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capslocked · 6 months

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KINKVEMBER DAY: 6

[prompt: blowjob]

male reader x hyeju

12k words

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone who actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

The first time you hook up with your roommate, it’s because of genetics - though not in the weird, uncontrollable way your body gets rigid and sensitive to any pretty girl who wears nothing but a towel moving between her bedroom and the bathroom, or how her eyes might flick fast from your chest up to yours - or given that the absolute shape of her is a blessing from one god or another (benevolent, clearly). That's not why Hyeju and you find yourselves only a few months later grinding on each other after the clock ticked past midnight, making out on New Year's Eve.

No, it has to do with the fact that Hyeju's nearly failing the nine AM section of molecular genetics because she's spent every lecture doodling stars and planets and planets shaped like asscheeks and planet-ass constellations while everyone else writes notes or doom scrolls twitter or whatever and she is somehow simultaneously the only student who never slept with her face on the lab desk or missed an assigned reading and the only one who absolutely needs a tutor.

It's just cosmic odds that you'd be that one: her roommate, who shouldn't be talking so loudly in the library about sex (in a sort of non-sexy, Mendelian kind of way) or be thinking the kind of things you've started thinking when Hyeju wears one of her more sleepshirt-esque long sleeves, her voice getting lower as you rattle off, "fruit flies and thale cress, definitely, it's just an error of fate or chromosome splitting..." before trailing off into a question.

"This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me," she finally tells you. You listen to her sigh into the binding of her textbook, facedown. "I'm really going to bomb this exam."

You tap her hand twice with your highlighter across the desk. "Then you're pretty damn lucky, if you think about it."

She turns to you, smiles a bit. "Okay, point. The worst thing will be having to retake this stupid fucking class."

"Why didn't you ask for help or go to office hours if you knew you were... failing?"

"Maybe because doing anything more than the bare minimum to get through a class I don't care about is my definition of, failing," she mumbles. "Why didn't anyone tell me a single lab is worth half my grade? Or that the TA is this fucking unreliable? How is this the one thing, really, beyond the basics, that can't be taught by wikipedia, a wikihow article and a youtube video?"

You scoot your seat closer to her. "You really need to relax."

"Fucking tell me about it."

You turn it over in your mind a few times, capping the top of your highlighter.

"Want me to get you off?"

And it’s not like you really mean it, when you say it, which is the strangest thing: you wouldn't actually suggest it, normally, wouldn't mention it in passing and then leave yourself open to the follow up and cross examination; yet there it is, after three, four hours of cramming notes on heterochronicity and the sloshing of gametes - you actually did propose it.

Hyeju jerks up, surprised.

"Are you serious?" She looks around, nearly snorting. "In the library?"

The face you’re giving her makes her scoff.

“You’re absolutely nuts.”

You have character flaws; the inability to admit wrongdoing chief among them. Hell, maybe it's from your mother - or maybe all your brains are just scrambled by the fact that Hyeju's sitting there with her pen against her pretty lips, hair glossier than usual as she scans your face and makes your entire body feel like a reactor core in meltdown.

Maybe you can blame what comes next on that.

"I'm always serious. I'm asking a serious question," you whisper, closing the textbook and resting your elbows on top. You look around quickly, like you're sneaking something in instead of this perfectly reasonable exchange, the perfectly platonic - except maybe not so much - way for friends to help each other.

"And I'm wondering what you're asking." Her cheeks are definitely pinker, you think, or the way it fills out her face, from the bottom up, is just that easy to imagine.

“I’m saying you haven’t gotten laid in months.” Here, you realize, these blocks of mental logic that definitely weren’t there when you blurted it out start to coalesce into something solid as you go on.

And you hadn't been wrong when you thought no one had given Hyeju a helping hand in a long, long time: you've heard through the walls or the floorboards at odd hours of the morning that she spends far too long fingering herself to a mind-numbing, tear-worthy frustration that leaves her knuckle-deep but never, ever sated or satisfied.

"No one's around, you'll feel better. You said it yourself."

Not a work of your imagination here - her ears are fucking burning.

"Wait a minute." She pushes her chair back, away from you and your gleaming offer. It clatters on its back legs, and a librarian waves her finger in warning. You wave back, sheepishly, until she stops and Hyeju stands and moves away from the table to talk, hands crossed over her front.

She turns and asks in a hushed-down-voice, "how did you know - did you hear something last night?"

"You couldn't keep it down even if you wanted to, honestly."

Hyeju turns further and throws a glare at the library doors, because obviously her noisiness and their collective noisemanship, or whatever the hell the word is, is clearly the root of the whole goddamn problem.

"Look - if not, no big deal - but I'm just saying you'll probably get over it and at least think less about sex. Or at least the wrong kind of sex."

You expect her to turn, sigh, and ask if you've lost your mind. Expect her to gather her jacket from the back of her chair, take her books and stomp out the room. Or even burst out laughing at the insanity, before slapping your arm lightly, in playful retaliation - anything other than the serious look she gives you in return, tilting her head, pressing her lips.

She turns up at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating something. And it's cute. It's so very, very cute, how her mouth pouts as she considers the possibility, right up until she says, "okay, fine."

The moderate twist of surprise taking hold in your brow must be visible.

"Oh, don't tell me that was all talk. Get me thinking about the right kind of sex or whatever."

You laugh, which has the librarian staring at both of you - until the librarian stops staring and probably sees Hyeju sliding back into her chair, the full, pent-up weight of her concentration pointed your way, knees inching apart - you, and Hyeju waiting, your knee bumping into her inner thigh, leaning closer as the textbook hits the floor.

"Don't laugh."

"Not laughing, seriously. Not laughing," you stammer. “I just think you’re just full of surprises.”

She spreads her knees further and sits taller, looking right at you.

"So then, surprise me," and then presses her cheek to the crook of your elbow.

You slide your chair right into the space next to hers, nuzzling up into the space under her ear. “Keep studying, Hyeju, you’ve got shit to do.” And then you slide your hand beneath the waist of her sweats, knead the swell of her thigh until you find the seam where her leg meets her body, press your palm down on the place just next to her center, your thumb in the middle. All this perfect pressure.

"Fuck," Hyeju says under a shudder. She's breathing heavier when your hot, open-mouthed kisses start landing at her neck, and she probably tries to read her textbook for about forty-five seconds longer. But there's the clench of her jaw right as your middle finger begins tracing circles beneath the fabric of her panties, and her gaze is blurring until she can't tell the difference between an allele or your fucking name.

"Shh-shh," you quiet her, finger tapping harder, playing with the slick wetness beneath all those layers of thick cotton and pressing two fingers there until her knees part like they’re not interested in resisting at all. Your lips press a kiss to the shell of her ear and she tenses all at once, hand shooting up to cover her mouth.

She simply leans back, closes her eyes, and lets you take care of her.

“Okay, you’re right,” she says, shaky and uneven, “that really did take some of the edge off. Did we ever review - poly- uh, pol-polymers here?"

The sweatshirt sleeve falling off your shoulder is a hindrance to any actual reading; her shifting against the chair isn't helping either, but you manage to push down the thoughts of stripping her down completely and giving her your tongue as yet another distraction.

"What did the syllabus say? I don't know if we need to read too far on 'polymers'," you say, having going through an entire afternoon without considering this once, but as you curl your fingers and take an honest crack at cramming the remaining chapters into her head, the knowledge that no one else is getting her this wet - except for whoever she's got in her mind's eye at three AM - is enough to get you feeling a little dizzy.

It’s probably supposed to be weird, given that you’ve never gotten any of your other friends off spontaneously in the library, or there's the fact that you can't really avoid each other afterwards, how she shows up in a silk negligee when you're pouring coffee before sunrise to prep for another day and you have the opportunity to notice - yes, she has amazing taste in underwear, yes, you might not have really appreciated her chest and figure enough before - yes, fuck it. She catches you noticing that first time, after coming downstairs with nothing but one of her cropped t-shirts and her board shorts, and she smirks when she realizes you're still thinking about it that afternoon, when her foot grazes yours while you're both washing dishes, and she dries the plate in her hand with a slow swipe.

And it is weird, actually, to describe what’s going on between you in words.

A few words, anyway, like a one-word label to describe what it was: friends or roommates-with-benefits, or - fuck buddies - god, it's even worse. Fuck buddies? Fuck friends? Something equally terrible and stupid that still makes sense, like something out of a shitty rom-com: it doesn't capture any of the rest of the myriad ways in which things can feel less or less friendly between two people.

So, friends was never, ever going to cut it. Roommates - although technically correct - is just this side of too clinical. And let's be clear: strangers don't wake up every morning together, walk to the same class, sit close together in the middle seats, secretly flick a strangers' skirt up in an empty lecture hall and get on their knees and work your mouth onto her pussy and watch the legs of the desks shake when her feet arch into the floor.

"The notes you've got are better than mine," is how Hyeju tries to put things, the next day and every time after that, standing in the doorframe, or at the foot of your bed and looking every bit the disheveled and hopeless mess you imagine she might spread out over the sheets of her own.

It gets complicated, which isn't really a surprise.

"You think your roommate is going to be home tonight?" is the question that comes up multiple times - from a revolving door of pretty names and faces. Hyeju has at least one opinion, if not more, on each of them.

"Tell Jinsoul I say hi," she says once, watching you get ready for a date, and you nearly bang your knee on the edge of the bathroom vanity.

It's one of the more harmless comments she's offered.

Another, backhanded: "if you’re just looking for a blowjob everyday between lunch and our physics lab, let Hyunjin or Heejin or whatever-her-name-is know she's easily my favorite," Hyeju says on your way out one morning, still under her covers.

Or,

Hyeju's texted a simple "uh, Chuu? really??" when you mention, once, how much fun you've been having - and what kind, as you make a round of self-conscious and rambling phone calls the next day that land you with only one prospect for the night - but your roommate's also no longer being your roommate by the end of it, bouncing against your thighs in the bathtub and moaning something about please more and fuck or fucking make me cum; the details escape you a bit.

That's what friends are for, probably.

Still, in the same, bare-bones explanation, friends also aren't for falling asleep on you - or letting you hold her - or fucking you awake in the middle of the night. Friends aren't for pushing down your jeans when the early-morning dew settles on the back patio, or jerking you off in the seat beside yours with a sweatshirt over your lap when a group project is due later and you all should probably work on that and instead get yourselves off and leave the mess of what you're doing half-finished. Friends aren't, probably, for offering to watch you rub your palm up and down your cock the night before next semester's exams when you can barely sit in a single chair and you can't think about molecular biology or neurochemical transcriptions when your whole body aches to do the transcribing. (If you can catch that drift.)

The lists of who are and are not good enough for you goes on and on - the latter longer than the former.

So, there's Choerry, who according to Hyeju is 'straight up, a total slut'. Yeojin, who gets mistaken for your little sister enough times that Hyeju refuses to - in good faith - let you keep sleeping with her. Both Heejin and Gowon are apparently too pretty for you. "Kim-lip?" she asks, in the middle of peeling garlic, "is that one name or two?" And laughs into a bottle of beer, loud, while you're telling her to quit being nosey and watch her fingers with the damn knife.

"You have a problem."

"Why, because I asked a few simple questions? I think anyone would be a little curious with the -" she pauses to wave her fingers - "I'd be remiss to not be interested in the very drama that unfolds literally across the hall."

She waggles her eyebrows.

You look up at the ceiling. God save you, you think. "Hyeju."

("Seriously," Hyeju chimes in one evening, arms around you, and a mouthful of the dinner you'd cooked.

"You need better taste in girls. Don't waste time on anyone too dumb, or who drinks the milk straight from the carton, or doesn't wash her socks with the same load of laundry. Oh, and - no one who chews loudly. No one who can't tell you're going to cum. The worst is someone who doesn't know what you like, trust me on that. And remember the last rule: don't do anything with someone who eats at a really slow pace, it's incredibly depressing."

You rest your chin on her shoulder from the spot behind her. "Duly noted, oh Master of all Knowledge."

She sighs into your arm, but in the next moment, her voice gets a lot softer, her hips fidgeting slightly against you. "I just mean you're the kind of person people would want to sleep with again," she says, before turning to say your name and kiss you again and again as your bodies curl inward.

"I wonder what that means, Hyeju," you say.

"Fuck," Hyeju groans as you slide further into her, pushing her back into the sofa - hands on her shoulders, legs bent on her either side, "don't tease me like this.")

The first snowfall of the year is mild, a tiny dusting, nothing that sticks on the pavement in the alley or on the sidewalks - or the lintels - or in Hyeju's hair, but by evening, when the snow picks up and everything goes quiet, Hyeju has changed into flannels and wool socks in anticipation, curled up like a cat at one edge of the window ledge as the world begins to go white. It's enough that you even pull on a thicker sweatshirt, open up a book, and join her.

She turns toward you, quiet.

You've reached a point in the semester where this, the silence, doesn't unsettle you anymore. It's the space you fill up with time in-between, where you can see the contours of her body against the orange lamplight of the space heater, or watch her kick off the top half of the duvet at night as you fight over space in her bed and wonder about the bare skin peeking out from her shorts.

"Feeling bored?" She slides her foot a little closer to yours, almost imperceptibly. "Am I keeping you entertained enough?"

Her lips pull up at the corner. You chuckle.

"Oh, no."

She scoffs and puts her hands on her knees, pushes herself closer to the window sill and bumps her elbow into your shoulder. The bare skin of her neck and shoulders and face is getting a little redder as she cranes it forward. "Okay, if not, do you need someone to entertain you, maybe."

Your mouth twists, fighting a smile.

Hyeju is so close to you, you could kiss her really, really easily and not care how she'd feel about that. It's not a habit, not as often as it used to be, but every once and a while - she starts this game. Every once in a while, Hyeju just starts smiling like that, and leans into you like she's daring you to play along, hard round of chicken until it's clear what the two of you are doing with each other; the minutes pass by, one, then two, and then - maybe she pushes first, her leg on yours, or a kiss to your jaw or a palm on your back as she walks behind you - and then you'd turn and kiss her full on the mouth and pull at her clothes like nothing's holding you back.

She cocks a smile, and says, "why don't you go and call what's her name."

"Because."

You glance out at the cold, gray light outside. If you had a better understanding of any of the workings inside you, you could reach forward and tell her everything that's stopped you.

You're supposed to meet the girl-of-the-month at a New Year's party. Hyeju looks disgusted within the first ten seconds of the whole story.

"Heejin dumped you once, like, two months ago? For no reason."

"It wasn't a break-up. We talked about what we did wrong and we're doing better," you say, lifting one finger.

She glares, then, tilts her lips into this unamused purse that you can't take seriously at all when she starts walking back and forth across your living room, hands moving emphatically to the sides as she speaks, like she's in the process of unveiling a brilliant argument and is using both palms to guide your eyes toward the unquestionable logic. "God, you're the worst. You're just her easy fuck and you'll still answer her late night calls, really."

She leaves the rest unsaid - that she's just not that into you.

"I don't tell you which boys or girls you can call up," you try, putting on a boot. "If you'd like, I can. Name off the list, and make sure that the right name leaves my mouth this time."

Hyeju doesn't blush when you glance up, which is the surprising thing. No - her cheeks have grown a little more sullen, and she stares down at her socks in contemplation. You're in the middle of fastening up the lace and getting to your feet, waiting, wondering if Hyeju's going to continue this conversation, when Hyeju takes one small step forward.

And her hand goes out to touch your chin, thumb at your lip, fingers holding it in place - like you'll turn if she lets it go - the sharp shock of the sensation like a short circuit, before her knee comes between yours, and your body tingles, at the root and stem. "Hey," she says, eyes meeting yours. The edge of her nail flicking gently as she drags the curve of her thumb downward.

"Hyeju, please - I need to get going."

When you start walking toward your car, she calls out from the window. Something about how you better have the time of your life, fun for the two of you - it’s only fair.

(You feel, somewhere, a certain strange loss.)

"What, are you going to stay up and wait until I come back? Or am I interrupting your session for the night."

You can barely make it out, the smallest look passing over her face. "Maybe," she says, and then: "god, it's fucking cold."

New year's parties have this sort of quality of being simultaneously the most thrilling, exciting prospect on earth and the absolute worst fucking event in the history of the planet - depending on the venue, how egregious the racket is for a gin and tonic, the guests - oh, and the company.

Jinsoul and Choerry are both in attendance; in separate corners and in equal states of undress and intoxication, which seems fine by every present party, who are for the most part busy ogling one or the other in the full spirit of the New Year - as you would too, if the stars are aligned and Heejin hasn't already gone upstairs with half the guestlist, her arm wound with someone else's, as per her recent habit; if you haven't been tossed aside for any of the usual, less forgettable prospects and for something bigger, better and certainly much more enjoyable.

Which, if there were any way to track these things down with math, you'd already be reaching for your pen and notebook, as Hyeju would describe this sensation in a phrase she picked up from some podcast. Inevitable means necessary, or something.

"Good party," says Heejin, throwing back another drink.

"Yep. You said that," and you finish yours in one long draw, hissing through your teeth.

Heejin is a goddamn delight, of course, in all the simplest of ways. When she looks up at you - mouth pink, hair framing her face - she is so clearly and completely aware of what she is, and exactly what the world has in store for her, what it has set aside.

"Do you want to know what happened at the other New Year’s party we went to last year?"

"I - yeah. Hit me. Tell me all about (another date you were on) Heejin, that’s exactly what I’d love, let’s hear it."

She throws her head back and laughs, before starting into an overlong recount of her latest, greatest conquest, you on the outside. This is the thing - this is how a pretty face, with just a hint of a flirt, will make you feel for a beautiful, attractive, vivacious - absolutely shameless, raving sex-crazed lunatic of sorts who, apparently, loves to run around town and make a bunch of your closest friends fall in love and heartbroke-er, with every passing notion of her beauty, her charm - just the tilt of her chin, and some poor fucker is lost, absolutely lost.

Even she knows it's a bad habit of hers.

But who doesn't have a weakness? You've got plenty of your own - plenty, Heejin can admit - everyone does, in a way, and so Heejin, the other sloppy drunks milling about the party, and Choerry and Jinsoul all agree - someone like her just happens to have the best kind of weakness - so, so many of them, in fact:

"Can you believe how easily a few words get Jinsoul riled up? Or how it only takes a couple drinks for Choerry to pull up the hem of her skirt, not knowing the effect that'll have?"

And as for the last, and arguably worst kind -

"Hyeju, huh? What a great start to the New Year," is her final word. Heejin reaches across and downs your drink. Her expression turns just shy of grave, a pensive look. "Not your smartest idea, the living-together situation. Who in their right mind would put themselves in such a mess?"

"Thanks for the great advice." You wave her off, irritated.

There's another laugh before Heejin leans her face onto the table.

"Though maybe she's onto something, now that I think of it. Who needs anyone for the New Year?" and it's almost convincing the way her mouth, lined up with the rim of the glass, smirks when she drinks. "Mm. All a matter of taste."

The snow is halfway up your calves when you realize you need to find a cab at 11:30 PM on New Year's Eve. (Which, categorically, is the worst time to need to find a cab on New Year’s Eve.)

Or just:

11:36 PM and the nearest bus stop is too far away.

11:41 and the temperature feels like its dropped by fifteen degrees, like you should start wondering what hypothermia symptoms look like and what signs to look out for in yourself, your future wife and your children. You try not to think about why, but you get your phone out and immediately call Hyeju, so you're not sure what you think you're denying.

"No party?" she asks. Her voice is distant and sleep-ridden, but Hyeju's quick to pick up, like always.

"It sucked, I'm trying to find a way home early. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year." There's a long pause, filled in by the squeak of snow beneath your boots. "Get a kiss?"

"Uh, not yet. In the market, I guess."

Hyeju's low hum isn't reassuring, either. "Well, you're kind of missing your window. Bad time to start looking."

"Says you, and here you are - still up for someone to spend the night with. Look at you," you respond, all this snark in your voice that she clearly hears. There's a long sigh.

"Actually," and Hyeju, much to the confusion of you and possibly the whole world, doesn't respond, and for a few seconds, the line goes completely silent, leaving you hanging.

She breathes once and comes out of her sleep with a yawn.

"I actually," she begins. There's a lot less preamble this time - this tone - and when she speaks again it comes through not nearly as sleepy, "was sorta wondering. Are you on your way home?"

"If I don't freeze to death, yeah."

"Yeah - no, yeah," and that's it. That's the sum total of what makes any difference between where you were a moment ago, and where you are right now, head spinning, fingers buzzing. Hyeju waits and there's the wind on the line, snow settling on your hat and in the corners of your face.

"I - sorry. I probably woke you up. Are you expecting someone else," you say, very small. Your foot drags behind the other. The cars whizz by you faster, passing.

"Hm. You're the only one, I guess," and after that - just static and the muffled sounds of her footsteps on creaky floorboards - or the tick of her ceiling fan? You can't make heads or tails of the rest of the background noise. All those words she said.

You bite your tongue to stop whatever curse words start pouring out from the jumble and cross streets, or the pedestrian underpass; snow gets stuck in your lashes and burns, but your chest is like a molten furnace. You consider telling her right there on the line, everything you're feeling - so hot, it feels like fire, Hyeju, I'm not used to getting heated and desperate and impatient - that even if you're not here now - just imagining your face - the sound of your breathing, it feels like I'm on the cusp.

"Yeah. Sure - good - okay, Hyeju."

"I guess, see you soon?"

"In a bit."

(It takes 33 minutes, trudging through cold and wet. It's all very dramatic, you think, and there's no one there to even watch you suffer for it, or - though you try not to think about that particular line - really, no one at all.)

You hear the way your key grinds in the lock - it's been like this, jammed since summer, when you pushed the front door in late at night a little too hard and something came undone and made a sound like a small stone tumbling down the world's deepest well. The hinge squeaks, and there's ice on the stoop, on the doormat, on every nook and corner you can see, all the way up your neck.

And your face, too. You shake off your hat, undo the buttons on your jacket, and pull off your boots before hanging them and all the layers to dry.

You can make out the outline of her profile at the edge of the door frame, right in the kitchen - barefoot, hip pressed against the island, pajamas - the dim lights illuminating the shadow of her head, hair over her face -

- but you don't pause. The next layer. There's nothing left to say. You're too cold for excuses, too smart to use the same ones you'd been taught, like: this is a normal, acceptable circumstance; everything, anything, will be perfectly normal if the two of us act as though that's the case; pretend we're both acting within the norms of reason, within our senses and logical thinking and I won't make myself go out in the cold a second more - won't stand for more than five minutes with your eyes looking like they're waiting.

So you move instead toward the kitchen, where the heating is better and she's already pouring coffee. There's a heat radiating out of the oven, and it smells sweet in there, like cinnamon and warm butter, and you wish you weren't still shaking, blood barely thawed, but there it is - her face, watching you - eyes gleaming as you wrap your hands around a mug, steam rising up - a shiver running up your arms; her knees skirting yours when she takes one step back and there's the cabinet door shut, then open again, and then a palm on your back.

Hyeju presses a cup of the fresh coffee, now warm enough to drink, to your chest, and says, softly. "What the fuck happened out there?"

She starts reaching out to wipe the frost and slush from your face. You let her hand hold you still, eyes wide.

"Oh you know," and her palm stays, even though it's obviously - suddenly - gotten warmer, and wetter too, and the longer she stands there and lets her fingers warm the pale bones of your cheeks, her wrist, the base of your forehead and ears, the more expectant the look on her face grows. "The usual."

Her eyes go as narrow as they ever can. For just a moment. "You're gonna die a slow, pathetic death someday, just for the record."

"Don't forget how this starts," you try, and feel your neck go warm, throat and breath tight. And not even when her shoulders shift, her mouth going smug - just looking at you.

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone you actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

When Hyeju sighs and gives a long, nonchalant hum, leaning her body closer, pressing up until her waist hits the cabinet top and you're pressed together chest-to-chest, she looks at you and her hips settle, the heel of her foot reaching around your calf.

There's that tingle. Again and again. You're not even trying to not think about what it might mean.

But then, you start, silently and unconsciously, trying to answer the question: why don't you, maybe. Why don't you, actually - Hyeju kisses you, pulls on the loop of your jeans and lets your lips brush the corners of hers and pulls away, suddenly, mumbling and head-turning. And just as abruptly, your nose buries in the space between her neck and her shoulder, where it's all warm. And when she puts her palms on your hips and squeezes and twists her knuckles into the fabric there, it seems she wants your hands up her shirt and under the small of her back.

And her hands - they're fidgety tonight, fingers curled up to keep their nails and the chill away, moving lower - one on your ass, while the other comes forward and begins rubbing circles, a handful of times - enough so you're letting a deep, low breath escape into the space just above her collar, your knee working its way between hers.

"That," Hyeju breathes, lips at your ear, hand reaching down to trace the hard curve of your cock pressing in the spot right between you, and there's that small rush again, familiar now, like you've caught a rhythm and she wants to feel it in its fullness: "is how you can make it up to me. For making me stay up. Worrying about you, god knows why. Waiting."

You're still half-frozen in a way, slowly thawing. "Hyeju, I've been trudging through the consequences of my actions this entire night. What am I about to suffer through now?"

"It's no consequence, honestly."

You squint.

"Just an idea, but," she breathes again; your bodies getting closer, and looking up at you, she grins and reaches down to touch the very root of you, her fingers drumming. You make a sound, and at that she says, her voice coming out thick, low:

"Want me to get you off?"

She squeezes again for good measure, just to be clear. Just a slight curl of fingers that's enough to send a flash of heat and the transient thought: why, why, why is she always wearing those fucking shorts, even in the winter?

Your blood thrums through the pulse at the end of your cock. You shake.

"Alright," is the response you let out.

And at that, Hyeju takes your wrist and leads you upstairs.

"There's that look. Don't worry. We'll find a way," is all she says as your feet walk forward, up step-by-step and higher and further up to her room. "After all, isn't that what we've always done?"

"It's usually whatever will make me stop talking."

Hyeju puts her chin on your shoulder. Her eyes follow the lines and shapes in the patterns of wallpaper as you turn onto her side of the apartment, and even through the wall and behind the doorway, her arm still around you, she pulls at your chin until your faces turn and you both can share each other's heat.

"Who, you and your awful habit of talking out-loud in your head while you work through equations?" and she brings her lips to yours, close and warm.

"Hey. Fuck you," and your voice breaks into an odd, low laughter when she kisses you harder.

"Yeah, I know," she whispers as her hand dives past the band of your boxers, palm sliding easily until she's gripping you fully and letting her fingers rub. She holds you there, in her room, her arm looped through yours, another arm resting at your belly.

And she stops there. She stays like that: holding your gaze.

"Look, Hyeju," you say, unable to not, though this can hardly count for anything; this, what you're about to admit, is nothing new. You swallow. "The thing is - you shouldn't."

"Don't want me to touch you?" she says, finger to your lips.

"Well, that's different. Maybe. Is there - maybe it's not the best thing to ask you right now."

Hyeju considers for a brief moment and tuts under her breath. "Can you at least do me the decency of waiting until I'm done wringing you dry before you say shit like that."

And she moves then, toward the bed.

So:

No. Yes. Maybe. Who knows, you tell yourself. Maybe, but only because you'll do anything if it makes you feel less sick, like a creature standing over its own skeleton - an abandoned shell; a relic, something to be feared and disgusted, as you let her go between your thighs, kneel beside the bed.

"I mean - since when - have you felt," is just as far as you're allowed to go before Hyeju presses her nose into you and pulls you out of the thin, cold fabric - palm, thumb, all those slender fingers swiping over your head - and now there's just the smell of her room and the shock, the buzz that runs down your spine and settles somewhere, somewhere inside the small and desperate movement of your hips and the tension building just below.

And god, fuck, Hyeju’s lips.

These soft, wet, pouty fucking things that could suck you straight off if you were feeling any less stupid or inexperienced or sentimental - if she wasn't solely intent on teasing it out of you first; a slow drag of the tongue up the underside; the tip of it poking, tracing the rim, like she's figured you out, just where to lead you. She's ready to smoke you out - always - until you're not taking in a breath every ten seconds but starting to close your eyes to the overwhelming, needling pleasure, too sharp, the way she knows you like best.

"Now you're finally - mm - starting to sound hot," and that smirk comes back to the corner of her mouth, teasing the sensitive belly of your cock and tracing her tongue everywhere. "With the voice and -"

You're losing track, her thumb and fingers circling the whole length of you - just, one after the other - mouth a hair-breadth away, her breath hovering like a promise.

"- that face."

"Don't, fucking tease me-"

The sound of your cock going in is like nothing else.

Wet and filthy in all the right ways.

Just the suction in her throat has your eyes nearly roll back into your head - Hyeju's gaze calmly watching the terrible sort of helplessness that washes over you like this: her lips wrapped around, bobbing - her hair falling into the wet mess of her mouth and sticking there. Hyeju likes being a little sloppy, likes feeling that spark run up the length of her tongue when she slides. It's the wet and the heat that gives everything away.

"I don't have much of a choice -" her jaw and chin is smudged when she pulls back off of your cock, mouth glossy and glistening, "and honestly, wouldn't it be a better use of our time, or my talents if I actually do that thing?"

“Which is?”

She looks up for a bit and sighs, the flush blooming pink to the tip of her ears and into the rounds of her cheeks and all across her neck. "Since, as far as I can see, what you really like - is, oh I'm just spit-balling here," and she stops just to bite her tongue and look into your eyes, "it's letting the girls take care of you? Isn't that right?"

You want to tell her, no, not always, that it's not as though you enjoy giving control completely - that that would be completely and unarguably, the opposite of true -

That most of the time you love it when the person you're with is a little bossy, a little crazy for you. You know some guys really get off on a strong woman and maybe, maybe if a girl's pretty and dressed up, and - sure - a little wet, but that's hardly -

“You know I’m right,” she says, a flicker of mischief skittering across her features. “These walls are paper thin.”

You want to tell her, perhaps remind her, that she likes someone in charge just as much as you do - to be taken care of, told what to do - to have a hand curled up around her throat and the other at her tits while a guy fucks her the right way and takes the reigns when she needs. So who are you, when it comes to knowing her better? And who, really, are you fooling?

But before you can get any words in: Hyeju dips, lips parting where the head of your cock throbs, and then disappears; and the hot wet warmth, enveloping all around your shaft and back; the curve of her throat contracting.

You moan - a lot, and louder this time - into the whole feeling. The way her fingers work the distance from the base, twisting and twisting and twisting into the pout of her lips; or how the sound is like nothing - a whimpering, messy sound - almost a whine and definitely not a slurp as your cock sinks further and further, until it's all one big, heavy throb.

And it's like Hyeju can read your thoughts, the visual you have of her lips screwed tight around your shaft - cum leaking from the corners, and her eyes scrunched up tight, as she looks up to watch your face unravel - this perfect image of her taking you, all of you, swallowing each drop as your hips start rutting up into her and - and - and.

Or else she gets impatient, because then Hyeju gives one long pull off the tip of your cock - saliva mixed in the precum there, and that shiny string of fluid hanging, caught in the middle between your bodies - a disgusting and irresistible sight. Her jaw slack, lips swollen and full, and her mouth gone wide open, wanting.

"Fuck - that's good. Don't stop," you start to whimper, desperate, at the sight, the smell. Her hot breath coming quick over the red wanting wetness left behind - then touched by the cold air - fuck -

She slaps your cock to the corner of her lips as she speaks.

"Can you believe what's going on down here?"

"God, can you -"

"And to think most guys wanna jump straight in. That or fuck a load out between my tits."

"Hyeju, shit, come on -"

She kisses the soft tip, right where it’s most sensitive, rolls it along her lip. Then, back down the length of your shaft where she's generous with her mouth inch after inch - lapping, licking, laving - and Hyeju begins working her way down and downward, nestling in at the edge of the bed and between your thighs.

Your eyes blow up the first time she dips low enough to put your balls in her mouth.

“Mmhm,” she hums.

It’s killing you and she knows it; it’s killing you and she can feel the pre-cum leaking from your slit - the thumb she has moored there, keeping everything right where she wants it, running circles up the length with such little intention - she could bring you to the end just like this.

"Am I supposed to believe it?” she asks out from beneath the shadow of your cock, looking up at you with her eyes all wide and brilliant - pupils dark as sin. “That not a single one of those girls ever did you proper?"

You curse under your breath. Hyeju seems amused, at least, like she can't help but love doing that to you, which is almost worse and honestly the sexiest thing a girl can be. You groan - wanton, raw and desperate and feeling exactly what she wants you to feel when her nails drag along the dip of your hip bones.

"Did they not leave you fucked-up the right way?"

Her wrist flicks out these twists and turns, making your spine bend to her control. Like even when you're sure to be bundling her hair in your fingers and fucking the whole length of your cock down her throat, all of this is the worst kind of power-trip for her - not the other way around.

Her tongue runs through the tangle of your balls, slowly, lasciviously, as though the plan is to memorize and map every detail.

And the worst part is, how much it's making you desperate for the warmth of her mouth - where she'll run her tongue up and down and over and around and inside - before sucking you off nice and slow.

"Or maybe," she laughs; another flick to the top and then suddenly her hand goes faster and the fist pumping the rest of you tightens. "They left you so needy you're resorting to having the bestie suck you off so that you won't be desperate the next time you date. Oh my god-"

Hyeju breaks into this fit of laughter, and you're nearly cross-eyed at the feeling of your entire existence - not just your cock - so wholly held within her mercy, and her pity, and you're breathing so shallow now you'd think this is the real reason people have died and will die - this exact moment where you're choking and stuttering at the edges, so very close to cumming and going absolutely bonkers with how good Hyeju is with her hands, her tongue, her mouth - everything - how much she's wrecking you, and your jaw drops, wide open, her name dripping like molasses off your lower lip.

