down the stairs, hands trembling as you exited the front door.

If only Nat and Bruce were here, it could give you a head start.

You slid into the garage through the side door and took the keys to the Jeep. It was a thirty minute ride to the city, and you were not about to take the Maserati.

You slid into the Jeep, breathing erratic, and threw your bag into the passenger seat. The second the garage doors were open, you sped out.

The Jeep wasn’t the most fast car, but it took you the edge of the property in a matter of seconds. You’d never driven like that before; wild and fast, but you had to get away as fast as possible. The country turned into the suburbs, blurring by you, but you only had eyes for the distant, gleaming horizon of New York city.

You kept looking in the rearview mirror, but no one was tailing. A frantic tremble had begun in your fingers, urging you to press just a little more on the gas pedal.

When the city began to manifest itself, molding out from the horizon, you ditched the Jeep by the side of the road. You left it visible enough and grabbed your bag, hitching it on your shoulders. Leaving off at a small jog, you left behind not only the Jeep but also the life you could have had if you’d never met Loki.

There was a tenacious voice reminding you that Bruce would suffer from this.

But the pull in your belly, deep within your chest, was calling you elsewhere.

You made it through the back streets of the city, slowing your pace to a walk. By now, Nat and Bruce would have noticed you gone. They would have seen the message you’d sent to Loki and his response. Maybe they’d try contacting that number, but you knew for a fact, Bruce would be in a car on his way here. The Jeep definitely had a tracker.

You went into a Deli Meats, catching your breath in the doorway, your heart hammering vehemently in your chest.

You asked to borrow the phone and they had a fucking honors system so you bought a sandwich and dumped it in your bag. No appetite.

The phone only rang once before he answered.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in New York,” you answered, breathlessly.

“Have you been running?”

“Obviously.”

There was rustling on the other side of the phone. “They know you’ve left,” he said. “They’ve tried tracking this number.”

“And did they succeed?” you asked, heart in your throat.

“No.” He inhaled sharply. “I want to trust you, y/n,” he mumbled.

“Then come and get me,” you replied, your mouth dry, your heart hammering. “I’ll meet you wherever.”

He laughed, more like a hum than a chuckle. “Okay.”

He gave you an address on the other side of town, and told you not to call a taxi or an uber. He said if you made it there on foot, without any intervention by either the Avengers or your brother, he’d know they hadn’t found you. Or that you weren’t being followed. He had eyes everywhere.

You thanked the clerk and left in a hurry, mentally replaying Loki’s instructions on the directions. Just the sound of his voice had been a relief, like taking a long, deep breath after being under water for so long.

Something sharp had lifted from your ribs, where there’d been an imaginary knife twisting.

The day had warmed, the city had awakened, and there was no way to identify you within the crowds moving steadily. You kept your eyes to the ground, the cap low on your brow, your hair around your face.

The address Loki had given you was a subway’s sandwich, squeezed between a Moroccan restaurant and a hair salon. You frowned. Was this the right address? It was closed, the sign hanging in the door, the lights off in the store.

You pulled on the door slightly, and it opened, your heart leaping as a wind of fresh air swept against your hot cheeks.

Stepping inside, the eerie silence greeted you. No one was there. Only silence and the dark store. A fridge where they kept the cold drinks hummed, the blue light beckoning. You went to it, ripping it open wildly and grabbing a water bottle. As you chugged it, you pulled a rolled dollar from your pocket and put it on the register.

“No need for that.”

You jumped, spilling water all over your green hoodie. With a curse, you set the bottle on the counter and grabbed for the napkins.

“I’ve got it.”

He was close now, and you could smell pinewood, your senses invaded by him. You looked up. He smiled, his lips pulling gently at the corners. Your heart was hammering wildly, but you swallowed, looking down at him as he looked down at you. He wore the same all-black ensemble as two weeks ago, his short raven locks pulled neatly behind his ears.

He was a specimen.

His hands, which you swore were previously empty, came up with a green t-shirt. “More fit for the current weather,” he said with a quirk of his brow.

You licked your lips, carefully reaching for the garment, fingers grazing his. A short shock slithered through your arm.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, feeling heat crawl into your cheeks.

You motioned for him to turn around, and with a roll of his eyes, he did. You quickly changed, discarding your hoodie in the trash. Once you were done, he turned and took one good look at you.

“Wow,” he said, making your heart sputter back to life.

“So, what now?” you asked, both to dispel Loki’s current fixation and to actually know what was the plan.

He straightened. “I have to get you out of the city.”

“Okay,” you breathed. “Where?”

But he didn’t have time to answer. Something came crashing through the front windows, loudly, sending a million little shards of glass flying. As quick as lightening, Loki came rushing to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, shielding you from the tiny little projectiles.

You felt the heat of him, the pressure of his arms, his front against yours, your cheek against his chest. You smelled him everywhere. You sensed him on every inch of yourself. He invaded your senses, and for a brief instant, that nagging pull in your belly ceased.

And as quickly as he came, he vanished. When you opened your eyes, fingers trembling, the smell of him clinging to you, he had changed his attire. The illusion previously placed on him, the one of the elegant man dressed in all black, had made way for the God.

Long, golden horned-helmet on his head. The same green and gold breast plate, the black trousers. And in his hand, a golden staff, the tip gleaming menacingly, a blue light hovering within it’s extremity.

Standing before you both, on the glittering pieces of the broken window, was Thor and Tony. The former stood in the light of day, his hammer raised, light gleaming off of it threateningly. Tony stood, arm erect, suit gleaming red in the mid-morning sun.

“Nice work, kiddo,” he said, the helmet coming undone, revealing his face; stricken with fear and concentration.

Loki turned a glare on you, eyes dark, and your insides burned. Tony was making it look like you had a hand in this. That you’d betrayed Loki.

You opened your mouth to say something, but Loki took one step towards you and grabbed your wrist.

Thor roared something like, “Loki no!” But Loki was faster. Quicker than Tony’s blast you heard charging, quicker than Thor’s hammer. In a flash, the tip of Loki’s staff glowed a clear, crystal blue, and your entire world vanished to black.

SO, WHO’S EXCITED FOR PART SEVEN???

tags: @subtlemalice @yallgotkik @buckyandlokirunmylife @kaz11283 @legolas-bromance @shylittlemountain @tofeartheunknown @feelmyfckngsoul @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @caffiend-queen @tomhollandsslilslut @lady-loki-ren @nathan-no @rosaline-black @abundanceofcarolines @my-own-oracle @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @marvelouslovely @drbaureid @bored-as-hell-666 @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @theinfinitenerd @toe-vind-ek-jou @ink-and-starlight @blank-bakabane @sunshineonloki @holaamishamigos @palegoopbearlight @heyarely16 @pleaseexecuteme

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki fic #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki imagine #imagine loki #loki oneshot #soulmate au #lokixyn #loki x yn #loki x you #lokixyou #lokixreader #loki x reader #angst

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poguesofthebau · 3 years

Text

paranoia

summary: meeting dylan einstein, a genius forensic scientist from indianapolis, musters up some unknown insecurities about your relationship with reid. however, morgan-- and reid, once he figures it out-- isn’t willing to let you think that way. warnings: mentions of bombings (as pertaining to the case)

word count: 3k pairing: spencer reid x female!bau!reader

a/n: set in season 10, episode 14, this one was requested by @koc-help! as per usual, it took me forever to write, so i hope you can forgive me for that and enjoy what i came up with!!

bombing cases were stressful. it always seemed harder for you; figuring out a motive, pushing down the overwhelming sympathy for the victims, convincing yourself that all of your team members were safe. because of your unshakable paranoia in the wake of those cases, you were already on edge by the time the team was boarding the jet to indianapolis. and, of course, spencer caught on to the way you were feeling almost immediately.

with the limited information the team had at that point, conversation about the case was reasonably brief. the file was reviewed and discussed, and hotch delegated a role for everyone to take when the jet landed. when the conversation came to a lull, you slid out of your seat, tossing the manilla folder onto the leather before moving to the back of the jet to make a cup of coffee. jj and derek’s voices were audible as they continued to spitball off of each other, masking the sound of spencer approaching where you stood. “hey,” he called to you as he neared. having been enveloped in the chatter your other friends were creating, you jumped at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice. when you looked up at him, his eyebrows were raised in concern at your reaction, immediately making you recoil into yourself. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you breathed, pulling the coffee pot out of its place to pour the liquid into your empty cup. “i’m fine.”

“that’s not very convincing, you know.” you turned to face him then, sighing and internally shaking the dread away. “what is it?”

“i’m not a huge fan of bombings,” you said sarcastically. spencer scoffed a laugh at that, reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear as you continued with a bit more seriousness. “just a little worried. it’s nothing, spence.”

“i’m not used to seeing you worried in this way. are you sure you’re okay? i mean, do you want to talk about it?”

the soft-spoken concern in spencer’s tone along with the expression he was looking at you with warmed your heart. if there was one thing that could take your mind off of a murderous bomber, it was spencer. your eyes flickered over to the rest of the team, making sure no one was paying any attention to you and your boyfriend huddled up in the back of the jet, before you leaned up and pressed your mouth to spencer’s. the kiss was quick, but it was also just the reassurance that you both needed. “i promise, i’ll tell you if i need to talk. for now, i just want to get this son of a bitch and go back home.”

being present for the disarming of the second bomb only worsened your initial paranoia. the thought of an explosive device made you anxious enough; having to stand your ground and comfort an intended victim while a bomb was armed less than a foot from you was a whole new feeling. you trusted morgan to clip a wire without killing you, but the adrenaline in the heat of the moment was hard to shake. it had been a few hours since the scene had unfolded, but you still felt like your heart could possibly jump out of your chest at any moment the morning after the disarming. despite the underlying terror running through your veins, you were critically analyzing everything going on around you. your focus was completely dedicated to the case unfolding around you, because the sooner you cracked it, the sooner your thinly veiled fear would dissipate.

you were digging around in the bed of the pickup truck while einstein, the local forensic scientist, examined the bomb itself. out of your peripherals you saw reid and morgan approaching, but the bulk of your energy was going into analyzing the scene as best you could. your boyfriend’s eyes lingered on you for a few seconds as he neared, immediately gauging the nerves you were trying so hard to conceal. reid made a mental note to address that as soon as he could get you alone, but fought the urge to do so right then. spencer knew you well enough to know that, no matter how freaked out you currently were, your mind was concentrating on the scene before you, and anything else would simply be considered a distraction. he swallowed down the lump in his throat that formed at the thought of not being able to help you before tuning in to the comment einstein began to make. “he really went for a bigger boom this time.”

the short conversation that ensued between the two following that comment was something that shouldn’t have bothered you. you knew it meant nothing; reid wasn’t the only genius in the world who memorized excerpts from anarchy cookbooks or mathematical theories. just because some young, brilliant, beautiful girl knew the same book as spencer didn’t mean you had anything to worry about.

nonetheless, you became very worried about it.

you strolled around to the passenger side of the truck, sliding into the empty seat with a quizzical look on your face. “you know, it’s a wonder that he even realized he triggered the bomb.”

opening the driver’s side door as he spoke, reid slid into the truck next to you. “maybe he heard something when he stepped on the pedal.”

“and knew not to move? i mean, what’s this guy got, an ex-paramilitary background we don’t know about?”

the back and forth continued a few more times, and within a minute you and reid had developed the idea that allen archer, the bomb’s target, could potentially be your unsub. upon this conclusion, einstein spoke up again. “that’s what you guys do. you just talk a lot.” her voice was joking as the words left her lips, and a bright smile graced her face as she spoke. regardless of the playful tone you immediately identified, the words triggered something in you.

