#but I had to narrow down the list to ten | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lundenloves · 7 months

Text

BABY’S FIRST WORDS

〔 a fluff piece brought to you by yours truly. domesticity at its finest, featuring the rarity of simon joking and we even observe a rare laugh from him. not without his usual cluelessness and blunt nature though. king! 〕

˗ˏˋ i honestly love him just existing as a dad. learn as you go type stuff, his daughter latching onto him when he wanted it least must’ve done him good. our emotionally stunted husband — someone give this man a hug and tell him he’s alr.

⇀ 1k | no warnings

dad!simon masterlist | masterlist | request info | taglist

Of course. Of course it had happened the only ten minutes of the day you had left her — barely managing one foot in the shower before Simon had opened the door with your daughter in his hands. Not arms, but hands. “She spoke.” He provided lamely, holding her out to you as if she contained a transferable illness.

You grabbed a towel, wrapping it around your dry body before taking her from him, the smile she made was adoring. “She what.” Brows pung upward, your brief frown at his interruption loosening into a warmth while peppering kisses all across her cheeks. “She—“

“She said my name.”

“She said Simon?” You retorted and he scoffed, taking a step backward to the door, forearm leant on the threshold. “Dad?” She reached for your hair, small fingers pulling on it with a smile when you had begun bouncing her from side to side.

Simon shifted. “Bit like,” His words were lost for a baby laugh, one that echoed against the bathroom walls. Your hand was against your mouth in milliseconds, finding obvious tears welling in your eyes.

“What the fuck.” You mouthed, smoothing the hair on her head and Simon raised his brows in acknowledgment of your reaction, the faintest of smiles tugging at the side of his lip. “Sorry, what did she say?” You let a breathy laugh go, one that emphasised your emotionality.

His eyes switched between you and his daughter, leaning his full weight against the door now. “Da.”

You tilted your head at him. “Doesn’t that make you feel whole?” The baby in your arms began flailing her arms in your hold, reaching for her father as if on cue.

Simon shrugged, pushing off from the door to close the distance between you and allowing her to poke at his tattoo. “Didn’t think much of it.” He admitted, his eyes landing on yours that had narrowed ever so slightly with an understanding nod.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.” He bit at the skin on his top lip, acutely aware of the flaring of your nostrils. A list of potential worries flurrying your mind, ones you would all deem as irrational though Simon probably wouldn’t. It was valid to worry about his reactions.

His immediate reaction to your daughters first laugh was, “Oh, shit.” The noise being between a baby coo and giggle combined into something that would’ve burst your chest yet only poked at his. He held her outward, stretched forearms while her small feet kicked in the air.

Then came her first word, one of demand, a strong “Da!” One Simon had told himself meant dad, though it was more likely a protesting noise to be put down. Whatever the noise meant, he granted her outstretched hands, placing her back down onto his knee and bouncing it up and down gently.

By no means did Simon Riley know what to do with a baby, he was still learning, very slowly — but surely. “What was that?” He mumbled at her, his eyes boring into hers as if she were an adult who could understand his demanding stare. “Tell dad, eh? Say it again.”

To clarify the noise wasn’t made in anger.

Instead, she grabbed at his shoulder, bunching up the material of his shirt loosely. “Or that.” He muttered, diverting his attention along with her own to Blue Planet that had been on pause for ten minutes since you had left.

He tapped his fingers in quick succession of the one before, the sofa armrest now becoming a point of interest for the baby who had watched his hand move. Though, right before she could hike off his thigh, he had then decided to take her through to you. You know, just to let you know your daughter had just spoken her first word (noise) alongside a laugh.

“Did she say anything else?” You asked, pushing a stray strand of hair that had fallen to his forehead only for it to drop back down.

“Yeah.” He said bluntly, taking her from your hold and looking down to her. “Quantum physics,”

A pause for your sigh. “Explained it all.”

You nudged his shoulder, turning to check the shower temperature. “Go put her down. She’s due a sleep.” Your back was to the man, though his expression was easily imagined. “No, I can’t do it.”

Oftentimes, Simon zoned out when doing anything with the baby. It was something he took through future years too, future kids and all ages, arguments at breakfast? Zoned out. Walking with him? Not there. Even talking to him? Meh.

He put the baby down in a trance, standing over the cot silently praying to gods he didn’t believe in that she would continue her peace. That no cries would break and his headache would remain in its rest, taking slow steps backward when she had shut her eyes.

“Can't believe she spoke to you.” You had said later that night, leant against a barstool watching Simon cut up an onion in that one way you just couldn’t master. “And not me, that is.”

“I have a charm.” He pointed the knife on its end, spinning it on the cutting board before eyeing you. “Obviously.”

“A silent-threatening-mediocre type of charm.”

He shrugged, sliding the annoyingly perfect dicing into a pan. “First laugh too.” It was a mumble designed to entice a reaction, and that it did, your arm barging against his after hearing your baby cry on cue.

“I’ll get something from her yet.” You picked up washing from the bottom stair, beginning up the stairs to go and pacify.

“Only got the rest of your life!” He shouted for you to hear, gaining an earnest roll of your eyes.

“I prefer you when you’re quiet.” You spoke aloud, just enough to gain a laugh from him, one you imagined he had let go without permission while aggressively preparing another onion.

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @dilfdotgov @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @maki-z @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffeee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @bubbyblob @spencerreidisbae123

unedited as usual. gonna go over my dad!simon masterlist this week. reblogs and comments are hugely appreciated!

2K notes · View notes

arminsumi · 8 months

Note

Hii can we pls get an extremely smitten in love like love sick gojo pls?????

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤

A/N: ABSOLUTELY!! 🥰

Wc ≈ 1.7k

Pairing: GOJO Satoru x f.reader

Summary: the annoying popular boy at college has his heart set on you 😌💕

Warnings; it's a little cheesy

There’s a white-haired boy that always, always sits next to you in every single class. He’s got the looks that kill, one-of-a-kind features, almost too pretty to be on earth; the kind of boy that makes even teachers stutter in the middle of their lecture simply because of his presence.

So many girls fawn over him, like he’s the rockstar of your college with a bunch of groupies following wherever he goes.

And that ticks off one reason you don’t like Gojo Satoru.

The other reasons? To narrow it down; he’s an arrogant cocky flirty bastard who will not stop asking you out to parties and dates. Persistent and determined to make you crack and finally fall for him. Relentless and fast in his pursuit of your heart no matter how far it runs – he’s gonna getcha, he knows it, it’s just a matter of time.

He’s never felt this deeply or intensely. It makes his head spin. When you walk in the room, when you speak, when he sees your name on an attendee list… it has him feeling tingly and lightheaded. Even getting a text from you makes him jump; he replies in two seconds and pouts when you leave him on read. He even complains to his mom and Suguru about you.

This boy is the walking symptoms of lovesick.

But he’s in heavy denial about it. No, no – he’s not obsessed, you’re obsessed. He’s not crushing on you; you’re crushing on him. He’s not chasing you; you’re chasing him. He doesn’t wanna kiss you, you wanna kiss him.

“You have such a fat crush on me.” He smirks, talking unashamedly loudly so everyone who’s passing down the columned corridor can hear.

You sigh. “No I don't, Gojo.”

“It’s Satoru to you,” he winks, “And anyways, you’re not busy this afternoon, yeah?”

“Actually I am – ”

“Great! Let’s go out.”

Your whole face spells how frustrated you are.

“Oh my god…” you sigh, getting up for your next class which was in two minutes – Gojo took up all your time. Your friends had long slipped away after he gave them a glare, snickering as they did because they thought the whole thing between you and him was hilarious.

His long legs strode next to you down the corridor.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To class.” you replied.

“Let me walk you there.” he offered eagerly.

“Thanks, but there’s really no need.” you replied.

He looked at you like a sad puppy, so you gave in. “Oh my god, fine then.”

“Ask me nicely.”

“What!” you looked at him incredulously, “You’re the one who – oh my god never mind. Walk me to class, Gojo.”

He grinned in satisfaction. You almost wanted to smack him.

“It’s Satoru.” He corrected.

“I’m not calling you that. We’re not friends.” You said.

“Gosh, you’re breaking my heart!” he jokes, but deep down he was a little cut by that. You could tell by how he said no more smart remarks. He was silent.

You slid into your seat, watching your professor prepare the sliding whiteboards with awful scribbles of calculus. Gojo slid right next to you, settling his smart ass down a little closer than last time. He was aching to get closer to you in any way he could.

“I need a pen.” He whispered under his breath to you as soon as the lecture began.

“Seriously? Again? Where do you keep putting the ones I give you, up your ass?”

He smirked at you. Pretty blue eyes peaked over the rims of his sunglasses. You weren’t the only one to notice that he had them on indoors; the professor glanced over and immediately reprimanded him.

“Gojo, glasses off indoors, please. Don’t make me keep reminding you.” She said.

Gojo grumbled and reluctantly took them off, setting them down on the desk. You’d already began hastily scribbling notes, but all Gojo managed to do for the first ten or fifteen minutes of the lecture was drum his borrowed pen on his empty spiralbound notebook. He stole thirsted glances of you out of the corner of his eyes.

At some point his attention solely focused on you.

He observed you intently; the way you held your pen, the pace at which you write, your handwriting, how you leaned over just enough for your breasts to lightly squish against the desk.

“Hey.” He whispered to you.

You looked at him bemusedly. Ah, here he goes again. Fifteen minutes in and he has something to say to you.

“Can I copy your notes?” he asked.

“Seriously?” you whisper-shouted. The professor was so deep into her lecture about calculus that she didn’t notice Gojo starting to chat you up.

Asking to copy your notes was just his entry into flirting; what followed next was “I like your handwriting” and “so about that date…” and “there’s a party at my place this weekend…” and “wanna ditch this class together?”

“Satoru,” you said, “shut up, please.”

He shut up, not because you asked him to – he would have gone on and on despite your wishes, but you called his name. That took him aback so much so that he actually had to recompose himself and sit back, take in a breath, think for a bit. The way you pronounced his name had him in pieces.

Now came the part of the lecture where Satoru started making you laugh. You tried so hard not to, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction – but he had a good humour, you couldn’t deny a few breathy laughs here or there.

His unwavering stare was so distracting. That and the fact he kicked his feet up on the desk. He took them down when the professor turned around, and then resumed his lazy position as soon as she turned back to the whiteboard.

“Satoru,” you began, “How is it that you never take notes and still pass?”

He shrugged. “I’m a prodigy. You’re sitting next to a real genius.”

You regretted asking.

He felt bad, so he gave you a small honest answer. “I cram at night.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Would be nice to have a study buddy…” he suggested.

“No.”

“But wouldn’t it be nice? Let’s study in the library later.”

“No – ”

“Okay! I’ll meet ya there!” he smiled decisively, choosing to ignore your decline.

The class concluded, and Gojo lingered by your desk waiting for you to pack up. Some lovestruck girls always approached him at that point, and he held small talk with them. He absolutely let their compliments fuel his ego.

You tried to take advantage of the fact he was distracted by them so you could slip out of the lecture theatre unnoticed. But he had good eyes.

“Oh, gotta go. Bye.” He said hastily, eyes locked on you like you were his target. He practically tumbled down the desk levels to get to you.

Just as you disappeared beyond the door, he caught up with you, lanky body colliding with yours on ‘accident’. You thought it was deliberate, but it really was an accident – he was so clumsy around you. He threw you a lopsided, apologetic smile.

That familiar sad puppy expression developed on his features as you walked quickly down the corridor and ignored him. Inside, you were bitter about how he bathed in those girl’s attention.

He had his hands behind his back. A peculiar thing – he usually walked like he owned the place with his hands swinging like a model on a runway. You stopped abruptly in your tracks when you noticed his deflated behavior. He bumped into you again.

“Hey…”

“Sorry.” He muttered apologetically.

“… wanna get lunch together, after studying?” you offered, feeling bad for how you ignored him the whole walk to the library.

His eyes lit up. “Yeah! Yeah… uh, yes.” He almost choked. “Absolutely.”

After that, he had a pep in his step as he followed you into the library.

Studying with him was super unproductive. He kept teasing your face, pinching your cheeks and ears to get your attention and then when he had it, he started rambling about something.

Then he pulled giggles out of you. He did such goofy, stupid things.

“Look.” He said, so you looked away from your textbook.

You shook your head.

He had balanced a book on his head and bit his borrowed pen between his pearly whites.

“Don’t put my pen in your mouth! I don’t want your germs.” You said.

He grinned.

You had to admit… that was an attractive smile. The way his Addam’s apple subtly shifted. The way his eyes lit up. The way his eyes creased.

He took the book off his head and the pen out of his mouth.

“You don’t want my germs?” he pouted jokingly.

“No, no way.”

“How are we ever gonna kiss?”

“E – excuse m – what? Huh?”

Gojo giggled. He threw that in just to see your reaction.

“You sooo wanna kiss me.” He teased.

“Uh… I don’t…” you swallowed.

“You’re such a bad liar.” He said, his tone shifting into a genuinely serious one.

“I’m not lying. I’d never kiss you.” You spoke.

“Yeah?”

He brought his face closer to you. So close you could see the subtle freckles on his pale cheeks.

“What would you do if I kissed you?” Gojo asked, peering at your soul with his eyes.

You stuttered, too stunned to response. What would you do? It was a genuine question, you could tell by the tone of his voice and look in his eyes. He really wanted to know.

“I don’t know…” you responded.

“Have you thought about it at all?” he asked. A slight nervousness shook his vocals. There was the smallest of voice cracks as he said ‘thought’.

Should you have been honest? You were looking into his eyes contemplatively. Was he trying to trick you? Was he gonna get an answer out of your lips and then humiliate you with it?

You just bit the bullet and said it.

“Yeah, I guess I have.”

His eyes searched for any hints that you were kidding. You got his heart thumping, his blood rushing around so hard he felt dizzy.

It looked like he wanted to kiss you really badly, but your phone went off and ruined the moment completely. The lovey air dissolved between you and him and he wished it hadn't.

While you hastily took your phone call, you noticed out of the corner of your eyes that Gojo had a boyish blush on his face.

Reblogs n' comments help a lot!! 💗😙

Visit my library ?

1K notes · View notes

wraithlafitte · 3 months

Text

you're no femme fatale

pairing: dean winchester x f!reader

CONTENT: use of y/n, dubcon (mission sequence), soft dom!reader, guided masturbation, light degradation (m!receiving), stripping, begging, scratching, hair pulling, handjob, exhibitionism if you squint

word count: 3.3k

a/n: anon request here! enjoy 🖤 honestly felt like i was scraping the bottom of the barrel to keep this interesting LOL hope it's what you wanted

"No. No way in hell I'm doing that," you said, throwing up your hands and backing away from the table, littered with piles of Sam's research.

"Aw, come on, Y/N," Sam protested. "You're the only one of us that could do it."

"I am not entertaining some dirty old man for this," you snapped, snatching up a museum scan of the artifact you were supposed to steal. "We'll find another way."

"If there was another way, I'd be asking you to do that," Sam said, furrowing his brow. "This is the path of least resistance. You get in his office, slip it into your dress while he's not looking, and we'll come get you after ten minutes. That's it."

You huffed a sigh and crossed your arms.

Just then, Dean returned from his fast food run, greasy paper bags in hand. "Hey, nerds," he greeted impishly. "Grub's on."

You rolled your eyes as he plopped the bags right in the middle of Sam's papers.

"So, what's the plan for tonight?" Dean asked, settling himself into a chair and unwrapping a double cheeseburger.

"You would know if you had stayed to help make it," you replied annoyedly.

Dean flicked his eyebrows. "No need to get testy."

Sam sighed, deciding to intervene before things got ugly. You and Dean weren't exactly known for getting along, tolerating each other just enough to get jobs done when you had to. This was mostly due to the fact that you thought Dean was a douchebag, and he just dished back whatever you threw at him.

"The best plan we've got so far is that Y/N seduces the guy," Sam explained.

Dean snorted, almost spitting out his too-large bite of burger. "I'm sorry what?"

"I figure we'll never be able to get in there during the event, since it'll be so locked down," Sam continued. "Our best bet is getting him to let one of us in."

"Have you seen her?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow and giving you a once-over. "Not exactly the seducing type."

You looked down at your current outfit. Cargo pants and a mens t-shirt topped with a utility vest and a leather bomber jacket. He had a point, although not for the reasons he thought. You could dress up, you just chose to dress practically. More pockets for knives. No, you just weren't sure you'd be able to convince the man you wanted him. Seventy-something sleazebags weren't exactly high on your to-fuck list.

"For once, I agree with Dean." You tossed the photo back onto the table. "Can we think of something else, please?"

"Yeah, as much as I'd like to see her try and pretty up to get in some old dude's pants, there's gotta be a more surefire way," Dean said with his mouth full. "Cuz you're no femme fatale," he added pointedly.

You were getting a little annoyed at his jabs. "You don't think I can do it?" you asked, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

"Sister, I don't think you could seduce a virgin," Dean scoffed.

You turned to Sam, bristling. "That's it then. I'll do it."

"What?" Dean said loudly through his half-chewed bite.

Sam looked at you with concern. "Are you sure? Just because Dean-"

"I'm sure." You set your jaw confidently. "Let's go to the charity event."

"We're heading out to the car," Sam called through the bathroom door, where you were putting on the finishing touches to your makeup.

"Be right there," you called back, surveying yourself in the mirror. Not bad, you thought, considering the last time you put on this much makeup was prom night. You had tried to go for something an old man would like: a classic red lip and smoky eye that paired pretty well with the vintage-looking slinky black satin dress you'd found at the thrift store around the corner. It went down to your ankles, showing off your heels, and had a long slit that made its way up your leg to your hip.

You threw your coat on and hurried out the door, hopping into the backseat of the Impala. Sam glanced at you in the rearview mirror and raised his eyebrows appreciatively, but Dean didn't spare you a second glance. You were annoyed, since half the reason you were doing this was to prove him wrong, but there would be plenty of time to show off later.

As the Impala peeled out of the hotel parking lot, you took a deep swig from the flask you kept in your coat pocket. This better work.

Neither of the boys helped you out of the car when you arrived.

"Chivalry is dead," you announced after almost stumbling onto your face getting out. You tossed your coat back into the backseat, revealing your outfit to the two hunters.

Suddenly Sam was all-too-eager to offer you his arm, and the two of you headed inside, Dean close behind. You hadn't missed the way his eyes widened when you dropped your coat, so you swung your hips a little as you walked. That'll show him.

The plan worked better than you could have hoped. The sleazy old something-inaire led you to his office, hand wrapped around your waist as you clung to his arm, pretending to laugh at his stupid sexist old man jokes.

As he clicked the heavy oak door shut, you quickly scanned the room, trying to find the artifact you came for. There. On his desk. All you had to do was grab it, and-

The old man grabbed you by the hips, pulling you flush against his body. "Where were we, sweetheart?"

Insides roiling with disgust, you turned around and placed your hands on his chest, giving him the sweetest smile you could muster. "Right here," you said cattily, batting your eyelashes as you grabbed him by the lapels and led him backwards to the desk.

Here goes nothing, you thought, and pulled the old guy in for a kiss. Trying to ignore the way his tongue dug into your mouth, you felt around behind you for the artifact.

Got it. You quickly palmed the object and broke the kiss, looking up at the old man through your lashes. Now Sam or Dean was gonna bust down the door, claiming you as his missing drunk sister.

Aaaaany minute now.

The old man smiled wolfishly and you felt his hands creeping lower, lower, until he grabbed your ass firmly, jerking you closer to him and capturing your lips again.

Your heart hammered in your chest. This was not going how it was supposed to. You tried to wiggle away, but the guy was surprisingly strong for his age.

"Where you going, baby?" he asked, eyes glinting.

"I think I- I have to go," you said, aware that you were sounding a little panicked.

"You wanted this," he reminded you, giving your ass a tight squeeze. He swung you around and pushed you into the leather couch across from the desk. You tried to scramble up, but it was hard with your tight dress and the artifact still clutched in your hand, desperately being concealed, so the old man grabbed you easily by the hair, forcing you to stay down.

"Now why don't we put those pretty lips to use?"

The door swung open with a bang. The old man looked up, startled, releasing his death grip on your hair.

"There you are," came the fake-laughing voice of Dean.

"Who are you?" demanded the old man. "Get out of here!"

"Sorry man, this is my sister," Dean said, raising his hands apologetically. "She gets really hammered, acts like a slut. Gotta get her home." He helped you up, and you smiled and giggled, putting on the drunk-girl act.

Dean helped you hurry out of the room, the old man looking disappointed and angry at being cockblocked.

"Thanks," you whispered once you were down the hall and out of earshot. "What a creep."

"Please tell me you got it," Dean said darkly, weaving you through the crowd. You slipped the artifact into his suit pocket, giving it a pat for good measure.

"Didn't do that for nothing." You winked at him and pushed him away to walk the rest of the way to the car on your own two feet.

Dean stared after you, dumbfounded. He tried not to fixate on the way your hips swayed in that dress as you walked away proudly. God, that dress! It hugged your body perfectly, and Dean would be lying if he said he hadn't been eyeing you all night. His cock was semi-hard in his dress pants, an annoying reminder of just how much you'd proved him wrong.

"Come on, dickhead," you yelled out the back window of the Impala. Dean realized starkly that he had stopped in place thinking about your tits.

"Dammit," he muttered, hurrying around to the driver's seat.

The three of you piled into your hotel room to debrief from the mission. You assured the boys that you were alright from your creepy encounter with the old guy, and that stealing the artifact was worth it. The way Dean watched you raptly as you began to disrobe was not lost on you.

"I've dealt with worse in my time," you reminded them, shaking out your hair. "I'm a solo female hunter. Sleazy men hit on me literally wherever I go." You plopped down on the bed and pulled your stockings off one by one.

"As long as you're sure," Sam said, stretching and yawning. "I'm gonna head back over to our room to get some sleep. You coming, Dean?"

Dean snapped out of his fantasy. "Uh, no. I'll be there in a little bit. Gotta talk to her about something."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Okay. Just don't bite each other's head off." And with that, he was gone.

You watched Dean from the shadows of the half-lit room. When he made no move to say anything, you did. "What do you need to talk about?" you asked, knowing full well. "Gonna say sorry cuz of how wrong you were?"

Dean flicked his eyes up to yours. Where had he been looking before?

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah. You did good."

You stood and sauntered over to where he sat in a straight-backed chair by the dresser. "But that's not all, is it?" You smirked at him and looked him up and down, gaze lingering on his crotch, where a tent had begun to form.

Dean covered his bulge with his hand and pressed down, growling. "You were a little too good."

"So, what? You stayed because you want me to help with that?" you teased, coming closer.

"Yeah," Dean said roughly, standing quickly.

"No," you said bluntly, taking him by the shoulder and pushing him back into the chair.

Dean grimaced. "Why? Please," he begged, face twisted in arousal.

You giggled. "Wow."

"What?" Dean snapped, eyes cracking open.

"Nothing," you said, smirking. "You could beg a little more, might help." You felt your own arousal start to pool in your panties.

"Please, Y/N." Dean looked up at you with wild eyes, squeezing his cock through his pants.

"Please what?" You cocked your head.

"Please... make me cum," he said finally, eyes dropping to your midriff, unwilling to hold your gaze.

You tilted his chin up so he would look at you again, feeling a certain sense of satisfaction that you had somehow reduced him to this begging, horny mess in the chair before you.

"All you had to do was ask," you said softly. You backed away and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Dean started to get up and follow you.

"No," you said, holding up a red-manicured finger. "Sit back down." You pointed.

Dean frowned but did as he was told. You smiled, delighted.

"You're having way too much fun with this," he grumbled.

"I'm sorry what was that?" you asked with a stern expression. "Do you want to cum or not?"

Dean's dick twitched in his pants. The way you bossed him around was really turning him on. "Nothing."

"That's what I thought." You twirled your hair thoughtfully. Dean whined impatiently.

"Tsk, tsk." You crossed your legs at an angle where he could almost see through the slit into your crotch. "Take your cock out."

Dean was all too happy to oblige, unbuckling his belt and undoing his pants faster than you could say desperate, hiking up his dress shirt in the process.

"Wait," you interrupted before he could go any further. "Why don't you unbutton your shirt, too. Wouldn't want to make a mess." You smirked.

"Okay," Dean agreed breathily, practically tearing the two sides of the shirt from each other, exposing his muscular torso. You had seen him shirtless before, but there was something about the way he was breathing, stomach rising and falling quickly as he panted, that turned you on when it wouldn't normally.

"Now you can take your dick out," you said. You held your breath a little as his cock came into view. He was fully hard now, and dripping. He squeezed the base, moaning.

"Now what?" he asked, eyes shut as he lightly stroked his cock with his fingertips.

"You need me to tell you how to jack off?" you asked meanly. To your surprise, Dean moaned loudly at that.

He began stroking his cock, slowly at first, building up speed as he could no longer contain himself. A near-constant string of quiet whimpers and moans fell from his lips. You took note of the way he swiped his thumb over his leaking slit, spreading it around to aid his fingers.

"Look at me," you instructed. You wanted to see that wild look in his eyes again, and were instantly rewarded as his eyes flew open to meet yours. His mouth fell open as he gasped when he saw you.

"Forget I was here?" you teased. Dean gulped and shook his head vehemently. His hand slowed, and he started tugging himself less frantically, holding eye contact with you intensely.

"Fuck," he whispered hoarsely. "You're so hot, wanna see you."

You smirked. "Only because you admitted it." You hiked up your skirt, spreading the slit open so he could see your black lace panties.

Dean devoured your skin with his eyes, rubbing the head of his cock in circles with his thumb.

You dropped the straps of your dress so that they hung loosely around your shoulders and ran your long nails across your collarbones, petting your shoulders. Then you took hold of the neckline and pulled it down, freeing your tits from the dress.

"Better than I imagined, baby," Dean groaned at the sight, as his hips bucked into his hand.

You took one of your breasts in your hand, squeezing it towards your chest. "You imagined?" you lilted, smiling.

"Been thinkin' about you all night," he admitted shamelessly. "How good your tits looked in that dress. How good- ngh- you looked walkin' away from me."

Your other hand started creeping into your skirt. "Thought I couldn't even seduce a virgin. What does that make you?"

Dean growled, jerking his cock faster. "I don't- fuck-"

"Maybe you're just a manwhore," you purred, hopping off the bed to approach him.

"Please," Dean gasped, tossing his head back. "I need you."

You scoffed. "I'm not that lacking in self-respect." You lightly scratched your fingernails down the side of his face. He leaned into your touch, groaning, hand stilling.

You leaned in to murmur in his ear. "No, you're gonna take care of this all... by... yourself." You laced your fingers into his short hair, scratching his scalp, and pulled his head back. He relaxed and his eyes fluttered closed at the feeling.

"So take care of it," you remind him harshly, giving his hair a hard tug before letting go. Dean raised his head hazily and began to stroke his dick again, gasping. It was angry red, practically begging for release, but Dean seemed determined to tease himself until he couldn't take it anymore, which you suspected would be soon.

You turned your back to him and unzipped your dress, letting it fall to the floor in a silken puddle. You heard Dean moan softly, sound of skin rubbing skin growing faster. You smiled to yourself as an idea occurred to you.

Against a backdrop of street lamplight coming through the window and lewd noises coming from Dean, you padded barefoot wearing only your underwear to the other side of the bed, where your pajamas lay folded neatly on the nightstand. You unfolded them and spread them out on the bed.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked hoarsely. "Don't- please stay- I need to see you," he whimpered finally.

You ignored him, as you had been planning to do, and put your pajamas on dramatically slowly to the soundtrack of Dean begging you to stop, stay naked, help him.

You turned back to him when you were finished and a rush of arousal hit you at the sight: Dean, cock in hand, sitting exactly where you had left him, sweaty and gasping and looking at you with a wild, desperate expression. You moaned softly in spite of yourself.

"Poor baby," you pout, rounding the bed to sit next to him again. "Haven't you come yet?"

Dean's hand was working overtime, forearm muscles flexing and rippling beneath his skin where his sleeve was rolled up.

"Can't," he breathed.

"You can't come?" You feigned surprise, even though you had known for several minutes that he was probably going to wait for your permission.

"Need you," Dean panted. "Can't do it- mm- without you."

"Sure you can," you said, running your nails down his chest. He shivered intensely.

Dean whimpered, face contorting in frustration. "I can't."

"What, I got you so turned on you can't even jack off without me?" you tease, fingertips stopping right above his happy trail.

"Please touch me."

"I am touching you," you reply smoothly, digging your fingers into his stomach.

Dean rolled his eyes, although you weren't sure if it was sass or pleasure. "Please," he insisted, whining.

"Useless." You replaced his hand with yours, gripping his cock tightly as you stroked it for him. "Can't even make yourself come without my help."

Dean went slack-jawed, head falling back once more. "Uh-huh," he moaned breathily. He ground his hips upwards, trying to find more pressure or friction or something but getting nothing but what you gave him.

"You're a useless whore, right?" you taunted. He would tell you if you went too far, right?

"Yes," Dean groaned loudly. You almost clapped your hand over his mouth, certain that Sam could hear through the walls.

"Shhh, be quiet baby," you said instead. You swiped your thumb over the head of his dick and he hissed, biting his lip. Your other hand went down to cup his balls, giving them a light squeeze.

Suddenly Dean's whole body tensed and his eyes flew open. "Shit- I'm so close, please," he panted. His abs flexed, indicating that he was telling the truth.

You increased the pressure on both hands slightly. "Go on then."

Dean let out a sound somewhere between a strangled gasp and a groan as he came, spurting over his stomach and your hands. You kept pumping, using his cum to aid your efforts, until he was begging you to stop between gasping breaths. Only then did you let go of him, admiring your handiwork.

One Dean Winchester (formerly unbelieving of your sexual prowess), spread over a chair, covered in cum, sweaty and panting and utterly fucked out.

"Thank you," he whispered weakly after a moment.

"Will you ever doubt me again?" you asked, smirking.

He rolled his head to the side to look at you. "No. Fuck, that was hot." Dean grinned. "Actually, I changed my mind. Maybe I should doubt you more often."

You rolled your eyes. "Whatever, Winchester. Clean up and go to bed."

Dean got out of the chair stiffly, winked at you, and went to do as he was told.

dividers by @cafekitsune and @saradika

#dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester #supernatural x reader #supernatural smut #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #spn #spn smut #spn fanfiction #userwraith

526 notes · View notes

diejager · 6 months

Note

...i mean i have plenty of dark ideas with makarov but i mean... i kinda want to know on your thoughts with makarov and a reader who's equally dark/cunning. match made in hell basically

котёнок (A/n):I read a bit about him, but I can’t say that my portrayal of him is faithful to the game.

A fucking match made in hell. He doesn’t love easily, nor does he devote himself to someone as much as he did with Zakhaev often, but once he does give you this deluded level of love and devotion, it’s yours until he dies. In his mind, anything goes, shooting his only friend, bombing civilian areas to kill off one enemy, or trafficking as a source of money. Vladimir Makarov had no limit when it came to what he believes in.

He might be unpredictable with his acts and strict with his decisions, but that - by no means - meant that he didn’t like to play games, despite everything that went on in his life, Makarov loved games. He liked playing with his enemy, making it seem like they were ahead of him, only to disappear, being ten feet ahead. But then you appear, foiling his plans left and right, seeming to play right into his hands, moving as he predicted, only to outplay him, smirking his way as you strut away. He was mesmerized, the sight of the woman who had tricked the devil, clad in black and smile as sinfully cunning as his.

Makarov called you his котёнок —his kitten. He watched you in admiration, hungering for any moment with or against you, a gem in the corrupted world he lived in. He loathed that you weren’t working with him, standing beside him with that beautifully, cruel sneer you gave anyone who disappointed you. You didn’t follow the good or evil side, uncaring of who worked for the betterment of the world - he’d seen and heard you fucking up the 141’s attempts as you did with his - you only followed the wining side, the one who had the money to show and the hand to control it.

For months, he tried his luck, sending messages to you in many way, both nefarious and quiet, anything to contact you, anything to have you on his side; and when he had you working with him, striding to him in all your confident glory, he couldn’t be any prouder. Makarov had another asset up his sleeve, one more important than others, he cherished you, he devoted his time to you and he love you in his own twisted way.

If his котёнок wanted to play, he would play. He would back you up in every decision you mad, the jobs you took, the deals you signed. If you wanted to burn down the world, he would do it with you; if you wanted to bomb a public building, he would provide you the explosives; and if you wanted a hand in rebuilding the world in your image, he would help you, lead the men that worked under him and push your ideals.

Makarov didn’t just love you, he was obsessed, addicted —he was devoted to your being, cunning and devious. He might pull a few strings in the dark, but you were a danger on your own, giving your rivals and enemy a run for their money, and he loved that. You controlled the room when you sat down, your nails cackling on the table eerily as you stare down the people across from you, eyes narrowed and lips pursed, a stoic mien before cowering men.

He would sometimes stand behind you, acting as the looming shadow that added to your scary image, or he’d take up the seat beside yours, head tilted up with his arms crossed, the image of a confident tyrant, poised and powerful. You were a dark pleasure, sly and opportunistic, and he, a wicked and cunning man, portraying his ideology through his spread of terror.

��My sweet, sweet kitten,” he whispered in Russian, pressing his lips to yours, kiss feverish and rough, all teeth and domination. “Tell me, what is it you want?”

Tag list: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973

#tw: dark content #tw: human trafficking #vladimir makarov #cod makarov #makarov x reader #call of duty mw3 #vladimir makarov x reader #yandere #cod mw2 #x reader #yandere x reader

761 notes · View notes

wintfleur · 19 days

Note

stop i need stella moments with her brothers in videos about them like “going home” 🙏🏼🙏🏼

౨ৎ going home (featuring Stella Hughes!)

﹕─┈ pairings ( Estella Hughes oc! X siblings! Hughes brothers )

°. — details ( g; fluff. w; none really? wc; 1.k )

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( I am sooo sorry for how long this has taken for me to get out !!! It got lost in my inbox lovely, but thank you sm for sending in a request! I loved writing it, so sorry that it’s short !!! Hope you guys enjoy !!! )

°. — this is based off this video.

°. — ( feel free to send any requests of things you would like to see in this series, or if you just want to share some thoughts! I would absolutely love that! Please comment if you would like to be added to the tag list! )

au masterlist — you can find asks under #💌stellahughes!

﹕─┈ All of Stella’s moments during ‘Going Home | Quinn Hughes’

“Lukey was the best pool player in the family I would say, or in the house” Quinn answered Kate's question, as he motioned his head towards Luke who was leaning over the pool table with his stick. Stella’s lips twitched up into a smile, already knowing where her older brother was leading the conversation too. Quinn continued to speak with a small smile “He had like the best win percentage, and then he bought a pool stick.”

“For like 200 bucks” Luke was quick to interrupt Quinn, an annoyed frown on his lips as he looked back on the bad money decision, he should have listened to stella. Quinn let out a small chuckle and glanced back at Stella before continuing to tease Luke “Yeah, and he just his game went down the down the rails like. He was like one in ten.”

“What about you stella?” Kate sent the youngest Hughes a warm smile, looking at Stella who was sitting Criss crossed on the couch watching Luke. Stella perked up at the mention of her name and sent Kate a happy smile, but before she could answer, Luke was quick to jump in and answer for her with a laugh “Stella’s the worst!”

Everyone in the room laughs at the dramatic gasp that Stella let out. Jack, who was leaning against the wall, laughing louder than the rest at the offended look Stella sends him. Quinn just shrugs, he was not going to get in between Stella and Luke today. The Producer chuckles himself before asking Quinn another answer “are you the cook in the house?”

Stella zones out as Quinn answers the question, her eyes dropping down to her lap where her phone rested when she felt it vibrate, a shy smile coming across her face when she sees who texted her. She bit her bottom lip to hide her smile, not wanting to give her suddenly happy mood away.

lovey 🩵: do you think i'd survive sneaking through your window tonight?

pretty girl 🩷: are you brave enough to try? (i give you a 40% survival rate)

lovey 🩵: Bet! (i’d die happy though)

“Isn't that right stella?” Quinn asked Stella, wanting her to agree with how he's a much better cook. Stella looks up from her phone where she was lost in her own world and sees everyone looking at her for an answer, but the only answer they got was a confused frown and a small “Huh.”

Quinn and Jack chuckle while Luke narrows his eyes on her phone, Stella quickly shutting it off when she sees Luke's stare. Quinn chuckles and gives the camera a cheeky smile “I'm gonna take that as a yes.”

Stella sat in the corner of the boat, a blanket over her lap and her hands stuffed into the front pocket of Luke's hoodie that she stole. She wanted to go sit up on the front of the boat, curled up next to her mom but they wanted her to sit with Luke and Jack, the fans wanted to see the siblings together more apparently.

“Get your toes away from me” Stella quietly hissed at jack when he rested them up on the seat next to her, Luke who was laying on his stomach behind her stifled his laugh at the groan of annoyance stella lets out when jack teasingly moves his toes closer to her. Ellen leans forward and looks back at her children, she sends a warning look to her middle son and leans back, knowing that's all she'd have to do for him to stop bugging his sister.

Jack rolls his eyes and lets out an annoyed huff when Stella sends him a triumphant smirk, Stella leans back against the seat and looks out at the water as she listens to Quinn answer all the questions and talk about the lake. Luke absentmindedly played with a few strands of Stella's hair as he also zoned out looking out at the water.

Stella brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arm around her knees, resting her chin on top of them. She bounces in her seats at the waves quinn goes over, a laugh leaving her lips when her mother starts to shout at quinn and stand up “I’m kidding it's going to be fine” Quinn laughed as he watched his mom stand up, wanting to get away from the splashes of water.

A surprised gasp leaves Stella's lips and her body stills when she feels a cold chill run through her body, as she feels water come up and splash her in the face and neck. Everyone laughs on the boat as she hurriedly wipes off the water from her face, a loud laugh coming from quinn’s lips when stella whines “Quinnnn” Jack smiles and takes his hat off and drops it on Stella's head, protecting her face from the water.

Quinn gives the camera a big grin before shrugging his shoulders “oops.”

“What's the five for?” Kate asks Quinn as she motions towards the garage wall where four numbers in blue spray paint were written. 43,86,43 and 5. Quinn, Kate and the rest of the crew where in the garage, filming quinn as he shot some pucks, showing off the ‘shooting room.’

Quinn paused to catch his breath and turned to look back at the wall, memories flooding through his mind of him and his siblings all putting their number on the wall after the ‘shooting room’ was done. A great memory. Quinn smiled fondly as he looked at kate “Oh that's stella number when she used to play.”

“And I'm guessing those are hers too” Kate laughed as she pointed at the light pink skates that had a bunch of different stickers on them, the laces pink as well. Quinn chuckles and nods as he looks back at the skate's jack had gotten her a year ago, while Luke got her a new pack of stickers “yeah those are stella’s, she likes coming down and shooting with us.”

“Is she any good?” the producer asks, even though he already knew the answer. All the brothers have mentioned Stella's hockey skills before. Quinn leans down to take off his skates, ready to show them the next thing on the schedule. Quinn smirks at the camera “She's my sister, of course she is.”

At the end of the video the camera is filming all the guys playing a friendly skirmish, and you can see Stella sitting on the bench cheering for Cole who was on a breakaway!

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( I bet you all can guess who she was texting !!! I just know the fans would eat the content up !!! I know it’s short but I didn’t really want to put a lot of Stella in this video, just a perfect amount where the fans would want more of her !!! )

°. — taglist ( @privatemythss @cixrosie @toasttt11 @lxvelyzoe @bunbunbl0gs @lovings4turn x )

388 notes · View notes

thatsdemko · 5 months

Text

who’s the worst of them all? someone tell Santa Claus! - f1 grid

part two | masterlist

warning: not intended for minors + some jokes + fluff/filler part

a/n: hi hi it’s me… I’ve had this written since early November and I’m excited to share!! enjoy!!

DEAR Y/N,

have you been a good girl this year? I heard you’re looking for your stocking stuffed, I think I have just the gift. meet me at midnight for your gift!

secret Santa

you can’t read this out loud, and most definitely not to the public who will view this video later. whoever was your secret Santa, must’ve heard the rumors of your dry spell. and how pitiful was if that it wasn’t even a rumor, it was the truth.

“oh it’s just a sweet handwritten note.” you chuckle quickly flashing the note to the camera before shoving it back inside the off white envelope.

the presenter presses for more information. she asks what the letter contains and who you think it’s from, and in all honesty, it could be coming from anyone.

all the boys handwriting was not legible. it was like getting a doctors script, it could mean anything, but it was clear this individual took their time to make it perfect.

“I’ll have to find out at the Christmas dinner tonight.” you flash a wink in hopes to cover the beet red look against your cheeks.

“well have fun!”

fun… this was about to be nowhere near fun when it came down to narrowing twenty something guys to be your secret Santa.

—

starting off with Pierre. in his bachelor days, he would’ve sent you something like this, but it was always harmless jokes and he would never take it this far. with kika around his arm, you could cross him off the list of embarrassing yourself in front of.

then there’s his best friend, Charles. he always had a wobbly relationship with women, and seeing he’s alone tonight you cross the room heading his way, “you don’t happen to be my secret Santa?” your hands delicately press against his shoulders, he turns around rather quickly at your touch instantly shaking his head, “no, no, I got Pierre this year. you still don’t know yours?”

shaking your head in response, you eye the room from where you stand. the bar had begun to fill with drivers and team members rather quickly. the air was colder now, but the heat from inside was welcoming to those dressed in bare minimum, like yourself. Charles hand against your lower back was like a radiator, the heat spread through your system faster than the log fire going on, “I’m sure you’ll find him.” Charles promises, “but for now, can I get you a drink?”

“please.”

—

the nights gone smoothly and so far you can cross off valterri, Logan, Kevin, and Nico. you’re questioning yuki, Daniel, Lewis, and lando due to their abilities to dodge the questions.

George outright told you it wasn’t him after hearing you’d spun yourself in circles to find anyone new to question. Logan had confessed to having brought up the idea, but refused to give any further information.

and then there was Carlos.

the man who’d been under your nose this whole evening. with his bow tie crooked, and the clock ticking closer to midnight, you meander your way over to where he stands.

“I’m not who you’re looking for, hermosa.”

“and who am I looking for exactly?”

his eyes flicker from the clock, the television highlighting the Real Madrid game, and back over to you, “I’d never send such a cryptic message.” he maneuvers his body to face yours, “I know how to ask for what I want.”

“and what is it that you want?” you press your body closer in to the smooth wood bar top. your mind is spinning, your heart is hammering it’s way out of your chest, and Carlos is inching closer.

“for you to leave me alone.”

“you’re no fun, sainz.” you pout your bottom lip out and spin on your heels to find your body pressed into lando’s.

“you find him yet?” landos cheeky grin makes him look like a Cheshire Cat. ever since he read the note he’d been eager to place the pin on the man and root for your dry spell to end.

for now, it’s ten minutes to midnight and the place was emptying. the alcohol buzzed around the room and the chatter begun to die, it’s ironic how it was a little bit like your heart: buzzing to find the guy, but ready to die at the sight of him.

“I’m sure it’s all just a prank and I’ll have Logan to blame for it.”

“miss,” the bartenders tap against your shoulder makes you spin away from landos chest, “this is for you.”

DEAR Y/N,

giving up? never thought of you as a quitter.

yours

grinding your teeth together you press the napkin into your palm until the ink smudges. you’re no quitter, but if the man with no balls doesn’t show up soon, you’ll leave here ready to slam your car into someone else’s.

“I’m going to head out, you’ll be okay to walk out alone?”

lando’s worries snap your thoughts from the napkin that’s disintegrating into your hands. his touch is soft against your bare shoulder, making your body two degrees warmer than the room, “I’ll be fine, you go home and have a good Christmas.”

“you too, and if you don’t find him—“

“yes, I know, you’ll key his car.”

rolling your eyes, you playfully shove the Brit off into the cold, leaving you and the cleaning crew in silence.

you never noticed how trashed the bar was. in its glory days, you can tell the red thick carpet and white trim around the bar gave the place a holiday feel. and by the old pictures scattered around the walls, the formula one boys had a riot in this place. people from Michael Schumacher all the way down to young Fernando Alonso, the place seemed to always be the home of f1.

looking down at the disintegrated napkin in your hand, and quickly looking up at the clock, midnight had just struck. if he wasn’t here by 12:01 you were a goner. you hated people who wasted your time, you’d much rather be at home or maybe in lando’s warm McLaren buzzing from the alcohol and the warm leather seats.

turning on your heel, he’d just arrived. he’s shaking the snow off his bulky black jacket, shimmering out of the sleeves. a man comes and retrieves it from his grasp, and in typical fashion, he thanks him.

“you thought I wouldn’t come?”

“I hate when people are late.”

“good thing I’m not late then,” he says with a soft smile approaching where you stand at the bar, with your arms crossed tightly over your chest. he leans forward, inching his mouth over your ear, “I’m right on time.”

a/n: take your guesses on who you think it is!! the big reveal happens Christmas Day!

tags: @oconso @xcicix @imsorare @weasleyswizardwheezes-blog @monzabee @lpab @frreyaa @motorsp0rt @lovelytsunoda @smoothopz z @jaehyunluvcult @iloveyou3000morgan @lunnnix @leclerc13 @goldenalbon

700 notes · View notes

indigosunsetao3 · 18 days

Text

The Car

Warnings: Jealousy, Manipulation (from both parties), Smut, Oral Sex

Second expansion of the Ex Husband Price list.

"No no no," you groan as you car splutters on the road. You knew something felt off when you had pulled out of the garage at work but decided to risk it anyway. You had recently started a new job, finally able to find a company that was willing to take a risk on you after such a long time away from the work force. Eager to show your enthusiasm for the job you worked late all week, even this Friday evening.

"Shit," you sigh as the car bucks in protest and you pull over to the very narrow shoulder. It's whining and idling so low you know it's going to stall out and before you can even throw the hazards on it does just that. It had done this before and you never got a solid answer from John what the issue was. He threw a whole bunch of lingo at you explaining but he knew it would go over your head.

You give the car a few seconds rest before trying to the key to start it again. The car stutters, engine squealing as it tries to turn over but it doesn't get there. You wait and try again, same result. One more time and you let out a yell of frustration and throw the keys into the passenger seat. It's nearly ten at night, on a Friday. You couldn't just leave your car here but a tow was out of your budget, and actually going to the shop to fix it was out of the question.

There's only one other option and it eats you from the inside as you stare at his number in your phone.

"John," you say when he finally picks up. It had rung so long you were sure it was going to go to voicemail. He doesn't say anything but you know he is listening. "My car's dead," you explain with a irritated sigh. "I was leaving work and it did that weird bucking thing and I think I saw smoke," you explain, eyes darting to the road as another car flies by. "You we're able to fix it last time and I just thought you could tell me-" you don't finish before he cuts you off.

"Call a tow," John replies flatly and you hear something rattling; glasses. "I'm busy," he continues and then you hear someone talking in the background. A man but you also hear a woman's lilting laugh a second later. That makes you freeze.

"You know what," you snap, jerkily removing your seatbelt and going for the door. "I'll figure it out myself," you climb out and slam the car door shut. Another car races by and the loud roar of the engine makes you wince as your jam the phone between your shoulder and ear as your fingers scramble to find the hood latch. "Have a nice evening with your friends."

"Get back in the car," John snaps, obviously having heard you climb out and the cars going by. "Where are you?"

"Doesn't matter, you're busy," you answer back finally finding the latch. You let the phone slide down and you grab it with your hand as you wrench the hood above your head and look for the support piece to hold it in place. "I'm sure someone will pull over to help." And you hang up.

He calls back four times but you ignore him as you stare at the engine. You have no idea what you are looking at and when you reach for something familiar the heat wafting from it makes you flinch back. Then, because England lives for being dramatic, it starts to rain. The water fizzles as it hits the hot engine and you huff, moving to let the hood fall with a loud bang again not sure if it was wise to let the engine drenched.

Stomping around to the drivers side door you stare at the phone as John starts sending texts before calling again and you finally pickup.

"Figure it out, sweetheart?" John asks sarcastically. You can hear music in the background and you do your best to not let your ears strain to see if you can hear that woman again.

"I'm calling a tow," you answer simply as you smooth your hair back off your face. "Maybe they'll actually fix it properly this time," you snipe. He had been the one to 'fix' it last time.

"Where are you?" He asks ignoring your jab.

You sigh before giving him the road you're on and lean back into the seat. He says he'll be there in thirty, he has to drop someone off at home first. You don't ask who that person is, though you feel a squirm in your stomach at the thought if it was that woman. Maybe a date that you interrupted. If you hadn't been so exhausted after a long week you probably wouldn't have even called him. The instinct to reach out to him when something went wrong was still too strong and it irked you that he was still your safe space.

Lights flare in your rearview mirror as John pulls up in his truck, flashing them once to let you know it's him. The rain is coming down in a proper downpour now and you snatch up your purse and dart out into it. You twist to lock your car over your shoulder, the battery is functional at least. When you pull the door open you have to pull yourself up, the stupid thing so tall that John used to help you in it whenever you two would take it out.

"Don't," you say as he looks at you and opens his mouth. You're shivering and you wrap your arms around yourself as he throws on his signal to pull back into traffic. "I'll call a tow for it in the morning," you state as you watch the dark form of your car in the mirror disappear into dark. "Maybe I just need a new one. I don't want something unreliable." Not that you could afford a new car by any means.

"I'll look at it first," John states as he leans over and turns the heat up a bit. "Probably just the fuel injector again," he mutters, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He doesn't say anything else for the rest of the ride and you don't fill the silence either. You're exhausted, cold and frustrated with yourself and the whole situation. Especially the jealousy burning in your chest as you catch sight of a lipstick covered straw on a fast food cup in the cupholder. He catches you looking at it and smirks as you quickly advert your eyes back out the window.

"You can stay on the couch," you offer looking at the radio clock as he pulls into your driveway. It's almost midnight and you know his apartment is across town, "if you want." You tack on before climbing out and wobbling on your heels on the driveway. It's the least you could do for him taking pity and coming to get you, plus if he's here he's not with the woman wearing shocking pink lipstick.

"Gaz is going to meet me in the morning," he offers as he kicks his shoes off at the door while texting on his phone. "See if we can fix it."

"Right," you answer, not turning around to look at him as your climb the stairs. "You know where the blankets are."

"You're welcome," John calls up the stairs, to which you answer with a snap of your bedroom door. You flick the lock for good measure even if the cheap doorhandle would never keep John Price out if he was determined.

Rest is fitful. You wake up multiple times and stare at the ceiling thinking about the fact John is downstairs. How long had it been since you had spent a night together, even if it was in different rooms? Months. You nearly crack and go down to check at him a three am. Telling yourself you just wanted to make sure he was comfortable, but when you open the bedroom door his resounding snores tell you he's just fine, ruining your pathetic excuse.

When you wake next it's nearly nine in the morning and you quickly hop out of bed. You can hear music coming from outside and you peer out the window to see John in the driveway, bent over tinkering over your car engine. He must have been up early to have already gone out, managed to get it running, get it back here and Gaz already be gone.

Not sure what to do with yourself you keep busy in the house, willing yourself to not look out and stare at him. When you brought him out a bottle of water and some crisps he's humming along to the music, a smirk on his lips as he works. He glances at you as you watch over his shoulder, doing your best to look at what he's doing and not the back of his actual shoulder where the muscles are rippling under the skin as he loosens a few bolts.

"Need something?" He asks as you stand there uselessly for another few minutes. "I'm almost done if that's what you're here for," he tacks on as he stands up and wipes his face with the bottom of his shirt.

For fucks sake. You bite the inside of your cheek at the glimpse of his stomach, the sweat that is shining there and the matted hair that trails deliciously down to the waistband of his pants. He lets his shirt fall before chugging the water as he looks at you waiting for an answer.

"I've got a few errands to run today," you cover quickly. "Is this going to be working properly when you're done with it? Only, I don't want to get stranded again," you state, doing your best to sound annoyed and not impossibly distracted by him standing there.

"It'll be fine," John answers, "you need to keep up the maintenance on it. The oil was sludge," he admonishes as he toes the waste can. "When was the last time you actually took it in for a tune up?"

"That was your job," you answer with a small shrug. "Didn't cross my mind. Just another thing to add to my to do list until I find someone else to do it for me." You turn heel and you know he's glaring at your back.

You spend the rest of your time burning off the nervous energy cleaning the house. When you drag the overflowing trash out to the bin you spot the fast food cup from the night before sitting in there. The bright pink lipstick glaring in the sunlight and you reach in to grab the cup to look at it, pausing when you realize how ridiculous that is before dumping the rest of the trash over it. When the lid slams shut you look over to see John staring at you with a shit-eating grin. He knows you had saw it, as if he had planned it.

Sometime later you hear him come in and find him washing his hands in the sink. He's covered in dirt, grease and sweat. You lean on the door jam watching him for a bit, watching him attempt to suds off the dirt with one of your flowery hand soaps.

"Just go shower," you state after a second as he leans down to rinse his arms up to his elbows. "You're making a mess of my kitchen," you state, tilting your head at the puddles of dirty water that he's dripped all over the sink and floor.

"I'll be out in a few," John states as he brushes past you. "Car should be all set by the way. Fully tuned up and running perfectly," he turns to walk backwards for a second, "you'll still need to get an oil change in six months though."

"I'll be sure to let the next person know. Six months should be plenty of time to find someone else to do it," you smirk as you see his shoulders tense as he rounds the stairs. You wipe up the kitchen and realize he doesn't have a towel and you'll be damned if he gets oil all over your nice ones.

Darting up the stairs you pause at the linen closet to grab an old ratty towel before knocking on the ensuite. The shower is running and you're about to crack the door open and throw the towel in for him when he calls for you to come in. You twist the door handle and push the door open to find him standing there in just his pants, hands in the midst of undoing his zipper.

"Forgot to give you a towel," you state, holding it up to him. He nods his head to the side to indicate for you to just set it on the counter. Then he undoes his zipper fully and steps out of his pants in a swift movement. He acts as if this were normal, that you were still married and he was just getting in the shower after a long day.

"John!" You snap as you drop your gaze to the floor quickly and twist your head a bit.

"Never knew you to be shy," John answers simply as he bends down and grabs his pants and folds them on the counter. He's going deliberately slow and you dart your eyes up to look at him. He's watching you like a hawk and you swallow as you take in the sight of him in the rapidly steaming bathroom. "Get out then if you're that upset about it," he teases as you let your eyes roam over him. He holds perfectly still, letting you drink him in knowing that you're struggling. "Or join me," he tacks on with an eyebrow quirk. "Saw you watching me all morning," he smirks. "Don't lie," he says quickly as you open your mouth to fight him on that.

"Get in the shower," you breathe out as you move to leave. "I don't want to see the lipstick on your cock from your girlfriend last night." There was that jealousy you had been trying to fight for hours. You hadn't seen anything, but you had certainly looked for the evidence despite yourself. His hand grabs your wrist swiftly and tugs you back toward him.

"I cleaned that off already," he taunts pulling you closer to him. "You jealous, sweetheart?" He tilts his head to the side a bit as you twist your wrist to pull back, it's a false attempt and you both know it.

"You're free to do whatever you want," you answer, eyes flicking up to his face. "Does she know you went to your ex wife's rescue?" You see his eyes narrow at the word ex-wife and you do your best to squash the glee you get at his anger of the term. "And you stayed in her house?"

"She's not worried about it," John answers and he knows he's hit a sore spot, but he keeps needling. "I told her exactly where I was going and she just told me to be careful." He's confirming your worst fear and the sudden jerk of your arm breaks his grip on you.

"Wash up and get out," you snap and turn to leave but you barely make it to the door before he grabs you around the waist to pull you back. He's chuckling and you thrash seeing red.

"She doesn't care if I'm with my wife," he states, either purposely or slip of the tongue forgetting the ex part. "Because she's Johnny's bird. I had them over the apartment last night," he nips your ear as your still in his arms. "Now who's a jealous arsehole?" Something you had accused him of so many times.

"You lied," you gasp out, the fight dying in you as you piece everything together. He nuzzles the side of your neck and kisses your pounding pulse. You don't fight him as his hands roughly untucks your shirt from your sinfully short pajama shorts.

"I never said a word, you made your own assumptions," he admonishes as his hands find your now bare breasts and kneads them roughly. "Turn about is fair play," he grinds out as you arch up off him as he pinches your nipples. You know he's referring to what you had done last time he had been around, taunting him about your ex.

"You let me make them on purpose," you whine as one hand slides down your stomach toward the hem of your shorts.

"So what if I did?" He asks as his fingers toy with the elastic of your underwear. "I like getting you all worked up. Watch you squirm a bit," he palms your center through the thin cotton material and you attempt to grind down on his hand but he pulls back a fraction of an inch. "Get you needy for me," his fingers brush down the v of your bikini line, "remind you that you did this to yourself." He bites your shoulder as you grab his wrist to force him to touch you but he barely grazes your clit with his finger before pulling away.

"John," you say frustrated as he lets go of you and steps around to get in the shower. "We can't kept doing this. It's just dragging it out."

"I seem to remember it was you calling me last night," he states as he opens the glass shower door and barely steps in. His eye are watching you, a commanding look on his face as he lifts his hand up to you. He's making you go to him, making you beg him.

You stare at him determined to hold onto some dignity this time. You couldn't be the one to give in twice in a row, even if you had gotten yourself off last night thinking about him to take the edge off to get some sleep. But when the hot water rushes over John's naked form and he curls his fingers in a come-hither motion, you follow obediently.

You strip out of your shorts and underwear and step into the steam of the shower. Before the door even clicks shut he's got you pinned to tile wall, causing you to gasp at the bite of cold on your back. His tongue takes that chance to sweep in and you moan as his fingers finally find your clit and rub gentle circles. He kicks your legs a bit wider so he can run his hand further down you and he roughly pushes a finger in without warning.

"This is something you can't take care of yourself," he says as he pulls back from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours. "I heard you last night," he states as he curls his finger, pumping antagonizing slow. "Heard you open the door before retreating again. Then I heard you whimpering my name a few minutes later," he hitches his breath with you, a mockery, as he pushes a second finger in. "Yet here you are, still so needy for me. Can't take that edge off yourself can you?"

You narrow your eyes. You thought you had heard something when you had dug around in the nightstand. Had frozen in your hunt for something, anything, to get yourself off but found your stash depleted. Your toys had slowly been disappearing, or losing charge when you needed them most, over the past few months. You just thought you had just misplaced them in the bathroom or forgot to charge them. But the way John is taunting you, you're suspicious he's the reason you haven't been able to properly get yourself off.

"You sneaky bastard," you pant as he kisses you feverishly a few times before dropping down to his knees before you. You run your hands through his soaked hair as he kisses his way down your stomach, his one hand never stopping its ministrations as his other slides down to the back of your thigh to lift your leg up over his shoulder.

"I would have helped you last night," he replies as he kisses you just a fraction of an inch above where you want him most. "But you're the one who locked the door," he finishes before darting his tongue out to lick a long, wide, stripe over your clit.

You buck up and have to slap one hand on the wall to keep yourself balanced as he begins to lap at you in earnest. The water is scalding against your already heated skin and when you look down you see John's eyes staring up at you. The piercing blue eyes crinkled in the corners because he's smirking at what he's doing to you, at the noises he's getting out of you.

"How many times did you cum last night?" John asks as he picks up the pace with his fingers, pressing his free hand on your lower pelvis to keep you from riding his hands and helping yourself.

"O-once," you shudder, "barely." You admit because damn it you want to get off properly. If his smug attitude at 'winning' this fight meant that would happen, you would you'd take it. "Fuck John," you throw your head back on the wall, feeling it bounce lightly, as he nips at your clit.

"Poor thing," he taunts as he places a chaste kiss where he had just bitten. He twists out of the grip you attempt to get on his hair to pull him to you; he's going to decide when and how you finish. "Impatient, jealous and oh so needy," he spreads you a bit wider before sucking lightly causing you to shake with exertion.

"Stop teasing me," you say frustratedly before yelping as he bites you harder than before. "Please," you tack on knowing he's never one to accept your demanding things.

"Since you asked so nicely," John says before finally giving you what you want. His fingers find that spot in you without hesitation, he knows your body too well, as his tongue abuses your clit. You rock your hips into his face, riding him as he pushes you to that edge. You finally topple over the abyss at a scrape of his teeth and he holds you steady to keep from slipping in the water.

You come down, sinking a few inches on the wall as he unhooks your leg off his shoulder. He's smirking as he pushes up from the ground and you reach for him, more than ready for a second, or third, orgasm but he stops you despite being rock hard himself.

"I've got a meeting," he explains as he grabs a bottle of shampoo absently and begins to quickly wash his hair, using the excess suds to wipe down his skin. "And unlike you, I can finish myself," he smirks as his palms his heavy dick for a second just to taunt you before rinsing off.

You narrow your eyes reach for him again but he grabs your wrist to restrain you. He's serious. He is going to leave you here aching for more. With one last gloating smirk he steps out and grabs one of your nice towels, the raggedy one left forgotten on the counter.

In his haste to clean up he hadn't gotten all the grease off his skin and the remnants are left on your nice fluffy towel. You glare at the mess before attempting to finish the job John had left for you but it doesn't work. It's a ghost of an orgasm that he had given you in the shower.

What John didn't tell you was his meeting was simply paying off Simon for helping him. He had asked him to follow you home from work to make sure you didn't end up in too dangerous of a spot when the car did eventually splutter to a stop. And after John had picked you up Simon fixed the car in a second. He just had to put the fuse back in that John had ripped out earlier that evening.

Once the car was running properly, Simon pulled it safely into the woods for the evening. A task that thankfully didn’t require hot-wiring since John had given him the set of spare keys he had stolen after he fucked you over the couch all those days ago.

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

Tag Request: @shadofireshinobi

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #fanfic #cod #cod fanfic #ExH!Price #john price cod #cod john price #john price x reader #captain price x reader #18+ content #my fic

188 notes · View notes

acourtofwhatthefuck · 3 months

Text

A Friend In Need’s A Friend Indeed — Azriel x Cassian.

Summary: Azriel’s been mighty stressed recently. Cassian is a good friend with a good suggestion and a good mouth.

Note: I still haven’t had a chance to sort out my tag lists, I’m sorry. This has been sitting in my drafts for ages. Life has been so busy recently 😅

Warnings: Smut, 18+, minors dni. 💕

It’s clear to Cassian, the second he walks into the room, that the shadowsinger is in a foul mood.

In all honesty, Azriel has been in a foul mood all week.

He’s not very good at striking a work-life balance. Missions and reports and information flood his thoughts and keep him awake at night. They have done every night this week.

So when Cassian slumps down in the armchair opposite his, he eyes his friend and knows — Azriel is not going to be pleasant company tonight.

His brow is deeply furrowed and darkened as he stares down at the papers in his hands. Cassian considers asking him what, exactly, the report pertains to — but he selfishly decides that the information will numb his brain, and he doesn’t think he can bear to hear it right now. Whatever. Az doesn’t even glance up at him.

So Cass pours himself a drink and settles into the chair. And only after the fifth time Azriel sighs — yes, he’s counting — does he ask, “Long day?”

Az simply grunts and turns the page. This is going to be a long night.

"You look like you could use a drink," the Illyrian General pauses. "Or ten."

No reply.

Cass says, "Az."

"What, Cassian?"

"Why don't you put those papers down and have a conversation? Or better yet, let's go to Rita's—"

"I'm busy."

Cassian purses his lips. “The world isn’t going to end if you set your work aside for the night.”

“Your world is going to end if you don’t stop yapping in my ear,” Azriel pauses, scans the paper — and then growls, chucking it onto the coffee table in front of them both. “This is fucking pointless.”

Maybe Cass should ask, he thinks. He studies his friend. “What is it, exactly, that’s had you in such a foul mood all week?”

Azriel’s bleary hazel eyes merely flick up to him; clearly he doesn’t appreciate the observation. Dark smudges sit beneath his eyes. His entire body, shadows and all, is coiled tightly. Tense.

Oh. Oh. A fight, Cassian realises — a fight is what’s going to take the edge off. Goading Az, provoking him…he’s done it more times than he can count in centuries of friendship. Letting him get a few punches in will surely ease the tension. Cass is willing to do that for him.

“You’ve just been a rain cloud of fucking doom all week,” he smirks as the shadowsinger stiffens even more. “Perhaps you need to get laid. Although, no one will surely come near you while you’re walking around with a face like a slapped ass.”

Cassian waits for his retort. For him to surge forward and knock him out of the chair, or for him to demand that they go right up to the training rings at once and speak through their fists, considering Cass clearly has a lot to say.

But Azriel’s jaw ticks, and he merely shoots back, “Suck my dick, Cassian.”

The mischief almost winks out of Cass’s eyes. Almost. It’s not the response he’s expecting.

But he rights himself and sits up, his smirk widening. “Is that what it will take to cheer you up, Az? Getting your cock between my lips? When was the last time someone sucked you dry?”

The irritated twitching of Azriel’s eye tells Cassian that it’s been way, way too long since someone sucked him dry. And that shocks Cass. Az has many lovers dotted about the city — many different people he could lose himself in for a couple of hours. If he’s not even tearing himself away from his stress for some mindless pleasure, it must be bad.

“Cauldron,” Cassian raises an eyebrow. “Maybe I should suck your dick.”

There’s no response. Not even a bark for him to fuck off. Azriel simply shifts in his armchair and clutches a cushion to his lap.

And Cass tracks the movement. He narrows his eyes on that cushion, and it takes him a shamefully delayed moment to realise that it’s been very deliberately placed there. He chokes out a laugh, “Holy shit, are you hard?”

“I wouldn’t be,” Az grits his teeth, “if you’d just shut the fuck up and stop talking about sucking my dick. It’s been a while, okay? I’m wound up.”

“…And is your hand not working, or…”

“It’s not enough. I’ve tried. I can’t…I can’t come.”

Silence settles between them. For once, Cassian isn’t quite sure what to say.

And perhaps Az is expecting him to make a joke, because he shakes his head and quickly stands. Grabs his reports. Makes to book it the fuck out of there.

But Cass says, “Wait.”

“Forget it, Cass—”

“I’m not laughing at you, Az,” he sits up. “You know I’ll always help you in any way that I can.”

Azriel scoffs. “What, like sucking my dick?”

“Why not?”

“Can you be fucking serious for five minutes.”

Cass shrugs, “I’m completely serious.”

Azriel stares back at him, narrowing his eyes. But the usual humour and banter…it’s absent. His face is open, honest.

He’s serious, Az realises. Completely serious.

The shadowsinger raises an eyebrow. “Cass…”

“Are you saying no?”

“…Well, no—”

“So sit down, Az.”

The choice is entirely Azriel’s, and the shadowsinger himself knows that. He can sit down and…and take what Cass is offering…or he can walk out of here and leave that boundary unbreached.

It feels a little surreal as his feet begin moving. Back over to the chair he’d vacated.

He thinks he might be shaking, which is weird, but sex and all that it involves tends to come naturally to Az. But in five centuries, it’s a line that he and Cassian have never crossed. They’ve seen each other naked plenty of times. They’ve fucked other people in the same room. It’s never come to this.

Until now.

Azriel watches as Cassian rises from his chair and stalks over. He can’t believe he’s actually doing this, can’t believe Cassian is actually offering.

But there’s nothing but sheer will in the General’s eyes as he sinks to his knees. Azriel parts his legs for him.

He swallows hard as Cass drags his hands up his legs. And his voice comes out in a rasp as he says, “You don’t have to do this—”

“Az?” Cass cuts him off.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and enjoy it.”

He can hardly argue with that. And as Cassian unlaces Azriel’s breeches and tugs them apart, the spymaster isn’t sure he’d be able to find the words, anyway.

Cassian’s hand is huge and warm and rough and callused. And as he reaches into Az’s breeches and pulls his hardened cock out, both males let out a little breath.

“Oh, yeah,” Cass eyes the rigid length, the swollen head, leaking with moisture. “You really need this.”

Azriel’s response dies on his tongue at the first stroke. He can only manage a grunt.

“Whatever you need, Az,” Cassian pumps his hand, dipping his head. “Fuck my mouth. I can take it.”

And then, gripping Azriel’s cock in his hand, he drags a broad stroke of his tongue, from the base to the head. Azriel’s hips jerk.

“Shit,” he grits his teeth, eyes intently on Cassian’s tongue.

Cassian smiles and does it again, “Like that?”

“Yeah. Yes. Can you…”

“Put you in my mouth?” as his tongue once again reaches the head, he wraps his mouth around it and hums his approval. He laps at that little pearl of moisture that’s waiting there.

“Fuck, Cass,” Azriel gasps. He relaxes in the seat, fingers sinking into Cassian’s hair.

Cass realises quickly that he enjoys this. He’s had the odd experience with males over the years, but it’s mostly females that take his fancy. But this — feeling Azriel’s cock disappear into his mouth, feeling his thigh flex under his hand, feeling him jerking and writhing on the spot — gods above, he’s so fucking hard right now.

His lips and tongue seem to work in tandem. He drags his mouth over Azriel’s length, licking and sucking as he goes. And then he pulls his lips off him and repeats.

Azriel’s breaths are picking up. This is so much better than his hand. He actually feels like he might come, and not just be beating away at pleasure that never comes to anything. He moans, pulling at the strands of Cassian’s hair. And at the same time, he uses his other hand to push Cass’s head down.

“Gods, Cass, your mouth,” he growls, encouraging the bobbing motion that Cassian’s head falls into. With every push, Cass takes him in deeper, deeper.

And with saliva dripping from his chin, and the head of Az’s dick damn near grazing the back of his throat, a single thought crosses Cassian’s mind: he really likes sucking cock.

“Harder,” Az grunts, not even sure he means to say it. But he just wants…wants Cass to be rough. Wants this to be teetering on the edge of pleasured pain.

But Cass pulls his cock out of his mouth, wrapping his hand around the length. He pumps fast, hard, and then says, “Fuck my mouth, Az.”

The second Cassian’s lips are wrapping around him again, Azriel does exactly that.

He’s lifting his hips and gripping Cassian’s head with both hands, and he thrusts, hard, panting and sweating and swearing. Cassian takes it all like a champ, greedily swallowing every taste of him. His hands grip the back of Azriel’s legs, and he slides his mouth all the way down.

And this time, when the head hits the back of his throat, Azriel stills.

“Fuck!” He shouts, groans, gasps, roars. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

His cock is absolutely exploding. A week’s worth of pent-up frustration shoots from him and spills down Cassian’s throat. Cass swallows. And swallows. And swallows. Every last drop. He moans while doing so.

Az thinks his hips are still rolling long after his release has rocked him. He can’t bring himself to let go of the pleasure, to remove his cock from his friends mouth. It twitches on Cassian’s tongue and dribbles the remnants of his seed with every jerk. Cassian stares up at him with swollen lips and lustful eyes.

And then, after what feels like an eternity, the two males finally part. Both are breathing heavily. Cassian wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“That was—” Azriel swallows, tucking himself back into his breeches. He doesn’t bother to lace them up. “When did you learn to do that?”

Cassian’s smirk is purely roguish as he pushes to his feet. “I’ve learned a whole lot of things you can’t even begin to imagine,” he rolls his shoulders. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Az watches him, his eyes falling to that hardened bulge that pushes through Cassian’s own trousers. He clearly enjoyed what just occurred. And that thought alone has Az’s cock twitching to life again.

He leans forward, opening his mouth — to say what, to suggest what, he isn’t sure. But before he can voice his desires, footsteps are approaching.

Both males straighten up as Rhys appears in the doorway, a drink in his hand.

The High Lord sniffs, his brow furrowing. And then he looks between his two friends — Az’s unlaced breeches and heaving chest. Cassian’s swollen lips. He puts two and two together.

“Cauldron fucking boil me,” is all he grouses, and then he’s turning back and leaving the way he came.

Leaving Cassian and Azriel alone once more.

#azriel #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #cassian #cassian acotar #acotar fic #cassian x azriel #smut

395 notes · View notes

hanniluvi · 1 year

Text

LOVE NEWS ! — YJW SMAU

SYNOPSIS : BREAKING NEWS! valentine’s is right around the corner, yet you still had no partner. you didn’t think too much of it, you probably thought it was just another year where you’ll be single again. not a big issue at all. however, your favorite gossip account proves you wrong! what if you find out someone actually likes you? after gathering all the hints you’ve been given, you narrowed your list down to one person. that one person ended up being yang jungwon, one of your crushes. there’s no way, one of your crushes actually liking you back? will you believe it’s just fake or actual love news?

PAIRING : classmate!jungwon x fem!reader

GENRE : smau, fluff, crack, classmates to lovers

FEATURING : all enhypen members; hanni — new jeans; yunjin — le sserafim; rei — ive; soul — p1harmony; sunwoo — the boyz (more might be added later on)

WARNINGS : swearing, use of kys + kms jokes, some lovey dovey action (some warnings will be mentioned on top of the chapters if any)

NOTE : this is all FICTION! this has nothing to do with any idols irl! + reblogs/likes/comments are appreciated so i can improve later on 🤍

AUTHORS NOTE : another jungwon smau yay!! heres a smau i thought of while i was procrastinating my other smaus.. anyways im really excited for this one so i hope you guys are too as well <3

STATUS : completed ! (DEC 24 2022 - MAR 4 2023)

LOVED LOVE NEWS? CHECK OUT LOVE ERROR, THE SECOND SMAU !

PROFILES . . !

gossip baes [yn] | love news club [jungwon]

LATEST NEWS . . ! (chapters)

article one - whats new?

article two - what if i press this silly “tweet” button 🤣

article three - SOMEONE LIKES YN??

— bonus : kim sunwoo im keeping my eyes on you fr.

article four - the dm

article five - niki scamming time

— bonus : nikis scamming (gone wrong)

article six - who? crush #45?

article seven - eye contact (written + smau)

article eight - SOUL PSYCHIC

article nine - THE BATHROOM DOOR

article ten - why she kinda

article eleven - who tf is he 😧

article twelve - idk…piss on it 🤔

article thirteen - okay what if…

article fourteen - niki DUPE

article fifteen - WON VICE PRES???

— bonus (1) : prez datez (real?!)

— bonus (2) : MF PARK SUNGHOON??

article sixteen - dude hes flirting 😂

article seventeen - overthinking ..

article eighteen - LET ME IN

article nineteen - feeling evil (written + smau)

article twenty - getting on my nerves

— bonus : her love news era 😍‼️

article twenty-one - cackles evilly

article twenty-two - just a silly move

article twenty-three - megamind 😱

article twenty-four - yn 2.0??

article twenty-five - twirls hair

article twenty-six - be mine?

article twenty-seven - confirmed <3

ENHA PERM TAGLIST OPENED !

@son4taa @luvhooniez @yenavrse @shinsou-rii @luveuly @ilovewonyo @yenqa @dimplewonie @bubblytaetae @wtfhyuck

PERM TAGLIST . .

@ahnneyong @hanienie

WAITING FOR MORE UPDATES? JOIN NOW!

TAGLIST . . 💗 CLOSED 💗

bolded = can’t tag </3

@invusblog @wonvnz @xiaoderrrr @flowers4thalia @nyuukei @curly-fr13s @itsactuallylina @risseei @0310lvr @viagumi @luvdokja @sickvision @wanna-live-yn-life @rionah @dreamenvi @rinnqx @0i8ma @ksnu @sunoksunny @aki1e @adajoemaya @naddii @yourfavjwstan @meeznoi @neozon3nha @wonyoungsvirus @rionah @nokacchan @luvkait @kyanmeai @sserafimez @wonieleles @beomsbeanie @yabukkura @shynypeacekitten @en-minniesode @seungily @captivq @georgi-salva @nayuzaa @jjulliette

3K notes · View notes

insomniumstella · 1 year

Text

unfinished business (2) | bucky x avenger!reader

summary: Steve’s silly joke happened to inspire the best, or possibly the worst, idea Wanda had ever come up with — send James Buchanan Barnes and y/n on an all-expenses-paid honeymoon in Hawaii. the problem? they cannot stand to be around each other.

warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, explicit language, alcohol consumption, sarcastic!bucky

word count: 3,230

taglist is down below (please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list!)

WHERE DREAMS GO TO DIE masterlist

series’ SPOTIFY playlist

A brooding figure loomed over the table, and, judging by the sharp scent of woody cologne, it was not the waiter.

The sun had disappeared from the broad horizon, leaving the restaurant basking in the soft glow of lanterns and candlelight. Dreamy jazz sounds saturated the space, which was simultaneously open and closed. Despite the lousy name, Toro Toro was a spectacular overwater establishment — a long wooden dock led to an intimate setting with limited tables and a narrow but elegant bar. It was situated only a short walk away from the common areas of the hotel, possessing the pleasure of undisturbed peace as the restaurant imposed a strict adults-only policy.

“The menu’s full of oysters, caviar, shrimp with garlic butter?” Her sentence warped into a question as she read through the entrees before glancing at James through the top of the menu. “Delicious, but might be dangerous for a man pushing a hundred and ten.”

“A hundred and seven.” James scanned y/n’s exposed chest, eyes raking over the silk dress and Louboutin heels.

The man wouldn’t describe the attire as a pleasant change, that he’d die before admitting, but it was a change. The black satin shirt Steve had convinced him to pack matched the color of her clothing, and they, to anyone who knew any better, horrifically resembled a couple. A massive diamond ring rested on y/n’s fourth finger from when Tony had gifted it to her for Christmas, solidifying her as Bucky’s pretend wife.

The table bore two bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon, one empty and the other on its way there. She must’ve been sitting at the table alone for the last half hour, nibbling at bread and cheese without ordering. If James knew y/n, and in some of the worst ways he did, he’d guess she had established a sob story of a fourth wedding anniversary and a missing husband.

He’d be right.

“I’ve heard oysters are an aphrodisiac, so that’s a no,” she placed the menu down, staring at James as he sat down, “why are you here?”

It was the burning question of the hour. Why did James Buchanan Barnes decide upon a dinner with her?

“I was in desperate need of an evening with you, and it is our wedding anniversary,” he nodded at the waiter, who approached the table to bring more bread, “also, I was hungry, and nothing at the buffet seemed appetizing.”

To say that nothing at the buffet seemed remotely delicious would be an understatement. The Shack was holding a Mexican night, and as much as James had fallen in love with nachos over the years sharp salsas he couldn’t yet stomach. Mexican dishes had consistently been more of a punishment than a pleasure for the soldier. A rendezvous with y/n could never compare to his intolerance for spicy foods. Besides, James had no desire for mediocre pizza at the 24/7 lounge.

She cocked her head to the side, amused. “Jordan!” The woman called after the boy. “Could you bring us champagne? Oh, and more butter, please.” She flashed him an innocent smile, gazing at him through hooded eyes.

Besides the hostess, Jordan the waiter was the first to greet y/n at Toro Toro. He had been as flirtatious as he had been awkward, but he was also great at conversation, even sitting down with y/n when she had, less than honestly, admitted that her husband would not be joining her. He had brought her an off-menu appetizer, inviting y/n to a staff party later that week as condolence.

“I see you made a friend.” James spread a generous amount of butter on a piece of bread.

“I did! He’s a Maui local and works at the resort for good tips, hot chicks, and free booze.” The explanation earned a baffled look from James. “Jordan’s words, not mine.” She graced his empty glass with the leftover cabernet and shook her head in disbelief. “I cannot believe I had to sit through exhausting monologues of villains on vacations and catch me if you can, but please don’t for nothing.” James couldn’t figure out the latter reference.

“Did it excite you?”

“Yes.” She poured herself a glass of champagne when Jordan placed an opened bottle and hurriedly disappeared. “All that foreplay, and you still showed up.”

James grinned crookedly, staring into her eyes — for a split second, his walls crumbled, allowing her to witness an honest man who was truly amused by her joke. Except it was over before she could say anything, and James averted his gaze, picking up the menu. She is not funny.

“Oysters are the last thing I’d imagine to an aphrodisiac,” he commented, eyes locked on the piece of paper resting in his hands.

“Giacomo Casanova reportedly ate heaps of them for breakfast,” she drained half her glass, “learned it at Pepper’s fun fact Friday,” she explained, referring to Pepper’s infatuation with acquiring seemingly the most peculiar of information.

Her own remembrance of bizarre knowledge had never come in handy until the conversation, yet, she had been grateful to have learned about seahorses, the purpose of eyebrows, and, in Pepper’s words, “dangerous wax coating on supermarket apples”.

The left corner of his mouth curled up into a meager smile, “he must’ve been real horny then.”

“He must’ve been,” she agreed.

An unusually amicable silence settled between the pair as she bit her tongue on a cobra’s blood would be a much more unsettling aphrodisiac addition, keeping it to herself rather than continuing a conversation of sexual matters with him. James had presumably picked out an entree, messing with the silverware until a certain man caught his eye. He shuffled in the seat, refilling both of their glasses, and leaned in closer than she would ever want him to, especially during dinner, for she had not yet lost her appetite.

“Remember Elijah Williamson,” he stared at someone behind the woman, “a corrupted politician the FBI asked us to help incarcerate?”

“Yes,” she narrowed her eyes, attempting to read Bucky’s expression, “he was accused of working with HYDRA on a similar project as they did in 2014.”

“And we both knew that HYDRA continued to work in silence and that he was guilty, even though the court deemed Elijah innocent?”

“Yes.” The tone of her voice was beginning to bear hints of annoyance again, the relatively lighthearted atmosphere shattering.

The FBI and Avengers often bumped heads, given their lines of work, so it had come as a surprise when the government’s agents had reached a dead end and showed up at the compound for help. She could remember the day as if it had happened yesterday — the smug grin she had on throughout the first meeting and the sour taste when Steve had paired the two.

“We need someone with extensive knowledge of HYDRA and someone who could go undercover,” he had said then, “please put your differences aside. This is important.”

Steve had been wrong about the woman. She had not been needed for undercover work.

Nonetheless, by the time Natasha had offered to step in and take over, James and y/n were in too deep. Too deep into Elijah Williamson’s personal and professional lives. The case had consumed them, and at times, they’d almost stumble on the missing piece of the puzzle before the court had deemed him innocent, and they had been forced to step away empty-handed. Somedays, she strangely missed the countless cups of coffee, the sleepless nights, and the eerily peaceful conversations the two had shared for eight solid months.

“Do you still think he’s guilty?”

“The government asked us to not intervene any further after the trial was over.”

“Yes, but that is not the answer to the question I asked.” James returned his stare to her face. It was firm and heavy, and as he searched for something in her eyes, a glimmer of trust perhaps, she hunched in the chair. “Do you?”

She was in thought for a second. “We had very few leads, James.” None were of significance either. “Elijah donates to charities all the time, he helps kids in the foster system, hell, he does too much good to believe he’d want to wipe out half the population.”

“That’s what he wants everyone to assume.”

“I would love to entertain the idea of Elijah Williamson being guilty, but the man, as it stands, is innocent in the eyes of prosecutors.”

James leaned back in his seat. “Do you trust me?” His sudden change of tone took her by surprise.

“I could envision trusting you on the field if my life depended on it, but I’d be reluctant to ask for a coffee.” Reluctant was a restrained statement.

“Good girl.”

“What?” She asked, face drained of emotions before she burst out laughing. Heaven help me, James has a praise kink, she giggled once more, he’s so getting blackmailed when we get back.

“It slipped out on accident.” Pink hues crept onto his cheeks before his expression hardened. “Don’t turn around, but Elijah’s here, and he’s been staring at me ever since Jared brought the champagne.”

The woman must’ve developed an instinct to do the opposite of what James would instruct her because she peeked over her shoulder, locking eyes with the politician.

“The waiter’s name is Jordan.” She spoke, ignoring Bucky’s disappointed expression when their eyes met. “I suppose this action did not earn me a second good girl?”

“It did not.” He smoothed the invisible wrinkles on his satin shirt. “Please behave. Elijah is making his way towards us.” His words were less than a whisper.

She had seen Elijah at the trial, sneaking glances from the very far back to avoid getting noticed, but she did not remember him being … attractive? The man who loomed over their table had a full head of luscious, gray locks, and though he had just turned 68, he did not look a day over 50, with sun-kissed features and round eyes.

“Sergeant Barnes, it’s a surprise to see you in Maui.”

James rose to shake his outstretched hand. “I have to agree. I’d never peg you as The Maui Resort kind of man.”

“My wife and I met here, what,” he paused, “thirty years ago? We return each August for our anniversary.” He chuckled, turning his focus towards y/n. “Who’s this beautiful lady?”

“Thank you.” She offered him a smile, leaping up from the chair. “I’m Amelie, James’s wife.” She outstretched her hand, which he shook without hesitancy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

It pained James physically to abstain from an eye roll.

“Elijah.” He introduced himself and glanced behind the pair, studying the table. “Champagne is always a sign of celebration.” Though it was not formulated as a question, his tone had notes of curiosity in it.

“Yes!” James confirmed as if breaking free from a trance. “Honeymooners,” he gestured between himself and y/n, “we’re honeymooning.”

Elijah took a second to speak, staring at the soldier in amusement, and y/n stepped in before James had a chance to deliver additional, and most likely ludicrous, lines. “Would you mind joining us for dinner?”

The politician was great at masking, but she was a spy, trained by the Natasha Romanoff to pick up every, and any, clue. “Everyone has a tell,” the redhead had observed, “learn to notice the smallest of reactions.”

It was a slight raise of his left eyebrow that had revealed his interest in the personal life of James Buchanan Barnes. His interest in James’s wife, in her.

“We’d hate to interrupt.” He spoke, and there it was again, the subconscious raise of his eyebrow.

“Please,” she smiled, softly placing a hand on Bucky’s bicep, “I’d love to hear about your program for troubled teens in foster systems.”

The soldier beside her realized y/n’s play, “we haven’t even ordered, yet,” he encouraged.

They had been asked to abandon the case, but a dinner with Elijah Williamson was the closest lead they’d ever get. The eight months they had spent working on the case had strangely been the most peaceful months he had ever spent at the compound. A snarky remark would slip past his or y/n’s lips in a while, but they had managed to act cordial. He burned with a desire to demolish HYDRA and anything that was left of it, and she had taken the hint, letting James lead the way. It had been the first time he had seen y/n for who she truly was — a great spy and agent, but she’d never know for he’d never tell her. The pair had built a balance between respect and hatred, and compliments had no place in their complex relationship.

She had always known James was a deadly assassin and an excellent spy, but she had never accounted James as a persuasive liar. By the time dessert came, Bucky had fabricated intricate stories of their wedding, life after retirement, and a random fake cat named Alpine. According to him, it had magnificent white fur and was adopted. He had lazily draped the metal arm across her chair’s backrest a while ago, and she could almost forget the motive behind the dinner. Bucky’s stories had painted him as a cool, loving husband, who had been eager for a honeymoon ever since the two got falsely married. That he hadn’t mentioned.

The tone of his voice remained charming throughout the night, and y/n silently reminded herself this dinner wasn’t a pleasure for Bucky or for herself, but simply a means to an end.

“James, do not take this the wrong way, but Amelie is wonderful.” Nancy, Elijah’s wife, spoke. “Very few people would be willing to forgive, and pardon me for the harsh phrasing, the Winter Soldier’s bloody past.”

James tensed at the words, maintaining his faux grin. “She is.”

Perhaps under different circumstances, she could see herself appreciating Nancy. The woman operated multiple charities, was a human rights lawyer, and a socialite. She oozed elegance, her graying blonde locks, pulled into a tight bun, perfectly complemented her auburn orange gown. She appeared to be out of touch with reality at times, but she was somewhat friendly and welcoming. Definitely, a great listener, and though being a great listener did not exclude someone from committing crimes, y/n had a hard time comprehending that this graceful woman could do as much as lift a finger to a small animal. Nancy couldn’t want half the population wiped out, could she?

“It was harsh,” she came to Bucky’s defense, “but I understand how it could appear from the outside looking in,” her tone had an edge sharper than she intended it to.

“Amelie’s a very forgiving person,” James shifted in his seat, removing his arm to refill everyone's wine glasses, “and she’s all mine.” The glimmer in his eyes when he turned to peek at her was a relieved thank you.

“Sergeant Barnes,” she broke their brief eye contact to look at Nancy, “has blood on his hands, but it is not a burden James should bare, for it was HYDRA’s fault.” She noticed as his hand slowly crept underneath the table, harshly squeezing her thigh; a warning that it’s too soon to bring it up. “If HYDRA existed to this day, I would destroy it myself for everything they’ve done to him.” Bucky's firm grasp had painted goosebumps on her exposed skin, yet she refrained from smacking his palm away, opting to furtively push it aside.

“She asks me to get rid of spiders.” He forced a chuckle, studying y/n, and removed his hand. “My wife is too terrified to kill them.”

“Oh, I believe Amelie. A woman would do anything for the man she loves.” Nancy nodded, causing the two to share a pithy look.

“Nancy’s right, James, your wife is a wonderful young woman,” he peered at him through the top of his glass, “and Amelie, thank you for having common sense.”

She analyzed Elijah's body language, noticing a second tell.

The politician would gently tap on his glass, middle and index fingers barely making contact with the object before he'd push it away to knit his hands together. It had only begun after bottles of champagne they had shared as a group. He was intoxicated and most likely wouldn’t shy away from speaking voluntarily.

“What do you mean?”

“Last year I was on a trial instigated by some FBI fools.” The politician leaned back in his seat. “They accused me of leading HYDRA, except HYDRA doesn’t manifestly exist."

She caught the word manifestly, holding onto it. If he had ended the sentence with "HYDRA doesn't exist, manifestly," she might've let it slip, but, and perhaps she was reading too much into it given his underhanded past, "HYDRA doesn't manifestly exist"?

“The FBI does more damage than good.” She spoke with faux reassurance. “I wouldn’t find it hard to believe those knuckleheads put a lovely man through unimaginable horrors.”

“Careful, Sergeant, I might have to steal her.” Elijah’s comment earned him a playful smack on the shoulder from Nancy. “Darling, it was a joke. Nancy Williamson is the only woman I’d ever need.” He placed a tender kiss on her temples before turning his attention to James.

“What is the secret?” He questioned, pretending to be amazed by their affection. “We might need it a couple years down the road.” A sly smile stretched across his features.

“Don’t say that!” Nancy hiccuped as she drained her glass. “You’re both so young and so in love.”

We are young, y/n thought, but hell would freeze over before we fell in love.

The woman placed a gentle hand on Nancy’s before she could refill her glass. “It’s probably best if we called it a night.” She spoke, pretending to care whether Nancy was drunk or sober.

“I was skeptical of a dinner with the former Winter Soldier at first,” Elijah wrapped a hand around Nancy’s shoulders, pulling her into his embrace, “but it was great. I cannot believe you cook eggs with pesto, I must try that.”

“I do,” James nodded, unsure of what pesto was, only ever hearing about it from Tony, but supporting his lie nonetheless, “it’s a breakfast from heaven.”

Elijah laughed at his words, loud and carefree. “What are your plans for tomorrow?” He asked, glancing between them.

Her plan was to tan in an adults-only beach and drink her body weight in mediocre margaritas, as far away from James as she could possibly get, but an honest answer might not have gone down well.

“Surprisingly, we have not decided yet.”

“Great! Nancy and I are organizing a yacht party tomorrow, so put it on the list.”

James wasn’t a fan of yachts, parties, or spending time around y/n, but he was willing to sacrifice comfort if it meant a solid lead toward the demolition of HYDRA, “I cannot wait.”

TAGS:

@legohe4rts @missvelvetsstuff @browneyedgirl22 @gr33nleo @thatrandomcatoverthere @fiftywhore1 @buggy14 @nt-multi-fandom @physically-im-fine @marygoddessofmischief @fuckthealarm

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky series #bucky barnes series #bucky x you #bucky x reader smut #bucky x reader series #bucky barnes x reader series #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x female reader #insomniumstella #Where Dreams Go to Die #where dreams go to die bucky #where dreams go to die bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader

905 notes · View notes

jae-bummer · 6 months

Text

Wrong Number

Request: Can I request n° 14 from your prompt list with shownu or woozi pls 🥺omg I love your works 💗💗

Prompt:

14) You accidentally send a text meant for your ex to the wrong number. Your bias replies.

Pairing: Seventeen Woozi x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Song rec as you read: Still Here (Acoustic Ver.) - ATEEZ

Chewing on your lip, you stared down at your phone screen, tapping it lightly whenever it began to dim. All you had to do was hit send.

You read the message over and over again, trying to determine if it sounded like you were trying too hard. After nearly ten different variations of the same message, you deleted it all again and settled for something a little more profound.

Hey :)

Was the smiley face too much? You didn't want to seem too eager. Maybe you should - shit, you brushed against the send button.

Flying into a bit of a panic, you decided it would be the best course of action to send another message.

It was really good seeing you yesterday! I hadn't expected us to bump into each other, but I'm glad we did.

You took a deep breath before tapping send again.

That was a little better. If he had deleted your number, at least now he could figure out who you were via context clues.

Leaning back into your couch, you wished the cushions would simply swallow you up. You were mortified with your increased heartbeat. How could you let yourself get so worked up over a guy who had broken up with you?

And it wasn't a delicate breakup. You had been seeing him for nearly a year when he decided to tell you (through text you might add) that it simply wasn't working out anymore. He was your first real boyfriend since coming to Seoul, so you could admit that part of you would always hold a soft spot for him.

That's why, when you bumped into him at a cafe yesterday, you couldn't stop your stomach from plunging to your toes. He was still just as beautiful as you had remembered. Asking for his contact information felt like a fever dream now. At some point in your post-breakup anger, you had deleted any of his information that still lived in your phone. To save face, you told him you lost all of your contacts after getting a new device.

You couldn't quite remember if he had mentioned meeting to catch up or if it was you, but you left the experience in a daze. It took you hours to talk yourself into taking the plunge and sending that text. Now all there was left to do was wait.

It had been only minutes before you heard the high-pitched ding.

Vulnerability was not your strong suit. Even something as simple as allowing yourself to hope was a dangerous route to go down, so you tried to squash the optimistic butterflies that sprang up in your stomach before they could take flight.

Steeling yourself, you finally looked at the screen.

wrong number

You jerked backward as if you had been slapped. Maybe he hadn't picked up on the context clues after all.

It's Y/N. You gave me your number, remember?

Surely you hadn't dreamed up the entire interaction. He must not have been expecting you to actually text. Well, that stung a bit.

You flinched as your phone dinged an instant later.

still wrong number

You double checked the contact you had texted and felt your face grow flush. Your stomach felt hollow. Did your ex seriously give you a fake number?

Just so we're clear...this isn't a joke...right? This really isn't Jae?

Typing bubbles immediately appeared.

nope. sorry.

You blinked dumbly at the screen. God, how could you have been so stupid?

Woozi tilted his head as he glanced at the screen. When he had read the first message, he automatically assumed his number had been leaked again. It wasn't a common occurrence, but it was known to happen on occasion. After the second message came through shortly after, he narrowed his eyes. He hadn't even left his studio yesterday.

"What's up?" Hoshi asked, shifting to sit up from his lounging position on the couch.

"Wrong number," Woozi muttered, placing his phone face down beside his keyboard.

"Weird," Hoshi hummed.

Woozi's phone vibrated again, causing him to sigh.

"I thought it was a wrong number," Hoshi chuckled.

"I did too," Woozi grumbled, typing back a quick response. He had no idea who Y/N was or how they got ahold of his number, so he was certainly not who they were looking for.

After his phone vibrated again, he let out a small huff.

"What is going on over there?" Hoshi laughed, now moving to hunch over the shorter member's shoulder.

"Nothing," Woozi said shortly, attempting to set his phone back down before Hoshi snatched it from his hand.

"Aw," he clucked, holding the device high enough into the air that Woozi knew he would look ridiculous trying to jump for it. "Well, that's sad."

"Yep," Woozi groaned. "Now give it back."

"Wait," Hoshi chuckled, now typing quickly on the screen. "I need the tea."

"You need the what?" Woozi asked, now increasingly annoyed. Choosing to make a fool of himself after all, he began to hop around Hoshi, tugging at his arms in a futile attempt to get the phone back.

"The tea," Hoshi clarified. "Let's live vicariously through someone else's misery."

"I have enough of my own," Woozi groaned. "Now give it back."

"Ooooh," Hoshi said, spinning so his back faced the other man. "Jae is the ex-boyfriend."

Woozi rolled his eyes. "Why do you care?"

"Oh my god, he gave them this number," Hoshi gasped. "He ghosted them and doxed you in the process."

"Doxing requires them knowing who I am," Woozi sighed, crossing his arms. "And it sounds like all of this was just a coincidence. Now, please give me my phone and leave me alone."

"Fine," Hoshi pouted, dropping it into Woozi's palm. "Party pooper."

Shaking his head, Woozi plopped back into his desk chair and went back to work. After a few minutes, he had completely forgotten all about the person who had texted him and brought their misfortune to his doorstep.

Or at least he thought he did.

After hitting a wall while creating a new song, he looked idly around the room in search of inspiration. This was the hardest part of his job, having to work around the writer's block.

Lifting a brow, his gaze settled on his cell.

Flipping it back over, he tapped through it aimlessly before finally settling on the chat that Hoshi had continued.

who's jae btw???

Hoshi and his need for unnecessary punctuation.

He's my ex-boyfriend. He said this number was his. Prepare yourself for any other jilted lovers that might be heading your way.

Woozi shook his head. Why couldn't people just be straightforward with each other?

ugh that's the worst. i'm so sorry.

It was the worst and Woozi was sorry. That didn't mean that he wanted Hoshi to continue the conversation.

Thanks :) I appreciate that. I'll stop bothering you and crawl back into my hole now.

Woozi set down his phone and turned back to his screen. He had been in his share of unsuccessful relationships and seen plenty amongst his members. In none of those situations had something like this happened before.

Clicking through various windows for a few moments, he heaved a deep sigh before grabbing his phone again. Before he could think better of it, he began to type.

you doing ok?

It was short and not too invasive. He wasn't looking for any new friends, but he could at least be a decent human being. Plus, this could be just the inspiration he needed to continue his song. Heartbreaks were always a hit.

...

You squinted blearily into the darkness of your bedroom.

you up?

Chuckling to yourself, you turned the brightness down on your phone before responding.

Lee Jihoon, you DID NOT just send me a "u up?" text.

The response came shortly after.

i used "you" not "u." give me some credit.

Rolling your eyes, you settled back into your pillows with a smile. It had been about a month since you had purposefully texted your ex, while accidentally texting Woozi. You hadn't expected for anything to come out of the situation and there was definitely no way that you would've seen this turn of events coming.

You liked him. Against your better judgement, you were crushing on a complete stranger that happened his way into your life. At this point, you had exchanged countless texts, hours on the phone, and photos of your day. Woozi worked a lot, so on occasion, you would even sit on FaceTime and work quietly together. Just having each other for company was comforting in a way that you hadn't found with another person in quite some time. It had all been a bit of a shock, but you complimented each other well.

On several occasions, you had attempted to meet up, but life was hard for both of you. With Woozi's schedules, it was difficult to stay on the same square in the calendar. Admittedly, you had been the one to cancel once or twice as well, but the time had finally come. You were supposed to meet today.

Which made Woozi's text all the more concerning.

Is this the part where you have to cancel on our plans today?

You glanced at the time, noting it was still the early morning hours. Either he hadn't gone to bed yet, or he was waking up much too soon.

ye of little faith.

i'm not cancelling. i'm just not sleeping well.

You lifted a brow. Normally, he wasn't one to be prejudice against a sleeping situation. Since he got so little of it, he often could fall asleep anytime, anywhere.

That is, unless his brain was working overtime.

What's got your brain going this time?

You waited only seconds.

you

You inhaled sharply. Woozi was generally a direct person. Getting him to talk about his emotions, and more specifically, his opinion of you, was a bit more difficult though. Sometimes he was able to speak in such a straight way that it caught you off guard. Other times, he relied on the soft, quiet moments in between to really convey how he felt.

Me?

This time, he typed for a while.

yes, you i'm probably only saying this bc i can be a coward behind a keyboard BUT i'm nervous about today in a good way but...another part of me is scared that we're putting each other on these pedestals that are much too tall. how can reality actually reflect the image of you that my mind has created?

You sniffed in amusement.

It would have been much easier to say you're scared that this is too good to be true.

The typing bubbles appeared and disappeared several times. You knew he was going to come back with something sassy.

i don't do "easy" well, y/n

He had that right.

Rolling over onto your side, you chewed your lip. You could easily admit that you probably had an idealized version of Woozi in your head. It was hard not to when you got to see the best parts of each other every day. That being said, it didn't mean that that image was wrong. It just wasn't factoring in the darker side of his personality. Everyone had one and you wouldn't fault him for being human.

It'll work out. We both know that there's still so much to learn about each other. We just need to be patient and have a little faith.

He hearted your response before his own appeared.

my y/n. so wise.

Your heart fluttered at the simple words. Seeing him acknowledge that you were his made you feel full. You knew you were right. Everything would work out fine.

....

Spinning your phone around on the tabletop, your brain warred against you. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Unlike most people your age, you had never met with someone from the internet before, let alone a stranger you had accidentally texted in a fit of love sickness. Woozi had insisted that he had never done anything like this before either, so that brought at least a small amount of solace.

Plus, everyone you had ever met had been a stranger at one point.

And Woozi really hadn't been what you would consider a "stranger" for some time now.

You looked up from the cafe table for the hundredth time as someone entered.

Still not him.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded to yourself. Everything would be alright. You had told Woozi as much this morning. Now it was time to believe it.

"Hey stranger," a familiar voice hummed from above you. Glancing up, you met the shining, dark eyes you had only ever seen on a phone screen. It felt surreal.

"Jihoon," you breathed, a smile stretching across your lips.

"Well, come on," he clucked, motioning for you to stand. You did as directed, nearly forgetting to breath as he wrapped you in a quick hug.

"Sorry," he said, pulling away almost instantly. "I should've asked if you were okay with physical affection. Are you?"

You nodded weakly, trying to find a coherent thought through the cloud of Woozi's scent. He didn't smell strongly of anything aside from clean laundry, but it was enough to catch you off guard. He was in front of you, looking gorgeous and smelling comforting. It almost felt impossible.

"You sure?" he asked, his mouth hitching up at the corner. He slid into the seat across from where you were sitting.

Plopping dumbly back into your own seat, you shook your head. Get ahold of yourself, Y/N.

"Sorry," you croaked. "I'm just trying to...uh...wrap my brain around...well, you."

Woozi smiled, his cheeks going slightly pink. "I know what you mean."

Glancing around the cafe, he set his hands in front of him. "Let's just wait a moment...to take everything in?"

You nodded, immediately allowing yourself to look at him directly. His cuteness definitely transferred to how he looked in person. He wore his hair as you usually saw it, dark, long, and slightly wavy. He had a solid jawline and a cute, button nose (the deadliest combination). His shoulders and arms were much wider and more muscular than you had expected, which was both attractive and terrifying.

Overall, he was breathtaking.

He seemingly refused to look at you though. Continuing his search around his surroundings, you noticed his fingers slowly begin to creep toward yours. Halting before they got to their destination, he deigned a glimpse your way.

"You were right," he said quietly.

"That's good to hear," you grinned. "But what about?"

Finally placing his hand on top of yours, he gave it a gentle squeeze. "I wanted this before, but now that I have you in front of me, I want to know everything. The pedestal was high, but you're still sitting on top of it."

You were positive you were about to short circuit. Who just walked around saying things like that?

"Who would have thought," you managed. "That I would have an ex-boyfriend to thank for giving me the wrong number."

#woozi #jihoon #lee jihoon #svt #seventeen #woozi fluff #woozi x reader #woozi fanfic #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic

286 notes · View notes

xiamentshoneypot · 3 months

Text

Heart stopper

Angst no comfort

Not proof read

Everything went wrong so horrifically wrong, everything else horribly wrong, felt wrong the air that had been pushed into your lungs replacing the air that had been knocked out of you when you realized you’d been ambushed and the comms had been intercepted and he couldn’t hear you. How you heart was so erratic you’d bet it had to rock it’s self and count to ten to calm down after everything had settled. All the air that passed thought shallowly after you’d made your choice. Bold

Now here you were aching and screaming at the top of your lungs at the man you’d die for at any minute it didn’t matter. “fucking answer me” you said calmly trying to soothe your aching arm and heart. This felt like when you had did somthing bad and you thought someone knew and you were just waiting for the shoe to drop the anxiety you felt at the bottom of your heart and to the tops of your soul and being in every form it could possibly take.

Silence. It was infuriating “fucking answer me now” you screamed your sweet voice now high pitched and bare utterly agnostic on the eyes of everyone. Good you wanted him to suffer as you heart is…

“Luv’ m’trying to help” Simon bowed his head scared not from a physical threat or anything like that, scared of your tone you’d never spoken to anyone like that before not when you were barking orders at subordinates and not when interacting with the enemy for information. He’d much rather those voices than this. “Then fucking answer me then! Are you in love with Her”.

Bitter

“Love m’sorry” he tried to plead with you it felt like a firefighter trying to talk someone down from a cliff after the ink dried on all there notes stamped and in route. “Yes or no” you sour voice asked eyes narrowed and soppy. Hoping a quick nod would free him a swift yes of the head stepping forward trying to touch you. Bluntly stepping back chest rising and falling hard.

“Why? And don’t give me no bullshit about how you can’t help who you fall in love with that’s bullshit!” How could he love her she’d done nothing toe arm his love she wasn’t there for him how you were.

“She- she what huh what the hell did she do to deserve that?” You interrupted her was taking too long and it was pissing you off like he had a long list of reasons he was considering. “Please I don’t want to hurt you” he pleaded he never begged like this. “Mission failed bitch what is it huh” you needed a reason and he was stuck.

“She wasn’t there for you, she wasn’t the one who stood by you through the last ten months, the night terrors the ptsd. You didn’t fuck and make love to her for seven months straight sleeping next to her, waking up with her breakfast all that shit.” Did you mean nothing to him did all of that mean nothing.

“I would die for you I just took a fucking bullet for you, not because I had to but because I love you that’s not nothing there aren’t many people who would do that for love.” You had just jumped in front of a bullet to save him to make sure he didn’t die in the face of the enemy.

The coms had been jammed and there were more and more people approaching him, in a stupid act of love you raced over to his aid to see him down but fighting as well as fading into death. Fighting for him, beside him ready to give your life to save or die with him once the gun smoke cleared and you drug his limp body on one good leg and shoulder to the evac site shedding tear after tear for him praying to a god you were sure had domed you years ago. Pleading with him not to fade away in your arms an “I love you” on the top of your tongue when he asks for her.

“it’s everything” he whispered hearing how your heart broke right in front of him love gone like he had almost been.

“I hate you Simon”

#simon riley x reader #141 x reader #cod x black reader #ghost cod #ghost x honey #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x black reader #cod modern warfare #cod mw3 #ghost smut #angst #angst no happy ending #angst no comfort #cod angst #simon riley angst #john price angst

147 notes · View notes

maivolpe · 1 year

Note

Can I request Bucky being protective of reader? 😊

of course nonnie! thank you for requesting, i hope you enjoy ♡

･｡ﾟ: ∘◦☾◦∘｡ﾟ.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader cw: none wc: 617

you had finally convinced bucky to come grocery shopping with you, after hours of unsuccessful attempts to drag him out the door. you were both bundled in your matching hoodies. you swore blue was “his color,” and of course you got one too.

you’d been trying to get him to go out more, just so that he could feel normal for a few hours. doing mundane tasks made him happier than he would admit.

you had already snapped ten pictures of him on the way in, causing his cheeks to warm as he pulled his hood up. he just looked so beautiful to you, his eyes scrunching up when he smiled for what felt like the first time in a while.

you let him follow you through the produce aisle, but the two of you split up so he could go to the deli and you could replenish your baking supplies. you knew nothing about meat, and while he could bake, that was your claim to fame.

unfortunately for you, there was a man at the end of the aisle. you tried your best to shop from your side, mentally checking ingredients off of your list.

you felt his eyes on you as you looked down the shelves for chocolate chips. please don’t say anything, just let me get my chocolate and leave.

“hi!”

ugh.

you sent a tight-lipped smile his way, turning your attention back to the chocolate chips.

he moved closer to you, and you felt in your pocket for your keys. an overreaction? maybe. but then again, men didn’t normally approach you at the grocery store. he was wiry, but you didn’t want to take chances.

“you’re beautiful,” he confessed. he watched you expectantly, waiting. what did he want, a medal?

“oh! um, thank you.” you smiled, though it didn’t reach your eyes. clutching onto your hoodie sleeve, you tugged at it to avoid looking at him.

“i’m sorry for being so forward, but could i get your number?”

hadn’t he seen you come in with bucky? you guys were matching, for god’s sake.

“no thank you,” you smiled apologetically. “i actually have a boyfriend.”

he laughed, holding his phone out to you. “i’m sure he won’t mind.”

a beat of silence passed as you processed what he had just said. what could you even say now? you’d already turned him down once, and he clearly had no regard for your existing relationship. could you walk away?

before you could think to do anything, strong arms snaked around your waist and you relaxed, letting yourself melt under the familiar touch. it wasn’t like you couldn’t take care of yourself, you both knew that you could, but it was comforting to have him by your side.

“hey doll,” he rumbled, leaning over your shoulder and catching your lips in a passionate kiss. you broke it eventually out of embarrassment, your cheeks tinged with red at the wide eyes of the man across you. “thought i lost you,” bucky continued.

“‘m right here,” you squeaked, caught in the middle of the two men. you felt better with bucky behind you, but the other man’s face was beginning to redden.

“who’s this?” bucky asked, his eyes narrowing as if he hadn’t been keeping an eye on you across the aisle.

“i didn’t actually catch your name, mister…?”

“never mind,” the man spat, turning on his heel and stalking away.

bucky chuckled, the vibrations from his laugh tickling your shoulder. he adjusted his grip on your waist, squeezing you tighter. “you doing okay darling?”

“yeah, but that was mean, buck,” you groaned.

he smirked, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “so is he. i’m sure he won’t mind.”

･｡ﾟ: ∘◦☾◦∘｡ﾟ.

ko-fi ♡

#protective bucky barnes #protective bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #blurb #bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel #mai writes

1K notes · View notes

brewsterispunkk · 1 year

Text

THE TUTOR

part 2/4

pairing: eddie munson x afab!reader (period is mentioned), eddie munson x fem!reader

WC: 4.1k

summary: reader and eddie begin their little deal.

warnings: idiots. just idiots. also brief SA-- nothing explicit, just groping--NOT main pairing, recreational drug use

A/N: here is part 2! hope u love it! pls pls pls leave feedback ;) read it and weep.

Senior Year Bucket List

1) Get drunk

2) Skip Class

3) Do a drug

4) Sneak out

5) Skinny dip

6) Get a boyfriend, lose my virginity

You sighed and shook your head as soon as you’d written that last part, hands only half-shaking.

This was fine, you thought to yourself.

It wasn’t weird, you kept telling yourself. It wasn’t. Eddie himself had asked you to come to school Monday with an itemized list of what exactly you’d felt like you’d missed out on. “A bucket list of sorts” he called it.

You had to keep yourself from adding “feeling safe” to the list of things you’d felt you’d missed out on.

That was difficult for you sometimes.

For the most part, you’d been able to compartmentalize what had happened to you last summer: the deaths, the torture, the “mall fire.” The rest of Hawkins knew that you’d survived it, along with Steve, Robin, and the kids. You’d gotten away with minor bruising to the face and neck after a Russian tried to choke you in an effort to get you to talk. It wasn’t ideal, but it could have been worse. Steve had been the one to take the brunt of the torture. You and Robin had screamed yourselves hoarse while they beat him in the other room.

You sometimes still had nightmares about the sick sound of their fists hitting his face.

When you’d emerged as one of the survivors of what they were calling the “Starcourt Mall Fire,” your mother had been relieved. After your father had split when you were ten, you were all she had. Still, she hadn’t been prepared for the effects of what had happened to you. To be fair, neither were you. Neither were any of you.

You’d always been shy, ever since you were a kid, but now instead of having a generally quiet disposition, you were skittish. The slightest noise made you jump, and you couldn’t stand to listen to Reagan talk about the U.S.S.R. on the news without having a panic attack. The nightmares had subsided after about two months, though they returned whenever you were stressed.

You found you always looked over your shoulder, always looking out for some unknown thing that might be stalking you. When people talk about saving the world, they never talk about the ugly parts. About the broken fingernails and the insomnia and the muffling of sobs behind your hand as you break down in the girls’ bathroom.

It’s a lonely thing, being a hero. An unfair thing. You felt like that night at Starcourt, when Hopper and Billy Hargrove hadn’t emerged from the fire, your adolescence had been stolen from you. That it had disappeared with the smoke and ash as it engulfed Scoops Ahoy and the rest of the shopping center. You hope that if Eddie actually does follow through with this little deal of yours, you’ll be able to experience at least a little of it.

- - - -

“So,” Eddie drummed his hands on the top of your desk as he slid into the seat in front of you. “What do you have for me, miss tutor girl?”

He was awfully chipper for 7:00 in the morning. You blinked at him and skated your gaze across the room.

It was close enough to first period for the room to be reasonably filled with students, most too sluggish to notice. But a few girls towards the front looked over their shoulders at him, eyes narrowed, before zooming in on you, where they widened curiously.

“What, scared for your reputation?” Eddie was only half-joking, his eyes a little guarded. They narrowed at you.

You shook your head almost comically.

“No,” you burst. “No, not at all. Just had a weird night.”

“Hm,” he looked at you skeptically. You rolled your eyes.

“We’ve already talked about this, Eddie. I don’t have a reputation for you to ruin.”

He snorted at that.

“Alright then,” he leaned forward, his chin on his fists. “What’s got you so skittish, then? Another crazy party like Friday?”

“No,” you sighed, leaning down to retrieve your list from your backpack. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

“Okay.” He looked like he didn’t believe you. You didn’t blame him; you couldn’t have been that convincing. You couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“Did you bring it?” He asked.

You nodded, slamming the sheet of notebook paper onto the desk and slid it over to him.

“Here you go,” you pulled at your sleeve nervously. “Just don’t laugh, okay?”

Eddie looked at you and feigned shock.

“Me? Laugh at you? I’m offended.”

“Eddie, I’m serious,” you felt your cheeks flush and your stomach plummet. “I’m just–It’s embarrassing. I’m being very… vulnerable and if you’re gonna laugh, we can just forget about it—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” his warm hands covered yours where they were sitting on the desk. He squeezed your palms reassuringly. “I was kidding. I won’t laugh. Scout’s honor.”

You looked into his eyes for a moment to see if he was serious. All you saw was sincerity. You let out a deep breath.

“You were a boy scout?”

His lips spread in a wry smile as he turned to the paper.

“Nope,” he unfolded the list. “It’s the thought that counts, though, right?”

You shrugged.

“I guess?”

“Okay, what do we have here?”

You sat in awkward silence as Eddie scanned the page, dark eyes focused. Hie brows were furrowed and his lips pouted in concentration.

“‘Get drunk,’ we can certainly make that happen. ‘Skip a class,’ you won’t need to ask me twice.” He stopped for a moment and huffed a laugh.

You felt your cheeks heat up.

“What–”

“‘Do a drug.’” He said with a secret smile–like he knew something you didn’t.

“Yeah,” you drew out. “I figured you’d know a guy.”

“Oh,” Eddie laughed. “I know a guy.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he smiled at you, before turning his eyes back to the page. “Ohh.”

Eddie’s eyes sparkled as he turned them back to you. He looked like a sprite, you thought. With his wild hair and mischievous smile. He was gorgeous.

“‘Get a boyfriend,’” he set the list down on the table. “Am I going to be playing match-maker, teacher’s pet?”

You rolled your eyes. He was teasing you.

“If that’s what it takes,” you quipped, your nervousness having melted away. “And I am not a teacher’s pet.”

“Whatever you say,” he raised an eyebrow at you.

As you opened your mouth to respond, the clearing of a throat interrupted you.

You looked up to see Cameron Reyes leering over Eddie.

“Hey. You’re in my seat,” he sneered. “Beat it.”

Eddie sighed, before slinking out of the seat slowly, taking his time.

“My apologies,” he smiled at Cameron, before dropping into his own seat, next to you.

You glared at the back of Cameron’s head.

Why did he have to be such an asshole?

Cameron was on the swim team and you’d had classes with him since Kindergarten. He hadn’t always been a dick; In fourth grade when you’d skinned your knee, he’d helped you up and walked you to the nurse’s office. It wasn’t until high school, when he’d begun running with guys like Tommy Hagan, that he’d changed. Now, you couldn’t stand him.

That was the way of things, though, in Hawkins. There were the bullies and the bullied—rarely anything in between.

- - - -

As you walked down the halls, you felt their eyes on your legs and you regretted letting Robin convince you to wear this skirt.

The denim felt heavy on your hips. You wiped your clammy hands on the blue material, wishing that you didn’t have to walk practically across school to get to pre-calc.

“Looking good,” someone whistled from behind you. You felt dread seep down your spine.

Please no, not here.

This wasn’t the first time you’d been catcalled.

The first time was when you and Robin were thirteen and walking to the general store down the road from your houses. A few men in a pick-up truck had rolled their windows down and told you in great detail all they’d liked to do to you. You and Robin hid inside the general store until the clerk called your mom to pick you up. You hadn’t even gotten your first period yet.

However, this was the first time you’d been catcalled at school. It still felt just as scary as the first time.

“Where have you been hiding those legs, teacher’s pet?”

You whipped around at the nickname, bristling at it. You hated when people called you that, unless that person was Eddie.

You were faced with a basketball player; one of the guys who hung out with Jason Carver and sometimes Lucas. Thomas Reed. Your skin crawled at the way he and the two boys behind him looked at you.

“Fuck off,” you spat at him before turning on your heel and walking faster to your destination.

“Aw, come on, don’t be like that!” He called after you, but you could barely hear him over the blood rushing in your ears.

It only calmed when you’d reached your classroom.

- - - -

“Are you even listening to me?” You smacked his hand where it was tapping on the wood of the library table. Outside, a heavy autumn rain pummeled the sidewalk, the trees swaying with it.

“Yes,” Eddie rolled his eyes.

“What did I just say?”

“That…Holden is a whiny little bitch.”

You sighed, bringing a hand to your forehead.

“No.” You ground out. “And if you write that in your essay, Ms. Taylor is going to fail you and me, so please, can you take this seriously?”

He sighed and had the nerve to look a little guilty. It made your heart clench a bit.

In the few sessions you’d tutoring Eddie, your crush had done anything but lessened. In fact, it had grown tenfold. It was one thing to admire him from across the room, it was another completely to spend time with him and actually be able to talk to him.

You found that in addition to being cute and pensive, he was kind and not at all the scary loner that everyone painted him to be. If he hadn’t cemented his reputation by being an avid player of D&D, he would’ve been popular, you thought.

And all this goes to day: you couldn’t stay mad at him, even when you wanted to.

“Okay,” he said, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. You briefly reminded yourself to offer to cut them for him later—he’d been complaining about them getting in his face all session. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“What?” Your attention snapped back to him. Eddie looked at you like you’d grown another head.

“Uhh, I asked what you were saying?”

“Oh! Oh yeah,” you shook your head. “I zoned out.”

“I gathered that.” Eddie snorted, leaning forward. “Uh, off-topic, but I was wondering, when do you wanna get started on that bucket list?”

“Oh. Whenever.”

“I was thinking we could start this week.”

“So soon?” You practically squeaked. As excited you were about these new experiences, you were nervous. Especially because the person you’d be experiencing them with was Eddie. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself.

“No time like the present,” Eddie’s voice was chipper. “So, what did you wanna start with?”

“I thought we’d start small and work up to something bigger?” You asked.

“That sounds good,” Eddie nodded. “How does skipping class work for this week?”

“Ugh, not well actually.” You sighed, sour. “We have that exam this week in Taylor’s and then for Chem I have—”

“Relax, we don’t have to start with that one. Hmm, what else…”

“We could always—”

You cut yourself off, thinking better of it, but Eddie caught you.

“Nevermind.”

“No, what is it?”

You looked at him skeptically.

“If you wanna do something, you gotta tell me. It’s your bucket list, tutor-girl, not mine.”

“What if we…did a drug?”

God, you sounded like such a teacher’s pet saying it.

“Okay, teacher’s pet.” Eddie’s face was gleeful, excited. “You’re full of surprises. We can do that, definitely.”

“Okay,” you let out a breath.

“Any reason why you jumped to that one?”

“I just– I’m so stressed.” Thomas Reed’s lustful gaze flashed in your mind and you shook it off.

“You okay?” Eddie grabbed your hand on the table. You swallowed.

“Yeah,” you said lamely, mouth dry. “Just–a lot going on. School.”

“School,” Eddie repeated like he didn’t believe you. His eyes held yours for a moment before he nodded. “Okay teacher’s pet. Drugs it is. Any preference?”

“Nothing too crazy. Just something to take the edge off?”

“I can do that,” he smiled. “This is gonna be fun.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just think you’ll be funny high.”

“We’ll see,” you narrowed your eyes at him. He just smiled at you for a moment. Your eyes held his and you had the sudden urge to reach over the table and kiss him. You coughed, turning back to your notes in front of you.

“Anyway, what do you think Salinger’s trying to say?”

“Other than the fact that Holden is annoying?”

“Eddie, I’m serious—”

“I am too!” Eddie insisted. “All this shit about ‘phonies,’ when he’s just like them–”

“You know, I thought you’d relate to Holden.” You smirked at him.

“What?”

“Well, he’s an outcast—all teenage angst and—”

“I’m twenty, thank you.” He snapped at you, causing you to stutter.

“Oh, no I didn’t mean outcast like—”

“No, it’s okay,” Eddie chuckled, waving you off. “It’s true. And I like it that way.”

You eyed him skeptically.

“Really, I do.” He folded his arms over his chest. “There are too many assholes in this school. If I wanted to fit in, I’d have to act like them. At least a little bit. Besides, I’ve got people. Not much, but I’ve got’em.”

You hummed.

“I’ve never thought of that.”

“What, Holden being a bitch, because—”

You smacked his arm, laughing.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” Eddie giggled. He giggled. Your heart leapt. “What, though? What did I say that was so profound?”

He was being sarcastic, you could tell, but you didn’t care.

“The whole—having to sacrifice part of yourself to fit in. It’s true. I’d never thought of it like that.”

He hummed, eyes holding yours a moment, before his grin broke the moment.

“Maybe I should be the one tutoring, huh?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“Turn to page 225.”

- - - -

Thomas found you again the next day, this time before school as you were at your locker.

“Hey there,” he smiled, sliding up next to you, effectively boxing you in between him and the locker. You jumped, moving as close to the locker as you could. “How are you today?”

“Leave me alone,” you ground out, trying to slip past him, but his hand in a hard grip on your arm stopped you.

“Aw, but we could have so much fun, teacher’s pet.”

“Let me go—”

“Where’s your little skirt?” he asked, grip tightening on your arm as you scrambled to get away.

You silently cursed whoever in the administration office had placed your locker on one of the most abandoned hallways in the school.

“Your legs looked so good—”

His palm came to squeeze the meat of your ass and your stomach churned. Without thinking, you spat in his face, palm coming to connect with his cheek.

“You cunt—”

“The hell is going on here?”

Eddie walked briskly up to you as you stepped back from Thomas. He moved to stand between you two, face hard. It was the mask he put on every day in front of the rest of the school, the ones who thought he was mean and scary. Only now, you weren’t sure how much of it was a mask.

“Nothing, man.” Thomas waved him off, wiping his face. He glared at you in a way that made your feet stick to the spot.

“It doesn’t look like nothing.”

“I said it's nothing.”

“And I said—”

“It’s fine,” you mumbled.

“Hey wait—”

Eddie moved to grab Thomas as he walked away from the two of you.

“I said it’s fine,” you said louder this time, and reached out to grab Eddie’s shoulder and pull him back toward you.

“Bullshit!” He spun and turned toward you, clearly pissed off. “What the hell was that?”

“I said it was fine, Eddie!” You burst at him, voice cracking. You took a deep breath.

“Honey, are you—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you interrupted Eddie’s suddenly soft voice. You wiped a stray but of moisture from under your eyelid. “Let’s just go to class.”

“But–”

“Eddie, drop it,” you all but snapped, before adding lamely, “please.”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Lead the way. Taylor’s gonna be pissed if I’m late again.”

You could practically hear him simmering as he walked a half-step behind you to class, but you didn’t care to acknowledge it. You’d made it abundantly clear you didn’t want to talk about it. If he pushed you, you might just snap.

As the two of you made your way down the halls, you felt eyes following you. They were all wondering: what was the quiet nerd doing with the freak? You didn’t care to acknowledge that either.

Let them wonder, you thought. I’m done caring about their rumor mill.

- - - -

“Jesus, Eddie.” You gasped and looked around.

There was no one in the janitor’s closet with you, but still: with that much weed on him, Eddie would be expelled and arrested. You had no idea how he’d gotten it in the two days since your conversation.

“What?” He asked, out of breath. He’d pulled you in here between third and fourth period, scarring you half to death in the process. “I told you I’d get the stuff.”

“Yeah, but I didn't know you meant so much,” you scoffed. Now, looking down at the green, wooly buds you were going to smoke, you felt your stomach flood with anxiety. You weren’t so sure about it anymore. “Where did you even get it?”

“I know a guy.”

“Fine, don’t tell me,” you rolled your eyes frustratedly. “What did you drag me here for, anyway?”

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, looking genuinely confused at your hostile tone.

“To…let you know I got the stuff.” He drawled, before narrowing his eyes at you. “You okay, sweetheart? You look like you’re gonna be sick.”

Your stomach was churning. Between the stuff with Thomas that morning and now this, it was too much.

You pressed a hand to your abdomen as the faint smell of weed permeated from the open baggie between Eddie’s fingers.

God, he had pretty fingers, you thought somewhere in the back of your mind. It was something you'd revisit when you weren’t about to have a panic attack.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Eddie rushed toward you as you doubled over, hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath and calm the nausea. His hands found your shoulders, and another wave of the sharp smell of marijuana made you retreat further into your mind.

All of a sudden, you weren’t there; you were back at Starcourt with Billy Hargrove’s hands around your neck, the smell of the weed he’d smoked earlier still on his clothes.

Your breathing shallowed and you gasped, trying to breathe, but in vain.

“Hey, hey, breathe for me,” you faintly heard Eddie over your own heartbeat. “You gotta breathe, honey. C’mon, breathe for me. Deep breaths, like this.”

He pressed your palm to his chest as he inhaled deeply.

You looked up at him, at his wide, panicked eyes and did as he said, slowly inhaling a shaky breath.

“That’s it,” he took another deep breath, eyes not leaving yours. “Just like that. Okay. Another one, now.”

You took a deep breath, much easier this time, eyes never leaving his.

- - - -

“So…” Eddie began, eyes finally meeting yours. “You wanna tell me what the hell that was?”

You sighed, tilting your head back to lean against the wall where you were sitting. You looked up at the fluorescents in the janitor’s closet.

“That was a panic attack, Eddie,” you said monotonously.

“Don’t be a smart ass. What happened?”

You sighed again.

It had taken five minutes for Eddie to talk you down from your… episode. After, he’d let you catch your breath. You’d thought that you’d be able to just go about your day from there. You were stupid to think he’d let this go.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Jesus, sweetheart, I don't care about that. I just wanna know what the hell caused it. Did I–”

“No,” you said immediately. “You didn’t—”

“Did it have something to do with this morning?” Eddie’s voice was low, and as serious as you’d ever heard it.

You remained quiet, eyes trained on the light above you. Eddie took that as confirmation. His eyes flashed dangerously as you finally looked at him.

“I’ll kill him.”

Eddie moved to his feet with purpose, moving to open the closet door.

“No!” you grabbed his ankle, scrambling. “No, Eddie. It’s not worth it.”

“Bullshit, it’s not worth it—”

“Please, let’s just get out of here. Let’s go smoke. We’ve practically missed all of fourth period anyway.”

“Honey, he can’t just–”

“I know, Eddie,” you stood up level with him. “But right now, I really wanna leave, and that’s more important than whatever revenge plot you have.”

He looked at the door obstinately for another moment before turning back to you.

“Fine.” he said, not fully convinced.

“Thank you,” you took a calming breath. “Good. Besides, it’ll be like killing two birds with one stone, right? Two items off the bucket list at once.”

- - - -

Eddie’s car was smoky; a hotbox is what he called it.

As you took a long drag of the joint he passed to you, the deep, leafy aroma filled your lungs. As you breathed out, all worries or stress you had about school or Thomas or even the Upside Down diminished to an afterthought.

So this is why people smoke, you thought to yourself, giggling a little bit.

“What is it?” Eddie turned his head to you, unruly curls brushing your cheek.

The two of you were sprawled out on the floor of his van, shoulder to shoulder and head to head, about twenty minutes into the session. You’d learned this so far: that Eddie smelled good, like cigarettes and cologne and something musky, and that his eyes got even more glassy when he smoked. All that to say: you wanted to kiss him. Bad.

You passed him the joint, your fingers brushing his in the process.

“It’s just that I finally get why people do this so much,” you laughed.

“It’s been twenty minutes,” Eddie laughed with you.

“And I feel better already!”

Eddie went quiet, taking two puffs from the joint. You turned to look at him, eyes immediately darting to his lips. He was looking pensively at the corner of the van.

“Not fair,” you grabbed the joint from him. “Don’t hog.”

“I get them too, you know.” He said all of a sudden, somber.

You stopped, looking at him still. Eddie turned his head to face you, nose only an inch from yours.

“Not so much anymore, but when I was younger. When I first came to live with Wayne.”

“Wayne?”

“My uncle,” he swallowed, turning his head away from yours. “I live with him. Have since I was twelve. My dad, he was… not a great guy.”

You were quiet for a moment, passing the joint back to him.

“My dad left.” You said. “Sometimes I’m not even sure I remember what he looks like.”

Eddie grabbed your hand, squeezing.

Instead of the flutter of anxious butterflies, you felt a calm wash over you at his hand in yours.

“Do you, uh…” Eddie trailed off, taking a deep huff, “wanna talk about what I saw this morning?”

You sighed, not feeling anxious, but feeling tired.

“You remember the skirt I wore the other day?”

Eddie swallowed visibly, eyes darting to your legs before your face again.

“Yeah.”

“Robin helped me pick it out in June,” you fiddled with your sweater. “She convinced me to wear it the other day, finally, while the weather is still at least a little nice. Anyway, Thomas noticed my skirt. He hasn’t left me alone since. And today, he…”

Eddie took a long drag.

“He grabbed me, grabbed my ass. Fucking pig.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m not even, like, scarred by that. You know how ridiculous that is? That I’m not even phased by it anymore?”

Eddie just shook his head, glaring at the ceiling.

“Eddie?”

He wordlessly handed you the joint.

“Toke up, sweetheart.”

You chuckled.

“Jesus, what an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, taking a long drag.

“Someone should—”

“Someone should, but someone won’t.” You looked at him. “They never do.”

“Hmm,” Eddie hummed, biting his lip in concentration.

“Wanna skip the rest of the day?”

“God, yes.”

Th next day, Thomas Reed had a busted lip and a black eye.

#eddie munson #eddie x you #eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x fem!reader #Eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie x reader #the tutor #eddie fanfic #eddie fic #eddie x y/n #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things 4

497 notes · View notes