"Are you going to cum?" she asks, curiously. All as if she can't see you nodding, collapsing under pressure, and then and there: "should we make it official?"

Her nose tickles the seam of your balls. And your toes begin to curl and uncurl - all this anticipatory, coiling pleasure burning from her throat, shooting from the pit of your stomach; the tightening spiral, twinging and stretching every nerve - as her lips enclose around the end of your cock, softly.

And oh, just excruciatingly slowly.

You watch the irresistible shape of her mouth travel down until her throat feels so incredibly, beautifully, and unbelievably tight, and then, just like that - Hyeju starts fucking herself onto you; pushing forward and down the full, rigid length of you, hard and fast - each time hitting deeper inside her - all that sticky, messy, wet squelching.

"Unh-unh, yeah. Unh. Mm-!" you say, or moan, or some animal version of that, maybe, it’s incoherent.

But regardless:

It's messy and your hands scramble for purchase in the sheets of her bed when you feel that snap, the tightening of a trigger; when your balls roll up and it builds, and builds, and it comes faster - harder and -

"Hyeju," you pant, and it sounds so, so filthy. "I'm gonna cum, if you - gonna cum-"

Hyeju pulls you free from her lips, quite possibly at the most final of final moments, to rub the base up and down, just right, between her fingers. Your cock is resting right on her cheek when it all happens. When she squeezes her fingers around your balls just enough to hear you wheeze and make a sound no sane man should have the right to. And fuck, you're cumming all over her face - or just one side of it - which is already just -

Okay, fuck.

She makes a startled sound and her fist closes tightly around your shaft when you pump another fresh load of white up onto her eyebrow.

"I'm, ah-shit," your mouth moves faster than the blood in your veins - and now the shame - oh god, the humiliation, it's pulsing right behind you. "Hyeju," you apologize.

Only, Hyeju has no interest in any of it. She doesn't seem offended or disappointed in proportion to how you're ruining her pretty face: "no, just do it, cum wherever you fucking like."

Which isn't what you're expecting at all, because Hyeju makes no effort to close her lips, let alone avoid any of it; nor is she making a fuss about the sticky mess in her hair, her mouth, nor as another stream of cum throbs from your cock, all tangled up in the long dark eyelashes that sweep down across her cheek.

It’s fucking filthy: you're cumming all over her and she's just kneeling there, telling you, "good boy."

See, she pushes through it, languidly - all those filthy sounds, and those watery little tears gathering at the edge of her eye and all of that, mixing up together until you're rolling your head back with your orgasm, shuddering, feeling weak - drained dry -

Except,

Hyeju's pushing a finger to your chest, kneeling up tall from the side of the bed. She turns her body toward the center of the bed and wipes a bit of the cum on her knuckles into the sheets. Here you feel like you've done something terrible or at least regrettable, like that last round at the bar when you have a test the next morning; a dick move, all of the sort that requires apology.

"You gotta give me a minute, if you're thinking about hopping on."

"Hmm. Sounds like a lot to ask."

"Wait," you grab her arm. Hyeju grins and there's nothing stopping the shake of your knees now, that weakness between your thighs: "let me get you a drink."

"Or."

"Or?"

Her tongue peeks out, running along her upper lip. Her eyes drop again, hands dipping below, beneath the hem of her shorts and oh. She slips a hand past her bra. The whole outline of it. And you -

"Mm, I could show you what that actually means." She lowers her chest, her breasts, and a lot of skin to the mattress while keeping your cock firmly in her hands. "That look tells me you wanna stick around a bit. Stay up past New Year’s, you know?"

You're almost unable to parse her words, there is so much to look at: the jutting curve of her chest, cleavage pressing into the mattress as her body settles between your knees. A soft chuckle; a sigh: "you are seriously the best lay, no-one else can get hard the minute after they just fucking exploded all over me-"

"Fuck, watch it," you hiss, because there's oversensitivity - and then there's Hyeju's mouth on the line of your cock, polishing you clean.

And it’s not that she isn’t trying to prove a point. Or that she's not trying to tease - that's an inherent quality of her character: a naturally dominant position with a high appetite for your lust. That much, Hyeju gets from you, whether you've got your head down between her thighs or the other way, too, so that her neck is arched around and her ass pushed up high in the air, legs open, and if she had any idea you would spend the next twenty minutes or more just going down on her, licking into her creaming cunt while two fingers work over her aching clit, then really, Hyeju would only encourage it - maybe get on top, force you to gag - and so you don't know where it comes from - how and why you want nothing more than to drive your fingers inside her and work her until she's a wet, squelching mess, not when this was always Hyeju's role of being the aggressor; and yes, sure, even the aggressed.

Surely not because you came so hard, still somewhat shivering with the remnants of a rather abrupt, painful, sudden and all-consuming orgasm.

"We're not doing anything else," she says, lips pulled up into a smirk right at the crown of your cockhead. But before you can respond she pushes a hot open kiss, and goes lower. She presses the flat of her tongue to the seam, just below the head. Licks a line right up to the tip and finishes with a tender flick that sends you fisting the bedspread in your fingers and leaning back as your mind begins to disintegrate -

"I'm not going to ride you yet, or going to get my hips in your hands so you can fuck my pussy real hard until I cry and pass out. Nothing of that sort is gonna happen." She licks one long drag of her tongue. Then, the other way. "I want to make this very clear: this isn't some huge favor - and if you want it - want it so bad, you can stay there and I'm going to do everything for you. We will get there - together," and with her voice shaking as she brings the wet, glistening skin of your cock just inside her mouth, she looks up. "We'll get each other off, just like this," and it's the deep, dark, throated moan that makes your thighs and all the nerves in between stiffen and buck when she swallows you again.

Hyeju's hands tug, pull her whole body closer still as it slowly bends, curves - her ass raised, her stomach lying on the bed. Her mouth takes you another few inches, until the tip of her nose is barely visible, but when she pauses to lick the cum still left over - the cum that's starting to leak out again - to breathe through it, then squeeze her palm and bob her mouth down, take another inch, until the sides are stuffed and emptying out again, that's when she finally has something to say: "got anything left? I'm a little starved."

"I. Christ, yes-" you whine, which doesn't help your case at all: the image, the image of you lying flat - back with Hyeju's head tucked between your knees, her hand pulling out your cock.

Sloppy, slimy-wet.

She presses an innocent, not-at-all-innocent kiss right to your tip, puckering -

"You know what I did learn in that genetics class?" she muses, tongue flicking over her lips. Hyeju's about ready for a second helping - you're losing it. "When I first saw that DNA diagram - the double helix and all those little base pairs, and everything - it made me think of your cock. Your cock and me. Specifically our DNA. Did you know-"

She presses her palm over the head and rolls it - teases and strokes her palm - her knuckles - her fist - the whole nine. "When I hold your big fucking cock, mm, and just get it right - up in here, rubbing all along my walls - so deep, it gets me in my fucking ribs, makes me choke like I never been choked before, ah-mm," and it's this thought sliding toward the front of your mind, this perfect picture: Hyeju, getting fucked hard and open and stuffed full and stuffed good and stupid; you’ve got more than a few inches on her, can make her feel small and delicate; you know how to do her right.

But here you have Hyeju stroking the shaft - holding her hand tightly up near the head, rolling and twisting and sliding down and pushing her whole body right into the side of your legs: the soft, solid length, warm flesh and curves everywhere pressing into you.

You sit back, and just watch Hyeju with her eyes cool and composed, like half of her fucking face isn't streaked with your cum, mouth wrapped and looking fucking satisfied to be a total, gorgeous mess. She makes a dramatic display of kissing the tip again, just before telling you words you probably dreamt up at some point - either sleep deprived, or, during three AM jackoff, fantasizing. "Sometimes, just from riding your cock, I can't sit up straight."

"Fuck," and you feel your whole body run rigid, because apparently that's something you’ve been aching to hear.

You're covering her mouth again. White streaking onto her lips - where she's catching it in the well beneath her tongue and letting it spill out of the corner of her mouth. Into the crook of your thumb, which catches a drip here and there and rubs it down the length - down the curve - and pushes it back between Hyeju's pert little pout.

"Doesn't count, mister, just more pre-cum," she says, all with the audacity of a wink and smile; her words are a little garbled around the head of your cock between her teeth. And when you nod and realize just how painfully your jaw hurts, your throat becomes tight and raw, a knot pulling the underside from the center. Hyeju slides her lips lower, lower down, to the hilt and stays there, just like that - one hand holding down the flat of your belly to keep your hips still, her chin hanging - bobbing-as she feels every pulse, every twitching shift. You curl one hand around the side of her face, over the sharp edge of her jaw; rub a thumb into the delicate skin of her throat.

She shifts. You start to tell her what you like: how hot the rush comes when a girl puts her tongue against the slit at the very tip, and licks at the precum in nice, quick circles, soft and fluttering. And how her fingers shouldn't hesitate either, Hyeju's not even struggling to give it to you - god - just giving and -

She jerks her head up, swallowing down her next breath like it's one of her last. "I'm serious, if you're going to fuck a hole, start with my mouth - we can move onto everything else after."

"You're ridiculous -"

She meets her lips to your head, kissing once. Again. Kissing every inch, letting her mouth wrap around and then just - staying, just - staying like that and humming, with you, enjoying the fullness, the smell of you, the taste, the shape, just the weight and size and you.

There is spit fucking everywhere.

And if it's not clear what you're supposed to be doing - her fingers weave through yours, squeezing hard at the wrist and you can imagine: pulling her forward by her hair and holding her down while she chokes on your cock. "Fuck, Hyeju," you say, and your voice comes out way shakier than you'd like, "when, how did it get like this, huh? You always - always did, shit, always want your mouth filled."

"Never figured you to be someone who'd get turned on watching their friend sucking their cock like this."

"Doesn't everybody love the sight of their cock in a pretty girl's mouth?

"You were really convinced they weren't lining up behind you? Or anyone in the queue who can't keep their eyes off of this thing. Tell me, and try not to lie, try not to bullshit this one out: how many girls have you come home and fucked and creamed their brains out - then asked for the sloppiest, most -"

"Honestly."

"- Filthiest, nasty, ball-busting, gut-wrenching blowjob ever to make them think - to make them really start wondering what the hell it was you did - like it's gotta be something that leaves them so ruined, they can't ever not compare - can't ever not compare this moment, right here. Ever. When you give them the hardest fucking of their life, compared to any other guy - can't not, because no-one, literally no-one's cock can fuck like you do-"

"Fuck-"

"Any harder. Come on, seriously, tell me it isn't true. Come on."

Her voice - her fucking words, the tone she uses and how her words roll: honey-warm and soaking with sweet, thick degradation - she talks like sex, and that's exactly what gets you harder, like it’s something else; like it’s nothing, like it’s less, so much worse - you feel this guilty-dirty heat pool at your tailbone and push down the hard press of you throbbing all the way to her nose. And Hyeju smiles as much as she's capable around the fat, round stretch, humming around the warm taste of you, before opening wide and sinking her throat on it.

There's nothing like it.

You've got two fists in her hair; she's so tight and wet around every god-damn inch. Her cheeks flush - hot to the touch; her tongue laving in slow, long drags, slicking your shaft nice and warm until you're balls-deep and pushing her further: a small shift to the hips, a push here, a harder, faster pull, and Hyeju's feet behind her go curling like an angry cat, wanting the tug.

A long, satisfied breath slips from the hollows of her throat.

There are tears threatening, thickening her lashes, and though she doesn't choke - you're just afraid. Every sound that she pulls out, her eyes blinking up to you as if it's only natural to love getting used by her friend's cock, like the very premise of it - swallowing down the very shape of you, dragged over her tongue and brushing cum into the back of her throat - is something she can’t go without.

But this is nothing compared to the noises from where her lips are pressed tight around you, where you're hearing and even feeling:

That gluck, gluck - where her chest spasms just the slightest when her nose gets nuzzled right into your belly and you remember how much she likes to hear you talk dirty, how fucking wet it gets her. The heavy, deep breaths, gasps; the strangled moans when your hips just buck - the heat and the thrill, and this is better than every other time because there's just something in this moment -

"I'm not gonna come again, not like this. Not in your mouth. You can’t-"

But Hyeju refuses to hear a word; just pumps your shaft faster, feeling it's familiar hardness grow and throb and ache and retch, all her effort paying off: you're slick with precum and spit, hard and straining, the whole shaft begging for release - all because of her. And Hyeju won't stop, she pushes her cheek onto your thigh and then taps a hand there to pull your hips. The motion drives your cock further still inside her. Until it’s bathed in her spit, your cum, all this mess.

Until it's reaching, choking her, and the muffled sounds she's making are filthy and wet and so incredulously hot.

But god. Hyeju has something of a temper and a habit, too: with those big beautiful eyes and the perfect plump of her pouting lips, her tits swelling up around, when your grip slips on her shoulder, and her mouth goes tighter - how the pleasure begins to make you unbearably cruel and you push her away from you, only for a second -

She doesn't wait or seem to care; Hyeju follows the cock with her whole head and whimpers so hotly in her throat when it plops right back on her tongue. "That's more - more like - fuck, oh, there we go," her nose and fingers prodding.

You groan through a high, strangled whimper, a helpless shiver that turns into an uncontrollable roll of the hips - you can't believe it: she's already so thoroughly debauched and defaced; just fucking painted with it. Your cum dripping off her chin and rolling down her neck.

"Fuck - gonna make me - ah, Jesus -"

When Hyeju seems to have reached her fill, the feeling, you're cumming - pumping the length of your shaft. And the moment she feels you twitch and throb and that first hot spill lands in the bend of her mouth, it's as if she understands and holds herself tight - her legs going stock-still while your eyes blow up behind her, your cock spewing another and then another thick, milky load into her mouth, over her tongue: all along the topography of her throat - sticky cum landing in every ridge and valley -

Hyeju catches as much as she can. What little she can. You cum and pump and gush so much that when you're finally finished - done - every last drop spent and given - your cock throbs soft between her fingers; her chin is a complete and utter mess and her chest heaves with the sound of her catching her own breath. Hyeju groans softly and just swishes the load around in her mouth for a bit as if wanting to remember its feel and weight before lifting her eyes to look into yours. You can just barely see the color.

"Jesus, Hyeju-"

The entire bit of it, slick and shining-wet. With a small moan, a sound from the back of her throat: one swallow and the cum is gone, disappeared, vanished. She smiles like she didn't just ruin your entire goddamn life and, with her body limp and exhausted beside you - her gentle hand rubbing a flat stroke over your thigh before yours slips up to meet her chin.

"You," you curse and roll your eyes, catching the mess at the edge of her jaw, the very little left in the corners of her lips. You feed the cum over her bottom lip - her chin, her throat - watching your friend: Hyeju's throat, bobbing. "Really didn't have to," you start, but you realize just how useless a point it is to make.

She's smiling and biting and showing you what's left between the tips of her canines. "Do you always do this to the people who suck you off?"

"That's an awful habit. A pretty girl's lips aren't meant to get that messy," you reply.

"Oh." She frowns. "Well, I do a lot of things I shouldn't."

"God, seriously," and you think there's no greater hell, no sweeter pain than whatever's lingering in these little aftershocks - this fizzling and dying sort of pain, where the body is buzzed with all you're aching for. It's impossible to stop this train of thoughts, is the fucking feeling of her-

But just then, Hyeju rises to her knees, a new spark in her eyes, as she grabs ahold of your wrist and tugs you off the sheets, a few inches closer.

"And you," she purrs as she drags the palm of your hand across her neck and collarbone, collecting what remains and making the perfect image, "well - you are going to help clean me up, like you said before." She sits tall; the arch of her spine is pronounced - her back, so, very, slightly tapering, to where your hand slips right off the last of it: the wide flare of her hips. "Now isn't that the gentleman's thing to do?" she asks.

"Of course." You sigh, resigned and in desperate need of water. "Of course," you add and smirk a little and slip your hand lower, toward where her skin is getting hot, and her body, "let's get you clean."

"Mm." She's already grinning. "You know what wasn't in those textbooks?"

"Oh, I can only guess." You bite your cheek and start to lower yourself back. "Give it a try."

Hyeju drags you by the wrist toward the hall, the bathroom, ostensibly the shower -

"There's no way in hell you don't want to put a baby in me, like, right fucking now."

"Is that what we're doing?"

Hyeju makes a face like you're stupid - she might've grabbed a towel on the way out. She wipes her chin a little while walking - the corner of her mouth where, well - where it looks like a little dribble has somehow remained. "No. But you’re going to fuck me like it is."

(There's got so much on her mind.

The door of the shower rattling in its frame as she struggles standing up against it. Getting fucked so fast and full, the feeling of both your hands cupped beneath the weight of her breasts. It's not the fact of where you are and your situation, per say - more about the immediate, the imperative nature. About fucking you. She was already feeling herself like, leaking the moment the door shut, so all that waiting, all that patience, really - and it's what drove her insane when you were, well: like that, after she put her mouth around your cock, made a right and proper mess of herself, and sucked you off.

Though there's less on her mind, clearly, when she cums all over your cock.

She's crying with her tits up onto the glass, your palm holding her ribs. Your cum-slick cock working itself hard again as it slips, back and forth, as you're fucking her open, spread apart. It's your finger in her asshole. That's what's on her mind then. How the press of your knuckle lights her entire fucking spine on fire - how the other hand finds her clit in all this, too, when you're no longer supporting the both of you but rather Hyeju is folding on her bent knee and trusting, on shaking and shivering, raw nerves, that you're not going to collapse.

"Fucking. God, please-"

There's the harsh slap of flesh - skin on wet skin, your palms against the sides of her ass and the curve of the breast. But otherwise - it's you, sighing - soft and gentle, like you can't get over the feel of her. "Hyeju, oh-fucking, god, fucking," is what you're saying, and it doesn't end up really mattering which one of you came last because she can feel you twitching, squelching in and out with how badly you're wanting to explode inside, but also you can feel her cunt absolutely begging, this fucking fluttering and clamping down on every thrust and the moment you manage to grind this angle she loses her ability to speak properly because you're not just, like - fucking her-

Just, absolutely, completely pounding her pussy, stretching her insides, dragging and sliding along the walls; each rough rub and thrust makes her knees quiver until her body is trembling and falling. But mostly her voice, the sharp gasp that shakes into her, how her nails are scraping the walls of the shower stall and she's saying - telling, crying and asking and wondering and pleading - just utterly astounded:

"Amazing," she huffs, breathes coming out cloudy and true onto the pane of glass, "you - it’s, fucking amazing.")

“And I am… Ironman.”

Your eyes flicker awake, hazy, as Tony Stark snaps his fingers, killing himself alongside Thanos’ army in the process.

The TV's long been running on background noise, though not as ambient. Its characters now bickering between the rubble and ruins and being picked up for the end credits. In the dark of the screen, you see Hyeju had nodded off and slumped over the side of your body. A new year means new beginning means resolutions and diets and gym routines -

Maybe no sooner than the sun can come up, apparently.

You lean over to grab your phone from the table: 4:14 A.M.

There's a lot of things you want to say, even more you want to hear, but your mind has begun to settle a bit - a lazy and dreamy thing that fills you with this sort of, tired kind of - not sad, or empty - no, of course not. That's hardly fitting; not after tonight. You want to wrap this in an idealistic sort of sentiment - maybe hold Hyeju close and let the hour carry you and the comfort be enough to forgive whatever there is to miss: like the fact, it's still really dark, so dark even outside. The moon reflecting off the sheet of snow on the street. And not even a distant dog barking, or car driving by or someone playing loud music in the early hours of the new year.

As the film drifts off into another set of commercials, you slip into an easy sleep that feels effortless. Your head drops, landing on the cushion by the arm of the couch, where Hyeju's hand begins to slip mindlessly across your belly, tickling your waist and causing you to slightly squirm - things are cooling down, but still a little agitated.

"Don't tell me you're waking me up, cause I just -"

She kisses the pulse at your throat and answers, mumbling half-words into the spot below your ear. "A kiss for a new year."

And maybe the world doesn't owe you anything at all.

Maybe it just gave you more than enough.

#hyeju smut #loona smut #loona hyeju smut #loossemble smut #loossemble hyeju smut #olivia hye smut #loona olivia hye smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember

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bvnniixs · 3 months

Text

“wanna be yours..”

Work Manager x f!reader

( older man x younger!reader )

warnings! 18+, p in v in protected sex (reader on bc!), hair pulling, degrading terms, semi-public, , huge ish age gap? ,college reader(18) older manager(27), slight angst, inappropriate workplace relationship, oral sex (female receiving) , over stimulation:3, nipple sucking, smut with a plot kinda off ??, cheating implied, creampie, doggy and mating press, rough sex, ass slapping , pet names, daddy kink

A/N total not based off my irl work fantasy’s

A 10 hour shift was honestly pretty hard when you’re running on four monster cans for energy and a four hour sleep schedule. Though she was pulling through. There she stood at the register, it wasn’t too busy since it was later at night. Two hours away from closing time, meaning she could finally fucking go home! Of course there were always costumers who lurked at night, causing her to have to continue working. At least she was getting paid. Tonight her manager who hired her worked that night, meaning he was more relaxed. Unlike her bigger boss manager who was always riding her dick twenty four fucking seven.

As she scanned a costumers items one by one, bagging them and securing glass items. She told them their price than asked for their payment type. “have a good night..” she muttered softly as she handed them their receipt. Her coworker Sapphire smiled as she approached the register, looking at her clearly exhausted coworker. “hey <name>, Alejandro wants you in this office. Something about your schedule..” she states softly, earning a sigh some the girl. “I swear to all above if his sassy ass is cutting me short i’m fighting him.” Sapphire giggled softly as she took over the register next to her, “he deserves an ass beating for making me work on my birthday last month..” She complained softly as she watched <name> walked around to the front of the registers. “yeah definitely kicking his ass now..” she stated as she walked away heading towards the managers office. Typing in the code to the door she grabbed the handle, turning it and entering. “Alejandro..you wanted to speak to me?” you called out. “yeah in here, close the door behind you.” his rough voice called back, causing her stomach to flutter. She wouldn’t lie if she said she wasn’t attracted to the man, every since she fucking applied here she’d been head over heels for him. As she entered the room she saw him, his tall figure slouched in his office chair, veiny covered hands typing on his keyboard, glasses at the pinch of his nose. His muscles were visible through his tight collared shirt. As she entered the room her hand reach for the door, closing it gently behind her.

“Sooo.. what did you want to talk about…like what’s wrong with my schedule..?” she asked off the bat, walking closer to the man as she took a seat in the extra chair in the office. The cold air now hitting her, causing goosebumps to appear on her arms. A shiver going down her spine, he noticed this. Pushing his glasses up, he turned his body in the chair. “You cold?” he questioned, she nodded softly. “yeah but i’ll be fine.” she replied, looking into his brown eyes. “alright, well. I called you in here because you’ve been requesting a lot of hours.” she was confused, why was that such a bad thing..after all he was the one who suggested she work more hours now that she was in college. “Ale..what do you mean?” she asked softly, her leg voice clearly being confused. “You’re over working yourself.” he replied, “and why is that any of your business? You suggested i work more so i am, making more money to pay for college.” she hissed. A sigh left the males throat as he rubbed her temples, “That doesn’t mean work every day and get zero sleep. I’m worried. Alright, i care about you.” Taking a deep breath in she closed her eyes in sync. Opening them as she muttered words, “you have a wife and kids..why do you care about me..shouldn’t you care for your wife..not for your employee who’s years younger than you..” That ticked him off, he clenched his fist as she too the time to think about it what to say. “it’s not like that..” “it’s not? because you flirt with me one day than ignore me the next or friend zone me..leaving me confused and hurt.. so what is it Alejandro.” she questioned, her glare hardening on him. “it’s..” he attempted to explain, thought the words could not find his tongue. “exactly.” she said as she stood up, “wait..” he said suddenly grabbing her wrist. She gasped softly as she was pulled towards him, he was still sitting as he pulled her in between his thighs. His hands snaking around her waist, holding her in place. His lips pressed against hers roughly, (yes he is still sitting, he’s tall alright) causing a moan to escape her throat. The kiss took her by surprise but she kissed him back, her arms wrapping themselves around his shoulders.

His hands moved down to her ass, cupping the flesh tightly as his tongue pushed into her mouth, exploring her. Moans and whimpers escaped her throat as he roughly made out with her, fondling her body. He pulled away eventually to catch his breath, panting as his forehead pressed against hers. “i thought it wasn’t like that..” she whispered softly, panting softly as she stared into his eyes. “i lied..” he muttered as he held her, “what about your wife..?” “fuck it..” he said gently, huffing his chest. Capturing her lips for a second time he pulled her to sit on his lap, her chest pressed against his. He slide his hands into her pants, gripped her flesh, causing a yelp to leaving her throat again. His tongue forced its way into her mouth, capturing every inch of her mouth. Her hands gripped onto his shoulders as his lips melted into hers. “fuck…” he hummed, his hands tugging down her pants. “s’take..these off..” he ordered assisting her in removing her pants. The soft fabric was laced between his fingers, running them across the wet slit through the cloth. “so wet for me..fuck.” he groaned as her moans vibrated against his lips. He lowered himself from the chair, his hands slowly sliding down her hips to her thighs. With one tug, her panties were removed. Seeing her wet cunt he licked his lips with hunger, soon leaning forward and taking a single lick of her folds. Causing her to shudder from excitement arousal. “please..need you..” she pleaded softly, her hands roaming through his hair. “wait baby..” he cooed softly, taking another lick of her cunt. Savouring her taste,her eyes rolled back as she rose up on her tip toes. Cries of pleasure echoed the office, her grip on his hair tightening as he slipped a finger in from behind. Thrusting into her cunt repeatedly, lewd noises getting louder and louder. “please…mmm..fuck..! please need you…” she cried, begging for him. He hummed with satisfaction as his thumb found her throbbing clit. Rubbing it with care and fast movements. A knot formed in her stomach, causing her to see stars. “Ale..gunna…cum..fuck..” she hummed out, earning a pleased breath from him. “s’cum for me baby..”

Without hesitation she met her climax, the knot in her stomach blooming. Causing her body to shoot full of pleasure, her eyes going hazy as she let a loud cry out which led to him covering her mouth with his hand to muffle he sounds. “that’s s’good girl” he cooed, removing his fingers from her cunt. Thought since they were sucking him in so tightly it was a slight struggle to remove his fingers. Her legs felt like jelly as she collapsed into him, he caught her of course. Smiling as he held her in his arms, “i got you baby.” He picked her up, carrying her over to the desk. He bent her over, kissing the back of her neck softly as he whispered sweet words into her ear. Allowing her to come down from her high. His hands rubbed against her ass, giving a gentle smack to her left cheek. Earning a yelp from the younger female. The sound of a belt unbuckling and pants falling tot he ground was heard by her, causing her to look back. In awe she stared at his length, the girth as well. He was more thick than he was long but still, he definitely would hit all the right spots. Biting nervously down on her bottom lip she watched as he gripped his length. She whimpered as he rubbed her folds, her slick cunt being a lubricant for him. The head of his cock was covered in her cum, allowing him to slowly slide himself into her cunt. The feeling of his head stretching into her caused her to throw her head back, gasping out. He pushed further into her sopping wet core, his cock stretching her out whole. It felt like he was splitting her open. As his girth fully entered her warmth, he let a grunt out as her walls sucked him deeper inside her. It was long before he started moving. Thrusting powerfully into her, smacking her ass here and than leaving red hand marks. His hands grabbed a fistful of her hair, tugging her head back as he plowed her from behind. Railing her insides hard and deep making her cry out in pleasure, lewd wet noises filling the room. The smell of Sex filled the office, soft moans and the clapping of skin following shortly behind. “shhhh baby..gotta be a good girl and stay silent for daddy okay? don’t want anyone hearing you now do we?” he cooed, his deep voice filling her ears. She moaned softly as his balls hit her clit over and over, slapping it relentlessly. Her pussy was sucking him in deeper and deeper as she felt her second orgasm build up. “gunna..mmfuck…cum..” he groaned, his thrusts beginning to become for unstable and desperate. His head hitting her cervix over and over, causing her toes to curl. “fuck hell.. this slutty pussy is taking me so fucking well..” he added, his hands moving to grip her hips firmly as she pounded into her. “fffuckk.. you like that you dirty girl..” nodding her head rapidly in response, tears rolled down her cheeks as he hit her spot over and over. “fuck baby, daddy’s gonna cum in this pussy..” he announced, she felt herself growing closer to finishing. Her eyes shutting as he plowed her, though he stopped. When he pulled out it caused her to let a soft whimper out, “Alejandro..” she muttered “please…need you..” she cried. “sshhh baby, i’ll take care of you.” he reassured, turning her weak body over where he moved her to the chair. Folding her body in a mating press, sliding her uniform shirt up to reveal her pastel pink bra. He cupped her breasts, almost tearing her bra off. Leaning his head down he placed his mouth over her left nipple, using his free hand to grip his length again. Rubbing himself on her slick folds.

When he felt like it he thrusted in, earning a gasp from her. Once in his hand now moved to her right breast, fondling it as his lips captures her left nipple. His thrusts are animalistic as he plows deeper than ever into her. This position allowed him to hit spots he couldn’t before, causing her to be louder. He moved his to grab her underwear from the ground and shove it into her mouth to silence her. “s’fuck..” his hand was placed right back on her breast where he fondled it roughly. Licking her bud caused her to be more over stimulated than she ever way before. His cock pounding into her core over and over drawing out a long painful but pleasant orgasm. A muffled moaned escaped her throat as she came around his cock, her walls gripping him for dear life. “fuck..gonna cum in this pussy..fuck..” he moaned as he rutted into her. “cumf..inm..mme..” she managed to say through the panties in her mouth. “Fuck you want my babies? wanna be a mommy to my kids?” “yesss..” a sadistic growl from deep inside exited his throat. His thrusts grew stronger and faster as his cock filled her up. “fuck gunna cum baby…fuck squeezing me so tight..” it wasn’t long before he came deep into her womb. Hot strings of white cum shot deep within her, forcing a moan from her. Her nails dug into his back as he thrusted a few final times before officially stopping. The so panted, exhausted now as they closed their eyes. Foreheads pressed against each other. She didn’t know what to say so she remained silent, until he broke the silence. “fuck..that’s was s’mazing baby..” he said, sounding drunk off her pussy. Slowly he pulled out off her, watching as his cum spilled out of her throbbing hole. “Alejandro…” she whispered softly, keeping her hands around his neck. “yes love?” he responded, opening his eyes to see her closed ones. “i love you..” she admitted, opening her eyes as she looked back into his. He didn’t know what to say at first but eventually he kissed her lips, a small peck and returned the feelings. “i love you too.” She smiled as she kept her forehead against his. “so what now?” she asked softly, he thought for a second. “what do you mean?” “i mean, what are we?” she answered, maintaining eye contact with him. “What would you like to be..” he questioned, earning a soft smile from her. “i wanna be yours..” “well you are mines..now let’s get you cleaned up..our shift ends soon.” She smiled softly as she agreed, allowing him to help her sit her the two got cleaned up and fixed themselves before returning to the floor. The ride home with him now would be quite interesting now. (he drives reader home, aka campus)

End A/N i hope yall enjoyed that, i’ll be writing more for sure bc im bored !! 😲

#dilf x reader #smut #boss x employee #employer #oldermen #daddy k!nk #original character #oc #older man younger woman #older guys #older daddy #older male #semi public sex #x reader #x reader smut

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the-hopeless-haze · 1 year

Text

Let’s Spend the Night Together

Chapter 3 of If You Want It, You Can Bleed on Me

Greg House x Reader

Word count: 6.5k ??? what did I do

NSFW - smut

“Where does she live?” Greg asks James.

“If I tell you, am I assisting you in a crime?” James asks in response, barely looking up from his desk.

“I’m sure she told you about our date later.”

James huffs in frustration, finally looking up at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“Did you like her? Is that it?” Greg questions, trying to get to the bottom of his friend’s snarky behavior. Not that this wasn’t the usual from him. It was one of the things Greg loved about him, that he was always a little fed up with him, always preemptively aggravated, always in a state of annoyance. It was harder to piss someone off that was always a little pissed with him at baseline.

“Is that what you think? Because if that’s the reason you’re taking her out… you’re more fucked than I thought.”

“The correct answer would have been, ‘no, Greg, I do not want to sleep with her because I am married’ but we’ll go with that.”

James sighs, looking up at him. “Yes. She’s very attractive. But no, I had no intention of entertaining her.”

“Then what’s your issue?”

“Because I don’t know why you’re doing this. You sick of your prostitutes?”

Greg scoffs. “This isn’t about sex.”

“It’s not? I’m mistaken then, because you were flirting with her, made comments about her body, called her to your office…”

“Okay,” he corrects. “It’s not just about sex.”

“Are you trying to tell me you want to date her without saying the words? Because if so… congratulations.”

“No. I want to figure her out.”

“Just look in her chart. Save both of you the trouble.”

“It’s no fun if I learn all the answers at once.”

“Do you ever wonder why you’re single?” James asks.

“Do you ever wonder why you’re unhappily married?” Greg counters. “And. About that. Either her psychiatry training gave her some leg-up here or you tipped her off. She went through her files already. All that she left was a med list.”

“You already looked?” James asks, incredulous.

