#it was almost a decent run but i screwed up later

[wordsaresimple-imnot]

Green Dress - Bill Guarnere x F!Reader

Summary: Easy Company hits the town for a much needed night of fun and relaxation in Paris. Reader, who's always in regular military wear and very tomboy, decides to dress up for the night and receives varying reactions from the boys.

Warnings: 18+ content, cursing, oral (f receiving), 1st person female POV (no use of y/n), I think that's it.

A/N: I have the biggest respect for the real life heroes of WWII (and all other wars, past & current), this work & all other works is based on the actor(s) and character(s) portrayed in the Band of Brothers series.

A/N pt2: This is my first time writing any type of explicit sexual scene, let me know what y'all think. As usual likes, comments, and reblogs give me love. Enjoy!!

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

I look at myself in the mirror and can't decide if I like what I see or should call the whole night off and stay in bed. I've styled my hair in a simple design, flowy but still away from my face. Light make-up highlights my eyes, cheeks and lips; just enough to make everything pop without being over the top. My hands run down my dress, picking away invisible lint. It's a deep, gorgeous green that almost shimmers in the light, falling just above my knee in a way that would cause outrage back home but is just this side of acceptable in Paris.

Ah, screw it. Let's have some fun. With a final twirl, I flash myself a smile and excite my hotel room to meet the guys downstairs. I stop briefly at the top of the stairs and look at the group waiting for me. We've been through a lot together; Toccoa, Sobel, jumping (literally) into Normandy, countless battles won and lost, losing fellow brother's, etc. Never once did they make me feel alienated or less than, each providing different facets of friendship and overall making a family.

In a weird way I was nervous to have them see me so feminine and semi dolled up. I've never wore anything other than the standard OD uniforms and was always down for "boy activities" in the down times. I was constantly referred to as "one of the boys" and never really cared until this moment. I was worried my effort would be turned into a joke. Just once I'd like them to see me as an actual woman. Well, at least one of them to anyways.

Just as I started my decent towards them, Luz catches sight of me and gives a loud whistle before beginning to clap. This catches the others attention and pretty soon the lobby is filled with whistles and claps until I reach the bottom of the stairs. I give them all an embarrassed smile, fully aware that my face is burning a deep red and I'm fighting the urge to run back upstairs and hide.

"Lookin' good kid!" Toye comes up and gives me a small kiss on my cheek, smiling as he motions for me to twirl around. I do a small spin, setting off the whistles and claps again.

"Oh, stop you hound dogs." I laugh lightly, waving my hands at them to quiet down.

"You knew a lady was underneath all those clothes and dirt." Luz shoots me a cheeky smile, grabbing my hand and giving it a kiss. I flip him off once he releases my hand, making him laugh. "There she is!"

"Alright let's get out of here, I'm dying for a drink." I start to make my way through the group to the exit. This causes a small, playful scuffle to erupt as some of the guys move towards me to grab my hand and be my escort. In the end Liebgott wins, shooting everyone a smile and me a wink. As we all spill out into the streets in search of the bar, my eyes briefly connect with Bill and I'm left wondering what's caused the frown on his face.

Two hours later, I'm on my fourth beer and loving the buzz I'm feeling. I've just finished another turn around the dance floor, being passed between Tab, Luz, Bull, and even Martin joined for a few beats. Needing to catch my breathe, I settle on a barstool and wait for my water to arrive. Before my water can get there, a few shadows come up to my side. Expecting it to be some of my group, I spin around with a wide smile and am met with three strangers faces.

"Oh, sorry. I thought you were part of my Company." I give a small laugh, slightly embarrassed. The one closest to me just smiles and shakes his head slightly.

"No need to apologize ma'dam, if you'll have us we'd like to keep you company though." His English was nearly perfect, made sweeter by his French accent. What's the harm in a little flirting?

With a soft smile, I extend my hand out to them and give my name. They each take turns telling me theirs and giving my hand a kiss afterwards. While definitely being more flirty than I imagined they'd be, they were pleasant enough to talk to and even made me laugh a few times. When a new song started to play Pierre, the first one to speak to me, asks if I'd like to dance and I agree.

We are halfway through the song, having a really good time, when someone taps Pierre's shoulder. To my shock and confusion, there was Bill. He looks like he is holding himself back from killing Pierre, for what reason I have no clue.

"Mind if I cut in." It was a statement, flat out. No room for but's or giving a raincheck. I see Pierre is ready to go toe to toe with Bill, but that is a fight he'd never win and I don't want the night to turn sour.

I pat Pierre's shoulder and tell him it was alright and I've had a lovely time. He looks skeptical at Bill, but gave me a perfect smile mirroring my sentiments and gave my hand a final kiss as he walks back to his friends. Without wasting anytime, Bill grabs the hand that was just kissed and tugs me flush against him.

It takes a few seconds to get into a comfortable rhythm after that awkward start, whatever the hell that was, but we manage and are soon swaying between the other dancing partners. I was torn between reveling in the feeling of the heat of his hand on my waist and the skin to skin contact of our hands, and how confused and frustrated I am with how he acted.

"I don't know why you did that. Pierre was a nice guy." I speak low enough so the words stay just between us and can't float out to the Easy boys that seem to be watching us with barely concealed interest. They must have witnessed the exchange too.

Bill scoffs and his hand squeezes my waist for a half second. "Pierre. What kinda name is that for a man. Fucking French." I shoot him a small glare.

"Don't be rude. He was a gentleman." Bill rolls his eyes at me then spins me out then back in.

"Gentleman my ass. He was only interested in getting to know you because you're looking like a lady."

His words turn my body into stone and I frown up at him. "Looking like... Fuck you." I rip my hand out his and push him slightly, it doesn't do more than make him shuffle his feet but it's definitely got his attention.

"What the hell is your problem?" His jaw is set and his eyes are burning daggers at me.

"My problem? I don't have a problem. What's your problem? I'm not some dumb little girl that doesn't know what men are like. I know he was flirting with me, hoping for me to go off with him. He wasn't going to get anything, but guess what...I liked the attention! I liked having someone notice that I'm a woman and reminding me that I can be desirable. I'm not just looking like a lady, I am a damn lady you asshole." With a final shove, I turn on my heel and leave the bar before him or anyone else can try and stop me.

I'm halfway down the street, heading to the hotel, when I hear someone jogging behind me. I decide to ignore them and pray it's someone wanting to get someplace fast and not actually coming to talk to me or convince me to come back. Sadly, my prayers are not answered as a hand grabs hold of my elbow spins me around. I'm once again face to face with Bill.

"I don't want to talk to you anymore." I growl out, trying to yank my arm back to no avail.

"You don't gotta talk, just listen. I need to set some things straight." He's using his stern, Sergeant voice, and normally that'd have me blushing but I'm too angry for it to have it's usual effect on me right now.

"No thanks, I've heard enough for the evening." I make another attempt to pull my arm out, but he just pulls me closer and wraps his arms around me arms and waist, pining me against him. All I can do is glare.

Bill scans the sidewalk and road quickly, slightly nodding to himself as he makes some internal decision and lifts me off the ground, walking us a little ways into an alley to our right. We are far enough in that no one can stumble upon us easily but we can still get some of the street light so it's not pitch black.

"What the hell Bill? Have you become a psycho killer?" I push a little away from him, but that only presses me against the alley wall. He uses this to his advantage by taking a step forward, caging me between him and the wall. My brain short circuits a little at being so close to him.

"You're wrong." When he doesn't immediately continue, I raise an eyebrow hoping to encourage him to elaborate. After a few more seconds he continues. "We know you're a lady. The whole damn battalion knows you're a lady. Wearing OD's doesn't hide the shape of your ass when you bend over to help with the car engines or the outline of your breasts when you take your jacket off to cool down. All you have to do is glance around and you'll see the boys drooling all over themselves staring at you." His hand lands on my hip and squeezes. Hard.

I have to take a few deep breathes to steady myself before formulating a response. "If that's true, then what was the big deal about those guys flirting with me tonight?"

"Because they don't know what everyone in the battalion knows. You're my girl. It's one thing to have the boys dance with you or give you compliments, they'd never cross that line or I'd kill 'em. Those French twats wanted to cross that line." I barely registered anything after his declaration: my girl. His girl.

"You're girl?" My words come out in a whisper. Bill's face finally starts to soften and an easy smile starts to spread across his face.

"You really are oblivious. It's the worst kept secret in Easy Company. You drive me fucking crazy, sweetheart. Gorgeous, funny, sweet, and just the right mixture of feminine and tomboy. Everything I've ever dreamed of. And you're wrapped up like a damn present in this dress and I've been dying to get it open all night." By the time he's done speaking his mouth is a hairs breathe away from mine, eyes searching mine for any sign of rejection.

All words have left me so I decide to respond with action and close the distance between us. What starts out as gentle and timid, quickly transforms to rough and frenzied. Bill gives my bottom lip a bite, causing me to gasp and allowing him access into my mouth. I don't bother putting up a fight, I'm putty in his arms and give him full dominance. The hand not squeezing my hip so hard I know there will be some type of bruise, grasps the back of my neck and angles my head to the side to give him better access.

My hands have made their way up his chest, to his shoulders, and finally still with one in his hair and the other at the back of his neck. When the need for air becomes to much for me, I turn my head slightly to the side and break the kiss. Bill's breathing just as heavily as I am, but doesn't stop his assault. He moves my head again and starts trailing kisses up and down my neck, alternating between nips and licks based on my reactions. When he hits a particular sweet spot, I can feel him grin before biting there again hard enough to leave a mark.

"Fuck." I moan out, scratching the back of his neck. "That's gonna be hard to hide." With a final kiss on the new mark, Bill lifts his head to meet my eyes. His eyes are dark with lust and he can't stop smiling.

"That's the point, sweetheart." I roll my eyes at him, but smile back.

"If you get to mark me, I think it's only fair I get to mark you."

"Baby, you can do whatever you want to me. I'm yours." His voice is so deep, it makes my legs shake and I'm instantly happy I have that wall to hold me.

"I think you owe me an apology for what you said to me at the bar before I decide what I wanna do you with you." I mean more as a joke, but he seems to really be thinking about. Before I can reassure him that I'm not upset anymore, he gives me a kiss that has me seeing stars.

Before it leads to another make-out session, Bill breaks away from my mouth, trails kisses down the other side of my neck and then suddenly drops to his knees in front of me.

"What are you doing?" The situation wasn't bad enough to do this.

"I'm apologizing." Bill's eyes are so dark they could pass for solid black and his voice is deep and sensual. My response is cut short as I feel his hands run up my legs, going under my dress and grasp my thighs. With a smirk, he slowly finishes his trek to my underwear and starts pulling them down.

"Bill." I don't know if I say his name to make him stop or because I'm praising him. Either way, I have nothing to follow it up with. He keeps his eyes on me as I shift my feet helping him get my underwear completely off, noticing that he stuffs them in his pocket.

"Just lean back and enjoy baby. Be a good girl and hold this for me." He pushes my dress up to my waist, waiting for me to take hold of it. Good girl, Jesus.

"Sir, yes, sir." I take note of the tightening of his jaw and how his eyes somehow become even darker. There's something to explore later.

Bill grabs hold of my thigh and drapes it over his shoulder, trailing soft kisses on the inside. As he gets closer to my center, he bites and sucks a mark just for us to know about. A small moan escapes and my unoccupied hand lands in his hair. Before the sting has completely faded from his bite, I'm taken over by the sensation of his tongue gliding through my folds.

The only sounds to be heard is our combined groans, my heavy breathing, and his tongue working me like a man starved. His hand not holding my thigh in a death grip, maneuvers around to spread me more open for him and I nearly pass out when he sucks on my clit. I yank on his hair which only seems to spur him on as he starts starts alternating between licking and sucking.

The only words I seem to be able to say is his name and fuck. As my approach to my orgasm comes closer, I'm able to mumble out that I'm close. Bill tabs my thigh to make me look down at him and I nearly cum at the sight.

"Let go, sweetheart. That's an order. Cum. Now." His words, combined with the determined look on his face and a final hard suck on my clit has me falling over the edge chanting his name over and over again.

Bill doesn't let up as my orgasm washes over me, licking and drinking up my release until I start to whimper at the overstimulation. Slowly he places my thigh back on the ground, gently stroking my legs, and tugs my dress back down to cover me again. My hands grip his shoulders as he stands back up and I take in the sight of him. Hair completely wrecked from my fingers, face red from his efforts, breathing heavy and looking like he might drop to knee's to do it all over again.

I grab his jacket and pull him flush against me, kissing him with all the strength I have. He returns the kiss with as much force and pulls my thigh up around his hip, making our hips meet. I moan into the kiss at the feeling of his erection so close to my center and roll my hips to grind against him.

"If you don't stop that, we won't make it back to the hotel." Bill growls between kisses.

"Then you better get us there quickly." I give his lip a quick bite, before a laugh slips out at how fast he starts pulling by the hand back to the sidewalk and towards the hotel.

I think I'll wear this dress more often.

#bill guarnere #bill guarnere x reader #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #hbo war #hbo band of brothers #band of brothers x reader

[aingeal98]

Having Bruce and Cass and the Robins thoughts and they're a bit messy and jumbled so bear with me.

Idk how to explain why the Bruce and Cass messed up but loving dynamic is so much more appealing to me than his toxic relationship with his other kids but I guess it's because the entirety of Batgirl 2000 understands that Bruce is not a perfect parent. His flaws and virtues are both deliberately and carefully written and his relationship with Cass is so layered and it makes it so that I can both laugh and cringe, appreciate the sweet moments and rage at some of his more shitty moves. It's not perfect but overall the writing is just GOOD, and there's enough material to form a solid core of understanding even when their dynamic grows past Cass's solo run. This is Cass and Bruce and this is how they tick and no writer has been able to thoroughly screw that up no matter how hard some of them were pushed to by editorial.

Compare that to how he's written with his other kids, where every writer has their own version and some have him be a perfect dad and others have him be shitty and frame it as "He's got this darkness in him" while another group of writers have him absolutely brutalise his kids or neglect them or gaslight them for angst all while knowing the kids will never receive any sort of narrative justice for this because he's Batman and he's the big flagship hero. There is no single run you can point to and say yes this here showcases the heart of the dynamic between him and Tim or him and Damian, no single run so good that all other comics about their dynamic use it as their basis for this bond between father and child. There is no consistency and no communication or understanding between writers or even an attempt to pick up what the other puts down. Batman comics will have him be a good parent or a bad parent but either way it will be all about Him. Batfamily comics tend to have him just be absolutely awful and then a few months later they have to pretend it never happened because the main bat books want to make him a good parent again.