“well, there’s also a lot of kicking down doors involved,” morgan interjected from outside the passenger door, shaking you out of your internally-mortified state. you watched as einstein announced her departure then, mustering up a measly close-lipped smile in return to the courteous and friendly glance she offered you before leaving.

as she walked away, her words repeated in your mind. it was so simple for her to summarize; you just talk a lot. a woman so young and so intelligent had just condensed your entire career into a five-word sentence so simple that you couldn’t even disagree. was that truly all you were capable of? talking? bouncing ideas off of your coworkers’ ideas and hoping you’d end up catching the killer that way?

you spent the rest of the day arguing with yourself. in all honesty, your own inner monologue was starting to get on your nerves. despite your most sincere attempts to focus on the case in front of you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that einstein was right. and maybe she was-- maybe your job was nothing compared to hers, and maybe she was a better match for spencer than you could ever dream of being.

this new uncertainty of your career and relationship definitely didn’t help to settle your previously established fear of being blown up at any given moment.

given the circumstances, it was only a matter of time until someone on your team noticed how uneasy you were steadily growing. they knew you. you were y/n-- sometimes stubborn, oftentimes overprotective, and always capable. sure, you had off days at work, just like everyone else. you weren’t always the one to solve the case, but you were always present and attentive, engaged in the investigation with your mind and body. however, right now, your mind was in two places at once. for that reason, you weren’t surprised in the slightest when morgan approached you at the station.

as you walked toward the conference room to find hotch, you were stopped by the familiar voice calling out. “hey, hold on little lady.”

“what’s up, morgan?”

morgan shook his head at that, a knowing look crossing his features as he began to speak. “nuh-uh. what up with you, y/l/n?” you threw him a falsely quizzical look, trying (and failing) to get him off your back by playing dumb. sadly for you, morgan was too good of a profiler and friend to fall for it. “don’t play with me, girl. i know cases like this always get to you a little, but i also know how badass you are. normally you would’ve bounced back from our brush with death by now, so what’s the problem?”

you squinted at him as your face morphed into dismay. of course you couldn’t fool morgan. your mind flickered to penelope, suddenly relating to one of her more commonly made complaints: damn profilers. “my first problem is that you might know me a little too well.” derek scoffed at that, waiting for you to continue. “my second problem? well, my second problem might be that i’m not smart enough, or maybe that spencer is too good for me, or maybe that our job is too easy, or maybe--”

“woah, woah, woah. slow your roll, little missy. ‘spencer is too good for me?’ where’s that coming from?” you blinked slowly in response, not quite willing to give up any more information than you already had. “fine-- i’ll figure it out myself. let’s see: you’ve been acting weird since we got this case, but that’s not what this is about. i’ve seen you on bombing cases before, and this ain’t that. so... oh, i know. is this about a forensic scientist, maybe? maybe one who has the same name as a very smart, very famous--”

“okay, morgan. i get it. you’re a great profiler, and you know my thoughts better than i do. that doesn’t really change the way i’m feeling right now.” your tone was a little sharp, but the look in your eyes was a mixture of sadness and contempt. “and, in case you needed me to put it simply, i’m feeling like shit.”

a look of pity overtook morgan for a moment. he knew what you were going through. sure, he wasn’t dating a genius with an iq of 187, but he knew how it felt to doubt yourself, and especially how it felt to feel belittled for your work. “y/n,” he said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching a little to get on eye-level with you. “don’t do that to yourself, kid. don’t forget how hard what we do is, and how important it is. you save lives every day. no matter how you do it, or how much brainpower it takes, there are people all around this world who are alive because of your work. whether they admit it or not, everyone has respect for that. especially our resident pretty boy.”

“i know, morgan,” you sighed. his hands slid from your shoulders as you finally gave in, looking him straight in the eye as you spoke. “sometimes it just feels like he deserves better.”

“just because it feels that way doesn’t mean it’s true. and i can promise you, reid has never felt that way. not about you.” after giving a comforting pat on the arm to go along with his final words, morgan was walking away.

damn profilers, you thought again. why are we always right?

before you got the chance to speak with reid, the team was off again. instead of splitting up this time, you were simply spreading out; hotch and rossi were scouring the crowd of civilians and news crews at the staged ceremony for allen archer, and the rest of you were divided into two suvs with morgan and kate in one and you, jj, and spencer in the other. your talk with morgan had lifted your spirits a bit, but there was still a tightness in the air as you sat beside your seemingly clueless boyfriend.

unbeknownst to you, spencer wasn’t all that clueless. not only had he caught on to your behavior long before anyone else on the team, but he’d also spotted you and morgan’s secretive moment from across the police station. (and, yes, morgan may have whispered “check on your girl” to spencer when you weren’t paying attention. he just wanted to help.) so, while you thought he was in the dark about your current insecurities, reid was very much aware of what was going on in your head. as much as he hated it, though, he was hesitant to acknowledge it with jj in the backseat and the rest of the team on comms. so, like the considerate boyfriend he was, he waited.

it wasn’t until you got back to the police station that spencer got the chance to catch you alone. everyone else was busy preparing to leave for the jet, the bustle of having solved yet another case causing an uplifting distraction for the team. while your friends were distracted, spencer grabbed you by the hand and pulled you into a nearby empty conference room. the surprise on your face was evident when he looked at you, and he couldn’t help but smile. you laughed nervously at his expression, not completely sure what he had taken you aside for. “hi, spence. you okay?”

“i was actually going to ask you the same thing,” he admitted. “except, i already asked you that once during this case, and you weren’t very willing to share, so i was going to approach it in a more insistent way.” although you were amused by this mysterious behavior of his, you were still confused about what exactly spencer was implying that he knew. “did you really think i wouldn’t notice that you were upset?”

“no,” you said unconvincingly.

“y/n, why won’t you just talk to me?” the desperation in his voice almost shattered your heart. the whole time that you’d been in your own head, spencer had been in his. all because you were scared to talk to the one person you trusted more than anyone in the world.

“i’m sorry,” you breathed, taking a step toward him. spencer’s right hand slid around your waist once you got close enough, and your forehead dropped onto his chest as you sighed. when you looked back up to him, spencer was already anticipating eye contact. “i’m sorry i didn’t say anything. i just didn’t want to worry you, or to make you feel like you’d done anything wrong, because it’s not your fault, i just-- i don’t ever want to feel like i’m holding you back.”

“holding me back from what? you could never hold me back.”

“i could, though! you’re this amazingly brilliant genius, and there are so many people out there who are so much smarter than me, and i--”

“is that what this is about? you think you’re not smart?” you felt his hand tense from its place on your lower back, his disbelief clear in his voice.

“no, no-- i mean, i know i’m smart enough. but sometimes when we have cases like this we meet some really, really smart people, and i can’t help but wonder if you would be better off with someone on your intellectual level. someone like einstein.”

“y/n,” spencer seemed stunned at this revelation, and you realized then that morgan had been right. the idea of you not being enough had never crossed spencer’s mind. “you are the person that i’m better off with. you. i don’t-- i’ve never even thought of anyone else as a possibility since i met you. there isn’t anyone else. i mean, before i knew you, i wasn’t even sure that i believed in love at all. the only reason that i know it’s real now is because of you. i can’t think of any statistics of mathematical theories or scientific discoveries to explain or defend it, but i have always known that there isn’t anything for me aside from you. i mean that. no matter how smart anyone else is, or how cool anyone else is, or how compatible anyone else’s intellect is with mine. i love you, y/n.”

and, just like that, your fears were gone. your inner monologue went silent, and the serenity that spencer’s words brought you washed over your entire body. spencer’s arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer into him. his free hand moved to the side of your face, brushing back your hair as he waited for you to reply. the anticipation on his face sent another rush of absolute love through you, and you quickly closed the gap between you. as your mouth met his, your hands found their way to the sides of his neck, slowly wrapping around until they were laced together behind his head. for what could’ve been an hour, you stood there, melting into spencer as his words of reassurance replaced the chants of uncertainty that had filled your head hours prior. you were forced to pull back from him eventually, but even then your hands remained around his neck and the distance between your faces was minimal as you reopened your eyes. “i love you.”

a knock on the door suddenly interrupted the moment, causing you to release each other as a third party entered the room: morgan. “hey, lovebirds,” he grinned. “nice to see that you’re back to normal. it’s time to head home.” you smiled knowingly at the man, lacing your fingers through reid’s as you followed morgan out of the room. grabbing your belongings on the way out, the three of you headed toward your designated suv, where jj was waiting patiently in the driver’s seat. “so, you finally confessed, huh?”

“of course i did,” you laughed. “no secrets in this relationship.”

“yeah, and i would’ve figured it out eventually anyway.” at spencer’s interjection, it was morgan’s turn to laugh.

“oh, yeah, 187?”

“he is a genius, you know,” you added smugly.

“well, apparently so am i, because i figured it out before he did. oh, and by the way, pretty girl, i told you.” and with that, morgan was jogging off (in a fit of giggles) to the suv, hopping in the passenger seat before you had a chance to jokingly scold him.

damn profilers.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #paranoia

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spiltscribbles · 3 years

Note

Ahh I've always wanted to send a prompt. How about “Whoa. Easy, easy. I’ve got you.” with some sleep intimacy. Can I just say I love you and your writing.

~Notes: 😭😭 OH KY GOD SUGAR!!! You are so beyond adorable! I love you to pieces! And I do not deserve such kindness💜😘😘 So I at first read this as sleek Becs i am an idiot... so honestly this is 4700 words of pure smut😳😌😌 but uts early morning so it’s stilly sleepy intimacy kvdjhj Thank you for the prompt! But if smut isn’t your jam plz lmk and I’ll write you something else😣😣😘💜

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If asked to choose his favorite feature of Remus’s, Sirius reckons he’d have a difficult time with it, like to a ridiculous degree. It could easily be the dimple that shows up right on the apple of his cheek when he sports that glowing, reluctantly amused smile that only appears after Sirius or James have hexed a Slytherin prat right in front of him, and not even his Prefect sensibilities prove strong enough to scold them for it. Or maybe it’s the splatter of freckles that dance on the tops of his shoulders and the bridge of his nose right after summer hols, and he looks gloriously golden and it’s all Sirius can do not to kiss each one right in front of all the wizards congregated in nine and three quarters. Or maybe it’s simply the way he gnaws on his bottom lip whenever he’s thinking particularly hard on a subject— a habit usually reserved for potions lessons and when it’s a late night in the library and they’re both tucked away in a dark nook and Sirius has pushed Remus up against a bookshelf while stroking him in his trousers with intense precision. One corner of his mouth curled in challenge, dipping down to lick at that hollow on Remus’s long neck, tacitly reminding him that he best keep quiet lest Madam Pince has their heads on a couple of stakes she surely keeps beneath her desk for opportunities just like this.

Alright, if Sirius is being at all honest, it’s a frequently alternating list of all of Remus’s most splendid attributes, but at the moment, Sirius thinks there’s no question that in fact it’s Remus’s eyes that can ruin him with just a glance. His eyes that are a deep, vibrant green with flecks of amber that dance in their depths. Eyes that look like September, like the very start of their school term. Eyes that make Sirius think of the forest where Padfoot and Moony roam. Eyes that make Sirius think of fire lit common rooms and the taste of butterscotch on Remus’s lips, and such an overwhelming sensation of adoration that it could very well suffocate him if Sirius isn’t careful. It’s such a contrary color from the crisp and cool shades of emerald that accent the regality of 12 Grimmauld Place. Remus’s eyes are something warm and wonderful and where Sirius would gladly choose to get lost inside of for the next eon to come— Most especially if it’s a moment like this, with one of his hands knotted in Remus’s hair while the other one is busy thumbing small circles into his bare stomach. Where Remus is enthusiastically kissing Sirius back— fervent and famished and so fucking gorgeous— His arms loosely tangled around Sirius’s neck from where he’s lying beneath him, long legs bracketed on either side of Sirius’s narrow waist, and yeah, Sirius has always had three inches and two stone on Remus, but he often forgets that Remus’s lithe stature isn’t just for show— he’s got discrete strength beyond a normal wizard, and he chooses to fall under Sirius. Chooses Sirius who’s all hard edges and marble planes. He chooses Sirius simply on the merit that he’s him, and they’ve always been at least somewhat drawn to one another, even before either one of them really knew what it meant.

Sirius inwardly preens, presses more forcefully down against Remus and revels in the slight whimper Remus lets out just then, hands grappling Sirius’s broad shoulders just that bit tighter, keeping him close just that bit more desperately.

It’s remarkable.