“Yeah. No birth control. Wonder what that’s about? Propranolol. Maybe some blood pressure issue… she’s young for that and that’s not first line. Idiopathic tachycardia? Maybe. Anxiety?”

“She can’t have an interesting med list. Stop looking for zebras. She’s barely thirty.”

“No birth control and barely thirty? Either she’s not getting any or she’s tied her tubes already.”

“Or… if she does have a blood pressure issue she can’t be on it. Or she has an IUD. Actually… don’t drag me into this.”

“Lamotrigine. Seizures. Bipolar disorder. What’s more likely?”

“lamotrigine isn’t the first-line med for either. Maybe you’ll have to talk to her.”

Greg rolls his eyes. “No fun. Hey… she’s on Vicodin.”

“A match made in hell,” Wilson grumbles, running his hands over his face.

“Well. She was. Eight years ago.”

“Most people don’t stay on it indefinitely.”

“Why would she leave that on there? It’s just these three meds.”

“Don’t you have an actual patient?”

He shrugs. “I need her address. I’m picking her up in three hours.”

“At least buy her dinner. Do not just bring her to your apartment.”

“I can’t learn anything if I just have sex with her. I mean, I’ll definitely learn some things, but…”

“Well, I don’t have her address.”

“You’ve got to have her address. You hired her.”

“Nope. I’m not her direct supervisor since she’s a consult. You’d have to talk to the head of psychiatry or Cuddy. And no. I’m not losing my job searching for it.”

“She took it out of her medical records,” he says, shaking his head, but he’s smiling. “I guess she likes to play.”

——————

“So let me get this straight. You want me to risk the safety of one of my employees so you can drive by her apartment?”

Greg looks at Cuddy for a moment, as if he’s actually thinking about her summary of his request and he nods. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

Sighing, she says, “I shouldn’t be shocked you live the rest of your life like you practice medicine, but I don’t care about the results here. The answer is no, House.”

“It’ll be worth your while.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Because… if I get laid I’m in a better mood which means I’m less likely to cause you issues.”

“Right. Hm. Surprising, but that didn’t persuade me.”

“Have you met her?”

“Is that supposed to convince me?” she asks, looking up at him for a second.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. She does work in psychiatry. For someone who constantly loves to tell me I have a drug problem and there’s something wrong with me I’d think you’d want to make sure this relationship runs smoothly.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “I feel like you and I both know you’re not doing this for the emotional healing.”

“I won’t be doing anything if no one gives me her address,” he grumbles. He doesn’t tell her but for once he can’t believe how stupid he was that he fell for that, that he thought you might be interested.

“Hm. Well. I’m busy, House.”

He walks out without a word, heading back to his office. It’s 7:00.

Well. Alone again. Not much different than the last night or the night before that.

And he knows he could have Cameron. She’s been not so subtle in trying to get his attention, and yes, he certainly didn’t help matters by telling her she’s beautiful. Sure. But she isn’t… she’s not what he wants. He doesn’t need someone to take him on like a charity case.

You… you were fucking with him. And it’s fair, maybe he even deserves it. Maybe you got off on this, being a Walmart version of a femme-fatale, wounding men’s egos, seeing which ones would chase you and which ones would give up after a little pain.

Doesn’t really ease the sting of the ache of rejection, though. That you’d brush him off that easy, leave him without an avenue to reach you.

Sighing, he turns on the TV, trying and failing to focus on the screen, but you’d taken over his mind like a case he was on the brink of solving and just couldn’t get there.

8:15. He gets a page from your number. “YOURE LATE”. It reads.

Well. Screw that. He still had a way to reach you after all.

Possibly.

Smiling to himself, he calls down to the psych ward, asking for you. You’re not there, they say, but they’ll be happy to transfer him to your extension if you’re still in the building.

“I thought hookers took pride in their punctuality,” you say when you answer the phone.

“You’re kind of a bitch, huh?” He asks, trying not to let his chuckle be so audible in the receiver.

“You keep Wilson around. You love bitches.”

“Funny. Would’ve thought you’d been swooning, begging him to leave his wife by now.”

“I’m not so easily charmed.”

“Those big brown eyes don’t do it for you?”

“Sounds like they do it for you. Something you want to tell me, Gregory?”

“Don’t ever call me that,” he sighs.

“Not going to deny the gay allegations but you’ll draw the line at me calling you by your first name? What gives, House?”

“You can call me Greg.”

“Wow, could I? What an honor that we’re on first name basis.”

“Not many get the privilege.”

“Still haven’t denied the gay allegation.”

“Don’t really see the point. You’ll believe what you believe regardless.”

“Wow. Truly. A disaster of a man in all other regards but you’re comfortable in your sexuality? Greg is 1 for 0.”

“I have one male best friend and I’ve been single for five years. I embrace the gay jokes at this point.”

“Five years?”

“Yeah. It’s been a while for you too, huh?”

“What makes you so sure?”

“No reason,” he lies.

“Right.”

“You’re single now.”

“Moved here less than a year ago. Haven’t really had the chance to meet people.”

“Okay. What hellhole did you crawl out of to willingly move to Jersey?”

“Maybe I just like Frank Sinatra.”

“He’s dead. You didn’t come here for something. You left something and you came here to make sure whatever it was didn’t follow you.”

“Is this really the date you had in mind?” you ask.

“Nice deflection.”

“I just moved. No story there.”

“Also. Almost a year? And no one’s asked you out?”

“I can say no, you know.”

“You didn’t say no to me.”

“Maybe I should’ve.”

“Cold. Come down here. I’ll walk you out to my car.”

————-

“Ah. The bitch arrives,” he says, looking you up and down again, not hiding his checking you out. You’d changed, red blouse with a leather jacket and most likely the same black slacks you were wearing earlier. “Not quite slutty enough.”

“Could say the same for you. Where’s the assless chaps?”

“I could never pull that off,” he says. “You could, though.”

He’d changed, too, a button down with slacks for once instead of jeans... at Wilson’s nagging of course.

“Here,” he says, handing you a bouquet of flowers he thought for a second were going to wilt away at his desk.

“Flowers? don’t tell me you went all out. Maybe you’re not as much of a disaster as I thought.”

“I shouldn’t give them to you since you stood me, a cripple, up.”

“Stood you up? You didn’t come get me.”

“You never told me where to get you. Ergo… you stood me up.”

“You were supposed to figure it out.”

“Yeah. Right. Wilson didn’t know and Cuddy wouldn’t put out. And you knew I wouldn’t figure it out. That’s why you stayed here.”

“You actually asked Cuddy?”

“What? I’ve asked her for much worse.”

You shake your head, smiling. “Falling head over heels for me already, Greg?”

“Puzzles are no fun if you can’t figure out the answer.” He doesn’t say that the unsolved cases haunt him, nag him and he sees them where they’re not.

One day he knows you’ll haunt him, too. One day, when you leave, when he pushes this until it breaks.

“Mm. Try harder then,” you say.

“You gave me an unsolvable puzzle.”

“Mm. Not really. You gave it to yourself. You said you were picking me up at my place. I stayed here and gave you the easy way out.”

“You could’ve left it—“ he cuts himself off, lest he incriminate himself.

“Left it where, Greg?” you ask, bemused.

“Nowhere.”

“Right,” you laugh. “So what opiate do you pop constantly?”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“Funny.”

“Why would that be funny, Greg?”

“Let me sleep with you first.”

“Absolutely not,” you say, grinning at him.

“Well, I shouldn’t have thought you’d be easy if you’ve put me through hell just to take you out,” he sighs.

“Don’t think I’ll leave you completely wanting, though,” you say, reaching out to touch his face, his stubble scratching your hand pleasantly, a shiver running down your spine. You run your thumb over his bottom lip gently.

Tentatively, he reaches out for you, too, copying your movements, hand on your cheek, thumb over your lips, but then your tongue darts out to run over the pad of his thumb and he thinks he might die right there. “Dirty girl,” he chuckles, smirking.

“Mm. You’re pretty, Greg,” you say, with enough sincerity he almost believes you’re not bullshitting him.

“Pretty? That’s a first.”

“Like no one’s ever told you.”

“Maybe ten years ago.”

“Mm. It’s those eyes,” you say, stepping a little closer to him, letting your breath mingle with his, snaking your hand around the back of his neck. Your lips almost touch, once, twice, wordlessly. “You gonna kiss me or not, Greg?”

You expect him to be rougher but he’s soft, testing the waters, lips still barely touching yours until he gives in, gives you what you want, kisses you like he means it. God, it’s been too long, and you missed it, the thrill of kissing somebody new, and you can feel his anticipation, electricity from your skin to his.

“Come on,” he says, breaking away from you after a few minutes. “I said I’d take you to dinner.”

———

“So what is it? Percs?” you ask once you’ve been seated and get waters. It’s a nice place he chose, somewhere a little out of the way, mostly serving Italian fare and seafood. It’s where men who haven’t been on a date in a while would choose to bring a woman, you figure.

“Percs? You do some time on the street?” he asks.

“So what if I did?” you counter.

He shakes his head. “Not your story. I’m not buying that.”

“Fine. Used to work at an addiction treatment facility when I was a nurse. Everyone calls them percs, though. Not exactly some down low street name.”

“It’s Vicodin.”

“Nasty drug,” you say.

“Really? I think they’re yummy.”

“You would.”

“What’s your personal aversion to them? They take you on a bad date?”

“Got them prescribed after a motorcycle accident. Didn’t agree with me.”

“Hm. You driving?”

“No.”

“What’d you break?”

“My leg.”

“Which one?”

“Right femur.”

Wilson was going to have a field day. Match made in hell, alright. Wilson’s personal hell, that is.

“Femurs are hard to break.”

“When your partner is drunk and doesn’t care about anything it’s not that hard,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “Lucky I didn’t die. I mean, not that I cared so much then.”

“Partner? What were you, 19?”

“22,” you say, silently cursing yourself for not just saying boyfriend.

“Did they not make it?”

You look at him questioningly but don’t say anything about his use of the gender neutral. You don’t want to have that conversation tonight. “No. Life support for a couple weeks until they pulled it.”

“Hm. So that wasn’t the reason you left.”

“No. There was no reason. I just needed a change of scenery.”

“Right,” he says. “Jersey isn’t usually the place people pick for a change of scenery.”

“How’d you end up here, then?”

“There was a job opening,” he answers.

“You were running away from something, too.”

“No, I was running to something. I needed a place to hire me and Cuddy was the only one insane enough to take me on at that point.”

“You’ve always been discourteous and unprofessional?”

“Those are my middle names,” he snarks.

There’s a natural break in the conversation as the waiter comes back to take orders. Greg takes notice of what you order, a baked scrod, certainly not the least expensive thing you could have ordered but not the most, either. It’s an assessment of how you value yourself, he thinks. Average. Average is boring.

Or you could just like scrod, he supposes.

“Why are you single?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Life was busy. Didn’t have time for relationships,” you say, shrugging. “Why are you?”

“Myriad of reasons.”

“Give me one.”

“My leg,” he responds indignantly.

“What happened to it?” you ask.”

“That’s a second date conversation.”

"You're in pain."

"How'd you know?" He asks sarcastically.

"Was it the cane? The Vicodin?"

'I think it was your charming personality.

Anyway. If you're going to cite your leg as a reason you're single, I'd love to know why."

"I was with someone when it happened. It's a long story."

"We've got nothing but time,” you say.

"You really won't sleep with me if I don't tell you?" House asks.

"Nope. Keep pushing me and I never will.

Tell me."

House sighs dramatically. "I had an infarction in my thigh muscle. No one knew what it was, I diagnosed it, but... so much of the muscle was dead already. I didn't want an amputation, I wanted a bypass. I didn't care about the pain. I just wanted to be able to use my leg. I asked them to put me under sedation to cope with the pain at the time... and the woman I was with decided it would be a good idea to remove the dead muscle completely."

"You made her your medical proxy?”

"Mm. Stupid decision on my part,” he says.

"Any medical background?"

"Nope."

"Then yes. Stupid decision,” you agree.

"I'm sure you've made plenty of stupid decisions. Getting on that motorcycle, for one,” he says, adding a jab at the end so to help heal his wounded ego a little.

"We all make mistakes. It's human. So... what's the reason now? You resent people who can walk without pain so you don't get close to anybody? It interferes with sex? You feel like no woman would want to deal with it long term?"

House sighs and rolls his eyes. "Do you really think it interferes with sex? Is that what you're worried about?"

"No. I'm asking if that's what you-"

"No. You see me as a potential sexual partner, correct?"

"I never said that."

"We're going with it. You ask me as if you're posing the question to me... but you're projecting."

"And you're deflecting. I asked you three questions and you didn't answer one" you point out.

"No. It doesn't interfere with sex, at least not to the point where you have to worry if I

can get you off or not. Whenever you decide to spread your legs for me... you'll see."

You feel your cheeks redden a little and cough. "I asked you two other questions."

"They weren't what you were getting at."

"Entertain me."

"No. It's not that I resent people. Am I jealous? Sometimes. I'd love to know what it's like to wake up in the morning without pain. But I'm not going to wake up every morning wanting to kill my partner because she jogs every morning and I can't."

"Is it because you've been able to accept it?

Was it an issue with your girlfriend at the time, coming to terms with it?"

"What do you think?"

"Yes."

Greg shrugs. “Not hard to put that together. I bet I could get a psychiatric nursing degree too.”

"Third question? You feel like no woman would want to deal with it?"

"Mm. Or she'd want to deal with it for the wrong reasons, take me on like I'm a charity case. That's unattractive for an abundance of reasons. You could go that way, I think, or you used to."

"You think I'm taking you on as a charity case? You pursued me.”

"You agreed. You didn't think for a second,

'well, he's a cripple, I'd better at least give him a shot'?"

"Your leg is not the reason I am here," you say firmly.

"What is it then, my deep blue eyes? This big, thick cane? My ray of sunshine personality?"

You chuckle. "It's your drive. You barely knew me, decided I was interesting and pursued me without abandon. That is attractive."

"You're not curious as to why you?"

"Little tits and ass, as Keith Richards would say?" You ask. "I'm used to being objectified. Pretty privilege is a thing. I'm sure you have noticed that yourself. If there's something deeper, enlighten me."

"Well, you are attractive, there's no doubting that. But I intend to find out why you're in the medical field, and psychiatry at that. It's like Cameron, on my team. You're gorgeous enough to have become an actress, marry a millionaire. Something happened to you to make you choose this."

"Did you take Cameron out until you figured what her deal was?"

"No. Cameron pities me. I have no interest in her that way."

"Well. Why do you assume brilliant minds reside only in unattractive faces? Why do you assume I worked my ass off to get here because of some past trauma when this could have just been a goal of mine like it could've been if I wasn't as hot as you think l am?”

"Okay. Then why did you choose psychiatry?"

"That's a second date conversation." You quip.

He smiles wryly at you. "You coaxed my issue out of me. Come on."

“I hold fast to my principles. You're weak,” you say, grinning back. “Why are you a doctor, then, hm?”

“I’m not a beautiful woman.”

“Right…” you say. “Chase is pretty. Foreman is too, you know. Either of them could’ve done something easier.”

“Chase is trying desperately to fill his father’s shoes. His father was a doctor, and well, you know how that story goes. And Foreman is an overcoming adversity case. He could’ve been a hood rat. He was on that path.”

“You know… women just started to be able to open credit cards in 1971. Maybe I don’t want to have to rely on a man to make a living.”

“No. Believe me, I get that. My point was there’s easier ways to make money. You chose the hard way,” he says. “And unpopular way. People become doctors and they fantasize about cutting people open and diagnosing infections, not getting hit and restraining children.”

“Your hypothesis is stupid. Maybe I don’t want to be an actor or model… or an infectious disease specialist,” you say. “And I think we’re all damaged. All of us. No one gets out unscathed.”

“No one just chooses psychiatry because it’s such a good time.”

“They do when it can make them ridiculous money without as many hardships as medical school. I could be using my degree to write suboxone scripts and make more than I’m making right now. I know a lot of people who went back for that.”

“Proving my point. Why are you doing things the hard way?”

“You take on the most difficult cases across the country, cases no one else can solve. You’re doing things the hard way, too. Why? Because the easy way is boring.”

Greg smiles at that. “Fair enough.”

“Yeah. Fair enough.”

—————

You don’t quite know how you got here. Or well, you do. Greg asked you to come back to his place for drinks, and you agreed, and you should’ve known better but it’s been years and you can’t really care too much when his warm body is underneath you, his tongue down your throat, his hands everywhere he can reach.

“How bad are you hurting?” you ask him, breathlessly.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry,” he whispers back, reaching a hand back to touch your chin. “What do you want to come of tonight?”

“Let’s just see where this leads us,” you say, leaning back to kiss him again.

But he stops you, gentle pressure on your jaw to prevent you from closing the space between your lips. “I need to know what you want.”

You sigh, pressing your elbow in his chest as leverage to lift yourself off him, and you sit next to his feet on the other side of the couch. “Why are you asking?”

“Because I don’t want this to head somewhere we can’t get back from. Move over,” he says, and winces, moving his legs back over to sit beside you again.

“It wasn’t sexual trauma,” you huff, aggravated. “You can say I’m damaged all you want but that doesn’t mean you have to treat me like glass.”

“I tried to take your shirt off and you pushed me away but you kept kissing me. What do you want?”

“What do you want?” You ask, glaring at him.

Truth was, you were using him, maybe just like he was using you. You hadn’t had the opportunity to make quite as bad of a decision as sleeping with the man in front of you in a long time. And as bad decisions go, he wasn’t so terrible anyway. You like him so far, you think he’s attractive. But you know Wilson is right, that he might drag you down to places you haven’t been in a long time.

Still.

It’s been a while since you’ve felt something. You want the hating yourself in the morning for giving yourself away so soon, you want the walk of shame as he drives you back to the hospital where you left your car, you want to revel in the fact that Greg will be telling people how you were in bed, bragging that he got you in between his sheets. You want the dopamine hit and the subsequent crash.

You spent so long getting healthy but you had to keep everyone at arm’s length to do it. It was probably the worst idea to try to get close to someone else who also isolated people and couldn’t even be healthy then.

Why didn’t he just want it to be easy? Just fuck you and be done with it, continue if it’s convenient and worth the effort. Easy is boring, sure, but sex isn’t boring even if it’s easy (if so, he wouldn’t be seeing hookers, would he?). And you know he wants to fuck you, but why he wants to make it difficult… it’s beyond your reach at this moment.

“I want… I don’t know,” he admits, because he doesn’t.

Prostitutes were one thing. Vulnerability there didn’t really matter. They were doing a job and they didn’t even take a second glance at his leg. As long as they were getting paid. If he wanted attention drawn to it, they’d kiss it red with their lipstick but because he tells them to leave it alone… they do.

Sleeping with somebody new… it’s so much harder. It’s so much easier with someone you know. Or someone you don’t have an obligation to know.

With an aim to please rather than take, he doesn’t know how he’d perform.

Looking at his face, reading the ambivalence there, it suddenly clicks. If Wilson knew the truth, if you really are the first woman since his injury, there’s a lot of insecurity in being seen.

And you know all about being seen.

It’s easy to come off with bravado and arrogance but when you’re actually in the situation, when you’re called to be vulnerable… it’s something else entirely.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” you ask quietly.

“Yes. God yes,” he affirms, nodding his head. “Don’t take tonight as an indication.”

“It’s okay. I understand,” you say, nodding.

“That doesn’t mean… that doesn’t mean I can’t help you get off.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “That’s still sex.”

Scoffing, he rolls his eyes. “If you’re in high school.”

“What do you think lesbians do?”

He raises his eyebrows, chucking a little. “Are you a lesbian?”

“You wish,” you laugh. “Say you could be the one that changed me.”

“I would. Except people don’t change.”

“Yeah. They do. They change all the time,” you counter, shrugging your shoulders. “Every day, every hour, every moment… it changes you. They’re minuscule changes, changes you don’t see immediately, but you look back a decade and then it clicks.”

“Right. Maybe. But fundamentally people don’t change. The parts change, but the whole never does.”

You want to say that he has been changed, that his leg injury changed him, that he holds so steadfast to that belief that people never change so he can convince himself he was always this miserable. Sure, you get the feeling he was fucked before, but this did change him. Made him worse. Made him push people away.

You don’t say that, though. You know deep down he knows it and doesn’t want to face it.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” he asks, insecurity creeping in, and he doesn’t know why this is so difficult or why he cares at all. He could pay for what he wanted, live his hedonistic lifestyle and not have to worry if the woman in front of him wanted to fuck him or not.

You aren’t boring.

But that’s not true, anyway, that’s not why he keeps people at arms length. Routine medical cases are boring, but people aren’t. It’s why he went through all the files he could of the applicants for his team, trying to pick the combination that would interest him the most, play off each other in ways he could live vicariously through. They weren’t the most deserving, or the most academically gifted, they were the most interesting. It’s why he loves gossip, loves knowing about things that don’t concern him, always living life like it’s a spectator sport and he’s got front row seats.

It’s always the people that love to watch that hate to be seen.

“I could be convinced,” you say, in that bitchy tone he knows hes going to love to hate. You soften; though, turn to him, your hair falling a little in your face, kiss him gently on the mouth.

Greg responds in kind, deepening the kiss, his hands tangling in your hair, pulling lightly before traveling to your breasts, kneading your flesh through your shirt.

“Could you be convinced to have lesbian sex with me right now?” he asks.

You’d burst out laughing if you also weren’t so admittedly and ashamedly turned on right now. “Yeah. Sure. Think you’d have an easier time in bed though.”

“You treat me like all your girls?” he asks, a glint in his eye, and oh, there’s the being seen. You’re not a fan, either. You’re surprised he’s not being forthright about what he no doubt is putting together, but ultimately you’re thankful.

“A slut’s a slut,” you quip as he leans back in, his mouth barely touching yours and he chuckles against your skin.

“You really are a bitch.”

“Mm,” you agree, closing the distance between you again, pulling him to stand up with you, letting him lean on you as he puts weight on it again.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, without thinking, never one to apologize for his actions but never one to let his disability affect others, either.

“It’s okay, Greg,” you whisper. “I got you.”

“No, I’ll go get—“

You stop him, holding his jaw gently in your hand. “It’s okay.”

Empathy. Not sympathy.

You had been here, in a way. Femur fractures take a good six months to heal. You walked half a year in his shoes on the same medication he was on.

Now it all clicks, what James had done, keeping you two apart to bring you together, doing something by not doing anything, letting it all happen by chance. He had been patient enough to let time do most of the work, something Greg could never do, but something that ultimately worked in his favor.

It’s okay. We all need someone we can lean on. If you want it, you can lean on me.

You still lived a life without pain.

Greg hates it, hates it all, and if you had had just the slightest twinge of force, the slightest indication that you were saying it was okay just to say something he would’ve told you to get out. He hates the way it kills intimacy, makes him older, more decrepit, makes him dependent, in a way. There’s certain things he can never do, or that he’d need help to do, and it’s something a woman would leave him for.

It’s something a woman did leave him for.

He wants to hug you, but that would feel too much, too intimate, too soon, so he kisses you again instead, and then the two of you hobble on to his bedroom. It hurts. God, it hurts, aches like it always does, maybe more so—the last pill he took was at dinner, but you make it, helping him ease onto the bed and wasting no time, knowing he was insecure, wasting no time to prove you still wanted him, mouth on his, your legs straddling his good thigh, moving on to his neck, laving your tongue over his skin, biting gently, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt.

“Hey,” Greg says, stopping your hand’s ministrations.

“I’m only taking your shirt off,” you assure him. “I won’t go further than that.”

“Fine. Not much to see there, either,” he mutters.

“I like tits,” you blurt without thinking. Jesus Christ. You have to stop doing that.

“Yeah,” he says, chuckling. “Sure you do. Good thing mine are bigger than Cuddy’s.”

“They absolutely are not.”

“You familiar with their size?”

You stop yourself just in time before you say “I wish.”

He lets you finish, helping you take his shirt off, take his undershirt off, shivering as you kiss down the length of his torso to the top of his pants. “I’ll show you mine,” you say, unbuttoning your pants and slipping them off, throwing them on the floor haphazardly. You move over so he can see the scar down the side of your leg, deep gash where they cut you open, you were a month away from a nursing license and you were in the OR, someone’s patient before you could ever be on the side you studied for.

You were lucky, they kept saying. You didn’t feel lucky at all.

Tentatively, his hand comes to touch your skin and you nod, silent agreement that he could touch. He’s gentle even though he doesn’t need to be, touching carefully, tracing the line of the scar up and down, hard keloid under his skin.

“This isn’t what you don’t want me to see,” Greg says.

“Hm?”

“Your upper body. That’s why you didn’t want me to take your shirt off.”

Oh. Yeah. That.

“I don’t care,” you lie.

“Yes, you do,” he counters immediately, looking at you knowingly. “Why are you lying?”

You sigh, pulling him back to you, kissing him hard, hoping he’ll shut up if you don’t give him the chance to speak. “Just touch me already.”

It would be so much easier if he just fucked you, fucked you over, fucked you up all within the course of a month. You get the feeling right now, as your tongue is down his throat and you’re letting out moans against his lips you try to suppress as his fingers enter you, stretch you out, reach angles you couldn’t reach by yourself, you get the feeling this is going to be for the long haul. Not that he’s necessarily going to be down on one knee, but that he’s going to drag out hurting you like he’s dragging his fingers against your walls, drawing you closer and closer to the edge but never quite bringing you there.

“You okay?” you ask him, breathless, head hazy, you just want him, want him closer than this, want him deep in you.

“Shh,” Greg whispers, almost a little irritated. “I’m busy right now.”

You can’t really focus on coming up with a retort because he starts rubbing your clit and as you tilt your head back into the pillows, he starts biting at the flesh he can now easily access, starting gentle but then applying more pressure with his teeth, smirking as you whimper.

Sweat trickles down your back and you wish this was different, but he’s naked from the waist up and you’re unclothed from the waist down, and it’s stupid, you know it’s dumb, that you’re letting this man fuck you with his fingers before you let him see you fully naked. It’s not like no one has before. It’s just a conversation you don’t want to have again.

Still. All this is making you a little too hot to be half-clothed.

Greg wonders why he let you in at all. Why he went through the trouble, bought you dinner, why he’s trying to get you off right now. Maybe it’s to fuck with James. Sure, it was originally, but now he feels like it was James who fucked with him, set him up, used predictable behaviors to create a predictable outcome. Still. If you’d been professional with him instead of giving him crassness right back, he would’ve decided to make your life a living hell instead of getting you in between his sheets. Either way, he was going to make someone miserable.

Himself, first and foremost.

Not that he can really be miserable right now. It’s not terrible being needed in this sense, he’s remembering.

You weren’t like Stacy, though, not here. You’re louder, not in a patronizing way where you exaggerate your moans to try and stroke a man’s ego, but it’s like you genuinely can’t hold yourself back. It’s hot. It’s unreserved. It’s… passionate in a way Stacy just wasn’t. She loved him, he knows that, but when things got hard and he got mean instead of fighting back she got cold and walked away.

Not that he can glean exactly how you’d be in an argument from how you act in bed, but he has a feeling you don’t let go of things easily.

And… well. Takes one to know one.

Who would give in, though?

His relationship with Stacy worked before his leg because Stacy would accommodate, she would compromise herself for him. It’s why his friendship with James works now. Sure. Both of them gave him some pushback — it’s not like they in good conscience could let him get away with all the things he wanted to do. And eventually he pushed Stacy until she broke.

You, though? You don’t seem like you shatter easily. If anything you seem like you’d harden like a scar, healing over stronger, uglier, thicker, nothing really hurting you because you’d just put more walls up. You’d fight him to the bitter end.

And you know, maybe he wants that. Someone he’s not afraid to push too far because he knows you’ll push right back the second he gets even an inch.

All he really knows is your vague med list, that you got into a motorcycle accident almost a decade ago, and that you chose to be a psychiatric provider among all other things you could have been. And yet… he feels like he can glean much more.

All he really knows in this moment is that you’re coming apart under his fingers, gripping his forearm with your hands as he drags out your orgasm, trying to get him away from your now overstimulated cunt.

“She comes in colors everywhere,” he mutters, smirking lazily at you, dragging his fingers out of you, finally, then brings them to his mouth, sucking slowly on each one.

You scoff at his comment, but just as quickly he sees the light turn green again and you straddle his left thigh, coming to kiss his mouth, hard, bare cunt against his slacks and he can’t help it, he’s thinking about you wrecking them, thinking about your wet pussy on what could’ve been his bare thigh… and he groans despite himself, in pain, yes, but also pleasure - and he’s pulling you closer by the collar of your shirt, and he begins to remember why men put themselves through what could very well be the potential torture of dating a woman.

It’s just so much better when it’s with someone you know. Or… someone you need to know everything about, need to memorize like they’re an extension of yourself.

You’re not soulmates. It’s not love. It’s not romance, like James would decree.

You won’t fix him. He sure as hell won’t fix you.

But you’ll do something to each other, alright.

#greg house x reader #house x reader #greg house x you #gregory house x reader #house md #gregory house

1K notes · View notes

theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

Note

I am IN LOVE with your writing! I’m a dedicated reader! 💓💓 thanks for taking the time to do it!

Hear me out. Reader pulls a 24 hour shift in the local clinic on a busy day and we get a protective worried din?

He would also be busy but he would definitely pull reader out and make her take a nap AT LEAST. 😂 anyway, I just thought that would be cute to think about.

I hope you have a wonderful day and keep up the good work!

[a/n: anybody wanna guess how many times it took me to try and post this b/c tumblr wanted to keep glitching and destroying it?? FUCKING FOUR. lord, im gonna go scream in a pillow. anyways, thanks anon for the great idea! also pls consider this my apology for the cliffhanger that i am so sorry (but not really) for.]

'A FRESH START' DELETED SCENE

Din Djarin x Female!Reader

Warnings: reader overworks herself, mentions of injuries (burns specifically) but not in great detail

Word Count: 1,934

Summary: Everyone needs a break, and Din is hell bent on ensuring you don't skip yours.

#MID 17: TAKE A BREAK, DOC

[so not between chapters, but a scene within one of the time breaks in chapter 17.]

"be with someone who will take care of you. not materialistically but take care of your soul, your well being, your heart, and everything that's you." -unknown

Trying to get the emergency clinic established was not easy. You agreed to the job, and Karga had given you free reign. The High Magistrate was essentially allowing you to run the clinic as you saw fit. Which in part was fantastic because it gave you incredible freedom, but it was also your worst nightmare. All your training had taught you was how to handle the medical aspect of an office. The business and organization side was a whole other issue. Especially because the people of Nevarro were not understanding that this was for emergencies only.

“My ankle hurts.”

“Alright, when did this start? When did you get hurt?”

“I twisted it while jogging three years ago.”

“You⏤ Wait, what?”

In order for this to work the way it needed to, you’d have to focus on actual emergencies only. Alone you would never be able to handle the patient load that would come with servicing an entire city. Plus, you really didn’t want to. The amount of time it would take to even attempt that was insane, and Din needed your help with Grogu.

So, the plan would be to establish that this clinic was emergencies only, emphasize it to everyone who walked in the door, but for today you’d manage all the small, routine problems.

Just for today.

By lunch time, you had already seen 47 patients. None of which were emergent. In fact, the biggest injury was a young man who had dropped a glass plate at home and accidentally cut his hand. He needed four stitches.

“Aayla?”

“Four more in the waiting room, doctor!” Aayla called out without even having to be asked the question. She was a gift from the Maker today. Already, you had decided to try training her more in depth medically and hire someone else to work the front desk. “You also have a guest.

“What?” You breathed, barely able to catch her words.

Aayla didn’t need to repeat herself because that was the moment Din swept into the room with the same confident strut he naturally seemed to have. At the sight of him, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief as your lips curled up into a smile.

“What is going on?” Din asked as he drifted closer to you. There were still two patients sitting on cots waiting for you to finish with them, but Din commandeered your attention by settling his hand on your lower back and staring down at you. Even through the helmet you could feel his concerned gaze. “Why are you so busy? I thought you were hired for emergencies only.”

“I was, but apparently nobody told all of Nevarro that.”

Din stiffened. “Did Karga⏤”

“No. I don’t think he tricked me into this or that this was on purpose.” You said quickly. “And everyone who comes in, I’m telling them that from now on it’s emergencies only.”

“But today?”

“Today, I am seeing every Nevarro citizen.” You chuckled. “You want a check up, Mando?”

“Ner kar’ta,” Din shook his head, “Have you taken any breaks at all?” You shot him a sheepish smile. “Come. Let’s get lunch.”

“I can’t. I’ll just get further behind.” You mumbled. Din looked like he was ready to argue with you. In fact, his hands even drifted to his hips as his head tilted. You had seen him take on the same stance before lecturing Grogu. You wrapped your hands around his forearm and gave him the most reassuring smile you could muster. “It’s fine. I’m just sorry I’m bailing on you for lunch.” He sighed. “You poor thing, now you’ll have to spend more time with Mayfeld.”

Din huffed and you chuckled. Aayla called out that more people were filling the space, and for a second you thought the Mandalorian Marshal was considering sending everybody home just so you could have a moment for lunch. You squeezed his forearm.

“Fine.” Din grumbled.

“Also, I know this won’t help my argument or convince you of anything, but,” You scrunched your nose with a small wince, “Do you think you can pick up Grogu today?”

Din seemed taken aback based on his voice alone, “How long do you plan on staying?”

You knew his question was one more focused on the concern of you staying here for too long versus him being upset that you couldn’t get Grogu. When you shot him another sheepish smile he just grumbled under his breath in Mando’a. Din caught you off guard by leaning forward to lightly rest his forehead against yours for a second.