It's all shock value that rarely lasts past the arc and writer. When Tom Taylor has Dick hug Bruce and call him dad I'm remembering that time Bruce beat him into a bloody pulp or backhanded him across the face and Dick never got to call him out on it. But we're not meant to be thinking about that in Taylor's run because this is a Good Dad Bruce comic. Taylor's Bruce and Dick dynamic is completely different to the New 52 dynamic the same way that dynamic is different to Wolfman's which is different to the original Batman and Robin. And that variety can be a great thing when it comes to comics but the downside here is that you can pick Bruce's "good dad" comics or you can pick his abusive asshole comics but you cannot find the middle ground that Batgirl 2000 hit because (controversial opinion I guess) it doesn't exist for the batboys and no writer has successfully managed to pull all the different comics together and create one.

Fans have tried. Fans have pieced together a decent narrative from the mess of inconsistencies, taking the moments of almost cartoonish abuse and the moments where Bruce is shown to care, and forming the image of a complicated and nuanced abusive parent from it all. But the great thing about Batgirl 2000 is you don't have to do all that effort of trying to make the happy fluffy hero batman and the edgy punches his sons Batman fit into one character. The writing does it and does it in a more realistic fashion too, which is saying something considering the big Bruce and Cass emotional fight is solved by Bruce letting them both get drugged and fight bloodlusted. I do think there are moments when it hypes Bruce's bad parenting up a tiny bit but compared to the absolute mess that is the writing of say, Bruce and Jason? It's just so much easier to actually engage with. Being on the same page as a narrative instead of chafing against it is just a much better way for me to read comics.

That's not to say there isn't any kind of narrative and canon dynamic for Bruce and the Robins. Tim's Robin run, Dick's various runs, UTRH, Batman and Robin etc. Just that for me none of them hit that balance Cass and Bruce's dynamic succeeded in hitting during Batgirl 2000. And to be fair it's harder to hit that balance when you're working with characters who have been through the hands of so many different authors before landing on your doorstop. UTRH probably comes closest but unfortunately everything that came after that did manage to shake the emotional foundation utrh set up to the point you can look back on it and wonder if Bruce cared about Jason much at all, despite the writer clearly not wanting it to be seen that way.

Not sure how much sense this makes but to me it's the difference between a bad parent Bruce I am actually interested in engaging with and a bad parent Bruce where I just want the kids to team up and knock his teeth out.

#dc #cassandra cain #batfam #bruce wayne #dc rambles #This is a very long and very rambley ramble. Sorry if you've made it to the end and are confused #I'm not sure if I had a point or if I was just thinking aloud #And I'm sure others will disagree with me here #But this was mostly me trying to tease through why I can accept comics making Bruce a good dad to Cass #And enjoy it fully. Whereas with the Robin boys I'm like hmm OK #but are you going to address any of the messed up stuff he put them through just last month #“he cares and he's not good at it but he's trying (but jury's still out on how successful his attempts are) " #Vs “he cares and he's good at it PYSCH he needs to be locked up on child abuse charges! Wait jk! it's batman he's a hero don't worry.”

[oryu404]

Alrighty guys. I know a lot of us had hoped for Rei to get a cat at the end. It's obvious he has a soft spot for them, he deserves the world, give that man his cat, am I right? And there have to be plenty of strays where they live, too. A food establishment by the beach.

So how about this...

---

The first stray sighting happens shortly after they've moved. Kazuki sees Rei looking at the cat, hesitant but obviously wanting to approach it, and says something like

"Nuh uh. Not gonna happen."

They argue. Kazuki isn't thrilled about the idea of adding a pet to the chaos that is their life at the moment, but Rei did prove himself as a caretaker and responsible adult over the past year. Not to mention he's a lot better at fighting for what he wants than he was last time they had this conversation, and Kazuki finds it endearing enough to almost cave.

But pets aren't cheap, their daughter is going to get more expensive as she grows older, and they have a business to run. It's not really a no; it's a not now. They should get settled here first, see how well the diner fares. Maybe they can talk about it again in another year?

Rei begrudgingly agrees, because Kazuki does have a decent point there. He's pouty for the rest of the day.

For a while, Kazuki doesn't really notice anything different. They're way too busy building up their brand new life. But as the dust settles and their new routines start to become familiar, some things start to stand out.

Like Rei happily taking out the trash every night. Like, very happily, as if he'd been looking forward to it. He always takes his sweet time doing it, too. Surely dumping a few trash bags into a container wouldn't take that long. Not that Kazuki would ever complain or comment, because the guy was disabled, for fuck's sake.

Another thing is the strays he keeps spotting. Had there always been this many? Were they reproducing that fast? Kazuki shrugs it off. It makes sense, they're likely not getting spayed or neutered. And of course they'd hang around the diner. It's doing quite well, apparently drawing in more than just customers with its delicious smells. Ahhh the magic of good cooking.

It's not until things from their pantry and fridge go missing, that an internal alarm bell goes off. Leftover chicken or salmon, Hamburg steaks, sausages, cans of tuna. He barely dodges another fight with Miri when he assumes she's eaten them (what? She's a growing girl? He can't blame her for being hungry!) but manages a last minute save. Rei is awfully quiet during this whole conversation, but confesses to his crimes later that night when Miri is asleep in her bed.

"I have to show you something."

And Kazuki wonders if he should be surprised when Rei leads him downstairs, outside through the back, where he squats down and cracks the lip of a can of tuna with one hand. The sound summons what have to be at least a dozen cats from various different directions, all meowing loudly as they twirl around Rei and headbutt his hands and legs.

"I don't need to get a cat anymore," Rei says as if he hasn't officially adopted the whole neighborhood pack.

"I bet," Kazuki sighs, helping him open the can and dump the Tuna on the concrete. "Miri... Is she your accomplice?"

".... Maybe."

So a yes, then. Not that it matters, because Rei might be the closest to beaming he'll ever get, and Kazuki is only slightly weaker to his partner than he is to their daughter. Which is to say, he's totally screwed.

"They stay outside," is all he says, squatting down beside Rei to pet the cat closest to him.

A few days later, Miri's latest masterpiece–a donation jar with cat decorations– graces the countertop of the diner. After all, they'll need to help do something about the population control before they go broke feeding strays.

#buddy daddies #buddy daddies spoilers #kazurei #kazuki kurusu #rei suwa #miri unasaka #rei deserves all the cats #he really does live in my mind rent free

[morgana-artt]

Romeo x Mechanic!Male!Reader (Part 1)

Spoilers for LoP

Notes: So I kinda went a bit off the rails on this one and wrote a lot more than I wanted to (especially in part 2 that I'll post tomorrow), my brain kinda went blank but I think (and hope) its still decent enough of a read. I suppose its a bit of a slow burn at first but I hope you Enjoy!

Reader is similar to Sophia and can channel ergo like she can.

_________________________________________

You ran and you ran FAST. What were you running from? Oh, just a group full of puppets that decided to make you their target and that wasn't fair, you were just some guy who enjoyed tinkering in mechanics! You could ramble on that for a while but you needed to get to safety, you were at the hotel but didn't stay for long as you were on your way to what was called Alchemist's Isle for answers to your past and had to go through the Opera House in order to do so.

You panted as you zig zagged bewteen swipes from puppets to alleyways before finally reaching your first destination, you leaned against the statue in the garden out of breath. "This... sucks! All because I need to find- ugh...hopefully it'll be better inside" you spoke to yourself as you stood up straight and made your way into the big building. Opening the large doors you saw how huge this place actually was and despite it seeing better days it still looked beautiful, you looked around not hearing anything before making your way up the stairs and saw a door way further into the building, "This looks like it goes through the main part...'suppose I'll go through there..." you mumbled to yourself before going through the doors.

You gulped as you saw a swinging chandelier, "Are you fucking kidding me? One hit and I'm screwed..." you cursed to yourself as you watched the giant fire basket swing side to side, you took a deep breath before getting ready and once it swung to the left you bolted just in time but as you did the one wooden pole that helped you cross snapped in half and broke into the hole. You stared at it, "Well...no going back." you said as you turned to the double doors in front of you plated with gold. You walked towards it pushed the heavy doors and you were met with...a sad disaster.

What would've been a beautiful ballroom of somesort was instead a burnt down ruined stage, you frowned at this something clearly went on long ago judging by how rotten the wooden had gotten but what you also noticed was a body propped up against a giant rundown puppet- or you hoped it was runned down. It had been a year or so when the puppet frenzied calmed down but that didn't stop the few puppets around Krat from attempting to hurt anything that passed them just like yourself.

With very careful steps, at first you throught you were approaching a dead human but no...it was a puppet. It looked badly burnt with half it's face broken off, it had blonde hair and despite the state it was in you could tell it- or he you should say- was quite a handsome puppet. Almost prince like. You shook your head, now was not the time to admire the puppet, you saw his head down and eye closed and crouched to his level. "You look like you went through hell..." you mumbled to yourself, now despite knowing how dangerous these things can be you couldn't help but feel sorry for them as you did stumble upon a few puppets that were friendly and even helped repair a few. This one really interested you but it was a gamble- was this puppet friendly or mad crazed like so many others? You decided to take the risk.

You walked around the puppet and analyzed it, didn't seem TOO bad...yeah he was burnt to shit but none of his internal scraps had been broken. Now you had a power that not many people knew about, you could give ergo to puppets and understand them, you can't remember much but it started to develope later in your teens- it was probably why you felt so intune with puppets you could LITERALLY feel their 'souls' give or take.

Using your handkerchief that was tied around your belt you dusted the soot off the puppet and began to rummaged through your bag, you only had a few tools with you and tighened some lose parts on the puppet next to you. You kneeled in front of him and moved some of his hair away from his face, he really was a handsome fellow but it made you sad at the state of his face maybe you could repair it? If he hasn't killed you yet.

With a deep breath you placed your hand where your heart was, ergo began to twist around your hand before you placed it against the chest of the puppet. You waited. and waited. and waited.

Nothing. You furrowed your eyebrows as usually this would work within seconds, guess the poor thing really was damaged. You began to tinker around him a little longer.

Romeos P.O.V

Something in you had awaken, how? Gepettos puppet had freed you so why did you feel you had awaken from a deep slumber? You heard ruffling and breathing...? You opened your good eye, it was blurry at first but you noticed a moving figure in front of you, talking to itself...a human? Your eyesight cleared up as you were faced into a chest, the person you saw the chest of was bent a little over you looking at your back as you felt a few tugs. You didn't dare to move. What if it was that bastard Gepetto again?Wasn't being brought back to life in a puppet not good enough? He had to be brought back again? No...he can't go through with that...the responsiblitlies...the pain...the desperation. If he could cry he would, he couldn't go back to that. He watched as the person in front of him moved back to look into their bag, Romeo took note of a soft looking man in front of him. It was a human but thankfully not the one he hated but how did you bring him back? He lost his ergo so how could you...were you special? Maybe. He watched you in curiosity as you mumbled to yourself about him not working. The young man in front of you had soft (H/C) and piercing (E/C) eyes, and despite looking like a cat that ran through a hedge head first you were pretty nice looking to him.

The man in front of you turned his gaze to you before jumping following up with a little yelp, "You're...awake? It worked!" you watched the man puff in pride, "Ah...My names (Y/N). Do you have one...?" he asked, you slowly lifted your head a little but it immediately went back down- you had little to no energy in you right now apart from your eye. "I-I-I....R-R-" you tried to speak but it came out so statically and robotic, the guy in front of you smiled softly with encouragement, "You don't have to tell me now, I'm guessing you went through a lot judging by how burnt you are" the man spoke, were you really that damaged? "R-R...Rom..eo" You managed to get out, the person smiled at that. "Well, Romeo. It's nice to meet you, I've only given you enough ergo to start up hence why you're only able to move barely. Of course I can take it out if you no longer wish to live" the man gave you a choice, something you didn't get at first.

You glanced at the one in front of you before trying to lift your arm towards the persons face- you struggled and before your arm fell, the stranger- who himself called (Y/N)- grabbed it in time. He felt soft and warm...you hadn't felt that in a really long time. It was nice.

Your P.O.V

You took a hold of the puppets- now named Romeo- hand into yours, You felt pity and it was clear as day he was conflicted on whether staying alive or not. "How about this- You stay here and I'll gather more ergo which hopefully will give you more strength with it and you can decide later, hm? Of course you can ask me to piss off" you laughed dryly. The puppet stared at you making you feel a little flustered, you weren't used to such things and what made it worse was how Romeo had a hold of your fingers and was staring at them, "Ahem, well...I should be off to get some more ergo, yes? Don't worry, I'll come back" you whispered but felt the tightened grip on your fingers, "N-NO...no...fragile..." Romeo spoke, you frowned. Fragile? Was he scared for you? "Romeo, If you want to even lift your head up I'll have to give you more ergo and I can only give you so much from myself" you tried to reason with the puppet. Romeo was confliced but softly nodded. He let go and you stood up, "as to show my promise I'll leave this with you!" you then gave him a necklace, "it belonged to a dear friend of mine...it means a lot and I'm putting it in your possession till I come back!" You looked down at him. "I'll come back...promise" and with that you walked off to hopefully find enough ergo for your new friend.

As Romeo sat and waited he inspected the necklace, what you had said felt familiar to him- with the dear friend...a promise...it felt sort of like a Déjà Vu for him. He surprised himself with the hope he felt of wanting you to come back, he hoped you did you were...nice. He liked you, you seemed like a good person. Like someone else he knew but has long been forgotten.

#lies of p #lies of p romeo #lies of p x reader #romeo x reader #morganaawrites

[dnschmidt]

Fixing The Third Raimi Spider-Man Film

Since you guys liked my post about Clark Kent's glasses, I thought you might enjoy my take on how they could have fixed the third Raimi Spider-Man film.

The biggest flaw in that movie, aside from Toby's dancing and casting the smarmy kid from That 70s Show as Venom, was the half-assed attempt at origin "stories" for the two villains.

Sandman: Oh, here are some scientists doing... some... science things? And a guy falls in and screws up their... what are they doing again?

Venom: Hey, a black rock thing fell from the sky for no reason.

They could have made it a decent movie, if they had only fit the two villain origins into the same subplot. And it would have been simple, since they had already established that J. Jonah Jameson's son is an astronaut.

The new plot:

Flint Marko needs money to pay for his daughter's medical care. He decides to rob a bank. But most bank robberies just get a few thousand dollars from the till. If he wants real money, he has to empty the vault. But how?

He sees in the news that NASA is sending up Astronaut Jameson to test a disintegration beam on an asteroid. If the test is successful, the beam could be used to defend earth from huge asteroids like the one that killed the dinosaurs. Marko decides to break into the NASA facility to steal the beam, so he can use it to blast his way into a bank vault.