The dormitory’s blessedly quiet this Saturday morning— James is off being a ponce on the quidditch field in preparations for their match against Slytherin in a couple weeks— the final one before they graduate and leave Hogwarts’ hallowed halls for the final time— And Peter had kindly buggered off after some not particularly well veiled threats waged by Sirius so he could get some alone time with his sodding boyfriend for Merlin’s sake. They have all morning to stay like this. Sirius can spend hours on end watching as the early light unspools in Remus’s hair— lacing into his curls and turning them a lovely tawny color— and he gets to revel in how Remus’s breath quickens every time Sirius bucks down and rubs their barely clad, already hard cocks against one another. And Sirius can whisper sweet nothings into Remus’s still sleep supple skin— sometimes filthy, and occasionally wicked, and always exultant— letting himself drown into the sounds that Remus moans out in turn, poetry if anyone were to ask him. And they don’t have to worry about nosey roommates or trying to keep quiet or staying inconspicuous from prying eyes that threaten to snatch this snapshot of bliss away from him.

If Sirius could stay in the slice of eternity for the rest of their days and beyond, he’d choose it every single time. And maybe that could be their future, their life after Hogwarts— far away from this looming war beginning to ravage their world as they know it, and divorced from the whispers of the Order that Dumbledore has created to fight against those barmy, blood crazed lunatics.

A future that’s normal and safe and glittering like the silvery film around their patronuses.

Remus would probably get a Muggle job, maybe in a University of some sort. Sirius always thought he’d make such a brilliant professor, make all the school kids mad with how he’s so brilliant and beautiful and compassionate. Sirius and James already know that they’ll both end up in the Ministry as Aurors, because of course that’s the job for a couple of dashing young lads such as themselves. He supposes by then Evans will have been convinced to stop the on again, off again nature of her relationship with dear Prongsie, but he knows that even if not she and Remus are as thick s thieves, she’ll never just let him get away from her friendship after graduation. So maybe she’ll come visit in their flat after her internship at St Mungo’s, and of course Pete is always terrified that if he doesn’t spend every waking minute with at least one of them that he’ll be forgotten, so he’d be there too. The five of them, bombastic and bright and babbling on a lazy weeknight with glasses of fire-whiskey and plates of take out and Remus perched securely into Sirius’s embrace, and everything being just as it should be. Something golden, something wonderful, something splendid.

But as he begins to nip at that point against Remus’s sharp collarbone that’s become his favorite through the duration of their nearly year and a half of dating, he wonders not for the first time if Remus has the same prospects— if he wants to spend countless mornings just like this and endless nights in a similar way, if he wants to pick up Sirius’s discarded socks and eat the dinners Sirius makes for them, if he wants to tumble so thoroughly with Sirius that they don’t even know where one begins and the other ends anymore. Sirius wonders if he wants any of that, or if Remus is planning to go back to Wales with his parents instead of taking up Sirius’s casually thrown around offers for him to stay in the London flat that Alphard had left Sirius along with the gold and the watch and all the expectations of doing better than the Black name has always meant.

And the possibility of that— the possibility of Remus not dreaming of the same forever as him— cuts Sirius to the quick, and he doesn’t let himself think about it, instead sits up on his forearms, so that he’s peering down at Remus now, and he cups the length of him over the cotton, squeezing to hear the melody of Remus’s gasp and grounds himself into the moment once more.

“You’re in a mood this morning,” Remus intones, more than a bit breathily while Sirius moves his hand to push beneath Remus’s pants from behind, cupping one of his cheeks for a good and proper squeeze.

“Mmm, careful, or else I’d think you don’t like this method of being woken up,” Sirius counters, feels himself preen at how Remus’s face dusts scarlet, though it doesn’t last long when Remus retaliates by tugging at his hair, beyond mulish looking at Sirius’s glee.

“You know, I do have to do some more research on that final paper for charms that Flitwick gave us,” he muses— the unrepentant tease.

“Are you sure of that,” Sirius asks, dipping back down to worry the skin of Remus’s earlobe between his teeth, while the pads of his fingers make a pedal soft trail to the cress of his arse, lighter than breath while he circles the small, tight entrance of him— just grazing around the hole with languid intent, occasionally dragging over the opening with a dry finger, never delving any deeper than that. And it gets it’s intended effect— namely, the balls of Remus’s heels pressing up against Sirius’s back, and him gasping out these guttural, maddening mewls as he tries to buck down, tries to finally get some penetration.

“Merlin, are you going to just tease me till those wankers get back, or will you finally fucking do something, Black.”

“I think I like keeping you on the edge, sweetheart.” Sirius retorts, punctuating the point with a small wiggle of the top of his pointer finger, the one now comfortably nestled inside of him.

“Absolute prat,” Remus fumes, though when he begins to try moving once more, Sirius stunts the action by lying his forearm against hiss lightly muscled stomach, pressing most of his weight there while he gives one final, goading push with his finger and drags his hand to instead rub against the expanse of Remus’s pale, thin thigh, wants to lap at the skin there but also doesn’t want Remus to win this little battle he’s waged— not yet at least.

“Well Maybe if you ask nicely?”

The twist of Remus’s features tells Sirius that he’s absolutely fuming, but also he won’t leave because he’s gagging for it just as much as him. “You’re the dog, if you don’t recall. Maybe I should make you beg to hump even my leg.”

“No need for such a wicked tongue, Moons,” Sirius sneers, hitches Remus’s legs higher on his waistline so that the head of his cock can graze at the concealed hole. “Just a please would suffice.”

Remus scoffs. “You’re mad.”

“I’m also very patient,” Sirius leers, begins thrusting only slightly, nudging at him and delighting in the flicker of emotions that flashes over Remus’s face— going from indignant to wanting to abashed and landing on a cool sort of resolve.

“Oi, if you’re all talk, I’m sure I can poke around in the library, see if Leon is still—“ The rest of Remus’s sentence is swallowed up by the frenzy of movement that clashes inharmoniously from one moment to the next. And suddenly Remus is lying flat on his front, with one of Sirius’s legs pressed unswervingly between his legs, an accioed bottle of lube in one of his hands while the other nearly tears Remus’s pants trying to drag them off.

“You’re such a little arse, Lupin.” He hisses, tossing the garnet to the side along with his own before he begins palming his prick with the Muggle lotion type substance Remus had brought along from after easter hols, when they had visited that brilliant little shop in Soho— and Sirius isn’t sure if he should be proud or simply smug at how it’s already emptied by half.

“You like how little my arse is, Black,” Remus retorts from where his head is now squeezed partially onto his pillow, punctuating the point with a small shake of his bum.

“Right, so that means I’d rather not think of the other plonkers who’ve seen it before I got my hands all over you,” Sirius snaps, not actually irritated— even if he hates the sight of Leon sodding Bennett more than anything else.

“It was just a joke,” Remus tells him, soft and sincere and away from that playful tone he was using from before.

“Yeah, you better have been,” Sirius says, but then dips down to kiss between Remus’s shoulder blades— to the left of where he’s got a hand spread across his back— just to assure him that he’s not actually upset.

“You’re brilliant you know. The best in every way, I hope you understand that,” Remus tells him, a bit quieter and a bit more reserved, in a voice that wavers only slightly with the nerves of the admission. “I’ve only ever been in love with you— And I know that it’s probably not the same, I know that you’ve had others and we’re only eighteen and—“

Sirius cuts him off with one single, quick smack against the width of his arse— an arse he can probably write a thousand sonnets and a million more odes about— and he returns to kneading at the muscle there. “Don’t be an idiot, Remus. You know I love you like mad, more than anything— you’re everything.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s good— Erm, I mean—“ Sirius can only see half of Remus’s face from this angle, and most of it is obscured by his curly fringe, but he can detect the pinkish flush feathering over his sharp cheekbone and the way he’s begun to gnaw on the end of his mouth, eyes half lit and hooded. And God, sometimes Sirius thinks that it’s the blind leading the blind with them as they dance along this precipice of the most precious thing either of them has ever held in their quivering grasps.

“Right convenient if you ask me,” Sirius says instead of something from the stream of soppy poetry he’s thinking about— the love sick lyrics dedicated to Remus and Remus alone. He doesn’t want to potentially fracture this single understanding that they’ve finally revealed to one another. Rather, Sirius scrapes another chunk of the slick, Muggle substance into his hand and cloaks himself completely before taking a bit of it against Remus’s arsehole, his insides melting like molasses once he feels the warmth of Remus cloaking him, the way Remus’s entrance is practically fluttering, practically trying to swallow Sirius whole.

“Oh, yeah— Just a bit more.”

“Shh, let me take care of you, Moony,” Sirius reproves with absolutely no heat, instead sounding more than a little horse as he adds another digit and watches as Remus expands beneath his touch, watches his long fingers being devoured by him— the bronze tan Sirius always sports during the warmer months melding into the pale patches of Remus that rarely sees sunlight— watches their jagged edges piecing together like a sacred tomb, and Sirius knows right then and there that he’d want to be lost in every facet of Remus for every eon to come, even when they’re nothing but cinders and ashes and wisps of starlight. He’d want this, he’d crave this. He’d always need this, need Remus in any way he’d take him.

“Oh— Sirius, please, right there.” Remus suddenly squawks, jolting forwards and grappling for either end of his fourposter’s wooden bars. “Pl— Please.”

Always beyond eager to watch his lover come undone, Sirius adds one final finger before crooking them inside of Remus, skimming the little nest of nerves found there, and repeating the action twice more before he hears Remus’s choked off demand, “Bloody hell, Sirius! Will you just give me what I want!”

“I thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.” Sirius absolutely beams, gingerly pulling out from his gaping and empty entrance so to lather himself one final time, kisses the freckle behind Remus’s left ear as he snakes a hand beneath his stomach to raise him up slightly. “Can you stay like this, baby.”

His arms still slightly shaking from when Sirius had been teasing his prostate, Remus nods resolutely, shuffling around so that he’s resting his chin on his forearms, and his back is arched so beautifully with his pert arse stretched back in an inviting fashion. “You just worry about making this last hour worth my time.”

Sirius sniffs, pats Remus’s behind with a tad bit more intensity than strictly needed. “You and that lip is gonna get the best of you one of these days, Moony.”

“Mmm, I’ll believe it when you actually begin proving as much,” Remus barbs, and God Sirius loves him so fucking much— feels his chest absolutely contract with the ferocity of it.

“Right, well, you just sit there, looking pretty. All right?” Sirius intones, cards a hand through Remus’s hair and tugs just slightly before letting go completely to adjust his position from behind him— both hands on either end of Remus’s waistline and his dick poking at his hole— and God the throbbing is becoming painful with how badly Sirius just wants to plunge inside, to fuck and pound and thrust into Remus until he hears his boyfriend— his partner— absolutely sing with pleasure. “You are beautiful, Remus, you know that, right? Know that I think you’re the most bloody gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen, that the scars just show how otherworldly you are?” Sirius emphasizes that final point by thumbing across the one skirting across the the side of his neck, stretching from the bottom of his ear and ending at the point of his collarbone. It’s the most prominent one, the only scar besides a scratch on his pinky that can’t be covered up by a trusty jumper or pair of corduroys. The one Remus is most sensitive about, and the one he probably hates nearly as much as the bite marring his inner thigh.

“Sirius, please. Just not now,” Remus implores, sounding like a blown out candle all of a sudden, and Sirius can’t have that. Doesn’t want him to feel anything close to shitty while they’re doing this, while he has him this way. So with an obedience he only has if Remus asks him for as much in his more cautious of cadences, Sirius clenches his jaw, and keeps the adoring words stuck to his teeth, and he distracts himself by finally moving forwards, and it’s like a blink of the eye wen suddenly everything around him goes hazy, feeling like a disillusionment charm has been cast with how everything feels intangible, floaty, feels unsubstantial in comparison to the hot, tight pressure of Remus wrapped around him, made all the more etherial by the sounds of Remus’s melodic moans and gorgeous gasps and the way he moves in tandem with Sirius, how he cants back to meet the electrical current of Sirius fucking into him.

And he isn’t sure who says what in the gargle of words being spilt between them, is pretty sure he’s saying something about how beautiful Remus always is for him and then Remus replying with something about Sirius giving more to him, giving him something harder, deeper, quicker, and then, somehow, Sirius has got both of remus’s wrists in his hand and he’s pressing them against the small of Remus’s back, and he’s slowing down, suddenly wants this to last so much longer, wants to keep Remus this pliant and open and uninhibited for him for just that bit more.

“Merlin, I love you,” he says, focussing on the sweat collecting into the divot of Remus’s pinched shoulder blades and leans down to lick over the spot. “So fucking much.”

“Me too, Sirius! Sirius, I love you too! Please don’t stop, please.” Remus begs, canting back and twitching his fingers, obviously needing some sort of friction, though Sirius doesn’t think he’ll give it to him quite yet.

“What if I do though?” He asks, affecting an innocent tone while he slowly pulls out of Remus, pushing inside with shallow thrusts now, giving him hardly more than his tip. “What if I keep you like this, wait to see how long it takes you to come off of this alone, untouched. Just by my cock teasing you like this?” Remus makes another, strangled sort of noise deep in his throat, and he shutters in a way that convinces Sirius he’s not completely opposed to the offer. “You’d like that, yeah? You’d like me holding you down like this and watching you absolutely go feral? Go unraveled beneath me? Hell, I bet you wouldn’t even mind if I kept you like this for the rest of the morning. If I fucked you stupid and didn’t let you come even then. Just plug you up with that naughty toy we got from that Muggle shop when you visited me over Easter in London. Trap my spunk inside and just keep you nice and open until I decide to give it to you once again— drag you to a bathroom stall or an empty cupboard and fuck you senseless. Bloody hell, Remus, you probably wouldn’t even last a minute, hmm?”

Remus stays quiet, doesn’t unclench that taught muscle in his jaw, but his pupils are blown and he’s completely flushed, and Sirius is so thankful he can read the smallest nuances of him, loves knowing how absolutely wrecked just the idea of that has gotten his beautiful Moony, the side of him that no one else could ever see. The side of him hidden by his aloof exterior and measured words when around others. No one else gets to see this hauntingly beautiful, desperate little thing he becomes under Sirius’s hand, how he’s strung to vivid colors by Sirius mumbling such wicked contemplations into the expanse of his warm, golden skin.

“Are you going to answer, love,” he asks, with a lecherous sort of grin, pounding into him with a lack of delicateness from before, only twice, only enough to get Remus writhing again. “Do you not want that?”

Remus squeaks as the top of his head grazes against the headboard from the impact, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut while his thin lips fall open. “I reckon— Erm, I reckon that would be all right. Just to try.”

“My lovely academic, has to give everything a go,” Sirius crows, returns to thrusting measuredly in and out of him, kisses the nape of his neck with soft reverence. “But you know, we wouldn’t have to sneak around like that in only a couple weeks. We’ll be graduated,” he twists his hips slightly and presses down a bit more viciously than the slow paces probably would’ve entailed, and Remus quite literally groans at the feeling of it. “I’ll have that bloody huge flat, and you could be there too. We could spend every morning like this, Moony my love. We could christen every sodding room on the first day alone, and then I’d make you some of that veggie curry you like and you can sit there with an ice pack on your bum after I’m done with you.”

“Oh— Hah, you think you’ve got that sort of stamina,” is all Remus manages out in response, his features going tight with hunger when Sirius retorts with a staccato of uneven thrusts inside of him, stopping only when he feels the release willing up his own body, doesn’t think he’s ready to end this conversation quite yet.

“With you in one of my T-shirts and nothing else?” Sirius asks, watches the way Remus’s toes quite literally curl when he slides inside his used hole once more, shaking Remus slightly with how he moves and thrusts and squeezes his wrists hard enough to bruise. “I bet I could get it up an infinite amount of times! THere will be studies invoked for the phenomena of my cock, Moony. Potions inspired that’d never work, because they could never get it right when I tell them it’s the sight of you waiting for me looking wide eyed and teasing— waiting to be debauched— that’s got me so erect. I’ll be a household name, you watch.”

“You— Oh, oh. Yes like that please Sirius just a little more— Hah, you’re a madman.”

Sirius leers, does as told and grabs forcefully against Remus’s biceps and pounds him flat on the mattress, fucking into him and thrills with all the different noises he’s dragging out of Remus, the way he can’t even form words amidst his groan. “Then you best stay with me, who knows what a madman could do all on his lonesome.”

Just because he’s always been a bit sadistic, Sirius stops his graceless rutting, lies nearly entirely against Remus instead, tugging on the back of his curls so that he’s got a better view of Remus’s gaze. “Wha— Oh, yes, fuck yes you plonker. Of course I want to move in with you, just wanted you to ask properly instead of beating round the bloody bush!”

Sirius feels his brows hike up, absolutely gleeful. “You wanton little slag, you just wanted me to use my manners, eh?”

Remus huffs, looking beyond grouchy. “Yes, yes, and obviously, like the contrary bastard you are, you decide to actually do as much when I’d rather you be beating inside of me., but thus is my fate being stuck in love with such a wanker.”

Sirius can’t help but cackle at the incredibly cross expression Remus has got painted over his features, and he pecks a path down his temple and down to the dip of his shoulder muscles in apology. “You know I’m not one for subtleties, Moony.”

“Humph, well how’s this for subtle. Will you just ruddy fuck me and keep this discussion on the back burner for afterwards?”

Always eager to please his boyfriend, Sirius gently presses him back down on the sheets and rises only enough so to continue the easy rhythm between them, only increased by one of his hands circling Remus’s blazingly scarlet cock, pushing him through the loop of his fingers every time Sirius rocks harshly into him, going speedier and speedier with every choked out plea coming from Remus.

“What about this for a wanker?” He asks snidely, snapping forwards especially roughly, and twisting remus’s prick only slightly in turn, knows how much he enjoys the contrast of that.

“Yes— Yes, yes, yes Sirius! Just keep going, please, love, please. God, I love you. Holy fuck.”

And it’s not another thrust inside before Remus is spilling into Sirius’s palm and the contracted muscle pumps the orgasm out of Sirius himself.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Sirius groans in a voice that’s nearly completely faded, and totally pious, careful to move outside Remus’s overly sensitive hole, and still panting while he absentmindedly grabs for a spare vest. He mutters a labored aguamenti before he brings it to Remus’s behind and begins to dab gently at the skin there, smattered with lube and Sirius’s come and a good amount of wetness from his sweat.

“Oh,” Remus shakes, sucking in a breath and tensing at the sensation of the intrusion.

“Whoa. Easy, easy. I’ve got you,” Sirius assures him gingerly, tossing it to the corner when he’s finished, and can’t help but kiss the small dimples found right against the skin that cups over his arse.

“The, mmm. The house elves, Sirius. They don’t deserve that to deal with.”

Sirius only barely manages to hold back the roll of his eyes at Remus’s tendency not to understand how much those buggers enjoy any and all cleaning. Merlin, leave it too Moony to feel bad about something that someone wants to do for him. “I’ll grab it later, promise. Bin it o whatever.”

Remus only replies with a soft sound of consent, letting himself be gathered into Sirius’s arms properly, his head cradled against Sirius’s chest and Sirius’s arms wrapped around him while he kisses the crown of his tawny curls.

“You want a kip then?” Sirius asks amusedly, feeling his own eyelids beginning to droop.

“Hmm, yeah. That’d be nice. Then we can talk about that hideously orange breakfast table you’ve got in the flat. I bloody well won’t be living in any proximity of that monstrosity, Padfoot.”

Sirius can’t help the laughter that spills out, and he agrees to the conversation but demands that Remus call Winifred by name, lest she gets her feelings hurt.

“Madman,” Remus reiterates, completely fond as he dozes off, and when Sirius feels the breaths falling out of Remus’s lips even out, he thinks that them nestled into one another like this might be the only salvation he ever wants to know, the only sensation he could ever crave— The only sunlit snapshot he ever needs for the rest of his days.

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #siriusxremus #wolfstar fluff #remusxsirius #wolfstar smut #SPILT INK #You are such a sweetheart Nonny #ILU #!!!

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ola-elaina · 4 years

Text

OUT FOR BLOOD

Summary: arvin gets revenge for y/n

Word Count: 1.5k

Warning: murder. implied sexual abuse. angst.

Arvin craned his neck, pulling his cap further down his eyes as he watched Deborah and Dennis, the sextons, lock up the front of the church.

He heaved a deep sigh, coming out of his hiding spot as his eyes trailed their figures walking up to their quarters then landed to the direction leading to the preacher’s room at the back of the building.

His mind was made up. It had to stop. The rumors were not just rumors. The nasty things that the preacher has been doing behind the townspeople’s back were terrorizing. And the townspeople turning a blind eye to it were revolting.

No more victims, Arvin thought to himself. His finger grazing on the cold metal in his hand.

No one else deserves to have the same fate as you did. You did not deserve it. Not you. Not his dearest Y/N.

Anger burned in Arvin’s chest as the image of your horrified eyes staring back at him popped up in his mind. He trudged straight to the back door of the church like a man on a mission.

“No Y/N today?” Mr. O’Connor asked but his eyes on his wife coming out of the backdoor of the bake shop kitchen. He wiped his motor oil-stained hands with a rug as his eyes travelled to Arvin who slid out under the pick-up truck they were working on.

The two of you became close to the old couple after you met them during a drive organized by the church. They also had a bake shop that supplies the town’s bread consumption. Mrs. O’Connor makes the best bread and pastries. You didn’t know anybody in town that hasn't tried her baked goods.

The O’Connors were lovely. Always ready to lend a hand.

You and Arvin would come to the O’Connor’s every weekend. Arvin helps George with his work in the automobile repair shop while you join Teresa bake in the kitchen.

“No.” Arvin replied as he sat up. Mrs. O’Connor reached the two of them, handing them each a cup of water.

“I missed her today.” She remarked. A frown appeared on her face as she attempted to wrap an arm around her husband’s waist. But he moved away, the smile of his face contrasting to his wife’s. He immediately gestured to his stained clothes.

A grin crept up on Arvin’s face as he gazed at the couple in front of him — shifting on the car creeper he was sitting on.

“She volunteered with Lenora and Melissa for general cleaning of the church.”

“Oh, what a sweetheart.” She cooed. “Does that girl ever stop helping?”

“Guess not. It’s what keeps her perpetuating.”

The couple chuckled.

“Her mother ordered some pies. Hand these to her if you don’t mind.” Mrs. O’Connor handed Arvin the box as he stood up.

“‘Course not.”

“And here, for you and your grandmother.” She placed another box on top of the pie.

“You didn’t have to bother.”

She shook her head. “None sense. I heard she felt quite ill these past few days. I hope her favorite pastry would help her feel better.”

Arvin beamed. “Thank you.” He bowed his head in gratitude, letting him catch a glance at his watch.

6:10. It reads.

“I better get going.” Arvin added. “I promised Y/N I’d go by their house at 6.”

“Well, it’s already a little after 6. You better get going.”

Arvin nodded. Gathering his stuff as he readied himself to leave.

“Thanks for the goods Mrs. O’Connor!” He waved them goodbye which the couple returned. “I’ll make sure to bring Y/N next time!”

Ding. Diiiing.

The sound of the doorbell rang in Arvin’s ear as he stood outside your house.

Ding. Diiiing.

He rang again. No answer.

Arvin was about to ring it again when it swung open. Revealing a worried Mrs. L/N, a phone in her hand pressed against her chest.

“Oh, Arvin! It’s you!” She remarked in relief.

“Good afternoon, Y/M/N. Is Y/N there?”

The glee in her face suddenly dropped. “She’s not with you?”

He shook his head ‘no’.

Her brow knitted tight. “I called Deborah, but she said she hasn’t seen Y/N since three hours ago.”

“Hmmm. She told me to meet her here. Maybe she’s at Melissa’s. Don’t worry about it, Y/M/N. I’ll go see.” He wondered. “By the way, Mrs. O’Connor wanted to give these to you.”

“Oh, thank you, Arvin!”

Arvin bobbed his head. “I’ll head to the Hall’s now.”

“Be safe!” She called out.

“Hey, Russell!”

Arvin’s hair was blowing with the wind as he rode his bike on his way to the Hall’s when he heard his name being called.

Travis.

A boy he had shared a number of classes with last year. His hair was a mop of golden-brown hair, freckles littered his cheeks, lanky and stood a few inches over Arvin.

“Hey.” He stopped in front of him. “Did you happen to see Y/N today?”

“Y/N?”

Arvin nodded.

“I saw her pass by an hour ago.” His brows furrowed, trying to recall seeing you. “I called out to her, but she ignored me. Hmm, she probably didn’t hear me. She was walking on the other side of the road.” He pointed, making Arvin look back to its direction.

“But then she was walking really slow. I kept calling her name, but she never turned to me once. She seemed sad, preoccupied.” Travis continued to ramble.

“Was she alone?”

“Uhuh.”

“Did you see where she went?”

“She was heading to the lake's direction.”

“Alright, thanks!” Without thinking twice, Arvin quickly pedaled on his bike leaving Trevor behind.

A sigh of relief left Arvin’s lips when he saw your figure sitting against the oak tree, facing the lake. The sun setting in front of you, it’s orange rays hitting reflecting on your skin.

He smiled, making a beeline towards you.

“Hey, Y/N—“

Arvin’s greeting was cut short when he saw your shoulder shake. Your white dress was sopping, skin almost see through. Your knees were pressed up against your chest, face resting on them as you bawled your eyes out.

As he got closer, your sobs became clearer. Worry stirred in Arvin’s chest, running towards you — he dropped a knee to the ground covered with wilted leaves, beside you.

“Hey... Y/N, what happen—“

You jumped as you felt his hand touch your damp bare arms. You forced it out of his hold which took him aback. When your red-rimmed tear-filled eyes met with his wide ones, you relaxed a bit. Dropping your gaze to the ground.

“Are you... okay?” Arvin took his jacket off and wrapped it around you. He guided your face gently in his hand to look back up at him.

“What’s the matter?” He queried again.

Shame washed over you as the events that unfolded hours ago evoked in your mind. You shook your head furiously Body shivering as you remembered... the preacher.

You felt scared. Helpless. Dirty.

You went to the lake in hopes to take it away. You wanted to wash it off. Submerging yourself in water as you broke down, fingertips rubbing against your skin red — leaving scratches — until it felt numb.

The memory... the feeling... was so vivid in your mind.

He earned your trust. Made you believe you could trust him. Wooed you.

And you fell straight into his trap.

How can you be so stupid?

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

The word echoed in your mind repeatedly. You only cried harder as Arvin took you in his arms.

“I resisted...” You muttered but mostly to yourself, voice coming out little.

“What?” Arvin pulled his head back to look at you, but you buried your head on the crook of his neck.

“I resisted! I resisted, Arvin. I—I—“ You moved away but his hands remained around you securely — still confused as to what you were talking about.

“Calm down, Y/N. Tell me what happened.”

Your hands balled into fists, collecting the front of his shirt. Pulling him closer to you. “I didn’t want it to happen.” Shaking your head violently. “I wanted to stop him! I tried to stop him!” You cried.

“What are you talking about Y/N?”

“...the preacher.” You whispered.

Arvin knocked on a dark wooden door then slid his free hand in his jean pocket while the other went behind his back. A slow shuffling sound was heard from the other side.

His hand shook as his thumb fiddled.

Seconds later, the door opened revealing the preacher. He was wearing a white shirt and black pants; his hair was a mess. Eyelids droopy, showing he was disturbed from his sleep.

A ghost of a smirk flashed on the preacher’s face. Arvin’s hand gripped tighter around the revolver behind his back. Finger itching to pull the trigger.

The preacher rubbed his right eye before saying, “Good evening, Arvin. What can I do for yo—“

But before he could finish his remark, Arvin pulled out the gun from behind his back. Shooting the preacher point blank.

A/N: thanks for reading! for requests, taglists + updated masterlist, check out my pinned post <3

permanent taglist:

@dummiesshort / @ladykxxx08 / @perspectiveparker / @dreamofaprilsblog

#arvin russell #tom holland #arvin russell x reader #arvin russell fic #arvin russell imagine #arvin russell one shot #arvin russell angst #arvin russell x y/n #arvin russell x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland fic #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tdatt #the devil all the time

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hockeyforthefirsttime · 3 years

Text

Speechless- Nolan Patrick

AN: Is the ending literal trash? yes, do i care at this point? also yes, but not enough

Word count: just over 3k

TW: none that I can think of, but let me know if i need to tag something:)

Nolan is definitely bored at the bar. He is out and supposed to be celebrating a win, but third wheeling with Tavis and Karly, simply is not fun. Not that it ever has been, but as he watches them laugh at each other on the dance floor.. well he takes a deep sigh and an even deeper swig of his beer. Some of the team is gathered around the bar ordering another round of drinks, and as he is scanning the crowd a woman walks in front of him, making him look up at her.

And stop dead in his thoughts.

She is wearing jeans that cling to her curves just right, a deep magenta top that seems to wrap around her stomach, before it reveals a little more than he can handle, and he looks up at her and sees the ghost of a smile on her lips. She isn’t looking at him though. She seems to be looking into the crowded dance floor, and Nolan desperately wants to know who she is looking for.

In any other situation like this, he would have swept her off of her feet and wouldn’t have put her down until they’d reach his bed. But her obliviousness to him has knocked him off balance it seems.

“Hey Patty, me and Karly are gonna head home. Want a ride?”

Travis comes up to Nolan, Karly in tow and the mysterious girl moves with a quiet sorry and a fleeting smile. Nolan can feel his eyes drift after her before he meets Travis’ eyes, which are brimming with amusement.

“Nah, I’m good.”

He answers, and Travis bursts out laughing.

“What, so you can sit here and stare like some kind of creep the rest of the night?”

Nolan sees Karly gently shoving on Travis, also having noticed Nolans lingering gaze.

“As opposed to going home in the same car as you two rabbits? No thank you.”

Travis and Karly bid their goodbyes as the rest of the team and their significant others appear back at the table. Nobody seems to take notice of the Nolans distantness though, pinning it down as just his Philly personality. Nobody really sees him staring at this girl dancing in vans and a pink top.

As the song ends he watches her go up to the bar, so in normal Nolan fashion he gets up and heads in that direction. He takes a look down at his watch and in a second, a split fucking second, she is gone.

He’s so fucking tired. The game last night had been decent. They’d won in overtime and Nolan had the assist, yet he keeps going over the chances he had and the chances he missed making in his head. Driving to the rink is dreary but even more so than usual. It’s not until he stops at a red light that he wakes up. He’s supporting his head on his left arm and looking out the passenger seat window. His eyes widen when he sees who is in the beaten up truck next to him.

The girl from the bar three weeks ago. She has her hair down her shoulders and is looking at him through her own window. When she catches his eyes, she gives him a wink. As if she recognizes him. And if this was anyone else he might have given her a half smile, or even a wink back. But no. He can feel his cheeks heating up and getting rosy. God how he wishes he could be as confident as he usually is. The girl in the other car seems to be laughing a little, a smile on her lips. Nolan swears she starts slipping away from view, and in that second he remembers. He’s at a fucking red light. Except it isn’t red anymore, made obvious by the boisterous truck behind him, basically laying on his horn.

Quickly he presses his foot down on the gas pedal and looks for the beaten up truck, which is nowhere to be seen.

iii

It’s still winter and Nolan for some reason unknown to him decides to take a walk in the park not far from his apartment. He blames it on his restlessness, which stems from sitting inside the entire weekend. It’s nearing Christmas time and the main section of the park is covered in fairy lights and christmas decorations. There’s even a stand that sells hot chocolate.

He buys a cup, puts in his earbuds and starts walking. It is nice out, he decides, with all the people out enjoying the snow on the ground. There are even some kids out rolling big snowballs, which turn into snow men and women. He feels a sudden wave of content roll over him. And a smile subconsciously finds its way onto his lips.

Nolan walks a little further, and doesn’t really stop, until a ball of golden fur is at his feet, almost making him trip. The wagging tail is making the entire body of the dog move and he catches himself smiling and taking out one of the earbuds. Immediately he hears the voice of a girl shouting.

“Akira!”

The dog at his feet, looks around eagerly as her owner sprints up to him. And Nolan can hardly believe his luck. It is the bar girl.

“I’m so sorry, she usually doesn’t run off like that.”

And judging by her attire she is out for a jog, which would explain how out of breath she is. Quickly she pulls a leash out of her pocket and hooks it onto Akira’s harness.

“Oh there’s no worries.”

Nolan manages to stutter out. He sees a little smirk on her lips and curses his reddening cheeks for being so obvious. He bends his head a little and scratches Akira behind her ears. The golden retriever leans into his touch and a soft chuckle escapes the girl standing in front of him.

He is just about to ask the girl her name when a phone starts ringing. It’s hers. Quickly, from another pocket, she pulls out a phone and answers it. He watches with steady eyes as a frown starts to grow on her face.

“Fuck, okay yeah, I’ll be home in a few.”

She hangs up the phone and pockets it, before she turns to look at him again. With a wink she turns around and Akira follows.

“See you around Shy Guy!”

And just like that she’s gone. His chocolate is no longer hot, so he tracks back to his apartment, with discouragement sitting in his chest like a rock.

iiii

The Starbucks is so full, the line goes through the door and that’s the reason why Nolan doesn’t even consider entering it. He turns and treks back a block until he sees this quaint little cafe he’s never really noticed. Which is no surprise, because it seems to be mostly inhabited by students. With the amount of computers and books up at the cafe tables and its location closer to UPenn it should come as no surprise.

And maybe he gets a little hopeful that the bar girl will be there, so despite his logical mind, he enters through the glass doors and goes straight to the counter. The boy has to be around his own age, but a fair bit skinnier and with glasses on. It makes him look a bit too young in Nolan's eyes, but it doesn’t really matter.

“Hey, what can I get you today?”

The young boy asks as he wipes down the counter.

“Ehh, just a large black coffee, please.”

Nolan says and pulls out his wallet. He doesn’t completely register the bell over the door ringing, not until the gust of cold air washes over him. Instinctively he turns and spots a smaller frame entering the cafe. A hoodie over their head and a black jacket, lightly dusted with quickly melting snow. And a pair of beaten up, black vans on their feet. His hopes rise, and yet again he is rewarded with the presence of the bar girl. She shakes out her hair a little as she pulls the hood off of her head. Nolan could swear his heart stopped right there. The evening sun shines through the window, making her hair appear as a halo around her.

She hasn’t noticed him yet. So he turns and tries to calm his blush. The guy behind the counter has begun making his coffee so he doesn’t really know what to do. The bar girl comes up behind him. He can tell by the way the barista nods at her with a smile.

“Hey Dylan, how are you today?”

And Nolan is instantly a bit jealous of this Dylan, who gets to hear his name falling from her lips.

“I’m good Rory, thanks, how are you?”

Dylan answers, and it feels like his heart is in his throat. Her name is Rory? It suits her.

“Could be better to be honest, this paper on existence due next week is really kicking my ass.”

She answers as she comes closer, and Nolan moves further up the counter to give them room.

“Tell me about it, you want the usual?”

She nods and slings her backpack off one shoulder to unzip a pocket, and pulls out a card. Dylan finishes Nolan's order and places it on the corner of the counter. Nolan can feel his chance slip through his fingers and begins to panic a little.

Until he spots a pen on the counter near his cup. Quickly he grabs it and scribbles his name and number on the cup. And he couldn’t have cued it better for AV to call him. He puts the cup down again and picks up the call.

“Nolan, have you looked over the videos yet?”

Alain, straight to the point as usual.

“Yeah, saw them yesterday, and I have some ideas in mind for me to improve.”

He speaks into the phone, while he puts a hand on the back of his neck.

“Good good, I will see you tomorrow then?”

“Yes, sir. Bright and early.”

And then they hang up. He sees that another cup has appeared beside his. He throws a quick glance at Rory, who is still talking to the barista, and turns his cup the other way so the writing isn’t visible and grabs her cup. Then, he nods a goodbye to Dylan and exits the door.

He’s almost half a block away when his phone rings. He hasn’t drunk out of the cup, but it smells a little sweet and enticing. He looks at the phone and sees an unknown number. He lets it ring twice more before answering.

“Hey, this is Nolan?”

He tries to sound nonchalant.

“Hey, Shy guy. This is Rory. You didn’t by any chance grab my coffee on the way out?”

Despite the fact that he doesn’t actually know her, he swears he can hear a smile over the phone. And he is a little bit shocked by the nickname.

“Oh, so this is who it belongs to?”

She lets out a little chuckle, before she answers.

“Yeah, mind returning it?”

He smiles at the laugh.

Nolan is different, not that he will admit it, but the team can tell. He seems to be more patient, more focused on practicing drills and getting them right, and also for some reason, more ready for practice to be over. At first it’s a subtle change, but after a while and two games where he plays over all very well, it seems to be more than just determination. It seems like he wants to impress someone.

At first they shake it as him wanting to prove himself to.. well everyone. But one day when Oskar asks him who he is texting so frequently, Nolan can feel his cheeks and ears tint even more than usual. Damn her and the effect she has on him. He tries to play it cool with a casual shrug, but half the locker room seems to burst out laughing. Quickly he puts his phone in his pocket and heads for the door.

“Have a good weekend guys!”

He calls out behind him out of habit, as it is a weekend without games and he is taking a short trip home. Various chirps get called out behind him, but Teeks seems to be the loudest one.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

And all hell breaks loose as they all start on chirping Travis about how he can do anything then. With a fond smile, Nolan heads for his car, where he has a pre- packed bag as well as his passport and a carryon.

He parks his car in the airport parking lot and he swears, there is something familiar about the truck beside his car. He shoves it to the back of his mind and starts crossing to the terminal. He’s late tho, and only half an hour to get on his flight, so as he anxiously stands in line for check in he pulls up his phone and sees a new text from Rory.

Hey, I’ll be gone for a couple of hours, text when I can:)

It was sent five minutes ago, and he groans a little at the fact that he has to wait faster, very bored. Finally he has checked in his bag and been cleared to enter the airport all the way to his flight.

In a half jog, half sprint he manages to make it just shy of ten minutes before the gate closes. He pulls his cap further down on his head and puts his ticket and passport on the desk. The hostess scowls at him but lets him enter the already boarded plane.

The smell of too many people and bad flight food smacks him in the face as he enters the plane with another nod to a different flight hostess.

34B seems too far away, but he bites his tongue and keeps walking. He looks at the bald man in 34C and the hooded figure in 34A. He swears, there is something familiar about this too but his mind is a little fuzzy and he can’t quite place it.

“Scuse me.”

He mumbles to the man and he politely moves so Nolan can find his seat. The girl in the seat next to the window turns and looks at him, and finally it seems that he has steady ground under his feet.

“Well, seems like I won’t text you in a couple of hours then.”

Rory smiles at him. And he smiles back.

“Nope you’re stuck with me for the next five and a half hours.”

He teases and plops down in his seat.

“What the fuck are you going to Winnipeg for though?”

Nolan asks as he fastens his seatbelt and ignores the security instructions completely.

“Oh I haven’t told you? My family lives there.”

He feels flabbergasted, how in the living hell has he forgotten to ask? He always assumed she was from Philly.

“Why are you going there anyway?”

Rory asks, but he sees the twinkle in her eyes, she’s just joking with him.

“I’m visiting my girlfriend.”

He decides to reply dead serious. And the twinkle in her eyes disappears, a frown begins to form between her eyebrows and he instantly feels a little bad.

“I’m- sorry, that was a really bad joke.”

This time it seems, it’s her turn to get embarrassed. Neither of them get time to think it over though, because the plane starts accelerating and her hand immediately lands on his. He sees her jaw tense and feels her hand tighten around his knuckles. Nolan doesn’t want to comment on it though, and just lets her hold on.

As they lift off the tarmac her hand slowly starts easing up and when they level out in the air, she seems to have realised that she’s holding his hand. Quickly she lets go, and Nolan already misses it.

“Sorry about that, I get a little nervous about the take off.”

She seems a little nervous to admit it, but he asks anyway.

“How come?”

“Oh, ever heard of the irresistible force paradox?”

He shakes his head no, and that launches her into an explanation of what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. It’s obvious she loves theories like this, with the way she talks and moves her hands.

“- which stems from both a chinese and a roman legend. The roman is about Zeus and how he fixed the Teumessian fox, who can never be caught, and the hound Laelaps who never misses what he hunts to the sky in constellations.”

She stops, and Nolan really wishes she wouldn’t. Her voice is so calming yet enchanting at the same time, he could listen and learn every day for forever.

“But wouldn’t that mean that the fox wins? because it never gets caught?”

He questiones.

“Exactly! I’ve been thinking about it for days now.”

And the plane ride goes on like that, until Rory has heard of most of the flyers and Nolan knows the name of almost all her professors. It’s closer to night time when she starts to slur her words, because of tiredness. She ends up with her head on his shoulder and his hair a little bit in her face. But the weight of his head leaning against hers is priceless.

Nolan wakes up a little bit before her and sees that they’re landing soon. So he shakes Rory awake with a promise of a date in the morning. Since they don’t live too far away from each other. And she agrees.

They step off the plane together, collect their luggage together, Nolan’s arm slung around Rory’s shoulder, and hug each other so long, before departing to their own separate families.

“Hey, see you tomorrow shy guy!”

She winks at him, rendering him speechless in front of his family. His sister glances at him with a questioning look as she watches the other girl walk away. Usually few people render Nolan at a loss for words.

#nolan patrick #nolan patrick imagine #nolan patrick fluff #nolan patrick fic #philadelphia flyers #flyers imagine #flyers fluff #flyers fic #flyers 19

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platonicteenwolf · 3 years

Text

Second Chance At First Line

(S1E2) Part II

Teen Wolf x Reader Series Rewrite

A/N: I am absolutely KILLING IT with these updates. Expect a lot more coming up. Also I don't think I'm going to continue making three separate parts for pronouns whenever a part doesn't use any pronouns for the reader.

Any Pronouns

Next Part / Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of a dead body

“What do you mean you can’t play the game tomorrow night?” Coach asks as Scott follows him into his office.

“I mean I can’t play the game tomorrow night.”

“You mean you can’t wait to play the game tomorrow night?”

“No, I can’t play the game tomorrow night.”

“I’m not following.”

Scott sighs looking around the office. “I’m-- having some personal issues.”

“Like what? Is it a girl?”

“No.”

“Is it a guy? You know our goalie Danny is gay.”

“Yeah, I know, Coach. But that’s not it.”

“You don’t think Danny’s a good-looking guy?” Coach cuts off, looking shocked.

Exasperated, Scott tries to continue; “No, Danny’s good looking. But I like girls. And that’s not it anyway--”

“Is it drugs? Are you doing meth? My brother was hooked on meth. You should have seen what it did to his teeth, all rotted and cracked. It was disgusting. He was a mess.”

Genuinely concerned, Scott asks, “What happened to him?”

“He got veneers. They look perfect now. Is, is that what this is about? Are you afraid of getting hurt McCall?”

“No. I’m just having some issues dealing with... aggression.”

“Well, here’s the good news, that’s exactly why you play lacrosse. Problem solved.”

“Coach. I can’t play the game.”

“Listen, McCall. Part of playing first line is taking on the responsibility of being the first line in the game. If you can’t shoulder that responsibility then you’re back on the bench until you’re ready.”

“If I don’t play the game, you’re taking me off first line?”

"McCall,” Coach says pointedly, “Play the game.”

-----

Stepping back into the corridor and into the rush of students, Scott jumps when his phone RINGS in his pocket. He takes it out to read a text message from his Mom:

Got the night off! Coming to see you play! So excited!!

Scott breathes a sigh of frustration. His phone BUZZES again with a second text from his Mom:

What does LMFAO mean?

He’s about to type back when he notices someone coming down the corridor to find him; Allison Argent. As she walks through the crowd, every teenage male eye seeming to follow her. But her perfect smile is reserved for Scott.

Nodding to his phone Allison asks, “Hey, you busy?”

“No. It’s just my Mom. She’s nothing. I mean it’s nothing. I’m never busy. For you.”

“I like the sound of that... I have to run to French class but I wanted you to know I’m coming to see you play tomorrow.”

“You are?”

“And we’re all going out afterwards. You, me, Lydia, Jackson. It’s going to be great. And bring Stiles too. Save me a seat at lunch, I’ve gotta go.”

Scott barely has a chance to nod as she hurries off. But just before she disappears into the rush of students, she smiles at him again. With a quick wave, she’s gone.

Scott slumps against the lockers muttering to himself, “I am so screwed.”

-----

Down the adjacent hall, Allison stops at her locker, quickly spins the combo, grabs her French book and suddenly stops when she notices something strange inside. Slowly, she pulls an item out, one that shouldn’t be there... her jacket from the party.

As she eases the locker shut, she notices how very alone she is in the corridor. She gazes down one end of the hall and then the other. Not a soul. Not a sound. Until--

The second bell rings, startling her. Breathing a short laugh at herself, she hurries off to class.

-----

At the chalkboard with other students solving algebra problems, Lydia whispers to Scott.

“Why is there a rumor going around that you’re not playing tomorrow?”

“Because I’m sort of... not.”

“I think you sort of are. Especially when you brutally injure my boyfriend by ramming into him.”

“He brutally injured himself ramming into me.”

The math teacher steps past, eyeing their work on the board.

“Jackson’s going to play Saturday, but he’s not going to be at peak. I prefer my boyfriend at peak performance.”

“Okay...” Scott responds, wondering if she’s still talking about lacrosse.

“See, I date the captain of a winning lacrosse team. If they start off the season losing, I date the captain of a losing lacrosse team. I don’t date losers. You understand how that works?”

“Losing one game isn’t going to kill anyone. In fact, it might save someone,” he argues back.

Lydia looks at him. Doesn’t get it. Doesn’t care. “Fine. Don’t play. We’ll probably win anyway. We’ll go out after like we’re planning. I’ll introduce Allison to all the other hot players on the team. And while she gets the attention she deserves, Scott McCall can stay home surfing the net for porn. "

She finishes her math problem, wipes the chalk off her hands and saunters back to her desk. Scott returns his attention to his own equation on the board.

The math teacher walks up behind him chastising, “Mr. McCall, you’re not even close to solving your problem.”

“Tell me about it,” Scott quips back.

-----

As Stiles and I turn the corner to the hall our next class is located, I see someone familiar talking to the vice principle.

“Wait-- is that Noah?” Grabbing the back of Stiles’s collar I drag him back behind the wall to hide us from view. Peeking around the corner, there Sheriff Stilinski standing in the middle of the hall having a seemingly serious conversation to the vice principle.

“I can’t hear them, what are they saying?” Stiles whines.

“I don’t know I don’t have super hearing.”

And as if a lightbulb went off in his head, Stiles bolts off looking for someone who does in fact have super hearing as I continue to keep an eye on the targets.

Hearing stomping footsteps behind me I turn around seeing an out of breath Stiles, Scott in tow.

“Come here, come here, tell me what they’re saying,” I ask Scott as the boys follow my gaze down the hall. I can see Scott focus, attempting to tune in the voices.

“...animal attacks... just don’t want the kids out... 9:30pm... institute the curfew....”

With a look of annoyance Scott turns back towards us.

“A curfew. Because of the body.”

Great.

“Unbelievable!” Stiles starts to complains, “Seriously unbelievable. My Dad’s out looking for a rabid animal while the jerkoff who actually killed the girl is just hanging out doing whatever he wants.”

Interjecting, I add, “Well, we can’t exactly tell him what’s going on with Derek. He’d want to do something about it.”

“Well, I’m gonna do something about it.”

“Like what?” Scott asks.

“Like find the other half of the body.”

And with that Stiles walks to his next class. Waving a bye to Scott I go catch up to him.

-----

Scott stops when he spots Allison shaking hands with an extremely good-looking lacrosse player. Lydia wears a big smile while introducing them while staring right at Scott.

Allison turns to see him approaching as Lydia and the lacrosse player slip away.

“So, Lydia’s introducing you to everyone?” Scott questions.

“Yeah, she’s been so unbelievably nice. Usually, the popular girls are totally evil when I move to a new place. But she’s making it really easy for me.”

“I wonder why.”

“Maybe she gets how much being the New Girl can suck.”

He’s about to reply when he notices with alarm that she’s carrying the jacket from party that Derek had.

"Where did you get that?”

“My jacket? It was in my locker. I think Lydia brought it back from the party. She has my combination--”

“Did she say she brought it back? Did someone give her the jacket?” Scott is starting to get more urgent; how did Derek get into her locker? Was he still here? Is Derek going to hurt Allison?

“Like who?"

“Like Derek."

“Your friend?”

“He’s not my friend. How much did you talk to him when he drove you home?”

“Not much at all.”

“What did you say?"

Allison can tell he’s getting more and more aggressive; cautiously she replies, "Sorry, but I have to get to my next class. Can we talk later?”

“Allison--”

“I really have to go.”

She hurries off, leaving Scott ruminating on the jacket. But then he turns, moving with focus, faster and faster--

-----

On his bike and pedaling at top speed, Scott charges down the road. Finally, he whips onto a driveway leading to the rundown Hale house.

“Derek!”

He lets his bike clatter to the ground, school bag with it. In a flash he’s on the porch, looking in each window.

“Derek!”

Still no response. Scott slips around the side of the house and to the back. Then something catches his attention-- At the edge of the woods, he sees FRESH DIRT covering the ground. As if something had been dug up. Or buried.

But before he can approach, a sound stops him in his tracks... a heartbeat. At first, it’s a tiny rhythm in the distance. But then it rapidly gets louder, stronger. Scott starts to back away, moving for the front of the house again and for his bike when Derek steps out of the woods. No sudden appearance, no theatrics. He just calmly walks out of the shadows while Scott tries to stand strong.

“Stay away from her. She doesn’t know anything.”

“What if she does?”

Derek keeps coming, backing Scott away from the house.

“You think your little buddy Stiles can Google werewolves and now you’ve got all the answers?”

Reaching down to Scott’s school bag, Derek picks up the lacrosse stick, playfully turning it over in his hands.

“You don’t get it yet, but I’m looking out for you. Think about what could happen. You’re on the

field. The aggression takes over. And you shift in front of everyone. Allison, your mother, your friends...”

Derek’s hand comes up and his claws are out. Scott flinches back, both in fear and surprise at his display of mastery over his abilities.

“And when they see you--”

He rakes his claws over the net.

“Everything, falls, apart.”

The slashed threads flutter away from the head of the lacrosse stick, the net now in tatters. Derek tosses the ruined stick. Scott catches it. When he looks up, he’s alone, Derek having vanished yet again.

-----

Bursting through the front door of the McCall’s home, Stiles sprints up the stairs towards Scott’s bedroom. Chuckling to myself I close the door behind me and head the same way. “Hey Ms. McCall!” I shout

“Hey sweetie!”

As Stiles bursts through Scott’s door and into his room I can already hear him shouting about the news. Scott called me with an update on the body, said there was some evidence at Derek’s and we needed to get over there as soon as we could.

I greet Scott with a wave as I follow Stiles into the room. At his desk, Scott works on something, concentrating on it with exact focus

“I found something at Derek Hale’s,” he starts

Still full of energy, Stiles shouts, “Are you kidding? What?”

“Something’s buried there. I smelled blood.”

Interjecting, I ask, "You think it’s from the body?”

“That’s what I need you guys to help me find out. And when we do, we’re going to help your dad nail Derek for the murder. And then we're figure out how I can play lacrosse without changing.”

Scott stands, revealing what he’s been working on so intently: his lacrosse stick. Now perfectly re-laced, he spins it in his hands with a look of pride.

“Because I’m not missing out on that game”

-----

The doors of Beacon Hills Hospital slide open. Stiles, Scott, and I casually walk past the front desk trying not to be conspicuous in front of waiting patients, nurses and orderlies. Stiles nods to a set of double doors and a sign pointing to the morgue; exactly what we need. While Scott and I quickly push through the doors, Stiles heads to the waiting area to keep an eye out.

As Scott and I step inside the almost pitch-black freezer room, he lights the display on his phone using it to search the labels on the drawer.

“Why’d you leave the lights off, this place is mega creepy!” I whisper to him. “Who decides to leave the lights off when they’re around a bunch of dead bodies?”

“Would you keep it down? You’re gonna get us caught!” Scott says as he finally located the body.

JANE DOE – partial. Police Evidence, Do Not Tamper.

We both take a breath as Scott yanks open the display.

-----

Standing outside in the corridor, Stiles looks to the waiting area and does a double take. Lydia Martin sits in one of the chairs. It’s a moment of opportunity he simply cannot pass up. Leaving his post, he tentatively approaches her.

“Hey, Lydia. You probably don’t remember me, but I sit behind you in Biology. And I know you’re dating Jackson and all that, but I always thought we had a kind of connection. Unspoken, of course. But I sort of think it would be cool to get to know you. Sort of.”

“Hold on. Give me a second.”

Stiles looks at her, quite confused. But then she pulls out a Bluetooth headset that was covered by her hair.

“I didn’t get any of what you just said. Is it worth repeating?”

“Uh... No. Sorry.”

As she gives an irritated sigh, Stiles takes a seat far away from her, head falling into his hand.

-----

Scott covers his mouth while gazing down at the lower half of the body. He slowly pulls the drawer open to where the sheet finally flattens out just above the severed hip. The smell coming from the body is absolutely putrid and I can tell his face is getting greener by the second.

“Don’t throw up on the body,” I joke.

Removing his hand from his mouth, Scott sends me a lighthearted glare and then pulls the sheet up to reveal the decayed and rotted feet. Then, unable to stand anymore, the sight or the smell, he covers up the body and slides the drawer shut. We’ve found all we need.

-----

Back in the waiting room, Jackson comes around the corner to find Lydia. He walks up to her while massaging his shoulder.

“Did he do it?”

Nodding, Jackson replies, “He said it’s not a good habit to get into but one cortisone shot won’t kill me.”

“You should get one right before the game too.” He gives her a concerned look. “What? The pros do it all the time. You want to be a little high school amateur?” Teasingly, she continues, “Or do you want to go pro?”

She pulls him into a kiss that’s all tongue. As they walk off, Stiles watches with a jealous gaze from behind the pages of a hospital pamphlet.

-----

Walking back to the waiting room with Scott, I see Stiles holding up a pamphlet titled: All About Your Menstrual Cycle. Inconspicuous. Scott yanks it out of his hands, surprising him.

“The scent was the same.”

“You’re sure?”

Scott nods and starts off with the two of us following.

“So he did bury the other half of the body on his property,” Stiles confirms.

“Which means we have proof he killed the girl.”

“Then I say we use it.”

After watching the boys go back and forth I interject,

“Scott, are you doing this because you want to stop Derek? Or because you want to play the game Saturday and he said you couldn’t?”

“There were bite marks on the legs. Bite marks. And if he knows about Allison now...”

“Okay. Then we’re going to need a shovel.”

We slam through the exit door and out into the night.

-----

Derek’s black Dodge Challenger roars out from the long driveway leading to the dilapidated house. In its wake, Stile’s Jeep slowly pulls forward.

Now carrying a shovel and pick, Scott and Stiles head for the house while I hold the flashlight. But Scott pauses, glancing around.

“Something’s different,” Scott says while glancing around.

“Different how?”

But Scott shakes his head. He looks back to the road, listening for any sounds.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Unnerved now as well, Stiles and I follow him around the house to the edge of the woods. Waving him over, Scott kicks at the dirt on the ground. It’s loose, gravelly. They start digging. Piles of dirt landing on the grass nearby while I keep watch. They work fast, Scott pulling up his sleeves as sweat starts to drip down his forehead while the two start bickering.

“This is taking too long,” Scott complains.

“Just keep going,” Stiles replies.

“What if he comes back?”

“Then we get the hell out of here."

“What if he catches us?”

“I have a plan for that.”

Now sitting down next to the hole they’ve dug, I interlude,

“Ah yes, Stiles Stilinski with the genius plans.”

“Oh shut up Y/N”

“Well, what’s the plan then,”

“I run one way, you both run another. Whoever he catches first? Too bad.”

Scoffing, Scott says, “I hate that plan.’

They dig faster, harder. Muscles burning, Scott keeps throwing nervous glances to the driveway.

“Stop, stop, stop!” Stiles shouts.

Dropping the shovel, Stiles clambers down into the hole. He feels around and finds a dark FABRIC in the dirt. Both of them now digging with their hands they finally uncover a black drawstring bag tied in tight knots. Stiles digs at the knot with his fingers.

“Hurry,” Scott urges.

“I’m trying. Did he have to tie the thing in nine hundred knots?"

“I’ll do it.”

Both of them claw at the drawstring, almost frantically trying to get the knot to come undone. And then finally it loosens. The black bag flutters open to reveal the body inside--

Except it’s not a dead girl. It’s the body of a wolf. Stiles and Scott both holler, jumping back.

Poking the carcass with a stick, Stiles asks, “What the hell is that?”

“It’s a wolf.”

“I can see that. I thought you said you smelled blood? As in human blood?”

“I told you something was different.”

Scott pulls back the edge of the bag to get a better look. The remains of the wolf peer through, a tangle of legs and blood-crusted fur.

“This doesn’t make sense.”

Still looking around nervously, Scott urges, “We gotta get out of here.”

While the boys talked, I had gotten up to look around the area. Suddenly I notice a purple flower in the ground. It sticks out of the dirt as if it had only recently been planted there.

“Wait,” I call to them.

Looking up, Stiles sees what I’m looking at.

“Do you see that flower?”

“What about it,” Scott wonders.

“I think it’s wolfsbane.”

“Wolfsbane?”

I look back towards the duo as Scott has a confused look on his face.

“Haven’t you ever seen The Wolf Man? Lon Chaney Jr.? Claude Rains? The original classic werewolf movie?” Stiles questions as Scott shakes his head. “You are so unprepared for this.”

"Aconitum napellus, or Wolfsbane, is a common known weapon against werewolves. It's toxins can cause your heartrate to slow to a fatal amount," I explain.

Kneeling next to the flower, I gently feel around the stem. Pulling it up, it’s revealed that the flower has sprouted out of what appears to be a very thin but strong twine interlaced from its stem and root.

Jumping out of the hole, Scott and Stiles take several cautious steps back as I continue unearthing the purple-flowered rope. Soil falling around my shoes, I walks in circles around the grave.

As I continue, the Wolfsbane rope leads back to the grave in an almost perfect spiral. Finally, at about ten yards out, I finally reach the end of the rope. With a pile gathered into my arms, I turn back to the boys who are staring back at the grave.

At barely a whisper, Scott says, “Look...”

The rope slips out of my hands, falling at my feet as my eyes widen. The wolf is no longer a wolf. It’s the upper half of the girl.

-----

Tag List: @linkpk88 @mochminnie @im-a-stranger-thing @that-winged-rat @avengersgirl1221 @everybirdfellsilent

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cloud9in · 3 years

Text

The Half of It - 2 (Poppy x MC)

Summary: Bea, the town’s outcast is recruited by the school jock to win Poppy’s heart. But what happens when she starts falling for her as well?

HIGHLY recommend you read/re-read part 1

No warnings this chapter

Word Count: 2.6k

Chapter 2: How to write a love letter 101

“In love, one always starts by deceiving oneself...and ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls romance.”

- Oscar Wilde

I was tasked with what was probably the hardest piece of writing I’ve done in all of my years of highschool, and I wrote eight different versions of the analysis on David vs Goliath my freshman year. That’s besides the point, it wasn’t like any normal research essay. No. For some reason I found that my one and only letter to Poppy would have to be the best thing I ever wrote in the entirety of the universe. Too bad I had to make it sound like it was written by Carter, that big stupid jock. You can guess how severely depressed I became after reading what he had initially written…

“Dear Poppy, I think you’re really beautiful. Even if you were ugly, I’d want to know you, because you are smart and nice, too. It’s hard to find all those things in one girl. But even if you were only two of those things, I’d be into it. But you’re, like, all three, just to be clear.”

Bea reads off the paper, turning her head with cringe and confusion at the confident jock sitting next to her. Carter smiles, “She’s all three, like you know all three backs of football. The running back, the fullback-”

“Thanks for clarifying...:”

Carter stares awkwardly, waiting for her to continue on. And Bea does, with a big ass sigh.

“...About me. Some people think I’m the cutest one in my family. Those people being my grandma...who’s dead now...Never mind about my dead grandma. All I’m saying is that I like fries. I like dipping them in my milkshake. Is that weird? It’s actually really tasty. Would you like to try that with me sometime?

CJ, school quarterback.”

Bea takes a good five minutes to compose herself. Yeah this was definitely gonna be a long week. She lowers the paper slightly and turns to Carter, a puzzled look in her eyes. “So what you’re trying to say is-”

“I’m in love with her.”

That confession definitely would have sent her sprawling a few feet back if she hadn’t been sitting. Love? What was love? And why does she despise it now that Carter has mentioned it.

“...Have you ever spoken to her?”

“Well...no, I’m not good with words. Besides, would I be here with you if I did talk to her?”

Bea rolls her eyes and huffs exhaustingly. “Carter, you're not in love. You’re just stubborn.”

“No I’m not! It’s love, I know it’s love. Love feels different, it doesn’t feel...real. It almost feels impossible. But we indulge in it because of the thrill, the adrenaline of chasing someone mindlessly...and wanting to be present in everything they do. There’s that ‘what if?’, the question that could make or break that love. Even if the ending isn’t what you had hoped for, at least you know how it felt to feel so much joy, so much want.”

Carter stares up at the ceiling in thought, his eyes seem to be unfocused, staring at nothing and everything. Bea gazes over at him in part shock and part admiration, a smile painting her face. “...Wow.”

“...Hm, yeah. I heard it in a dating app commercial once.”

Bea gasps and smacks Carter repeatedly with the letter in her hand, clearly disappointed.

“Wha- Ow!”

“And here I was thinking you were being original.”

Bea eventually sits back in her seat, her shoulders slumping as she reads the letter over and over again, trying to make sense of it. That was the problem though, it didn’t make sense, well maybe the fries part did, but the blonde had a lot of work to do. Carter watches her silently until he can’t hold back the lingering question in his head. “...Haven’t you ever felt it? That screwy feeling that love gives you? Poppy makes me feel screwy.”

Bea continues to read, her eyes glued onto the words that are slightly falling out of the printed lines of the notebook paper. But her mind is fully elsewhere, she heard his question loud and clear. The only thing she could muster was an annoyed “no” in efforts to not become vulnerable.

He intertwined his hands together, leaning back on the bench. “...Oh I get it, you’ve never been in love have you?”

Bea’s legs were already one step ahead of her mind as they sprung her out of the seat. She grabs her bag and swats the papers in Carter’s direction, a scoff leaving her lips. “You want a love letter? I’ll give you a love letter!”

“Yeah but will it be something that makes her fall in love with me and not walk away like you’re doing right now-” Carter’s voice rings out hurriedly yet Bea can’t hear anything except the pounding of her heart getting louder as she stalks out of the church. Love, love, love, what even is it? Will I ever feel it? There is nobody who could make me feel-

The blonde was cut abruptly out of her thoughts as she crashed into someone, who was most likely on their respective part of the sidewalk. All of the materials in her arms fell to the concrete and Bea rushed to pick them up, “I’m sorry I-”

A familiar blonde set of locks and porcelain skin came into view and she immediately stopped and looked up. Poppy’s eyes were already boring into hers, a look of slight concern, and maybe annoyance? on her face.

“...I’m-I’m Bea Hughes…” She could only stutter, all those moments that she pretended to talk to Poppy in her room were definitely not paying off.

But maybe it did pay off because a small smile, masked with sparkly pink lip gloss started to form. Poppy bit her lip as her eyes crinkled with amusement, “...Yeah I know. You’ve only been playing my dad’s services on Sunday for, like, four years. He does favour you...even if you are a heathen.” Poppy peers over at the church that Bea had just come out of and raises an eyebrow in curiosity. She picks up a stray book from the ground and grins with an impressed look. “Remains of The Day...Loved it. Mr. Stevens is quite the character.” Okay, so Poppy has great taste in literature, that’s another thing to add to the list that Bea totally doesn’t have stored in the notes app of her phone. Listen, she has to write a love letter to Poppy Min Sinclair, so every piece of information is vital.

Poppy hands the book to Bea, their eyes never leaving each other while standing up. Say something Bea. Anything. It’s almost like the strawberry blonde was waiting, hoping, for her to speak .

But she said nothing. No, all the insecure blonde could do is stare into Poppy’s eyes, almost as if she wasn’t afraid to turn to stone.

The sound of car tires scraping against the pavement caused Poppy to break eye contact before smiling one last time at Bea. “This is me.” Bea watched the shorter girl stroll past her so casually, the complete opposite of what she was feeling in the moment. She didn’t speak until Poppy closed the car door and the driver took off, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips. “I’m Bea Hughes? Really?”

***

Bea sat in front of her tv, a pen and notepad in her hand. She couldn’t think of anything to write down. How do you write a love letter, or a confession? This is the one thing she had trouble writing. The tv blasted on with 1987’s “Wings of Desire”. Bea cocked her head to the side when the man started to profess his love. She put her pen to the pad and started writing.

Poppy,

You don’t know me, and truth be told I see that as a good thing. You know that saying, there are plenty of fish in the sea? Well I am not a fisherman, nor do I think you are a fish. Letters are not the form of communication that I would personally prefer, but I am the one writing to you. So no more complaining. I think you are interesting. Like a book I want to read. I’d even read the author’s notes at the end just to get every bit of you. I don’t desire a lot of things, but I long for a wave of love to swell up in me. That’s what makes me so clumsy: the lack of pleasure.

Yours,

Carter

***

Bea pushes down on her pedals, pacing her breath with each turn of the wheels beneath her. The voice of Carter appears as he races behind her, careful not to send her flying last time. Then she’d never write a letter again. “Bea! She wrote back!”

The blonde pulled the brakes on her bicycle so hard a wheel might have popped off. She was out of breath but suddenly the reason for it was different. Bea grabs the letter from Carter’s hands and makes haste to read the words she imagined would sit on the paper.

Carter,

I like Wim Wenders too. Wouldn’t have plagiarized him though.

-Poppy

“Who’s Wim Wenders and why’d you cheat off of him? Bea I looked up what plagiarism meant.”

“I didn’t cheat off of him!...Okay maybe I did but this is a good thing!”

“HOW?”

“It’s...it’s like a game. She’s challenging us..but in a good way.” Bea nods to Carter but also to herself. There was a response. She didn’t think that Poppy would write back but she did and it has changed Bea’s outlook on everything. She was in, and there was no way it could stop now.

“So...are we back in the game?” Carter’s words jumble Bea out of her thoughts and she stutters, “Yep..yes we are.” No you are. “We are definitely back in it.” Nope just you Bea.

Bea leaves Carter with an awkward fist bump before peddling away, her mind racing with a million thoughts. But they always seem to close back into one familiar blonde who danced and did everything Bea couldn’t. She sighed, the adrenaline pumping its way out of her lungs.

“Game on, Poppy Min Sinclair.”

***

Bea spent the following days perfecting her next letter to Poppy. This one would be more heartfelt, and less cringe and plagiaristic like her last one. It would come from her and only her...but for Carter of course. The thing is, when Bea started writing again, she didn’t think about the fact that Carter would take credit for everything on the paper, and that he would be the one that develops a *possible* relationship with Poppy. Maybe she didn’t want to think about that part, but the other parts brought just the right amount of serotonin to make her shitty day better. Everything she read, everywhere she went reminded her of the strawberry blonde, and of the unfinished letter. Bea attempted to step into the life of Carter’s and speak like a jock would, without making him seem like something he is not. But that was hard. Because it was her words, her mind. Carter would take that from her, even if it was unintentional.

It didn’t help that Carter didn’t want them to be seen together in public. He would slide to the opposite end of the bench in the church when his football buddies would come in. Bea didn’t take it personal. She of course had other things going through her mind.

It took 7 days. One week. To finish the second letter, a very short one. Bea wouldn’t describe herself as a perfectionist, but every word that Poppy would read had to be perfect.

Dear Poppy,

Okay you got me…

Now that that’s done, let’s start over yeah? I’ll start by saying that I sometimes hide behind other people’s words. For one thing, I know nothing about love. I’m 17 and I’ve lived in Farmsville my whole life. I hang out with my friends, I keep my head down. I’m a simple...guy. Which is to say, if I knew what love was, I would quote myself. But I don’t. I have a question for you, please answer it in any way you want. Are you happy where you are right now?

-Carter

Bea sat in the church, silently tapping away at the keys of piano, a simple soft melody following the nod of her head. Carter had found her like that but didn’t want to disturb. Except, Poppy wrote back again, so this was big news. They both sat in confession booths as Bea read the letter quietly, her hand gripping the edges a little too harshly.

Dear Carter,

You know that it takes eleven muscles to yawn? This is the sort of weird fact I find myself recalling to keep myself from...well yawning. Or showing anything I feel really. And I find myself doing that a lot. So yeah..believe it or not, I turn to other people’s words too.

When you’re a pretty girl, and I know it makes me sound conceited, but sometimes I am, but that’s why you’re even writing to me right? I mean my image is what gives me attention, I’ve grown used to that fact. When you’re a pretty girl, people want to give you things. What they really want is to make you like them. Not like them as in, “i like you”, but like them as in, “i am like you.” You may think I’m different, but I’m like a lot of other people. Which makes me kind of no one. It looks like I’ve found my place but I really haven’t. Just a girl who’s lost in the mix. I don’t know why I feel like I can tell you this, but you provide the sort of safety I always craved. You’re interesting Carter, I like you.

-Poppy

Bea read the last sentence more times than she should’ve. Carter watched her silently as she stared into the lines of the paper, maybe hoping that more words would magically appear. The blonde couldn’t describe the feeling in her chest, but it hurt. Physically.

“Uh...can I text her now?”

“Too soon.”

“No, I'm gonna do it now.”

Bea felt herself starting to get frustrated, but calmness always overtook any other feeling she had. She was taught to be rational.

“You do that and she’ll think you’re just like everyone else.” You’re not like anyone else Bea, she needs to know that.

Carter lets out a heavy sigh and pulls out his phone. Bea felt a buzz in her pocket and pulled hers out as well. A message pops up alerting Bea of another income of $50 being sent to her.

***

Bea slogged through the crowded halls trying to find the exit but before she can walk any further, a firm hand grabs her and pulls her into a familiar classroom. The blonde turns to scowl at the perpetrator which was probably Bradley, but instead she sees bright red lips and black glasses. Ms. Kingsley. But she doesn’t look too happy.

The older woman holds up a paper which Bea recognizes immediately as her letter to Poppy. How in the world did she get that?

“So...this is why half my class is failing their essays?”

Bea could make a snarky comment back to her, but the sight of the letter sends her thoughts spiraling once again. She lets out a defeated sigh. I mean how did this woman know she’d written that letter? Ina Kingsley knew everything. “Look...I’ll be reopen for business soon enough.” Bea starts to turn to leave and looks at Kingsley one more time. “I can’t do this for much longer.”

Bea couldn’t hold in her feelings for much longer as well. But not even Kingsley knew that. She walked out of the classroom with her head down, hoping to avoid eye contact with the one she wanted to see the most.

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

End Note: Part two is here woah. Thought it would never come.

Tags: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @clowneryme @baexpoppy @zigxryanz @uselesslesbianfr @aleiramacaii @thedaft1 @alexlabhont @iamsimpforpoppy @cloakanddaggerthings @straightlikewetspaghetti

#queen b #poppy min sinclair #poppy x mc #mc x poppy #playchoices #any feedback is appreciated #my brain is toast #poppy will definitely become centric in this story #starting next chapter

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