“This conversation isn’t over.” Din said simply and you just chuckled in response.

He squeezed your hand once before leaving and you were forced to return to the patients you had. Ten minutes passed at the most, you got two patients out with Aayla’s help, when Din’s heavy footfalls returned. You glanced over your shoulder to see he was holding a bag of food. He crossed the space to set the bag in your hands and you peered in to see it was your favorite sandwich from the local shop. Your eyes glanced back up at him with a grin. The warmth of being seen and known settling in your chest.

“Eat.” Din said firmly.

“Thank you.” You replied. “I’ll eat it as soon as⏤”

“No.” He interrupted. A tilt to his head and a challenge in his voice. “I’m not leaving until I watch you take a few bites. At the least.”

You rolled your eyes, in good nature, and handed him the bag so you could wash your hands in the sink off to the side. On your way back to Din, you asked Aayla to bandage one patient’s knee and get imaging of another patient’s hand. Din had already pulled out your sandwich to set on the desk you had brought into the corner. Before you could reach for it, Din pointed to the desk chair. With a chuckle you dropped down into the seat, the first time you were off your feet all morning, and only then did Din push the sandwich toward you.

“Thanks.” You said after your first bite. More sincere than your last. Din was leaning against the desk beside you. Close enough that your arm could press against his thigh if you moved it over even an inch. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Apparently, I did.” Din chuckled. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have eaten at all.”

You couldn't argue. Instead, you just shook your head, “Not gonna lie, I always did have a bad habit of getting caught up in my work.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Doctor, can you take a look at this?” Aayla called out.

You quickly took one last, large bite of your sandwich before standing. Din pushed off the desk to tower over you again. He nodded. “I’ll pick up Grogu, but if you’re not home by 5 I’m coming back to drag you home.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” You teased.

Din leaned over to lightly tap his forehead against yours and you chuckled. He reached over to pick up your sandwich and held it up towards you. You raised an eyebrow at him, but he didn’t budge. Rolling your eyes, you leaned over and took another bite. Holding a hand over your mouth, tucking the food into your cheek, you spoke. “Happy?”

“Yes. Be careful. Message me if you need anything.”

You watched him leave with a bemused smile.

Never before had you been so acutely aware of the saying ‘when it rains, it pours’. Today had already been stressful and busy so it would make sense that at 4:25 in the afternoon an actual emergency rolled in. Nothing to test and stretch your skills like having to handle a trauma case after a full day of working. There had been an incident, on the other side of this world deep in the lava plains, where a group of smugglers got a bit too close to a river of lava with their weapons and nearly blew one another sky high.

The least injured of the three had flown them in. She had some superficial burns all along her left side. Then the other two had third degree burns that required some serious fluid replacement. You didn’t stop working, barely paused to take a breath, until all three were stable and resting comfortably. Only then did you drop down into your desk’s chair and rest your head on your arms with a sigh.

About twenty minutes later, a pair of hands settled on your shoulders, squeezing in comfort, and you would’ve been startled if you didn’t recognize the creak of Din’s leather with the comforting smell of his flight suit’s detergent and the polish used on his beskar.

“What time is it?” You groaned.

“8:42.”

“You’re nearly four hours late.”

Din squeezed your shoulders once more before letting a hand settle on the back of your neck. You found the weight of it grounded you. “I got here at 4:50. Saw you were busy with something important. Left then came back.” His thumb caressed your skin, and you pushed your head up to glance at him. Din had the hand not on your neck resting on the desk. “You alright?”

“Just tired.” You mumbled and rubbed your face with one hand. “Grogu?”

“He’s with Peli. Missed you at dinner though.” Din replied. “He acts up when you’re not around.”

“No, no. He’s a perfect angel, always.”

Din snorted at that, and the sound made you chuckle. You glanced over at the cots that held the three smugglers who slept soundly. All their vitals still stable. Din’s hand slipped down to rub your upper back soothingly. “You coming home?”

“I can’t. Not until the emergency shuttle gets here to pick those three up.” You sighed. “They have to be at a facility with a higher level of care than just me.”

“‘Just you’ saved their lives.”

“You know what I mean.” You shrugged. “You should go though.” Din tilted his head. “There’s no telling how long it’ll take for the ship to get here. I already sent Aayla home. I’m just babysitting right now. You should pick up Grogu and head home. Get some sleep.”

Din shook his head as if it were the stupidest thing you had ever said. He gently wrapped his hand around your upper arm and pulled you up from your seat. You let him drag you along to the fourth cot in the room which was currently empty. “You sleep. I’ll babysit.”

“Din…”

He lightly pushed down on your shoulders until you were seated on the cot. You stared up at him in question, but he just shook his head. “If something changes with their status I’ll wake you.” Din pushed you down a little further so you were laying down. The moment your body hit the relatively soft bed you felt yourself sink into it with exhaustion. Din went to walk, but you grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the cot as well.

“You can babysit while laying down, can’t you?”

“My armor isn’t gonna be much of a pillow.”

“Neither is this cot.”

Din chuckled and dropped down to lay beside you. You rested your head on his chest, the cool metal of the beskar biting into your warm cheek, and just sighed. It hadn’t occurred to you how tired you truly were until now. Din had an arm wrapped around you so he could grasp your shoulder with his hand and use his thumb to trace patterns there.

“Take a break, doc.” Din hummed. “I got you.”

taglist:

@aheadfullofsteverogers @yyiikes @kneelforloki @c-ms1ut @sgt-morgan @luthienaliceisilra @fawn-kitten @missbabyjay @coldlamaspersonspy @dilfsaremyfavourite @jamesbuckybarnes @yorkeylover @teawrites01 @emily-roberts @djarinxore @impala1967666 @shelbyteller @faithrenner @dindjarindude @dankfarrick29 @rh1nestonecowg1rl @garbo-lesbo @anythingforattention @tearfulsolace @onceinamando @catharinaroxastova @uwu-i-purple-you @modiddys-blog @stagerightlauren @mini-bees @xxinvisblexx @adoringanakin @sagegreensensei @spidey-3 @sydney-1209 @thepascalofus @hrtsforpascal @banana-lol @daybleedsintonightfall11 @lil-dragon-draws @guccistardust @ideajpeg @harriedandharassed @leithatnight @elfamosotoga @damnzelsoul @the-anchored-sailor-girl @morks-watermelon @katelynmarieyt @taylorann2013 @chonkercatto @dheet @liadamerondjarin @fallinallinmendes @missdicaprio @jennaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @alphaash99 @djarinsmixtape @pcrushinnerd @closedaddition @thelovelyhann @harrys-sunflower-bakery @mayaaaaah @theway-thisis

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando #mando x reader #mando x you #reader insert #female reader #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #fluff #comfort #nanny!reader #doctor!reader

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randomxreaders · 4 months

Text

The transfer

Fem Reader x criminal minds

(bau team)

a/n: okay guys this is my comeback and yall aren’t ready cause i got a criminal minds series for you so although there was a 2 year wait it will definitely be worth it pookie pies(not proofread)

PART 1- The news

4:35 am

Y/n just stepped foot out of the elevator onto the familiar sixth floor assuming that there was a god awful case and that’s why she had been woken up with the urgent phone call. As she stepped into the bullpen she noticed the emptiness of all the desks, the only person there was Hotch. He stepped out of his office and called down “Y/l/n thank you for coming so early you’re needed in my office.” oh. This wasn’t for a case Y/n’s stomach dropped when she stepped into Hotchs office and saw Linda Barnes the new director of the fbi. “What’s going on?” Y/n asked.

2 hours later

Two hours ago you were called into Hotchs office. Garcia was the first to arrive going straight to her batcave too tired to realize anyone else was there. Then Rossi and Morgan came in they were conversing most likely about the game last night, they glanced up to Hotch’s office making eye contact with you until Barnes shut the blinds for more privacy. “Hey, what's that all about?” Morgan asked Rossi confused, “Don’t know.” Rossi replied, sending a questioning look towards the now closed blinds.

A few minutes later Reid walked into the bullpen sitting down starting to work on his paperwork until Prentiss and J.J walked in, “Hey, have you guys heard from Y/N we were supposed to carpool this morning but she never showed.” Prentiss said, “She's been in Hotch's office has been for a while now.” Morgan said. The team looked around confused but then started to work on their paperwork from the last case.

Back in Hotch’s Office

“I’m sorry your transfering me!?” Y/N asked shocked. “Yes agent Y/L/N you will be moving to California and will be starting your own BAU team. You will be the unit chief and other pre-selected agents will also be working with you.” Y/N looked at Hotch hoping he’d step in and say something, but he just stared at Barnes. “Ma’am all do respect I don-” Y/N was cut off by Barnes “Miss Y/L/N I did not make this decision. The head directors of the FBI did you have to go, here is the paperwork all the information you need will be in there.” “So I have to leave.” Y/N said teary eyed but also filled with rage. “Yes, sorry.” Barnes handed you the paperwork as she walked out of the room. “I’m sorry Y/L/N but there's nothing I can do.” Hotch said “ Yeah I know” “You can fill that out in here if you'd like.” He said looking at you with sympathy.

The team saw Barnes walk out of the office and knew that this couldn't be good, Hotch came out next the door opening just enough for the team to see the tears slowly fall down your face. “Looks like we're losing another on.” Morgan whispered. Spencer couldn't tear his eyes away from Hotch’s door. Hotch walked to Rossi’s office “Shit” he said after he closed the door “This is worse than when J.J had to leave.” Hotch sighed. “What happened Aaron?” “Y/n’s getting transferred to California to start her own team.””Well that's an amazing opportunity, but it's hard to see her go.”

Y/N read over the contract it said that an apartment would be provided, a place for the team to work and rental cars. Y/N signed the transfer papers and headed to Barnes office.

The team looked up and saw Y/N walk out of Hotch’s office at the same time Hotch walked out of Rossi’s. Hotch walked over to Y/N “Do you want me to tell the team.” Y/N silently nodded then headed off to Barnes office.

#criminal minds #bau team #spencer reid #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #aaron hotchner #criminal minds x reader #bau x reader #fem reader #tv series

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honeybadgerwritings · 2 years

Text

Don’t Worry Your Pretty Little Head

Pairing: Peter Ballard x Afab Fem! Reader - 001 x Afab Fem! Reader

Requested: request for smut prompts 8 28 29 33 with Peter Ballard or Jamie, whichever you think is more fitting! i love ur writing <3 hope ur doing well

Summary: An exhausted, overworked reader is forced to stay on shift over night. Can Peter convince her to take a break?

Warnings: Smut, Finger Sucking, Fingering, Oral (Fem Recieving), Impact Play (Pussy Spanking), Extreme Overstimulation, Dumbification, Praise Kink (LMK if I missed anything.)

A/N: I feel like a whore... that’s all

Prompts:

8. “Suck on my fingers baby.”

28. “Does it make you nervous when I stare?”

29. “Your thighs are shaking so much.”

33. “Just relax for me sweet girl, I’ll make you feel good.”

⚠️ This fic is 18+ so minors DNI ⚠️

———————

You aren’t supposed to be here.

You’re supposed to be at home on your couch, eating a microwaved TV dinner and watching sitcom reruns on your old, barely working television, much like you normally do after your shifts are over. But no. You’re stuck at your shitty job overnight.

Because your boss physically will not let you leave.

If you didn’t work for a top secret government facility, you would definitely be concerned about the legalities of this situation. However, because you do, you have to deal with these types of things no questions asked. Hawkins National Laboratory is not a place anyone should cross, or they might end up six feet underground with nobody looking for them.

There had been a fight earlier in the day involving two of the children, which meant quite a bit of paper work needed to be done. Normally it would be split up between the two nurses who were on duty at the time, because otherwise it would take way too long to complete.

But unfortunately for you, your secondary nurse came up with some stupid excuse to leave early, complaining of an upset stomach and nausea. Funnily enough, at lunch she’d been talking about going out with friends tonight and “getting wasted.”

You could see right through her lies, but much to your dismay, Dr. Martin Brenner could not. For someone who claims to be so intelligent, he can be real thick in the head sometimes.

He had sent the other nurse home with a wave of his hand, before turning to you with an annoyed, “You are not to leave this building until that paperwork is complete. Am I understood?”

You opened your mouth to tell him that was unattainable for you, but your office door was shut in your face before you could even make a sound.

That was five hours ago, and everyone else had since gone home, give or take a couple night guards and the overnight orderly. After hours, the level of staff significantly dwindles down to just those who are here for security purposes.

So here you are, typing away on your computer, mindlessly entering file after file into the system. Your eyes hurt from staring at the screen for so long, your fingers ache from the never ending typing and writing you’ve been doing, and your brain is absolutely fried.

You had hoped you could get it all done in time to leave and get at least a few hours of sleep, but that was proving to be impossible. You just want take a break from all this thinking and go home. Home to your warm, comfy bed.

You can’t help but close your eyes, longing to be wrapped up in your cozy sheets with nothing else in the world to worry about. Your head resting on the cold side of your pillow as the fireplace crackles next to you. You don’t even realize your fingers have remained pressed down on the keyboard until a hand gently clasps your shoulder.

“I may not be an expert darling, but I don’t think this is quite the information they’re looking for.”

Your eyes shoot open and you jump slightly at the sound of the voice. You glance over your shoulder to see your friend Peter in all his glory, staring down at you in nothing but amusement. You can’t help but stare back, eyes tracing his every - perfectly sculpted - feature. It’s almost unfair to you how beautiful he is; some days you even find yourself feeling jealous. The rest of the time though, you’re swooning.

As cheesy as it may sound, it’s the truth. It might be the way he speaks to with such tenderness, or maybe the way he gently touches you; one of his hands always placed on the small of your back, on your shoulder, or sometimes even in your hair when he feels like playing with it. Your favorite though?

Anytime you’re even a little nervous, he doesn’t hesitate to grasp your hand into his. It makes you flustered every time without fail, though he finds it endearing.

He always makes the same face when he’s amused with you too, a smirk resting on his lips and his eyes lighting up while he teases you about your bright pink cheeks. Much like the same face he’s making at you right now.

Oh, wait.

“Sorry, what’d you say?”

His smirk grows, and he huffs out a small laugh. One of his hands moves to brush the hair from your face, while the other reaches over, gently pulling your finger from where it had been pressing down on one of the keys.

Your brows furrow as you turn back towards your computer, seeing the screen filled with nothing but the letter “P.” You can’t help but groan, dropping your head into your crossed arms. Peter chuckles, sitting down on the table next to the computer, watching your utter misery.

“I thought you only work day shift.” You say, muffled.

“I don’t know where you got that idea from. I work plenty of night shifts.” You can’t help but raise your head, staring at him, dumbfounded. “How the fuck do you do it? This is hell.”

He huffs out a sigh, his amusement now being mixed with pity as he studies your features. You look exhausted. Hair that was once neatly tucked away into your bun has now fallen messily, and your eyes have formed dark circles under them, only highlighting how tired you must be.

“I heard what happened. Brenner told me to ‘key an eye on you’ in fact.”

Your face falls into one of disbelief, “You’re kidding.” He shakes his head, and you roll your eyes, repeatedly pressing the backspace button on the keyboard, “This is so stupid. It’s already almost midnight, and I’m only halfway through this stuff. My mind is fried Peter. It hurts to think.”

He watches you for another moment as you type away maniacally, entering the correct information into the system this time.

“You know…” he reaches over, placing one of his hands gently over yours, causing you to look at him, “It doesn’t hurt to take a break once in a while.”

You think about it for a second, and only a second, before shaking your head and continuing to type, “I can’t, I have to get this done. I want to actually get some sleep tonight.”

He frowns, but doesn’t say anything else as he leans back to watch you work.

You continue typing for another few minutes, completely zoning out as you enter in file after file. You expect Peter to leave you to your devices, but he does just the opposite. He stays right where he is, eyes focused on you. Normally you don’t mind comfortable silences, they’re usually pretty peaceful, but this is anything but that.

At some point, it becomes harder to focus on the work before you. You become hyper aware of how his eyes burn through you, and can practically feel them watching your every move, raking up and down your body.

You chew on your lip in an attempt to ignore him and keep working. And if you just so happen to be pressing your thighs together, you can only hope that he doesn’t take notice.

Except he does.

“Something wrong sweetheart?” He asks, a teasing edge in his tone. You try to ignore him but he stands to face you, and you bite your lip even harder.

Finally, you look up at him, your eyes meeting his devilishly blue ones. He’s still got that stupid smirk on that stupidly handsome face with his stupidly perfect hair and-

Goddammit.

“Stop it.”

He raises an eyebrow, playing dumb, “Stop what?” He knows exactly what he’s doing.

You huff and shake your head, eyes rolling as you turn back towards the computer, “You know what.”

He hums, pausing for a moment before he leans down, lips inches from your ear, “Why?” He whispers, and dear god you’re about to collapse in this god forsaken desk chair, “Does it make you nervous when I stare?”

Your breath hitches, and your eyes pinch shut. You can’t help but dig your fingernails into your palms in an effort to ground yourself. If only you could get it together, because this really isn’t the best time or place for this to be happening to you. You find yourself rubbing your thighs together again, not even caring if he notices this time.

You try to say his name in an attempt to be firm with him, to warn him to stop.

“Peter…”

You fucking whimper it.

He wastes no time, spinning the desk chair so you’re facing him. He places his hands on both armrests as he leans over you, effectively trapping you in.

“Oh sweetheart…” He cooes at you, head tilting in mock sympathy, and you can feel your resolve slipping away, “Why don’t we take a little break hm?”

You turn your head back towards the computer for a moment, that tiny little part of you fighting so hard to stay focused, “I…I don’t-”

He gently grips your chin, tilting your head back to face him, and god, if you aren’t the prettiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on. Your pupils are so unbelievably dilated, your cheeks are flushed a deep shade of red, and your bottom lip is plump from your consistent biting.

With the way your hair messily falls into your face and your chest heaves with stuttered breaths, he wants nothing more than to spread you out on a table, and have his way with you until you’re a trembling mess beneath him. He trails his hand up slightly to cup your cheek, thumb gently stroking over your brow bone.

“I bet that brain of yours is so tired isn’t it? All those thoughts running through your head- they’re just too much for you to handle aren’t they?”

Your legs are trembling and your head is spinning. The way he’s speaking is so new to you, but it has you ready to drop to your knees in front of him. He’s not too far off either; you’re so tired and your brain hurts. You need a break. You need-

“You need someone to make them all go away don’t you?”

Jesus fucking Christ.

You inhale sharply, his words going straight to your core. Your mouth opens and closes as you try to pry a response from your muddled thoughts, slightly resembling a fish out of water. You give up eventually, opting to let out a desperate whine instead. You can’t decide what’s more distracting- the ache between your legs or the way his hand cradles your face.

His thumb moves to trace over your bottom lip, while a mocking pout settles on his own, “Poor thing, so tired and dumb that she can’t even form a proper sentence.”

He’s right, he’s so unbelievably right. Which is why you don’t even realize that you’ve wrapped your lips around his thumb and are gently sucking on it. His eyes are filled with pure hunger as he watches you with parted lips of his own.

He gently pulls his thumb out from between your lips, not even giving you a chance to whine before replacing it with both his middle and pointer finger. You continue to look up at him, mindlessly sucking on both digits and letting yourself feel utterly blissful.

“That’s it,” he praises, “suck on my fingers baby.”

You hum in response, closing your eyes as you circle your tongue around them, hollowing out your cheeks. He lets you have your fun for another moment or two, mesmerized by the way you’ve become an absolute mess for him, before slipping his fingers out from your mouth and admiring how the drool slips down your chin.

You whine pathetically as he does so, and he cooes in response, “Shhh, c’mon pretty girl.” He takes your hand, helping you stand from your chair and guiding you over to one of the nursing cots. As he sets you down, he tries to pull away for a moment, but you don’t let him. You grip the front of his crisp white shirt between your fingers and pull him towards you, clashing your lips against his.

He huffs out a laugh against your lips, mumbling, “greedy little thing,” in between kisses. And he’s right, you are greedy, and aching, and desperate to feel him, and only him. You’re entire body is filled to the brim with nothing but desire.

Peter climbs onto the cot, hovering over you as his lips slowly make their way down your jawline, your neck, and your chest. He leaves nothing but endless hickeys in his wake as you come completely undone beneath him. He fumbles with the buttons of your shirt and the clasp of your bra, prying them both off of you, one after the other.

If you had been told five hours ago that you would be here by the end of the night, you would’ve laughed and slammed the door in that person’s face. But yet, here you are, brainless, desperate, and completely at the mercy of Peter, while his lips explore every visible inch of skin on your body.

He practically drools as the sight of your breasts, fondling them in his hands. You can’t help but moan when he attaches his lips to one of your nipples, suckling on it gently while he pinches the other one. He switches back and forth, both for his and your own pleasure. His eyes flick up to your face, watching you writhe in desperation underneath him. His cock is so painfully hard in his pants, but that’s the least of his worries right now, only wanting to hear your pretty little moans as he makes you feel good.

“That’s it darling. Don’t think, just feel. I’ll make it all feel better.”

His lips continue their attack on your skin, making their way down your tummy and to the hem of your skirt. He gently pushes your legs up, and his hands are quick to slide the bottom of the skirt up to your waist, revealing your baby pink panties.

“Oh baby…” He moans at the sight, watching as your hole pulses and flutters underneath the soaked, translucent fabric. His eyes flick up to your face once more, seeing just how fucked out you look, without him even touching you yet, “Look at how messy you are.”

He’s honestly half a second away from devouring your perfect little cunt before your sweet voice fills his ears, pausing his movements entirely.

“P-Peter…” you stutter, nervously. It might be the only word you can physically form right now, but that isn’t stopping you from expressing concern.

You aren’t a virgin, but this type of situation is new to you. Your mind has never been so clouded. It’s not that it doesn’t feel good, because, god does it feel good, you just haven’t experienced such vulnerability before. So you can’t help the way your hands tremble while his face is inches from your exposed pussy.

It takes no more than two seconds for his hand to reach up and grasp yours, squeezing reassuringly, “I got you. I’m right here.” he soothes, and you release a slow breath. He never fails to calm your nerves.

“That’s it,” he smiles, feeling your hand slowly stop trembling in his grasp, “Just relax for me sweet girl, I’ll make you feel good.” You squeeze his hand in return and he can’t help but place a gentle kiss to your inner thigh,

“If you want me to stop at any point, I will. Just say the word. Do you understand?” You nod dumbly in response, only to yelp as his other hand comes down hard against your cunt, spanking it.

“I need you to use your words for this one darling,” he chides, cupping his hand over your drooling cunt in an effort to soothe the pain, “C’mon, you can do it.”

It takes you longer that you care to admit, and you struggle for a moment or two, desperately trying to form enough words in your head for a valid response. Your chest heaves as another pathetic whimper escapes your lips, prompting another slap to your core.

Your whole body jerks this time, forcing out a desperate cry of, “Y-Yes s-sir!”

And if he wasn’t salivating at the mouth before, he certainly is now. He moans in response, thumb circling your clit over your panties, before sliding them to the side.

“Good fucking girl.”

He leans in and places a sweet kiss to your cunt, as if apologizing for striking it. You shudder at that first contact. It sends a shock through you, hyper sensitive with want. He takes your clit between his lips and sucks very gently. Your head is thrown back immediately as he provides you the relief you’ve been needing.

“O-oh Peter…”

His tongue laps at your clit before flicking it through your folds, and looking up at you through his lashes. He loves how you’re reacting as he borderline makes out with your soaked cunt. Your moans fill the air as you take what he gives you, and Peter can’t be more grateful that the nursing rooms are sound proof, your pretty little noises being for his ears only. He dips his tongue down to your weepy hole, circling it around the entrance to taste you.

“So wet for me,” he mumbles against you. You whimper, hole fluttering at how good he’s making you feel, “You taste like heaven.”

He pulls back to lightly blow on your cunt, his saliva cooling in the air. He chuckles as he watches you twitch, licking another strip over your clit and blowing on it again. You whine and shift underneath him, your hips involuntary bucking. He smirks, shushing you gently, before dipping back in to taste you.

Your back arches off of the bed while he sucks and laps at you, upper body rising and falling violently on the bed. It’s almost like he’s been starved for weeks, and your cunt is the only thing that can satiate his hunger. He savors every taste of you, like he’s never eaten anything more luscious.

You hardly even notice when he pauses to remove your panties entirely, slipping them up your legs and placing them in his back pocket.

His tongue dips inside of you while he circles your nub with his thumb. Your hips buck to meet his face and you can’t help but grind into his tongue, feeling the coil in your lower stomach beginning to tighten. Your desperate little moans and gasps fill the room as his tongue plunges inside you. Your paperwork is long forgotten at this point as your thoughts empty out of your head, being replaced with just…

Peter

A small part of you registers the fact that he’s still holding your hand as he eats you out. He’s bringing you to new heights of pleasure, reducing you to nothing but a sobbing thing beneath him, all while holding your hand to let you know your safe. To let you know he’s taking care of you.

That thought alone has your toes curling, and another pathetic cry leaves your lips.

He can tell you’re getting close, based on the intensity of your moans and the way your muscles begin to pulse. He maneuvers so his mouth is back to suckling on your clit, and one of his fingers is circling your entrance. He eyes you above him, watching your mouth part in utter ecstasy as he slides his middle finger inside of you.

You’re far gone – so far gone.

He hardly gets a chance to relish in how tight your perfect little hole is before you’re pushed over the edge, completely coming undone around him.

Choked out moans and pants fill the air, and you cum so hard around his finger it makes you lurch forward, entire body shaking. "Shh, shh,” he hushes you, "There you go. Good girl.”

He pumps his finger in and out of you, working you through your orgasm. Your body collapses back against the bed as you attempt to catch your breath, but Peter has other plans. He releases his grip on your hand, wasting no time attaching his lips to your clit once again, sucking on it with much more intensity this time.

A surprised whine escapes your lips and your back arches, legs trying to close around his head. You’re too sensitive, but he doesn’t care, arm moving to rest across your hips, holding your thighs apart to keep your legs opened, your cunt bared.

“A-Ah!” You cry out, unable to stop the way your legs are trembling. Your hands quickly find their way into his hair, needing something to desperately cling to. His finger continues to pump in and out of you as he devours your poor little cunt. Tears prick at your eyes from how fucking good it feels.

He teases a second finger at the entrance of your leaking hole, before easily plunging it in beside the first one. The stretch feels amazing, and it’s the first thing you’re able to actually vocalize since before he even started eating your cunt.

“God, fuck- feels so good- feels so fucking good Peter…need more.”

He hums around your clit, the vibrations shooting throughout your whole cunt, and your eyes roll back into your head. You can feel him teasing a third finger against your hole and you grind down into it, needing to feel more of him. He obliges, thrusting it into you along with his other two fingers, stretching you out deliciously around them.

Slowly, the sensitivity of it all begins to burn away as your next orgasm approaches once more. It builds up much quicker than before with the way his fingers fuck you open, bringing you right to the edge.

“Oh- oh fuck I-I’m gonna cum…”

You can’t help but look down at him, watching as he licks and sucks on your clit, moaning into you to let you know just how much he’s enjoying it. He eyes look up to meet yours and god he looks so good like this, hair tousled, eyes wild with desire, and his mouth coated in your slick as he suckles on your clit.

The coil within your stomach snaps as you look at him, and you’re pushed over the edge once again. Your grind your pussy down into him as you ride out the high once more, letting him work you through it.

Your slick drips down his hand as your hole clenches around him, and he pulls away from you, placing gentle kisses up and down your trembling inner thighs as you come back down.

You pant, sweat dripping down your forehead as you lay back, feeling completely blissful and floaty. Peter’s definitely done a good job at emptying your head of any and all thoughts that weren’t of him, because you’re so unbelievably fucked out.

“Your thighs are shaking so much.” His voice echoes through your head, as he runs his free hand over them, feeling them tremble from even the slightest touch.

He gives you a few more seconds to rest before a dark chuckles escapes him, and he curls his fingers inside of you deliciously. A strangled gasp fills the air and your whole body twitches when he leans back down, licking a strip from just above your hole, up to your clit. You struggle to form words of protest, already feeling twice as sensitive as last time.

“N-no! Can’t Peter- I can’t!” You sob, tears finally breaking free and rolling down your cheeks.

He lays his head to the side, resting it on your inner thigh. He pulls his fingers out for a moment, using one of them to rim your hole as he looks up at you in mock sympathy.

“Ohhh but I think you can. I think this sweet little pussy of yours can give me one more yeah?” He teases, and you shake your head, squirming, “So that’s what you’re going to give me.” He dives back in, mercilessly attacking your overstimulated cunt.

Thrashing would be the best word to define you right now, hands leaving his hair and finding anchors on the sweat-soaked sheets of the cot beneath you. Your head turns into the nearest pillows in an effort to not sound like you’re being murdered, mascara running and wisps of hair flying and soft laughs that go through your entire soul as Peter watches your struggle. As he enables it.

He returns to those sloppy kisses that let him get a taste of you. Your muscles clench and your hips lift off the bed entirely as his tongue works you out. His lips on your clit and his dispersed praises and those rough licks on your cunt like you’re laid out before him like a meal, which honestly isn’t too far off.

You can’t stop shifting, not with the pain that bubbles in your stomach from your third building orgasm. It’s intense. It’s sensitive. It hurts. You tear at the sheets, then back to his hair, blubbering like an absolute child about it. Your third orgasm approaches so quickly that it’s painful. You’re a sobbing, wild, mess beneath Peter, and he’s absolutely relishing in it.

“P-Peter…” you sob weakly, his name once again being the only word you can piece together in your fucked out little brain. It hurts so bad but it feels so good at the same time, and your senses feel like they’re dialed to 11.

“Shhh,” he places a gentle kiss right above your clit, gently stroking your thigh with the thumb of his free hand, offering you a slight reprieve, “C’mon, you can do it.”

All of a sudden his fingers are pumping into you at an impossibly intense rate, and he’s licking and sucking on your cunt like his life depends on it. Your head is thrown back, and your eyes roll into your head as he walks no, —drags—your orgasm from you with determined fists, leaving nothing in his wake.

You’re seeing hallucinations. You have to be. Colors flying across a canvas of pure white, neon dots and black floaters that have you convinced you may have died and come back to life. Your body- your muscles and sinew and bones and soul shake with the fervor of it. Convulse, really.

Peter sighs as he rises, almost like he’s just had the most refreshing glass of water after hours exercise, yet you feel like the exerted one, twitching from aftershocks and tremors. He slips his fingers from your hole, licking them clean as he admires the aftermath of his attack on your poor cunt.

You’re red, swollen, pulsing, and slickened with sweat and cum and spit. It’s a little beautiful, the way your cum is leaking out of your entrance and onto the sheets. He dips down once more, swiping his tongue against your hole for one final taste of you, and your whole body convulses, a desperate sob ripping from your lips.

“Shhh sweetheart,” he shushes, “No more, I promise. You did so good for me.”

You can hardly even hear him, your mind a thousand miles away. You feel like you’re floating on cloud nine, and your whole body is tingling. Peter climbs up the cot until he’s laying on his side above you, stroking the sweaty hair from your face. You hum in content as his sweet words and praises begin to flood into your ears, bringing you back to the present.

“There she is,” he places a kiss to your hair line, thumb stroking your jaw, “Feeling okay?” You nod still feeling floaty.

“Feels good…” You hum, and he chuckles.

“I’d hope so. It wasn’t too much for you was it?” You shake your head, easing his concern slightly. You pry your eyes open to meet his, smiling at him.

“No. It was perfect Peter, thank you…” you lean up to kiss him again, and he returns it, hand gently cradling your face. The two of you lay back down in the bed, and you rest your head on his chest. His arms find their way around you as he lets you calm down in his arms, the trembling of your body not having fully stopped yet.

It isn’t until you’re half asleep that you remember the paperwork, shooting up and scaring the hell out of Peter. The idea of doing it all, now that you’re even more exhausted, brings you to tears again. But this time, not so happy ones.

“Hey, hey don’t worry about it.” Peter’s arms wrap around your waist, cradling you from behind, “You don’t have to finish the paperwork sweetheart.”

You hiccup, shaking your head, “But Brenner’s gonna be pissed if I don’t and there’s nobody else to get it done because Miranda wanted to go out and get drunk and-”

“Listen to me,” his lips rest up against the shell of your ear, speaking to you like he would the children when they’re scared or upset. He knows that your hypersensitive and floaty state of mind is only adding on to your levels of stress, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about the paperwork. I’m going to get you all cleaned up okay? And I’ll talk with Brenner in the morning, come up with something.”

You turn to look at him, all doe eyed and puzzled, “How do you know he’ll listen to you?”

Peter smiles in return as if he knows something that you don’t, and wipes the tears away before placing a chaste kiss to your cheek, “He always does…I think I’m his favorite,” you roll your eyes, letting the comment go over your head as you grumble about wishing you were the favorite employee. A smirk takes over his face at your blatant naivety.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it baby, now c’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.” And you oblige, letting him take care of you. He manages find some rags, wetting them and wiping the sweat and tears from your face. He uses another to clean the mess between your legs, gently shushing you when you whine in discomfort. He helps you back into your clothes, aside from your ruined panties, before you both curl up in one of the unused cots for the night.

And the next morning, if any of the other orderlies notice him holding your hand on your way out of your office, well, they don’t say a word.

———

Requested by: @hbaramas

2K notes · View notes

emsgwenstan · 4 months

Text

Personal or professional?