Cut to Astronaut Jameson in space. He fires the beam at the asteroid, blowing it into pieces. The asteroid explodes, spraying the ship with rock dust and thick, black goo. The ship returns to earth. The disintegration beam is taken back to the lab for additional testing, along with a sample of the rock dust and the black goo. Initial testing determines that the samples have some unusual properties that will need further research.

Later that night, Marko breaks in and grabs the beam, almost getting caught by security. He fights his way out, breaking the jar with the sample of rock dust and getting it on himself. As he flees the lab, we see a small blob of black goo sticking to his shoe.

Cut to Peter Parker doing pizza delivery and being a lovable dork. The police scanner attached to his moped alerts him of criminal shenanigans going on downtown.

Cut back to Marko. Marko blasts his way into the bank vault, and Spider-Man comes to stop him. In the struggle, Spider-Man accidentally shoots Marko with the beam, "killing" him. Marko's particles mix with the rock dust and some sci-fi magic begins to happen. The black goo attaches itself to Spider-Man's costume.

Spidey runs off so he can remove his costume, and doesn't see Marko reassemble himself as Sandman.

The rest of the movie continues pretty much the same, except for the dancing, Smarmy, and Snowboard Goblin. Gotta get rid of those, too.

#spider man 3 #venom symbiote #eddie brock #sam raimi #spider-man #movie script #rewrite #bad movies #comic book movies

[be-side-my-self]

moodboard (c) @spookyscaryscully (if it’s not okay for me to upload... I’m sorry but I felt like it would be such a waste to not share it) (edited from my own tags from the original Maid!Lauara AU post)

Laura as a Maid at the Hackett estate; Plot idea

Max and Laura would work at the estate so they could earn enough money to get married

That is the plan

Everything is fine and good, Laura is doing a good job and so is Max

One day Travis returns to the estate from some business travels

He meets Laura and they instantly piss each other off

He is tired and explodes at her because of a small mistake and Laura continues the shouting match because even if he is the heir she will not accept her intelligence to be questioned

And so far the other sons seemed decent enough so screw him!!

But slowly, every time they talk more and more they realises how much they have in common

And even if they disagree at first, they often enough find common ground after trying to make their point

Often very loud, very heated and sprinkled in some insults

Meanwhile the parents try to marry Travis off for political reasons because at least then two families merging could benefit the families business

The problem is he can only think about Laura and the women they introduce are all so dull

But she is almost engaged to the stable boy

Who is also dull in his opinion but if that is what she wants it’s not up to him

EVEN THOUGH people of his status don‘t even blink at affairs like the one he could have with Laura

But he thinks it‘s disgusting so he would never force anything

(idk throw in someone else trying to force Laura in their bed but Travis intervenes)

Also she obviously despises him despite everything

One day they argue about an article in the newspaper

After a shouting match they kiss and neither is sure who started it

It‘s a 'oh shit' moment for both of them because

Max is wanting to propose to Laura

Travis is supposed to meet another potential wife later the very same day

They run from each other very confused but cue jealousy on both sides

Again Travis brushes off the woman

This causes Constance to tells him to just have sex with the maid and get over it!

Or not to have sex with her but get over it or she will lose her job and Constance will make sure that she won‘t find another one

Travis agrees that he will get over her and decides to marry the woman that is most beneficial for the family

It's not like he has a future with Laura anyway

She is not a woman who deserves to just be a mistress and he can’t get against his family

Surprise the woman he is supposed to marry is Amelia and she is actually in love with Chris and Chris is in love with her but he is the middle child!

Travis is so sorry and does not know what he is supposed to do and it’s horrible that two brothers will have to live in misery

And Bobby sits there like: but Travis you can forfeit your status and inheritance which would make Chris the next in line and he could marry Amelia for the benefit and love. But you would be shunned and probably have to leave

Travis figures that even though he won’t be happy he can at least do that for his little brother

Meanwhile Max proposes to Laura

And she thought this would be the happiest day in her life but all she thinks about is Travis

And their kiss...

Her first kiss!

And he is going to marry another woman

And Laura thinks 'Screw this!' and she declines Max proposal and tells him that she does not love him anymore

He deserves better because he is a good man

And before she would marry someone she does not love she would rather become an old spinster

She does not say it but she would rather stay with Travis as an emotional support if they can’t be together physically

Then she learns about Travis officially rejecting Amelia and his inheritance and him leaving

THROUGH A LETTER

She becomes super pissed

But she wants to run after him

Chris and Bobby tell her where he planned to go and give her a horse too

Max says good bye and it’s sad but he understands and is thankful that she was honest with him and he wishes her good luck and a happy life

Laura rides after Travis

And she finds him

And he is angry that she rode through the country alone and after him and what is wrong with her?? she should be with her fiancé!?

She tells him that she rejected Max proposal because she wanted to be with him

He tells her he has nothing to his name anymore

Like she gives a crap

And after some shouting they kiss and have premarital sex (ts ts ts)

But then they get married as soon as possible

Travis writes his brothers as often as possible

They travel and earn money with simple work

They find the land that later becomes Hackett’s Quarry and North Kill

They settle down and...

They have son they call Jedediah

The end!

Edit: I think The Quarry was founded in the 17th? But we‘re ignoring that for now………. idek

#Hackearney #maybe one day I’ll write this #but until then have this bulletpoint fic #fanfiction #The Quarry fanfiction #Laura x Travis #Laura Kearney x Travis Hackett #okay next thing is the counterpiece to the auction #but I needed to note this down

[autumn-sweet-fae]

*Sees it got noticed, pulls out syringe labeled “Double Down Overdrive” and injects it directly into spine*

Oh boy I have so much to talk about.

First off:

Now that there is an even higher bounty on the pair and their newfound fame (or infamy depending on the person) possibly even setting them up on the world stage, bounty hunters will start to flock to Sinnoh like Dustox to a street lamp. All desperately want the high cash payout, causing some of them to resort to more drastic measures. Battling other hunters, traps, even some will cause heavy environmental damage just for the cash. This causes Akari and Ingo to just pull a Team Rocket and just start shoving them in holes with notes so the cops can book the bad ones.

Then there’s the Pokémon Rangers:

(To those who played the one of the Ranger games you know where this is going)

With the Rangers’ access to wild Pokémon (which the trio probably learn via watching one of the Rangers use their Capture Stylers to ask for favors) cause Akari, Ingo, and Sneasler to start mistrusting the wild Pokémon they meet on their travels later on. Because what if they rat them out?

New Galaxy isn’t getting much better either:

Now that the truth is out about the trio’s moral standing some of the ex-Galactic members defect again, causing a small drain in some of the most organized members of New Galaxy. The rest are now hunting more frivolously, places where the Original Galaxy building was and Sneasler’s old territory are now flooded with New Galaxy members after the time travel theory gains more traction, which is ironically the places where they trio are the least, so that goes about as well as you expect.

Plus imagine if flying Searchers (that’s what I am calling them now so I don’t have to list everyone’s names) start joining in:

Pokémon Rangers on Staraptors, interpol , the cops and search teams with helicopters (which would possibly be a hole new bag a worms for the trio to deal with) Cynthia and the gym leaders with various flying Pokémon, just New Galaxy Team and their small army of rag tags working together to try and search, the Bounty Hunters teaming up to get around faster causing dog fights in the sky with other hunters and other factions of Searchers, it’s chaos and Ingo, Akari, and Sneasler are caught in the middle.

The media is a total mess:

People are desperately trying to find their exact location to help the Searchers only for the info to be conflicting or outdated by just a little to much, some are still desperately trying to figure out where the Framed Ferals have been this whole time, the ones who think they have figured it out are trying to get the info to news networks but there is so many conflicting accounts that it isn’t going anywhere. Elesa’s PR team is desperately trying to get proper info on the trio’s location only for a pile of stress to come out it instead. New helicopters will occasionally show up when they think they got a lead, only to screw up instead.

Emmet and Elesa are just panicking, barely able to do anything other than try and search for them personally, Chandelure is the only thing that can even get a decent lock on the trio’s location a good 90% of the time but with so many people and Pokémon hunting at the same time the lock is significantly hard to get.

Even the trio start to step up their game:

Sneasler eventually gives and they use the tiny pink radio to tap into Searchers radio signals to try and stay ahead, they start cashing in favors from wild Pokémon they met along the way, leading to a conflict between those ones and the Ranger Pokémon, the Hisuian Zorark in the group uses illusions to get people to go the wrong way or into rival Searcher factions. They even start hiding from unsuspecting travelers due to the traction their presence seems to have gained, almost the entire region is watching this hunt now!

Eventually it happens:

Something, a helicopter runs out of gas midflight due to the bounty hunters trying to keep rival Searchers away from their bounty and crashes, a natural disaster strikes in an area the trio are traveling through and a friendly Searcher is hurt, causing them to intervene, only to have every Searcher in the region to lock on and start closing in.

They’re out of options, back to Spear Pillar.

(Yeah this is happening I am hooked on this AU so hard that this happened thank you for making the Submas Wanted AU in general thank you so much.)

I’m glad you enjoy my au and are having so much fun! You have allot of fun ideas here!

I do have my own plans though. Also I’m unfamiliar with Pokémon rangers and what I have for the new galaxy team is still in the works.

Thank you for your ask!

#ask #my babbling #pokemon

[sushirens]

So. I wrote some lore about my sona. Their name is Sushi. Here you go it’s really short.

CW: Mentions of arson, killing villagers, stealing, and slight psychotic-ness.

Sushi’s eyes grinned as they sprinted out of the village. They’d ransacked it for all it was worth, even knicked some extra enchanting books from some helpless villagers. The golem was chasing them down, but it’s colossal size couldn’t keep up with Sushi’s dexterous frame. They were a long way from home, no doubt worrying Cinder into the ground about the extended absence.

I’m scoping out the area, they’d signed. An hour, max. Promise.

Now it’d been almost four since they’d last even looked at their communicator, let alone contacted anyone. They shot Cinder a chaste message, just to calm their nerves.

>almost back. sudden supply run. eta 30 min.

Cinder’s response never came. Sushi knew they were online, but when Sushi didn’t stay in contact, it worried, even if it’d never admit to it. When they worried, it was radio silent until Sushi was back in the acacia bungalow.

-

Night fell by the time Sushi reached the savannah. The warm glow in the distance was their only guide home— but before they were back safe, they had to face the monsters in the dark.

In an effort to never have to deal with another respawn, Sushi had trained for endless hours to become half decent with a sword, and an expert with an axe. The crooked smile in their eyes as the first of the undead broke free from the ground should have been the second hint to their insanity.

The first was when they burned down an entire server in their old world.

-

Time passed slowly as Sushi crested the hill as they screwed a look of panic to their face. As far as Cinder knew, they were scared of the dark and the monsters it brought. The blood of countless villagers and the ash of burned buildings had been washed clean from their body, and the scratches and bruises were easily attributed to walking home in the dead of night. Once inside the bungalow, they emptied their ill-gotten supplies into a chest then retreated to the never ending cave beneath the house.

They stashed the secret enchantment books deep down in the Warden’s territory, and continued to act as if they’d just gotten lost on the way back.

Cinder didn’t need to know the burned village they crossed paths with days later was destroyed by their very own housemate, and with any luck, they never would.

#violence cw #arson cw #minesona #mc sona #original character

[goosebumpsbookclub]

Let's Get Invisible

Is this book scary? I mean, no, not really. But kind of? Existentially?

This story takes place almost entirely in a single room, like that one M. Night Shyamalan movie about getting stuck in an elevator with the devil or whatever (never saw it). That sounds boring, and on some level it is, but there's something compelling about a group of characters trying to define and unpack what they're (not) seeing. How do they view themselves? Each other? Society, science, gender, power, the U.S. military? No, really. The goddamn military.

Regular boy child Max has some friends over his birthday. They--along with Max's brother Lefty, whose defining trait is his lefthandedness, which you bet your butt will be relevant later--find a big ol mirror in the attic, and when Max turns on the light above it, he disappears. They become fascinated with it; Max and Lefty return that night to try it again, and they notice that the longer they stay invisible, the longer it takes them to reappear after turning the light off. Foreboding! But they're middle schoolers, so they haven't learned about foreshadowing yet.

Max's friends return and they challenge each other to stay invisible as long as possible, as staying invisible saps their energy. I thought this part was actually pretty neat and atmospheric: Max describes the light "pouring over me, surrounding me. Pulling me." When Zack goes to turn off the light, he "was blurred in shadows. He stepped through dark shadows, on the other side of the light." Foreboding.

Erin suggests Max enter the mirror in the school science fair, which is a frankly insane idea. This is followed by one of the most interesting exchanges in the book:

"They’ll take it away to study it. Scientists will want it. Government guys will want it. Army guys. They’ll probably want to use it to make the army invisible or something." "Scary," Erin mumbled thoughtfully.

Whoa, okay! Anti-military king R.L. Stine.

The children continue their ill-advised mirror activities. Max hears a voice whispering his name at night; Lefty stays invisible for too long and starts acting all freaky, which is to say polite and non-annoying. When Max's friends return, the same thing happens to them. Max thinks they look different, but he can't put his finger on how. They force Max to go invis', and he sees dozens of faces--including his friends Erin and Zack--floating and yelling something he can't hear. Okay, that's decently creepy. Max's own reflection tells him they're going to switch places. "Are you so afraid of your other side, Max? That's what I am, you know. Your other side. Your cold side."

Which, Christ. There's a lot to unpack there.

Max runs and escapes the mirror. Before Erin and Zack can make him go invisible again, Lefty pops up and throws a softball, a thing he's always doing, and seemingly accidentally breaks the mirror. Erin and Zack are restored to their regular non-freaky selves and Max is saved! Yay! Screw mirrors! But when the two brothers go outside to play catch, Max notices that Lefty... is throwing the ball with his right hand.

Dun dun dun. Etc.

Is it weird that this is maybe my favorite 'bumps so far? First of all, this is the first book to have bits of writing that I actually really like, stylistically. There's the unsettling mirror-invisibility-realm, and also this line when Max escapes it: "I came bursting out of the mirror, into the tiny attic room, into an explosion of sound, of color, of hard surfaces, of real things." That's evocative! I enjoy it!

And then there are the Themes™. I think the meanings I find in these books are generally not ones Stine meant to be there, but this one seems pretty intentional. Like, I kind of think R.L. Stine, author of Goosebumps, might have read some Carl Jung? Jung wrote about the idea of the unconscious "shadow self," the repressed self. These kids are frightened of the parts of themselves they don't want to acknowledge, the parts that maybe they feel will come to define them as they get older. Their "cold side"--the side of them that is, like reflection-Lefty, polite and scheming and no longer full of wonder, overtaken by the cynical desire to wield power. They're afraid of being changed, of adulthood trapping their child selves away behind glass, only to be looked at, no longer real. And afraid, too, perhaps, of their friends changing in the same way, until, for reasons they can't quite understand, they no longer recognize each other.