Chap 3 | chap 4 | chap 5

Larissa Weems x fem(carpenter/joiner) named reader

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: alcohol, severe angst, longing, bodily issues.

Note: well… idk just read and find out there may be a lil x.

Larissa woke at 4am to start her day, for the first time in a while she hadn’t the energy to get up and be motivated, though, ultimately she did rise and started the monotonous process of her hair after she prepared a cup of tea to rest beside her on the counter in her bathroom. Larissa finished her hair and make up, she dressed and took her empty cup back to the kitchenette and for some reason she had forgone stepping into her office as of yet and opted to sit in bed with her laptop, even though it was only 6am.

It had been 3 weeks since the dinner at my house, Larissa and I had kept in touch from that time, especially since I needed to return her purse. She had come to the front of the school to retrieve the item and thanked me for the the trouble of driving it out to her, I brushed it off and said it wasn’t a big deal, any excuse to see or be near her was a blessing. Larissa opened messages on her phone to see if there were any missed phone calls or texts from any of her faculty or god forbid the board, but not only did she find a sum of ridiculous unanswered questions, I had sent a text to inform her that the cupboard’s are right to be installed and I’m ready whenever is a good time for her.

She replied with “Is today too soon?” And of course I was already loaded to go and told her the time I’ll be there, if it was fine with her of course. 3pm. She jumped of her bed and suddenly had an abundance of energy to burn, for the next six hours she would fly through all of the work she had been procrastinating on doing for the past week and eventually find herself for the first time in a long time out of paperwork, meetings and duties, until the next week obviously. Larissa had taken to going for a spontaneous walk through the school at the time students were doing their extra curricular activities and stopped at every one to greet students. She asked staff if anyone was in need of her assistance to which they all declined.

At 1:30 Larissa had ended up at the lake, she walked the length of the peer and inhaled a deep breath of cold air and let her tense shoulders drop back into a comfortable position, she checked her watch and debated on staying for a while longer or if she should get going, the latter was the choice she settled with. Some days Larissa wonders why she constantly chooses to wear dresses even in the winter, her only con is because she likes them, maybe I should wear pants, it might be warmer, definitely more suitable. What am I even thinking Larissa doesn’t do trousers in public. She thought to herself.

Back in the comfort of her office, she peeled off her gloves and stood so close to the fire she might have caught alight trying to warm up her ice cold hands, the only downside to this time of year to her apparently. Just as she was about to take a seat in her chair, her phone started ringing.

*Violet Hastings*

“Hello darling.” She answered.

“Hey… um im here, is there any easy way of getting the stuff inside before I make myself look like a fool and you tell me there was in fact an easier way.” I chuckled.

“Your parked at the front correct?” She asked.

“Yeah, just go up the stairs and down the corridor and take a left yeah? I only really know the way from your office.” I asked.

“Yes, do you think you’ll manage sweetheart?” She wondered.

“Of course I will, I’ll get into it and I’ll come get you when I’m done, does that sound alright?” I questioned.

“Sure, if there’s anything you need you know where to find me.” She said.

“Ok, I’ll see you later.”

“Bye.”

Larissa hung up and debated just coming to find me but decided not to be a bother and only come if needed. She sat in her office doing next to nothing, she even considered cleaning, but knew that everything was already spic and span, she knows that, otherwise she wouldn’t give extra pays the the ones who do the impeccable job of keeping her office, classrooms and the school in general tidy.

I haled all of the cupboards from the back of the trailer to their destination and stuck in to placing them on the kick boards screwing them to the walls and putting all of the shelves in them as well as all of the chrome handles on each door. The cupboards themselves were a mix of dark blue and grey, the handles were simple, but all together matched very well with the aesthetic of the rooms. It took only two hours to complete the six and with all of my tools and power cords packed up it was time to deliver the items for Larissa.

With no students around it was quite easy to manoeuvre the two huge items in and up the stairs. With a blanket tucked under my arm I knocked on Larissa’s door. “Come in.” She was sat in her chair with her laptop placed in front of her displaying the fourth round of solitaire. “Hey it’s just me.” I said stepping into the threshold, only opening the door enough to shimmy through so she didn’t see what was behind the doors. “How did you go?” She asked, closing her laptop and turning all of her attention to me. “Really good, all finished, but I’ve got your surprise with me so I’ll show you that first.” I said excitedly, rocking back and forth on my heels. “Do you now?” She questioned. “Yes and you need to close your eyes.” I said. Larissa gave me a hesitant look before finally closing her eyes. “No peeking! I mean it.”

Throwing the blanket in the floor, I turned and went back to the door opening both of them, quickly bringing them inside right in the middle of the room, I picked up the blanket and splayed it across the items. “Open.” I said looking at her. Larissa’s eyes fluttered open before her expression turned confused, she rose from her chair and rounded the table she was sat at. “What is it exactly?” She asked in a low raspy voice. “See for yourself.” I said taking a step back, only now is it that i find myself so incredibly nervous, I hope this isn’t to much, what if she hates them.

Standing fiddling with my hands, I cautiously watch Larissa as she takes slow steps toward whatever was beneath the fabric. She grasped the corner of the blanket and lifted it up gently revealing the vanity I agreed to give her and as told I fixed, well slightly tweaked, I had extended the legs, retouched the paint and polished the top. Larissa let out a breath that sounded like ‘oh’ and faced me with wide eyes. “Is that ok?” I asked. She nodded before saying anything. “I-I…” she started struggling to find words. “Violet.” She managed to whisper as she was taking her time to examine it again as if she hadn’t already seen it before. I wandered slowly beside her. “I know that it’s probably not really your thing but I just thought if you wanted to…” I leaned forward and winded the internal music box that’s located on the side.

The melody of ‘once upon a December’ emanated from within it. “I know it’s kinda sil-.” I said before she cut me off. “No.” I straightened up and looked at her. “No. This is… beautiful, truly.” She said. “You still have another one.” I spoke. Larissa moved a little closer to the next covered item, it was far larger than the vanity, she re-grasped the blanket and completely pulled it off. “Oh my god! Is this!…is this a desk!?- for me?” She asked excitedly, she dropped the cloth to the floor and was just about jumping for joy. “I thought you deserved a better one than that crappy thing you have, do you mind?” I asked. “Do I mind!? Are you serious! Look at it vi, it’s so big and gorgeous.” She giggled and clamped her hands on my shoulders shaking me a little. “Well it’s all yours, your very own big girl desk.” I laughed. “I don’t even know what to say, just- oh thank you darling I love it, I love it so so much.” She said wrapping her arms around me.

I pulled away and tried to hide my red cheeks, Larissa’s hands found purchase together against her chest and I could tell she couldn’t stop grinning. After a while we decided to completely remove her old shitty desk and put her new one in its place doing the same with her vanity. “Hang on, how the hell did you get these up here and in the room with me hearing it?” She asked out of nowhere. I should have been more noisy. “I don’t muck around Larissa, I’m quite strong.” I said hoping she doesn’t pick up on the small lie. Later on once everything was in its place, I led her back down stairs to show her the end result of the installations in the classrooms.

Larissa was ecstatic about all of the work I had done, she feels so greatfull for all the effort I put into each and every piece I had made. It was almost 5pm by the time I walked her up to her office, she couldn’t help but go and touch the desk yet again.

“Stay right here I’ll be back In one moment.” She demanded. I stood in front of the fireplace waiting for her to return from the doors attached to the wall of the office. She came waltzing out and made a b-line for me. “Hold out your hand.” She asked, I did as she requested and place my palm up in the space between us. Larissa laid three stacks of hundred dollar bills in my hand, my eyes widened in shock. “Is 10,000 enough?” She asked. “No.” I said mechanically. “No? Another five?” She asked. “Oh god no! Larissa I don’t want this I don’t want any of it, you’re supposed to give my boss the money.” I said still holding it. “I’ve already paid for the schools components, this is for the desk and vanity, I know how much the materials cost, mahogany isn’t cheep.” She said. I lifted my free hand to reach for one of hers placing the cash back in her hands. “I don’t want or need a dollar of it Larissa, their a gift, you don’t pay for them, the pieces I used were all recycled from past projects, they don’t have any value… but I appreciate the offer.” I said. “You’re being stubborn sweetheart.” She hummed leaning closer and shoving the money in the back pocket of my pants. I had to physically refrain myself from pulling it out and giving it back to her again.

“Would you like a drink? A big girl drink to celebrate my new big girl desk hmm?” She asked rounding me and walking to a cabinet, she pulled out a bottle of red and a decanter of whiskey. “I don’t know I’ll have to think about it… yep thought about it!” I said reaching for the auburn liquid. Larissa passed me a glass to pour the drink into, as well as getting a wine glass for herself, it wasn’t a surprise that she had an entire cabinet full of liquor in her office I know if I had to stress over a thousand students and deal with the shit she does, I’d have the same.

Larissa kicked off her heels being done for the day and stood in front of the fire place. Orange and pink hues lit up the sky outside with bits of blue and purple, the setting sun casting rays into the clouds like perfection, I walked to the bay window in the room and pulled the curtains away to get a better view, Larissa noticed me not being near her and faced my position, she gazed at my form and the way my head involuntarily rolled to the side in appreciation for the the sky. She quietly moved to be beside me, I could feel her presence but I didn’t face her. Still looking out the window, my lips twitched into a small smile, the feeling of gazing at something so beautiful whilst being in the company of someone who’s just as- if not more beautiful, felt delightful, felt wonderful, right.

“You look like you’ve never seen a sunset before.” She mentioned in a quiet voice just above a whisper. “I haven’t… well no, I mean not for a very long time, I always get to work before sunrise and after sunset, on the weekends I try sleep long enough in the morning and in the evening all my curtains are drawn, because of the position it sets.” I said still looking out the window. I could tell Larissa was staring at me but I didn’t acknowledge it. “It is stunning.” She said finally looking out the glass.

Returning in front of the fire place, I put down the glass of whiskey an turn to Larissa who perched herself on the arm chair she dragged over. “What now?” I asked almost solemnly. “What do you mean?” She questioned taking another sip of her drink. “Well I’ve never been this…close to a client before, the jobs are done, everything is paid for… Is this it?” I wondered out loud not necessarily asking her per se, I guess just coming to relise that this is probably the end of whatever kind of relationship we have. Is it personal or still professional?

“I don’t think i would just stop talking to you. We’ve become good friends Violet… don’t you think?” She asked. Good friends, somehow that felt like a kick in the guts, it’s not like… well nevertheless this is good, good friends right? Good good friends. “Yes I agree, it’s just that I don’t have a lot of time to see you, your very busy, I don’t want to burden you with being yet another person you have to talk to.” I said quietly. “Don’t say that, I enjoy your company and look forward to spending time with you.” She spoke. I picked up my glass once again and held it out in front of me. “To being friends then.” I jokingly toasted. Larissa mimicked my actions and we both drank more.

An hour later and two bottles down I was sitting right next to her in another chair, with my boots off and jumper discarded along with them. We shared conversation about her staff and my past colleagues before she changed the subject. “So tell me, what do I not know about you? Five things go.” She asked. “Oh fuck I don’t know, ooh sorry.” I apologised for my language, thank god she doesn’t hear the vile things I say at work. “Um… five things?” I said out loud, at this point I was tipsy and had trouble retaining things that won’t want her to know, just yet at least.

“Uhh, I’m 38. My birthday is this month. Um, my parents are divorced, but I’m sure you put two and two together, they have been since I was 3. I change my hair all the time and…. I adore all kinds of art, drawings, paintings, poetry, music, all of the above really.” I spoke, pouring another glass for myself and topping up hers while I was at it. “You?” I asked. “Wow, I do have questions.” She said. “Mmmm?” I hummed in waiting. “What’s the date of your birthday and what was your previous hair like?” She asked, swirling around the liquid in her glass. “My birthday is the 12th and my hair was dark brown and very long.” I stated. “I honestly can’t picture it.” She said. I laughed at her, I had to remember not to show her a photo.

“Enough about me though I wanna know about you.” I said. “Ok well I’m 48, and my birthday is the 24th of February. I was raised in a ridiculously lavish lifestyle that I don’t usually brag about, with both my parents. And… I’ve looked the same for years not very much has changed. I too love the arts, usually when I go back to London I visit lots of museums and spend hours a day just wandering around them.” She expressed casually. “You’re so… cool, really, you’re so lucky.” I said. “Why?” She giggled. “I don’t know, your freedom, your ability to be so free when you’re alone.” I said. “And your not?” She asked. “No.” I said not elaborating, wanting to move away from the subject.

“I have another question.” I asked. “You don’t have to answer, but if you went here and your the principal… does that make you an outcast to?” I questioned hoping not to seem nosy. “Yes… is that a problem for you?” She asked. “No!” I said a bit to loud. “Not at all, just, wondering… I think it’s extraordinary honestly.” I said hoping to easy her obviously defensive demeanour. “Sorry i shouldn’t pry.” I said. “It’s ok, I knew you would ask eventually.” She smiled. “If you don’t mind me asking- what, are you though, you don’t need to tell me I’m just curious.” I asked. “What do you think I am?” She wondered raising her brows with a smirk.

“Let’s see… I know you’re not a vampire- no fangs, not a werwolf- to tame, clearly not a gorgon- self explanatory, I know you don’t have telekinesis- not very Larissa, that leaves siren or a seer, but that’s still not right.” I said her face grew more amused indicating I’m right, I’m getting warmer. “I don’t think you’re very common… something special, different, rare perhaps.” I said, she slightly eased her shoulders, but shrugging trying not to give anything away. My eyes flicked down to her necklace while I was observing her state, a moment went by and Larissa could see the gears turning in my head, the longer I looked at it the more I realised how much she thinks I’ll never guess, little does she know that I can see her in plain sight. I snap my eyes to hers and grin not saying a thing.

The more I gazed into her eyes my smile spread and Larissa’s faded. “I know what you are.” I whispered. She scoffed in an attempt to make my decision falter. “You seem so sure.” She said. “I am.” I stated. “So what’s your conclusion?” She hummed. “You know it’s very clever to hide your identity you do it very well.” I said leaning into grasp the chain around her neck. “But not clever enough… remember when I said your necklace was personally made? I should have realised then.” I traced the metal with my thumb, my eyes boring holes into hers. “You my dear are a shapeshifter.” I said knowing I just won this twisted and unspoken game.

“Very good, your no fool.” She said averting her gaze and taking a large gulp of wine. I sat back relaxing against the back of the chair, my chest flushed and fluttering from the close proximity and the reality of the situation. “Do you have another secret I can know?” I asked randomly to break the silence, still up for conversation. “What kind of secret?” She questioned, seemingly un-apposed to continue. “how about love interest, anyone your interested in or have loved in the past?” I asked pretty care free, the alcohol clearly the one talking. “Oh god. No im not really interested in anyone im married to my career, past loves, that is a whole other story. A whole other story.” She said. “Tell me? Please?” I asked. “Well it’s complicated, maybe another time.” She said quietly. “No I respect that, but it always is isn’t it… complicated.” “Always.” She replied.

More hours went by just talking and drinking, it was never my intention to get drunk, just saying that sounds ridiculous, I hardly ever drink and when I do I still have a high tolerance, safe to say I’ve drank enough alcohol within a couple of hours to last a week’s hangover. Larissa was to, not that would ever admit, so much for me being the stubborn one, she was giddy though and I couldn’t stop laughing, if I was sober and sat back watching as a different person I’d be repulsed, but than again I don’t have it in me to care.

Thinking it was a great idea I stood and fell on my ass-Well my ass fell on her. I was trying to walk around Larissa but my knee gave way and I fell into her lap. “Shit! oh my god sorry.” I said laughing, Larissa wrapped her hand around me to stabilise, but she held onto my waist and wouldn’t let me get up. “It’s ok.” She said trailing her hand further to my hip. My cheeks burned, blushing like an idiot, Larissa didn’t say another word, her eyes flicking around the room, I could feel her stiffen as I tried to get up again, but she tightened the grip, her face to was a shade of pink I was lucky to see through the orange glow of the room. “Stay.” She said, but it wasn’t sexual or flirty in any manner, it almost sounded like a sad plea.

If she wouldn’t let me go I may as well get comfortable, I wrapped my arm around her neck and rolled my hips sideways so I was just about hugging her, I rested my head on my bicep and let my feet dangle over the side of the chair. “I’m really heavy, are you sure you’re ok?” I asked. “Yes.” She whispered her gaze now set on the fire, A minute later she spoke again. “You’re not heavy either.” She said. I could feel myself slightly sobering up and hear my heart beating In my ears. I lifted my head so my chin was resting on my arm as well as shifting my elbow manoeuvring my hand to gently stroke her hair. “God you’re so pretty, you know that.” I whispered accidentally letting it slip whilst looking in her dark blue eyes. She turned her head to look at me, her gaze unfaltering and expression melancholy.

Subtly moving again her shoulders caught my attention, how I didn’t notice before was beyond me. “Ohh, you have little freckles.” I said grinning using my free hand to trace her skin, halting my movements on her hair. “They’re like little stars kissing your skin.” I whispered, my eyes unable to retain the average amount of liquid as they became glassy from the heightened emotions, silly I know but for someone who hardly gets emotional over something someone else would find a common thing to be upset or happy about, it’s a big deal.

Larissa was feeling so many thing in that moment, although it was anything but relaxed, she was calm but also a bit nervous and insecure, for the longest time she hasn’t had the privilege of being called such nice things like pretty, or such admiration towards what’s she deems as flaws, because that’s what she saw and heard, admiration. She isn’t just looking in my eyes when I say them, she’s peering into my soul, finding nothing but kind and pure intentions behind every word. Many people thought she ought to be a cunning woman who’s only goal is to be in control and do what ever she can to get her way, in some aspect it was true but she wasn’t a horrid, selfish or malicious person, behind the layers of professionalism she was just Larissa Weems. Rissa. Just Rissa.

I hadn’t seen my oversized work shirt gape at the front, not until I relised Larissa was looking, but in her line of sight wasn’t my bra nor cleavage, it was the stretch marks. Once it clicked, I sat up and removed my arm from around her and shot up swaying a little. Larissa was startled at the sudden movement and stood, her brows came together in confusion and also fright, hoping that what she did wasn’t what scared you away, but she was wrong. Panic riddled my being, I was becoming short of breath and the alcohol didn't help. "I-I'm sorry Violet, please forgive me that was utterly wrong of me to do I apologise." She said fiddling with her fingers on either side of herself. "Please... please forget you saw them." I whispered just about inaudible, but loud enough for her to hear. "What?" She breathed. "I don't-I don't want you to see them." I said looking at my feet. "No I should have not been looking at your br-... oh... oh." She realised it wasn't what she thought, she did infact look at the marks but only for a moment not even long enough to process what she was doing, this is worse, Larissa's stomach churned and her heart tinged at the thought of me panicking because of natural marks on my skin. "Oh darling, I- I wasn't, I wasn't judging, please you have to believe me." She said taking a step forward, I took a step back.

I spun around and picked up my jumper and shoes off the floor and clutched the boots, throwing the piece of clothing on, I struggled for a moment before it finally slipped over my head. "What are you doing?" She asked. "I need to go, I need to go home." I said. "No please it's late, you've had to much to drink you can't drive... just... stay, you can stay here." She said hopefully. She could see my jaw tensing and it was making her more anxious. "Don't bite so hard sweetheart." She said knowingly. I did stop but I still debated just going home, call a cab or a fucking Uber and leave.

I let out a breath i knew i was holding and dropped my shoes to the side. Larissa did the same exhaling slowly, she took another step towards me so slow as if I'd run away if she moved to quickly. It didn't take long until she reached me and grasped my hand. "Come on I'll put you to bed." I absentmindedly flowed her to the doors that access her quarters. I didn't look around the only thing I saw was the floor and then the edge of the bed. Larissa sat me down and retrieved a pair of pyjamas, a glass of water and meds. "Here you can have these to change into, and have the tablets you'll feel ok in the morning." She had another set of tablets for herself and took them taking sip from the glass than passed it to me giving my own meds. "You don't mind that I had some?" She asked. "No I don't mind." I said with my voice breaking a little.

Larissa let me be to change and came back from her bathroom in her own pyjamas and her hair in a lose braid. She walked over to the other side of the bed and reached over to grab my clothes and place them on a nere by chair making sure to pull out the cash and wrap it into my jumper, when she came back Larissa grabbed a pillow and tucked it under her arm and grabbed the throw at the end of the bed. Turning off the large light and leaving on the lamp she paced to the doorway and turned around. "You think you will be ok?" She asked. "Where are you going?" I wondered. “I’m just going to sleep on the futon in the office.” She said as if I was supposed to know that. “No you’re not, you’re sleeping in your bed, I- I’m… not going to allow you to sleep elsewhere in your own home, otherwise I’m just going to leave, unless you want me to sleep out there.” I expressed. Larissa walked back towards the other side of the bed and threw the pillow and blanket back in place and ungraciously fell into bed. I sat up and pulled the covers over myself and her, I practically just tucked her in, making sure she had enough blanket and pulled it up and over her chest leaving her arm out, she was laying in her side facing me and eyeing my movements, curious, she thought.

In all honesty it’s been a very long time since I’ve consumed so much alcohol, I’m glad I don’t feel sick, a part of me is greatfull that I have an excuse to stay but another part is still trying to retreat. Don’t get too close, she will dispose of you, you know what happened last time Violet. Apart of me vaguely thought. Larissa was cautiously watching me as my brows came together in a distasteful manner she wondered what I was thinking, but failed to ask. I rolled over to turn off the lamp beside me and got comfortable again in my original position laying on my side to face her.

Mindlessly I reach for the hem of her satin sleeve on Larissa exposed arm, playing with it for a while I push it upward to reveal her freckled arms again, I can still see them, so clear, so golden in the silver moonlight. The domesticity of how uncannily stunning just one little part of her is, just about bring tears to my eyes. I trace over them again raising goosebumps to the surface of her skin, once I’d had enough and my arm was burning I let myself steal a glance at her, only to find Larissa had already been gazing at me. Feeling the blood rush to my face I went to turn over, however she stopped me from doing so by grasping my shoulder.

It wasn’t just me admiring, Larissa had watched the entire time I was kindly examining, she’s not sure why, but when I’m near her she can’t help but feel so secure, so safe, so… cared for. When she grasped my shoulder to stop me from rolling over, her fingers involuntarily gripped harder to feel the muscle she didn’t acquire, when she found herself doing it Larissa revoked her hand. Her hair is what I focused on, not wanting to hold eye contact, it’s the same colour as the moon itself, just as bright, just as alluring, I stretched out to move the loose bit of hair around her forehead and continued the path all the way to the end of her braid.

What surprised me was that she did exactly the same to me, brushing the bits of hair that had fallen from my ponytail out of my eyes and behind my ear. This time, I looked at her, I really looked at her, taking in every single detail of her face, every line and wrinkle, her eyes. I wish I could see her without makeup. She still adorned makeup but didn’t have her lipstick on, the red stain is what’s left. Larissa let me grab her cheek and stroke it, I ever so slightly brushed my thumb over her cheekbone caressing it carefully almost as if I would hurt her. “I’m scared, I’m so scared.” I said as a breathless whisper. Larissa stayed silent but I could see her wordlessly asking me to elaborate, I shouldn’t have let that out, she doesn’t understand what I mean, I hope she doesn’t, I don’t want her to.

Larissa’s eyes scanned over my features again and she let out a shaky exhale. “I know.” She said, well then. I closed my eyes and moved closer to rest my forehead against hers. Still stroking her face I jutted my chin forward slowly, only a strand of hair widths away from her lips, our breaths deep and thorough. I pulled away to ask permission, Larissa opens her eyes and nodded knowing what I wanted to ask. I leaned back in brushing her lips with my own, she didn’t hold her breath and embraced the moment, both of us letting it happen, Violet… Larissa had grasped my waist trying to pull me closer but I arched my back trying to move away from her touch. Stop now. I did everything to keep that fucking voice at bay, I want this, she seems to want this but I can’t do it. Kissing Larissa was the best experience, the softness of her lips, the alcohol I could taste, she was my every sense, touch, taste, smell, even with my eyes closed I could see her, hear her.

VIOLET STOP. Larissa’s hand just landed on my hip before I ripped away from her completely. I rolled over trying to catch my breath, guilt came gnawing, I squeezed my eyes shut so hard the insides of my eye lids became kaleidoscopic, Larissa was confused, had she done something wrong? Did i not want this? For a while she say laying in the same position just staring at my back, the way she felt so uneasy as to what to do now, does she leave? Does she stay? Her internal questioning was put to a slow when I reached behind me and found her hand, I intertwined our fingers and pulled her arm to wrap under my elbow.

Larissa let out a breath that ghosted over my neck and shoulder, releasing the pent up adrenaline. The longer we stayed there the more I let myself melt into her touch, my back against her front, the sound of her heartbeat. I wish I hadn’t done what I did, but I also know it was the right thing to do. Safe to say the both of us are snapped back to sober at this point and with the alcohol wearing off it won’t take long for sleep to overtake me.

In many, many years this will be the first time I go to bed and I’m not alone, I don’t need a pillow to give the support that isn’t enough, I don’t need back round noise to interject the raging thoughts and loneliness. I have her, I have Larissa, this may be the last time but I know to cherish every fucking second whether I’m in the waking world or not. Her embrace is comforting and gentle, her touch is soft and soothing, as of now I’m going to let myself succumb to sleep and work out what’s going on tomorrow. Once Larissa knew I was asleep she placed a kiss to my shoulder and whispered.

‘goodnight sweetheart.’

@lex13cm @im-a-carnivorous-plant @barbarasstar @giogwensversion @sabraaabra @readingtheentrails

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems #principle weems #wednesday #larissa weems x y/n #larissa x reader #gwenchrist(ie)#wlw fanfic #larissa weems x reader

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stanchett · 1 year

Note

Hi! I saw your post asking for prompts, so here's one for you, if you'd like. ☺️

Out of all of Nevermore's traditions, Larissa disliked Staff Bonding Nights the most. She preferred to drink her wine alone in her office instead of in a loud bar, thank you very much. But thanks to the new addition to the staff, maybe this time it wouldn't be that bad of an evening...

Here you go!! Thanks for the request, I hope you enjoy!!! :)

I owe a massive thank-you to @pro-weems-places for editing this for me, it was written at 1am and required much revision.

Black and White

Warnings: NSFW, alcohol use

Word count: 3.4k+

Your laptop screen glowed a bright white in your dark bedroom, the seemingly endless stream of emails welcoming you to the Nevermore staff taking up the open tab. The most recent one caught your attention the moment you read the subject line, “Staff Bonding Night at the Weathervane”, written in bold black letters.

“That could be fun, I suppose...” you pondered to yourself while scrolling through Netflix for something to watch.

Normally, you were more of an introvert, but you were determined to come out of your shell a bit in light of your new position at the school. You turned in for the night, shutting your laptop and curling up in bed with a nature documentary, unaware of what the following evening would bring.

--------

The next morning was a bit of a drag as you roamed the hallways of the school, nearly getting lost (again) as it was only your second week. It was still early, about an hour before your class was supposed to start. Rounding a corner, you almost run head-first into Larissa Weems, the stunning principal you’d hardly stopped thinking about since meeting upon your hiring. She gasped in surprise and stepped back from you, clutching her chest while she caught her breath.

“Oh Principal Weems, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you coming-” you apologized, but a quick wave of her hand dismissed your apology.

“It’s quite alright, Ms. Y/L/N. Are you lost? You seem a bit turned around.” You blushed at the realization that you definitely were, and nodded in confirmation to her question.

“Walk with me darling, I’ll show you the way from here,” Larissa offered, and you gratefully accepted. Keeping in stride and making small talk was easy with her, she was so sweet and polite. You wondered if you would see her that evening at the staff gathering.

“Hey, will you be at the Weathervane tonight? How do those events usually go?”

Larissa rolled her eyes with a sigh, “Oh yes, that.. I myself am not normally in attendance, but I’ve heard they can be quite fun, according to other staff members. I much prefer my study and a glass of red personally, but to each their own.”

Your heart sank a bit at her admission, but you tried not to look too defeated. “Why don’t you give it another shot? After all, I’ll be there..” you said in a mock-suggestive tone, secretly hoping she would realize you meant it in a way that wasn’t entirely a joke.

Just as you delivered your makeshift pickup line, the two of you arrived at your classroom. You stopped at the door and leaned against it with your arms crossed, looking up at Larissa with a challenging look, “What do you think?”

She chuckled and looked away from you - was she getting flustered? Clearing her throat, she stated, “I’ll think about it. Enjoy your class this morning, Y/N.” And with that, she headed back to her office. You watched her leave for a moment and smiled to yourself, then removed the keys to your room from your pocket. If she decided to show up tonight, you would make sure she had a great time.

By 5 o-clock that evening, you found yourself rushing around to finish getting ready, hopping out of the hot shower to throw on a button-down and some slacks. Leaving a few buttons undone in hopes you would catch the principal’s attention, you put on some light makeup and headed out the door. You hoped beyond hope that Larissa had made up her mind and decided to show.

After a short drive down the winding road, you parked outside the café and noticed the inside had been completely revamped to reflect a vibe similar to a nightclub of sorts; the tables had been pushed to the edges of the space or removed altogether to make room for a makeshift dance floor, and the overhead lights dimly lit the room in a variety of colors. “Maybe this’ll be more fun than I thought...” you whispered to yourself, glancing in the mirror of your sun visor to double check your makeup before leaving your car.

--------

Swinging the front door open, you were immediately greeted by a chorus of hellos from the handful of staff members already inside enjoying themselves, the low hum of dance music hitting your eardrums.

“Y/N! I’m so happy you showed up! Welcome to our little annual bonding tradition,” Ms. Thornhill exclaimed, quickly looping her arm through yours to guide you to the counter. “Would you like a drink? There’s a full bar and a table of snacks over in the corner, too. You’re welcome to them!”

You smiled your thanks in return, and she patted your back before rejoining a group of teachers by the door. She seemed like the excitable type, which you weren’t really into, but she made you feel included nonetheless and for that you were grateful.

Peeking past the counter, you spotted Coach Vlad preparing a few drinks. He handed them out, then headed your way with a grin.

“Hey, fresh blood! I’m so glad to see you! What’ll you be having?”

You thought for a moment before deciding, “Just a Jack and coke for me, Coach. I’m glad I could make it. This place moonlights as a club for you guys, huh?” You jest, leaning on the counter, eager for something to take the edge off your remaining nerves.

“Oh yeah, the Nevermore staff really knows how to get down,” he joked, gesturing to the dead crowd before you both, all chatting away. He handed you the drink and you took a swig. Strong stuff. You wondered where Larissa could be. Would she really decline your ever-so-convincing offer?

“I guess Weems doesn’t really ‘get down’ much, does she?” You asked him. His hands were already busy with prepping another drink.

“Not these days. She hardly shows her face at these events. Not really her style, I gather.” He wandered to the other side of the counter to take some more orders. You took another sip and pulled out your phone, suddenly feeling out of place without someone to really talk to.

While you were mindlessly scrolling through your social media apps, the group of teachers suddenly went silent, quietly muttering to each other as opposed to the loud conversations they were just having. You look past them and see a flash of silver brush past one of the windows. Was that..?

The front door eased open and you swore you had never seen anyone more beautiful - in walked Larissa, adorned in a silver dress and white elbow-length gloves, her hair done up perfectly.

Your jaw dropped to the floor and you struggled to keep from staring. She caught your eyes roaming up her figure and strutted her way over to you, politely greeting everyone along the way. It was at that moment you realized the alcohol was starting to hit you, giving you more confidence than you normally possessed.

Setting your drink aside, you attempted to lean coolly on the counter behind you as she approached. “Fancy meeting you here,” you teased when she reached you, her gloved hand coming to rest on the marble surface next to you, effectively trapping you beside her.

“I suppose I could say the same..” she said, her eyes openly sweeping over you, momentarily coming to rest at your slightly revealing choice of clothing before flicking away to Vlad who was still wearing a look of surprise on his face at her appearance.

“I’ll have a red, Coach,” she said all too smoothly. Grabbing the wine bottle, he poured her drink with a nod. Her gaze turned back to you, her eyes glistening under the multicolored lights as she regarded you.

Leaning in, she said in a low voice, “You sure clean up well, Ms. Y/L/N.”

You were momentarily grateful for the low lighting, positive it hid the blush that quickly rose to your cheeks and shiver down your spine. But you feigned shock at her words, putting a hand to your chest as you retorted, “Principal Weems, are you flirting with me?”

She raised an eyebrow and elegantly turned to accept her drink, looking you dead in the eye as she took a long sip. You felt a searing heat gather in your lower abdomen. God, this woman is stunning, you thought to yourself.

“It’s possible,” was all she said.

There was a sudden clap sounding from the center of the room, an attempt from Thornhill to command everyone’s attention. “Alright everyone, partner up! Let’s get a little dancing in, shall we?” She said with a grin.

A collective groan passed through the room and she jogged over to you, a huge smile still plastered on her face. “Would you care to join me? It’s your first time here, you have to give it a shot at least!”

You would feel bad turning her down, so you jokingly rolled your eyes and agreed, Larissa watching your reaction the entire time. She tried to hide her amusement but she was looking forward to this. You swallow the rest of your drink and let Marilyn lead you out onto the dance floor.

Someone cranked the music up a little higher and you quickly found yourself swaying to the beat, the alcohol in your system doing its job. You were grateful several others ended up taking her up on the offer as well, all of you dancing together to the rhythm. You closed your eyes and lost yourself to the music for a moment, your hips working on their own to keep time with everyone else. Maybe Nevermore really did know how to get down.