They're also afraid of the military industrial complex. Me too, guys.

Cover: It is what it is. Look, it's hard to make a mirror scary. At least there's a creepy spiderweb in the corner. 1.5/5.

Scare factor: I don't know, man. Nobody throws a flashlight and busts a vampire's head open, but the bits in the mirror-realm are genuinely unsettling and cool. 3.5/5.

Olivia Newton-John factor: Excellent. The most Newton-Johnesque Goosebumps title thus far. 5/5.

#hello to my new followers I AM still doing this lol I'm just slow #goosebumps #r.l. stine #let's get invisible #long post

[bethnalgreen]

Dead Mountain preview chapters

So, the new novel in Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child's Nora Kelly (and Corrie Swanson) series is out in about a week. I ordered my copy from the Poisoned Pen because I want the collectible cards. (Sorry, guys, don't really care that it's an "autographed" first edition.) I used to be a B&N bookseller, so I know people who order from there or Amazon tend to receive the book on the release date, while I'll have to wait a week or two. Fortunately, Amazon has a sample available online that I can obsess over in the meantime.

Spoilers for the new book (and previous books in the series) ahead!

Chapter 1: It's late October. Two frat guys get stuck in the snow in the New Mexico mountains. They proceed to get drunk and stoned, crawl into a cave for shelter, and find human remains.

Chapter 2: She's back! My favorite character, Special Agent Corinne/Corrine Swanson, appears. (Has Hachette fired all their proofreaders? Come on, it's kind of essential that you figure out how the first name of your co-heroine is spelled.)

It appears that Corrie has spent the past few months on boring FBI assignments after the shit-show that wrapped up Diablo Mesa. I find the mention of debriefings and lie detector tests reassuring; I wondered how much she told her superiors about what happened. Apparently, she told them everything. Unfortunately, it looks like she's gotten screwed over again with regards to commendations, promotions, etc. because of the case's classified nature. Typical. (Can't FBI agents get commendations or decorations for classified work? It seems like Pendergast has a few of those in his jacket.)

Her boss now has a case for her, and introduces her to her new mentor, Agent Sharp. (RIP, Hale Morwood.) Corrie notices that his clothes and haircut are better than typical FBI issue. He's pretty quiet, has an accent she can't quite place, and has a reputation for being somewhat of a lone wolf. Hmm, reminds me of someone ...

Anyway, her boss assigns her the human-remains-in-the-mountains case, and Corrie and Sharp leave posthaste.

Just a small rant here. This chapter states Corrie's been at the Albuquerque FO for about a year. Excuse me, it's been ALMOST TWO YEARS. She started her assignment in ABQ in January 20xx. The meat of the story in Old Bones took place in May/June. The events of Scorpion's Tail took place three months later (fall of 20xx). Diablo Mesa took place six months after that (spring of the next year). Dead Mountain explicitly starts four months later, on Halloween. That's nearly two years. Her probationary period should almost be up already. Sometimes I wonder if the authors are deliberately messing with the timeline to keep Corrie in stasis, or whether they just can't be bothered with consistency.

Chapter 3: We begin with another inconsistency. We're told that Morwood was forced into a mentoring role by an "injury," but it was actually his interstitial lung disease.

Corrie learns a little more about the Manzano Mountains region and gets snarky about the "need" for hundreds of nuclear weapons. Sharp seems to appreciate the sarcasm.

We're introduced to a deputy for Torrance County, who reminds Corrie of her "friend," Sheriff Watts of Socorro County. She wonders what Watts is up to. This is interesting ... he asked her out in Diablo Mesa, and she pretty much accepted. It's now four months later, she obviously hasn't been too busy, and they haven't gone on that date yet? In fact, it doesn't even sound like she's really kept in touch with him. Maybe later chapters will clarify this situation and explain how in the world he's surviving with only one of his Colt Peacemakers.

The deputy seems decent enough, but the big kahuna himself, Sheriff Hawley, is yet another of the male LEOs that Corrie runs into all too often. Calls her "young lady" even after she's identified herself as FBI and refuses to leave the scene (which he's stomping all over without protective gear) until the MALE FBI agent threatens him. Sigh.

Side note: I got an email from Poisoned Pen, which refers to an "evil sheriff" in this novel. Does Hawley have something to do with the "Dead Mountain" cold case that Corrie and Nora are going to investigate? On the other hand, one Goodreads review says that the plotline with Nora, Skip, and the sheriff goes nowhere. Is he just evil for evil's sake, then?

Anyway, Corrie goes into the cave and sees the human remains. And there the preview abruptly ends.

I feel like there's a lot of unpack here, and we don't even know what's going on with Nora and her billionaire boyfriend!

As much as I bitch about continuity errors in these books (I guess you never stop being a copy editor) I almost always really enjoy them. I expect I'll devour Dead Mountain as fast as I can, give it a chance to digest, and then read it again for things I missed the first time. And I'll definitely login to watch Preston and Child's appearance at the Poisoned Pen on publication day.

Anyone who reads this, feel free to speculate on what might happen in the book. I have a feeling the next few weeks are going to drag ...

#deadmountain #prestonchild #corrieswanson #norakelly #augusthrillers #hachette

[cringywhitedragon]

Wanted to do some headcannons for some versions of the Microsoft Speech Synths (And a few others) from a personal Universe of mine

A lot of these are heavily inspired by the various MS Sam reads funny errors series I enjoyed watching on YouTube long ago and my own verse in a way so I give credit to the various creators whom I have forgotten the names of.

I’ve also used Picrew to give you guys a visualization on what my verse version of these guys look like (I was originally going to go with stick figures with these guys early on but decided to update their designs)

NOTE: I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP OF THE PICREWS USED, THEY BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNERS AND WILL BE CREDITED AND LINKED BACK TO

I’ll make a part 2 to this later on

A brief overview: All of these characters mentioned are what we would call a Synth. Synthians are a race that are almost indistinguishable from humans save for a few key features such as their voice and eyes. They function almost identically to humans and other living beings but also have their own quirks and goofiness that I won’t be going into detail on this post (And also because the personal AU they come from is a mish-mosh of different universes and frequently says screw the rules of space and time)

Synths can be divided into two distinctive categories: Regular Synths (IE: Sam, Mike, Mary) and Vocal Synths (IE: Miku, Len, Luka) based on their vocal patterns

Samuel Andrew Microsoft (MS Sam)

(Picrew by krmr, https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/523501)

The obnoxious and chaotic of one the Microsoft triplets

Can be a bit of a jerkass at times (yet unlike some of his other counterparts, this version is actually a pretty decent Synthian) but does actually care a lot for his close friends/family and will stand up for them should the need arise

Has a speech impediment which is what helped him gain fame/infamy? (It depends on who you ask)

Enjoys giving people he’s friends with a hard time. His favorite target is his brother Mike since he finds it amusing when he gets riled up.

After him and his siblings were “retired” (aka fired) from their job as computer assistances and went their own separate ways, Sam spent quite a while as a drifter looking for a purpose. He took various odd jobs here and there up until he got to where he is now and reunited with his siblings aboard the starship they are now members of the crew (Once again, more personal lore stuff but Sam is the First Officer)

Is strangely obsessed with tacos (Something else I snagged)

Rather skilled at using vehicles and weapons

Does not have a filter and will actively curse, unless it is around younger Synths/humans/other races or if it is a professional matter.

Does not like Vista (Another obvious thing I snagged). This also goes for a specific drink known as Vista Soda which is another running gag I have with him.

Micheal Oliver Microsoft (MS Mike)

(Picrew by マサキ, https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/54346)

The smart and serious one of the the Microsoft triplets

Often the butt-end of a lot of his brother’s jokes since he’s known to get snappy and have a pitch shift when he gets annoyed/scared

Currently works as a doctor aboard the Starship Whistler (one of the very few Synthian docs in the universe since most of their kind tends to work in jobs relating to either entertainment or technology) and has gained fame for his research into various diseases of the universe and helping to develop cures for them

A very minor one but he wears glasses

Has a tendency to speak very literally and sarcastically. Also fond of using big words but will often slip into tendencies that his brother has (usually cursing) when off duty or alone in his office.

Utterly terrified Hachunes and Mikudayios (Common organisms on what many Synths consider to be the Synthian home-world (aka “Earth 2”) outside of Earth. They are kinda like pigeons or something similar (even though Earth 2 does have pigeons), many Regular Synthians do consider them pests though the can be tamed/befriended and are just as intelligent as a human.) As soon as he sees or hears one of those creatures he will either bolt or lock himself in his office/room. Same goes for the song Lleven Polka which is often used as a measure to attract wild Hachunes, Sam has used this as a few times.

Can get serious when the time calls for it. This usually occurs during medical emergencies.

Has an obsession with soda.

Almost always has some sort of supplies on hand at all times. This especially goes for if the need ever arises to defend himself. Mike is very knowledgeable about most sentient races anatomy and can easily incapacitate an attacker (or if they are lucky, a simple sedative jab to the neck)

Marybell Anne “Mary” Microsoft

(Picrew by マサキ, https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/167775)

The motherly and kind one of the trio

Mary is a lot calmer compared to her brothers. She’s not as easy to set off and will not pick on others

Prefers to stay away from Sam’s antics and is usually the one to scold him when Mike isn’t around.

She’s a really good cook and went to culinary school sometime after her and her sibling’s retirement.

Opened a diner back on Earth 2 sometime before she joined the Whistler, it is currently being managed by a good friends

Very protective of her recipes (She will smack you with a pan if you dare try to steal them)

It’s very rare that you will hear her curse at anyone, unless she is really upset

Fond of reading and also enjoys gardening

Grandpa SAM / Samuel Mack PlainTalk (S.A.M / Software Automatic Mouth)

Grandfather to the triplets, and the one who raised the trio

Personality-wise, he’s best described as an older version of MS Sam who has mellowed out.

A big dork and somewhat of a flirt

While he may be an older Synth who mainly likes to play poker, he’s still rather found of video games (Something that he shares with his grandkids)

Good friend with a few Vocal Synths (Namely Leon, Lola, Miriam, and Meiko whom he met before the latter hit it big in a small bar on Earth 2 (The former two who now run the place), and even introduced Sam to them)

While he usually just goes by Grandpa Sam, his full name is a nod to his other family. He’s considered the father of the Mac Family of Synths (Something that he keeps well hidden from his grandkids.)

Annabelle “Anna” Blackcomb (MS Anna)

Not related by blood to the Microsoft Trio.

Anna is described as rather reserved and a bit shy

Not a lot do her past is known other then the fact that she was the replacement for the Microsoft trio and was later quietly fired

She has a stutter (speech delay)

She’s quite skilled with a sword

The Microsoft Trio never met her up until they joined the Whistler and found her on an ice moon (This has some major lore stuff for a character I’m not ready to fully reveal)

The person she would consider that she is closest to outside of an old pin pal from years ago is Mike. He was the one who found her and the one who spent the most time trying to get her to open up and trust them

#reshi rambles #vocal synth #speech synthesis #Microsoft sam #character headcanons #vocaloid #Microsoft Mike #Microsoft mary #Microsoft anna #fannon #microsoft windows #computers #Technology #headcannons

[stylesparker]

Monsters of Men | Part 2

PAIRING: TASM!Peter Parker x  Ex Villain!Reader

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

CONTENT: two sleep deprived teenagers who just really need to catch a hint

NOTES: here it is, the long awaited part 2! I didn’t have the motivation to write this for so long, but I’m happy it came eventually! Instead of the fight scene I had originally planned, it took a turn and went down a super angsty route, so have fun with that! I’m gonna keep this at two parts, so this is the closing to these two <3 I hope ya love it

8 months later

Peter whips his mask off, sighing in frustration. He sits on the ledge of the roof and sets his mask down beside him. Covering his hands over his face, he almost feels like he wants to cry. For awhile now, it’s almost like he can’t escape his own head, even when he’s fighting, and that really sucks since that was the one time he was able to get out. Every time he thinks he’s getting better, starting to get in his rhythm again, he loses it. Even the robber he fought today asked him what the hell was wrong with Spider-Man because he would miss like every other shot and threw a garbage can into the window instead of the guy’s face. 

It’s her. 

As he huffs and stands up, swinging toward his apartment to just settle down for the night, he starts to agree with the small voice in the back of his head. He knows it’s her, but he doesn’t want to admit it. He didn’t even know her, so how could her disappearance bother him so much? She’s not dead, he knows that for sure, but it’s been so long now that he starts questioning if he’s right or not. Even though he found out her name, he still repeats Red over and over in his head. That’s what she wanted him to call her, that was his name for her, so that’s what he continues to say. Now that he thinks about it, he realizes that his funk did start up when she left, but why? Why is it bothering him so much? She was just another girl with a shitty past, why is she still stuck in his head?

You could have helped her, Peter.

Peter’s always known that he’s always held himself to high standards. If he couldn’t save someone he beat himself up about it for weeks and weeks on end. Spider-Man is supposed to save everyone, and when he doesn’t... that’s what screws him up. That’s what has him waking up in the middle of the night screaming, running to the bathroom to throw up after a nightmare that won’t go away. A nightmare that will haunt him night after night, watching the person he couldn’t save die over and over again. But this time, in his nightmare, she doesn’t die. He watches her being taken away and thrown in prison, the scientist getting off with no charges, and he stands there helplessly unable to move as he watches her spend the rest of her life in a prison that makes her suffer every day.

When he wakes up with sweat all over his body, and a torn shirt from grabbing at it so roughly, he thinks this is even worse than watching her die. Maybe watching someone suffer is worse.

...

Today has been the worst day in awhile. Watching him fight like that, with no to little care for himself at all, but also just so out of it, it made you want to just go out there and fight the robbers anyway. They were only robbers and one of them almost got him really bad. Something is very clearly wrong, and you think that it’s probably because of you. The reasoning for your disappearance was just to get out of this life that you created for yourself. All the lying and messing shit up wasn’t what you wanted anymore. You wanted the life that you planned before, when you were young and still naive to the rest of the cruelty. Some peace would be nice, but letting Peter continue on like this would haunt you for the rest of your life.

You hate that you can’t just let yourself go to him, speak to him, help him. Every time he goes home bloody and bruised, all you want to do is be there for him. Patch up his wounds, make him eat a decent meal, and comfort him until he wishes you were gone. That feeling, the one that just wants to hug him and tell him that you’re sorry for everything, blew up inside you and now all you can think about doing is going to see him. Maybe it’s the worst idea you’ve ever had because it’s been eight months and he might just be angry and yell at you, but maybe that would be better than the sadness that overcomes his face every single day.

You throw a dark green jacket over your black sweatshirt, put a baseball cap over your head and stalk out the door, making your way straight to his apartment. Despite it being night, you have black sunglasses on your face so someone doesn’t accidentally recognize you. Your face had been on every newspaper and billboard for almost four months, couldn’t go anywhere without your story being plastered all over the front page. You’re glad Peter was able to do this for you, but even though you know Peter doesn’t think you’re dead, the rest of New York City does, and it wouldn’t be great if someone stopped you at the moment.

It didn’t hit you that you were about to talk to him for the first time in eight months until you were already standing at his door, a hand hanging in mid air getting ready to knock. You don’t know if it’s guilt or fear stopping you from just going for it, but you take a deep breath, tilting your head towards the floor. Right when your knuckles almost come in contact with the door, it swings open, and your head whips up to meet Peter’s gaze. He’s in a pair of sweatpants now, and a sleep shirt covers his abdomen. His dark circles under his eyes make it even more known to you that he hasn’t been getting sleep. And the way that he’s looking at you, makes you wonder if he sensed you outside the door, which is why he beat you to the punch.

You tug your hand down back to your side, taking your sunglasses off your face and stuffing them in your pocket before you stand there awkwardly as you both stand there and stare at one another. You can’t help but let your eyes fill with tears.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whisper, letting a tear fall down your cheek. You quickly wipe it off your face and turn your gaze down towards the floor. It’s hard to keep in another sniffle, but you do and you can’t bear to look at him, even when all you wanted to do before was do just that.

“I’m sorry-” before you can say anything else he rushes out of the doorway, pulling you into his arms in a tight embrace. It shocks you, since you were expecting a glare and some yelling, but who knows, that might come later. Your hands hover next to his arms, not knowing if he actually wanted you to hug him, but his face is tucked into your neck and his arms hold you tightly around your middle, so you let your arms wrap around his neck.

You don’t even know Peter that well, he’s just been the guy who you fought for almost a year and who helped you get out of your hellhole, but you still hug him as if you’ve reunited with your best friend. As you cry into his shoulder, neither of you say a word, just letting yourselves hold on to this first bit of comfort that you haven’t had in months. You don’t know how long it had been before he pulled you into his apartment, but after closing the door, he finally let’s himself look at you.

“You’re okay...” he whispers, letting out a breath. You nod, trying to hold in a sob before you say your next words.

“But you aren’t...” finally his eyes start to fill with tears and you have to hold yourself back from hugging him again.

“How do you know?” he chokes out.

“I never left you, Peter. I just... kept my distance,” you hug your arms around your torso, almost like you were caving into yourself. He tilts his head looking at you, letting a tear fall down his face and doesn’t bother to wipe it away.

“You’ve been around this whole time?” he closes his eyes, turning his back so he faces the windows. Then he turns around again so suddenly you take a step back away from him, preparing for a yell, maybe a hit. His mouth opened to speak but he sees the glazed look in your eye, the flinch when he turned around, and it only makes him want to cry harder. He steps forward slowly, laying a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Why didn’t you stay?” he asks quietly. After another moment, he asks, “What made you come back now?” 

He rubs his hand up and down your arm. You came here to comfort him, and of course he’s comforting you.

“I couldn’t watch you suffer any longer,” you finally look him in the eye. He’s almost sure that his insides have melted because yes, at first he was mad, but now, he just wants to hug you and get you comfortable on his couch. Maybe you haven’t thought about it, but it doesn’t look like you’ve been sleeping very well either, so it would probably be best if you both rested for the night and talked in the morning.

“Let’s-” he sighs, “let’s rest for now, yeah?” 

“You want me to stay? Here?” you faltered, so unsure that he’d actually want you to stay with him. 

“Yeah, you can take the couch, I’ll get you a blanket.” He leaves the room, and you’re left standing next to his couch. You look around the room, taking in the wall with like two pictures on it, and the rest of the room that has one or two things on the cabinet and table. There’s a small plant on the table, and you crack a small smile. You lift your head when he walks back in the room with a soft brown blanket in hand, handing it off to you with a soft smile. “I’ll be in the other room, don’t be afraid to get me if you need me, alright?” 

You nod your head, thanking him quietly and he only returns the gesture with a nod and walks back towards his room again. You wonder if he’ll actually sleep, because you know that you won’t. Despite the blanket being softer than any blanket you’ve ever owned, you set it down on the couch, tugging your coat off and resting it over the side while you curl up in one of the corners. You hug your legs towards your chest and let your head rest on the pillow, hoping that maybe you would actually catch a little bit of sleep. 

...

You haven’t slept one bit. It’s 2 am and you haven’t even been able to keep your eyes closed long enough to even attempt to fall asleep. It’s like your brain is working on overdrive and refuses to settle down. Your heart beat feels like it starts pounding faster and faster against your rib cage, and you try to even your breathing enough so you don’t start to stress. Sometimes when it’s difficult to sleep, you get a moment of panic and it takes you awhile to settle yourself down, usually getting up to walk around or get a glass of water, but you didn’t want to wake up Peter. 

Peter.

You know that he could easily help, probably. But he’s most likely asleep so you would feel horrible if you woke him up. Though he did say to get him if you needed anything, maybe he won’t mind keeping you company...

Against your better judgement you pick yourself off the couch and trudge down the hallway, stopping in front of the door he closed himself into earlier. You stand there a moment, contemplating if you really want to do this. You close your eyes, deciding that this was a horrible idea and there is no way he’d be happy with you waking him up in the middle of the night for company, so you start to walk away before you hear the sound of the door opening. Turning your head, you meet his gaze and he gives you a small, tired smile. 

“You sense me don’t you,” you sigh.

“Yeah,” he laughs. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just gonna-” 

“I can’t sleep either.” You look at him and he opens the door a bit wider. “I... I was actually gonna come ask you if you wanted to um...” he clears his throat awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck, “you can come in here if you want.”

Clearing your own throat, you nod your head quietly, making your way into his room. Surprisingly, it’s a lot different from the rest of his apartment. He has tons and tons of pictures on the wall above his desk, he has a small bookcase and chair in the corner, and he has a little nightstand next to his bed with a lamp on it providing the only light in the room. There’s even a skateboard leaning against his bookcase. He closes the door behind him with a soft click, and comes over to stand by you admiring the pictures.

“Did you take these?” you question. He blushes and nods his head.

“Yeah, I like photography. It’s... kinda a side hobby,” he chuckles.

“You’re really good,” you stated. He blushes again, mumbling a small thank you before you watch him turn and sit on the side of his bed.

“I know that we’re both tired, and sometimes it’s hard to sleep alone so...” he trails off. It seems like he’s hoping he doesn’t have to finish the end of that question to save himself the embarrassment. 

“You okay with that?” 

“I offered,” you both laugh lightly, and you walk around his bed, getting in on the other side as he turns his lamp off. Both of you lay there on either side, staring up at the ceiling avoiding looking at the other. Almost as if you both gathered the courage at the same time, you rolled over on your sides facing each other, and you share a smile. After a long moment, you take a deep breath. 

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Getting me out...” you say, “even though people think I’m dead, you still cleared me and people don’t think I’m a villain anymore.”

“You never were.”

“I was, I know that I was.”

“You weren’t to me,” he murmurs. You’re silent, he shuffles a bit closer to you, and for some reason you allow yourself to open up to him. You dare to open your hand, but he quickly takes it into his own, and you let out a sigh of relief.

“How is it that I barely know you, but I feel like I do?” you ask quietly.

“I don’t know... but I feel the same way,” he says softly. You lay there in silence a bit longer, your hands intertwined. His soft breathing almost puts you at peace, making your eyes close on their own. 

“Red?” 

“I-” you falter, “you can call me Y/N.” His eyes soften.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad to see you.”

You smile, “I’m really glad to see you too, Peter.”

He hopes you don’t catch on to the way he blushes when you say his name, but you do, and you fall asleep with a smile on your face. Peter lets his eyes close willingly for the first time in a long time. 

When he wakes up in the morning, his arms are wrapped around you and your face his tucked into the side of his neck, your soft breathing hitting his skin. He doesn’t move so you can keep on resting, and hugging him, and he closes his eyes again. It takes him awhile to realize this was the first night he didn’t have any dreams at all.

#tasm peter parker #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter x you #tasm!peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker oneshot #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker imagine #tasm! peter parker #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!spiderman #tasm!spiderman x reader #andrew garfield!peter parker x reader #andrew garfield!spiderman x reader #andrew garfield spiderman

[rocorambles]

Perks of the Job

Pairing: Oikawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Non-Con/Rape, Bullying, Coercion, Abuse/Violence, Sexual Assault, Degradation

Prompt: “I wonder what he’d do if he knew you were with me right now.”

Summary: You realize far too late that you should have read the fine print of your job contract, questioned the golden egg that had fallen in your lap a little more as you stand face to face with the man you thought you had left far behind in your life. 

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s NSFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this prompt. (Masterlist goes live Sunday, December 6th!) 

Big thank you to @sawamooora for beta-reading this~  

Even by his first year of high school, Oikawa is used to the attention, used to girls smiling and giggling at just a well practiced wink he sends their way. And although no one catches his interest, he thrives on the power he feels, the way he knows he has people so easily wrapped around his fingers with just a few rehearsed lines and a dash of his natural charm. So he’s surprised when he first encounters you. 

Unlike everyone else, you don’t even pause as you pass him in the hallway, don’t even bother to turn for a quick look in his direction.  Unlike like every other female, you keep your face focused forward and continue to class, completely tuning out the gaggle of giggling girls he has surrounding him. And suddenly his interest is peaked as he watches your retreating figure, a sharp gleam in his eyes and a new conquest in sight. 

He uses every trick in the book at first, shooting coy smiles and flirtatious winks your way, cheerfully greeting you each morning at the front gates and walking you right to the doorway of your classroom, sometimes lingering around to exchange small talk if there was time before class started. You’re polite about it, although a bit hesitant, unsure what about you has caught his interest, uncomfortable with the glowering attention you’re receiving from the females around you, but he grits his teeth in frustration when you never reciprocate with anything more than a small smile and superficial words. 

There’s only so long that one can keep a facade, even if it is almost like a second skin and bit by bit, Oikawa’s sheep-like fleece weathers down until snarling fangs and bared teeth are all that remains. You wince as he sharply tugs at your hair, glare as he purposefully knocks the items off your desk onto the floor, and lash out at him to his amusement when he repeatedly closes your locker on you. And although there’s bitterness inside of him that he’s had to resort to such uncouth methods, he can’t help the self satisfied smile when he has all your attention, when your rage filled eyes are locked on him and him alone, when you’re spitting venomous snarls just for him to hear. 

So, he’s quite displeased when third year comes around and suddenly it’s like everyone’s biological clock has suddenly started to rapidly tick. Things are different now that they’ve officially entered adulthood. 

His fangirls are touchier, more clingy, and although he rolls his eyes as they purposefully hike up their skirt and press their bodies against him when they talk, he doesn’t pull away. It wouldn’t be good for his image. And besides, being an adult means having fun doesn’t it? 

So, to the dismay of Iwaizumi and the hoots and hollers of Hanamaki and Matsukawa, he has his fun, sneaking girl after girl into the locker room, the club room, even the equipment room. 

But what infuriates him the most is the way seemingly every male suddenly has their eyes on you, the way your locker is filled to the brim on a daily basis with love notes, the way you’re now always surrounded by a flock of groveling boys all clamoring for your attention, the way he can’t even get close enough to do anything to you anymore, the way you seem to forget he even exists.

And that’s unacceptable. 

He sends his fangirls to do his bidding and although it’s not nearly as satisfying when he’s not the one personally wreaking havoc in your life, when he doesn’t get to see the look of pain and anger in your eyes up close and personal, there’s still a sense of contentment when he sees your tear stained eyes and ruined uniform from afar, the way you seem to shrink in on yourself in shame and embarrassment when you come out of the women’s locker room, the restroom, places only other female students can get to you, where there are no other eyes to protect you. 

But his nails dig into his palms as his fists clench when he sees his fellow male classmates bending over backwards to comfort you, to help you, draping their uniform jackets over your shoulders to hide your disheveled uniform, cooing at your injuries as they gently lead you to the nurse’s office.

And if there’s anything Oikawa hates in the world, it’s losing.

He slams his fist in frustration as he feels you slipping further and further away from him, as he loses against Ushijima, as he loses against Kageyama, as he loses any chance of seeing his dreams of Nationals come true, as he loses in everything that ever mattered to him.

Maybe that’s why he drinks far more than he should at the third year house party, an early graduation party of sorts, a last hurrah before all of you go your separate ways. Maybe that’s why when he sees you, his eyes narrow in determination as he chugs the rest of his drink, despite Iwaizumi’s growl at him to slow down his intake. Maybe that’s why he seeks you out like a bloodhound looking for prey that it’s caught wind of. 

And all he can think of as he corners you in an abandoned section of the house, forcing your body against the wall, feeling you helplessly push against him, watching fear and confusion fill your eyes, is that he needs a win - just one win. 

But of course life has different plans for him and just as he’s shoved his legs between your thighs, just as one of his hands has slipped underneath your shirt to roughly knead one of your breasts, just as he’s crushed his lips against yours in something far too brutal to be considered a kiss, he’s being torn away from you. It’s only Iwaizumi’s familiar voice and face that keeps the ace from getting punched in the face as he snarls at Oikawa to get the fuck away from you and sober up. And all Oikawa sees is red when he briefly glances back once more before turning the corner, only to see his own best friend kindly hovering next to you, gently taking care of you and fixing your clothes for you, an uncharacteristic softness in green eyes as he looks at you. 

Betrayal like he’s never felt before suffocates him as he watches the two of you tentatively begin to dance around each other in an awkward yet endearing courtship. He watches as he loses his best friend, watches as he loses the only woman who’s ever caught his interest, watches as the two of you walk off into your fairytale sunset together, hand in hand, never even glancing back at him as you both go off on your merry way together. 

He’s not proud of the cruel smile that naturally stretches across his face when he hears that the two of you have broken up years later, a brief comment that Hanamaki slips into one of their happy hour catch-ups as the ex-Seijoh third years share a bottle (maybe a few bottles) of sake. But he fakes a look of concern and consolement, trying to conceal his curiosity as he lightly questions Iwaizumi about the break-up, airily asking what the reason was. 

And he secretly grins as he excuses himself to the restroom when he thinks about the depressed slump of the ex-ace’s shoulders, the downcast look on his face. He cherishes his dear friend, but it’s nice to see someone suffer the same way he had, to share the pain of loss, to share the agony of losing you specifically.  

But maybe lost things are meant to be found, he thinks, as he scans the resume handed to him when he enters his office the next morning, chocolate brown eyes gleaming when they see the familiar name neatly typed on the top of the page.  

You're desperate. 