You opened your eyes to see Larissa staring you down from her spot at the bar, her eyes raking over your body while you danced. Without thinking, you reached a hand out to her, wiggling your fingers in the air as a silent signal for her to join you. Tossing the remainder of her wine down her throat, she placed down the glass and stalked over to you, her eyes never leaving yours. She came to stand in front of you, and you boldly placed your hands on her hips. You looked up to catch her eye and confirm that this is alright with her, her only response a sly smirk and a glint of mischief in her eye.

She began moving her body to the beat in time with you, and you released your hold on her to raise your hands above your head, losing yourself to the music once more. She closely watched your every move, almost hypnotized, like you’d put a spell on her. You turned your back to her and threw her a glance over your shoulder. That was all the invitation she needed.

Placing her hands on your hips instead, she pulled you against her front for a moment, and you gasped at the contact and her forwardness. You deliberately moved your hips more seductively against her, your intentions becoming infinitely more clear. You knew you couldn’t keep this up in front of your co-workers, so you turned to face her once again as the song ended, tossing your head back with a throaty laugh.

You looked up to find her smiling down at you, that hint of something more never leaving her glare. You crooked a finger to beckon her down to you, and she quickly leaned down to catch your whisper. “Do you wanna get out of here?” It sounded so cliche, you knew, but in that moment your arousal was almost unbearable. Straightening up again, she nodded in agreement and even in the dim light you swore you saw her cheeks redden. You bit your lip and jerked your head in the direction of the door.

Waving your goodbyes to everyone in attendance, you passed off the excuse to Thornhill that you were too tipsy to drive in an attempt to avoid suspicion and practically darted out the door, Larissa hot on your heels. Hopping in the passenger side of the school’s van, you waited while the principal buckled up and started the engine.

“You’re quite the little tease, aren’t you,” she said, her own voice coated in arousal. Her words shoot straight to your core. It was nothing you hadn’t heard before, but it sounded so much better coming from her. Her gloved hand came to rest on your thigh during the drive back to the school, her thumb stroking the sensitive skin. You were ready to hop into her lap just as she pulled into the parking lot, and she quickly cut the engine and got out.

--------

Once inside, you let her lead the way back to her quarters, your eyes glued to her backside the entire walk there. She unlocked the door and ushered you inside, locking it behind you both before pressing you against it with her hips. You gasped and looked up at her, her pupils blown so wide you could practically see your reflection in them.

“Is this what you want?” she asked, making certain you’re on the same page before proceeding.

“God yes,” you breathed out, hands coming to rest on her lower back.

She wasted no time in leaning down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing a deep moan that rumbled from your chest. Her thigh pried your own apart, coming to rest between them and you gasped into her mouth wantonly, your hands grasping her ass.

“I’ve wanted this from the first time I laid eyes on you,” you husked.

Her lips worked your neck, making your eyes roll back. “Then that makes two of us,” she whispered, pressing her thigh to your center.

You let out a breathy moan, your legs threatening to give out. All at once she pulled away to examine her work, her eyes burning into you and you licked your lips in anticipation.

“Take off your clothes and get on the bed for me.”

You loved the idea of following her orders. You didn't hesitate, tugging at the buttons of your shirt hurriedly and dropping it to the floor, followed by your pants, leaving you in your matching set of black lace panties and bra. You climbed onto the bed and knelt at its edge, and Larissa turned her back to you, silently prompting you to unzip her dress.

You took your time in doing so, kissing down her back in the zipper’s wake. You eased the garment off her shoulders and she removed her gloves, tossing them onto a nearby chair. She turned to you to reveal her choice of lingerie; a cream-colored set that complimented her skin tone perfectly. You felt your mouth water at the sight.

Sitting up on your knees put you at her height at last, and you pulled her into another kiss, this time softer. You passed your tongue over her bottom lip and she granted you entry immediately, a small whimper escaping her throat. You allowed your fingers to tangle themselves in her perfectly pinned-up hair, her own exploring over your body. You arched into her when her fingers found your nipples through your bra, her lips quirking into a playful grin at your reaction.

“Someone’s eager..” she teased, pinching them experimentally, earning her a gasp from you.

“Lay down for me,” you whispered against her lips.

With a chuckle she obliged, lowering herself beside you. You quickly took your place between her thighs, placing open-mouthed kisses from her knee up to her inner thighs. Your fingers danced over her core through the fabric, and she shuddered at the contact, spreading her legs further for you.

“Someone’s eager,” you teased, throwing her own words back at her.

Larissa covered her face with a giggle, but it quickly turned into a gasp as you finally made contact with her center through her underwear. The heat of your mouth drove her mad with need, and she tugged the offending article off, revealing just how aroused she was for you. A low growl left your chest at the sight and you dove in without a second thought.

Flattening your tongue against her clit, you finally got a taste of her, and it was well worth the wait. Her sweetness coated your tongue as you devoured her, and you glanced up to watch her writhe beneath your touch. Her back arching as her hands grabbed for anything that would ground her, eventually landing in your hair. Her whimpers were heavenly, you could listen to them all night long. And you planned to.

Just as her breaths started to quicken, you circled two fingers over her entrance, before easing them into her. She let out a high-pitched moan, and you moaned against her in response, her sounds and the tugging of your hair spurring you on. You began pumping and curling them inside her in time with the strokes of your tongue, and you could tell she was already getting close by the way her walls were tightening around you.

“Are you gonna come for me baby?” you coaxed, your fingers brushing that sweet spot inside her that drove her wild.

“Y-yes, I’m- fuck-”

You could get used to hearing this woman curse. Especially if you were the cause. With a few more gasps and breathy moans, she reached her release, flooding your fingers and mouth with her intense taste. You helped her down from her high before removing your fingers carefully, climbing up beside her and flopping onto your back to catch your breath.

After a few minutes Larissa wordlessly straddled your waist, lowering her lips to yours to taste herself on your tongue. Whining against her, you squeezed your thighs together for some much-needed friction and she chuckled against your lips.

“Oh don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet,” she teased, her fingers trailing up your thigh.

With practiced skill she pulled your panties aside, quickly finding your clit and circling it with featherlight touches. You gasped and bit your lip, the coil inside you already wound tightly. She kissed up your torso, her soft lips finding your hardened nipple through your bra with ease. You leaned up on your elbows and removed it for her, the movements of those damned fingers making it a nearly impossible feat.

She caught the sensitive peak of skin in her teeth before you could lay down again, causing your head to fall back in pleasure, a desperate whimper leaving you. Her tongue circled it in the same pattern as her fingers below and you felt entranced by her touch. You cupped her cheek, encouraging her to meet your heated gaze.

“I need you,” you all but begged, your cheeks turning pink at the nature of your words.

“That’s all I needed to hear, darling.”

Her words in such a low tone nearly drove you over the edge, but as she pressed her fingers into you, it took everything in your power to keep from crying out. A pathetic whine still managed to leave your throat despite your efforts.

Her digits filled you up in the most delicious way and she knew it. She pumped them slowly, finding the same spot in you as you did in her, massaging it as you fell back onto the mattress. You knew it wouldn’t take you long to finish at this rate, but the sudden ascent toward your orgasm took you by surprise.

“Larissa.. so.. so close,” you whimpered, your eyes squeezing shut in an attempt to stave it off a bit longer.

Your hands gripped her shoulders, nails digging in. Your vision gained a few black spots when you opened your eyes again, only to find Larissa’s lustful stare looking back.

“It’s alright dear, I want you to come.”

Her words sounded delectable in your ear when she whispered them to you, and you couldn’t help yourself when you came undone on her fingers, a moaning mess beneath her. You moved to cover your mouth but her hand caught your wrist, pinning it above you. She wanted to hear you, so you let her.

Once your pulsing around her slowed, she pulled her fingers from you and looked deep into your eyes as she sucked them clean, groaning at your taste. A smirk played on her features, proud of her handiwork as she regarded your now disheveled demeanor.

“Perhaps I’ll make a habit of going to Staff Bonding Nights.”

You both burst out in laughter before settling into a comfortable silence, soon after falling into a deep sleep, wrapped up in each other.

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #gwendoline christie #requests #my fics

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dreamingofep · 9 months

Text

Sinned Awakening

An AU Elvis fic

Prompt: Getting promoted to be Elvis’ full time housekeeper, you realize the man holds secrets beyond belief and your undeniable attraction makes you fear the unknown. [Fem!Reader]

TW: Cussing, tension, mentions of verbal abuse, mentions of drug and alcohol use, blood/gore

Rating: PG-13ish?, will become explicit later on😈

Word Count: 4.2K

A/N: Hello everyone!

As I mentioned before, I had this on the back burner for a while and am very excited to get this out to you. I’ve loved vampires for such a long time and what could be better if you mixed them with Elvis involved🤭 Bit different flow than my other fics in the past but I think you’ll like the mystery behind it all. Please let me know what you think in the comments or send me a message!

Thank you again!

Sorry for any spelling mistakes and overall goofs. 🖤

January 25, 1973

Your bones ached after being on your feet for twelve whole hours. You needed to take off this suffocating uniform too while you’re at it. It clung to you uncomfortably and made you feel gross after a long day. You head to the locker room to change and go home, practically shoving everything in your locker and slinging your purse over your shoulder heading for the door.

“Y/n! Tanya wants to see you!” Someone yells from across the room. You huff, annoyed that she couldn’t talk to you any other time of the day and had to wait for the second you were going to get off. Tanya was your supervisor, she was tolerable, but still got on your nerves. You couldn’t completely hate her. She was the one who gave you a chance and gave you this job in the first place when you and Daniel moved out here.

You take a deep breath and quickly make your way to the back office. You knock on the door before entering and peeking your head in.

“You asked to see me?” You say politely, trying to not show the agitation in your voice.

“Ah yes, y/n, sit down I need to talk to you,” Tanya says sternly. Your stomach turns with her tone and your mind scrambles to find something you did wrong in the past few days.

You take a seat in the ripped-up leather chair and straighten out your uniform.

“I just wanted to talk to you about your performance lately,” she pauses and your heart drops to your stomach.

You don’t respond and wait for her to say something next.

“It’s been exceptional. You have no write-ups and haven’t been late once. Everyone compliments you on how the rooms look after you clean them I’m very impressed. You have definitely made a great impression on management here.”

You look at her a bit shocked, like all of this sounds too good to be true. You always put in all of your effort to do a great job but you never thought you’d get noticed for it. There are over a hundred people on the housekeeping staff and you thought no one would ever notice your work.

“Oh thank you. I appreciate you noticing the effort I’ve put in.” You say shyly.

“So management and I have decided to move you to a different position.” Your eyes brows raise and look at her inquisitively.

“Laura is moving away and that means her job is going to need to be taken over.” You try and wrack your brain for who Laura was but she doesn’t ring a bell. She was very quiet and had a different shift than you so you normally didn’t cross paths.

“Laura took care of the penthouse and I would like you to take over that position.” She says matter of factly and not in the form of a question. You were to do this, no ifs ands or buts.

You stare wide-eyed, almost not believing what you just heard.

The penthouse was where Elvis Presley lived.

The private and secluded king of rock and roll.

The man who changed the world with his voice and moves.

He’d become something of a recluse lately. The public didn’t see him very often other than for shows and he was upstairs in the penthouse for days on end. He had a very mysterious side to him with the way he was acting. He wasn’t the vibrant young rock musician like in the 50s, he was much more refined and had a sullen demeanor. You had never met him before even though you’ve worked here for four years now. You wouldn’t dare wander up to the penthouse to get a glimpse of him or you’d sure be fired. It was clear that when you got hired to not make it up to the penthouse under any circumstances.

You really liked him though, you loved how his voice made you feel. You remember having a few pictures of him in your room in the 60s and flocking to the movie theater with your girlfriends to see his latest picture. And the way those hips moved… oh God focus.

“I-i umm thank you, I appreciate you acknowledging my work. How would this exactly work though? Would the penthouse get put into my rotation every few days or…” you question as your mind runs a million miles an hour realizing you were going to meet Elvis Presley.

“Well you see, Mr. Presley is very… particular. He only calls for housekeeping when he wants it or he will be calling every day so it would be easier if you worked full time up there. We’ll pay you a few extra dollars for this since it is a different pace and everything,” she instructs.

You feel so overwhelmed. Your heart jumps at the fact that you’ve been promoted basically and will be catering to Elvis but on the other hand, Tanya’s tone of how she talks about him makes your skin crawl.

Particular?

What exactly does he do to cause people to talk about him like that?

What the hell does he do all day cooped up in there between shows?

“Thank you for the opportunity, I’d be more than happy to take on this role,” you say confidently.

“Wonderful, you’ll start tomorrow at 3 pm,” she says reaching into the drawer to give you a key to the elevator to give you access to the penthouse.

“3 pm? Isn’t that late?” You ask confused.

She chuckles to herself, “Elvis normally doesn’t get up til then so that’s when your shift starts,” she explains.

You take the key and thank her once more and make a beeline for the door before you can embarrass yourself any further. Heading back to the locker room, you realize nerves rattle your bones. Maybe it’s because it’s Elvis Presley you’re going to be catering to that makes you nervous but you wanted to get home as soon as possible to not freak yourself out and give back the job offer.

You get in your dusty car and onto the freeway to head home. You lived with your fiancé, Daniel, in North Las Vegas in a small two-bedroom apartment.

You weren’t the normal couple by any means, for one you lived together before being married and that was frowned upon by everyone. Your abusive father lived in the bottle and you couldn’t handle living in the same house anymore. You and Daniel were getting serious and he asked if you wanted to move in with him. You thought it was a godsend that you could escape your turbulent household and have somewhere safe. It was safe, but the longer you’ve lived there the more you realize the bad habits he has made normal.

It was 1973 and cocaine was running like wildfire in Las Vegas. If you had some kind of elite status, coke was the drug of choice. Even if you were a no body, you would be offered some at any party you showed up to. And while Daniel tried to act coy and politely refuse it, he would disappear in the bathroom for minutes at a time and come out looking higher than a kite.

You couldn’t forget the night you came home from work and he was high out of his mind, he didn’t even recognize you and in a paranoid episode, he threw his scotch glass at you, screaming at the top of his lungs to get out. The glass hit your forearm and shattered at your feet, leaving shards of glass in your ankles and toes. It scared the living hell out of you and for the first time were petrified of him.

The next morning he didn’t remember any of it, gave no apology and moved on as if nothing happened. It still bugged you and you told him you don’t like it when he does drugs. He assured you he only does it every once in a while and he has it under control.

But he definitely didn’t. Part of you wanted to end things because you could see it going down a dark path, but on the other hand, he was the only love you had known. And in the moments that he wasn’t on a substance, you loved him deeply. You felt the love that you two shared and wouldn’t give up on each other. You met in college and the sparks flew instantly. You had never felt serious for anyone ever and liked being around him. The years went on and he asked you to marry him, you couldn't have been more happy and said yes. He promised he’d take care of you always. For a while, he kept his promise, but lately, that hasn’t been true.

He was a bouncer at different clubs in Vegas and with the late nights for him and early morning shifts for you meant you barely ever saw each other. The apartment was almost always empty and cold as your heart felt. You longed for a fiancé that would miss you and be excited when he saw you home. Instead, you both were two ghosts passing each other, barely acknowledging each other’s presence. You didn’t want to give up, but something was going to have to change in order for you to stay.

It was strange to clock into work so late. Normally you start your shift at 6 am, but today you rolled into work at 2:45 pm and found the locker room completely barren and quiet. Putting on your uniform piece by piece, you realize how self-conscious you felt. It finally hits you, you’re going to meet Elvis Presley in the flesh today and you wanted to make a good impression. There wasn’t a wrinkle left on your blouse or your skirt. You starched the hell out of it where it almost looks like it doesn’t move when you walk. Checking your hair in the mirror, you smooth back some of the fly always and take a deep breath.

You couldn’t pinpoint why you were so nervous, management obviously thought you were right for the job considering your current performance. It was probably the name and the image that intimidated you the most. You couldn’t let down Elvis in any way and if Tanya was correct, you were going to have to conform to his “particular” ways that he wanted things and do everything his way.

The shrill ring of the telephone jolts you out of your straying thoughts and jump up to pick the receiver off the wall.

“Hello housekeeping, this is y/n,” Your voice soft and gentle.

“Mr. Presley is requesting your services in the penthouse as soon as possible,” said the voice in a low, unwavering tone. His voice gives you a chill down your spine and you physically shiver as you stand there with the phone’s receiver in your hand.

“Yes absolutely, I’ll be right up,” you try to say quickly before hearing the click of the other line hang up. You take the phone away from your ear and hang it up, taking a long breath in before turning on your heels to the elevator, trying not to let this first interaction bother you.

Placing the key in the elevator to give you access to the penthouse, the ride up to the twenty-ninth floor felt agonizingly long and you take another moment to straighten out your uniform. Your hands tighten on the cleaning cart and sweat begins to form on the palm of your hands. The ding of the elevator makes you jump and you shake your arms at your side, trying to calm your restless nerves.

“Okay here we go,” you mutter to yourself.

The doors open and a tall man is waiting in front of the elevator for you. He’s wearing all black and dark sunglasses where you can barely see the outline of his eyes. He doesn’t move right away and if you were just passing by, you could almost mistake him for a statue.

You try to find the words but feel incredibly intimidated, you’re not sure if this was the man that called but your heart jumps.

“Right this way,” the man finally says in a short low tone. He reaches out his hand to point you in the right direction and you push the cart out in front of you and make slow, careful steps down the hall. On your left, you reach two double doors, framed with gold accents and a plaque in the middle of the door that read, “Elvis Presley.”

You look back at the man that was closely following you and he nods his head for you to go in. Your hand shakily wraps around the gold handle and pushes the door open. With your back against the door, you keep it open as you pull the cleaning cart into the room, being extra careful to not scratch up the door frame.

The heavy door closes behind you once you’re completely in and there is so much to take in.

The living room is very low-lit, only a lamp in the corner of the room was on and the velvety red curtains kept out all the sun from coming in. The stillness of the room kept you on edge, you don’t see Elvis anywhere to give you instructions of where to start made you keep scanning the room for a sign of life. The room looked like a tornado had struck here as you look down at your feet with plates and various alcohol bottles scattered around. There was a black grand piano by the windows and a large mirror by the the door that connected to the next room you presume.

Something else catches your attention; the way the suite smelled. God, it was the most intoxicating smell that you had ever stumbled upon. Something about it was comforting and refreshing all at the same time. You wished you could put this in a bottle and take it home to make your house smell this good. It almost made you want to lay down and take a nap right here, making you engulfed with it.

“About time you showed up,” a gruff, deep voice says in the corner of the room. Your head snaps back to where the lamp is and you see a tall man dressed in black velvet with a white shirt under his jacket buttoned down to the middle of his torso, exposing his white skin and sunglasses on, blocking his eyes. You swallow harshly and make yourself focus on the task at hand rather than obsessing over how good this place smells.

You clear your throat and make your way to him in the corner of the room, “I’m very sorry to keep you waiting Mr. Presley. My name is y/n, I’m your new housekeeper.” You say timidly, placing out your hand in front of you to shake his. He looks down at your hand, and even though you can’t see his eyes that well, you know he’s looking at you in disgust. You quickly retract it and put it at your side, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt nervously.

“Umm, where would you like me to start cleaning?” You ask, your voice upbeat and trying to hide the fact of feeling like this is rejection in some form.

“Where do you think,” he snaps coldly. Being this close to him, his size of stature looms over you and makes you feel incredibly small. Like he could crush you by just looking at you. Your heart starts to beat faster by that thought and you take some steps back.

“Okay, no problem. Do you mind if I open the drapes so I can see what I’m cleaning?” You ask with a smile.

“I don’t care, just get it done,” he says coldly. You quickly turn and go to the window to pull the curtains apart to let the light in. You turn around and you get a better sense of what the state of the room is in. There was so much trash scattered throughout the room and spilled food everywhere. You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself, and your eyes find Elvis sitting on one of the chairs in the opposite corner of the room.

You can’t help but stare at him, his pale white skin beaming against the sunlight shining on him. His gold chains hanging from his neck looked like golden strands of an angel’s hair on him. He sat with his legs spread open and his hand resting at his crotch, the other arm resting lazily off the side of the chair. His stature made you think of a king’s. The way he could command a room without saying anything. He was distractingly attractive and your body wanted to get closer to him. It made no sense of why you felt this way. He hasn’t said more than two sentences to you but you feel like crumbling at his feet. He was better looking in person, pictures could not do him justice and you felt bad for staring, but you’re sure he gets it all the time.

You walk over to your cart and take a trash bag out to start clearing the floor, trying to collect your thoughts and not let yourself be so distracted by him. It feels daunting to clean all of this by yourself but you assure yourself that you can do this. You work your way from the windows back to the front door. The entire time though as you are picking up wet soggy food and used cups, you get a chill that runs through your body and looks over your shoulder to find Elvis staring crater-sized holes into your back. Your heart thumps wildly, something about him made you incredibly nervous. But another part of you liked it. It was awful you shouldn’t be feeling like this! You were engaged for God's sake and can’t have your mind wander like that when a man gives you an ounce of attention.

At least he gives you attention…

After 4 bags of trash, you start to dust and carefully put back all his miscellaneous items back in their place.

“Make sure you make the bathroom spotless,” he directs.

You nod your head at him, “Yes sir, absolutely. Do your other rooms need to be done today?” You say.

“Yes the other rooms need dusting,” he says, “but under no circumstances do you go in my bedroom without my permission. I forbid it.” He says harshly. You feel goosebumps form on your arms as he says this and stares at you from behind the sunglasses.

You swallow and clear your voice, “yes sir. Thank you for letting me know,” you say without your voice wavering.

He follows you to every room you go in and watches you like a hawk. Silently critiquing your every move, waiting for you to make a mistake you presume. He keeps a safe distance away from you most of the time but other times, he gets so close that you could almost bump into him. The closer he is to you, the more suffocating it feels. Suffocating yet alluring. Like you don't want to leave his side. It’s such a strange feeling to have when you’re around someone. You always avert your eyes when you move around him to clean the next area, it’s the only way you could get things done.

The last room is finished and you pile everything on your cart. It only took four hours but you did it. You start pushing the cart towards the door again when the sudden boom of his voice fills the room.

“There’s a bottle underneath the piano,” he grumbles.

Shit, you think to yourself. He's already ticked off.

You quickly make it to the piano and set the bench aside, kneeling down on your knees to crawl underneath. Your eyes scan for the bottle he said was here but you can’t find it. You reach your hand out and crawl on the floor until you hit the curtain and you hear a clank hit the wall. The bottle had rolled under the curtain and was laying flush against the baseboard. The expensive bottle glimmered when you pulled it away from the curtain and it hit the light, revealing a crack down the middle of it.

How the hell did he see this, you think to yourself annoyed. He probably planted this here to test you and you failed perfectly. Probably is going to make a complaint and ask for another housekeeper. Fucking idiot.

You crawl backward out from underneath the piano and stand back up. You quickly turn around and Elvis is standing inches away from you, his breathing heavy. Your body jumps when you see him and gasp at his close proximity, your hands involuntarily squeezing on the bottle, making it shatter in your hands.

You cry out as you feel shards of glass get pierced into your palms. You drop the remnants of the bottle on the floor and watch the glass fall at your feet. Letting out a frustrated groan, you stare at your palms filled with glass as blood starts to quickly leak out of the wounds, the pain stabbing at you over and over.

Elvis makes a frustrated groan and grabs your wrist, squeezing it uncomfortably tight. You gasp again at not only the pressure around your wrist but how cold and disturbingly strong he was.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He barks loudly, sending another chill through your body. You try to back up and the piano keys hit your thigh, making a tumultuous amount of sounds behind you as you try to get free from his grip. Your balance gets wobbly and you place your other hand on the keys to keep yourself from not topping over. The pressure of this only makes the shards of the glass go deeper inside your hand and you cry out loudly again. Your blood smears onto the keys and tears well in your eyes.

“Ahhh! Please, I'm so sorry about this. Let me clean this up,” you cry. You glance over at the other hand he is holding up and see the trails of blood drip drown your arm, his fingers also covered in your crimson blood. Your eyes grow wide and your breathing becomes uneven. So does his. He can't calm down with what you've just done.

“Get the fuck out,” he growls violently, disgust filling his voice. Your body shakes uncontrollably and he quickly lets go of your wrist. Your feet try to scurry away but they feel like jello as you manage to stumble your way to the door. You pick the large shards out of your palm and throw them on the floor. You don’t care about the mess you’ve made you just need to get away from him.

You’re in too much of a panic to grab your cart and reach for the handle of the door, smearing more of your blood in his suite. You push the door open and bolt past the men that have congregated at the door, having heard Elvis’ outbursts. Slamming the back of your hand on the elevator button, the doors quickly open and you rush in, pushing the basement floor and your chest heaves as you watch the doors close.

Your head spins and you feel like you could puke. The wrath that Elvis exhibited was terrifying. He acted like he was a caged animal watching you stand there bleeding. You knew you were going to get called into the office tomorrow morning and get either demoted or just fired.

You turn on the faucet and let the cool water spread over your wounds, wincing at the pain. You pick out the remaining small shards in your hand and go find the first aid kit. You wrap both of your hands with gauze and the bleeding finally stops. Glancing at the clock it’s past 7 o' clock and you don’t know where to go. You assumed your shift was over since he kicked you out but you didn’t want to go home to Daniel that was surely waking up soon to go to work and get a million questions of where you’ve been.

After you calm yourself down, you go to the parking lot and get in your car where you can feel the tears well in your eyes after a terrible day.

You made Elvis incredibly upset. He yelled at you and kicked you out. You couldn't do the one thing you were supposed to do and you bled all over his suite. Your heart jumped into your throat when you thought of what Tanya was going to say to you tomorrow morning. Resting your head on the steering wheel, you let all the tears come pouring out. Sobs and gasps fill the empty car and you try to calm yourself down but it doesn’t work, you’re too upset at your actions and you feel the world collapsing around you.

Suddenly, you get a chill that runs through your body, the same type you got when Elvis was staring at you intensely. You quickly lift your head off the steering wheel and peer out into the dark garage. There’s not a soul there as sirens go off in the distance. You shake your head at yourself, foolishly thinking Elvis would ever come down from the penthouse and check on you and possibly apologize.

You put the key into the ignition and start the car, driving away from the hotel as you prepare yourself for tomorrow’s firing.

•

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bronx-bomber87 · 2 months

Text

Good evening fandom! Welcome to my inaugural mini review post. Holy hell I can’t believe we’re finally here. These probably won’t be as detailed as normal like I mentioned. Mini review is the goal. It’ll be initial thoughts and feelings. Which will be fun cause all the other seasons other than S5 I had ton of time to reflect on moments. These thoughts for S6 could change when I rewatch the season for review purposes this summer. The exciting thing is having those first reactions. That's what these will be.

So you're getting hot off the presses thoughts haha I just watched it couple hours ago. These are thoughts I had while it was happening. With some editing to make it readable ha Want my reactions be as authentic as possible with these. Why I avoid spoilers tbh. Be interested in seeing what everyone else’s are as well. The gif library was an absolute turd so I didn't get to use all the gifs that were made yet. So I made some. Anyways this so friggin exciting to delve into so let’s get started.

6x01 Strike Back

Tim got scruffier from the finale to now-and I’m here for it. Mm. Plus he's in Metro gear. Phew Lord. Something about scruffy Tim gets me going. Adore them riding together automatically after their battle. I truly love it. The little things I continually love with them. Also LOVING the Metro call sign. Yum If this going to be his call sign all season I am about it.

Oh my lord why is her sitting at his desk so squee worthy to me? It’s getting me all in my feels. I love that Lucy can just use his office as her own. So cute using it to steal it for some study time. I love this so very much. Then her asking if they can ride together so he can quiz her? Tim doesn’t hesitate for a moment before saying yes.

Still amazes me we’re in the place with them. The Tim of old would’ve groaned and moaned about such a task. He jumps right on it for her. Ready to help her out. Even though he’s not sure how much it’s gonna do. Clearly very aware Primm is out to get her. That is common knowledge now.

Lucy is right when she says it sucks. That she has to battle this and face possible wild cards.. It isn’t fair when she's earned her spot more than most. Fought and clawed for everything she's done in this department. Definitely more than Nolan... Hey wouldn't be a review if I didn't pot shot Nolan would it? lol I love Tim finding a solution for them. Saying they can take out do the box calls all day. Widen her knowledge a bit on it. Sharpen her skills with odd calls.

I love her grateful smile when she says 'Thank you.' Loves this man. Damnit they’re so cute their banter coming out of his office is on point. Tim saying she learns best when she’s pissed off. I mean if that isn’t her rookie experience with him in a sentence. Lucy saying this feels like she is giving him permission to be an ass. Heh it kinda is no matter what Tim says.

You know he kinda loves being able to make her his boot again in some form. He is going to enjoy himself with this. There is no doubt about it. That's why he's doing that smile of his. Lucy calling him out knowing this man so well. Pointing her finger and all. God I love these idiots so much. Tim trying to tell her just his smile. Uh huh sure it is Tim.... Lucy following after him with a smile of her own. These dopes I've missed them so damn much.

I’m very much loving Tim has not really shaved in 6 weeks ha. The scruffy remains and I’m excited about it. Lucy is starting to question asking Tim to help her. We all know she learns best from that man sitting next to her though. I also always enjoy when she gets to drive. Another micro shift that has changed that I love so much. Her heart eyes when he says Angela’s cop brain is just booting up LOL Loves this goober of man.

Lucy absolutely losing it and going on a rant of epic proportions had me rolling. LOL Massive emotional downward spiral happening here. I’m dying as I watch Tim take it in. God Eric the master of expressions crushing it again. This was a huge one for her holy crap. Nuclear really. Well done Melissa getting all that in with one breath basically. By the time she’s done I’m cackling at Tim’s expression. LMAO Oh my god these two. God I’ve missed them so much it pained me.

Lucy knowing Tim's reply without even looking at him. Just epic married status at this point. Doesn’t even have to look at him or for Tim to say anything. It’s already there because of that crazy good connection they have. How deeply they know one another. It’s so good. Tim being the smart man he is says nothing. Lucy knowing he’s thinking it haha

Lucy coming to conclusion she will do crazy wild card during the day and the manual at night. She will sleep when it's over LOL Tim shaking his head. Knowing there is nothing he can say right now that'll make this better. Or to derail her crazy train of thought. This is like S1/S2 them with the added benefit of them being together now. It’s glorious.

Getting serious Plain Clothes Day vibes from this episode as well. Except this time Lucy light years away from who she was then. Confidently reciting what she’s going to do Tim nodding along. Tim wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t rock her boat a little though. Lucy getting in her head about the crime scene now. Tim isn’t wrong she did tick all the obvious boxes. That the point of today is looking for wild cards. That’s what he wants her to engage that brilliant brain of her's in. It's why he's here.

To zero in on the 'Out of the box thinking'. Poor Lucy spirals out not being able to decide if she wants his help or not. I ADORE Tim telling her it’s ok to not know the answer. Not shaming her in the least just needing her to make a call. God how far we’ve come. Tim pushes her because he knows that is when she learns best. Trying to add a little urgency to her decision making. Unfortunately it backfires. I kinda loved them calling each other by their ranks in this heated exchange.

Lucy is so flustered it’s giving me PCD vibe once again in the best way. The sprinklers turn on and Lucy panics. There’s the wild card….We watch as a bullet leaves this man’s body and enters the storm drain never to be seen again. Lucy being so very disappointed in herself. It’s reminiscent of the disappointment she showed in s1 but only now she's far more experienced. So it hurts much more now….Oh Lucy my heart. You poor thing. Couldn’t have gone more wrong if she tried.

I can’t believe they played clown music upon her entrance.... Beyond cruel but that's cops. Always taking shots when people mess up spectacularly. Tim trying not laugh.... Babe she is spiraling right now maybe don’t lol Poor thing I would be mortified too. I love how both Tim and Lucy smile when they see Wes and the wee one. My heart. She wants Wes's opinion and he just crushes her with logic. Ugh She needs a hug. Bad day for our girl.

Lucy continues to break my heart as they sit in front of the crime scene. She is on the verge of tears. Verge of a breakdown it feels like as well. Killing me softly. Saying she should skip the detectives exam. My girl. Tim doesn't want her to give up. I will say this fight I feel like I would be Tim. Trying to be so supportive it’s come off as agreeing with her she can’t do it. When really he was just trying to be supportive of whatever she wants.

Can't win for losing right now Timothy. She is in a bad way right now. Lucy has some weight to her argument though. if I was her in this moment I would feel the same way. If I’m in a bad headspace I need reassurances. So I can relate to both of them in this fight. It’s not a fun time for either of them. Tim is still learning that emotional depth he needs to have with her in these moments.

Being supportive has worked before so he's not sure why it's backfiring right now. They’re solid but always room to grow beauty of them. Lucy spots someone pull up to crime scene crying. She has them peel out with Tim not really understanding why. Lucy catching her digging through her trash. She ends up getting a confession. Phew Well done Luce.

Oooh this final scene. Oh my damn lord. This is some PRIMO productive angst holy hell. Eric and Melissa came out swinging with it. I knew they were going to have one more scene about it. I just didn't think it would be this explosive. I adore Tim picking up on how short she is with him. Grabbing her by the arm and confronting her. Growth continuous growth for them both continues to show. Love it. Look at Tim being the one to come at this. I’m so proud of him.