After Iwaizumi and you had broken up, you had insisted on moving out and living on your own. Never mind the fact that Iwaizumi was paying for the majority of your old rent. Never mind the fact that you don't make nearly enough income to survive on your own. You had just wanted a clean break from the handsome man who had been such a large integral part of your life and despite the small part of you that pleaded to give this relationship another chance, to take him up on his offer to stay with him until you're in a better place to support yourself, you packed your bags and left. 

And now here you are, living in an awful part of town, sirens blaring every few minutes, struggling to pay rent for the old decrepit studio that's barely big enough to fit even just your modestly sized bed. But you determinedly make do, putting on your one nice interview outfit and applying your makeup as best as you can despite the cracked bathroom mirror and flickering lights, before taking a deep breath and exiting your apartment. 

You're not even sure how you landed an interview at such a prestigious company. Although being a secretary for one of their higher ups doesn't exactly sound like your dream job, when you saw what the salary range was, you leapt at the opportunity. Screw your pride. If faking a smile and acting like a glorified maid for a disgusting old man meant you were finally able to   afford a decent quality life? So be it. 

Nerves eat at you and your heart pounds as you anxiously wait for the interview to begin, but you're shocked when an employee steps inside the room only to distractedly ask you generic questions, questions you're sure just about anyone could answer, not even pretending to pay attention as he fiddles with his phone in front of you. You can’t help but wonder if this is a good or bad sign. Were you so unqualified that you were just a waste of time? Why even bother bringing you in for an interview if they had intended to turn you away right from the start?

But to your surprise when the quick and simple questioning is done, the interviewer just stands up with a smile and nonchalantly tells you that they'd be in touch soon. And true to his words, your cell phone rings not even a few hours later that same day and you gape as they extend an offer to you with a salary even higher than you had ever imagined, which you eagerly accept, not a trace of doubt or hesitation in your mind. 

You meekly follow the friendly receptionist who leads you through the intimidatingly large office, the smell of coffee and the sounds of keyboards clacking and voices chattering swirling around you as you’re led further and further until you’re finally facing a solitary office, far from the bustling crowd of the main floor, reeking of status and power. And you force a tight smile on your face as you’re left alone, taking a deep breath before timidly knocking and opening the door when a voice beckons you in. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight in front of you and if you were jittery before at the prospect of a new job and a new boss, then you’re positively shaking now, trembling like a leaf in the wind when you see a face you hoped you would never see ever again, a face that still haunts you to this day, that brings back painful memories of a tormented childhood. And you wonder if you should quit right here, right now, cursing yourself for not asking more questions about exactly who your employer was, who you’d be working side by side with as their executive assistant. 

You’re so lost in your panicked thoughts that you don’t register the tall figure approaching you, head whipping when your name is called in that lilted sing song voice of his and you shudder as familiar brown eyes gaze down at you. 

“Oikawa…”

He smiles at your shivering figure and your frenzied wide eyes when you register exactly who you’re now working for. Pride soaring in his chest when he sees the impact he still has, the effect he still has on you, even after all these years. And he can’t help but circle around your frozen figure, admiring how you’ve grown and matured since he’d last seen you, purring at the way you instinctively lower your head in unconscious submission, not daring to meet his eyes as he closes his office door, flinching at the sound of the lock clicking in place. 

It just wouldn’t do for anyone to interrupt such a special reunion.  

You’re so predictable, it’s almost laughable. Oikawa has to fight the urge to roll his eyes as he leans back against the closed door, blocking your one escape route out of this hell hole you’ve gotten yourself trapped in. It’s amusing listening to you stutter out some feeble attempt at a resignation, listening to you try to convince yourself and him that this must be a mistake, that surely you’re someone else’s secretary, not his, never his. And as cute as it is watching denial and pure terror dance across your face, he tires of your endless blathering and he maliciously grins at how quick you are to snap to attention and silence yourself when he barks at you to shut up. 

But what he isn’t expecting is the sudden fire in your eyes, the resolved steeliness in your demeanor as you glare at him head on and maybe it’s a good thing that you’d spent so much time with Iwaizumi because this is going to be so much more fun than he could have possibly imagined. 

The wolf inside of him gnashes his teeth and howls in amusement as you furiously give him a piece of your mind, rebuke him for how horrible and awful he was throughout highschool, haughtily tell him that this is the real world now and that you’re not going to let him just walk all over you, let him do whatever he wants. In fact, you’re leaving right now. You don’t need him or this stupid job. 

And his grin sharpens as you hold your head up high while you make your way towards him and the door, not even hesitating as you move to shove him aside. But then he pounces and you can’t even scream as you’re suddenly shoved down, gasping as you painfully hit the ground. 

He has to give you some credit though. Clearly dating an athletic trainer has done you some good and he winces just a bit as you thrust your knee into his abdomen, surprised by the force behind it. But the pain only fuels him more, the sharp pang grounding him, helping him concentrate as he pries apart your legs, his knees achingly pressing down into the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs as he puts all his weight on top of you, chuckling when you wail at how his kneecaps painfully pin you down. 

And he almost coos proudly at you as you try to sit up, as you try to support your upper body off the ground with your forearms and hands, as you try to find some leverage to get yourself out of your undesirable position. But all it takes is him digging his knee even further into your bruised leg and with a yelp you fall back down, snarling at him with pretty tears welling in the corner of your eyes as he leans forward, pinning you fully with his arms now trapping your wrists on the floor on either side of your head.

“Don’t be like this, cutie. You’re the one who accepted the job. Not my fault you were too dumb to even look into it carefully. But I guess a dumb bitch is always a dumb bitch.”

He smirks at the way his cruel words have you twisting and writhing underneath him with renewed fervor, but like an animal sensing that it’s nearing its end, you surprise him with a last vehement action as you spit in his face when your futile struggle falls flat. And as the thick glob slides down his face, his facade cracks and a sharp cracking sound pierces through the air before you’re suddenly seeing stars as heat rushes through your face from the impact of his palm. 

“Listen to me. You’re going to shut the fuck up and behave. You’re going to stay as my secretary. You’re going to do every fucking thing I tell you to do. You know why? Because I own you. I  could ruin your entire life with a single phone call - with the snap of my fingers. Your entire career, over, with just a single email. Good luck trying to afford even your shitty little apartment when you’re blacklisted from every corporation in this city.”

Oikawa hums in satisfaction when you finally still, fear and uncertainty twirling in your eyes as your bottom lip begins to tremble, liquid pooling in your tear ducts as you shakily stare at him. But he outright laughs in your face when you latch onto your one last hope. 

“Hajime! I’ll tell Haji-”

You break off into a squeal when sharp teeth bury into the crook of your neck, tears streaming down your face as Oikawa leaves a mark that will last for at least a few days and you cringe at the feeling of his warm wet tongue tasting you, staining you. 

“Iwa-chan? I wonder what he’d do if he knew you were with me right now. Would he trust his longtime childhood friend, his best friend who he still talks to and hangs out with almost everyday, especially now that you’ve left him all alone? Or would he trust the woman who broke his heart, who led him on for so many years, only to tell him you just “weren’t feeling it” anymore when he was about to propose?” 

He lets out a derisive snort at the hurt in your eyes, the guilt he can practically see smothering you at his words. 

“It’s okay, cutie. Of course you weren’t feeling it with Iwa-chan. You were just waiting for me all this time, right? So don’t worry. Relax. Let me make you feel good and make up for all the lost time, okay?”

And he beams when you don’t even resist in the slightest as he removes your clothing, as he hungrily explores every inch of you, calloused fingertips, lips, teeth, and tongue tracing every bit of you, tasting and feeling everything that’s been out of reach for so long. 

A victorious grin spreads across his face at the slight moan you try to quickly muffle as he drags a wet trail to your nipples, tongue lightly flicking the hardening bud before his lips swoop in and harshly suck. He groans as your hips instinctively buck when his hand begins to toy with your other nipple and he grinds his straining cock against you. 

But he lets out an irritated tsk as your hands feebly push at him, as your quivering voice begs him to stop, quickly silencing you with a rough twist of the nipple between his fingers and a feral warning look as he slides down his pants and boxers just enough for his throbbing cock to spring out. 

And he briefly relishes the way your watery eyes are suddenly captivated by the sight of his impressive length. A sick sense of pride bubbles in his chest at the way you nervously gulp when he lines himself up with your entrance. You barely even have time to blink before he’s brutally slamming himself to the hilt inside of you with one rough thrust. 

He hisses at how tight and warm you are, grits his teeth at the feeling of your nails clawing at his back and arms as he slams himself even deeper. Your pathetic cries make him even harder as you desperately scramble to accommodate his size. 

He drowns himself in the intoxicating feeling of your walls clamping down on him, the sound of your strangled voice screaming his name mixing with the clapping sound of skin meeting skin as he pistons in and out of you relentlessly, starting a brutal pace right from the start, ignoring the terror and hurt laced in your screams as he hones in on your sweet voice repeating his name over and over again, hones in on the fact that every ounce of your attention is on him, that he’s all you can think of and feel in the moment and he wishes this moment could last forever. 

But that’s impossible and he can feel his end approaching, his rhythm becoming erratic, his body tensing, and with a few more slams of his hips against yours, he’s spilling deep inside of you, moaning as he makes a mess of your insides, careful not to let even a single drop escape as he pulls out and quickly slips your panties back on you, trapping his essence inside of you. 

You’re still limp on the floor as he stands up, casually stretching his arms above his head with a yawn before tucking himself back into his pants, brushing himself off as he makes his way to his desk. And he hums as he turns on his computer, not even glancing at the pathetic sight you make, sprawled out, naked aside from the pair of panties he had generously helped you with, your face a mess of dried tears and saliva, your hair a tousled mess. 

But you flinch when he finally speaks as you muster the will to slowly dress yourself, the will to ignore the pounding ache and dripping mess between your legs, his carefree tone tearing your self-esteem to shreds as he just continues typing emails all the while. 

“Hurry up and get to work. That’s what you’re getting paid for after all. You can consider what just happened a perk of the job and I’ll be sure to give you a lot of extra bonuses while you’re with me. Looking forward to working together.” 

Bile rises in your throat at his flippant words and the flirtatious wink he sends your way. For a second you hesitate, staring longingly at the locked door. But even with your back turned to him, you can still feel his piercing gaze boring holes into your soul. You know deep down in your gut that his threat isn’t just empty words, that as hard as life is now, it would be complete and utter hell the moment you stepped out of his office without his permission. You know that in the end, you’d be left with no other option than to come crawling back to him, groveling for mercy when your bank account is running on less than empty, when you’re forced out onto the streets. 

So, as humiliating as it is, you limp over to the smaller desk situated in the corner of the office, every step a crushing blow to your self worth and pride, grimacing as you begin to feel something thick and sticky threaten to leak from between your thighs. And you obediently sit, blinking back the tears as you turn on your own company-issued laptop, shifting uncomfortably as your aching body comes in contact with the solid surface of your chair, raising the ringing phone to your ear. 

“This is Oikawa Tooru’s office. How may I help you?” 

#haikyuu smut #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu yandere #yandere oikawa #oikawa x reader #oikawa smut #oikawa #oikawa tooru #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu writing #haikyuu x reader #tw: abuse #tw: violence #tw: noncon #tw: rape #tw: bullying #tw: coercion

[layniapetrovnaaa]

Kinkmas Day 6 (cockwarming): Five Hargreeves

Five is physically aged up to 17/18 in all my works. Also, I am 18, so this is not like some creepy cougar situation.

Summary: Reader and five go to see their past selves with Luther at the pub. Trouble ensues, and you decide to then try and help Five relax.

Warnings: Language, suggestive banter, name calling, fighting, smut, cockwarming, light praise kink, hints of premature ejaculation. 

This is pretty long because it was not originally a kinkmas fic.

***

A cold layer of sweat covers your entire body as you make your way to the pub that your past self was currently occupying. 

You knew the dangers of paradox psychosis-- having been part of the commission for many years. Yet, here you were, about to try and negotiate with your two weeks younger self and significant other. 

It wasn't you that you were worried about, however, it was Five. 

You had been partners for quite a few years before you got together, that being said, you knew Five very well. You knew it would be unlikely that he would react kindly to himself

If the first four stages of paradox psychosis were any indication, he was already fumbling this task. 

“You alright, Five?”

“Fine.” he says sharply, but in an unconvincing tone. 

“Here we go.” Luther mutters as he swings open the door, holding it for you and your counterpart.

Upon entering, you catch a glimpse of you and Five at the bar, you turn and laugh at something he says, flirtatiously placing your hand on his arm. 

What you would give to go back to those days, the ones where you weren't constantly worrying about the apocalypse, when you and Five could have a casual drink at the bar, then find each other in one of the empty bathrooms later to... blow off some steam before returning to your jobs as hitmen. 

“Well, there we are.” you breath out. 

Five’s eyes almost bug out of his head as he peers around to get a good look at the two of you together, Luther as well. 

Despite the fact that you were also just as susceptible to paradox psychosis, you seemed to be the most level headed.

“How come [Y/N] looks the same?” Luther asks, stupidly.

“I told you already, I don’t age due to my regenerative healing factor, I’m like you guys.” your growl.

Maybe you weren't the most level headed, blame it on nerves. 

“Huh”

He glances over at Five, who was anxiously rubbing his hands together and looking as if he just saw a ghost, before asking another stupid question. 

“Why don’t we just grab the briefcase and run?”

You scoff, and Five answers him, almost hurt by his words.

“Luther, I would never let that happen. We’re trained to guard these briefcases with our lives.”

“Right.”

“Plus, it’s the inherit paradox where this gets tricky.We’re endangering our existence just being in the same room with our former selves.”

“Huh-- What do you mean?”

You roll your eyes.

“C’mon Ape-man, try to keep up.” you scoff out, biting your thumb nail anxiously. 

“If the old me doesn't travel back to 2019 like he’s supposed to, the whole thing unravels itself. I cease to exist. Same goes for [Y/N], here.” Five explains to his brother, making exaggerated hand gestures as he does. 

Luther nods, and Five keeps talking.

“So our best chance is to talk--reason-- with them. Usually, I would count on [Y/N] to keep me grounded in situations like this, but given that fact that she might experience psychosis as well, I’m not really sure how this is gunna go.”

“Ah” Luther lets out, a bit apprehensive. 

“He’ll understand.” Five mutters to himself, itching his neck.

“You just itched your neck! That’s stage two of paradox psychosis.” Luther whisper shouts.

“Luther, don’t be ridiculous.” you speak, wiping the sweat from your forehead as you do so.

“No, I didn't. I didn't itch my neck.” Five says defensively. 

“Well, denial is stage one, and you’ve both got it. “

“We are fine, Luther.” You say harshly and leaning in dramatically.

Five huffs and shakes himself out a bit before he starts towards your targets.

“Wait-” Luther says, grabbing his arm.

“What?” Five hisses out, still put off by his brother’s most recent comments.

“Maybe I should go first. I mean, the two of you will freak them out.”he explains before turning to your lover.

“Bumping into your own tiny doppelganger? He will lose his shit.”

You all turn to look at yourselves-- the couple-- at the bar.

“Just let me brake the ice.” he continues.

Five looks over at you for approval and you give him a nod. This seemed to be the first time Luther actually had a decent plan.

As you prepare to meet yourself, the three of you take a few deep breaths in. 

As Luther saunters over to the couple , you put a hand on Five’s back, rubbing soothing across his lean frame. 

“This will all work out fine.” you hum, more to yourself than him.

He looks up at the ceiling, then back down at his hands, continuing to fiddle with any of the imperfections on them.

“Whaddya say, after this we’ll go home, finally have some alone time, release all that pent up stress?”

He looks into you eyes, and for a moment, his anxiety stops.

“That would be wonderful.” he pecks your lips quick before you turn around the corner of beam, hearing Luther introduce you.

“Hey there, stranger.”

***

“Well...this is nice, isn’t it? The five of us, together like this.”

You put your head in your hands as your lookalike glares over at Luther because of his unfitting tone and comment. The Fives are the only ones who respond verbally.

“No.”

The physically older five speaks. 

“Somebody explain to me how I am having a pint of Guinness with my younger self and my girl.” 

“Older, actually. I’m you, just 14 days older.” Five clicks.

“I have pubic hair smarter than you.”

And that was your cue to start and finish off your drink in one go. 

“How is that possible?” the only other female at the table asks. 

“I can explain. You see, one hour from now, on the grassy knoll, before the president is killed, you two will brake your contract with the commission.” he says, his eyes flicking over to the other version of yourself, and you noticed his eyes soften slightly. 

“I already know you’re thinking about it. All those years in the apocalypse, we never stopped worrying about our family. Well, today, you are going to do something about it. Today, you are going to attempt to time travel forward to 2019. However you are going to screw up the jump and end up in this twip of a body, trapped forever, small, pubescent.” Five says, starting off soft at first, then becoming more vicious. 

“Okay.” the other Five says nervously.

“How come I look the same then?” You-- well, not you-- speak. 

“Because we don’t age, moron.”

Younger you sits back and scoffs, never breaking her glare. 

“See! It’s a reasonable question!” Luther shouts rather obnoxiously.

“Ah yes, the burden of being young and sexy forever.” the white haired Five speaks, it’s meant to be humorous, but everyone is to stressed to acknowledge it properly. 

Luther chokes slightly on his beer, whereas the Five that you are sat next to reaches for his and gulps it down rather quickly. You just roll your eyes.

“Look, we’re getting off topic.”

Regaining his wits, the man that sits across from you speaks.

“Even if I was to believe you, what am I supposed to do about it, not jump?” he says aggressively, with a hint of fear.

“No, no. I--We need you both to jump.”

“If you two don’t jump, we cease to exist.” you elaborate on his behalf. 

“What I need from you is to jump correctly.” 

“I’m listening.”

“The first time through, we got the calculations wrong. That’s how I ended up in this body. But now, I know the correct calculation.”

“What is it?” the other Five whispers sharply.

“I’ll be glad to tell you... in exchange for that briefcase you’re holding under the table.” the physically younger Five states, a bit too cockily.

“What do you think?”

It’s silent for a moment, and in that moment you hold your breath.

“I think...I need to piss.”

You let out a sigh and hold your head in your hands as he gets up and heads towards the back of the pub, Luther following shortly after. 

“You’ll have to excuse me as well.” [Y/N] says and gets up. You recognize the slight mischievous gleam in her-- your-- eyes when she gets up and heads towards the bathrooms. Your suspicions are confirmed when you see her slip into the men’s bathroom instead of the women's. 

You quickly turn to Five, who is bouncing his leg up and down anxiously and not looking away from the bathroom doors.

“They’re planning something, and they’re trying to get Luther in on it.”

He shakes his head before speaking.

“I know. I bet they’re gunna kill us.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” you say, a bit shocked at his accusation.

“Homicidal rage is stage seven, [Y/N], and all four of us are already exhibiting symptoms of stage six. Besides, that’s what I would do if I were him, and I am him.” he says very matter-of-factly, which makes you gulp, given the fact this he isn’t wrong.

A minute later, the three of them appear. 

“We good?” Five asks cautiously.

“You got a deal.” The other Five speaks. 

“We gotta hurry, Kennedy’s en route. Less than an hour till showtime.” the other version of yourself says, pulling her bag onto her shoulder. 

“Why are you so anxious to get going all of a sudden?”

“Relax. Your getting paranoid.” The mustache donning Five lets out a scoffing chuckle, itching his chin on his shoulder immediate after.

“Oh, am I?”

They glare at each other for another moment before exiting the pub. 

***

“What are you looking at?” Five asks the random stranger aggressively.

You try to push him along, but he continues.

“You see somethin’ funny?” he shouts even louder.

You notice that the other three members of your party are talking among themselves in front of you. Trying to focus hard on what they are saying, you miss Fives next insult, which was along the lines of “Something, something, asshole!”. 

“Mind your business!-”

“Five!” you scold. “-Or I’ll give you something to stare at!”

 “Stop it!”

“You wish you could pull off these shorts!”

You just roll your eyes and try to move him along. 

Luther falls back and you immediately know something is up.

“Hey, lovebirds. How you guys doing?”

Five takes a look at Luther, then a deep breath in before descending the stairs and speaking.

“They’re gunna kill us, aren’t they?”

“What?” Luther lets out a nervous chuckle.

“What, him, her? He’s gunna kill you? Yeah, right. That’s ridiculous.” he chuckles again.

“Luther?”

“Yeah, hm?” he perks up too quickly when you speak. 

“Promise me you will never go into acting. Because you’ve got to be one of the worst liars I’ve ever met.” and Five hums in agreement.

“You’re a worse liar than you are a spotter.”

At that, Luther drops his act.

“Okay, who’s fault is that? What good is having a spotter if you won’t even listen to him?” 

“So you admit you’re all conspiring against us?” Five says, whisper yelling. You scoff.

“Do--Do you admit that you’re suffering from paradox psychosis?”

“Nuh-uh, don’t try and turn the tables, Luther.” you seethe. 

“She’s got it too!” he points at you.

Five ignoring the both of you and instead defends himself. 

“All I’m suffering from is bracing clarity about you and your murderous intentions.” his voice is like venom as he itches his chest.

“Look, it’s not like they’re gonna “kill you” kill you. They just want to kill a, um... version of you two.

“But I am that version of me!” 

“Hey, I don’t love it, either, but he’s actually got a pretty good plan.

“You’re really not helping your case, Luther.” you say, your voice agitated.

“What? The one where you guys off us, then jump to 2019 to save the world?” Five asks, aggressively pushing his hair back. 

“Yeah, wait, how’d you know that.”

“Because, Luther, we are the same people, we think the same way, and that’s exactly what we would do!” you spit, muttering “imbecile” under your breath. 

“Okay, all I know is that we’ve got one of you too many,-- and you’re the mean one and this Five is a maniac.”

You clench your fists and try not to hurl yourself at the monkey-boy. 

“Maniac? Luther, you have seen nothing. If you want a maniac, I will show you maniac.” Five growls. Maybe Luther was right.

“Okay, as your spotter,-” you and Five both scoff.

“I think the best thing I can do for you right now is put you out of your misery.” Luther says in a matter-of-fact tone, and that’s when Five’s had enough.

“Okay, Luther, listen,” Five starts, turning and grabbing Luther. You make sure to watch the show from a safe two feet away. 

“I know your feeble mind only responds to age and authority, so listen very closely.” Five starts, and you got a feeling from the way that he was gripping Luther’s arms-- this would most likely end in an outburst.

“Yet again, you are experiencing daddy issues. This time with your own brother, which is honestly making me a bit crazy.”

“But remember this:” he says, and its the calm before the storm.

“I’m 14 days older than him. I have seniority here. So it is me you should be listening to, Luther.”

...and here it comes...

“I’M THE DADDY HERE!”

Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner.

“Five, you need to calm down.” you finally intervene. 

“What, I thought you liked it when I play daddy.” he says with a veil of smugness, coating his paranoid ticks. 

Before you can huff out a retort, the Five that was walking in front of you alerts everyone that you all had reached your destination. 

And, to say the least, things didn’t exactly go according to plan. At least you survived!

***

When you arrived home you knew your tasks were not yet finished.

Ah, yes, the trials and tribulations of trying to help Five relax after stopping an apocalypse...twice.  

Five heads straight to the kitchen, ignoring his siblings, to get a cup of coffee.

You and Luther filter in behind him slowly, exhausted from the day you’d had. 

Five hands you your own cup of joe and you place a hand on his arm, giving it a small squeeze, and offering him a sweet little smile-- as if to say “thank you”. He returns the look before taking a sip from his mug. 

“Where the hell have you three been?” Allison asks, her voice sharp, but at the same time, caring and concerned. 

“Doesn’t matter.” Five says bluntly before walking away, pulling you with him into Elliott’s old bedroom. 

Allison just scoffs and shakes her head, walking away, Luther following quickly after her. 

You set your mug down on the desk as Five closes the door. 

He goes and sits at the desk immediately, muttering about how you all still had to find a way to get back to 2019. 

“Five.” you say, your tone that of a parent who is correcting their child.

He looks up at you cautiously before determining that he wasn't in too much danger, continuing his scribbles. 

“[Y/N] you know just as well as I do, we can’t stay here.”

“I’m not asking to stay, I’m asking you to take a break for 30 minutes and-” you walk over to him, standing behind his chair, starting to trail kisses up his neck, your teeth grazing the shell of his ear. “spend some time with me. Hmm?”

“I--” he stutters, trying to weigh his options as your hands start to massage his shoulders lightly.

“I need to finish this equation I just started.”

You huff and make your way around the chair to sit on his lap. His hands immediate rest on your hips. And, although he has and exasperated look on his face, you can tell he is enjoying this.  

“But, I want you.” you whisper, your breath ghosting over his lips.

You grind yourself down on him unexpectedly, which makes him release a loud, and slightly high pitched moan.

You grin like the cheshire cat.

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Mmm, but how can I not be when I make the great Five Hargreeves moan like a horny schoolboy.” you mock, your eyes trailing down his sweater vest covered torso. 

“Oh, shut up.” he says just before kissing you feverishly. 

Soon, he is lifting your shirt, throwing it across the room, and groping your breasts. 

You let out a content sigh at his actions, continuing to swish your hips back and forth. 

“You’re so beautiful” he mutters and he leans in to kiss your neck.

You let out delicate moans as he sucks a hickey over your right jugular.

“I love those pretty noises you make, sweetheart.” He says, and you hum.

“Five,” you plead. “I need you.”

“Fuck” he curses at your words.

You get up to quickly take your bottoms off. he lifts his hips, sliding his shorts down to about mid-thigh.

You get back on his lap and start stroking him a bit before eventually lining him up at your entrance, and sinking down, letting out a heavy breath. 

“Oh, that’s a good girl.” Five sighs. 

“You always feel so damn good.” he hums, and you let out a soft moan at his words.

“Just-just let me finish this one problem and I’ll fuck you properly, okay?”

“Okay.” you sigh, sultry.

“Good girl.” he says, looking at you admirably, running a knuckle down your cheek softly, giving it a quick peck. 

Any small thing, any move of his hips, made you let out small gasps and breaths. 

It seems like forever before he is finished, but when you hear the sound of his pencil on the desk, you know he is finally finished. Ready to ravage you.

You start to move up and down slowly, trying to enjoy your first real moment of peace with your other half in a a long time.

Unable to take the slowness any longer, he orders you to get into the bed.

You comply and lay down.

He stands at the foot of the bed and grabs your ankle, dragging you closer to him before he lines himself up at your entrance again. 

His hands rest on the undersides of your knees, pushing them forward so that they are near your shoulders

“You look so beautiful like this” he murmurs, taking in your appearance.

Despite occupying a body that he hadn't possessed in a long time, he still knew exactly what to do to make you a blubbering mess. However, that being said, this version of himself seemed to be...sensitive to more sexual things. Reaching his climax quicker than he intended, he lets out a string of curses.

He seems slightly embarrassed, but makes no note of it when he tucks himself back into his shorts and gets on his knees. 

You let out a moan when he finally puts his mouth on you, a cocky grin forming on his lips.

“Who’s the cocky one now?” you ask rhetorically, breathless, and he dives back in. Your hands thread through his soft and thick hair, tugging on it ever so slightly when you feel a particularly pleasureful jolt. 

And its not long before you reach your glorious climax as well. 

“HEY, GUYS? WHEN YOU TWO ARE DONE BONING YOU MIGHT WANT TO COME DOWN HERE AND SEE THE NEWS.” Diego shouts, and you blush, knowing that everyone now knew what you and Five were up to-- that is, if they didn’t already.

“We should probably go down there.” Five says, helping you to get up and giving you back your shirt.

You agree and go downstairs, only to find that you and the Hargreeves siblings were currently America’s most wanted.

#five Hargreeves x reader #Five Hargreeves #five Hargreeves smut #five is always aged up in all my fics #the umbrella academy #kinkmas

[after-witch]

Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Word Count: 8955

notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters

Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.

That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:

“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”

It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?

You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.

He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”

His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.

“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.

He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.

“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.

He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.

But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.

So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.

A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.

**

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."

You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.

But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.

The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.

"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."

The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.

"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"

Fucking. Ransom.

"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.

You have to call Ransom.

You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.

You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.

You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.

"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"

"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"

His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.

"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."

He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"

You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."

"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"

He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."

"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.

Fucking. Ransom.

You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.

"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”

"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."

You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.

**

The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.

But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.

You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.

Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit. 

The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”

So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.

The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend? 

But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.

The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker’s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.

Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave.  You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.

Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.

You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.

You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.

**

“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”

You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.

So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”

“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”

You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.

Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.

You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.

The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”

You don’t get a chance to finish.

“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”

You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.

“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”

“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”

Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn’t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”

“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”

You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.

“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”

He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”

He hangs up. Your hands shake.

You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.

You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.

Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.

Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.

But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.

The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.

Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.

Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.

Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.

Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off. 

No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right? 

Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?

You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.

A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.

There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.

“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.

“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.

Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.

He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.

“We have to let you go.”

The words don’t register.

“Go where?”

It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.

“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”

Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.

Ransom was here.

“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”

You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.

You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?

“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.

Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”

He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

You don’t have much effort left.

**

Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.

You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.

To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.

The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.

You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.

But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.

The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”

“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”

“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”

You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”

The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.

“Is there another card you can give us?”

“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”

“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”

You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.

“Yes.”