Throwing her words from 5x21 somewhat back at her. Saying this isn’t going to work if she isn’t honest with him. Then Lucy really lays into him. Now do I think he purposely undermined her? No I don’t. Not ever. That’s not in his DNA to do that to someone he loves. I was deeply hurt for him when she suggested this. You can see how hurt he is when she says as such. He’s getting emotional and it makes me as well. I just wanna hug him.

Tim as we know is a DEEPLY loyal person. Also one of my main relations to him as a character. To purposely hurt someone they love isn’t fathomable to a loyal person. It's unthinkable. You have to hurt them first. To undermine Lucy would be to hurt her so he would never. To be accused of such by your favorite person? That cut's so insanely deep for him. I haven’t seen him this hurt since the 'Tim Test' line from her in 4x08. I’m legit wounded for him. He is so upset she could think that of him.

Now Lucy might be onto something with the subconscious part. He could’ve done it not realizing what he was doing. Because love isn’t rational. Man is hardwired to protect her and want to keep her safe. So I could see this especially with her psych background. I think this is solid guess at what happened. Now was this the right time to lash out at him for Isabel stuff? I don’t know…

Felt like a low blow when he was already down for the count. She is throwing him daggers with her eyes most of this conversation. Feels like its more than just the UC right now but that's just my guess at this point. Let's not forget she was having UC doubts towards the end of last season.

Now do they need to have these fights and conversations? HELL YES. My god this subject needs to be discussed. Especially with how 5x20-5x21 were. Want to reiterate this is my first impression. I was literally writing this as I experienced their fight for first time. When I rewatch it this summer this could change. My POV could shift. But right now I see a man who only thought he had her back and was raked across the coals in this moment.

So for me right now in this moment I feel like Lucy had pent up frustrations and took it out on Tim. The protective side of me for him isn’t pleased with that tbh. Doesn't mean I love Lucy any less. I adore her so much. You all know that. But my gut leaned towards Tim in this fight. That may be bias idk but it’s how I felt when it was said and done. Tim was very very defensive when she brought up Isabel. Which hasn't happened in awhile. But his emotions were heightened and he was on the defensive before they'd reach the topic of her.

Lucy basically kicked him while he was down and he felt it. I'm not discounting her feelings at all. She is allowed to feel overwhelmed. Has every right to be. She is STRESSED and it is coming out in all kinds of ways. Ways that aren't like her. I think she stewed on this thought the ENTIRE shift and it came out in the worst way. Which also isn't like her. What she did had him defaulting back to old school Tim. Cutting off the conversation before more emotions were to be had or he said something he would regret.

Basically cut the fight off at the knees and walked away. Lucy’s face says it all when he walks away. She wasn’t expecting that. Shocked he just left her like that. Oh Lucy, you wounded him more than once and he retreated HARD. Leaving her standing there wondering what the hell just happened? God this is so good though everyone. This is the type of angst I'm all for. What a way to start the season off hot damn. Hurts so good angst to get us going. I could not be more excited for where we go this season. Feel free to comment on this. Love to chat with you all about this. All uncharted territory for us all. We're in for quite the ride.

~~~

Side notes-non Chenford

Who are these friggin people? They’re insanely ruthless. Like Rosalind level ruthless in how they just dispose of people. Sending two their team out as a distraction to be blown up. Jesus. Then sniping their own guy. They’re smart but cold af. Then killing who I thought was the boss at the end. Shit. Consider me intrigued.

I liked the 6 weeks later. Makes sense need to do a time jump.

Celina being more afraid of Tim than Harper. LOL little does she know they’re basically the same person haha

Poor Aaron wants to be back in the game and can’t be. I agree with Grey he’s not ready even if he thinks he is.

God I love Nyla Harper. Took that mofo out like the complete bad ass she is. Came with repercussions which made me sad for her.

Angela being more excited to see burritos than her husband lmao I love this woman.

Feeling little potential flirty action for Aaron and his therapist.

#Caitlin's Mini Reviews #chenford #S6 #6x01 Strike Back #the rookie 6x01 #otp: doing my job #otp: unless it is #the rookie #tim bradford #lucy chen #tim x lucy #lucy x tim #eric winter #melissa o’neil

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saintsenara · 1 month

Note

What do you think of the trio's post-canon careers? Because recently, something that has really captured my imagination has been the idea of healer Ron.

The profession, of course, most often crops up in Dramione fic where Hermione has taken up at St. Mungo's (laughable-- this is a girl who needed Harry to unstopper the dittany because her hands were shaking so bad, and frankly, I shudder to think of her bedside manner) but it is predictably absent when veering off the canon course with Ron. This is such a shame because his willow wand is outright good for healing magic (and it is a fairly uncommon combination that he has! The only other person with a willow and unicorn wand, fascinatingly enough, is Lily Potter.)

Ron is also the only person who's canonically interested in healing as a profession (he's immersed in the leaflet for it at breakfast.) He remembers the spattergroit incident from OOTP and then uses it as a cover story in DH. In Half-blood Prince, he takes the exact same classes Harry does, which means he has the grades required to go into auror training, yes, but they are coincidentally the same requirements a student needs to meet in order to apply to be a healer. (On that note: Ron and Harry were clearly high academic achievers and the fanon assertion otherwise needs to be beat back with hammers.)

But the reason why I think healer ron would've been a cracker of a route to go down is just how refreshing it would've been. The Girl of the team, the gang, the trio, being the Healer and Caretaker is such a TRITE trope at this point. DADA Professor Harry is a classic, but this is my case for Healer Ron deserving to be up there. Send his ass back to Hogwarts again if you have to (Hermione will definitely be pleased). Have him intern with Madam Pomfrey for a year and then grumble behind Neville while he takes notes on medicinal herbs. Healer Weasley, who's a big hit in the paediatrics ward because he makes the kids laugh. Who flirts with the oldies and plays chess with the curmudgeons. Who just cares, more than anything, and will bring you a cup of tea no matter the hour, no questions asked. I really do think he's got the disposition for it. What do you reckon?

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

i am immediately compelled by the concept of ron-versus-wizarding-medicine. because, certainly, i never see him as someone who stays in the auror office long-term - i think it makes sense for him immediately post-war, especially when he will undoubtedly just want to keep busy and hunt down baddies as a reaction to fred's death, but i think he only stays in the role after this initial burst of vengeance until he feels comfortably leaving harry in a high-risk situation on his own.

because, of course, ron's vibe with everything he touches in canon is influenced by the fact that he's someone predisposed to being caring [right down, as you say, to his wand]. the bit in prisoner of azkaban when he offers to make a cup of tea while hagrid's in hysterics about buckbeak's death sentence is something i find genuinely lovely, for example, and i do think - as you note - that there's something really striking about ron occupying that caring role within the trio which a fanon deviation to trite gender dynamics in which men are stupid and women are nurturing undermines in a supremely tedious way.

i'm not sure, though, that i would back ron in any specialism of healing that could be classed as emergency medicine - he has the vibe of, and i mean this with great affection, the sort of surgeon who habitually leaves sponges behind in patients - but i would back him in specialisms which need to be a bit more holistic or slower in pace. his chess skills - and his good intuition - suggest to me that he'd be a pretty effective diagnostician, and i obviously think he'd have a great bedside manner.

healer ron, then, is going to be at his best, absolutely, in something like paediatrics, which means that i'm going to take your suggestion about him interning with madam pomfrey and run with it to say that ron as hogwarts matron [or whatever the non-gendered version of that term would be] is his ideal career.

think about it! the work's varied and sometimes complicated, but it's not too high-pressure because really serious cases will be sent to st mungo's. the work will frequently relate to things that ron is interested in, like quidditch. and the work will frequently require ron's key talent - being sound - to shine. this is a man who would do an excellent job, i think, of handling mishaps caused by teenagers trying to hex their own acne off, or offering tea and sympathy to the homesick or the recently dumped. i think he'd do a great sex-ed presentation, would manage to charm honeydukes into giving the school its medicinal chocolate at a huge discount, and would be considered a huge legend by the student body for always being willing to certify to the teachers that someone who used a puking pastille to get out of class was actually sick.

as for the other two, i much prefer hermione as a barrister than as a civil-servant - not just because of her temperament but because i think the change she wants to bring to wizarding society is going to be won primarily by her slapping on a wig and gown and being condescending to witnesses.

as for harry, i like to stick to him as an auror. while i have some exceptions, i'm actually really not fond at all of professor potter as a trope - and, even more controversially, i really don't like the concept of professor riddle - largely because teaching is far too sedate for someone who runs on adrenaline as much as harry does.

and - i must be honest - i think the idea of harry as a teacher [or a healer or a quidditch player] often hangs on people feeling uncomfortable with the idea of him as, to all intents and purposes, a police officer. but i quite like taking that in the opposite direction, and playing with harry's canonically black-and-white morality and capacity for self-righteousness to have him - while not a corrupt or sadistic auror - a complacent one. i like the idea of him as someone who thinks that he always applies the law justly and so the law is therefore just, and so on - and the fact that this would allow him to overlook his own childhood lawbreaking is part of that...

#asks answered #asenora meta #golden trio #ron weasley #harry potter #hermione granger #ron would be beloved by all nurses and that tells you all you need to know

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antiodote · 2 years

Text

she can't finish and they fight - part III

warnings: drug/alcohol abuse, mention of purging, slight mentions of sexual activity (but not really)

"fuck you, harry."

part I & II

+++

she had slept in her car that night.

more specifically, she had parked in her gym’s parking lot and fell asleep in her car. her idea? get to the gym at 6 in the morning, run for an hour straight at an ungodly speed that might make her sick, shower and scrub her body so thoroughly that it hurt, get ready in the bathroom of said gym and arrive at work bright and early as if nothing ever happened. she even thought about getting some iced coffee on the way. you know, as a treat.

she also felt numb. so, so numb.

after she had left home - no, harry’s place - she wondered if all of it was a nightmare. some sort of hallucination that manifested itself into her brain after 6 weeks of straight malnourishment and sleep deprivation. never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that he would ever speak to her in that way or do something like that to her; question her trust like that. she asked herself if she even knew who he was or if the last four years had been a lie, but somewhere between taking an impossibly hot shower and slapping tons of concealer under her eyes in an attempt to cover her dark circles, she had decided to not think about it for as long as she possibly could. she just wouldn’t think about it, wouldn’t talk to anyone about it and she definitely, definitely, definitely wasn’t going to face him anytime soon.

and so, she arrived at work at 8:54 am, ready to get some work done and pretend that everything was as it should be. fortunately for her, it seemed to work out - for most of the day, that is.

she had greeted some co-workers, wrote down a list of to-do’s for the day, checked off those to-do’s one by one, had some coffee, ate some lettuce wraps for lunch and threw up said lettuce wraps, returned to drinking coffee and nothing but. with a few meetings here and there, some office gossip and a pile of work later, her work day was finished. she found herself wishing that she could be stuck in that loop for the rest of her life - or at least for another few hours - so she could escape the reality of things for just a tiny bit longer. things don’t seem to go to plan for her lately.

“you’re leaving early? is it christmas already?”

she turned around to find tony, one of her coworkers, looking at her with an expression that indicated humour. she wasn’t really up for humour right now, but she also didn’t want to seem any more off than she probably already did. so, she forced a chuckle and answered.

“well, technically, I’m not leaving early. I just finished my work on time and don’t really feel like staying longer today, honestly.”

“so compared to your usual hours, you’re still leaving early.”

she looked at him with a frozen smile that didn’t reach her eyes. she hated when people - no, men - repeated her exact words back to her as if she were stupid. she hated it with a passion. harry never spoke to her like that. she should tell him all about it once she gets home, she thought.

as she realised that she couldn’t do that, she quickly turned away from tony to resume packing her bag.

“I suppose you’re right, tony. what can I do for you?”

he hoped her tone indicated her lack of interest in their conversation. she truly desired nothing more than to get out of this office and figure out her plan for the next few days.

“some of us wanted to get some drinks at this bar down the street. you know, the one that does trivia on wednesday nights? would you like to join us? you can tell your boyfriend to come!”

every single part of those sentences made her feel woozy. the idea of having drinks with her coworkers was absolutely atrocious; she couldn’t physically think of something that she would’ve liked to do less at that moment. however, the mention of him made her suddenly want something to drown out her thoughts with. she usually never resorted to alcohol, but the burn of some heavy liquor in her throat would for sure help her out, at least for now. she needed to feel something. so, without giving it much more thought, she turned around, smiled, and almost robotically replied.

“sure, I’d love to come. thanks for the invite! I’ll ask if he can make it.”

+++

8pm arrived and y/n was piss drunk.

when they arrived at the bar her coworkers ordered a round of different dishes for the table while she immediately went for the drinks. beer wasn’t her favourite, so vodka would suffice. one drink turned into two, two turned into four and before she realised, she found herself 7 drinks deep into her own abyssal torment. none of her coworkers seemed to notice, either because they lacked interest or she was too good at hiding her intoxication. she barely spoke at the table, anyway.

“so, y/n! where is that lovely boyfriend of yours? we haven’t seen him since last year’s christmas party. he was fun!” one of her older coworkers, maude, chirped.

y/n looked up from her drink, slightly disoriented at first. she kept forgetting that the outside world wasn’t aware of how her life crumbled into pieces at her feet.

act normal. act normal. act normal.

“oh, he’s been pretty busy. you know, with his music and stuff. I’m sorry he couldn’t make it tonight.” she replied. funny how she didn’t even know where he was, right now.

“oh, that’s a shame. make sure to bring him around again soon! he did a whole coffee run when he visited you last time. even paid for my extra pumps of hazelnut syrup, the ol’ charmer.” maude giggled. y/n forgot how older ladies seemed to adore him. then again, everyone did.

she also did.

in an attempt to seem flattered, she shook her head with a smile on her face. she couldn’t possibly have any of them suspect anything. the last thing she needed was to be the subject of infuriating office chitchat. luckily, she found it quite easy to keep up fake conversation and with that, fake emotion. she truly didn’t care for the people she worked with. a job was a job, nothing more. sure, she loved what she did, but it didn’t change the fact that her job wasn’t her life, or at least, shouldn’t be. she barely cared about her boss, but she did care about the money. a lot.

for all she cared, she was going to keep up the lie for as long as she had to, and she was fine with that. but maybe, just maybe, it gave her an excuse to pretend that everything was still okay between her and harry. she might as well treat her workplace as an alternate reality; a parallel universe where she could still go home to her lover and had never been kicked out of her own home. a home she helped to build with all the love she possessed in her heart.

oh, what a waste of love, she thought.

“y/n, are you still with us?”

“huh? what?”

people laughed. her eyebrows furrowed. she glanced around. she was confused. she felt embarrassed.

“oh, darling, maybe cut back on those drinks you’ve been chugging! I mean, I know you’re a heavyweight and it’s the weekend, but you just totally spaced out on us!“ lena - a younger coworker of hers - said, giggling her way through her remark.

“oh god, sorry. it’s been a long week, you know how it is.” she tried to go along with the joke, while truthfully feeling mortified for letting her guard down. “what were you saying?”

she honestly couldn’t care less.

“oh, we were just talking about potentially making this a regular thing! you know, to strengthen team morale and all.”

she smiled. there was no way in hell.

“sure! sounds fun.”

they nodded in agreement, believing her made-up enthusiasm. maybe she should’ve gone to acting school with how believable her act was. or they might just not care about her, just like she doesn’t care about them. they definitely didn’t care enough to ask.

the question was: who did care about her?

her coworkers don’t seem to do so. she’d barely seen any of her friends for a long while now. she hadn’t spoken to her family in what felt like forever.

she always thought that harry cared.

harry. oh, harry.

harry. harry. harry.

she suddenly rose up from her seat, pulling everyone’s eyes in her direction.

“I’m gonna use the restroom.”

and gone she was.

her heart was beating unbelievably fast. she wasn’t feeling good, at all. maybe the alcohol did take a toll on her.

without checking her surroundings, she almost bolted to the restroom. as soon as she entered, she picked one of the empty stalls and found purchase on the sticky floor, almost dramatically sliding down along the closed door. she needed to breathe. her head hung low between her bent knees, her hands clasping around her ears. with her eyes screwed shut and her hearing now impacted, she was now robbed of most of her senses, grounding her somewhat. ‘please, please, please’ was chanted in her head like a mantra; she couldn’t lose her composure like this, anything else was not as important at this moment.

“everything okay in there? should I get someone?”

her head shot up. fuck.

her breathing must’ve been heavy or maybe the words she repeated weren’t as quiet as she thought. she wasn’t sure who was behind the door, but she wasn’t strong enough to face them.

“uh, I’m okay! thanks for asking.”

silence.

“y/n? is that you?”

wait, what? she knew that voice.

she got up to open the door and was suddenly faced with a very familiar face.

“jane?”

+++

harry doesn’t remember the last time he felt so hollow. with every moment that passed, he felt more and more like he was drowning. like he was making a terrible, terrible mistake.

the last thing she had said to him before she went to pack a bag was ‘fuck you, harry.’ and truthfully, at first, he was angry. angry at how they argued, angry at her for leaving, angry at himself for not asking her to stay. it was a little later though, right after the door slammed shut behind her that he realised he couldn’t have asked her to stay when he was the one who told her to leave.

and then it dawned on him. he told her to leave. he kicked her out. in the middle of the night. in a city where he himself had been robbed at knifepoint not too long ago.

the panic kicked in soon after.

so, he called. and called. and called.

but she never answered.

after the 30th call, her phone went straight to voicemail. that was when harry really started freaking out.

where did she go? was she safe? what if something happened? harry wouldn’t forgive himself if something were to have happened.

he bit and chewed on his fingers until they bled. he didn’t sleep. his mind and soul were surrounded by an image of her in danger. in pain. hurt.

though, he hurt her that night.

he was the one who put her in that situation. he hurt her. why the fuck did he do that? why the actual fuck did he do that?

when the panic passed, the self-loathing soon followed. he didn’t understand how things were so quick to turn around when they were more than okay a mere few weeks ago. he treated her like she was disposable and he doesn’t think he will ever forgive himself for it.

when the hatred for himself outweighed the worry he had for her, he resorted to pills to find slumber that night. the sleep was terrible, but it was better than nothing.

he woke up the next morning, finding himself on his kitchen floor. he must’ve passed out then and there. he checked the clock just above the fridge. the time was 9:15 AM. if she was okay, she must be at work. he could go there to check on her, see if her car was there. but, then again, he felt like he was the last person she wanted around her at this moment. if she was even alive, that is.

his rationality came back to him somewhere after 11 in the morning, just after his shower. she was a strong and capable woman, she was probably fine. she had to be, or he was never going to be fine again.

he went back to the kitchen to fetch himself some water for his run. if there was one thing that helped him, it was running for miles and miles and miles ahead and drowning out his surroundings with music through his headphones. as he opened the fridge he was faced with a bowl that was filled with cubes of fruit. the bowl was shaped like a lemon and had the colour to go with it. he remembers how y/n had picked it out online, gushing over how cute and fitting it is.

‘you always sing about fruit! might as well have a lemon-shaped bowl, if you ask me.’

he remembers how he had chuckled in response, pulled her in for a kiss on her temple, and replied ‘whatever you want, love.’

why do those days feel so far away now?

he looked all around the kitchen and observed how every nook and cranny of this house had pieces of her littered all over it. the kitchen clock; a soft yellow one with slender, roman numbering on it - she chose it. the light pink cabinets - she painted them. actually, they painted them together and made sweet love on that very floor when they were finished. every piece of decoration - she had collected them whenever they had travelled. he particularly took notice of a framed picture right next to the sink. a moment captured when they made fresh pasta at his mother’s house when they were there for her birthday, two years ago. he remembered the moment so, so vividly.

‘harry, for goodness’ sake! you’re making a mess!’

she was the one who rolled out the dough by hand, since harry had previously dropped the pasta maker on the floor, resulting in its break. feeling a little useless, he wanted to do whatever he could to make her laugh. so, he did what any child would do: poured flour over them. first, her nose. then, her cheeks. shortly after, her head. and when she was sick of him, she grabbed the packet from his grasp and poured every last bit over him. her glimmering eyes looked straight at his playful ones. she bit her lips, in order to deny him the satisfaction of a laugh, and he looked just about ready to burst at the seams.

in that moment, his sister quietly took a picture, making sure to get it back to them for one of their birthdays. when she was done, she clapped her hands to gain their attention, and suddenly they stood there like deers caught in headlights.

then, laughter erupted. loud, hearty, full laughter.

harry had to physically shake his head to lose the memory. when a sudden sickness overcame him, he found himself emptying the contents of his stomach right into said sink. was this kind of behaviour normal after a breakup? he didn’t know.

breakup. breakup. breakup.

the word swam around his vision, making him want to gauge his own eyes out. were they broken up, now? could she ever forgive him? then again, could he forgive her for lying to him? his mind was swarmed with all sorts of questions that he had no way of finding an answer to, at least not anytime soon.

he needed to go on that run.

so, he did. and ever so conveniently, he ran by her workplace. low and behold, her car was there, unscathed. relief flooded him, but so did dread. because if she was at work, that meant she was fine. which also meant that she didn’t pick up his calls on purpose. she didn’t want to talk to him.

good. maybe they shouldn’t talk for a while. whatever.

he ran back home and didn’t leave the house for the remaining day.

+++

jane was y/n’s lifelong friend. they went to high school together and were usually inseparable. however, with both of their schedules being as crazy as they were, they rarely saw each other these days. when jane saw the state of her in that bathroom stall, she paid for her tab and drove her home. y/n didn’t say much in that time, still in a state of sensory overload. it was only when she saw how they were approaching harry’s driveway that she spoke.

“we can’t go there.”

jane whipped her head towards the passenger seat. “what do you mean, petal?”

y/n stared straight ahead. “we can’t go to harry’s place. can I stay with you tonight? I’ll explain everything.”

jane looked at her for a few beats longer, worry etched deep into her features, until she turned her car around and drove to her own apartment. just over 30 minutes later, they arrived.

y/n soon realised how drunk she truly was, especially when the glare of the white lightbulbs in jane’s bathroom made her head throb and her guts churn. she ended up leaning above the toilet bowl in an attempt to empty the contents of her stomach, however, her attempt was in vain; nothing left her stomach. and yet, she felt so empty.

she wished that she had shouted at harry, maybe even slap him across his annoyingly pretty face. she wished she had done something to stop him from doing what he did. but alas, just like nothing left her now, nothing left her then. she was always so perfectly contained. harry had even told her on multiple occasions that she needed to let loose, even if it was just a little bit. he was good at helping her with that. she always felt so unbothered and carefree in his presence.

oh, harry. what have you done?

“god, harry. you fucking idiot.”

the first sob of the night left her. then came the second. the third quickly followed. all of a sudden, she found herself crying in agony over her best friend’s toilet.

“y/n, you okay?? can I come in?” jane called from the other side of the door, but y/n didn’t hear. the echo of her cries within the toilet bowl was too loud for her to be aware of her surroundings. thus, a very worried-looking jane came bursting through the door. as she found y/n in literal shambles across the bathroom floor, she couldn’t help but choke up herself. she’d never seen her like this, and it truly broke her heart.

“hey, hey pretty girl, it’s alright. I’m here, good god, I’m here. let it all out.”

jane ended up cradling y/n, almost like you would calm a crying baby, and y/n didn’t realise how much she truly needed it. however, she still didn’t dare to speak. she feared that, once she recalled the events out loud, they would become reality. she wasn’t ready for that to happen, not yet. maybe not ever, but definitely not now.

so she cried and cried and cried until there was nothing left to give. jane and her wordlessly went to bed that night, bundled up in blankets to keep out the cold.

y/n feared she might never feel normal again, if she even knew what that was. she felt like harry completed her, and that scared her to death.

when she woke up the next day, she finally threw up. with the vodka finally out of her system and her stomach basically cleansed, she felt a lot better than she thought she would. the headache was manageable and the nausea came and went. she could survive this.

she didn’t know about the rest of her circumstances, though.

whenever the thought of him popped into her head, she did whatever she could to distract herself. first thing in the morning? she showered after her journey to the toilet bowl. after the shower? extensive skincare. when she saw her tired expression in the mirror? left the bathroom to borrow some of jane’s clothes. eventually, she had run out of distractions in the bedroom, so she escaped to the kitchen. when she started preparing breakfast and turned up the radio just a touch, she was reminded of him, again. soon enough, she realised that everything reminded her of him, and there was nothing she could do about it. would be too easy, right?

for the first time in a while, she felt vulnerable. raw. like there was no skin over her pain and a gust of wind could make it bleed.

the realisation knocked the air out of her for just a moment, but it was enough for her to turn the stove off and sit down. she felt as if she had just run up the stairs, in fear that somebody was chasing her. she felt out of breath, disoriented and weirded out. maybe she should go to that doctor to talk about her anxiety, harry had always-

“hey, you! making some breakfast? how kind.” jane chimed, bright and chipper, ripping y/n out of her thoughts. she caught her gaze, offering a smile. “oh, I was just up early today. the eggs are probably burnt, though. just a heads up.”

jane nodded and went straight to her bag of toaster waffles and popped one of them into her mouth. a quick turn later, she faced y/n with an apologetic expression. as much as she wanted to grant y/n her bit of privacy, she needed to know what happened. before jane could open her mouth, y/n spoke. she spoke and spoke and spoke, retelling the whole thing, from the moment she felt overwhelmed at work, right up to the point where harry kicked her out. this was the second day she wasn’t at his place, refusing to refer to it as ‘home’, and everything still felt awfully unreal. jane listened and listened until she snapped.

“hold on, what? you slept in your damn car? why didn’t you call me? y/n, that was so unsafe, dear god!”

she was pacing up and down her lengthy kitchen, trying to wrap her head around how her best friend’s picture-perfect relationship went to shit without anybody else noticing.

“I know, jane, I know, but I wasn’t really thinking and I didn’t want to bother anyone. the two of us have barely spoken lately, and-“

“as if that matters! y/n, you’re my best friend, okay? my ride or die. it doesn’t matter if I see you once a week or once a year, I am the person you tell these things to, okay? I’m the person you ask for help!”

y/n didn’t answer, shame clouding her senses. instead, her gaze turned downwards and she started picking her nails.

“you’re staying with me until we figure this out, okay? I don’t want to hear shit.”

when y/n didn’t answer, jane physically forced her to look at her by nudging her hand under her chin and gently dragging it upwards. “got it, petal?”

y/n nodded.

“wonderful! oh, and if I see harry, just know I’m gonna beat the shit out of him. lord knows he deserved it-“

“you will not, okay?”

jane looked at y/n as if she had grown a third head. confusedly, she goes: “wait, are you planning to forgive him, or something?”

y/n became frustrated. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do yet, okay? I just don’t know. I can’t face him for a bit, but I can’t tell you what’ll happen afterwards. please don’t hurt him, I know that you actually would.”

jane listened, processed, and nodded. she didn’t want to cause her any more emotional turmoil.

“okay, dude. whatever you say. now, let’s plan this sleepover of ours!”

+++

it’d been seven days since harry had last seen her. with every day that had passed, his emotions spiralled.

his first phase: hatred.

he hated her. he hated her boss, her work, her mindset. he hated all of the things he could blame for their fallout, thus also hating himself. he hated himself so much that he couldn’t bare to look at himself. when he wasn’t excessively punching things in his at-home gym, he got high and broke stuff. he called her and spoke spiteful things onto her voicemail. he cried angry tears and listened to angry, devastating music.

the music triggered the second phase: sorrow.

he cried and cried and cried, especially to sad coldplay songs or the old records that his stepfather used to collect. the crying made him tired, so he slept a lot during this phase. though, as soon as he woke up, he’d be crying again.

when the crying stopped, the depression came.

heaviness shaped his form. his feet felt too heavy to lift, thus his bed became his permanent residence for a bit. his mind was hazy and everything he attempted to do sucked every last bit of energy out of him, resulting in a permanent state of exhaustion.

his empty bed triggered his longest phase: loneliness.

he missed her. so fucking much.

he missed her smell. her peaceful, sleeping state. he missed how she would always have to collect individual hairs off of their covers because her hair just shed in heaps during her slumber. he missed how she’d look up at him when the first few moments of consciousness kissed her in the morning. he missed how he could lay his head on her soft chest and listen to her steady heartbeat. he missed how she would sometimes lovingly grab him by the jaw and pull him down to kiss his forehead. he missed how she used to make him coffee in the morning and he’d eat her out on the kitchen table to say thank you. he missed her body, every mark and every freckle. he missed her voice and wished he’d recorded it at some point. he missed the way she’d hug him from every angle. he missed how she could talk to him for hours about anything. he missed making love to her.

he missed being able to love her.

he feared that she was gone now. far, far away from his reach. he had to make peace with it, though. right?

thus he welcomed his current phase: apathy.

he didn’t care anymore; he wasn’t going to get her back. he’d fucked up too bad, so he resorted to resenting her for her mistakes. the negative emotions that were previously directed towards him only were now evenly distributed amongst her, him, their situation and the world. he didn’t want to talk to anyone, reach out to anyone, or even acknowledge his feelings in any way. as he cleaned up his house from the shards and pieces of the the things he had destroyed, he found a weird sense of serenity in the acceptance of his downfall. all was lost now, what else could go wrong?

then, his phone rang.

he checked. it was sarah.

he wasn’t going to pick up, but she’d called him a few times now. he didn’t want to worry her, so he finally picked up.

“hello?”

a sigh of relief left her.

“goodness, harry, where were you? I’ve been trying to reach you for ages! look, some things need to be picked up for the rehearsal dinner on tuesday. could you maybe handle it? I wouldn’t ask you but mitch and I have been super busy with everything else. pleeaasee?”

harry’s brows furrowed. rehearsal dinner?

then, he remembered. the fucking wedding.

mitch and sarah had been officially married for over a year, yet they never had a proper celebration due to obvious restrictions. and honestly, he’d completely forgotten about it within the last few days. a wedding for his best friends, which she was also supposed to attend. how on earth could he make this right?

“oh! and tell y/n to call me back, please! I’ve been meaning to talk to her about the dresses for the bridesmaids, but her phone is dead or something.”

without missing a beat, harry replied. “yeah, sure. I’ll tell her. also, send me what you need picked up and I’ll get it to you.”

if there was one thing harry and y/n had in common, it was this: they would always put other people’s needs above their own, especially if it concerned their loved ones. there was no way in hell he would make one of his best friends worry about him when her wedding was just around the corner. he’ll pretend if he had to. but he was not going to fuck this up for them.

“oh, you’re an angel! I’ll send you all the details, thank you! I have to go now but give y/n a kiss from me, please. love you! see you later! bye!”

the phone beeped until inevitable silence.

right, so he had to hope that y/n would attend the wedding. no, he had to be sure that she would be there. not only that; he had to hope that she would agree to act normal around their friends, for now.

harry needed to find a way to reach her. he might’ve fucked up his own relationship, but he was not going to spoil his friend’s wedding.

wonderful. what could go wrong? except for absolutely everything?

+++

5.1k, not proofread (whoops), lowercase intended

PART THREE IS HERE HELLOOOOO

thank you for your patience !! i know it’s been a long time coming. parts of this were kind of hard to write for me, so excuse any ill worded sentences, please <3

i hope you enjoy this one! as always, all the love xx

-ve !!

#harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles concept #harry styles au #harry styles drabble #harry styles writing #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic #harry styles blurb #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles series #i was feeling very down while writing this and i hope it shows <3 #antiodote #he's writing!#harry styles smut #harry styles soft

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ashwhowrites · 11 months

Note

i’ve had this idea for the longest time but i don’t have the time or skills to write it well>:(

bratty!eddie being jealous of reader being friends with steve. maybe they’re having a game/movie night with friends or even just baking together and steve does something particularly flirty and eddie tries to stand his ground and show that it’s upset him but it manifests in a childish sort of tantrum. (yk, as the lil mf does lmfao) and reader is a little upset with eddie until steve makes an unkind comment about eddie’s reaction, and she’s suddenly defending eddie w her life, cause no one talks about /her/ boy

tldr; i have mommy issues and i projected it onto you. i am so sorry

If there is anyone who loves someone that's got Mommy issues, it's definitely me. Don't feel sorry about projecting it on me ;)

Bratty Eddie is my baby so I'll definitely write it <3

Eddie didn't mind that Y/N had friends...well he did but he wouldn't say that. He wanted to be the only focus her attention was set on. But he understood that isn't always possible. She had a job, she had coworkers, and she had a life outside of Eddie. He didn't relate to that. He breathed her and that was all he needed. He didn't care to have friends or go to work for hours at a desk job. He wanted all his hours devoted to her.

And when she said she was inviting a work friend over for dinner, he promised to be on his best behavior. She made a list of all the things she needed from the store, sending her sweet boy off to run her errand while she went to work.

Eddie didn't want to let her down, so he accepted the list and ran off to the store. Collecting every item she wrote down, blushing at the little descriptions of what the item would look like. He snuck a few candies that definitely were not on the list.

Once he returned home, he put all the groceries away. He started to get their house together, knowing the cleaning part was his to do during the days that she worked. She wanted it extra clean for the guest. Eddie didn't question the guest. He figured it was a woman she worked with and wanted to make a good impression.

He made sure to shower and tie his hair back. Staying clear of smoking any weed or cigarettes to make the house smell funky. He dug through his closet to find his fancier shirts. Grabbing a dark blue button-up and black jeans.

Eddie was putting on his rings when he heard the front door open. A huge smile on his face as he raced to the living room.

"Mommy!" He cheered excitedly, rushing to give her a kiss.

"Hi, baby. You look handsome as ever" she smiled, pecking his lips.

"Thank you," he said shyly, feeling his cheeks turn red.

"Steve is coming in two hours so I have to start dinner right away. You want to help?" She asked, walking into the kitchen to wash her hands.

But Eddie was stuck on the name. Steve sounded like a boy's name. She invited a man over for dinner?

"um, Steve?" Eddie squeaked out. He didn't want to sound as insecure as he felt. Was Steve attractive? Did he like her? How did they meet?

"Yeah! He works at my office. He's training under me for a position so I invited him over to get to know each other." She shrugged like it was no big deal. But Eddie was going off the walls.

"He's training with you? As in he'll be following you around the whole time at work?" Eddie questioned.

"Yeah, but it's no big deal. I'm all yours." She reminded him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

~~~

Turns out Steve was gorgeous and Eddie hated that. He had a pretty boy smile and charming eyes. Eddie grew more nervous as he saw similarities between him and Steve. Dark hair to go with their dark eyes, both have a nerdy sense of humor, and both have that look of adoration in their eyes when they look at Y/N.

If Y/N was attracted to Eddie, there's a big chance she would be attracted to Steve too.

Eddie pouted all throughout dinner. Listening to Steve's countless stories, all of them making him sound like the most perfect man in the world. Eddie hated the way it made him so insecure.

He hated the way Y/N's eyes followed Steve's every move as he told a story, her attention locked in on him.

Once they finished dinner, Steve offered to help with the dishes.....suck up. Eddie always got to help with the dishes.

But Y/N welcomed the help and both worked on the dishes by the kitchen sink. Eddie watched from the table, well watching Steve more than anything.

He hated the way Steve licked his lips as he watched her. The way Steve's eyes looked like they wanted to devour her, with no care that Eddie was sitting right there.

Eddie's last straw was when Y/N accidentally lost her grip on the plate, plunging into the sink and causing the water to splash all over her white shirt. The red lace bra easily shows itself. And easily catches both of the boy's eyes in the room.

"wow Y/N, wear that just for me?" Steve smirked. Y/N assumed it was a careless joke so she laughed and brushed it off. But Eddie took it as pure disrespect. This guy was disrespecting her, their relationship, and him all at once.

"HEY!" Eddie shouted, hitting the table as he stood up.

Y/N quickly looked over her shoulder at him. Her eyes told him not to do whatever he was going to do. Steve looked at him confused and that pissed Eddie off more.

"You don't talk to her like that! She didn't wear it for you and she never will." Eddie snapped, crossing his arms to seem more intimidating.

"Just a harmless joke, man," Steve said, holding his hands up to show he meant no harm.

"It's not harmless. You are making comments about her body. That's not a body you get to admire! It's mine!" Eddie pouted, losing his intimidation immediately when he stomped his foot.

Y/N let out a big sigh, knowing exactly what an Eddie stomp let to. He was seconds away from a tantrum.

"Baby, let's relax before you get upset." She said softly. Wiping the soap off of her hands before she walked over to him.

She kissed his pouty lips, keeping her voice low as she spoke against his lips, "Head to bed and I'll be right there and we'll talk."

Eddie huffed but accepted her order. Uncrossing his arms and shuffling out of the room.

She took a deep breath when she heard the bedroom door slam hard.

"I'm sorry about that." She apologized, walking back over to Steve.

"Sorry about his little hissy fit? He's like a man-child." Steve snickered

But Y/N didn't find anything funny.

"He was upset and he had a right to be. Your comment shouldn't have been made and especially not in front of my boyfriend. You disrespected him in his own house. And now? You disrespected me by talking about him like that. You can get the hell out of my house." She snapped. Stomping over to the front door and yanking it open.

"Look, it was a joke! I didn't mean to upset anyone" Steve tried to explain.

"Well, you did. We'll talk at the office but right now, please leave" she ordered. And just like Eddie would, Steve followed her order in seconds. Grabbing his jacket as he walked himself out the door.

Before she closed the door she called his name, "And Steve?" He turned around, "If you ever talk about him like that again, I won't hesitate to get your ass fired." Then she slammed the door.

~~~

"Baby?" Eddie turned his head as he heard a soft knock on the bedroom door.

"Open, Mommy," he said, turning his head back to face the wall when she walked in.

She crawled onto the bed, grabbing his small waist as she turned him on his back. His red puppy eyes stare at the ceiling.

"You want to talk about it?" She whispered, moving her hand to undo the bottom buttons of his shirt. Exposing his tummy as she began to draw small circles against the skin.

Eddie hummed at the comfortable feeling.

"I'm sorry I embarrassed you." He whispered, eyes still on the ceiling.

"you didn't, baby. You had every right to put him in his place." She reassured him.

"Why did you send me away then?" He asked, this time looking down at her.

"I wanted you to calm yourself down, that's all," She said, giving him a small smile as she finally was able to make eye contact.

"Not embarrassed of me?" He whispered, his hand moving down to land on hers. Now causing her hand to rest against his stomach.

"Never," she said, moving up to kiss his lips. He kissed her back instantly, loving how safe he felt underneath her touch.

She pulled away and stared at him for a few seconds. Sensing something in his head as he kept looking down at her bra.

"You want to cum on it, don't you?" She laughed. Eddie blushed immediately, she could feel the hand on hers get wet with sweat.

"a little" he squeaked out, hips wiggling when her free hand moved to unbutton his black jeans.

"after all, it is your bra" she teased.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingwicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergent @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93

Bratty Eddie tags

@simping-over-boys-with-trauma @capricornrisingsstuff @somnialol @buginnettesstuff @thegemaqua @skyline4446

@bunnyweasley23 @leahhs-things

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson request #eddie munson angst #eddie munson angst x reader #eddie munson fluff x reader #eddie munson fluff #bratty eddie #bratty eddie x mommy reader #bratty eddie x reader

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lavendermage · 1 year

Text

Lost in Inazuma 7

Characters: Thoma, Kamisato Ayato, Kamisato Ayaka

Genre: Sagau, gender neutral reader

TW: Violence, minor blood, panic attack, threats of self harm (mentioned)

2.3 k words

AN: This is a bit longer than usual, I hope you enjoy it. If you want to be added to the taglist, please interact with this post. There will be 2-3 more chapters.

Your role shifted from general servant to something close to a medic. Maybe ‘healer’ would be more accurate, considering that you had no real training. You had guessed medicinal plants in Teyvat were just much more potent than the world you came from. Maybe they were, but not to the extent you assumed. Apparently you were uncommonly gifted. Your surprisingly effective night-time tea was proof enough.

Injuries were surprisingly common, though thankfully they tended to be minor. A burn, a scrape, various aches and pains. Sometimes a dislocated joint or a broken bone, but those were rarer. Winter was coming, and that meant colds and such. You handled them quickly so the sickness couldn’t spread.

And of course tea for the Kamisatos and Thoma. Ayato had recommended your tea to his sister and now that too was part of your routine. Clove tea for Thoma, a black tea and lavender blend for Ayato, and a cup for Ayaka. She didn’t have persisting health issues, so she allowed you to pick.

She smiled as you entered her office. “What will I be having today?”

“A chai tea from Sumeru.” You place the tray on a low table before kneeling next to the princess. “Any worries you'd like to vent?”

“No. Peace talks are progressing smoothly. One of the shogun’s men even gifted some mochi. I gave them to Thoma though, they were his favorite flavor.”

“What flavor would that be?”

“Black sesame. Maybe you could buy some on your next outing together.” She smiled.

If it was her brother speaking you would have understood it as teasing but she meant it completely genuinely. It didn’t help the blush on your face though. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”

“He seems happier now that you’re here. Not that he was unhappy before, but since you’ve arrived he’s been practically glowing.”

“I doubt it.” You waved off her comment.

“No, seriously!” She grabbed your hand. “Watch his expression when you enter the room to serve his tea. I guarantee you, his eyes will light up!”

“Alright. Speaking of which, I should go perform my duties.”

“Yes. And make sure my brother goes to sleep at a reasonable hour.”

“Of course, Lady Ayaka.” You bowed and left.

You quickly brewed another pot of tea and scurried off to the kitchen. “Thoma!” You called. The clatter of kitchenware stopped as the cooks turned to you.

“He decided to retire early for the night, he’s feeling a bit sick.” The head cook spoke matter of factly.

“How did you get him to stop working?” You asked, disbelieving.

“We threatened to send you to badger him and he went on his own.”

You laughed. “I’m not that scary, am I?”

“One could argue.”

“Really?! Fine. If I’m so scary, I bet none of you want to be treated by me anymore.”

“Please, we’re sorry!” One of the newer cooks cried out.

“I’m kidding, don’t worry. Thoma’s in his room, right?”

The head cook nodded and you were off.

You knocked on his door. “Thoma?” You kept your voice soft to avoid triggering a headache.

“Come in.” Thoma’s tired voice called from inside. He was lying on a tatami mat, his futon pulled to his chin. He kneaded his forehead with his hands.

“How are you feeling?” You knelt next to him and pressed a hand to his face. “You’re hot.”

“I’m what?” His face heated up even more.

“Your forehead’s burning up.”

“Oh.”

“What did you think I meant?”

“Nothing. Please don’t stay so close, you’ll catch it.” He tried to push you away gently.

“Don’t worry about me. Have you ever seen me sick?” You joked. It was true though, you hadn’t caught anything since you arrived in Teyvat. Maybe the microbes here couldn’t work with your biology. There were so many questions you had about these sorts of things but you doubted you could ever find the answer. Especially given the situation with the Shogun.

“No, but…”

“It’s my duty to treat you. Now, here’s your tea.” You poured him a cup and held it to his lips.

He averted his eyes as he drank it.

It took you a second to realize your position, bent over him and close enough to count his eye lashes. “Sorry, I didn’t notice.” You sat up quickly to give him more space.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s getting late, you should probably get to Lord Ayato.”

“But you’re sick and…” You sighed. “I guess I’ll just check in with you tomorrow. Don’t be afraid to call for me if you need me before then.”

“I will, don’t worry about me.”

"Of course I do. It's not like you're quick to ask for help, otherwise I'd have been here earlier."

He smiled sheepishly. "I know, it's really not a big deal though."

"Please, just ask for help." You collected his cup and left.

Next was Ayato. He was always last due to the nature of his treatment. To be fair, he would probably be last even if you didn’t offer him sleep medication. He still scared you a little, despite knowing he wouldn’t hurt you.

“Good evening, commissioner.” You opened the door carefully.

“Good evening.” He raised his head and offered a small smile. “What time is it?”

“About eleven.”

“That late already?” He sighed. “There’s a few more papers that I need to sign…”

“No. You’ll get distracted by more and more work until it’s sunrise.” You objected.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Talking back, are we?”

“I’m sorry sir, I just-”

“Don’t worry, I’m glad to hear you speak your mind, even in my presence.” You noticed the slightest smile on his face and the softness in his eyes you missed before.

“I’ll start brewing the tea then.”

He watched you like a hawk as you worked. You wondered if he blinked.

“There you go. Lots of sugar, the way you like.” You held out the cup but he ignored it, instead fixing his gaze on your mask.

“May I examine your mask?”

“Yes, sir.”

He leaned in closer and ran a finger over one edge. “It’s chipped. How long has it been like this?”

“A week, sir.”

“Did it happen during the… incident?”

You nodded.

He withdrew. “I’ll find a craftsman to fix it for you.”

“You really don’t have to.” You shook your head. “Plus, I wouldn’t be able to cover my face until it was fixed, and that might take awhile.”

“Then I’ll have an artisan make another one.”

“You don’t have to. My current mask still works.”

“Please allow me to do something to mend my mistakes. A nicer room, higher pay, anything you want within reason.”

“I don’t need anything. My room is fine as it is.” Its position allowed you to escape easily if you had to. “And I don’t need more things.” You wouldn’t be able to carry them when you fled.

“There has to be something.”

“There is.” You kept a firm grip on your voice to keep it from shaking. “But you can’t give it to me.”

“I’ll try.” Hope filled his voice.

“Please don’t.” You forced a smile. “I’m happy where I am. I’ll survive.”

“You can hope for more than survival. I won’t pressure you any further, but take my offer into consideration.”

“I will.” You touched the side of the tea cup. “I’ll warm up the milk, otherwise it will be cold.”

“It’s alright. You seem tired. Go rest.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“Could you drink it before I leave? So I can make sure you aren’t distracted by work.” You said it as politely as you could.

“A fair request. I did say I’d respect your wishes.” He drank it and as he drew his cup away you saw a faint smile. “Your teas truly are delightful.”

“Thank you, sir.”

You checked Thoma’s room before going to be. He was shivering. You pulled the blanket up to his neck, surprised he hadn’t woken when you entered. He must be a deep sleeper.

__________________________________________________________________-

You awoke to someone banging on your door. A wave of panic overtook you before you recognized his voice. It took another second to process what he was saying.

“Goldie, Thoma isn’t waking up, please, I’m begging you-”

You jumped to your feet and bolted out the door. The sound of blood in your ears drowned out everything else. You slipped as you rounded the corner. A flash of pain erupted on your leg before you stumbled to your feet and kept running.

Ayaka sat by Thoma, her face wet with tears. Besides her a small lantern dimly lit the small room. “You’re here.”

You didn’t respond to her words as you fell to your knees. You shook his shoulders. “Thoma, wake up.” He didn’t. Of course they’d already checked that. You leaned over his face and pressed a hand to his arteries. No breath tickled your cheek; he wasn’t breathing. His pulse was gone. If you were back home you would be dialing 911. That wasn’t an option here, so you did the next best thing. “Did you send someone to get a doctor?”

“Yes, but it will take at least thirty minutes for him to arrive.”

Not good, not good. “Help me move him to the tatami mat.” Your voice came out much more authoritative than you expected it to, but it succeeded in communicating the urgency of the matter. Ayaka was much stronger than she appeared, easily moving him. You positioned yourself next to him and placed your hands in the middle of his chest. “Trust me.” You said before pushing your full weight into his chest, feeling it give way under you. One. You lifted your hands allowing his chest to expand before pushing again. Two. Again. Three, four. You felt something crack under your hands. Five. The door opened. Six, seven. You hummed under your breath to keep time. Seven, eight. Someone was talking. Nine, ten. Everything faded away except for your counting. Thirty. You lifted his chin and pinched his nose. Two breaths and back to chest compressions.

Your wrists ached but you kept going. How many cycles was it? You weren’t keeping track. All you knew was that you were on the 29th compression and you were going to have to do breaths soon. Thirty and you adjusted his head for compressions. He blinked. He blinked! You could feel his breath on your face and a quick check confirmed his pulse was almost back to normal.

"You're back!" You cupped his face in your hands.

"Goldie?" His eyes were wide with shock.

"Yes?”

He tried to sit up and winced from the pain. You pushed him back down gently.

“Careful, your rib is broken.”

“What’s going on?”

“Your heart stopped. I had to compress it to force it to circulate the blood. Unfortunately I accidentally broke a few ribs. I didn’t expect you to wake up.”

“Was that not your goal?” Ayato’s voice joined the conversation.

“Not really.” You thought about how to explain it in a way he could understand. How advanced was medicine in Tevyat?. “It keeps the blood flowing so parts of the body don’t die. Usually the person doesn’t wake up until they are treated by a doctor.” You looked up at Ayato. “Does that make sense?”

He just stared at you, your mask held in one hand. Shoot.

“Please don’t hurt me.” You held your shaking hands up in surrender. “Just let me go, I promise to never come back. Just don’t tell the shogun.”

Ayato gaze narrowed in on your forearms. They had been exposed when you lifted your hand, revealing branching, purple scars. “How did you get these?”

Before you could answer, Thoma called out from behind you. “They’re bleeding.”

No, no, no. You scrambled to cover the wound. It must be a friction burn from when you slipped.

“There are guards outside.” Ayato started, stepping closed as you moved away. “You are–”

You kicked out with your uninjured leg. “You’re going to hurt me!”

“No, I promise—” He just wanted to calm down so you’d be easier to catch.

“You’re going to send me to her!” Your fingers felt metal. A sword. “I won’t let you.” You held the weapon in front of yourself. It shook, your inexperience showing clearly.

“You’re going to hurt yourself!” Ayaka cried, panic evident in her eyes, a panic shared by everyone in the room.

“I will.” You dropped the edge of the sword to your thigh. “If you come closer I will.”

“We won’t hurt , I swear. Just please let me treat you.” Thoma held out his open hand.

You moved closer and extended your leg to allow him to reach. He touched you carefully, as if you were made of glass. Your blood gleamed gold under the light of the lamp. You dared to look at the Kamisatos. They didn’t look angry, you realized. They looked scared, horrified even.

Ayato interrupted the silence. “Who did this to you?”

“Did what?” You asked softly, your voice raspy from yelling.

“Your scars…”

“The shogun. Her lightning-” You trailed off, unable to continue. “Please don’t turn me in.”

“I have no intention of doing so. As our god, it is our duty to protect you.”

You laughed. “A god? I wouldn’t be here if I was a god.”

“No matter what you think, I’ll find a way to prove it to you.” Thoma said, his hand cautiously drifting closer to you.

“Please stay. We’ll take care of you.” Ayato offered.

“Promise?”

“Yes. I swear on my life that no harm will come to you.” Ayato placed a hand on his chest. “The doctor will come soon, rest in my room while he’s here.”

Masterlist

@0rah-s, @frickfrackanxietyattack

#thoma x y/n #sagau #sagau thoma #ayato x y/n #ayato kamisato #ayato x reader #thoma x you #thoma x reader #genshin ayato #genshin thoma #genshin x reader #sagau impostor au #imposter au #genshin imposter au

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notyour-valentine · 2 years

Text

The Boy in the Window 13 ~ Tommy Shelby x Reader (Series)

Chapter Summary: Tommy, despite his plan, prepares for the worst. So must (Y/N).

Notes: I can almost taste the end...but the end of what? That's the question... I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Here, you can find my [Masterlist] and the [Series Masterlist]

Warning: Canon conforming mention of violence. Smut/ sexual content (18/21+). Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Expect spoilers for Peaky Blinders Season 1-4.

Wordcount: 3413

Part 13

[Previously]

The betting shop looked entirely different by day than it had at night, with sun falling in through the windows, illuminating the dancing dust.

There were no shadows now, constantly creeping up on the milk glass doors, but she was still afraid.

The same hand that had caused her terror the last time she had been here was now the only one ensuring she didn't fall apart.

He had come and told her to come with him to the office and so she had, letting his hand on the small of her back guide her past the tables and the chalkboards all the way to his office at the end of it.

Emma and Charlie had joined, exploring his office curiously.

To her surprise, the boy had never been here before. Then again, why would Tommy Shelby, if given the option, bring their child here? Why would anyone, apart from a last resorts?

Charlie in particular adored the painting of a horse behind his father's desk, while Emma fell in love with the swivel chair.

(Y/N) saw that contraption as an accident waiting to happen and on any other day, she would've told Emma to stop, but today she didn't have the energy.

"Tommy, why am I hear?", She asked.

"Insurance.", He told his desk, not looking up to meet her eyes.

From the paperwork placed at his side, he pulled out several sheets of paper.

"They're already set with the lawyers. Only thing missing's your signature."

"Signature for what?", She asked.

Tommy took a deep breath and walked around the desk, standing so close that the children wouldn't hear.

"If it goes wrong, I don't know how many will be left.", He said, his tone void of all emotion, which made her shudder.

It.

She had heard this ominous it a lot on the last few days.

The great it he had in motion, that apparently could end this vendetta with the Italians, that occupied his mind and body alike, keeping him away during the day and making him get up at ungodly hours during the night.

He didn't explain it to her but she didn't ask either. She didn't need to know more about it than she already did- she knew it was a risk, a gamble.

"How many?", She asked.

"Of us. If it goes south, it'll definitely be me and who knows who else. We'll all be there."

Tommy cleared his throat and handed her some papers.

"What's this?", She asked once more, her eyes glancing over the Shelby letterhead.

"I'll not leave it to the fucking parish to decide what happens to my son.", He said sharply, flipping a few pages over to the final one.

There she could find his own signature, as well as that of the lawyers, and of Mrs. Gray.

One gap remained.

Under it, someone had typed out (Y/N) Hale, née (L/N).

"Everything's sorted. There are people, independent people, who'll know what to do and deal with the paperwork. You can trust them."

"Tommy, are you certain?", She asked.

He gave a quick nod and handed her the pen, his face a mask of stone, with not a muscle betraying him.

(Y/N) stared at the white paper, watching the ink of his signature blur in her vision.

Once this was over, it couldn't be undone and the implications were not lost on her, their weight, the responsibility.

But he was sure, and she couldn't deny him this small fragment of certainty, not when he might very well be going to his death.

Not too long ago, in this very same room, she had feared what would happen to her daughter if she were to die.

It was not a feeling she ever wanted to experience again, nor one she would wish on even her worst enemy if she had one.

His hand found the small of her back as she leaned over and signed the document, shaking as she put the pen aside.

Beside her, Tommy breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

He averted his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning back and pulling her in, so that she had her head resting against his shoulder, his arms holding her in a secure embrace that only made her feel more uncertain.

"We won't need it.", She promised, or prayed- maybe.

His only answer was a kiss to her temple.

They only broke apart when Charlie tugged at her dress.

"Can I get a hug too?", He asked.

Tommy reached down and lifted him up so that he sat on his hip, stroking his hair from his forehead.

"Tomorrow, you'll go on a trip.", He told him, his voice changing to a lighthearted tone the way only parent’s voices could.

"Curly will take you and Emma and (Y/N) on the boat and you'll go to a forest to have a picnic."

"Are we, Mummy?", Emma asked, pushing past the chair to join then.

(Y/N) only nodded.

It involved the Changrettas coming into Small Heath. It involved Arthur and all of the Shelbys in one spot.

And it meant that Tommy wanted her and the children away for the city.

(Y/N) hadn’t even found the ground to argue on and so here they were.

That day, Tommy stayed. He stayed for lunch and after, stayed for tea and dinner, played with the children and bathed Charlie.

Afterwards he went up with her to put them to bed, listening to the stories, and then the song.

She left the room before he did, not wanting to disturb his goodnight to Charlie.

Instead, she went back downstairs and sat down on the sofa, drawing her legs under her.

The room was completely still, and yet her ears ached as if a matching band had been playing for hours.

She could feel the strain from the frantic beating of her heart, not just in her soul like the poets did, but in her chest, the way old people would complain about.

And she was afraid- so deeply afraid.

Tomorrow, she thought, Tommy could be dead.

Tomorrow Charlie could become an orphan.

And then what?

(Y/N) knew she shouldn't feel as daunted as she did. She had lost people before, had buried and mourned them- a mother, a father and sister, a husband and a brother. It was nothing she hadn't done before, nothing she hadn't gotten through before, but the thought of tomorrow was a bottomless pitch black pit, so grim and ghastly it drained any lighty, any last fragment of hope.

What would she do?

He had said there were plans in place, people who'd tell her, who'd guide her and show her but what would she do?

What could she do?

What words were there which she could say to Charlie? To explain?

Would she even be able to say them if she knew?

(Y/N) leaned her forehead against her knees and took a shuddering breath.

The worst part was that it was nothing but a selfish fear, not just for Charlie, but for herself, her own, personal, cowardly, selfish reasons- reasons she had no right to.

And she had no right to the tears that burned on her cheeks either, nor to the way her lip trembled, or how her throat tightened.

She had no right to any of it, but she felt it all the same and she didn't know how to make any of it stop. And she knew it was too late to try.

Somewhere along the way she had crossed the Rubicon without being able to handle the tension as the dice spun, preparing to spell out her fate - and that of the children.

When his hand found her shoulder, she flinched so hard she nearly fell off of the edge of the sofa.

At once, she brought her sleeve up to her eyes, scrubbing at them the way one would scrub at a stain in the desperate attempt to get rid of it.

"I'm fine.", She hissed, getting up from the sofa.

During her escape to the kitchen she made the mistake of glancing at him, only to be met with piercing, pale eyes, opened wide and filled with pain that only proved the agony she felt to be more than appropriate.

(Y/N) braced herself on the kitchen table, leaning forward as she fought for control over her shaking hands, her hitching breaths, her thundering heart and her foolish tears.

It was a futile battle, but she had known that before she started, otherwise she wouldn't have left the room.

"(Y/N)."

He said her name so softly, so gently, it seemed almost uncanny when spoken by a rough voice like his.

She forced her eyes shut and shook her head.

"It's fine.", She assured him, not turning to look at him, only to hear him sigh once more.

When she realised he had moved to stand behind her, she regretted coming here, because now there was no way out unless she wanted to go past him.

That meant looking at him, and allowing him to look at her and that was something she really didn't want to happen, not while the tears were still coming.

She so hated to cry.

His hands found her shoulders.

"I said it's fine.", She repeated, her voice betraying her the same it had before as she wiped her cheeks with her sleeve.

With determination, but entirely without force, he turned her around.

(Y/N) hid her face from his sight with her sleeve- or at least she tried to.

Instead of pulling her hands away, he drew her in until his chin rested atop her head.

She took a shuddering breath, inhaling the scent of him- of his cigarettes and the shaving cream he used, of soap, of whisky and smoke.

His hands found her back and began to draw circles between her shoulder blades. Up and down. Up and down.

"It'll be alright.", He whispered.

(Y/N) was desperate to believe him. She wanted nothing more than to let the tension in her shoulders fall from her, to melt into his embrace and believe him.

But she couldn't.

"You don't know that.", She insisted, her voice trembling through her tears which threatened to soak through his shirt.

Thomas Shelby took a deep breath before correcting himself.

"You and the children will be alright."

The pain in her chest was so sharp at his words, she very nearly buckled over, the implications not lost on her.

"There are things in place-"

She forced her eyes shut and shook her head, not wanting to hear this once again.

So what if he had things in place?

So what if there were people that would tell her where to go and what to do?

All (Y/N) did was shake her head as if that would block out his words and the harsh reality they carried.

In a desperate, futile attempt to draw back, she turned her head away, knowing she wouldn't have the strength of will to pull all of herself out of his reach.

His hand found her cheek, smudging the tears with his fingers as he tried to stroke them away.

“(Y/N).”, he whispered, turning her face to his.

She had forced her eyes shut so she had no warning until she felt his lips on hers. They were as soft and cautious, almost hesitant, as they had been the night of Charlie’s birthday, when he feared her possible rejection.

His hand was still holding her face with such care as if she were a glass figurine he feared would shatter.

She didn’t want him to kiss her and she didn’t want to kiss him back. She didn’t want to melt into him, to drown in the warmth of his embrace, to have the pleasure he could give her wipe away her worries. She doesn’t want to hold him close and be held in equal measure.

But wanting and needing were to very different things.

And she needed him, in the same, burning desperate need he seemed to feel for her.

Her hands found his chest, running up the fabric of his shirt to steady herself against him as she kissed him back.

His hands had left her face and pulled her blouse from her skirt. Even when he began to undo it, button by button, he didn’t stop kissing her.

The warmth of his hands, as they brushed the white cloth off of her shoulders kept any chill at bay, and spread a burning of their own as they found her shoulders.

Her own trembling fingers were far less skilled as they fidgeted with his buttons. He had to help her get rid of it, and broke the kiss to do so.

(Y/N) stared at him.

By now, she knew every mark on his chest, every scar, every tattoo. She knew what they felt like under the touch of her lips and the caress of her hands - she knew, and she hated that she knew.

She hated how used she had become to him, how familiar his skin felt on hers, how natural it felt for his arms to wrap around her.

She hated the way he sat her down on the sofa so gently and how she felt no shame when he knelt down in front of her.

And she hated herself for doing nothing to stop it.

But how could she? This might be the last time…the very last time…

His fingers burned on her skin as they unclasped her stockings, rolling them down gently. When the fabric passed her knee, he leaned down to kiss it.

He repeated it on the other leg, only this time, he pushed them apart and kissed the inside of her knee, finding the spot of one of her childhood scars.

(Y/N) knew it was no accident.

His fingertips traced a line down her leg and the way they barely brushed against her skin made her shudder.

Once he reached her ankle, he closed his hands around it and lifted it atop his shoulder.

“Relax.”, he whispered, his lips redder than they usually wore, flushed and swollen and glistening slightly. “I’ve got you.”

She tried, she really did.

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the back of the sofa, while he continued to trace kisses on the inside of her thigh, the image of his dark eyes and shining lips burning in her memory.

“Tommy!”, she whispered. “Please…”

Nights ago, he had begged her to make him feel better and now she was asking him the very same thing - or at least to make her forget, even if it was only for a moment.

At first it was enough for her to melt into his touch, but as she grew ever more lightheaded, she just had to touch him, in any way she could, to hold onto him, else she feared she’d fall into an abyss of her own.

(Y/N)’s hands shook as they found the back of his head, her fingers coiling in his hair.

Somehow that only seemed to urge him on as he quickened the movements of both his fingers and his tongue. One of his hands pressed down on her already trembling thigh while the other reached up to steady her hips, limiting the way she’d writhe and squirm.

“Tommy-”, she managed to whimper, her voice barely more than a breath, as he brought her right to the edge, but she wasn’t ready, not yet.

“Tommy.”

Only when she tugged at his hair with more force, did he allow her to bring his face up.

In doing so, she almost lost her balance and very nearly crashed into his shoulders.

“(Y/N)?”, he asked, just as out of breath as she was.

Instead of answering, she pulled him in and crashed her lips to his.

If this really was their last night, she wanted to hold him, as close as possible, independent of the many pleasures he could coax from her in other ways.

For a second or two, Tommy seemed struck with her change of pace, but then one arm found its way around her back, pushing her up against him.

Her own hands found his chest, fingers brushing over skin, tracing his scars and the tattoos, all these little details-

A desperation gripped her, urging her to reach out again, to touch them again, to kiss them again, because if she didn’t memorise them now, she could never get the chance again and that would mean forgetting.

Another shudder, a darker shudder ran through her, making her tighten their embrace.

His hand had to force their way between their two bodies in an attempt to undo his trousers, brushing against her burning skin, letting her feel even the slightest of movements.

She buried her head in the crook of his neck, and so he must have felt her faint gasp when he entered her.

He moved slowly, almost painfully so, and in stark contrast to the rush she had felt earlier.

Because as soon as something starts, it is only counting down to the end and this end…

(Y/N)’s fingers dug into his shoulder, her nails biting into his skin as she clung to him.

Every thrust pushed her closer, every thrust brought her closer to him.

The kisses she pressed on the side of his neck were wet frantic, a futile attempt to say things she couldn’t voice.

But the grew ever sloppier, mixed with trembling gasps and shudders.

His own lips covered her collarbone and chest with his hot breath and kisses, and yet their affect transcended her skin, leaving their mark in the depth of her soul, a mark she knew would stay far longer than the remnants of his physical touch.

She clung to him when he brought her to the edge and crossed it, and kept holding onto him even after he had found his own release.

“Not yet.”, she whispered.

His arms tightened around her in response, not caring for the heat, for the coat of sweat that covered the both of them, just like she didn’t.

When (Y/N) dropped her head onto his chest, she trembled, and when she heard him sigh, she realised he knew that this time it wasn’t from either cold or the aftermath of her pleasure.

Tilting his head, he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her head, burying his nose in her hair.

It was the creaking of the floorboard that woke her, the kind of creaks that they only made in her bedroom upstairs.

And she was in her bed, lying on her stomach, her head facing the room.

Since the last thing (Y/N) remembered was forcing her eyes shut to stop any possible tears as she listened to his thundering heartbeat, she knew she hadn’t made her way up here on her own.

And yet, the bed was cold.

She could hear him moving around in the room though, the groan of old wood, the hiss of fabric, even the click of metal cufflinks.

But (Y/N) didn’t open her eyes.

That would mean looking at him and that would mean watching him leave.

The thought alone made her heart clench so fiercely in her chest, her face nearly betrayed her.

The bedframe squeaked slightly as he sat down on the side of the bed, dipping the matrasse.

(Y/N) held her breath. She knew it was a childish thing to do - as if just because she couldn’t see something would prevent it from happening.

That perhaps the adult thing, the right thin, would be opening her eyes and sitting up.

But she couldn’t.

His hand was as warm as the caresses of the summer sun as it touched her naked shoulder.

“(Y/-”

Tommy broke off before finishing her name, instead ending in a sigh.

She could feel the grip of his hand, which had already been gentle, become even softer.

For a moment he just sat there, as her heart thundered in her chest so violently, she thought he must be able to hear it.

But if he did, he didn’t let it change his mind, as his hand smoothed down some tangled strands of her hair.

When he bent down, she could feel the fabric of his shirt against her skin a mere heartbeat before he kissed her temple, letting both his lips and his hands linger.

The bed creaked again, as goosebumps covered her back and arms in the absence of the warmth of his touch.

Her breath hitched when he pulled the blanket all the way up to her neck.

Her hands coiled into the fabric until she could feel her fingernails dig into the palm of her hand even in spite of cloth between them as the lock clicked into place.

But that sound wasn’t nearly as bad as hearing the front door close a few minutes later - proof, that he really was gone.

(Y/N) wouldn’t have gathered the strength of will to get up that day if it hadn’t been for the children, or the way her jaw tightened, giving her mere moments to reach the basin.

End of Part 13

Part 14

Thank you for reading! I’d be very grateful for feedback of any kind!

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#Peaky Blinders #Tommy Shelby #Thomas Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby Imagine #Thomas Shelby Imagine #The Boy in the Window #valentineswritings

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