You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.

The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.

You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”

The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.

Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.

You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.

At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.

You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.

But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.

Your stuff is gone. All of it.

You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.

“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”

You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.

At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.

You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.

You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.

All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.

You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.  

You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.

Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.

Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.

For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.

But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.

You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.

But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.

“What the fuck?”

He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.

You text him: What??

He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P

It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.

His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.

“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”

You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.

“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”

You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.

His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.

“Why do you think?”

To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?

“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”

You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”

He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.

“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”

He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “

He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.

It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.

His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.

Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.

Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.

Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.

“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.

You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.

But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.

You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.

Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.

“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.

His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”

You feel your eyes practically bugging out.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”

Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.

You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.

He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.

Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful.  He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”

You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.

“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.

“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.”

#ransom drysdale x reader #yandere ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #knives out #yandere x reader #afterwitch writes

[drabbles-mc]

Date Night

Angel Reyes x F!Reader

Warnings: language, mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: I wrote this fic when my boyfriend and I were on a big Warzone kick so be warned that a majority of this story uses that as the base of it haha. This one-shot got away from me pretty quickly, and I’ve been super hesitant to post it (it’s literally been sitting in my ‘finished’ folder for months without me posting it because ~anxiety~) But I figured it’s not doing any good sitting unpublished. I know I haven’t really been creating a whole lot of Mayans content lately, but hoping to get back into the swing of it soon! xo

Join my group-chat here: (X)

Angel Reyes Taglist: @mayans-sauce @helli4nthus @angelreyesgirl @starrynite7114 @queenbeered @sincerelyasomebody @sadeyesgf @thesandbeneathmytoes @appropriate-writers-name @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @sillygoose6969 @beardburnsupersoldiers @louisianalady @gemini0410 @paintballkid711 @chibsytelford @yourwonkywriter @sesamepancakes @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @plentyoffandoms @georgiaaintnopeach @twistnet @themoonandthewicked @garbinge​ @bucky-iss-bae​ @enjoy-the-destruction​ @withmyteeth​ @encounterthepast​ @lilacyennefer​ @everyhowlmarksthedead​ @rosieposie0624​ @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo​ @mijop​ @xladymacbethx​ @blessedboo​ @holl2712​ @lakamaa12​ @luckyharley1903​ @masterlistforimagines​ @kkim120​ @toni9​ @shadow-of-wonder​ @black-repunzel99​ @crowfootwrites​ @redpoodlern​ @punkgoddess-98​ @lexondeck​ 

You were sat on the couch in your apartment, headset on as you started another round of Warzone with Angel, EZ, and Coco. The four of you tried to band together at least twice a week when their lives would allow for it, all playing from your respective apartments. Coco heard you mention something off-hand about Call of Duty one night and he didn’t let it go, and somehow that evolved into the four of you running quads together in your free time. Coco and Angel were always getting intermittently suspended from the game for the things that they said when they were winning, and you and EZ found it endlessly entertaining.

“Thought you weren’t going to be on tonight, Y/N,” Angel commented as the two of you waited for EZ and Coco to get back to their headsets, each of them having gotten up to grab drinks.

You tried not to sigh, “Didn’t think I was. Plans got cancelled so I got some unexpected free time.”

“Glad we’re your second choice,” EZ’s voice founds its way over the stream with a chuckle.

“Second place ain’t that bad, EZ,” you laughed, “Don’t bitch about it.”

“Homeboy bailed again, didn’t he?” Angel asked, already fairly certain of the answer.

“Yuup,” you stretched the word out, letting your annoyance shine through, “Fuck it. Doesn’t matter,” you paused, “How long does it take for Coco to grab a fuckin’ beer?”

“Ay, I’m here,” he spoke up, finally, “Let’s run it.”

Considering the fact that the four of you were constantly talking amongst yourselves about things that had nothing to do with the game, you did pretty well as a team. You’d get a few wins together every week, and of course one of them was always trying to take all the credit. It didn’t matter enough for you to get involved, so you let them argue it out amongst themselves.

“Fuck!” Coco groaned, “Team on me. I’m down.”

You laughed, “Damn, hope you’re a better sniper in real life or Angel and EZ are screwed.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he shot back at you with a laugh.

“EZ how do you always end up in a completely different part of the map?” you chuckled, “We can’t revive you if we don’t know where the fuck you are.”

“When have I ever needed you guys to revive me?”

“This motherfucker,” Angel mumbled under his breath, trying not to sound as amused as he was.

“It doesn’t bother your man that you’re spending your night with three dudes who are, objectively, way better than he is?” Angel asked with a laugh as he trailed you in the game.

You shook your head, glad that he couldn’t see the smile on your face, “Your humility never ceases to amaze me, Angel.”

“Didn’t answer the question, Y/N,” EZ piped up.

“You guys trying to hold an intervention right now or something? Fuck,” you laughed.

“You think you need one, querida?” Angel’s tone was baiting, and you were trying not to feed into it.

Luckily, before he could keep pressing you about it, the two of you started getting lit up by another team in the game. Normally it would’ve been frustrating but you were glad to have the distraction. It was bad enough that Angel was always looking for any excuse to give you grief about your boyfriend, but you had to admit that your boyfriend gave Angel decent amounts of metaphorical ammo to use against him. You hated conceding to that, though, so the onslaught of players coming after you was a welcome distraction.

You managed to get out of it unscathed, but Angel wasn’t so lucky. You chuckled, “Have fun in the gulag, sucker.”

“We’re on the same team, you know,” he laughed.

“Not when you’re talking all that shit, we aren’t.”

“You’d still buy me back though, right?”

You scoffed, “Nah if I’m gonna drop four grand it’ll be on Coco.”

“Damn straight,” Coco’s laugh rang through the chat.

“Seriously where the fuck is EZ?” you shook your head as you sprinted across the map.

“Safe and sound unlike you fools,” he chuckled.

“Can you stop camping and come drop me some ammo?” you couldn’t hold your laughter in, completely undoing any work you had been putting in to sound annoyed.

Despite all the shit the four of you talked, you managed to clutch a win at the end of it with EZ and Coco. Angel was pouting over not being bought back, but you were a woman of your word and when you were able to Coco was the first player you brought back into the game. The four of you stayed on for a little bit in the lobby, just talking amongst yourselves before EZ and Coco got ready to sign off.

“Tell your man we said wassup,” Coco snickered.

You sighed and rolled your eyes, “Goodbye, Coco.”

“You two gonna play nice if I leave?” the smugness in EZ’s voice was palpable.

“No promises,” you laugh.

“Beat it, Boy Scout,” you could hear the smile in Angel’s voice, “Go clean your one set of silverware or something.”

“I have at least three sets now, but fine,” with one last laugh he left the lobby, leaving just you and Angel behind.

“Wanna run another one?” you chuckled, “Promise I’ll buy you back this time.”

“Fuckin’ liar,” he laughed, “But fine.”

It was silent between the two of you for a few minutes and it was almost eerie, solely because Angel was notorious for never keeping his mouth shut. A couple times you wanted to point it out, but something in the game would always distract you and you never quite got around to it.

“Boy Wonder still not home?” Angel asked.

“Something tells me that I’m flying solo tonight,” you paused, letting a half-hearted laugh fall from your lips, “Besides you, of course.”

“Of course,” he chuckled but you could tell that there was something more behind it.

“Whatchu thinking, Angelito? Hm?” you tried to coax it out of him.

“What kind of fuckin’ idiot,” he paused as he reloaded his gun, the brief pause making your stomach knot slightly, “doesn’t use dead silence? I hear your heavy feet from miles away, querida.”

You huff, knowing that he was deflecting, “That’s what’s weighing on you, Angel? Really?” your fingers nervously drummed against the back of your controller.

“Speaking of idiots,” he continued, and you wished that you could see his face, “what the fuck is your man doing ditching you again?”

There it is.

You let out a sigh that shifts into a hollow laugh, “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Never thought to ask?”

You scoff, “You know, it actually never crossed my mind. Blowing my whole world wide open tonight.”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled, “Clearly a touchy topic.”

“I don’t even know if I want the fucking answer, at this point,” you shake your head as the two of you slowly but surely make your way towards the safe zone of the map, “I don’t want another bullshit excuse.”

“Why do you even bother sticking around, then?”

“I dunno,” you chuckle quietly, “Why do you still pick up the AK when you could grab the M13? Sometimes people just do dumb shit.”

“I’m nasty with the AK and you know it,” he laughed. There were a few beats of silence as the two of you battled it out in the game, covering each other before Angel continued, “I’m just sayin’, you should not be spending your date night playing fuckin’ Warzone with me.”

“My company that bad, Angel?”

“You know that ain’t what this is about.”

You sighed, “I know. It’s just—fuck!” you laughed and let your controller drop into your lap, “I’m down. Fuck.”

“C’mon, gotta keep your head in the game,” he laughed.

“You don’t get to grill me on my relationship and then give me shit for being distracted.”

“Wanna back out?”

You nodded before you remembered that he couldn’t see you, “Uh, yea sure. I’m tapped out for the night, I think.”

Both of you backed out of the match but you stayed on the line with each other. The silence that filled the space between you almost felt heavy. Part of you felt like you should be saying something but you didn’t quite know what.

“Wanna come over?” you didn’t know what possessed you to say that, especially given how late it was, but it was out there now and you couldn’t take it back.

“Now?” he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t surprised.

“I mean…yea?”

There was a pause before he laughed, “Fuck it, why not? I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Real fifteen, or Angel fifteen?”

You could easily picture him shaking his head at you, “Real fifteen.”

True to his word, fifteen minutes later you heard a knock at your door. You let him in and for some reason, things felt just a little bit different. It wasn’t anything that either of you said or did, but there was definitely a shift. You grabbed a couple beers for each of you before plopping down on the couch next to him.

The two of you got wrapped up in conversation, bantering back and forth about one thing then another. It was the hardest that you’d laughed in a long time and you had to admit that you needed it. Not that you didn’t love shooting back and forth with him and the guys, but there was definitely something different about sitting on the couch together and joking around as opposed to doing it over a headset from your separate living rooms.

At one point he bet you that you couldn’t win a round without your headset on. You were fairly certain that he was right, but once he made a bet out of it you needed to prove him wrong. Loading the game and taking a long drink from your next beer bottle, you got ready to hopefully make yourself twenty bucks richer.

It was about as futile as you’d assumed it would be, but the commentary from Angel made the repeated defeats worth it. The two of you were shoulder to shoulder on the couch, Angel doing everything except reaching over and snatching the controller from you in an attempt to throw you off. You playfully nudged him to try and put some distance between you as you played. Both of you were erupting with laughter when you heard a key turn in the lock of your door.

Both of you paused and looked over as your boyfriend walked in. Despite the fact that neither you nor Angel were doing anything wrong, you still felt like you were supposed to be explaining yourself. He only looked at you for a moment before his eyes locked onto Angel’s. The two of them had only met briefly on a few occasions—he never really hung out with the guys from the MC.

“Sorry. Didn’t know you had company,” he was still looking at Angel rather than you.

“Uh, yea,” you closed out of the game and leaned back on the couch, “Kind of a last-minute thing.”

“If you’re busy, I can leave,” his eyes darted back and forth between you and Angel.

“She shoulda been busy a few fuckin’ hours ago, bro,” Angel spoke up before he could stop himself.

“What?” his tone had more bite to it than you were used to.

“Angel, don’t,” you kept your voice quiet.

“No, let him say what he’s gotta say,” you could tell by the way your boyfriend shifted his weight that he was going to turn this into more than it needed to be.

“I’m just saying,” Angel shook his head slightly, “Me and my boys have spent more time with your girl on your date nights than you have lately,” he sucked his teeth, “No reason that she should be stuck playing fuckin’ Warzone with us jokers when you’re supposed to be taking her to dinner and a movie or some shit.”

“Fuck,” you whispered as you ran your hands down your face.

He stepped forward towards the couch, “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Angel stood up off the sofa, effectively dwarfing your boyfriend without even having to try, “Who the fuck are you?”

Your boyfriend looked over to you, “Y/N, why do you le—”

“Nah, nah,” Angel shook his head, “This is between us now,” he motioned back and forth between them, “Say what you gotta say.”

“What gives you the right to come in here and tell me what to do with my relationship? Don’t you got biker shit you should be doing?”

“What do you think I’m doin’ right now?” there was a cocky smirk on Angel’s face as he spoke and you knew that you shouldn’t have found it as amusing as you did.

You must’ve been worse at hiding your amusement than you thought, because when your boyfriend looked over at you, anger instantly took over his features, “This shit funny to you, Y/N?”

All of the care in you disappeared, “I mean,” you sighed and shrugged, “honestly? A little bit.”

He scoffed, “You know what? I don’t fucking need this,” he shook his head, “I’m not gonna stay here and just be disrespected. I’m fucking, I’m done. I’m out.”

You knew that you should’ve felt something, but you just didn’t. You didn’t even bother to get up off the couch, “Leave your key on the way out, then.”

Both he and Angel looked at you with surprised expressions on their faces. Your boyfriend shook his head slightly in disbelief, “Wh-what?”

“If you’re done,” you leaned forward, elbows resting on your knees, “then leave your key to my place. I don’t want my ex to be able to get into my place whenever he wants.”

He sputtered a few fractions of words before tossing the key onto the table and turning to head out. He slammed the door behind him and Angel looked back to you, shock written all over his face. A smile crept across his lips and he shook his head at you.

“That was fuckin’ cold.”

You chuckled, shrugging, “Was a long time coming though, right?”

“I mean, yea, but still,” he paused, really looking at you, “You good?”

You nodded, “Right now? Yea. Maybe it’ll hit me tomorrow or something. Or maybe it won’t,” you had to laugh.

“Sorry I kinda brought this on,” you could tell by the look in his eyes that the apology was genuine.

You shrugged, “You and your big fuckin’ mouth certainly didn’t help,” you chuckled, “But none of that was on you.”

“You wanna talk abou—"

“No,” you cut him off with a shake of your head, “C’mon,” you motioned for him to sit down next to you again, “Time for you to lose without a headset on.”

He laughed as he sat next to you, “I ain’t gonna lose.”

You smiled, shaking your head as he took the controller in his hands. Without thinking much of it, you found yourself settling against his side. He froze up for a moment before reaching around you, lightly wrapping you up as he held the controller in his hands. Neither of you said anything about it for a few minutes while he got himself set up.

You chuckled as you watched him loot for weapons, “Still gonna use the goddamn AK?”

“The gun isn’t what’s gonna make me lose, querida,” he chuckled as he chanced a glance down at you cozied up against his side.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you smiled up at him knowingly.

He chuckled, shaking his head, “Nothin’, nothin’.”

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #angel reyes #angel reyes x you #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes imagine #angel reyes fanfic #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc