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anenbylittlepotato · 3 years

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The Bros + side dateables (Minus Luke) React to You Comparing Your Hand Sizes

Warnings: Very fluffy. Not for the faint of heart. You might die of cuteness. You have been warned.

You're sitting with this person just kind of chilling while you're both doing your own thing when you glance over at their hands. You wait a long enough pause in what they're doing before reaching over and taking their hand, holding it so that you can gently press your palm against theirs. Also, this is an MC who has relatively small hands so-

Lucifer

You're sitting beside him as he works, scrolling through your D.D.D.

After several hours of both of you sitting in silence, each doing your own thing, you finally look up from your D.D.D.

You look over at Lucifer, who's still completely absorbed in his work.

Then your eyes drift to his hands, the pen he's gripping gliding across the paper in front of him.

As you watch, he sets the pen down and starts stretching his fingers. You aren't surprised his hands are cramping. He's been writing for a long time now. You're probably the only person he would show this kind of weakness to, which makes you feel kind of special.

As you watch, an idea pops into your head. You set down your D.D.D. and gently grab his hand.

He's a little startled at first and gives you a quizzical look, but he doesn't stop you. At least it's a distraction from all of the bills Mammon has piled up.

You hold his gloved hand so that you can gently press your palm to his, lining your fingers up with his as well.

He has pretty big hands. They're not huge, but they're somewhat significantly bigger than yours.

He lets out a low rumbling laugh.

"What, exactly, are you doing, MC?"

"Comparing our hand sizes. You have really big hands."

He lets out another small laugh.

"Or perhaps you just have small hands."

And at that, he gently folds his hand over the top of your smaller one, almost as if proving his point about your tiny hands.

He then smiles and brings his other hand over to cup your cheek as he gently plants a kiss on your forehead.

Afterward, he lets go of your hand and goes back to work.

Mammon

You two are sitting together on the couch in his room.

You're both on your D.D.D. sending each other random memes that you find and giggling together.

And during one of the moments of quiet moments where you're both scrolling, you look over at him.

He's still absorbed in his D.D.D., a big, goofy grin plastered across his face as he scrolls through the memes.

Your eyes drift to his hands as his thumbs move, pausing every so often to read a meme, then moving on when he deems it unsuitable to send to you.

As you watch, he pauses on a particularly long meme. You take this chance to reach over and gently take the hand, pulling it toward you.

He immediately tenses and looks over at you, his face flushing bright red.

"H-Hey, just what do ya think you're doin', MC?"

Instead of answering, you move his hand so that the palm is facing upwards and you gently press your palm against his, making his fingers flatten out as you line your fingers up with his.

He watches you, his face red, his heart racing, and his fingers trembling ever-so-slightly.

His hands are probably not that big, only being a little bigger than yours.

"M-MC? What are ya doin'???"

You look at him and smile a little.

"Comparing our hand sizes. Yours are bigger than mine."

"H-Huh? Oh! W-well, of course, they are! Just shows how awesome I am! After all, I'm the GREAT Mammon!"

You laugh a little at his words.

"Yeah, yeah. It's just hand size. Doesn't make you any better or worse than me."

Then, without giving him a chance to respond, you curl your fingers between his, holding his hand.

That's it. He's dead. You've killed him.

His whole face is red and he's a flustered spluttering mess.

He literally cannot form a single coherent sentence. He's dying, help him.

It takes him a full 10 minutes just to calm down.

When he finally does, he turns his head away before gently holding your hand back.

You laugh a little at how flustered he is.

Leviathan

You guys are just chilling in his room together, sitting side by side. You're watching anime on your D.D.D. while he plays video games on his handheld console.

At the end of one of your episodes, you look up and glance over at Levi.

He's so entranced by his game that he doesn't even notice you looking at him. His brows are furrowed and his tongue is sticking out slightly in concentration.

You smile when he lets out a small cheer when he beats the level he's on. He leans back a little and lowers the game as he relishes in his victory.

Out of a random whim, you reach out and gently take his hand, pulling it toward you.

He jumps in surprise and lets out a small yelp as you turn his hand so you can flatten your palm against him.

His whole face turns red as you closely study your hands pressed together.

His hands are actually surprisingly big. Not big like Lucifer's but definitely bigger than yours.

"M-MC! Wha-what are you d-d-doing?!"

In response, you look at him and smile.

"I'm comparing our hand sizes. Yours are actually pretty big."

He covers his face with his other hand, not moving the one you have away.

"Wh-what a normie thing to do, MC… I guess it's to be expected from a normie like you…"

You were literally just watching anime but okay-

When he notices you look a little downcast at his insults, he frantically tries to apologize.

"W-wait no! I- I didn't mean that I'm sorry!"

When you look back at him, he smiles at you a little.

He was so focused on trying to apologize, he didn't even notice that you'd curled your fingers around his hand.

When does realize, though, he's immediately back to being a flustered, stuttery mess.

You broke him.

Leviathan.exe has stopped working.

Satan

You're both sitting in his room, on his bed together.

Both of you are reading books. You're reading a really interesting fantasy book he'd recommended to you. Meanwhile, he's reading a book about cats.

At the end of the chapter you're on, you sigh and lower the book, processing what you just read. You cannot believe that just happened to the main character.

While you're doing that, you glance over at Satan. He's still very much absorbed in his book.

As you watch, he takes one hand away from the book, shifting it so that he can balance it in one hand, and brings the other up to his chin, rubbing it as if he were deep in thought.

Then, just as he's reaching back down to turn the page, you set your book down and reach out and gently grab his hand.

He blinks, shocked, and looks over at you curiously as you gently press your palm to his. His cheeks flush a little.

His hands are only a little bigger than yours. They're still a little bigger than Mammon's though.

"MC? What are you doing?"

"Comparing our hand sizes."

He looks down at the two of your hands.

"I see. It seems my hands are a bit bigger than yours, huh?"

You nod a little, smiling at him.

Then he glances at his book before looking back at you.

"Now… I can't exactly turn the pages with one hand, can I?"

You laugh and reach over with your other hand, turning the page of his book yourself.

He chuckles a little and thanks you as he curls his fingers around yours.

Asmodeus

You're both sitting on his bed while he's looking at his reflection in a mirror, applying makeup.

He's going to do yours next, so you're scrolling through pictures on his D.D.D. as you try to decide what look you want.

When you finally find a look that you like, you click the image and set the D.D.D. down to wait for Asmo to finish his own makeup. While you wait, you look up and watch him apply his makeup, carefully applying the pink lipstick.

When he's finished, he caps the lipstick and sets it down on the bed beside him while admiring his work.

Then, just as he's bringing his hand back up to the mirror, you grab his hand, careful not to touch his freshly painted nails.

He looks over at you quizzically at first, then he smiles at you.

"Aw, do you want my attention~? Don't worry, I'll get to you in a moment, darling."

Without responding, you press your palm to his, lining up your fingers.

Asmo has pretty small hands, being about the same size as yours, maybe even a little smaller.

He looks a little confused as he watches you study your hands.

"What are you doing, dear?"

"Comparing our hands' sizes. You have small hands."

He laughs at that.

"Oh, you are just so cute!"

He takes his hand from yours and gently taps your nose with his index finger.

"Come now, show me what you have picked out there."

He picks up his D.D.D. and looks at the image you have up.

"Ooh! Good choice! Now come here, love."

And with that, he starts working on your makeup.

Beelzebub

You're sitting in his lap on his bed. He has his chin resting on top of your head as he munches on one of the many bags of chips you two had bought earlier. You're looking at recipes online, trying to figure out what to make for breakfast tomorrow since it'll be your turn to cook.

Soon, Beel has finished his current bag of chips and he sets the empty bag aside. You glance at his hand as he reaches out to grab another bag.

You smile a little and set down the D.D.D and gently take his hand, laughing inwardly at the feeling of his greasy fingers.

He's a little shocked by this action.

"Huh? MC, what is it?"

You gently press your palm against his.

"Comparing our hand sizes."

Oh boy, does this boy have some big hands.

Very large hands.

Definitely bigger than yours. By quite a bit, actually.

You giggle a little as he moves his head down to rest on your shoulder to get a better look at your guys' hands.

"Your hands are so big, Beel."

He laughs, and you can feel the sound in his chest, vibrating you a little bit.

Then he closes his hand around yours.

"Well, yours are pretty small. At least compared to mine. I like that. It's easier to hold them."

Then, he cups your cheek and gently kisses your lips before taking his hand away from yours and finally grabbing that next bag of chips.

Belphegor

You and Belphie are sitting on your bed together. He's sitting beside you with his arms wrapped around your middle and his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, half asleep. Meanwhile, you're in the middle of sewing up a hole in his pillow that he'd somehow managed to tear. Not surprising, seeing as he carries it everywhere. And, of course, it was Mammon's fault, even though you have a sneaking suspicion that it was everyone's fault. So now you're his new pillow until it's fixed. You have no choice. Deal with it.

After a while, you have to set down the needle and thread and stretch your cramping fingers. Sewing is painful-

He notices your pause and lifts his head, looking at you.

"Is it done yet?"

"Not quite. I still have a little ways to go. But I need a little break. My hands are starting to cramp."

He then grabbed the pillow and peered at the mostly sewn tear.

"Huh. You weren't lying when you said you could sew. That's actually pretty good."

You laugh a little as you watch him start to pull his hand away. Without thinking, you gently grab his hand.

He blinks and looks at you as you press your palm to his.

His hands are a decent size. Not big, but decently bigger than yours.

"MC… you're being weird again."

"No, I'm not. I'm comparing our hand sizes."

He looks back down at your hands.

"Hehehehe, mine are bigger. You have small hands. Baby hands."

Baby Hands is your nickname now.

You have no choice.

He will now call you Baby Hands any chance he gets, just to see how frustrated you get with him.

He is pure evil. A gremlin man. Stinky bastard man.

Diavolo

You're sitting in his lap as he works. You're drinking tea made by Barbatos.

You watch as he writes papers and signs forms while sipping your tea.

Soon he's finished a full stack of the papers. He leans back with a sigh, wrapping his arms around you.

"I think it's about time I could take a break now. I made quite a bit of progress."

You lean your head back so you can look up at him, smiling. Big man

He grins right back at you.

Then you look down at his hands placed gently on your belly. One of his thumbs is moving, gently rubbing your belly.

You softly grab one of his hands. He's a little surprised, but he's more curious and leans down to watch what you do.

You gently press your palm to him. He tilts his head like a confused puppy, trying to understand what, exactly, you're doing.

BIG HANDS. BIG HANDS BIG HANDS BIG HANDS.

This man's hands. Are Fuckign. Enormous.

He has such big hands. The biggest. Bigger than Beel's.

They fucking engulf yours.

Big hands for a big man ig

"Is this some kind of human world tradition?"

He asks that question so earnestly I can't-

You laugh.

"No, no. I'm just comparing our hand sizes. Yours are huge."

This time it's his turn to laugh.

"Yes, I suppose they are."

He then brings your hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it.

Barbatos

You're sitting beside him while he folds laundry that just came out of the dryer. You're sipping some milk tea that he'd made you.

You're watching him as he works. Every fold was so meticulous and pristine. It's almost mesmerizing.

As you watch, he pauses briefly to let out a breath before immediately reaching to grab another article of clothing.

Before he can though, you gently take his hand.

He looks at you, not really surprised, as he likely saw this coming.

He watches quietly as you gently press your palm to his.

His hands are bigger than yours but they're not particularly large.

He smiles softly as he watches you.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

You look at him and smile a little.

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"I'm glad. I really do like seeing you enjoying yourself."

You look back down at your hands.

"I was comparing our hand sizes! Yours are bigger than mine."

"I can see that."

He takes his other hand and places it on top of yours, smiling softly. He rubs the back of your hand with his thumb.

"Now, I must get back to work. I have many more things I must get to."

He kisses the back of your hand swiftly before returning to his laundry folding.

Don't worry, guys, I'm still adding Simeon and Solomon, I just... Couldn't fit them in this post. I'll be adding them in a reblog

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warmblanketwhump · 3 years

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flight plan

disclaimer: this takes place in pre-you-know-what times - if you’re actually sick, do not do what B does here. alright, on to the suffering :)

Back when B booked their flight, the 4 am boarding time and 2 layovers seemed like a great exchange for saving a few hundred dollars while flying across the country. But now, with a head that feels like it was stuffed with cotton, a gate change that forced their leadened body to trek across the entire airport, and an additional 3-hour delay before their final 4-hour flight, they were beginning to question their penny-pinching ways.

In a nearby terminal, a fussy infant screamed, and it took everything for B not to scream back at them: I hate it here too! Their nerves were frayed, their whole body ached to the bone, and their head felt like it was in a vise grip.

It hadn’t felt this bad this morning - heck, they wouldn’t have left if they’d felt this bad - but the changing cabin pressure and constant temperature shifts from hot, stuffy terminals to icy planes were wreaking havoc on their poor, rapidly sickening body. They’d been up for 18 hours. And now, they had no choice but to ride it out and power through the last leg. They hug the paper cup of tea they’d grabbed at a nearby cafe close to their chest, trying to hold back their frustrated tears.

They just wanted to be home.

B shifts on the hard terminal seat as they wrap up a third agonizing hour of waiting, willing the passengers ahead of them to board more quickly so they could just get home to A, who they’d been missing all week. But the miserable minutes ticked by, and B kept having to blow their tender nose with their precious (and dangerously dwindling) travel pack of tissues. As they massage their aching sinuses, B feels a tap on their shoulder. Turning, they recognize a fellow passenger from their previous flight extending another full pack their way.

“Here. You need these more than I do.” They extend the gift, and B gratefully accepts. The stranger nods, and heads back to their luggage to wait out the boarding process.

After what feels like an hour, B’s group is finally able to board the flight. From their boarding pass, they knew they’d be stuck in the middle seat, but their heart lifts a bit when they see their Kleenex-wielding savior in the aisle seat next to theirs, who waves and gives them a small smile as they let them through. On the window seat side, a sour-looking individual scans them up and down, raising an eyebrow when B coughs roughly in their elbow.

“Sorry…” B sniffles. The sour-faced person rolls their eyes and turns their attention to the window, and B shrinks in their seat, embarrassed.

“Just want to be home, right?” Their aisle friend smiles sympathetically, and B nods weakly. “I know the feeling. Name’s C.”

B introduces themselves, and the two make amicable small talk during the pre-flight checklist, finding out that they both called their destination city home. As the plane takes flight, B winces - the pressure change makes their head ache, and their sinuses feel like they’re going to explode, along with their ears. The dry air of the plane irritates their chapped nose, and they close their eyes and grip the armrest till their knuckles bleach, trying to breathe through the pain and praying it doesn't get worse.

It gets worse. On top of their pounding head and runny nose, B discovers like all the other planes, this one's an icebox. Once they reach cruising altitude, B apologetically shuffles by C to head to the bathroom, hoping that by some chance it’s warmer in there. In the dim light, B’s stares at their haggard reflection – their feverish eyes are glazed and watery, their raw nose is bright red, and their peaked face is wan and drawn, coated with a sheen of sweat. Hopefully A would still recognize them, they thought humorlessly.

The bathroom is just as frigid, and B’s stuck with a stream of lukewarm water that barely heats their cold hands. Back in their seat, the throbbing headache continues to build behind their eyes, and their throat desperately cries out for something to drink.

As if they could hear their thoughts, C leans over and pulls a small bottle of water from their personal bag. “The flight attendants came by with drinks while you were up - figured you could at least use some water.” B gratefully accepts and murmurs their thanks, and the cool water feels like heaven as they gulp it down.

After, B pulls the paper-thin flight blanket up to their chin - at this point, they didn’t care what the travel magazines said about how dirty they were. But it’s no use. The cold plane air sinks into their aching bones, and their body shivers to make up the difference. They close their eyes and wriggle around in the seat, trying to find a comfortable position that still allows them to curl up and get warm while exhaling as few germs as possible – and if there's any mercy at all, to fall unconscious for the next 3 and a half hours.

“Will you stop?” The window passenger glares at them. “It’s bad enough you brought your germs on here. But now you can’t even sit still?” Tears pricked at B's eyes - being sick always made them more sensitive - but before they can squeak out an apology, C leaps to their aid.

"Lay off," C snaps. "Can't you see they don't feel good?" The other passenger huffs indignantly, and presses closer to the wall of the plane. C's eyes don't leave them, and they stretch their hand out tentatively toward B. "May I?"

B nods, letting their eyes close, and C gently lays a cool hand across their forehead, clicking their tongue at the heat. "Well, I've definitely flown with healthier seatmates than you." B tries to laugh, but a cough seizes their lungs, and they double over to try and contain it as best they can as C gently rubs between their shoulder blades. When they finally catch their breath, they rest their head on their knees, exhausted from the exertion. From their prone position, B checks their watch. 3 hours and 26 minutes to go.

I'm going to die.

Slowly, B sits up and stiffly straightens their blanket with as little movement as possible. A draft floods their section of the plane, and B longingly eyes C’s unopened blanket tucked in the seat pocket, trying to quiet the incessant chatter of their teeth.

“You cold?” C frowns.

“Freezing,” they whimper through clenched teeth. “And I hurt all over and I just want to go home and I miss A and I’m so tired.” They didn’t mean to break down, but two twin tears slip from their eyes as they try to stop their lip from quivering.

C’s quiet for a moment, then stands to rustle around in the overhead compartment, and returns with a small bundle.

“Lean back,” C gently commands, and A obeys and closes their eyes. They’re immediately draped in warmth, and open their eyes to see a thick, fleece-lined jacket being tucked over them, along with a soft travel blanket over their legs. They try to protest, but C shushes them.

“Being sick is already miserable without being stuck in a tin can in the sky. Besides, these flight blankets suck." C gives B's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and B nearly melts at the touch.

“And look, if you don’t want to, it’s fine - you don’t know me - but you can use my shoulder if you want to try and catch some sleep.”

In any other moment B would be mortified, but they're so spent that they just nod weakly and surrender to the offer of comfort. C pulls their unused blanket out and folds it into a sort of pillow, clicking the armrest down between them, and B collapses onto them in a boneless heap. Sleep tugs at the edge of their vision, but there's one lingering question on their mind.

"C? Why....why are you helping me? You've been nothing but kind and you don't even know me."

C's quiet for a moment. "Last year, I tried to do the same thing you're doing – power through an 8-hour flight home with a blossoming case of pneumonia. Cough, chills, headache, the works. About 2 hours in, I was about ready to jump out of the plane." They chuckle lightly, but B hears the wistful note in their voice. "It was absolutely miserable, and all I wanted was someone to hold my hand and tell me it’d be okay.”

C turns to look at B. "But nobody did. Not a single soul. So I vowed that if ever I found myself in a position someday to help somebody home, I’d do it.”

The words are so achingly comforting and desperately sad, so soft and generous and B feels like they should say something, affirm that yes, helping a random sick passenger was damn close to sainthood. But instead, sleep wins over, and they nestle closer to C as they tumble into a soft, dreamless sleep.

it feels like they’re asleep for minutes, but when C nudges them gently, they realize that they’re descending. They’re home.

The wheels skid on the runway, and the journey off the plane is a blur of sound and color and too-bright lights. B is only vaguely aware of C’s arm around their waist, guiding them through the crowd and to the baggage claim area. They must have told C which suitcase is theirs, because they blink twice and it magically appears at their feet.

“C’mon now, B. Almost there.” C gently guides them forward, and B wills themselves to power through the final few minutes.

“Do you see A anywhere?” C asks, squinting through the crowd of people. B can barely focus their eyes, and they’re losing hope, when all of a sudden - they see them. A. Holding a small paper sign with B’s name and a stuffed animal with a small red heart in their arms, waving wildly. They’re beaming, but the smile falls from their face as they see what condition B’s in.

“B - what happened? Are you okay?” B can barely whisper A’s name, and A pulls them into a hug, gently whispering reassurances, that they’re home and safe.

“Bit of a rough flight, but B hung in there,” C smiles, passing B’s suitcase to A. “They’re not feeling too hot, but I think they’ll make it.”

Suddenly, B releases A and stumbles back to C, throwing their arms around them. C’s thrown off balance by the strength of the hug, but manage to compose themselves and pat them gently on the back.

“Thank you,” B whispers. “So much.”

C blushes. “It was nothing. Just don’t forget to pay it forward.”

B squeezes tighter. “You deserved help. You still do.” C says nothing, just swallows tightly, and B feels C’s arms tighten ever so briefly around their waist.

A rush of dizziness floods B, and C gently guides them back to A’s waiting arms, before handing A a scrap of paper. “Listen, it’s none of my business - but can you give me a call in a couple days, just so I know they’re feeling better?”

A takes the scrap and smiles. “Absolutely. It’s the least I can do to thank you for keeping old B from falling apart in public.” B grunts indignantly, almost asleep again, and A strokes their hair and smiles.

They make it back to the car, and A manages to maneuver a limp B into the passenger seat, tucking them in and cranking the heat on their side. B blinks their eyes open and smiles guilelessly. “Go home now?”

A smiles and presses a soft kiss to their forehead. “Yes, love. We’re going home now.”

#fever whump #sickfic #whump prompt #hurt comfort #caretaking #whump on a plane #PLANE WHUMP EVERYONE #FINALLY #this really took a turn I was not expecting when I set out to write this #BUT ITS DONE #also there is most certainly space for a part 2 👀

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after-witch · 3 years

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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

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ridiculousn3sswrites · 3 years

Text

Pressing Issues

*Dick Grayson x Reader

*Summary: Detective Dick Grayson has never been annoyed by another person as much as journalist Reader.

*Warnings: Swearing, talks of gun violence (relevant to a case Dick is working on), mention of robbery (case mention), cop stuff. Let me know if I missed anything.

*A/N: I made a post talking about this idea a while ago and finally wrote it.

Tip Jar

**********

When Detective Dick Grayson stepped on the scene, he didn’t expect anything different from what was told to him on the way there. He went about doing his thing - talking to the officers on the scene, chatting with CSI - when he heard his partner let out an exaggerated groan. Dick looked over, confused at the noise. His partner just rolled his eyes, nodding towards a woman with a press badge. “Man, why’d they send her?”

“Who’s that?” Dick asked. He’d never seen her before, but she was definitely attractive. He’d had a few press statements on other cases, and he never really saw the issue with the press. Maybe that was just from growing up around Bruce and all the media attention that brought, but the journalists he’d spoken to in Bludhaven had never been rude to him.

“That’s (y/n), she’s a monster.” His partner provided no further explanation as the woman walked up to them.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but you can’t be on the scene,” Dick immediately said. He was surprised the other officers didn’t stop her at the tape.

“Right, but those officers weren’t giving me any answers,” she told him. His partner let out a laugh.

“Grayson, you can deal with her, just get her out of the tape,” his partner said.

“Rodriguez, always nice to see you.” She smiled at his partner, but her tone was dripping with sarcasm. “Haven’t gotten any better at your job since the last time we spoke, have you?”

“Grayson, get her out of here.” Rodriguez lost any amusement he had with the woman, and Dick knew he should get the journalist out of there before things escalated even further. Dick led her away from the scene, right to the edge of the tape but away from the small crowd that were always nosing around scenes.

“Detective Richard Grayson, how can I help you out?”

“(Y/n) (L/n), lead crime journalist for the Bludhaven Gazette. I wanted to get a feel for the scene before we put anything out about it,” she explained. “Anything you can share about what happened?”

“Alright, well we have two males hit in a drive-by, one dead on the scene. We don’t know much about motives or anything, but we’re suspecting rival gangs based on the fact this happened in a grey-zone,” Dick told her. It would be vague enough to satisfy her readers, but didn’t put anything too speculative out there. She was shaking her head as she wrote down what he said. “Wait, what’s all that about?”

“What?”

“The head shaking? What, you don’t agree with the police statement?” Dick was trying to joke with her, but he was still confused.

“It’s not a grey-zone, but I wouldn’t expect the cops to know that,” she said, challenging him. Dick tried to think back to his nightly activities, trying to figure out if he missed anything with how the city was divided. As far as he knew, this area was unclaimed. “Right, so that’s it?”

“Well, yeah. We just got on the scene not too long ago.” She just hummed, and he wasn’t sure if it was in acknowledgement or disapproval. “Hey, what’s your beef with Rodriguez?”

“For a Detective, he’s shit at his job,” she told him, clicking her pen as she put it back in her bag.

“Care to elaborate?”

“A kid got snatched, broad daylight, and Rodriguez was the lead on the case. Gave up after a few days. I dunno where you’re from, but where I’m from, we don’t give up like that, especially on a kid,” she said. “I wrote articles talking about it, and Rodriguez doesn’t like me because I called him out on it.”

“Wow, you’re pretty cutthroat,” Dick said, whistling lowly.

“I just don’t give you guys any slack. Be good at your job and you have nothing to worry about.” She smiled at him before turning on her heel and walking away. He watched as she put her phone to her ear, probably talking to someone back at the office. She scared him a little, but he was always up for the challenge.

**********

Rodriguez was right. Dick was always down for accountability, but the way you brought it into his life was a bit much. Every time there was even the slightest hint of a development, you were there with your opinions about what he was doing wrong, and if you ever had any praise for him, it was so sparse he couldn’t even tell it was praise. He was just trying to look through some files to piece together your little cryptic ‘it’s not a grey-zone’ hint, when Rodriguez tapped on his desk.

“What’s up?” He asked, looking up at his partner.

“You got a visitor.”

“God, don’t tell me…”

“Surprise, your worst nightmare is here, Grayson.”

“Aw, I got a new nickname?” You asked Rodriguez as you dropped in the chair next to Dick’s desk. Dick had to stop the groan from escaping him, really not wanting to deal with you.

“She’s your problem now,” Rodriguez said, walking away. Dick almost wished he could go with him.

“Alright, (L/n), what is it now?” Dick asked, putting down his files.

“You have ID on one of the victims and it was a guy with no connections to anything on the Underground, but no progress on the shooter? C’mon, Grayson, I thought you’d at least be better than Rodriguez.”

“I’m working with what I have,” he huffed, fighting the way he wanted to roll his eyes.

“You’re not looking at all your options. Put away the gang files, they’re not the ones you should be looking at,” you almost ordered him. “I’m practically doing your job for you at this point. I gotta run, I have an interview.”

“You’re leaving the Gazette?” Dick was almost hopeful. That would definitely make things easier on him.

“No, smart one, I’m the one doing the interviewing.”

“Wow, who would’ve guessed with your shining personality,” Dick shot back, finally annoyed.

“I’m a ray of sunshine, just not with cops,” you said with your fake little smile before leaving him there. It took everything to not slam his head against his desk.

**********

Dick always thought he was good under pressure, but this was intense. With your little article that came out the day after you talked to him - apparently your interview was with the victim’s wife - public pressure was increasing on the department tenfold. He hated to admit it, but you were good at what you did. He was almost pissed off at himself after reading the article, and that was saying something.

He needed to close this case so he could get you off his back, and he needed to do it fast. Not only did you put pressure on the department, now his superiors were putting even more pressure on him. He knew you were cryptic with what you knew, but you wanted him to put together the pieces. When he was out for his nightly patrol, he was trying to piece together what little hints you dropped.

Dick had to admitted he was silently fuming as he sat on the rooftop across from the scene of the crime. After all, what did you know? It’s not like you had access to the databases he did, both legally and in the legally grey. What did she mean it’s not gang-related? It has to be, this is disputed territory right now.

And of course something sketchy had to happen while he was doubting you. A black town car pulled up to the block, someone getting out of the passenger seat and scanning the area before going back to talk to someone in the back. Dick cursed as he grabbed his binoculars, trying to watch the scene closer to see if he could get any more information from the sketchy scene. He zoomed in on the man in the backseat, a guy dressed in an expensive-looking suit wearing sunglasses at night (like an asshole), silver rings adorning his fingers.

“No way,” Dick mumbled, taking a picture of the rings to send to Barbara later. One of them in particular looked familiar, but he couldn’t exactly place it. “How the hell did she…”

After whoever it was seemed satisfied with how the scene looked, the person got back into the car and it pulled off, the tires screeching in the quiet of the night. As soon as Dick finished his patrols for the night, he sent the picture off to Barbara. She called him as soon as she ran the picture. “Hey, where’d you see this guy?”

“By the scene of that drive-by a couple weeks ago,” Dick explained. “I recognize that big ring he’s wearing on his middle finger, but I have no idea where from. Can you help me out?”

“Yeah, that’s a Baglio family ring,” she told him. “I can’t get an ID on the guy, but you remember that Italian family we were having trouble with out here? Same family.”

“Damn, she was right then. Technically not gang related. Hey, does the mob count as a gang?”

“I mean, technically, but they aren’t really recognized as gangs when it comes to like popular recognition. Does that really matter, though?”

“It’s a matter of me being technically right, so yes.”

“You’re annoying, has anyone told you that lately?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Okay, good talk then.”

**********

Actually having a solid lead meant that he was able to close the case a lot sooner than he previously thought. Sure, he wasn’t able to actually bag whoever was in the back of the town car, but he was able to track down the shooters. At the press conference announcing the arrest of the shooters, he could see you right there in the front row with the other reporters. Dick caught your gaze for a second, and he almost missed the small nod of approval you gave him. For a moment, he thought he’d finally get on your good side again.

Then again, the peace could only last for so long. Every single case he was on, he could bet there was an article about it soon to follow. You’d appear at every crime scene, moving on from antagonizing Rodriguez to finding Dick and immediately bothering him. You’d drop your little cryptic hints when he was having trouble with cases, and somehow they’d actually be useful once he decoded them. The thing that probably bugged him the most was how you managed to get to his desk almost every day he was working on particularly difficult cases. You never let him get to the point of forgetting about cases, especially for the ones that involved people that stayed away from the Underground.

He could understand not wanting cases to go cold, but the fact that you were coming into the precinct every single day to bug him about developments was a bit much. Dick could handle a healthy amount of shit talking, but there was just something about your shit talking that got him on edge. Everything about you just got under his skin, and seeing you so often was really not helping that out. It got to the point where he started trying to avoid you just to keep his sanity.

“Grayson, (L/n) just got on the scene, you wanna run?” Rodriguez asked as soon as he spotted you talking to the officers at the tape. Dick quickly looked around, trying to find someplace he could disappear to. The only real option would be to go look like he was talking to the CSI team, but he didn’t want to disturb them actually doing their jobs. Before he could make a decision, you were already approaching.

“Grayson, stop running from me. You know I know where you work,” you called out to him.

“I should really get you banned from the precinct,” he shot back, a small frown on his face.

“You know you’d get bored without me,” you said, rolling your eyes. “So, whatcha got for me?”

“Why are you talking like you’re on this case? Technically I don’t have to tell you anything more than the other officers told you.”

“So what I’m hearing is go ahead and write whatever I want.”

“For fuck’s sake-”

“Ooo, that’s the first time I’ve heard you curse. I like it. So, what’s the news?”

“It’s a robbery, one injured, but we have a couple witnesses and it sounds like we have a pretty solid perp description. We’re just waiting for the witnesses to meet with the sketch artist and then we’re sending out the sketch to the papers and news outlets,” Dick told you. “There, satisfied?”

“As a matter of fact, I am. Glad this one’s an easy one, I’d hate to have to write about you again,” you told him, turning around with a small smile on your face. “See you later, Grayson.”

“I sure hope not,” he decided to call after you. He could faintly hear your laugh, but the thing that caught his attention was the fact that you decided to flip him off as you walked away. Dick froze for a second, not sure if he should be highly amused or pissed off. He settled for somewhere in the middle, leaning more towards being pissed off.

When you put out your article, it was a simple, tell the details, share the perp sketch type of article. Dick was pleasantly surprised that there were no real call outs about him; as a matter of fact, his name was only mentioned once with the request that anyone who sees or has information about the suspect contact the tip-line immediately. He smiled at his laptop, taking the lack of criticism as praise. He was even willing to take the shit talking from Rodriguez, because as far as he was concerned, Rodriguez was just jealous that he never got this type of reaction from you.

**********

Dick didn’t realize he actually somewhat enjoyed your company - if he could call it that - until you stopped bothering him. You moved on from targeting him, bugging other detectives and officers about their open cases. He would hear complaints, as well as some pretty unsavory things, about you from the people you were bothering, and he was surprised about the amount of times he almost jumped to your defense. You were the biggest pain in his ass - constantly bugging him about his cases and making sure that he didn’t forget about your existence - so why did your disappearance bother him so much?

He got used to seeing you around the precinct (just not talking to him), but then he noticed when you stopped showing up. You didn’t show up to crime scenes, you didn’t show up to the precinct, you just weren’t there anymore, and that worried him. He tried asking around about you, seeing if maybe you were there and he just didn’t happen to run into you, but he met the same response: relief that you’d stopped coming around. It got to the point where he was checking the Bludhaven Gazette’s website to see if you’d written any new articles. Nothing.

Dick figured there’d be no way to really contact you; it wasn’t like he could just call your job and be like ‘hey, why isn’t this journalist bothering me anymore?’. He tried pushing you to the back of his mind, but he found himself still looking for you. It annoyed him - even when you weren’t there, you still managed to find a way to bug him. Before he knew it, a month had passed without seeing you. Then, as he was trying to schmooze up to a DA at the Policeman’s Ball, he could hear the telltale groan of another officer. You were there.

Sure enough, there you were in a black cocktail dress, a flute of champagne in hand, talking to someone he vaguely recognized from a different precinct. He wanted to excuse himself from his conversation just to see where the hell you’d been, but he knew he couldn’t risk it. He’d just have to find you later.

Then you slipped away yet again. Dick kept seeing glimpses of you here and there, but he could never catch up to you. It wasn’t until you went to the bar that Dick finally found his opening. You were talking to someone, but he didn’t really care at the moment. He slid up beside you at the bar, ordering a drink. He could see you straighten up at the sound of his voice, knowing he had your attention. As he took a drink of the whiskey in his cup, he turned to look at you.

You were a lot more done up than you normally were when you were working, but he couldn’t say he strongly preferred either. You looked amazing either way, just in different ways. “(L/n), funny running into you here.”

“Grayson,” you greeted, taking a sip of your own drink. “I can hardly believe this is an accident considering the way you’ve been watching me all night.”

That took him off guard, just enough to make him choke on his drink for a second. As soon as he regained his composure, he tried to figure out how to come back from his blunder. “Well, yeah. I thought I was seeing a ghost considering how you just disappeared.”

Not his best work, but you gave an amused smile so he would count it as a win. “Aw, you missed me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. It was just weird not being bothered every second of my work day.” You tipped your glass back, the last of your drink passing your lips. He watched as you swallowed before putting the glass back on the counter, leaving some bills folded under it.

“Ah, I see. Well, I guess I’ll see you around, Grayson.” You stood from your seat, giving him one last look before turning to disappear back into the crowd. Dick would have to work fast if he wanted to catch up to you before you slipped through his fingers yet again. He paid for his drink and left a tip as fast as he could, scanning through the crowd for you again. You were about to disappear down the hallway towards the bathrooms, and he still had to make his way through the crowd as politely as possible while also avoiding conversation. Damn social conventions.

You walked down the hall, wanting to escape to the bathroom for a few minutes to compose yourself, when you felt a hand around your wrist. You whipped around, not knowing who would be daring enough in a room full of police, just to see the last person you wanted to. “Grayson, let go of me.”

“No,” his voice was firm before he realized it must’ve been a little jarring to just get grabbed. “Sorry, but no.”

“What do you want?”

“Why are you even here?”

“It’s my job. I’m reporting on this damn thing,” you practically hissed, trying again to tug your wrist free from his hold. “Why do you care so much?”

“You’ve been MIA for a month and then suddenly you just appear here of all places? What gives?” He said, stepping towards you. You took a step back, trying to keep the distance, but your back just hit the wall behind you. You were forced to look up at him, the storm in his blue eyes surprising you. Why did it matter so much?

“I got sick, alright? My editor thought this would be an easy returner,” you snapped, trying to maintain your glare with him. It was a little difficult with how close he was to not get flustered, but you did what you needed to. “Why, did you miss me?”

You could tell that pissed him off by the smallest flare of his nose, but before you could take in the victory, he hit his arm on the wall above you. He kept it there, trapping you between his body and the wall. He wasn’t pressed against you just yet, but you wouldn’t be opposed to it if it was. “Why do you like pissing me off so much?”

He really didn’t see the opportunity he presented you with. You grabbed his tie the slightest bit, giving him the chance to pull away if he wanted to. When he didn’t, you used it to pull him down to your eye level. “Have you ever considered how fun it is?”

There was a moment of pure silence between the two of you, the faint noise of the party still going on just down the hall reminding you that you weren’t actually alone. Your gaze flicked down to his lips for just a moment, and then it was over. You don’t know who closed the distance first, but it didn’t really matter. The kiss was heated from the beginning, messy with tongue and teeth but you weren’t going to complain about it. Your hold on his tie tightened, pulling him closer to you. Dick’s arm moved from pressed against the wall above you, one hand fisting in your hair and the other wrapping around your waist to pull your body against him.

“God, I hate you,” Dick panted soon after he broke the kiss.

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t?” You tried teasing, even though your voice was a lot more airy than you would care to admit.

“You annoy the hell out of me.”

“I’m a journalist that doesn’t give cops any wiggle room, of course I do.” He rolled his eyes, making you smile. You pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “But you still missed me.”

“I guess I did. Do you maybe wanna get out of here?” You raised your brow, knowing he had to know how that sounded. It took him a second, but it finally clicked. “Not like that! Get some food or something. You probably aren’t annoying all the time.”

“You underestimate me,” you joked, making him smile. He has a pretty smile. “But I’ll take you up on that. Just make sure you behave yourself.”

“You’re the one who kissed me!”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” You freed yourself from his arms, making your way back down the hallway towards the exit. It took him a second, but you heard Dick following close behind. He pressed a hand to the small of your back, making sure you wouldn’t slip from his fingers again.

**********

Dress Inspiration

Permanent Tag List: @treatallwithkindness, @laic2299, @delaber

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #nightwing imagine #dc imagine #reader insert

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pascalpanic · 3 years

Note

“You can call me whenever you want… Even if you don’t have a reason to.” with Javi 😩 OR marcus moreno bc I think it fits him too

Personal Number (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

Summary: You’re lonely working as the American ambassador’s secretary. You miss the days of being down with the agents as a receptionist. At least you get to talk with Javier Peña on the phone somewhat often.

W/C: 1.5k

Warnings: language, brief mentions of sexual content. this is pretty tame.

A/N: I LOVE JAVIER. can you tell?? thank you for this idea Thea!!! I love it so much and I hope you like it too. Also, can you tell I like writing phone calls? I just think it’s so fun and a medium that isn’t covered super often.

it’s definitely not because I like not having to write about body language or action.

Javier Peña was a flirt. You knew that from the start, from the stories you’d heard from the other women around the embassy. He was cute, you admitted. Tight shirts and equally slim-fitting jeans, dark hair, lean and strong. He walked with power in his stance.

You liked him. He was a nice man, respectful. He flirted with everyone, but he never went too far. Sure, he’d slept with a solid chunk of the women who worked here, but he was supposedly a wonderful lover. His methods were unorthodox in the field, but he got what he needed. He was incredibly clever, setting up traps and getting information by any means necessary. You talked occasionally, when he’d stop by because you had a message for him at the receptionist desk. He was good for conversation. He liked the cinnamon candies you kept on your desk.

The other women talked with you more than he did. You and the other women chatted, ate lunch together. The rare female presence was much appreciated in such a testosterone-laden environment. You all got along well. Even compared stories of sleeping with certain agents, how their skills at finding the clit ranked, how snuggly they were after, how receptive they were to certain acts. It was fun.

Javier was a busy man. The phone on his desk rarely rang. If someone needed someone around the embassy, they went and talked to them in person. It was an excuse to get away from your desk, people figured. You rarely used the phone too, even as a receptionist. You’d answer calls when they came, but they were usually directed other places, with specific extensions. People here were more direct.

That was before you’d been appointed as the ambassador’s secretary. It was an honor. It meant you were good at your job. You’d taken it, bragging to the other girls over lunch. Everyone was excited for you.

The job, you found out, was dry. It consists most days of making phone calls. Stechner, Ambassador wants you. Ambassador? Stechner’s here. Yep. I’ll let him in. Hi, we’ll take three orders of arepas- sorry, yes sir? Scratch that, he wants four. And can you throw in a coffee- one second, yes sir? Got it- with four creams and two sugars.

You doodle on a notepad many days. You read newspapers or reports. You proofread memos for the ambassador before he sends them off to someone important. It’s draining and dry and you have to admit you hate it.

“Peña,” a voice answers the phone.

“Hi Javier. Are you busy?” You ask.

He smiles a little as he hears your voice, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. “When am I ever around here?” He asks, and you chuckle.

“I know the feeling.”

The two of you had talked a few times before. He was nice enough, if curt. Usually, he was busy. People only came to you when they needed something as a receptionist, and now even more so as a private secretary.

“How’s the promotion treating you?” He asks. He’d heard word as he talked with others. Noticed your spot was empty for a day or two before being replaced by another woman. He missed the little candies you kept on your desk. You always kept cinnamon disks stocked in a separate jar from the seasonal candies for him.

“It’s… good,” you nod, drawing a little fish on your notepad. “Kind of feels like a demotion sometimes. It’s boring up here. And lonely. I miss being around to talk with people.”

“We miss you,” he admits with a smile. “You still keep those cinnamon candies on your desk up there?”

You shake your head, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder. “No. Ambassador doesn’t like them, so I switched over. I did get some new fun caramel flavored stuff though.”

“Damn,” he chuckles.

“Would it make you come up here if I had them?”

“I may have to visit the ambassador more often if you did,” he teases, and you chuckle softly. “Poor little social butterfly, cooped up on the highest floor, away from humanity.”

“I do feel like Rapunzel some days,” you sigh, still smiling. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. I was supposed to ask if you were busy for the ambassador, not for myself. He wants to see you if you have a minute.”

“Yeah, I’ve got time. Right now?”

“Right now.”

You can hear shuffling on the other end. “Let me put my signature on one more paper and I’ll be up.” He hangs up and you sigh. There was the most interaction you’ll get for the day.

It seems that the closer the men get to Escobar, the more the ambassador needs to see Murphy and Peña. You don’t mind. The two men are funny, and the way they interact makes you smile.

Peña talks to you more than Murphy. Steve is more likely to go outside to smoke, while Javier smokes at his desk. That means you dial him more often simply because there’s a higher probability he’s at his desk. Not because you enjoy talking with him more.

The two men had picked up on calling you Rapunzel. Your energy and excitement was draining day by day, and they compared your new position outside of the ambassador’s office, high on the top floor of the embassy, to Rapunzel’s tower.

You playfully called them Javi and Stephen in return to annoy both of them. It didn’t work on Javier. It turned out he liked that, and you could tell by the way his voice softened. So you kept that.

“Peña.”

“Guess who?” you ask dryly, tapping your pen against your notepad.

The man chuckles. “You must be having an exciting day up there. I can hear it in your voice.”

“Ha.” The word is humorless and flat. “Ambassador wants to see you two.”

Javier groans. “Kind of busy.”

“Well, I’ll tell him that,” you nod and write down on a legal pad- separate from your doodling pad- Peña busy. 11:30. “How are things going down there today?”

“Annoying. Steve is a pain in my ass- hey, shut the fuck up,” you can hear him say even as he removes the receiver away from his phone. You giggle at that, smiling as he speaks again. “Sorry. Can you guess who that was?”

“What was he saying this time?” You ask, twirling the cord to the phone around your finger.

“Nothing,” he insists, but you can hear Murphy shouting. Some message he’s trying to get to you.

“Well, alright. Call up when you’re less busy,” you ask him and hang up.

You really want to know what Murphy was going on about. You dial his desk and he picks up. “S’this Rapunzel?” A southern accent twangs.

“Of course,” you chuckle. “What were you shouting into Javi’s phone?”

“Oh, nothing. Oh, hey, wait,” he says, pulling the phone down and pressing it to his chest. You can hear the muffled voices of the two men, but not what they’re saying. He puts it back to his ear quickly after. “Anyway, it’s nothing. We’ll call you back when we’ve got a minute to come up.”

Odd, you think, before going back to your work on your desk.

The phone rings again an hour later. “Ambassador’s office,” you say with a gentle lilt to your voice.

“Hey, Rapunzel,” a kind but rough voice speaks through the phone. Javi.

“Hey,” you chuckle a little. “You guys ready to come up?”

“Uh, no, not yet. But I do want you to write something down for me.”

“Anything,” you nod, priming your pen above the piece of paper.

Javier rattles off ten numbers, and you diligently write them down on the paper. You repeat it back and he affirms that it’s correct. “Got it. What is it?”

“It’s my personal phone number.”

“Javi, the ambassador already has your phone number.”

“No, I know. It’s for you.”

Oh. Your heart flutters excitedly in your chest, causing you to let out a soft giggle.

“I like talking with you. Our phone calls are the highlight of my day. You can call me whenever you want… even if you don’t have a reason to. I just… like hearing your voice. I like you.”

You clutch the paper, grinning ear to ear. “Well, I like you too, Javi. I’ll be using this,” you assure him, looking down at it and beaming. “Now, you said you’re busy. Get back to work.”

“Yes ma’am. See you in a bit.”

Click. Dial tone. Your heart fills with sparks and little fireworks, sending you into a loud laugh of excitement.

The thick oak doors swing open. The ambassador looks at you with concern. “Everything alright out here?” He asks you.

You nod, biting your lip and looking down to hide your grin. “Yeah, yeah. Great, sir. Peña and Murphy aren’t ready yet. They’ll be up later.”

The man gives you a nod and closes the door behind him.

The grin returns. You trace the freshly-dried ink, the nine numbers that will connect you directly to Javier at any time you want. You pull your contact book from your purse, sitting beneath your desk, flipping to a clean page.

Javier Peña, you write.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

personal number

You go back and draw a small heart next to his name.

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #javi peña #narcos fanfic #narcos #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pascalpanic

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elliesguitarstrings · 3 years

Text

promises, promises || part one: what used to be

masterlist || series masterlist

tom holland x reader

summary: you're crying over someone you haven't seen in two years, tom is straight up depressed, your friends are trying to set you up, and sam is just trying his best to help

warnings: ANGST, language, mentions of sex, little bit of fluff, probably typos

A/N: PART ONE IS HERE!!!! i absolutely love this fic and i hope you guys love it as much as i do :)

p.s. this ended up being really long sooooo i decided to make it into a series instead lol if y'all haven't figured that out

wc: 5k

~~~~~~~~

"I got the part! Holy shit I actually got the part!" Tom throws his computer across the bed in disbelief, almost hitting you.

"Wait, like THE part? Like Spiderman?" you question excitedly.

"YES!!! Check the Marvel Instagram right now!" he crawls over to you as you whip out your phone and quickly search up the account. You scan the page to see a post captioned, "Click the link in our bio to see who the new Spider-Man is!" You quickly find the link and impatiently wait for the page to load. And then you see it, boldface print and giant letters across your phone.

The new Marvel Cinematic Universe Spider-Man will be played by: TOM HOLLAND

"HOLY SHIT TOM! You're fucking Spiderman!" you tackle him with a hug, squeezing him so tightly that he has to fight for breath. "I'm so proud of you, I knew you were gonna do big things." you smile brightly.

"We have to go tell everyone else, come on!" Tom pulls you off of him, dragging you out of his bedroom and down the stairs to give his family the big news.

The rest of the Hollands were already together in the family room, and they immediately took notice of yours and Tom's excitement as the two of you are bounding down the stairs.

Out of breath, Tom sprints to the center of the room. "Attention everyone, I have an extremely important announcement to make!" He pauses for dramatic effect, his family waiting in anticipation. "I'M GONNA BE SPIDERMAN!"

This causes an outburst of cheers and applause from his parents and brothers, each one of them getting up to hug Tom and congratulate him on this huge achievement.

Paddy pipes up, "How did you get the news? Did they call you or something?"

"Um, not exactly. They posted it on their Instagram and on the Marvel website as well, wanna see?" He turns to you, "Y/N, show them your phone!"

You pull out your phone and open the screen you were just looking at, showing the Hollands the Instagram post and article.

"No way, they're totally hacked." Harry remarks, earning disapproving looks from Nikki and Dom. "if you were really gonna be the next Spiderman, they would have called you."

Before Tom has the time to argue back, his phone rings, as if on cue. Tom pulls it out of his back pocket and nervously studies the number across the screen.

"Well, what are you waiting for div, answer it!" Sam chirps impatiently.

The rest of the room is silent while Tom listens intently to the person the other line. You can't make out what they are saying, but the eventual smile on Tom's face completely gives it away.

"Yes, thank you. Thank you so much for this opportunity," he holds while the other person talks again. "Yeah, I'll be in touch, definitely. Thank you again." Tom ends the call and lets out a sigh of relief. "That was fucking Kevin Feige! I got the part! I actually am gonna be the next Spiderman!"

You and the rest of his family cheered even louder than before, enveloping him in a giant group hug.

"I say we celebrate!" Nikki announces. "How about we go out for a nice dinner?"

Tom smiles, "If I'm honest mum, as nice as that would be, I'd rather just stay in and celebrate here tonight. I like your cooking better than any fancy restaurant anyways."

"Of course honey, I'll make your favorite. We can have a nice big family dinner, how does that sound?"

"Sounds perfect mum, thank you."

She dashes into the kitchen followed by Sam, the aspiring chef of the family, while Dom, Harry, and Paddy go to dress the table.

You take this as your cue to leave, seeing as you don't want to disrupt the rest of Tom's night with his family. "I guess I should get going then," you turn to Tom, hugging him once again. "Congratulations again, I'm so proud of you Tommy." you smile as you head to grab your things before you leave.

"Nonsense! You're staying for dinner too!" Tom stops you.

"Tom, I can't, you should spend this night celebrating with your family." you try to reason with him.

"But I want you here too!" he pouts.

"And you are family!" Nikki pipes in from the kitchen, earning nods of agreement from the rest of the family.

"See, everyone wants you here Y/N, please celebrate with us?" Tom cups your face.

"Are you sure? I really don't want to-"

Nikki cuts you off, piping in once again, "Y/N, I insist you stay for dinner with us. You've been a part of this family for so long, and you know that. So please stay and celebrate with us!" she smiles.

You giggle, "Well, I guess I can't say no to that." Tom smiles, giddily engulfing you in another hug.

After a long and delicious dinner, you and Tom now lay under the stars in the treehouse in his backyard. Dom had built it for you two when you were eight years old, and it's been your special place ever since then. Obviously, it has been upgraded and redecorated since then, now that you and Tom were both eighteen, but it still takes you back to the old days when you were just carefree little kids.

You cuddle into Tom's chest, looking up at the night sky through the small window in the roof of the treehouse. "I wish we could stay here forever," you whisper.

"Me too." Tom pulls you closer, kissing your forehead.

"Everything's gonna change you know. We're graduating in two weeks, and then you leave for America. I don't know what I'm gonna do without you." A small tear rolls down your cheek which doesn't go unnoticed by Tom.

He wipes the tear off your face with his thumb, cupping your chin to make you face him. "Hey, hey, look at me. Things might be changing, but that doesn't mean we have to. I'm only gonna be gone for a few months, and then I'll be back. I love you so much, and a few hundred miles is never going to change that. I will never let anything come between us, ever, okay?"

You smile softly, "You promise?"

"I promise darling. It's you and me forever. I'm never letting you go. Never in a million years." he kisses you lovingly, and you swear you could just live in this moment forever with him, and only him.

That was six years ago. And what Tom said was true, everything had changed. You just wish everything else he had said that night was true too.

Now, Tom is a world-famous actor, living a luxurious life out in Hollywood. You, however, have stayed in England, living only thirty minutes away from your childhood home with your newfound best friends Julia and Finn. You are no longer a part of Tom's life, and he is no longer a part of yours. But that doesn't mean you've forgotten about him.

How could you possibly forget about Tom? Your entire childhood was spent with him. From the ages of two to twenty-two, you were inseparable. To this day, you still remember when you first met, and you think about it often.

"I no wanna go! I stay home and watch princesses!" you cry, defiantly pulling away from your mother's firm grip as she tries to stuff you into shoes that are much too small for your rapidly growing feet.

"I know honey, but we have to go welcome the new neighbors who just moved in across the street. We made them brownies, remember?" she smiles.

You scrunch your face up, " No! I stay home!"

Your dad chimes in, kneeling down to your level. "Listen peanut. How about we make a deal. You come with us and say hello to the new neighbors, and then after we get home you can watch any princess movie you want and maybe even have some ice cream, how does that sound?"

You smile, "Ice cream with rainbow sprinkles?"

He rubs your head, "With rainbow sprinkles."

"Okay. I go then."

Your parents smile, and you hold their hands as you walk across the street to meet the neighbors. Your mom rings the doorbell, and the door opens to reveal a red-headed woman, smiling at you and your parents. Hiding behind her is a small, curly-headed brunette boy about the same height as you.

Your mom introduces herself, "Hi! My name is Y/M/N, this is my husband Y/D/N, and this is my daughter Y/N. We live right across the street, and we just wanted to welcome you into the neighborhood." She outstretches her arms, holding the brownies, "I made these for you as well, I hope you like them!"

The woman smiles, "Oh, wow, thank you so much, you are so sweet! Would you like to come in for a bit?"

"Of course, as long as you'll have us."

She ushers the three of you in and you stay close to your mom, still wary of entering a stranger's home.

As she closes the door behind her, she introduces herself as well, "Sorry, the house is a little messy, we’re still getting settled in. But I'm Nikki, my husband Dominic is unpacking in the kitchen, and this is Tom." She motions to the boy behind her, "Tom, say hello to the nice people!"

He timidly steps forward, waving at you and your parents. "Hello." he says quietly.

"Oh my, he is adorable!" your mom gushes. She walks over to him, "How old are you Tom?"

He holds up two fingers, "This many."

She smiles, "Two years old? Wow, you're so big! Guess what, you know who else is that many?" Tom shakes his head no. "My daughter Y/N!" She motions for you to come, and you shyly walk forward.

You wave at him, and that makes him smile. Nikki taps Tom on the shoulder, "Do you maybe want to show Y/N your toys upstairs?

He nods his head, smiling at you, "Wanna go play?" he asks.

You smile back, looking at your mom for permission. She nods her head and pushes you forward. "Okay, we go." you respond. He takes your hand and pulls you upstairs, seemingly coming out of his shell. You don't know what it is about this boy, but he makes you feel warm, like a hug. It's something your two-year-old brain can't quite comprehend, but suddenly you couldn't care less about watching princess movies or eating ice cream.

Sometimes you wish that day had never happened, that you had never met him. You wish your little two-year-old self had fought harder against your parents so that you wouldn’t have to endure the years of pain he would cause you later in life. But you can’t go back, and in part, you’re glad about that. He was your first friend, your first crush, and your first love. But he was also your first heartbreak, and that’s something you can never forget.

You're snapped out of your thoughts by a sharp knock on your bedroom door. "Hey, are you almost ready? We have to leave in ten or we'll be late!" you hear Julia's muffled voice from the other side of the door. Finn is hosting a gala tonight for his art studio, and being his best friends and roommates, you and Julia are basically required to go.

"Uh, yeah, I'm about done, I'll be out in a minute!" You haven't even started getting ready, but you don't have any more time. You quickly raid your closet and find a short v-neck black dress and matching heels. You wiggle into the dress as you make your way into the bathroom. You had planned on straightening your hair, but you have no time, so instead, you brush it back into a sleek low ponytail and spray it with a bit of hairspray. There's no time for the elaborate makeup look you had planned either, so you quickly throw on some concealer, blush, mascara, eyeliner, a bit of highlight, and you're set. As you walk to the door, you grab your purse and slip on your heels, making sure you have your phone and keys. Finn and Julia are already waiting in the car, both with disapproving looks.

"What the fuck took you so long? We were supposed to leave five minutes ago! You know I can't be late for this thing." Finn complains as you slip into the backseat.

"Sorry, I, uhm, don't feel well. A little nauseous." you lie. You don't feel like telling them that you were actually crying about someone you haven't seen or talked to in two and a half years like you do every other night.

"You're not pregnant are you?" Julia chuckles.

"Oh please, we all know that Y/N hasn't gotten any since he who must not be named." Finn replies for you.

"Thanks Finn, what a great friend." you joke sarcastically.

He's not wrong though. Since you and Tom broke up, you haven’t slept with a single person. You’ve been on a few dates and kissed a few guys, but nothing past that. The closest you got was about a month after Tom broke it off with you. You were looking for someone to take your mind off of him, so you found a random guy named David at a pub and took him back to your place. But as soon as he took off his shirt, you saw a birthmark on his back that looked eerily similar to Tom’s, and you promptly broke down crying.

No matter what you do, you just can’t seem to get him off your mind.

"Alright bitches, we're here." Finn sighs. "Help me bring my stuff in, we don't have much time thanks to someone who took ages to get ready."

You give a halfhearted apology as you grab Finn's paintings from the back of his car. Julia stops you before you follow Finn into the venue, "Babe, are you sure you're doing alright?"

You smile lightly, "Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"Okay, if you say so. And sorry about Finn mentioning... him. It's been two years, he should know better."

"Oh, no. No, don't worry about that. It's okay. I don't care." you lie.

She gives you an encouraging nudge on the shoulder, "Hey, who knows, maybe you'll find a hottie here tonight and finally get back out there! What do you think, huh?"

"Yeah, that would be great, actually. Maybe Finn can introduce me to his friend James, I know he's pretty hot." you say just to get her off your back. You know for a fact that you won't be going home with anyone tonight, but you want to ease her conscience, so you continue to lie.

"That's the spirit! Good luck hun, love you."

"Thanks Jules, love you too." you smile.

Halfway through the gala, you already want to go home. Finn is over at the bar flirting with some guy, probably trying to get him to buy his artwork. Meanwhile, Julia has disappeared into the bathroom with her boyfriend Ollie, who she invited about thirty minutes into the event because she "got bored."

You look at your phone and realize it's already midnight, and you know the event won't be ending anytime soon. You slowly make your way over to Finn through the sea of people and tap him on the shoulder, drawing his attention away from whatever guy he's flirting with.

"Hey Y/N, how's it going with James?" he asks excitedly.

"Oh, um, it didn't work out, thanks for introducing me though. I just wanted to come tell you that I'm still not feeling well, so I think I'm gonna head home, sorry."

"Oh, okay, no problem. You're probably gonna be alone tonight though, just a heads up. Jules is going back to Ollie's for the night, and" he starts to whisper, "I think I might be going home with this hunk."

You laugh, "Okay, thanks Finn, see you tomorrow then."

"Bye babe. Do you have a ride?" he questions.

"Uh, no, I'm just gonna Uber home, it's no problem."

Finn gasps, "Not this late at night you're not! Let me drive you, hottie with a body over here can wait."

"No, no, don't let me ruin your night. I'll just call Sam then."

His eyes widen, "Like... his brother Sam?"

"Yeah, we're friends still, it's not a big deal. Trust me."

"Okay, fine. But text me when you get home, okay?"

"Okay, love you Finn, see you later." you give him a quick hug and walk outside to call Sam.

You aren't lying, you and Sam are still good friends. Back when you and Tom were together, Sam was the brother that you were closest to, and you felt that it would be unfair to cut ties with the rest of the Hollands just because Tom was a dick to you seeing as they were as much of a family to you as your own parents were, maybe even more. He was attending culinary school in the area anyway, so you decide he’s the best person to call.

As expected, he's happy to drive you home, and about ten minutes later he arrives at the venue where you are still standing outside.

"Hey Sam, I'm sorry for calling this late, but thank you so much for picking me up." you smile as you slide into the passenger seat.

"It's no problem, I wasn't going to sleep anytime soon. How've you been?"

"Fine, I guess. How about you?"

"C'mon, I know that look. Something's up with you." he pries.

"I told you on the phone, I'm just not feeling well." you lie, hoping he doesn't catch on.

"It's Tom isn't it?"

"How the fuck do you always know?"

He chuckles. "He is my brother, remember? And you're basically my sister too. I've known you both for literally my entire life, so trust me, I know when it's about him."

You sign in defeat, "I don't know why I can't get over him Sam. It's been nearly three years since we broke up, and I haven't seen him since. My roommates think I'm overreacting, and honestly, I'm starting to agree with them. I should be moved on by now, but I just can't stop thinking about him."

"Hey, hey, don't listen to them, you aren't overreacting. You and Tom were literally attached at the hip for twenty two years, and you weren't even dating for most of them. It's completely normal for you to feel like this, trust me. And I know it doesn't help much for me to say this because I've said it a million times before, but Tom's a complete dick for what he did to you. He's my brother, and I love him, but he's a dick."

"Thanks Sam. I just wish I knew why, y'know? Why, after twenty-two fucking years, he just completely cut me out of his life." you feel your eyes brimming with tears.

"I wish I could have an answer for you Y/N, I really do. But I haven't got a clue. Hell, I honestly don't even know if Tom knows why he did it."

You sigh, "Well, he must have had a reason. Plus, he seems to be doing great in Hollywood. He seems perfectly happy without me."

"You've been stalking him on Instagram, haven't you?" Sam chuckles.

You laugh, "Shut up." That's the great thing about Sam. He can always lighten up a situation, no matter how serious or how sad. Tom did the same thing, that was one of the things you liked most about him.

You and Sam sit in silence for a few minutes, until he finally breaks it. "He's not, you know."

"Huh?" you question, confused.

"He's not happy. You said he seems happy without you, but he's not. He's doing terribly, and it's not just from stress or his work. He won't admit it, but he misses you." he pauses, "I know I shouldn't be telling you this, but he asked about you the other day. About how you were doing and shit like that. I think he would take it back if he could."

You want so badly to believe him, belief that Tom actually still cares about you after all this time. But false hope is the last thing you need right now.

"Well, he can't, can he?" you say sharply, tears still threatening to flow out.

You and Sam sit in silence for the last five minutes of the ride back to your apartment. As he slows the car to a stop, Sam looks over at you sympathetically, "Look, I'm sorry if what I said made things worse. I just wanted you to know that your feelings aren't... one-sided I guess."

You know better than to yell at Sam, he was just trying to make you feel better, so instead of spitting out the sarcastic remark that was on your tongue, you manage out a half-hearted, "It's okay, thanks Sam." and shut the car door.

As soon as the door of your apartment closes behind you, all of the emotions come crashing down on you. A mixture of sadness, anger, guilt, and regret crushed your heart, smashing it into a million little pieces. It feels like two and a half years ago, when he first broke up with you, all over again. Everything was fine until Sam brought him up again, and the memories just all flooded back in. You fall to the floor, clutching your chest in pain, wishing someone was here for you. Wishing he was here for you. At the moment, it feels like you have no one. In reality, you do; you have an entire support system of people who love you so much and would do anything to protect you. But you only want him. You need him. He is the only person you have ever wanted, ever needed, and he's gone.

You want to hate him, you really do. He's caused you more pain in the past two and a half years than anyone or anything has ever caused you in your entire life. But you can't. You can never, and will never, hate him. Which makes you hate yourself.

After what feels like hours of crying, you finally calm down. There's no one at home to talk to and it's too late to call anyone at this point, so you flip on the tv. There's nothing good on Netflix or Hulu that you haven't seen yet, so you scroll through the other apps. You remember that you just got a free Apple TV subscription with your new phone, so you check to see what's on there.

And there it is. Cherry.

His face right on the screen in front of you, lighting your dark bedroom red. You know it's a bad idea and you know you'll regret it, but something draws you to watch it. You need him right now, and this is about the closest you're going to get.

It's fine at first. It's actually nice to see his face again after so long. He looks basically the same as the last time you saw him, just a little more mature. You feel good supporting him, even if he doesn't know it.

But then it's not fine. His character had just gotten into a fight with his girlfriend, so she comes to visit him in his apartment. They talk, and eventually he reveals that he joined the army and has to go away for two years.

"It's just a couple years. Just a couple years and a lifetime together." he whispers.

Then it all hits you, and you break down crying once again. You can't help but think back to that night in the treehouse, and how the conversation is so eerily similar. You wonder if Tom was thinking about it too, while he was filming the scene. Obviously, the circumstances were different, but it still makes you wonder.

You quickly shut the TV off, unable to bear it anymore. With nothing else to do, you try to sleep, but your thoughts keep you up. And as much as you try to fight it, your mind drifts back to the day you so badly want to forget. The day that it all ended.

"Hey, Tommy, what's up? I'm excited to see you tonight!" you pick up the phone. Tom is supposed to come back to London after filming his first solo Spiderman movie, and you could not be more excited to see him. It's been almost a full year since he left for America, and you miss him so much.

"Yea, uhm, about that. Plans have, er, changed a bit." you can hear the solemn tone in his voice.

"Oh no, what happened? Did your flight get delayed or something? I know there's some rough weather in Atlanta, but I didn't realize it was that bad."

"No, no, it's not that. I don't really know how to say this," he sighs, "I'm not coming home."

Your heart drops to your stomach. "What?"

"Yeah. I'm, um, I'm staying in America for now. I found a house in LA, it's nice."

"Well when are you coming back then?" you utter in disbelief.

"Not anytime soon. I have work, so it's just easier for me to be in America. I'm sorry." his tone is stiff.

"But what about us? I miss you so much, these past few months have already been hell for me. I don't think I can survive much longer without seeing you."

No response.

"Tom, are you still there? You know I can't move in with you. I'm already enrolled in university here in London, I can't drop everything and come to America if that's what you want."

"That's not what I want." At this point he seems to have no emotion in his voice, as if he's reading directly from a script.

"So then what do you want?" you start to really worry, tears already stinging your eyes.

"I think you can probably figure that out by now, Y/N."

"Tom, no. You seriously can't be thinking-"

"Yeah, I am thinking that. You've already said that these past few months have been hell, and I'm too busy with work, so I think that's the only option."

You plead with him, "Tom, please! We can figure this out, I love you so much. We can't break up Tom, I can't lose you." You're sobbing at this point, scared to lose the one person you need the most.

"No, we can't figure this out. We have to break up, there's no other choice."

"What happened to you and me forever? That- that night in the treehouse you said you wouldn't let anything come between us!"

"We were kids, Y/N! We had no idea what our lives were going to turn out like. That was a stupid thing to say and I never should have said it, okay? You can't keep every promise you make, especially when you're eighteen. But we're mature adults now, and the mature way to handle this is to break up. Understand?" His voice is booming through your phone speaker, and it's nothing you've ever heard come from him before. He was always calm, looking for a way to work things out. But now, he's completely giving up.

"Tom, please, I-"

"No, Y/N, I don't have time for this right now, I'm sorry. Goodbye."

He hung up. He's gone.

That was the last time you spoke to him. You didn't even get to properly say goodbye, let alone see his face before he was gone forever.

Unbeknownst to you, that phone call is still, to this day, Tom's biggest regret. Almost immediately after he hung up, he wished he had never called you in the first place. He was stressed from work, he was angry at his management team for making him stay in America, but most of all he missed you. So he did the only thing he could think of to take it all away - separate himself from you. He thought that if he broke up with you, he would feel better about his career choices and he wouldn’t have to wwc:orry about missing you anymore because it would be over.

He was wrong.

Every day since then, he’s wanted to call you, text, you, or somehow contact you to apologize; explain why he did what he did and how he still loves you, still needs you, still misses you every second of his life. But he knows he can’t. You would never be able to forgive him for breaking it all off so suddenly. There’s no way in hell you could still love him after something like that.

So he’s stayed out of reach from you for good. And he hopes that maybe one day he’ll be able to move on, find someone new like you’ve probably done by now. But deep down he knows he never will.

You’re still unable to sleep, and now that it’s almost four in the morning, you decide that you probably won’t be able to for the rest of the night. Not knowing what else’s to do, you begrudgingly roll out of bed and go to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. As you fill up your mug with warm water, you hear a knock at the door.

Who the fuck would be coming to your apartment this early? You suspect it’s Finn, as he always manages to forget his key. Maybe his night with the mystery bar hunk didn’t go as well as he had planned. You quickly set a tea bag in your mug and walk to open the door.

“Back so soon Fi... what the fuck.” your heart drops to your stomach.

It’s him. The same brown-haired, brown-eyed, British boy that you remember, staring down at you from outside your apartment at four in the morning.

“Hey.”

~~~~~~~~

tags: @pxkajesus @roseke @agentsofparker @lifeasjazzz @damnrancidchicken @tomhoelland01 @iwannabekilledtwice @rafehogwarts @non-eexistent @rosiexx8 @nearlydanger9 @realityisabitch07 @midgardassassins @jbreenr @cap-marvxl @ellesmythe @deepestcolorgiantopera @that-one-person @nevertrustapanda16 @rxmanxff @bubbleskz @quinn-spn58 @idkkkkaaw @aayaissaa @pjmjams @tiredstudenttrinity @isabella-bby @hollandprkr @pure-ghost @ladykxxx08 @white-wolf1940 @runawayolives @geekgirleve @thathurtbrolol @lost-girl24 @justafangirlduh @emistrash @writingrem @hallecarey1 @adayasgeorgia @mathletemadison @paulaabellag @miraclesoflove @captainamirica @mlmarint @quaksonhehe @laneybobeczko-g @peterspideysense @hollandstanevans @anna-sofia

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland angst #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland series #peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x fem!reader #soph writes #promises promises

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olderthanthemorning · 3 years

Text

gold rush (bill weasley) part 1

pairing: bill weasley x reader

summary: “everybody wonders what it would be like to love you.” bill weasley is a golden boy, but i don’t like a gold rush. (based on the song “gold rush” by taylor swift)

wc: 3.1k

warnings: none, someone walking in on someone else but nothing dirty, swearing

a/n: hello! so i didn’t mean for this to be so long lol but anyway, there will be more. once again, a song has inspired me to write. i feel like gold rush totally describes bill and so i tried to run with that. as always, i would love comments/feedback. also if you like it please reblog/follow! i want to start taking requests!

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what a cliche it would be to be hopelessly in love with bill weasley. the charming gryffindor was the poster child of his house, his year, and his family. don't get it twisted, it wasn't that he didn't deserve all the praise; he was kind to younger students, witty in his classes, and bloody brilliant in your shared defense against the dark arts class. you just found it a little funny that everyone he met instantly fell in love with him. how could you take someone like that seriously?

"so you really don't think he's cute?" your friend, rose, asked you as you entered the great hall, the smell of fresh bread and pumpkin juice temporarily distracting you.

"no, that's actually not what i said. he's quite fit, it's just think people make too much of a big deal about it. sometimes i think you'll wet yourself when he looks at you in the corridor." you threw yourself down at your table and started reaching for the pile of sandwiches in the middle of the table. if you two wanted to make it to the beginning of the gryffindor vs ravenclaw game, this would have to be a quick lunch.

"well it's not everyday you see an arse like that in the corridor!" rose says. taken aback by her forward statement, you shove her shoulder, "gross, rose." after a few more minutes of conversation and inappropriate comments from rose, you down the last of your juice and pull your companion off the bench and toward the door.

you could hear cheers long before you were close to the game. after finding a spot with your house, you saw madam hooch release the snitch and the players shoot up to start following the quaffel. a flash of red hair passes in front of the stands as another weasley, charlie, flies at lightning speed.

The game was action packed, but not short. your cold muscles ached a bit as you moved them to walk into your dorm and sit on your bed. as if reading your mind, your roommates crowd into the bathroom to start the showers. you groan, knowing that at this rate, it'll be an hour before you can warm yourself with hot water. then a thought crosses your mind. the prefect bathrooms. your sister had been a prefect years before and had told you where they were, something you were silently thanking her for now. you gathered your towel and robe and slipped out of the room before anyone could ask where you were going.

The prefect bathroom was large and dimly lit, something that made it seem even colder when you walked in. on the far wall there was a myriad of knobs, all leading into a large bath that looked like it could hold your entire upper level herbology class. throwing down your stuff on a nearby bench, you rush to turn all the knobs you can, as blue, and green, and sparkling gold liquids splash into the basin along with steaming water. you slid out of your cold clothes and into the tub, hissing at the difference in temperature between your skin and the water. the water was heavenly and you sunk in until your shoulders were under the water, pulling your hair up from the nape of your neck so not to wet it. the room had filled with the scent of lavender and honeysuckle, and you closed your eyes to take it in.

suddenly there was a creak that you immediately recognized as the door opening. 'fuck, fuck, fuck,' you thought. you could chance jumping out and hoping the person didn't see you naked or you could wait to get caught. you decided that your clothes were too far, and started frantically ushering as many bubbles to you as possible, trying to cover your body. you turn your back to the entrance just as you see the shadow of someone begin to round the corner.

"oh, shit, i'm sorry i didn't realize someone was in here." you wanted to curl up into a human ball of embarrassment. not only did the voice belong to a boy, but you knew exactly which boy it belonged to, and it rhymed with will beasley. unsure of how to respond, you just let out a nervous laugh, not wanting to let your voice give you away as someone who was definitely not a prefect.

"okay, well... i'll just come back later." you waited until you could no longer hear footsteps to climb out of the tub. once dry and wrapped in your fluffy robe, you reentered the hallway, but only after sticking your head out to make sure bill wasn't waiting by the door. as you walked back to your dorm, you could only begin to imagine all the teasing rose would give you when she found out he had seen you in the bath. luckily, by the time you cocooned yourself in your comforter, she was already asleep. you would have to tell her in the morning, or maybe you wouldn't.

by breakfast the three days later, the bath incident had left your mind. after the first 24 hours, you felt sure bill hadn't suspected anything, and even if he did, there was no way he could tell who the student in the bath was. you had to pause with the spoon of porridge halfway between your bowl and your mouth, because rose's impression of flitwick had made you burst into laughter. an owl fluttered down in front of you, dropping an envelope with your mother's handwriting on the front. you ripped it open and began to read.

"Dear y/n,

Hello love, I hope you're doing well with all of your classes this term. I'm writing to tell you that we'll be spending part of the Easter holiday with one of my friends and her family. Her name is Molly and she has two sons at hogwarts. Be sure to say hello to them, Molly says they're nice boys. The three of you can leave school together to travel home for break. I miss you dearly and can't wait to hear about your term in person.

love always,

mum"

rose put her chin on my shoulder to read the letter. "i didn't know your mum was friends with the weasley's," she giggled, obviously thinking about bill. "yeah, well that makes two of us." to be honest, you never really realized your mum had close friends. there was no reason for her not to, it had just never occurred to you that your parents were people outside of being your parents.

"actually, it makes four of us," you whipped around to see bill and charlie, a letter you assumed was similar to yours grasped in bill's hand. "my mum wrote they met here as kids and ran into each other a few weeks ago in diagon alley." his easy smile was attractive and his hair fell effortlessly into place, with one soft strand too short to be pushed behind his ear. it looked almost like someone had written it in, it was so perfectly placed.

"wicked," escaped rose's lips as a strained whisper. you elbowed her, praying that she would come to her senses and start acting like a real person.

"listen, i got to run to practice, but let's meet in the main entrance tomorrow morning, yeah? 10am?" charlie butt in, reaching around his brother to grab a banana off your table and without waiting for even a nod, turned to catch up with the rest of his team at the other end of hall.

"sorry about him, he's..." bill was suddenly looking down at you with a slightly funny expression, a small grin on his face.

"preoccupied?" you finish his sentence, marking the first words you've said since he approached you.

"yeah," then, he leans down close enough that only you can hear him when he says, "next time you go for a soak, i suggest trying the orange blossom bubbles," maintaining eye contact with you the whole time.

taken aback, you feel yourself get blush and lean back, your brow furrowed, "what? how did you-"

"i didn't realize you were so interested in astronomy, y/n," he says a little louder, standing back to his tall figure and casually tapping the back of his neck.

you mimic his motion and remember the small tattoo of a moon that sat at where your neck met your shoulders. you close your eyes and cover them with one hand. maybe if you shut your eyes hard enough and clicked your heals he would disappear. or even better, you would. "i'll see you tomorrow," he sent another cheeky smile and turned to walk away, hands in his pocket, laughing quietly to himself.

"um... what the fuck," rose spoke, making you realize you were still watching his back. "what was that about? how does he know about your tattoo?"

"he might've walked in on my while i was bathing a few days ago," you said, bracing yourself for the inevitable.

"WHAT?!" it was even louder than you expected. honestly, you loved rose but bringing attention to herself, and by proxy, you, was something she had a knack for, but not in an endearing way.

"would you calm down please? everyone was taking too long in the showers so i went to the prefects' bathroom and he came in. he only saw my back so i didn't think he knew who it was, but i forgot to account for moony back there," you rolled your eyes, how could you forget about something that you had chosen to put on your body forever?

"merlin, that's so not fair, do you know what i would give to be seen naked by bill weasley?" once again, you were slightly horrified by a comment made by your best friend. this is what you didn't understand about everyone's fascination surrounding bill. even as he walked away, you had noticed a handful of other students following him with their eyes. it was a fact that bill was attractive, beautiful even, but the way people would do anything for his attention freaked you out. being treated like that had to go to someone's head eventually.

"okay, that's enough of that. i'm just glad he didn't give me detention or something," you went back to your breakfast, although you were no longer very hungry.

the journey to the weasley's cottage by the sea was uneventful. in the morning, you boarded the hogwarts express with charlie and bill. you didn't speak much, but read a book in your shared compartment while charlie talked to bill non-stop about the latest quidditch techniques. "and i've been reading about dragons, and how they fly, and i think it would be really cool to try some of their flying patterns on a broom. it would be really hard and i'd have to make a few adjustments, because obviously i'm not a huge majestic creature, but if it worked, it'd be brilliant!" you looked up to see charlie on the edge of his seat, trying to mark some of the flying patterns, and looking intently at bill, as if waiting for him to be just as excited. "that sounds great, charlie, really. how did you start on about dragons?" bill quickly caught your eye and tried to share some of the amusement his brother brought him. "hagrid gave me a book, they're really something, bill."

your party gets off at king's cross, and you followed the older boy through the station, until he stops in front of a women's toilet. "uh, i think the men's is over there," you said pointing behind you. charlie laughed. "hah," bill faked a monotone laugh, "there's a portkey inside that will take us to shell cottage. dad said it was a," he looked down at a paper in his hand, "toilet brush. lovely. right, we have three minutes until it leaves. ladies first." he gestured and you entered the room. it was somewhat cramped with the three of you and your trunks, but in the corner was a white, and thankfully clean looking, toilet brush. you grabbed it and held it out for the others to hold on too. after about 10 seconds of waiting, you felt your body being pulled up and then like you had just jumped off a high diving board at a pool. falling, but strangely still feeling like you were upright. before long, your feet hit solid ground again, well somewhat solid ground. the sand made your landing shaky, as it moved under your weight. you looked up and saw a cozy house with warm light glowing from the windows.

after lots of introductions and even more hugs, you finally settled yourself in to a guest room. the view was beautiful. the sun was just starting to set over the sea, the orange hues reflecting off the vast water. putting away the last of your things, you walked down the stairs and announced to your mum and molly that you would be going on a walk. they nodded and made you promise to be back for dinner before returning to their conversation. as soon as you got to the beach, you slipped off your shoes and feel the cool sand swallow each of your toes. it was crisp, but not too cold. you walk for a bit and then sit down on a dune, just taking in the picture the world had created for you.

you see a figure walking toward you and, as it gets closer, you notice it's bill. "mind if i join you?" he asked.

"of course not," you watched him as he sat. "it's beautiful here, your family has a really lovely house."

"thanks, mum has a talent for making any place feel like home." he looked out at the water, but for some reason you kept looking at his face, trying to find details. bill felt your gaze and his eyes met yours. normally, you would've looked away, but a new confidence allowed me to hold his eye contact. "so, tell me more about your tattoo." you chuckled, you should've known it would come up at some point or another.

"i got it with rose on holiday using fake muggle IDs," you explained.

"any special meaning behind it?" he asked, his eyes were now flickering from yours to your neck.

"nope, just liked the art," it was true, you knew you wanted to get a tattoo but didn't want something that held too much weight, so you got something that was simply beautiful.

"that's cool," he said, reaching to touch it with his index finger, "did it hurt?" you shivered at the contact and he pulled away, "sorry."

"no, that's okay," you said turning slightly away from him so he could see it better and indicating that he could touch it. he went back to tracing it with his finger, leaning in to get a closer look. "it didn't hurt as much as i thought it would. but now that you've seen it, it's only fair that you tell me if you have any secret tattoos."

you heard him laugh, "obviously, i've just got the gryffindor lion across my chest, nothing crazy," he joked. you smiled and turned back to him.

"seems very fitting for you."

"oh yeah?"

"charismatic prefect, brave older brother, top of our DADA class? if you were any more gryffindor-y you'd be called godrick," you poked fun at him and leaned back to lay down.

"merlin, you make me sound unbearable."

"well–" you start to trail off only to feel a foot hit your knee, just hard enough to show playful anger. "alright, alright, kidding!"

"do you know what you want to do after school?" he asked, also lowering himself to the ground, but staying propped up on one elbow, his body turned to you.

"not exactly, i really like herbology and history of magic, so maybe find a job where i can study how wizards lived in the past? like how they used plants and stuff" it was something you had thought a lot about, but hadn't really found an answer that fit well.

"you'd be great at that." you shot him a skeptical look. "what? it's not hard to notice you're brilliant in herbology. sprout has you practically teaching half the lessons." you felt a blush spread across your cheeks, and felt thankful that the sunlight was starting to dim. you hadn't even realized you two shared that class, you were always more occupied in the nearest plant.

"what about you?"

"something to do with defense against the dark arts, mcgonagall told me about a career in curse breaking that sounds good. i think it'd allow me to travel, which is a plus."

"that sounds amazing," you say, your mind whisking you away to all the places you wanted to see.

"you can come and visit me, wherever i am." bill chuckled, letting another heart-breaker grin fall into place on his lips.

"and what makes you think we'll keep in touch after we leave hogwarts?" the tone turning back to a lighter banter. you push yourself up onto your elbows

"well, for one thing, our mums. but i also just have a feeling." you're betrayed by your cheeks heating up again. you look into his eyes and find sincerity. they're a deep blue, almost like they've been taken from the nearby water. once again you're reminded of his handsomeness, but this time it's a little different. maybe it's because you've talked more and he's shown you the things he's taken time to notice in you. but his beauty feels warmer. like it was only for you, like it could engulf you. you can see he's started to move closer, and you start to mirror his actions. your eyes move from his to his lips and the light stubble that runs along his jaw, and back again to his eyes. "can i...?" you close your eyes and start to nod, anticipating the feeling of his lips on yours, until, "kids! dinner!" and just like that, the moment is ruined. the two of you open your eyes and put space between yourselves. you clear your throat and stand up, brushing sand off of your legs.

"we should get back," you say.

"uh, yeah, totally." he says, also standing and following you back to the house.

on the walk back, you make sure to stay a few steps ahead of bill to allow yourself some time to think. what had just happened? did you like bill? surely it was just a weird moment following a minor existential crisis about the future right? you should just forget about it and try to focus on spending time with you family the rest of the trip.

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binniesthighs · 3 years

Text

call me babydoll | reader x chan

a/n: cuties!! hehe we’re finally getting...a couple things in this chapter that i’ve been wanting to share sooo bad! i added question marks to some of the tags to make it more of a surprise! i love hearing what ya thought of it! hehe <3

Five

Pairing: self insert, (?) x female reader x bang chan

Genre: action, mystery and suspense, fluff, smut and angst

Tags: (of this part) bodyguard au, secret agent au, royal au, moderndayprince!chan, secretagent!reader, secretagent!jeongin, secretagent!jisung, collegestudent!seungmin, royal!minho, informantandclubowner!changbin (loll thats so long), (?)!felix, skz side characters, adventure and mystery, action and peril, plot driven, running out of time, slow-ish burn, growing feelings, sexual tension, explicit language, mentions of alcoholic drinks and getting drunk, hehe bit of smut/suggestive content (tags omitted for surprise--nothing crazy to tag tho hehe), maknae line are my sons in this fic, binnie in this fic can fkn take me lol

CWs: sizable shoot out in public club with several people involved, presumed that people die because of this event, lots blood and other wounds such as gunshot wounds, mentions of drugs (both recreational and hard drugs) mentions of weapons such as knives and guns--the whole scene is violent

Word count: 8.5k

Parts

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE

“Five years later and I’m still tying your ties, F. Some things never change.”

Jeongin cracks a smile, simple and cute, much like the man himself even when he has a handgun glued to his hand.

“It’s still a harder task than some of the stuff that they have us doing. Not gonna lie.”

You smooth down your partner’s lapels where he’s pinned a small pin of the ticking clock. While others would wear crests, the insignia that bonds you to the younger man is this this small instrument. He’s quiet while he watches you fiddle with his silk blue tie that compliments his snow white hair perfectly.

“Are you nervous for tonight?”

Your partner upkeeps his stoic façade the best he can, but tonight there’s something different about him. His silent answer speaks louder than he could ever admit. On the queen sized bed, Seungmin kicks his perfectly shined shoes while flipping through the channels of the TV with a staticky sounding click. Jeongin lightly brushes his hand over the diamond dangling earrings that twinkle as they are supposed to from your ears--likely they’re crystals, not the more expensive jewel.

“I’m not nervous,” He finally sighs, but there’s a bit of a crack to his voice. “I trust you. And Two. I’m trying to focus on that.”

“It’ll be fine.” You assure, “White Rabbit must have his own security that would be at his beck and call. If anyone shoots at us, they’re shooting at him. We’re not alone.”

The young agent nods, then gives a little slap to the college student on the bed. “Get up. We’re leaving. Remember what I showed you?”

Jeongin draws from the bedside a small handgun. It’s more decorative than protective, but still fires bullets that could save his life.

“Keep it in your breast pocket. Make sure that no one sees it. We don’t wanna cause a scene.”

Seungmin’s eyes widen as he feels its weight in his hand. “Got it. I hope I don’t have to use it.”

“Me too,” You give the youngster a soothing smile. “And remember, don’t tell anyone your name. When you’re in there, your name is S. Better yet, it’s best not to interact with anyone.”

He nods, then slides it into the thin fabric of his coat. The young man looks considerably more dapper with The Agency’s clothes: a deep purple velvet two piece with silver cufflinks decorated with white roses--another symbol that you’ve grown familiar with.

The prince saunters up to the bedroom with a slick tap at the opened door. He oozes with regality; not like you expected any less. The royal has dressed himself magnificently without the aid of his help once more: a pure black silk suit with a smart pressed white button up that’s spotless with not one crinkle. The while shirt itself is adorned with two thin silver chains which stretch across his lower torso. At the neck where the shirt meets its last button, there’s a floral brooch: one more more white rose for good measure.

“Wow!!” Seungmin respectfully bows. “Your Highness, you look--”

“--I didn’t fuck up the hair, did I?”

Chan grins as he brings his fingers through his newly colored hair; its much lighter than his dark locks had been before: now a shade of tawny brown. The change to his appearance had come at the request of the palace who suggested that he try to conceal his identity even further as to not arouse suspicion.

“Handsome as ever, your Highness.” You sneer out the compliment.

Since the previous night had turned sour, seeing eye to eye with the prince had become harder to do. It was a wild confliction of feelings when you thought more and more of it. With every glance that he would throw in your direction, along with way that he had stared at you all through breakfast, you couldn’t meet him. You felt as if you had borne a wound for him to see, for him to poke at--the secret kind that was best kept to yourself--and he had dug his finger in; he had laughed.

The prince tilted his head, and you met his eyes for the first time since then. There was a softness about him when you knew that he was inspecting you. You knew you must’ve been overthinking it--and that was what made it so dangerous.

“Looking stunning as always, Bee. I knew that you would wear that dress well.”

You let the words, “Thank you,” leave your tongue before toying with the small handbag provided to you. As always, your thigh holster held steady under your dress.

Four clicks at the suite door sounded, startling nearly everyone in the room, revealing everyone’s nerves which they had denied.

“That’ll be Lee Minho.” Chan announced.

Two answered the door in his own costuming. The two men bowed upon meeting, a usual meeting between strangers. The agent lead him to the room, and the royal buttoned his own suit properly.

“Good evening. It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I’m Lee--”

“--Minho.” Jeongin dryly cut, “We know who you are.”

Luckily, you and your partner shared the same apprehension.

“I’m Fox. You’ve met Bee. The young kid is S, he’s a new agent. The quiet one that let you in is Two.”

Minho bowed politely with a slight blush. “You weren’t kidding when you said that you were well protected, Your Highness.”

Chan chuckled in response then clapped the other royal by the back.

“You look amazing,” Minho said to the prince who shooed him away with a humble hand.

“You as well.”

Chan sized up the royal who indeed looked like one. His suit was a simplier charcoal grey with pinstripes with a white undershirt that ruffled at the collar. Not typical of the royals that you knew, he also wore dangling silver earrings that would have never passed the royal standard for professionalism. However, it made sense considering that he had been of a lower rank.

“Now that we’ve got the formalities out of the way, shall we head out?” Chan put a very obvious hand to the lower back of Lee Minho while checking with the rest of the group. “It’s best not to keep him waiting?”

Your partner nodded and ushered the group out while giving his body one more pat down to ensure that all concealed weapons were in place. Two checked the assortment of knives tucked discreetly into his own jacket. The man had some kind of wicked and unidentifiable grin while he felt the metal against his fingers. You exited at the rear, feeling a hand tug at your arm.

“--Bee, I’m sorry about what happened...I’m...I hope that you can understand my motivations as to why I said what I did, it didn’t seem like the right time--”

“--There will never be a right time.” You tore your arm free. “Your Highness, what happened...that was a mistake on my part. I acted out of line. There will never be a right time because...I’m your guard, and you’re my prince. Do you understand?”

“But Bee--”

“--End of discussion,” The words burned in your throat seeing the way that he had looked at you just then, and it was clear that he definitely didn’t understand.

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

You had heard that the White Rabbit had been a prideful man--this was now an indisputable fact once you pulled up to the roaring nightclub set into one of the busiest streets on the avenue in Cairo. Everything about the place was showy and bright and outrageous. It was a miracle that the man hadn’t been caught considering that his home base was as obvious as it was. The entire front of the night club shone with the brilliance of a million stars in a hundred different colors. A giant marquee held the signage with the title of the place, “The Tea Party” coupled with the image of the white rabbit himself--the one from the old movie--a stout little thing with his pocket watch swinging from his paw. His neck was wrapped up in a white ruff, and he wore a frock pattered in red hearts.

A line stretched from the front entrance for as far as you could see, and clubbers swung their bodies in tune to the muffled sound of the EDM music thumping from inside and throwing cigarette butts to the sidewalk.

“Do we just walk in?” Seungmin hurriedly asked with nervous hands wrapped around his body.

“We’re expected, so, yes.” You snaked your arm through Jeongin’s to look even less conspicuous. “Just relax,” You commanded the group lowly.

From the corner of your eye, you saw the prince slug his arm around Lee Minho who appeared to shrink under the other man’s broad shoulders.

Two large bouncers stood at the entrance with muscles swelling under their shirts stained pink in areas which you assumed to have been white at some point.

“Names?” One of them grunted rather than spoke.

From his pocket, your partner took out his very own pocket watch that had been hidden with the rest of your supplies upon arrival to Cairo. On the opposite side of the watch was engraved the two symbols intertwined: the white rabbit and the the white rose. The two men inspected it, nodded, and opened the door for your small entourage. As soon as you entered the booming central room, you could see Seungmin’s shoulders drop as he relaxed.

“There should be someone meeting us!” Jeongin yelled over the sound of the white noise leading to the bass drop. Hundreds of clubbers danced with the music, throwing their glasses to the air and howling like animals. You wouldn’t have been surprised if at least half of them had been strung out on the very drugs that the man himself had helped peddle.

The young agent pulled you closer to him as stumbling bodies passed.

“They could be here. We have to be on our guard.”

“Let me watch the prince.”

Jeongin nodded, letting you recede to the back of the group where Two had tailed. His eye wound hadn’t healed nearly enough, so he opted to wear the sunglasses once more. It was likely that word had spread about the four of you escaped twice--his eye was evidence. From behind the group, you watched the way the the prince’s hand fell down hold Lee Minho by the hip, and the way that his fingers dug in there slightly. As much as you had denied it, seeing them close brought back the very covetous thoughts you tried to keep at bay.

A slender woman with gorgeous tanned skin pushed her way through the crowd and set her eyes on the white head of your partner. Her dress was even thinner than yours, but she wore it as if it was her second skin. The luxurious red color contrasted perfectly with her dark hair and eyes.

“Are you Fox?” She asked with a thick accent, and cascaded her hand down the young man’s arm.

“Y-yes. I am.”

“Bun asked me to bring you to him. I know the way.”

She let her hand fall into Jeongin’s who whipped his head back to you with dry lips that he wetted immediately. You had expected to have been retrieved by someone a bit stockier than this woman.

“He’s trying to get our guard down.” Two said suddenly as he reached into his pocket to thumb over his stockpile of metal there. “Don’t you think?”

The woman took your group near to the corner of the room where bodies didn’t linger for long, but were drawn in the mosh pit in the center. Tables lined these edges which were fashioned into booths with red velvet curtains for privacy to do much more sinister things. The room smelled heavily of pure alcohol spilled by drunk hands and of synthetic fabrics made of cheap plastics. A dozen different fragrances mingled into one dizzying mess: each a scent so different and chemical that it was toxic.

She walked with a swing to her hips, all the way to a booth that was a bit larger than the others--you could only assume that this must’ve been his booth. The woman gestured for you all to enter before drawing the curtain. At the center of the table, the rabbit’s symbol had been burned into the wood. She wore some kind of thin diamond bracelet which she hovered over the image, causing a winding staircase to pop from the carpeted floor down to a hidden chamber.

“Take the stairs, and it you’ll see it once you get down there.”

Your partner have her a curt nod in thanks, then lead the group further down. A soft green and red glow emanated from the space below, also humming with a concealed type of music different from that which was played in the club. From here, it nearly sounded like jazz.

The corridor under the club was bleak and grey with cement, but wooden crates lined it with stamps on the sides in numerous different languages. Your brain could only fathom where the contents had been before they ended up in this basement. It must have been millions of dollars just sitting undisturbed with enough firepower to blow up the whole building and more.

“Guns. Military grade and a little more improper,” Minho sighed out. “He must have every model in existence here.”

“Do you think that he has like...missiles?” Seungmin reached for his small handgun.

“Ease up S.” You tried to contain your own creeping fear, “Those would be too big to keep down here.”

“Who says that this is his whole stockpile?” Two deadpanned as he cleaned his glasses.

At the end of the hall, one more bulky guard stood expressionless with a small sized machine gun ready in his hands. He opened the door without saying much else, letting loose the red and green lights you had seen before, and with it, the putrid smell of expensive drink and marijuana.

The smaller room was only lit by strobes with multicolored gels, and it was dense with the smoke of many number of drugs and vices. There was a small bar with a bartender with bagged eyes and a swath of women in cocktail dresses and men with ties tugged nearly all the way off their necks with lipstick marks pressed into them.

A single disco ball spun above their heads, spreading shiny squares all across the room. Even more guards waited in the same uniform, but these ones looked more expensive--likely his own personal detail wearing gaudy chains and wrist watches inlaid with diamonds and crested in real gold.

“My friends! You were able to make it!”

The man of the hour spread his legs wide on his leather couch set upon a lion’s coat rug, complete with a head and marble eyes and all. At his sides were two more women more unique than the rest: both of them was breathtakingly gorgeous, one of them jeweled like a queen with a thick gold choker that resembled that which old Egyptian royalty would. Her head was smoothed with no hair at all, but instead intricate and beautiful tattoos decorated her like some kind of otherworldly being. The other woman had a cat-like face with two differently colored eyes; one hazel green and the other icy blue contrasting with her fiery orange hair.

“Carroll told me that you had a bit of trouble before you got here. I’m glad to see that you were able to get here in one piece. It only seems like things are getting more and more...risky these days. Even for people like us.”

“We’re not “people like you,” Rabbit.” You pushed to the font of the group.

The club owner himself was dressed in a purely white fur coat which you presumed to be made of real fur. Considering the material, it must’ve been made from the fur of snow foxes--an interesting choice considering your partner’s persona. The smaller man with a thick and muscled form took off his yellow tinted sunglasses to tuck them into his wildly printed shirt that had tiny buttons doing the work of keeping his chest covered.

“Babydoll! It’s a pleasure to meet you! I’ve heard all about you. Your reputation precedes you.” He took a rather greedy bite to his lip whilst looking you up and down. The white dress must have been doing it’s job well.

“Babydoll?” Chan asked with furrowed brows. “What is--who is--?”

“As does your reputation, Rabbit. I wouldn’t have expected less.”

The proud man snorted, “I hope this doesn’t mean that you’ve got any...preconceived notions about my lifestyle. Our dear friend Carroll doesn’t seem to.”

“Of course not.”

“And you...you must be the Prince of Bulgeun! His Royal Highness Prince Chan of the Crown!” The White Rabbit spread out his arms wide in welcome. “I don’t often get royalty in my club--lots of celebrities and the like.” He leaned over to one of his guards, speaking in Egyptian Arabic and asking for drinks for the group.

“Yes. It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.” Chan bowed deep.

“So respectful!” The White Rabbit chuckled, “You can all call me Bun. We’re all friends here. And you...who might you be?” Bun pointed a finger at Minho who stepped forward.

“Baron Lee Minho, of Bulgeun as well.”

“Ah! And a Baron too! How did I get so lucky to have such honorable company?” Cat-face ticked her long nails against the club owner’s hand slung around her.

“You know what we’re here for, Rabbit. There’s no need for theatrics.” Jeongin huffed his words out with a confident breath.

“You’re the one that they call Fox? Rumor has it that you and Carroll have a rather...special...connection?”

The bartender arrived with drinks, each of them looking expensive with flecks of gold leaf floating on the surface of the clear liquid. Seungmin shot an apprehensive glare once the glasses were left on a small side table. As had been discussed previously, none of your group had picked up a glass.

The woman with beautiful tattoos stretched a hand down one of the White Rabbit’s thighs, reaching dangerously high between them; just enough to make you flinch from the forward action.

“Baby, I see that you’re playing a dangerous game towing this Price around, so of course I’m willing to help a friend of my friend. You’re lucky that I’ve got just the intel that you need. Some people just don’t know how to shut their mouths, especially when the get a taste of what I’m selling.”

“Oh? And what have you been hearing?”

You eyed a leather chair across from him seeing an opportunity.

“Your Highness.” You motioned for Chan to sit in the chair next to yours, swinging your legs crossed to peek from the thin white silk in full view for the Rabbit to see. After, you dipped your chin into your palm, just for the purpose of letting the front of your dress fall slightly. The prince remained quiet while taking his seat and spreading his legs out strongly.

“If it’s compensation that you need Rabbit, the Crown is also willing to make offers for added...persuasion.”

Chan crossed his fingers in his lap leaning forward. His words were slick and domineering--kingly even.

“Is that so?” The White Rabbit tugged at his lip with his teeth, “I wasn’t aware.”

“Double what The Agency is offering. If I like what you say.”

The club owner scoffed with a grin, “Oh, you’ll like what I say.” Cat-face lifted his drink to his lips, then wiped off the excess off with her finger. Both of the body guards appeared to tense before he spoke and tried to be inconspicuous while they reached for their decorated pieces resting in their waistbands.

“Hell, I’ll even tell you what they call themselves.”

In your impatience, you leaned forward, “Who are they?”

“They’re called The Spades. Some kind of new crime syndicate that’s been fucking up my business and making bargains with my customers. Of course, as you know...I work in a very lucrative business.”

“Naturally.”

“They’ve been stockpiling shit like crazy: all kinds of weapons, any kind that you can think of outside of fucking nukes. They’ve even tapped into drugs as well to make extra on the side. I don’t know what it is that they’re doing that makes them so appealing, but suddenly I’m missing out on millions because of those fuckers. They’ve got someone masterminding it all too--some crazed bastard. I’ve been trying to find him ever since they popped up.” He resumed his grasp on both of his women who cuddled into him.

“Mastermind? The one who’s running the whole operation? You know him?” Both you and your partner locked eyes quick enough for the other man to not take notice.

“No, one of his cronies. He runs the business. He’s illusive and fucking insane. Someone whispered once that he’s psychotic or something like that. You think that I’m bad...”

“Who?? Who is he? Where can we find him?”

“Slow your role there doll, I’m just getting to the good part.” The Rabbit nodded for another sip of his drink. “He’s got several names depending on who you’re talking to. Fucking funnily enough, I’ve heard that he goes by “Hatter,” or more commonly “Joker.” He deals in anything: arms, drugs, sex...and he works for The King.”

“The King?” Chan butted in with the mention of a royal name.

“Not your silly little king, prince. The King. The one who runs it all. He tells The Spades what to do. They’re everywhere, taking over every sector in every nation. They’re trying to dismantle it all--every political system, monarchy, presidency...everything. It looks like they’re starting with you, prince. The Spades preach about chaos. Every man for himself...but it’s a lie. Why the hell else would they be stockpiling? They’re trying to take it all over.”

Seungmin gulped audibly as he sunk to the back of the group.

“When there’s no more control the ones with the most resources always end up on top.” The young student whispered.

“This King, do you know who he is?” Jeongin spoke over Seungmin to detract attention from him.

“Nope.” The White Rabbit swung his legs up on the small coffee table with alligator leather shoes. “I’ve been a little focused on taking down the Joker at the moment, for your information.”

“What’s your intel on him then? He must know how to get to The King.” Minho pushed to the front of the group right to Chan’s side. “We’re not satisfied with your information yet.”

The Baron’s sudden demand surprised you: he had been timid before--so you had thought.

The club owner looked to Chan, keeper of his “persuasion” who nodded to prompt him for more.

“He’s on some island off Greece. Private. Tight security, the kind that could shoot you out of the sky.”

“Impressive.” You tutted, feigning confidence once more. “What more do you know?”

The woman with the bangled necklace whispered something in his ear once peeking at a small old-model cellphone in her hand, brushing her lips over his earlobe. Over the sound system, the jazz music turned sultry, and both women moved to join the other intoxicated clubbers in the back to sway around brass poles.

“There’s the freckled bastard. He’s the grunt--and the one that’s been chasing you I think. Real nuisance isn’t he? He’s the Knave. Had a few run ins with him myself.”

You thought back to the gas station and the black SUVs. Between all the shards of glass, it had been hard to make anyone out, but you had figured that he had must’ve been one of the men throwing their bodies out of the windows to shoot.

The Rabbit chuckled out with some kind of hand signal to his guards. “Knowing him, he could be right outside my door for that matter.”

Jeongin’s eyes flew open, sending you “the look.” Your time was running out. Judging by the way that you hadn’t noticed that the Rabbit’s women had cleared out the other clubbers from the room, they must’ve known something that you didn’t. The club owner stood up with a languid stretch and cracked his knuckles.

“We probably don’t have much more time before they come in here guns blazing. Best protect your prince, hm?”

“Rabbit! You must know something about The King?!” You crossed the room to grab at his frim and fuzzy arm.

He slyly smiled, amused by your grip, “Like I said doll, no one knows much about him. Your Baron has got it right. Start with the Joker. But...” His grin cracked even wider, “Good luck.”

Seungmin tugged at Two’s dress coat as the two bulky bodyguards took The Rabbit by the arms to escort him.

“What's going on??” The young man’s voice cracked with urgency.

“Ready that gun of yours.” Two said lowly with gritted teeth.

He strode across the room with his fur coat lazily swaying, then raised the golden rings on his fingers to the air as he exited. He threw his yellow tinted glasses back on, before turning back to your stunned group.

“I estimate that you’ve got...three minutes? --Oh! And one more thing!”

The white fabric of your dress swept to the side, revealing your thigh holster which you grabbed at quickly.

“What?!”

“Every King’s got his Queen? Does he not?”

The enigmatic club owner slipped into the shadows of his private room, leaving your group with the sound of clambering feet on the floor above, followed by muffled gunshots.

“They’re here?” Seungmin readied his small handgun as he was told and looked to the ceiling where the lights flickered from the commotion. “They found us?”

Two twirled two knives in his hands with a silvery glint. Both of the blades were a bit on the shorter side, but you were certain that he knew how to use them. “They’re always following us.”

“We need to get out of here.” Lee Minho drew out his own gun concealed by his suit. It was custom with a pearl handle. You had seconds to make out the insignia, but you could make out the shape of what looked like a red rose. “The place must be crawling with them. We need to find the exit.”

Your partner nodded while taking his own gun. “Stay close, Your Highness. Follow me.”

“Bee?” The prince called your name with a worried cross between his brows. “Give me a gun. Hand-to-hand is nothing against these guys. I’ll stay close. I promise.”

While he held your eyes earnestly, the way that his chest heaved up and down told you something much different.

“You can handle it?”

“I can.”

Jeongin passed him a Glock from the holster strapped behind his shoulders.

You made your way back through halls lit by hissing fluorescent lights with a white burn to them. The crates of weaponry stretched on and on, adding to your unease knowing what could happen if a bullet were to be fired in this hallway. Thick rats skittered in the dank edges of the hall and weaved between boxes labeled in Spanish.

“Drugs.” Minho gripped his gun tighter. “From the looks of it, cocaine.”

Above your heads, a giant boom resounded and dust with drywall fell from the lights that flickered harder.

“Its a fucking maze down here.” Jeongin tapped at his watch in an attempt to find a schematic of the place.

The college student wetted his lips. “At least we’re not up there with them.”

“At least the lead worked out. We know more about these...Spades than we did before. It’s a start.” You tailed the back of the group with careful footsteps and the click of your heels against the cement flooring.

Another resounding boom echoed followed by the shrill screams of clubbers above. It sounded hellish--you could hear the raw fear in their voices. The music thudded on, likely abandoned by someone running for their life. The Prince’s knuckles turned white holding onto his piece of metal near the front of the group.

“F, you know the way up?”

“I-I think. We should be approaching some stairs soon, but there’s nottelling who will be on the other side.”

Two tore off his sunglasses and shoved them into his breast pocket. “We’ll be damn lucky if they haven’t found the hotel yet. If not, we’ve got to run.”

“My laptop??” Seungmin whimpered.

“That damn Chromebook? Don’t worry about it, your life is more important.” Jeongin scoffed. “The Agency can set you up with something even better.”

“I can’t believe that at a time like this all I can think about is my stupid computer.” The young man shook the thought out of his head.

“Stairs up ahead.” Jeongin pointed. “Get ready.”

“Chan?” You pulled at the prince’s trim to his coat.

“I’m fine Bee. Honestly. I trust you.” He attempted a smile. The same smile, that damned charming one that couldn’t get out of your head.

Minho looked back to the prince too with worry, it had been the most sincere motion that you had seen him do as of yet. He reached out to squeeze the royal’s shoulder with a soft smile.

“Don’t go dying on us Your Highness. Think about what that would mean for the kingdom?” He chuckled.

“I’ll try my best,” The prince returned the gesture.

Jeongin reached for the metal door handle to the teal green door cracking with paint. The sound of machine guns had grown even louder, followed by the sound of the shells hitting the wooden dance floor. The air was thin where it crept under the door and carried with it the horrid smell of smoking guns and spilled alcohol.

“Two, Bee, form rank around the group, I’ll lead.”

Two nodded, popping gum into his mouth and blowing large electric blue bubble. “Can do.” Both of his hands tightened around his blades.

“One...Two...Three!”

Time slowed the second that the door opened, and your ears rang with the deathly silence. Bodies to the left and right of you became a blur and they fell to the floor in the silence with their limbs twitching until they didn’t move at all. White collars turned red, as did the white tablecloths of the standing tables. The strobes pranced around the room in a multicolored shower that was as blinding and stained your eyes.

The men in black suits and leather gloves scattered around the room with their red crests glinting. They shouted commands at eachother, but to you, all you could see was the way that their lips curved and cracked. In front of you, your partner leads with a hand gesture that you had memorized from training, and all of your focus was drawn the the back of the group. The trigger of your gun was cold on your finger: you pulled and pulled not even pausing to feel the way that it fought back against your wrist. The men were sprinting with their own guns tight in their hands, but each of them fell before they could get close.

Two’s mouth was in a flat line as he threw tiny blades from his hands to the chests of men running across the balconies and hiding from behind tables. He appeared to have an infinite amount in his coat and saved the longer and more lethal ones for close connections, subsequently dipping his own fingers in red.

The young college student trudged on in the center of the group with his head tucked firmly between his two shoulders. Clear streams of tears fell down his eyes, but he wiped at them furiously between each shot that he took with his small handgun. Next to him, the two royals kept their own heads low aiming shots around them to backup you and your partners.

Their footsteps came echoing behind you, and you walked backwards, taking aim with one eye squinted, while barking out commands from your mouth that you barely even understood. Your heartbeat bumped in your chest nearly in tune with the thudding 808′s of the music that reverberated in your ears. Each of the Spades moved as if they were shadows over the bodies of the fallen, leaping and jumping, nearly floating over dining tables and sweeping off the glassware and silverware with them as they did so.

“BEE, I’M ALMOST OUT!” Jeongin screamed to you nearly before reaching the front revolving doors.

Two tossed another magazine in the young agent’s direction, then threw another dagger with startling accuracy.

For seconds at a time you could see how Minho’s eyes had narrowed with his aim, and he too met every target exactly where he wanted. You figured that the royal must have trained himself well to have that kind of precision. The way that he appeared perfectly calm was startling: his dark eyes squinted and he turned his body swiftly with little effort.

“Fuck--I’M OUT OF ROUNDS!” The prince bellowed before ducking under Minho’s arm which immediately swung over him.

You closed in closer to the group, using your body as a shield for the prince’s back.

Your partner cast aside fallen chairs and tables in his wake, as one of the thugs charged at him. In response, he threw his gun into his waistband, opting to slung the man with a hurried uppercut that sent him spitting blood to the floor before falling, “We’re almost there! Keep pushing!!”

“SHIT!!!” Seungmin groaned out before dropping his small gun to the ground, he trembled with his leg dragging behind him, then soon his pants soaked with a dark stain to his slacks.

“BEE LOOK OUT!!” A voice screamed, seconds before you could register it.

Your head whipped back to the chaos of the club, seeing the “freckled bastard” himself point his decorated riffle at you point blank with a wicked grin on his face. He looked purely evil. There was something about the way that his ears poked, or how his eyes upturned that made him look devilish when his pearly white teeth peeked once he took his shot. He had ashy blonde hair that had strung with sweat over his forehead, and blood wetted the tip of his dress shoes. He cocked his head to the side, as he did too with his gun before the deafening shot cracked through the room.

You were shocked trying to memorize his face, and frozen in your fear from the barrel of the gun facing you right between the eyes.

An excruciatingly tight grasp at your arm pulled you to the side before you could react, throwing you to the hardwood floors before whoever it was pulled themselves in front of the bullet. Your vision was rocked when you hit the floor, missing the glass revolving door by centimeters.

“Y/N!” Your partner screamed, waking you from your haze as the room started to piece back together. “You good?!”

Another hand grabbed you to your feet before shoving you through the door, lightly slinging your arm around his shoulder before taking your gun from your trembling hand to take a few more shots. You realized it was Two this close, and tiny flecks of red splattered at his neck.

“Fuck--give me that--” You grabbed the gun from his hand to fire every bullet that was left at the freckled bastard until you couldn’t any more, and the cool of the evening stung at your heaving lungs once your group reached the sidewalk.

Outside of the venue, clubbers scrambled and ran the streets still shrieking in their fear and tripping over their heeled shoes.

“Chan?? Chan--where-where’s the prince??” The words spilled from your lips in your pure adrenaline.

Right behind you only a couple paces away, the prince stood pale with Seungmin holding between them a groaning and gasping Minho who barely held on to the two men. A bullet wound soaked his black suit jacket, and the red crept up to his white frilled collar.” The wound made a hole right in his shoulder with a visible circle.

Jeongin sprinted to the back of the group looking disheveled himself with sleeves hastily pulled up to his elbows. “Shit--shit!!”

“S-move aside. MOVE!” You commanded the whimpering young man who gave you Minho’s other arm. You wrapped around his wasit and dragged the heavy weight of the man who had just saved your life.

The prince dryly smacked his lips then scanned the street for more of the Spades in his daze.

“Y-you okay?” The words dried up your tongue.

“Yeah...yeah, I’m fine, are you?” His energy had been drained of him, and his knuckles were also cracked, likely from having to throw punches that you haven’t even seen him take.

Gunshots echoed further down the street followed by the screeching of wheels and more panicked yells. The chirps of cop cars pulled up to the scene and their husky demands rounded up the escapees in rapid-fire Arabic.

Jeongin sprinted back with his white hair bouncing to a taxi nearest an intersection. He threw the door open apologizing profusely the best he could before pulling the driver out of the driver’s seat and to the cement. He cursed out loudly in response to which Jeongin tossed out some bills haphazardly to his chest.

“Get in, GET IN!” He called to your group while tapping on the metal side of the vehicle.

Both you and the pricne guided the injured royal in to the backseat between you.

“Minho--Minho, hold on--” Your nervous hands held his pale face in your palms.

The tear of your dress filled the small compartment, prompting the prince to snatch his hand into the other man’s firmly.

“Minho--you fucking dumb asshole--you had to go and he the hero didn’t you?” Chan smiled hopefully.

“Ar-are you alright?” He coughed, “Your Highness?”

“Shut up.” Chan ruffled his hair with another adoring smile. “It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”

Although it was silk, you used every inch of your dress tear to tie around the baron’s shoulder tightly in an attempt to add pressure to the open wound.

“Bee--” Minho started with a lazy glare.

“--Keep talking Minho, look at me. You’re gonna feel sleepy, stay awake. You did great, thank you so much for doing that to me. Thank you.” You grabbed his opposite hand firmly. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Lee Minho laughed. “Don’t mention it. And--if you wanted me to keep talking...I wanted to tell you that you’re really stunning Bee. How you handled all th-that. I was really impressed.”

“Hm, I was impressed too.” In his own way, like this, bloodied and a bit delirious, Lee Minho really was as handsome as he let on.

The taxi car whipped around another corner with wind whipping in the windows and each of your masses jostled in the car as if bumped over the curb. The hotel wasn’t that far from The Tea Party, and you knew that any moment you would reach it, but each second stretched longer and longer.

“Fox?! We’re not there?”

“Fuck--Bee, the whole city is crawling with cops, everywhere I turn, they’re on the hunt, The Spades are everywhere I can’t make it back--no doubt they’re already there...”

In the front seat, Seungmin clung to Two as if his life depended on it as his whole body shook and Two tore his own jacket sleeve to close off the young man’s wound on his leg.

“Wha-what are we going to do?? S-shit!! Ouch!!!” The young student gritted his teeth in his pain while his leg shook terribly. He sobbed, “It hurts, really, really bad!!”

“I planned for this.” Jeongin’s eyes flicked in the review mirror to you in the back. “I asked Carroll to set up for us a secondary place if something went down and we couldn’t make it to the hotel. I figured...if anything happened or if they found us--”

“--Get us there, fucking drive Fox, Minho needs first aid, right fucking now, he’s bleeding too fucking much.”

“I know, I know!!”

“How far is it?!”

“Not far, I promise, twenty minutes--tops.”

“Make it ten!!!”

Jeongin floored it, running lights and becoming a stream under the skyscrapers of Cairo. From the small skylight of the taxi, thin clouds streaked in the evening sky and mixed with the glow of the city. Far, far, above your head, you prayed for the first time in years that you could make it in time.

Seungmin sobbed with puffy eyes from the front seat and writhed, “Hurry! Hurry!” He begged.

Minho’s head lulled in the backseat as he bled though the white silk binding him. His head bounced back and forth from you to the prince with glossy marbles for eyes that blinked slowly. The prince rested his hand on the baron’s thigh and rubbed calming little circles into it.

“Minho, you did so well. Look at me.” Chan coaxed, causing the other to smile adorably grim.

Minho twitched before rolling his head over to the prince. “Your Highness, i-if I may be so bold...I-I’ve got...I’m crush on you.” He finished his sentence with a wrinkled smile.

You scoffed out with a laugh while making knowing eye contact with the prince who laughed out lightly too.

“He sounds like someone I know.” You winked at the royal.

The taxi made one final turn to an alley filled with potholes that jostled each wheel of the car.

“This is it! Right here!” The young agent whipped into a one car garage hidden into the alley. The darkness of the garage filled the car, and snuffed out all of the light from the street, and even muffled the faint sirens of police as they whizzed past. The night was still full of gunshots, but at least now they sounded far enough away to be safe.

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

The safe house was a modest two floored apartment outfitted with the normal security system of The Agency: window locks and cameras in every corner of every room. As expected, each of the rooms was covered in a fine layer of dust, and the old smell hung with flecks of the material stuck on lampshades and wafting in the light.

Work had been delegated between you and your partners, with the two other men helping treat Seungmin in the second bedroom out of three while you and the prince aided Minho.

The windows were left open to let in some fresh air, also letting in the faint sounds of the city which still surged with life even late into the night. Still, the smell of the desert came floating into the room with a welcome sense of tranquility.

The royal lay on the bed with cracked pale lips while you set to work dabbing at his wound gently with gauze, cleaning the area around the bullet wound. Fearful to cause more bleeding, the bullet would stay where it was for a few moments more for another layer of wrapping. The prince remained quiet, passing you materials as needed with hands stained pink from the other man’s blood.

“How are you feeling?” Chan quietly asked.

“Hurts like a bitch,” Minho smiled, “You ever been shot before?”

The prince shook his head.

“Well, I hope that you never are. Feels like your whole body gets stirred up from the impact and then there’s the sting.”

Carefully you pulled back the remains of the baron’s shirt while lifting him slightly off the bed. As you swept the fabric from behind him, you noticed the thin red line tracing around his shoulder bade which you figured to be blood at first.

“What...what’s this?”

“Oh,” Minho shied, “It’s a tattoo.”

“You’ve got a tattoo? For a royal?” Chan slicked back Minho’s sweaty locks. “You really are full of surprises.”

Gently you laid the baron back down to lay with his new wrappings. “What is it?”

He paused, wetting his lips quickly before he spoke. “It’s a red rose. It’s a bit large--I know--not typical for royals. Don’t worry, you’re the only royal that knows that I have it.”

“Why a red rose?”

Below you, Minho looked relaxed and calm, beautiful even like this bare-chested under the single lamp-light of the bedroom.

“Well...you know the significance of symbols and insignias. We’ve all got our own.” He grinned out while playing with the prince’s free hand.

“I’ve got my white rose, Bee’s got her clock: seems like we’ve all got our own thing.” Chan agreed, watching the way that his fingers interlocked with the other man’s.

In the opposite bedroom, Seungmin cried out sharply to the tune of Jeongin chuckling out, “I’ve got you, you fucker!” The clink of metal fell into the little bowl they used: the bullet was out of the poor boy.

You sighed knowing that the damage caused to your group could’ve been much worse, yet you had made a skillful escape. Still, the thought of the bodies littering the floor...the silence that rang in your ears from the pace of it all and how the energy of survival started to wear off...it was truly gruesome.

“Minho--really, I appreciate you taking a hit for me like that. No one has ever done something like that for me...and you barely know me...”

The baron smiled, taking your hand in his too. “Like I said, it’s fine. Had I not, you wouldn’t have been able to help us out of there...even if you were dragging my ass for the tail end of it.”

The breeze flew in with the dusty curtains; just cold enough to make you shiver in your thin dress.

The prince looked to the both of you, “What happens now?”

Chan himself was a proper mess: he no longer looked like the perfect vision of regality from the earlier evening. He looked like a man, a regular man, scared, unsure, and confused. His knuckles were cracked...and you had promised that you had never wanted to see him harmed again.

The prince’s eyes softened, softer than they had been, soft like they had been the evening before when you had broken.

“We survive. The best we can. We recuperate for a couple days, and ask Carroll what the next steps are. I’d guess it would be Greece then.”

Minho leaned up with a little grunt to face you. “I’m coming with. I can help. I can be valuable if you need another set of hands on a gun.”

“I think you mean hand. Your arm is gonna be out of commission for a little while.”

He smirked, “Still...”

The sweeping red outline of rose peeked to his shoulder, and you wondered how far it really spread.

“Bee, I don’t think that I’ve thanked you.” Chan let the words fill earnestly, throwing that same damned smile at you.

“Chan...you don’t have to thank me. You’re my prince.”

The royal nodded with a contented little grin that tugged a dimple on the side of his face. You found both men looking at you as such, as if they were waiting, or anticipating the unsaid as you were.

Somehow, the room turned silent once more: a void quiet enough to hear your heart beating in your ears.

You bridged the gap, pulling Chan close to you as you pressed your lips against his, using your stained hand to pull his lapel into your body while he melted perfectly into you as he had done before. His mouth tasted slightly like the salt of blood, but that was of no matter to how sweet he was when he gently let himself unfold for you, gasping lightly against you. Chan’s hand reached to your arm to caress the goosebumped skin down, giving you another reason to shiver. You found your own hand tie into his light brown locks and pull deeply at the roots with depths of curiosity and want. Your tongue gently explored his lower lip before teasing right into his mouth which was even warmer than you had imagined it being.

Your other hand found the torso of Minho: bare and quivering under the touch of your fingertips which traced each muscle there. He let out a drawn out sigh, then drew his own hand down the curve of your body to your hip, finally working it back up over your belly to your breasts thinly protected by the dress. He sat up higher and brought his lips to the fabric, kissing right into your belly with the warmth of his mouth. He paused, giving you moments to crave that same feeling on your lips and prompting you to bow down and indulge yourself in the taste of his mouth too.

Chan’s hungry hands came tip-toeing over your back as he watched, and slipped one finger under your thin dress strap to pull it down and press kisses to your shoulder. With his other hand, he let it fall down Minho’s back: over the red rose, right to his thigh which he squeezed at firmly: right between the heat of his legs.

Minho was different from Chan: rougher with his advances, but still addictive in how he would test the corners of your mouth with each kiss more courageous than the last. He ruffled up your torn dress, then let the silk fill up his hands before pulling it in ways to meet your skin with his. Slowly, Chan did the same, edging a hand up to your ass from the frayed bottom of the once-gorgeous dress.

The bed was just big enough for two, but with this new interlocking of limbs as close as possible, you melded into one. Both you and Chan crept over the man between you, painting the blank canvas of his chest with seething hot lips and biting at the flesh of his skin lightly. Minho’s back arched from the beautiful sensation, causing him to giggle in his euphoria.

In the middle, you found Chan once more, and held him close, as close as you had wanted for longer than you had admitted.

“Oh Bee...” He moans into your mouth while releasing all of his glee onto your tongue.

“Chan, I’m not scared anymore. I don’t even care.”

The prince shuddered at the thought, and held you back just as tight finding the corners of your dress to pull over your head.

“Oh my god,” Minho adores you, then reaches out to pull you to his chest.

This mysterious man, melts for you too, whimpering perfectly between your lips. Your legs find their way around his thigh to grind at lightly. There's an innocence to his eyes, much like that of the prince: its a kind of blind adoration that you know all too well. His dedication to Chan, and his gesture to you: the thick bandages around his arm: you find your apprehension slipping to nothing.

Your fingers loop around the white lace of your panties as you kneel above both men, and you swipe your thumb over both of their glistening and trembling lips.

“Well boys, how about I’ll make both of you mine tonight?”

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @lunarskzzz @yourdaddychan @bubblelixie @spnobsessedmemes @cherrychngkyn @bowlofblueberries @lmhmins @eunaeiekim

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a-edgar-allan-hoe · 3 years

Text

The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 11

A/N: Part 11 is finally finished lovelies! Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! 🖤🔮🖤

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, violence, and blood

It felt as if time was slowing down as Sam’s phone kept vibrating, everyone’s eyes trained on him awaiting to hear who was on the other line. Zemo had sat back down beside you and you leaned into him to keep up your act, and as you glanced at his profile, you saw that he was deep in thought, probably running the scenario through his head.

“Answer it. On speaker.” Selby ordered as she had stood up, staring at Sam in the eye while she pointed at him. She was really starting to get on your nerves now and you wanted nothing more than to get out of there.

You locked eyes with Sam as he grabbed his phone out of his pocket and answered it. “Hello?”

“Hey, um, we need to talk about this situation. It’s been drivin’ me nuts.” You heard Sarah’s voice on the other line.

Shit. You were fucked.

Licking your lips, you used your telepathic abilities to tap into Zemo and Bucky’s brain, your eyes following Selby as she started to stroll around the room.

“Hey guys.”

You watched how Zemo and Bucky’s eyes shifted to you when hearing your voice, only to see you looking to the floor without ever opening your mouth.

“Relax, it’s me. Don’t look at me and act like nothing is happening.” You gave them a cautionary look. “I’m sorry to have to get into your heads, but we are in deep shit and this isn’t going to end well. Just think about what you want to say and we can communicate from there.”

“You’re....you’re in our heads?” You heard Zemo’s thoughts.

“Yes, I already said that.”

“So.....how are we supposed to get out of this one?” Bucky asked.

“Well at this rate, There is no other way than to fight our way out. We’re about to have a large bounty on our heads.”

“Y/n is right.” Zemo added. “We must be prepared.”

“You got any plans Zemo?” You asked him.

“Just make it out alive.”

You nodded your head slightly, signaling that you were prepared for what was about to happen next. Selby had crossed behind the sofa you and Zemo sat on, dragging her fingers through the top of the back part of the sofa. You could’ve sworn you felt her wretched fingers graze over your bare shoulder and through your hair as she passed by, making you straighten up in repulsion and clutch the seat of the couch with balled fists, accidentally brushing the side of your exposed thigh against Zemo’s in the process. Zemo side glanced at you after feeling your thigh brush against his, seeing you shift in your seat with an uncomfortable look hidden on your face. And from the way Selby had now crossed over to his side of the Sofa, he knew what had happened to upset you. Sam and Bucky saw the whole thing, the way she laid her fingers on you made their skin crawl, they clenched their fists as they were more than ready to get you out of this hellhole and to a safer place.

“What situation exactly are you talkin’ about?” Sam cleared his throat as he planned out what to say while trying to stay in character.

“Are you high? You know what situation, it’s the only situation me and you have.” You could hear the irritation in Sarah’s voice as you studied the faces of everyone around you, honing in on their vital signs to where you could almost see their heart beat, blood flow, and rise in body temperature. Their bodies released an odor that you were all too familiar with, that near acidic smell, adrenaline. You saw it pump through their veins as the guards hovered their fingers over the triggers of their guns. They were already starting to have doubts about the four of you.

“What situation, Sarah? Say it.”

“The damn boat. And watch your tone. Okay? I let you slide at the bank.”

“The bank.” Sam scoffed before chuckling lightly. “Yeah. Laundered so much. Yeah, they’ll come around.”

“If that was the case, then why’d they dog you out, Big Time?”

As every exchange between Sam and Sarah went by, the more your hands itched to grab your dagger as you waited for the precise moment to strike. You could practically hear your heartbeat and the clock on the wall drowning out the sound of everything else in the room, the clicking of the hand second by second, as if taunting you about the little amount of time you had left.

“Yeah, you damn right I’m Big Time. You’ll see when I have that banker killed.” Sam stared straight ahead. You could already tell from his face that he was not at all confident about how this was going to go down.

“Cass! What’d I tell you about the Cheerios? I don’t have time for this! Sam, I’m sorry. I’ll call you back.”

Fuck.

“Sam?” Selby looked at the four of you. “Who’s Sam? Kill them!”

Bang! There was the sound of a gunshot and shattered glass, and the next thing you knew, Selby was shot in front of you, her coat now spreading with blood from the wound in her chest as she fell to the floor dead, right when you were about to run your dagger through her yourself. You couldn’t find sight of who the shooter was as one of the security sent a dead center shot towards Zemo’s head. You widened your eyes and shot your arm out in front of Zemo’s face, the bullet bouncing off your metal cuff with a sizzling sound and falling to the floor in a crumbled ball. Thank the gods for Olympian steel. Zemo and the security guard gave you a surprised look from how you just deflected the shot, giving you the chance to slip up the slit of your dress to grab your dagger. You threw your dagger at the guard, watching it fly through the air before hitting him straight in the chest, making him fall over.

You and Zemo jumped up from the couch as two more guards shot at you in the process, more bullets falling to the floor as you deflected them all. Zemo grabbed the gun of one of them before hitting him in the head with it, knocking him out cold. You charged at the other one, pulling your sword out from your back before raising it above you and bringing it down in a diagonal motion, slicing the guard across the chest. You winced as some of the blood had splattered on your face, causing you to wipe it off with the back of your hand. Bucky and Sam had taken care of the other two before going off to the other side of the room. You shoved your sword down on the floor so that it stood upright before kneeling over to take your heels off. Sam, Bucky, and Zemo stared at you in shock from what you did as you headed over to them barefoot with your sword in one hand, stopping to stoop over one of the dead guards to pull your dagger out of his chest before giving it a flick to get rid of the blood.

“What the hell was that? You had a sword with you this whole time?” Sam hissed.

“Never mind that. We have bigger problems. They’re going to pin this on us.” You breathed out as you slipped your sword back on your back and your dagger back on the strap on your thigh.

“We have a real problem now, so leave your weapons and follow my lead.” Zemo sighed before heading out as you followed him.

You heard the sound of everyone’s phone notification going off, telling them of Shelby’s death and the bounty on your heads.

“This is not good.” Zemo mentioned as he glanced at everyone, some who now had their eyes following you.

Bullets went flying over your head as people approached you with their guns out, shooting at you.

“Shit!” Sam shouted as he and the others ducked.

“More guns?” You rolled your eyes. Using your powers, your eyes returned to their natural Olympian color before glowing a bright violet as you created a shield in front of you to protect you and the three, the bullets disintegrating when coming into contact with your shield. Your eyes widened as you looked down at your hands in horror and saw how they were starting to change to an unnatural death like color, slowly starting to spread up your arms in a vein like manner while your hands had become almost claw like with sharp pointed nails. Oh no. This was not good, you didn’t need the others seeing this. Cursing under your breath with a flick of your wrist, you used your powers to throw the attackers into a nearby wall before letting your shield disappear. You glanced down at your hands with a bit of relief as you saw them return to their natural skin tone. This was definitely not good and you needed to get it sorted out before they found out.

“Let’s go!” You told them as you started to run, down the crime ridden street, not even caring that you weren’t wearing any shoes but cursing under your breath for your choice of not wearing a bra because of the damned dress, making you press your arm over them to hold them in place.

“I can’t run in these heels!” You heard Sam say as he struggled to keep up.

Your heart was pounding as you ran from the people after your heads, the sound of gunshots echoing in the streets. Making sure to stay in front of Bucky, Sam, and Zemo, you used a combination of defense and offense, lighting up the streets in flashes of violet as you blocked off the bullets and threw bolts of energy through your attackers. All the while being cautious of maintaining your appearance. As you came to a small clearing, you found yourself surrounded before more gunshots were heard, but this time they were directed at your attackers, the bullets coming from one of the windows of the buildings.

“You seem to have a guardian angel.” Zemo spoke up as he looked around with a gun in his hand after shooting one of the attackers himself.

“Well, this is too perfect.” You heard a woman approach with a gun pointed at Zemo, using one of her hands to drop her hood. “Drop it, Zemo.”

“Sharon?” You caught your breath as you furrowed your brows at her, surprised to see her. You never had the chance to meet her but you were wondering what she was doing here.

“You cost me everything.” Sharon spoke as she stopped with her gun still pointed at Zemo.

“Sharon, wait.” Sam stepped in front to try to explain everything. “Someone recreated the super-soldier serum and Zemo had a lead.”

“That explains why you guys are here. And Selby’s dead.”

“So what are you doing here?” Bucky asked her.

“I stole Steve’s shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass, so that you could save his ass from his ass.” You watched from the side with a raised brow as Sharon pointed at all three of them. “I didn’t have the Avengers to back me up. So I’m off the grid in Madripoor.”

“Don’t blow smoke. I was on the run, too.” Sam tried to reason.

“Was. Is. Big difference. I don’t speak to my family anymore. I can’t. My own father doesn’t know where I am.” Sharon remarked before looking over at you, squinting her eyes as she tried to figure out where she saw you. “Sorry, you’re y/n right? You worked with Thor? What do you have to do with all this?”

“Sam needed my help, Sharon.” You explained. “We could use yours, it would mean a lot.”

Sharon thought it over, looking between you and the others.

“Please.” Bucky added.

“This isn’t over.” Sharon let out a sigh. “I have a place in High Town. You’ll be safe there for a while.”

“Looks like breaking all those laws is treating you well.” Sam noted as he took in the interior of the building once you all stepped in after the car ride there.

Your gut was telling you there was something fishy about Sharon that you just couldn’t pinpoint just yet, but you wanted to trust her. You raised a brow at the artwork that was displayed. So Sharon was selling stolen artwork now? You didn’t pay much mind to the details of the area as you followed Sharon through. You were much too focused on washing the blood and makeup off your face as well as changing into something more comfortable. But the one thing you couldn’t get your mind off of was what happened earlier when you were using your powers. It was definitely not a good sign and you were scared of the answers you would get once you searched deeper into it.

“I thought if I had to hustle, might as well enjoy the life of a real hustler. You know how much I’ll get for a real Monet?” Sharon mentioned as she turned to Sam.

“Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monets.”

“No. She means real.” Zemo affirmed after he had taken a look around. “This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. Classics.”

“It’s true.” Bucky added to Zemo’s comment. “You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this.”

“Okay, guys, I see what you’re doing. You’re more worldly than good old Sam.” Sam was on his phone, obviously trying to search up to confirm what they said was true.

“Yeah. What’s Google say?”

“No shit.”

“You guys need to change. I’m hosting clients in an hour.” Sharon suggested once you had entered her living area.

“Hey Sharon.” You faced her. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Down the hall on the left.”

“Thanks.” You gave her a kind smile before heading to it and locking the door behind you. The men’s eyes followed you as you went into the bathroom, they had noticed how quiet you were on the ride here and how you seemed to be deep in thought, and they were wondering what had happened to have you upset like this. Was it the whole situation with Selby? Were you enraged at them for putting you into this mess?

You had turned on the faucet in the bathroom, letting the water run for a bit as you stared down at your hands once more, as if you were afraid they’d return to that same appearance of death, resembling hands that might have belonged to a demon or an animal. You cursed under your breath as you washed the blood off your face, chest, and arms. As if you didn’t have enough to stress over already. Reaching your hand into your dress pocket, you pulled out your bag that you had shrunk to make it easier to bring along, returning it to it’s normal size so you could pull out a fresh pair of clothes. You changed into your Smashing Pumpkins shirt, a pair of jeans and your docs, throwing on a black leather jacket on top before putting your old attire and sword away. You decided to keep your dagger on you, strapping it to the back of your waist through the slot you had on your belt to help conceal it. As you rummaged through your bag, you grabbed your bracers and strapped them on your arms, concealing them underneath your jacket. At this point you needed to be prepared. Once you were done you returned your bag to a miniature size with a spell, slipping it in your jacket pocket before walking out of the bathroom. You had put on your brave face so questions wouldn’t arise about your behavior as you went to return to where the others were gathered.

“What’d I miss?” You asked as you approached them, politely declining the glass of liquor Sharon offered you.

“Nothing important.” Bucky answered your question. “You didn’t miss much.”

“Yeah?” You raised a brow amusingly as you crossed your arms. “Sounded like bickering to me. You three always have a bone to pick with each other. I could hear you from inside the bathroom..........I’m kidding, relax. Just trying to lighten up the mood.”

“Sharon might be able to find out how to locate our lead.” Zemo caught you up with everything that happened while you were cleaning up in the bathroom.

“Well,” Sharon noted as she got up from the sofa. “I sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party. Try to stay outta trouble. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Trouble.” Zemo added with a smirk.

“Thank Sharon.” You smiled at her, silently dreading having to go to yet another party. It wasn’t that you didn’t like parties, you weren’t a fan of crowds. And if you were being honest, you wanted nothing more than to eat an entire cheese pizza all by yourself and crash out on the floor at this point. You were exhausted to say the least, and starving. Using your powers had strangely drained some energy out of you and you didn’t know what the cause could be. This had never happened to you before.

Loud bass music filled your ears, making the ground beneath you vibrate with each beat as you arrived at the party downstairs with the others, the dim lights flashing against your face as you followed behind Sam towards the bar. You asked the bartender for a glass of cold water and sat on the barstool, watching people dance in close proximities of each other, your mind still fantasizing about the cheesiest pizza you could be having right now, causing your stomach to grumble.

“I can see you two aren’t a fan of parties.” Sam smirked as he looked at the bored expressions on you and Bucky’s faces. “Mr. I-Only-Listen-To-40s-Music and Ms. I-Only-Listen-To-Beethoven.”

“Beethoven was a genius.” You remarked. “Also, classical music is not the only thing I listen to. I listen to other stuff as well.”

“Yeah, like rock. And about that. I can’t believe you did acid.” Sam quipped as Zemo and Bucky’s eyes were on you now, curious to hear your response.

“Oh for fucks sake Sam. This was back in the 60s. Give me a break. Shit didn’t work anyways.”

“Wait. How the hell, do you take acid and it has no effect on you?”

“Well it’s the same thing as not being able to get drunk Sam. Now stop interrogating me.” You explained before setting your glass of water down on the counter. “Give me a minute guys. I gotta make a phone call.”

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, trying to head outside to where it was much quieter as you searched for the nearest pizza place. Your head was starting to throb from the lack of nutrition and the loud music and bright lights definitely wasn’t helping. You were going to have a damn cheese pizza and no one was going to stop you. Before you could even reach the entrance you felt a pair of strong arms grab your jacket, pulling you into the empty hallway nearby. You dropped your phone out of panic, your self defense mode kicking in as you grabbed the bulky arm of your unknown attacker and twisted it behind his back before shoving him against the wall of the hallway, creating a crack from the impact. The large man grunted from the force you exerted as you pulled out your dagger, setting the sharp blade against his throat, his face hidden from your view due the shadow cast over him.

“You better start talking asshole. You have picked the wrong time to fuck with me.” You growled between gritted teeth, shoving him against the wall again to get him to talk. “Answer me you shit!”

“Easy kid.” The man spoke with a gruff voice, grunting from your tight hold on him. “Is this how you treat an old friend?”

The grip you had on the man loosened, your hand that held your dagger to his throat dropping down to your side as you stared at the back of the man’s head like a deer in headlights. You recognized that voice.

“Logan?”

Tag List: @girl-obsessed-with-things @aerynchromie @sunshinepower17 @viviace @kakimakiloh @thebivirgin @gambitsqueen @gambitsqueen @spookycereal-s @lulu-yuming @mochminnie @Gabitanaka47 @s00nhi @vanteguccir @tomhollandsslilslut @dracoxxyoflam @suchababie @uhhhcrypticbastard @on-my-way-to-erebor @thewinterrbucky @mylifeispainandiloveit @fillechatoyante @padmoonyfeorge @montypythonsholysnail @pollynx @aziraslowlylosestheirshit

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lovemeleo · 3 years

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Me without You (Pt. 3)

As promised, I finally have Part 3 of Me without You! Yes, there will be at least one more part.

Nuny and the SW world belong to the lovely @lumosinlove.

If you haven’t read it yet, here’s Part 1 Part 2 and you can read my entire Nuny series here on ao3.

cw: coming out and unsupportive parents

“They.. They what?” Jackson asked, though he had definitely heard him. It was more in disbelief.

Zhenya sniffled, a rustling coming through the phone as he wiped at his face, “We had dinner t-tonight. Just three of us and I’m tell them about us. And-” His voice broke off again, the sound muffled.

Running a hand through his hair anxiously, Jackson paced outside the zoo restaurant, “Hey, Zhenya, baby. Take a deep breath for me.” He heard a shaky inhale in reply before continuing, “There you go, you’re doing so good.”

The other man’s sobs slowly calmed down, his breathing a bit shaky before he went on, “Papa got so angry, never heard him yell like that. Say so many bad things, terrible. Mama tried to calm him but he just keep going, told me to leave a-and never come back.” Zhenya rasped out, his voice scratchy through the phone.

“Where are you right now, Z?” Jackson asked, his chest aching as he tried to stay calm. He needed to be supportive, Zhenya didn’t need him freaking out as well.

Zhenya let out a shaky breath, Jackson could tell he was running his hand through his hair. It was tell they both shared when they were anxious. “At hotel nearby. Don’t know where else to go. Could go to family but they ask questions, and I don’t want to answer.”

“Do you want me there? I’ll come. I’ll get on the next flight, babe.” Jackson asked, already itching to start searching flights.

“Can’t ask you to do that, котенок. So far, too expensive.”

Zhenya could barely get out his sentence before Jackson cut him off, “No, that’s not what I asked, Zhenya. Do you want me there?” He repeated.

There was a pause at the other end of the line before Zhenya let out a breath, “Da. Please. Want you here, котенок.”

Jackson was already walking back to the restaurant, “Okay, I’ll be there. I’m gonna go home, pack my bag and then I’ll head to the airport, okay?”

“Alright. Okay, send me flight info. I pick you up,” Zhenya paused. “Jackson?”

Jackson stopped, his eyebrows furrowing, “Yeah babe?”

“I love you. Love you so much.”

A small flurry of butterflies appeared in Jackson’s stomach, as they always did when Zhenya said that to him, “I love you too, always.”

What sounded like a small sigh of relief came from the other end of the phone, “Always. See you soon.” Zhenya whispered before the line clicked off.

Jackson let out a shaky breath before heading back into the restaurant to quickly fill Brady in on what was happening. The other man’s face gradually fell as he listened, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Fuck, that’s horrible,” Brady said, his face filled with worry.

Olivia tugged at his shirt, her other hand pointing at him accusingly, “Bad word. I’ma tell mumma you swore!”

Letting out a sigh, Brady kissed the top of her head, “Sorry, munchkin. I’ll put a dollar in the jar when I get home.” He replied before turning back to Jackson. “Want me to drive you to the airport?”

“Nah, man, you’ve still gotta take the kids to see Liv’s penguins. Just gonna take a Lyft home and go pack. I’ll keep you updated though.” Jackson said. After getting a ride called, he quickly said his goodbyes before heading to the front of the zoo where the car waited.

The entire ride his heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest. He knew there was a possibility of this happening, a very large possibility. But how do you prepare for something like that? For your boyfriend’s parents to just throw him out while he’s thousands of miles away from you? You don’t. You can’t.

As the car got closer to their house, Jackson quickly started searching for flights, looking for the fastest flight that was coming up. He had to go to a different airport than the first time he went to Russia, as Zhenya was in Magnitogorsk and not Moscow. He was able to find one that was leaving in an hour and a half and decided Fuck it. Not even bothering to look at the price, he bought it and sent the information to Zhenya. When they pulled up in front of their place, he jumped out of the car, yelling his thanks as he ran into the house.

Less than two hours later, Jackson was on his way to Russia. His feet tapped anxiously under his seat as he watched the clouds go by. Ten more hours. All he wanted was to already have Zhenya with him, to hold him close and protect him from the bullshit of the world. Jackson knew how nervous his boyfriend was for this trip, and obviously it was for good reason… Nine hours and 59 minutes.

Leaning back in his seat, Jackson’s eyes began to droop. The adrenaline began to wear off as he finally was able to settle down. This was the second time he had made an abrupt trip to Russia, but at least Zhenya knew he was coming this time. Throwing his headphones in, he decided to try and get some sleep. He’d be landing there in the morning anyways.

After ten hours of dozing on and off, eating not totally terrible airplane food and annoying his seatmates with his tapping feet, Jackson finally landed. He had never wanted to be off an airplane as much as he did right now, knowing that Zhenya was waiting for him.

Quickly grabbing his carry-on, Jackson made his way off the plane. All he wanted to do was sprint towards the front door and jump into Zhenya’s arms, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not here. He’d have to wait till they were back at the hotel… or at least in his car.

Even in Russia, Zhenya was one of the tallest people around. He stood next to his car, hood pulled up over overly-ruffled hair. Jackson quickly walked over, dragging his bags back behind him before stopping in front of Zhenya. The taller man’s eyes were red-rimmed, it didn’t look like he had slept at all.

“Hi Zhenya..” Jackson murmured softly, his hands itching to reach out and pull his boyfriend close, protecting him from all the bad things.

A small smile, tired but a smile nonetheless, appeared on Zhenya’s face, “Hi котенок.” He whispered before taking one of his bags. “We switch up this time. Now baby Canadian come rescue me.”

“I’ll always come to rescue you, Zhenya.” Jackson said as they both put his bags in the trunk before getting in the car. He had never been so happy for Zhenya’s tinted windows as he reached across the center console, pulling the other man in for a kiss.

Zhenya rested his forehead on Jackson’s as they pulled away, letting out a shaky breath, “Thank you.. Thank you for coming.”

Nodding, Jackson intertwined their fingers, “Always.”

The ride was quiet as they made their way to the hotel. It wasn’t long, Zhenya pulled into a parking garage by the hotel less than 10 minutes later before they quickly made their way up to his room.

As soon as the door was closed, Zhenya was in his arms, his face pressed into Jackson’s shoulders. He held on as if he was afraid Jackson would disappear if he let go.

Jackson wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s waist, holding Zhenya tight as he felt the shaking in his shoulders, “I’ve got you, babe. It’s going to be alright,” He murmured. “Why don’t we lay down, Zhenya? Yeah? You need to get some sleep.”

Letting himself be pulled to the bed, Zhenya waited till Jackson laid down before sprawling on top of him. He let his head rest over the other man’s chest, eyes closed as he listened to the steady beat of his boyfriend’s heart. Laying here with Jackson, Zhenya knew everything would be okay, even if it didn’t feel like it right now.

“Do you wanna talk about it, baby?” Jackson softly asked, his fingers running gently through Zhenya’s hair.

The Russian man let out a breath, his grip tightening on Jackson’s shirt, “I-I..I know it’s bad to go in with hopes up. But I hoped. I hoped it would be okay. But not good idea. Stupid..” He whispered, his voice breaking.

Jackson gently pulled Zhenya up to face him, his fingers tracing carefully over the other man’s jaw, “Baby, no. It’s not stupid to hope that your parents will support you. That’s the exact opposite of stupid. They’re your parents, and you look up to them and you love them and all you want is their love and support in return. And to have that yanked away from you in one conversation, it’s horrible.. It’s the worst. And I’m sorry they hurt you the way that they did.”

As the tears began falling again, Zhenya pressed his face into Jackson’s chest, unable to hold back the sobs any longer, “P-Papa say it’s wrong, we’re wrong. B-but I know that’s not true. I know we’re right.”

“We are right, baby. We are. There’s nothing wrong with our love and if your papa doesn’t see that, that’s his problem.” Jackson whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He held him close as he cried, knowing he needed to get it out.

The tears began to slow as Zhenya fell asleep, his entire body curled up so he could cuddle close to Jackson’s side. It was obvious he hadn’t slept since he left his parent’s house yesterday.

Careful to not wake his boyfriend, Jackson grabbed his bag from where he set it next to the bed. He didn’t want to leave the other man’s side so after plugging in his phone and texting Brady, he curled up with him again, his arm going around his waist.

Just as he was about to doze off, a soft knock came from the hotel door. Jackson sat up carefully, trying not to jostle his boyfriend as he made his way to the door. Expecting a worker from the hotel, his eyes widened when he opened the door.

“Mrs. Kuznetsov..”

#nuny #jackson nadeau #evgeni kuznetsov #lumosinlove #sweaterweather #me without you #fic update #coming out #kuny #nado #zhenya #lumosinlove sweater weather #sweater weather #soft hockey boys

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 3 years

Text

Oh, Loverboy: Part 3 (Everyone x Everyone, Star x Fem!Reader Centric)

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Warnings: canonic bullying/hazing, implied 80s homophobia

Word Count: 2k

Alright people.......everyone x reader it is

You wished teasing Michael wasn't as funny as it was. He was, for the most part, a good sport. Sure, you could see that the boys got him riled up, aggravated, but you managed to embarrass him. Despite his good looks, he didn't seem particularly good with girls. Even placing your hand on his in passing managed to get him flustered. And, while he wasn't the best at flirting, he was genuine. Endearingly so.

The three of you had moved back over towards the couches, having lit some candles to pass the time before Marko finally returned. Star, being the most introverted of the group, hung back by the piano so she could watch the boys talk. You sat besides her, linking your arm with hers. Marko clamored back down into the cave with a call of,

"Feeding time! Come and get it, boys." And passed around a carton of chinese food. Star watched them pass out the meal, and you accepted the carton and chopsticks that Marko passed to you. "For you, gorgeous." He said, and you shook your head at him with a smile. You offered some to Star, but she shook her head. She was staring between the boys, her dark brown eyes watching David and Michael carefully. She'd been acting as referee ever since David had called the three of you over there.

You knew your boys weren't bad guys. Sure, maybe they messed with Michael just a little too much, but they couldn't help it. He was an easy target. So, you weren't necessarily surprised when you watched Michael spit his rice out. You were about to laugh with them, but you were quick to hear the girl besides you say,

"Leave him alone." And you hid your laughter behind another mouthful of food. The laughter was quick to die, and out came David's half-hearted apology.

"Sorry about that. No hard feelings though?" He said. You wondered if it'd just been the weed. You knew Paul had some pretty strong stuff, and Michael probably wasn't used to it. Or, it could've been something else. You knew, to some degree, this was David's weird way of flirting with the boy. You remembered the first time David had ever shown interest in you. You were sure that he felt the opposite until Paul had let it slip.

"No." Michael said, looking as confused as ever. You smiled to yourself, lightly knocking your shoulder against Stars. As if to say, see? He's fine. But she didn't look too sure. Perhaps you shouldn't have given David the benefit of the doubt.

"Why don't you try some noodles?" David said, holding the carton out to him. Michael closed his eyes, immediate disgust taking over his features. You ate another bite, knowing that this wasn't going to go well.

"They're worms." He said, and he looked as if he didn't even want to reopen his eyes. As if he was scared of what else could change right in front of him. David acted as if he was crazy, staring,

"What do you mean they're worms?" He said, poking around in the takeout. You chewed slowly, refusing to look down into your own takeout just in case it changed right in front of you as well.

"Don't eat-" Michael started to say, but David ignored him. He slurped the noodles back, tilting his head back. When he lowered his head and looked back at the brunette, he said,

"They're only noodles, Michael." And you knew that this was all a game. The boys were hazing him, seeing how far he could push him. So far, he was doing well. Still, Star ended up standing as she stated,

"That's enough." And you knew she meant it. That didn't mean the boys planned on listening. Paul was quick to brush her off with a,

"Chill out, girl." And you watched as Marko leaned down so David could whisper in his ear. Marko gave him a nod, turned to set his takeout down, and then started heading back to where the group kept their alcohol. Her eyes darted to you, as if looking to you for help. You internally sighed before you said,

"Go easy on loverboy." You said, but you knew they didn't intend on listening. Paul just tossed back his takeout, saying a small,

"Yeah, yeah." As he chewed. Marko brought back a bejeweled bottle. You watched as he passed it to David, and you could feel the room shift. The air suddenly felt thick, electrified. You watched as Star walked away from you, going to stand besides him before looking at the bottle. As if she wanted to say something but didn't know how. You frowned, settling your takeout aside and moving to stand behind David. You brought your jacket closer around you, placing a hand on David's shoulder as he uncorked the bottle. You had a bad feeling, even if you trusted your boys. Even if you trusted David. It's why you whispered,

"David, it's getting late. Maybe Michael should head home." And you stared at the brunette girl. Both of your eyes met, and it was clear that she felt the same. Like something bad was going to happen if Michael drank what was in that bottle.

Of course, none of the boys listened to you. Not even Michael. You laid on Stars bed, with her head on your chest. You were running your fingers through her long, brown hair, trying to soothe her. She'd been worrying ever since the boys had left. Enough so that you had been the one to put Laddie to bed. You ran a hand down her back, whispering,

"Everything's going to be fine. The boys will take care of him." You said, even if you doubted it. It wasn't like you thought the boys would let him die, but you didn't expect them to be nice to him. Especially when you and Star weren't there to encourage it. You hoped that, wherever they were taking him, Michael would just do what he was told. Everything was usually fine when you listened to David. Star let out a long breath of hair, muttering,

"Why did David have to steal him?" Before the two of you fell back into a comfortable silence. In an attempt to reassure her, you said,

"Maybe he doesn't even like boys." And the look she gave you was enough for you to know exactly what she was thinking. It made the pair of you laugh, lightening the mood. Yeah, he definitely wasn't the straightest arrow in the quiver.

"So, you like him?" Star asked, and you shrugged. You told her the truth, which was,

"He's alright. He's a little," You hesitated to say the word, but Star had looked up to wait for you to finish. "He's not that smart, is he?" You said, and you earned a laugh from her. It was a loud laugh, one she was quickly covering up so she didn't wake the little boy on the other side of the room. "But he's nice, and he's cute. Nice eyes." You commented. Alright, a lot of things about him were nice. He had nice loose curls, he was tall, and you were sure that a bit of stubble would turn him from homecoming king to a total babe. Star hummed in agreement, before she paused. She tapped her finger against your arm, before glancing up at you nervously. Finally, she said,

"I like him." And you weren't entirely surprised. You could tell. Now, it was more than just a crush on him based on appearance. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, Star and Michael clicked well. Hell, Michael just clicked well. If the boys came back before you left, you wouldn't be surprised to hear that a few of the others had developing crushes on him. Maybe, if you gave it time, you would too.

"You want me to tell him for you?" You joked, earning a surprised laugh from her. She covered her hand, climbing up to press a happy kiss to your lips. You held her by her waist, and you could feel that some of the worry had escaped her. Your kiss was slow and sweet, but too deep to be chaste. You massaged her sides, only lifting her shirt up the tiniest bit so you could ghost your fingertips against her warm skin. She shivered, pressing closer until you licked the seam of her lips. Her tongue was a flick against yours, and she earned a soft sound from you by sucking on your bottom lip. You tucked your hand into her hair, massaging her scalp as you let her take the lead.

The kiss didn't last long, with the pair of you pulling away when you heard the hoots and hollers from the boys returning. There goes any hopes of Laddie staying asleep, You thought. Tiredness was pulled over like a blanket over the both of you. It felt nice to lay in her bed. It was soft and warm, and you were tempted to fall asleep. But, you checked your watch. Now, it really was getting late. You hadn't lied about that. You let out a sigh, gently trying to sit up. Star didn't let you, whispering a small,

"Don't go. Can't you stay?" And you couldn't stop the smile those words brought to your lips. You tilted her face up, brushing a hand over her cheek. She didn't lift herself, only nuzzling and tightening her grip around your waist. Really, you wished you could stay. You ran the back of your hand against her cheek, whispering,

"You know I can't. Curfew." You reminded her, and Star frowned. She tucked her face into your neck, nosing along the line of your jugular. You sighed again when she started pressing soft, teasing kisses to your neck, letting your head roll back as you shook it lightly. As if leaving her wasn't hard enough already. "Do you want me to get grounded?" You asked, and you heard a small puff of air leave her. No, she didn't. She looked up at you, a small pout teasing at her bottom lip. "I thought you were worried about Michael?" You teased, and her expression changed then. She was quick to say,

"I am- I'm just- You're comfy," She said, resting her head back on your chest. The boys were back down in the cave, you could hear them. The loud sound of the footsteps. You chuckled to yourself, but you didn't miss her next quiet words. "And I miss you when you're gone." She said it before any of them could interrupt you, and you had a soft smile on your face.

"I'll be back tomorrow. We can meet right at the carousel. Same time as always." You told her, and she relented. She loosened her arms around you, and sat up with you. Just as Paul flicked her curtains to the side, letting out a low whistle at the sight of you.

"Am I interrupting something or is this like an open invitation thing-" He started, pointing between the two of you and taking a step into the room. He didn't get far. You knew kicking him out would be a lot harder if he made it to the bed. You were already sending him a half-hearted glare and telling him to,

"Scram, Paul." And Paul snapped his fingers at the two of you before leaving the same way he came. At least he could take a hint sometimes. You watched as he retreated, knowing at least one of the others was going to filter in soon. Before you could be interrupted again, you pulled her into a kiss. You cupped both of her cheeks, thumbing them lightly. You didn't care if any of the others saw, and part of you wanted Michael to see. So, he could know what he was getting himself into. So, if he wasn't what you hoped he was, you could find out in the safety of the cave.

Even when you pulled away, she didn't open her eyes. She let you hold her face in your hands, leaning into your touch. You could see the sleepiness pulling at her, your own sleepiness doing the same. Her voice was soft and tired as she whispered,

"I love you." And you thought about her words over and over the entire time David drove you back to your house.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys paul #paul the lost boys #the lost boys marko #the lost boys david #the lost boys dwayne #marko the lost boys #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #the lost boys star #star the lost boys #star x reader #michael the lost boys #the lost boys michael #the lost boys x reader

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prettytoxicrevolver · 3 years

Text

Five Times Colson Baker Almost Kissed You and the One Time He Did

Requested? For someone else maybe (i’m sorry LMAO)

Warnings? None?

Summary: You and Colson have been best friends for years now and had feelings for each other for what seems like the same amount of time. However, you always seem to be missing out on one another.

Word Count: 2,902 (it’s so long but I promise it’s worth it)

One

“One hour,” Colson says, trying to convince you.

“No.”

“Please? We can get food after,” he begs and you consider it for a moment.

“Alright.”

Colson cheers loudly at this, picking you up and spinning you around before throwing you back onto his king-sized bed. He heads to his closet, sorting through his clothes to find something to wear and you roll your eyes at your best friend.

Colson had been begging you practically all week to go to a party that Pete Davidson was surprisingly throwing. You had always wanted to meet his best friend but had never gotten the time to do so. That was the main reason you said yes to going to the party and the other was Colson was Colson and you couldn’t say no to those big blue eyes.

“One hour,” you tell him when you arrive at the house.

“One hour,” he repeats pressing a kiss to your cheek before heading into the party.

You head in slowly, making your way to the drink table first and pouring yourself something before figuring out what to do next. Just as you’re about to walk around in hopes of finding someone you know, you hear someone call your name.

“(y/n)?” you turn to see Pete standing a few feet away with a smile plastered on his face.

“Hey! I’m Pete,” he says offering his hand to shake. “I didn’t mean to sound weird knowing who you are, Colson talks about you a lot.”

“Good to know,” you joke, and Pete smiles.

The two of you end up talking for a while, getting to know each other, and trading secrets about Colson. You don’t realize how fast time is going until a drunk Colson finds you.

“Darling!” he calls, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and leaning his head against yours. “You met Pete?”

“Yes, love. And you’re wasted?” you ask.

You turn your head to the side to look at your best friend when it occurs to you how close Colson is. An inch rests between two of you, and your eyes flicker between his and his lips. Your eyes land on each other and for a moment something passes between the two of you.

"Y'all gonna kiss or what?" Pete says from in front of the two of you.

You and Col both laugh, and your head rests on his chest. The two of you cast another glance at each other before you maneuver so your arm is around Colson's waist and his slips around your shoulders.

"Let's go, big guy."

Two

"Fuck!" Colson curses loudly while messing with the pearl-like necklace.

You stand from your spot on the couch and head over to your frustrated best friend. As you walk up to him, his hands drop and you stand in front of him. You offer a small smile and reach up to click together the confusing necklace.

“I’m nervous,” he admits as you work on the jewelry. “Why the fuck am I nervous?”

“Because it’s a VMA and you’ve been working your ass off and you deserve one.”

“But I don’t care if we win or lose,” he insists and you nod.

“I know. But you still care a little bit.”

After fastening the necklace, you fix it so the bullhorn is at the center of his neck. Once finished, your hands fall to his chest and you look up at him.

“You’re gonna win.”

Because of restrictions, you sit to the side of the room as Colson heads in front of the cameras to talk to the interviewer. You sit back and admire your best friend’s success, proud to have been able to watch how far he’s come and how amazing he’s done in his career, vma or not.

“What I wanna let you know, you won the vma. I have somebody bringing it in for you right now.”

Just as Colson begins to freak out on camera, you immediately start to jump up and down for your best friend. You want to run up and hug him and tell him you knew it but you refrain wanting to hear what he says in his acceptance speech.

He runs through the og’s, Casie, his family, Travis, and Mod, and just as he’s about to stop, his eyes land on you.

“My beautiful best friend. Just before this, she was reassuring me that I was gonna win and I trust her with everything. Thank you for always believing in me.”

A happy tear falls as Colson continues to cheer and you watch until the interview is over and the crew cuts the camera. As soon as they’re finished, Colson beelines straight for you.

His arms wrap around your waist and yours slip around his shoulders and you can feel the excitement and love radiate between the two of you. He picks you up and spins you around unable to contain the happiness and you’re both practically screaming in the tiny backstage area.

“I won!!” he yells.

“You won!!” you echo and you’re both laughing out of pure bliss.

He sets you down and you take a step back, your hands moving from his shoulders to his face and you cup his cheeks and see a beaming smile greet you.

“I’m so proud of you Col,” you say and he laughs lightly still not believing this all.

You stay there like that for a moment, gazing into each other eyes and your heart beats fast as his striking blue eyes study yours. Your thumb absentmindedly strokes the side of his cheek and he leans into your touch. You’re certain he’s leaning in and you’re getting closer when someone interrupts you.

“Colson? Is it okay if we get some pictures?”

Three

“Okay, we’re gonna sit here and get all of our work done even if it kills us,” you say turning to your best friend and laughing.

“Or, we could go to this party in the hills?” Kells asks, offering you puppy dog eyes.

“Absolutely not. You have to finish that song and I need to write this paper. We can get it done together.”

The older boy gazes at you from across the room and you meet it with ease. After a moment or so, he breaks and you giggle lightly knowing you won.

You and Colson both had been putting off your respective work for days now. You were both born procrastinators, having bad habits for waiting till the last minute to get things done. When you met each other, it got a little bit easier to finish things though when you had to do it together.

However, sometimes you got things done much later in the night than the two of you would have liked. Currently, it was almost 2:30 and neither one of you had made much progress.

“Okay, I’m done,” Kells says coming over to your spot on the couch and laying down.

His head falls into your lap and you instinctively let your hands fall to his hair. Your hands card through the soft blonde locks that fall into a messy mohawk formation on his head. You watch as Kells eyes fall shut as your nails scratch the sides of his buzzed hair before running through the locks once more,

“Hey,” Colson says and you look down at him. You smile lightly at the older boy and he sits up at the action. He props up on his elbow, one hand reaching up to twirl his fingers through your hair and you hum at the action. Your eyes trace over his features, committing each perfect detail to memory.

You suddenly realize you’re both moving closer and closer to each other until you’re centimeters away from each other. Your heart is nonexistent and your eyes shut in anticipation at the closeness.

Suddenly the loud sound of your alarm goes off and the two of you split. Colson falls back into your lap, his head hanging lowly and sighing quietly. You scramble to turn the alarm off, completely forgetting that you turned it on in case you took a nap during your work.

“So close,” you hear Colson whisper before he stands and goes back to his work and you find yourself smiling.

Four

“I suck,” you tell him.

“You don’t suck,” Colson reassures you.

“Please? It’s one song, the last song! Please?” he begs taking your hands in his and tugging at them lightly.

“Fine.”

“Let’s go!” Col cheers letting go of your hands to pump his fists together.

Colson had come to you when he was almost finished with the album and had only a few songs left to mix and go over to make sure they were perfect. After going over the album and the deluxe over and over, Colson finally realized what he was missing.

“It’s just this part at the end, me and Dom already did it but I think adding a high harmony will be perfect,” Colson explains, leading you into the small recording booth.

He wanted to add you onto body bag, one of your favorite tracks off of Col’s new album that he recorded with none other than YungBlud. The two finished the song, but Colson insists the ending woahs need a harmony. So, he came to you which you still didn’t understand in the slightest.

“Are you sure you want me to sing? I’m gonna ruin the whole song.”

“Definite. I’ll sing with you if that makes you feel better,” he reassures and you nod.

The two of you get set up, Col explaining the process along the way and you try to follow along to the best of your abilities. After putting on your headphones and you both step up to the mic, your nerves start to kick in.

“I promise it’s not bad. And we can always redo it.”

You nod at your best friend and he smiles before giving Travis the thumbs up to start the audio. The backing of the song begins and out of habit, you begin to dance to the song.

Just before the part you’re supposed to sing hits, Colson taps you and you look over at him and he nods as you’re supposed to come in. The two of you sing together, you hitting a higher harmony and Colson smiles wide at you the entire time.

“It’s perfect guys,” Travis says when you’re finished.

“We finished!” Colson yells.

“You did it!” You yell back.

It hits you both at the same time, the fact that Colson had finished something so close to him and your best friend had achieved something so great.

You jump into Colson’s arms, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders. He catches you as if he’s done this a million times, his arm circling your waist and he pushes his face into your neck.

You pull away, about to tell Col how proud you are of him when you’re struck by the proximity of the two of you. You both smile widely at each other, radiating complete and utter joy. You move closer, wanting to finally close the gap, wanting to enhance this moment when you’re interrupted.

“Uh, guys?”

Five

“Colson,” you whine from across the room.

“Yes?” he asks looking up at you.

You give him a look, the look you’ve perfected between the two of you that is always understood whether you say something before, after, or nothing at all. It always means I want food.

“We just ate!” he exclaims and you burst out laughing.

“We ate preppy award show food! I want Mcdonald’s,” you say in between laughter.

“I mean,” he says, shooting you the same look and now you’re both cackling together.

You grab your phone and Col grabs his keys and the two of you head out together. Some days, going to McDonald’s and just hanging out was the best for you and Colson. You got to relax, spend some genuine time with each other and do whatever you wanted.

As you drive, you and Colson sing along to your throwback playlist and talk about the award show you just attended together. You two were getting tired of award season, and the speeches and the tiny food. However, you always promised that if you had each other you’d bear every award show.

“Usual?” Col asks when you pull up the speaker.

“Yes please,” you answer.

Colson orders your food and as you pull up to the first window you try to hand him your credit card.

“Venmo me,” he says.

“I..” you begin and he tilts his head to the side in confusion.

“Have no money in my bank account currently.”

The two of you burst out laughing, the worker giving you confused looks as Colson hands him his card anyway and you try to protest but nothing comes out between the giggles.

After Colson pays and you pick up the food, you tell him to pull over somewhere so you can eat. He ends up finding a secluded parking lot for the two of you to chill.

As you eat, you two talk about random things, from stories from the week to past dumb things you two have done. You end up laughing and enjoying your time well past when you finish your food.

“Remember when you fell at that award show?” kells asks and you begin to laugh.

“It was one time!”

“You face planted!” he reminds you and you’re both laughing all over again.

“You didn’t even try and catch me,” you whine.

“I’ll always catch you I promise,” he says and you look over at your best friend.

Kells wears a serious expression replacing the bright but rare smile on his lips just seconds previous. Your eyes search his, uncertain of the meaning behind the words. His hand takes yours, his thumb rubbing over the soft skin and his eyes stare into the distance as he does the action.

“Col,” you whisper, trying to get the older boys attention.

His eyes snap to yours and his hand moves from yours to your cheek. His thumb traces your features, trailing from your jaw to your lips and you’re breathless at his touch. Just as you inch closer and closer, your lips ghost over each other’s, and your breath hitches.

You think you’re about to meet, a long-awaited connection when a horn blares out of nowhere, scaring the two of you apart. You both settle back into your seats, a soft chuckle emitting from your best friend as he shakes his head. You bite your lip, a hand coming up to feel the skin where his fingers gracefully touched and you can’t believe your moment was ruined once more.

And One

“Hey I’m coming over in 5,” you say greeting Colson from the view of your car.

“Uh why?” he asks peering into the phone to figure out why you’re headed over to his place so late at night.

“Cause there’s a meteor shower and I wanna watch it from a good view,” you explain and Colson laughs at you.

After a quick drive, you’re walking inside of Colson’s house with blankets, pillows, and tons of snacks. When Col sees you, he hops up from the couch and helps you with the stuff.

“You seriously drove all the way over here for a meteor shower?”

“It’s a better view over here!” you defend and Colson laughs.

Together you bring the stuff upstairs and manage to bring it out onto the rooftop. You set up, laying blankets over the rooftop, setting up pillows, and laying out snacks.

“When is the shower supposed to start?” Col asks as he climbs back onto the roof next to you.

“I think like 10 minutes?”

Colson nods in response, settling in next to you. He lays down, his hand slipping underneath his head to prop himself up slightly. You lay down next to him, relaxed in each other’s presence as you wait for the meteor shower to begin.

As you sit and stare at the stars, your mind wanders to the boy next to you. As cheesy as it was, you’d always be grateful to have Colson Baker in your life. No matter what happened, knowing him and gaining life experience together will be something you always cherished.

You feel Colson moving next to you, and his hand slowly trails down until it meets yours, interlocking your fingers with ease. Your heart pounds slowly in your chest and you’re surprised Colson can’t hear it.

“Hey,” he says and you turn to look at him.

His hand comes to meet your cheek and you search his eyes. You sink into the feeling of his hands on you and nothing feels better in the world. As he moves closer, your breath hitches and you’re mesmerized by his stunning blue eyes.

Then his lips are on yours, and the long awaited connection has sparks lighting from end to end. He moves slightly so he’s facing you, one hand holding your waist as the other caresses your cheek and you’re relaxed into his touch.

As he pulls away, he places another chaste kiss to your lips and you’re left smiling wide. As you stare into Col’s eyes, you can’t help but giggle as the ultimate feeling of happiness overwhelms you.

“Fucking finally,” he says and the two of you are really laughing now.

#colson baker #machine gun kelly #mgk #kells #colson baker imagine #machine gun kelly imagine #mgk imagine #kells imagine #imagine #bravebesson

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erin-bo-berin · 4 years

Text

Hands

MASTERLIST

Happy Monday! What better way to start the week than with some Spencer smut? Huge thanks to the anon who requested this based on a Spencer’s hands post I reblogged. WHEW did I get a bit carried away with writing this though, not that I regret that. His hands are just amazing aren’t they? Hope this fic makes you guys’ Mondays, just a bit better. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: M (smut)

Word Count: 3,821

Fidgeting.

Tapping.

Pointing.

Motioning.

Never staying still.

Repeat.

Spencer Reid had the most glorious hands, ever.

When you first started your job at the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, the only thing you’d anticipated was the hard work you’d have to do to fill big shoes.

You had been hired as the Unit’s Press Liaison after Jennifer Jareau, the Unit’s previous Press Liaison, decided to become a profiler. It was an overwhelming offer because JJ had been one hell of a wonderful liaison. The only thing you’d been worried about was living up to the expectations she’d left behind.

What you didn’t expect was your gradual sexual attraction to and crush on Dr. Spencer Reid. Or an intense appreciation for his hands.

You couldn’t believe you had such a thing for them. It was incredibly difficult when you worked with him, as well.

They always managed to attract your attention.

He was always doing something with them. Whether it was fidgeting with a pen, fingers playing with a rubber band, hands gesturing while he explained something or sliding down a page of text as he read, your eyes always returned to them time and time again.

You didn’t have small hands by any means, but his hands were large, most likely twice the size of yours. You could hold your hand up to his in comparison and he’d be able to engulf his in yours.

There were prominent veins on the backs of his hands, something that was incredibly sexy although you couldn’t say why. His fingers were long and slender, clouding your thoughts on the daily, no matter how much you tried to stay professional.

Just the other day you had been presenting a case to the team.

“Chandler, Arizona needs our help.”

You clicked the remote, grisly pictures appearing on the screen.

“Two bodies have been found, exactly one month apart.”

“They look like they’re sleeping,” JJ noted with a frown.

“No blood, no wounds, it all looks relatively clean,” Spencer added, twirling a pencil in his fingers.

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to look away. You wished like all get out that he’d stop doing that.

“Wait a minute, is that frostbite on the edges of their fingers?” Rossi asked.

“Yeah, I see it too,” Spencer said, looking back at the pictures in his file.

His fingers tapped the areas where the frostbite was most present, absentmindedly gliding over the pictures.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t had constant fantasies about those hands on you, those fingers tangled in your hair, his fingers buried—

“Y/N?”

You snapped out of your thoughts, facing your boss Emily Prentiss who had asked you a question that you’d completely missed.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

“I asked if the coroner had identified the marks on their chest. It looks like it’s from a defibrillator.”

You peered at the notes you’d jotted down, not before noticing Spencer quirk a brow in your direction. He’d most definitely caught you staring.

“That’s correct. By the coroner’s reports, both victims had been resuscitated multiple times and not at the same time either. Over a period of time.”

“What the hell is this unsub doing to these people?” Luke Alvez muttered.

“That is what we’re going to find out. Wheels up in thirty,” Emily said, standing, gathering the case file.

You expelled a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding as the team left. You needed to grab your go bag as well before meeting the team at the jet.

But first, you needed to get it together.

•

Your fantasies had returned, unsurprisingly.

You’d given a press conference earlier, met with family members and now was sitting against the edge of the table as the team were recounting what evidence they’d found. Most of it was the beginnings of their profile forming, tossing theories around.

You were only half listening, your mind wandering.

“This unsub’s torture is his twisted sexual fantasy. You know how normal people fantasize about normal sexual things? Whether it be exhibitionism, a certain kink, maybe even a certain part of another’s body, perhaps one’s hands.”

You had to stifle the guilty gasp that had risen in your throat. You felt your face heat. Either Spencer was messing with you or he had ironically and unintentionally somewhat called you out.

He hadn’t even glanced in your direction though. Even then, you weren’t sure what to think. Spencer Reid was definitely one smart cookie, both book smart and common sense smart. He caught on to more things than some gave him credit for.

“This is his sick unnatural version of that. It’s what arouses him,” Spencer continued, oblivious to your inner thoughts.

Well, Spencer certainly did that enough for you. You groaned internally, trying to focus on the case and not your gorgeous coworker. There would be plenty of time to release your sexual frustration later, at home, away from him and the rest of the team.

Although it was such a shame it couldn’t be his own hands caressing you as he fucked you against a wall.

Oh god, you really needed to get some fresh air.

“Agent Y/L/N?”

You turned at your name, seeing the local detective approaching you.

“We have an out of state family member that’s just called and would like to talk to you before he flies out.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. At least that would preoccupy your mind for a short while.

“I’ll be right there,” you nodded.

You turned back to the team.

“Keep me updated on what you find out,” you said before leaving to take the phone call.

You crossed your fingers in hopes that they wouldn’t send Spencer again to fill you in. That was the absolute last thing you needed.

It’s official, your coworkers hated you.

Spencer sat on top of the desk you were sat at, filling you in.

You were trying hard not to, but your body was reacting to him. You could feel the tightness of your breasts under your blouse, your center beginning to throb as you attempted to focus on what he was saying.

It wasn’t just his hands that got you hot, but they were a wonderful addition to an already impressive package.

He was attractive. He was tall and slender, light brown curls that were most likely always in a disarray. He would often push stray curls out of his eyes with a hand, oblivious to the fact he even did it.

He had a jawline as sharp as a razor and cheekbones any woman would envy. His lips were full and a naturally opaque medium pink hue. He had a habit of biting them or licking them when he was deep in thought. He also had this cute habit of poking his tongue out of his mouth while he thought. It was sexy and utterly adorable at the same time.

His smile could literally make a woman’s panties drop and give them butterflies simultaneously. His smile was as big as his brain and just as bright as him. When he smiled, it lit his whole face up, showing a row of perfectly straight and white teeth. His eyes occasionally crinkled at the corners and scrunched up when he smiled real big or laughed.

His eyes were so intriguing to you. Some days they looked brown, other they looked more green. You would guess they were a shade of hazel by how they seemed to change in different lights or depending on different colors he wore.

One thing about those eyes, they never missed anything.

His brains were just as attractive as he was. With his genius and his knowledge and experience of the job, he had become an amazing profiler over the years. It amazed you how he could process information and have a breakthrough in a case that none of the rest of the team could’ve ever thought of.

“Have you heard anything I’ve said?” he asked.

Once again, you forced yourself out of your head to struggle to listen to what he was saying.

“Huh what? Oh yeah, I- okay maybe I missed that last part,” you admitted.

“What’s got you so distracted today?” he asked, curiously.

“Just tired,” you lied smoothly.

Tired of imagining you half naked and sprawled across any of the nearby surfaces.

You shook the thought loose from your head. Focus, focus. You could do that.

“Just quickly run that by me one more time, please?”

•

You tossed a stack of files on your desk, sighing.

It had been a long week.

You’d made it through the last case—it successfully solved and the unsub in custody—within a few days. The team you were a part of were just that good.

You, along with the team, had arrived back at Quantico late last night. Today was a day full of paperwork, wrapping up the loose ends of the latest case. That had to be your least favorite part about this job.

You’d finish your paperwork earlier, also trying to avoid Spencer as the last few days had spiked your sexual frustration. You weren’t sure just how much more one could take.

Luckily—or unluckily, considering how you looked at it—you had a stack of cases to go through. You were going to be staying later than usual, that’s for sure.

Everyone was heading home for the day, but you were just getting started. You were anticipating going through the case files with Emily, when there was a knock at your door.

It wasn’t closed, so the knock was more of a formality than anything.

You looked up to see Spencer in the doorway.

“Hey. Need a hand?”

You had to bite back a groan. This man, you swear.

“Oh, no, thanks though. Emily and I are just staying a little later this evening to knock out some cases,” you motioned to the stack you’d been compiling.

“Actually that’s why I’m here,” he said, stepping in, putting his hands in his suit pants pockets.

“Emily had a personal emergency and asked me to help you out in her place.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, really. I can get it done myself, it’s no problem,” you offered.

“Well you know how fast I can read. Besides, it’s no problem. What, are you trying to get rid of me?”

A small smirk graced his lips.

“Uh, okay. Let me just grab these and I’ll meet you in the briefing room. It’ll have more desk space than this mess.”

You peered at your cluttered desktop, making Spencer chuckle.

“Here, let me help.”

He grabbed the stack of case files and was out the door.

You closed another file that you’d just gone through and sat it on the chair next to you, the table clearing and the pile in the chair, growing.

Turns out, Spencer was right. His quick reading came in handy with going through these potential cases. It’d only been an hour and you’d flown through three quarters of the files.

“Done with this one,” Spencer said, sliding it your way, “Tell the detective to look into the brother of the suspect, he seems promising.”

You raised a brow, but said nothing as you jotted the note down to add to the file, closing it and adding it to the pile.

He was already on the next case, reading it. His fingers scanned down the pages as his eyes took in the information. As much as you tried to resist, your eyes fell to his hands. You just couldn’t help it.

The amount of dirty thoughts you’d had involving them in the last few years was insane. It was hard not to imagine those long, agile fingers buried deep inside you, driving you crazy.

You shifted in your chair, trying to avoid the arousal that was creeping upon you, its fingers just starting to grab a hold of you. You could just imagine those fingers gently gliding over your bare skin, hands gripping your curves, melding into the form of your hips as he held tightly onto them while he thrust deep inside you. You bet he’d feel amazing.

If his big brains were any kind of indicator of his nether regions then you were positive he was well endowed.

The words in front of you in the file were blurring, you couldn’t keep focus. Your mind was a fog that was filled with nothing but Spencer Reid in the most compromising ways.

You blinked to clear the blurring words, reaching for your water bottle to drink some. It had been at least ten minutes since the last time either of you had spoken, so you were startled when you heard him speak, breaking the silence in the room.

“So what’s got you so aroused?”

You almost choked on your swallow of water. You sputtered a bit, wiping your mouth and swallowing the liquid, screwing the cap back onto the bottle. He hadn’t even looked up from the file in your direction when he’d spoken, he was still studying the case in front of him. You stalled, putting your water bottle back in your bag before answering.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re shifting in your seat, crossing and uncrossing your legs uncontrollably and clearing your throat. Your breathing seems to be a little more accelerated than normal and your heart rate has probably spiked. Plus, your face is flushed.”

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to desperately deny it, but you knew Spencer was too good at his job and knew better.

He shifted in his seat, turning to look at you.

“Why are you always staring at my hands? Are they what gets you this worked up?”

You swallowed hard, nodding slightly.

“Answer me, please,” he said not in an unkind tone, but a gravelly element had slipped into his voice.

“Yes,” you whispered.

His teeth raked over his lower lip as his hand pushed your hair back behind one ear, softly trailing down your cheek before grasping your chin with two fingers, pulling you into a kiss.

You were surprised at this turn of events, but returned the kiss, his lips soft against yours. He deepened the kiss, his hand gliding over your cheek, fingers tangling into your hair.

He pulled away from you, his fingers deftly unbuttoning your blouse.

“Wanna see exactly what my hands can do?”

You were dreaming. You had to be. There was no way this was actually happening or the fact that Spencer was trying to seduce you. At some point in the last couple of seconds, he’d pulled you to a standing position, lifting you up to sit on the edge of the table.

“Please,” you murmured, watching him.

His fingers brushed an area of exposed skin with every button he’d opened, making you shiver. Finishing the last button, he pushed the shirt back over your shoulders and you let it fall off your arms and to the floor. You were quite literally sitting on the edge of the table in just your lilac lacy bra and work skirt.

His hands glided up your arms, giving you goosebumps. Although that partly could’ve been because of his intense gaze locked on yours. His hands reached towards your back, unhooking your bra then sliding the straps down your shoulders. When your bra fell in your lap, you pushed it away, hearing it hit the floor. You also thought you heard a deep groan, die in his throat.

You felt suddenly, extremely exposed as his eyes roamed your bare top half.

“Tell me. What kinds of things have you imagined me doing to you?”

At this point, you couldn’t determine if he was just a really good profiler or a mind reader. Your face flamed, realizing he’d probably caught on long ago.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” his lips brushed against yours, his fingers like feathers across your collarbones, before he whispered in your ear, his scruff tickling the side of your face in a pleasant way.

“I like you too. For a long time, Y/N.”

You bit your lip, watching him pull away, the smirk back on his lips.

“Now, tell me. What have you imagined me doing?”

His hands cupped your boobs, squeezing them gently. If your nipples hadn’t already hardened from your arousal, they most certainly would be now.

“Have you imagined this?” Spencer whispered.

The pads of his thumbs moved back and forth over your nipples causing you to gasp. Your core had already been throbbing from earlier but now it had become ten times worse, including the slickness between your thighs as well.

“Or maybe this?”

On one side, his fingers twisted your nipple just slightly and on the opposite side, his hand kneaded your breast more firmly. The whimper that left your throat obviously pleased him.

His fingers found the zipper of your skirt, located at your side, along your hip. He pulled it down slowly. All you could hear was the slow descent of the zipper and your sudden, ragged breathing.

His hands brushed your hips as he pulled the garment off, letting it drop where it may.

With a hand gentle on your back, he pushed you down to lay against the table top then his hands continued their exploration. They glided up over your stomach, fingers tapping down your sides.

You’re pretty sure he could make you orgasm just from his playful touch. You were propped up on your forearms, watching him. Your skin was cool against the tabletop.

“You still haven’t told me what you’ve imagined me doing,” he said slyly, hands just beginning to reach the tops of your thighs.

Without even thinking, your legs immediately parted, ready for his hands between them.

“Nuh uh,” he replied, closing your legs, gripping the sides of your thighs roughly, “I need to be told.”

At this point, you were positive you’d soaked through your panties. You were dying from his touch, yet craving it where it mattered the most.

“I want you to touch me,” you croaked.

“Touch you? But I have been,” he grinned mischievously, rubbing the sides of your thighs, “In fact, I’m touching you now.”

You wanted to groan. Fucking Spencer Reid.

Either you were out of your mind with your current state or just completely lost all will to keep up your sexual frustration for the words out of your mouth were something you wouldn’t normally be so brazen to say. At least not without blushing.

“I want you to use your hands on me until I’m gripping the table and screaming your name,” you gritted out through clenched teeth.

The only reaction you saw from him was the slight squint of his eyes and you felt the grip on your thighs tighten. If it hadn’t been for that, you wouldn’t have thought your words had affected him at all.

He nudged your thighs apart, fingers slowly stroking the insides of them. You were practically quivering with need by this point, your core throbbed for his heavenly touch.

When it came, a feather light brush through the silk material of your underwear, you hissed, the feeling just barely a taste of what you knew was to come.

“Eager are we?”

He could feel how wet he’d gotten you and the wolfish grin on his face, you knew, was because of it.

He remained teasing you, thumb pressing your clit through the thin fabric.

“Fucking hell Spencer, either you do it or I’ll do it myself.”

His deep chuckle sent electricity to your core.

“Why Y/N, I never knew there was this side to you.”

His fingers dipped into the waistband of your panties, pulling them off. He wasted no time getting down to business.

His touch trailed down your slit and a low moan came from you. You couldn’t help it at this point. Months—hell years—of sexual frustration were coming to the surface and you were quite willing him to wreck you.

A finger slid in you easily, obviously with the help of your arousal. You saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard, his eyes taking you in. You needed more and you told him so. More digits were added and you easily became a moaning mess.

His knuckles gently rubbed your walls, giving you shock waves of pleasure all through your body. He was as good with his hands as you’d imagined, but the real thing was so much better than your fantasies.

His pace alternated between slow and gentle to rough and quick, keeping you on your toes. Small whimpers and moans were coming from you quickly and you leaned your head back, hips arching into his touch.

You were certain you were going to explode when his thumb circled your clit.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, feeling yourself inadvertently tighten around his fingers.

You were positive he’d felt it too when you heard his own groan come from above you. His beautiful hazel eyes were piercing you, lust filled and prideful that he was the one making you moan and squirm under him.

“Spence,” you whimpered.

Your high was so close, your blood was roaring in your ears and all you could think of was him making you cum harder than you’d ever have before. Your hand gripped the table, your breathing coming in sharp gasps.

One hand gripped his wrist as the coil of pressure that had been growing in the pit of your stomach, exploded. You cried out, pretty sure his name was on your lips repeatedly as your previously tensed muscles, relaxed and you came all over his fingers.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, as you were recovering, your chest rising and falling.

He helped you up, kissing you once again, gently before gathering your clothes and handing them to you with a grin.

Your cheeks flushed as you realized you’d quite literally just came on the round table—where the entire team was briefed on cases, might you add—and because of Spencer.

It was only when you’d gotten your undergarments back on that you noticed him trying to discreetly rearrange himself, that you realized he was trying to hide his own raging arousal.

You don’t know how you’d missed the fact that you’d gotten him incredibly hard. Maybe because you were too busy dying repeatedly over his touch.

“Spencer,” you motioned him over.

You reached for his belt buckle when he walked into reaching distance, fully intending to return the favor.

He stilled your hands, shaking his head.

“Another time.”

You looked at him, confused. His eyes twinkled mischievously, though.

“Next time, I want to show you what other parts of me can do.”

You had to hand it to him. That was one side of Spencer Reid you would’ve never expected.

As he left, you were sure there was going to be a cold shower in the very near future for him.

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hermit-god-au-pog · 3 years

Text

[OLD AND MAY BECOME NON-CANON LATER ON] Got some short stories for ya’ll!

After much struggle i managed to think of some more lore based prompts for some short stories! They’ll be under the cut!

One of a conversation between Helsknight and EvilXisuma, the other of an interaction between TFC and GeminiTay! What can i say im a sucker for these two. The stuff is only slightly proof-read by myself so sorry for any mistakes in grammer or if things sound weird lol

Anyway, I hope ya’ll enjoy! And if i need to add any tw’s just say! I dont think i will though! Long post under the cut though

EX&Hels have a conversation

“So let me get this straight,” Helsknight sat up in his seat and leaned on the table between the two” You’re not considered a hels hermit at all?” Evil Xisuma rolls his eyes but chuckles at the other, he doesn’t blame him for not knowing, hell the only ones who probably knew were him and Grian’s little buddies.

“No, I am not a hels hermit like you. But, I work very similarly. Me personally, I’m the axolotl’s evil clone according to my code. But, and I can’t speak for the others, I still fill up the role of why a hels is created.” Helsknight slowly blinked at the other and rose an eyebrow.

“What is that supposed to mean exactly?” Evil X let out a snort at the other’s question.

“Well basically, Hels exist for one reason, to keep the gods, or hermits as we know them, in check. Granted they’re all too nice to do anything we’d do, but the point still stands. Hels are here to counteract the hermits, and the Axolotl doesn’t have a hels per say because I exist. But that’s not stopping the void from making a hels version if need be.” Helsknight leaned back and crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at Evil X.

“Ok, so because you already existed, the void didn’t make a counterpart for the admin. But what do you mean it could make another? Why would we need a third Xisuma?” Evil X tapped his chin as he thinks of what he should say.

“Well, let’s just say the void has already planned for that” Helsknight could feel the shit-eating grin the other was giving him. But Evil X gestures to another person in the room. Helsknight, begrudgingly, decided to look, and see’s what the other was talking about. There was a turtle Xisuma sitting at a bar, but he looked almost vacant, like an NPC almost.

“Now, I’ve never talked to that guy, and based on the interactions they’ve had with others, he’s entirely just a placeholder, an NPC ready to be coded into action.” Helsknight turned back to Evil X who was looking at him now.”But unless something happens to me, I keep the role of a ‘hels counterpart’ even though I’m not a hels.” Blinking, helsknight picked up his drink, downing the rest of its contents, this was a very weird conversation they were having but, informative. Then something struck him.

“You said something about others earlier” Evil X feigned innocence and confusion, making helsknight growl.

“Earlier this conversation! You said ‘ But, and I can’t speak for the others, I still fill up the role of why a hels is created’. There are others who aren’t technically hels hermits on the server?” Evil X snorted then started laughing. Helsknight slammed his hands on the table and stood up.

“No! I’m serious! Who the hell are the others?!” After Evil X got done with his laughing fit, he pretended to wipe away some tears.

“You really are dense my friend” before the other could reply, Evil X continued” The only ones I personally know of, are actually Grian’s-”

“You said that using plurals, does Grian seriously have 2?” Helsknight looked at the other bewildered as he nodded.

“Indeed he does my friend. I don’t entirely understand it myself. One calls themself NpcGrian, or NPG for short, the other one calls themself Robot Grian or RG for short. And between us, RG is definitely the eviler and smarter one of the two. He’s probably the one considered the hels version.” Helsknight slumped back in his seat and rubbed his temple, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Alright, to get away from that confusing topic, you said hels were made to counter the gods?” Evil X nodded.

“Yee-p” popping the p at the end, Evil X leaned forward.” All the gods being together in one space can be seen as quite a dangerous predicament, and if they ever decided to team up and rise up for some reason, no one would know before it’s too late. So to try and stop that, keep the gods on their toes and aware, the hels were made. You were one of the first to become sentient and seek out your counterpart actually”

Helsknight looked at the other for a moment then realized something. Something that didn’t settle right with him.

“How do you know all of this information? I’m pretty sure not even Xisuma knows this crap.” Hels rose an eyebrow as the other’s expression got darker behind the mask he wore.

“Let’s just say, being locked in the void for ages gives you some free time. And the ability to look through your and your clone’s codes, even though I was never able to edit them.” Huh, well that made sense.

TFC helps Gem out/aka being a god is overwhelming

Sometimes, to really appreciate the world you live in, you just gotta walk around. Taking in the sights of what the world holds and what your fellow hermits have made. And honestly, TFC is usually blown away by how talented the hermits are. He may not be much of a builder himself, but he’s happy they’ve kept him along the way nonetheless. Little ol’ miner TFC, walking amongst godly builders, figuratively and literally.

Sometimes on TFC’s walks, he’ll come across other hermits, not often, but it’s always pleasant when he does. TFC admits, he should get out to talk to the others more, but he can’t help it. The mines make him feel at home. But today, walking into one of the newer hermits areas, he had a bad feeling in his gut.

Deciding to stray from the path TFC decided to look around the area, a bit more in dept. And low and behold, once getting close to one of the new hermits custom trees, he heard soft, stifled crying. Like they were trying to cover it up. Eyes softening, TFC went over to the home next to this wonderful tree and knocked, before letting himself peek inside.

GeminiTay sat in the corner, her head snapped up and it was obvious how overwhelmed and tired she looked. TFC gave a slight smile and walked inside, closing the door gently. Gemini watched tensely as TFC walked over, his pickaxe he used as a cane clicking with every step. But, TFC sat down next to her and softly asked.

“Would physical touch help this situation or worsen it?” Seeing Gemini’s tears starting to well up more, TFC opened his arms, offering her a safe space. And she took it. Gemini scrambled to get up and hug the other. She didn’t know why his presence felt so...comforting, but it did, and once she started the hug, the floodgates were let loose. She couldn’t hold back her tears even if she tried.

TFC held the young girl close, gently rubbing circles into her back as her whole frame shook and twitched. TFC did notice the leaves that moved like butterflies flying about in the home. He semi-watched them as he comforted the hermit in his arms, taking notes on the situation.

Once TFC heard the girls’ cries soften and as her body became less shaky, he decided to start talking.

“I understand if you’re too overwhelmed to talk right now, but was this panic caused by some aspect of your godly nature?” TFC waited patiently, and when he felt a soft nod on his shoulder he let out a little sigh.

“You are one of the newest gods in general, not even to the server, have you been taught anything more than the basics yet?” a small shake of her head.”So you’re not yet in tune with who you are and the powers you possess, and due to that, something within you snapped, and you started hearing noises or voices, am I correct?” TFC could feel Gem tense like he had just read her mind, but she gave a soft nod. TFC looked around at the leaf butterflies, more seem to have gathered.

“Are the voices still present? Have they gotten any louder or more intense?” With the soft nod, TFC was starting to understand a bit more. Gently sitting Gemini up, he made the corner they were in into a cozy one full of blankets and pillows.

Gemini then watched, rubbing her slightly puffed-up eyes, as TFC started to gather the leaf butterflies. Once he got a good amount he gently set them free outside. And the more he let go, the less overwhelmed Gemini felt. Once most of the creatures were out TFC made his way back over and sat across from Gemini.

“Ready to talk?” Gemini nodded, sniffling and wiping away any stray tears. Taking a deep breath Gemini starts talking.

“So...So I was just doing my normal routine, today I decided to do some enchanting. But then my tree, my /tree/ started talking to me and I got confused. So I went over and put a hand on the tree.”Gemini paused, breath hitching again. TFC gently held one of her hands, reassuring her to take her time. After catching her breath, Gem continued.

“And..And then I...And then I heard all these voices and cries. Some were asking me for help, some were..thanking me? Some were crying, some cheering...But they all came at once and I couldn’t shut them off. Then I started hearing more despair than anything else and I... I couldn’t do it. My body got all fuzzy! And my eyes got blurry but different from tear blur. I felt my body...change. And so I ran in here. And I only started to feel my body go back to normal shortly before you came..” Gem panted softly when she was done, her tears back and starting to fall again. She was looking down at her feet.

But when she felt a soft big hand on her cheek, whipping away her tears, she looked up. TFC gave her a gentle smile, a reassuring one, and, it honestly helped her more than she would have thought.

“That my dear was your body being forced into its godly form. Every god has one, but most prefer not to be in them, as they can be taxing after long uses. But they’re nothing to be afraid of. You just went into it unwillingly.” Gemini nods softly, following along so far.”And if you would like, I can help you learn how to go into it and out of it, at will. I’ll do it with you.”

Gemini thought about it for a while. She didn’t know how long, but TFC never rushed her into deciding, only waiting patiently, giving her time to think. But, if she learned how to control that form, maybe it would be less frightening if this ever happened again. Gem then looked at TFC and gave a quick nod.

“Yea, ok. I, I want to learn how to control this...godly form of mine. But you’ll do it with me right?” TFC nodded and scooted so that they bot sat criss-cross, knees touching each other. TFC then gently held both of her hands.

“Ok, to start off with, think of why you became a god, and what you’re the god of. Think of what that means to you.” Gem nodded, closing her eyes as she held TFC’s hands. Furrowing her brows a bit Gemini thought.

Thought of the event that lead her to be a god, why she did what she did. She thought of what that event meant to her and why she would do it again. And she felt the tension in her shoulders released. Gem then thought of what it meant to be the goddess of the forest, what the responsibility and future actions might hold for her.

“Good, you’re doing great” TFC’s voice rang through her ears.”Now hold onto that feeling, clutch onto it, cherish it. Once you’ve done that, let go. Let yourself feel your body change, let it morph and melt into something new.”

Taking one more deep breath, Gem followed his instructions. The feeling her ‘job’ gave her, the hope she had for herself, and so on, she held it close to her heart, and let herself stop caring about the mortal plane for a bit. And she felt herself change. Like what happened earlier, but less jarring and harsh. She felt her body almost melt, felt it slither around while being on one spot. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant like it was before. It felt like shifting over in bed, something familiar.

“There we go, you’ve done it, you can open your eyes.” Cautiously, Gem opened her eyes, and instead of being met with the soft grandpa from before, there was a whole new person. They looked like TFC but also now. They had more sharp edges and the particles of different ores around them were very present, and they radiated the energy of a god. He reached over and cupped her cheek.

“How do you feel?” Gemini thinks, she looked down at her new self, realizing how much bigger the two were now. She looked at all the leaf butterflies, not being as scared of them now. She felt power coursing through her, the whispered of the plants and tree’s outside. But now that she’s not in her panicked state, it was a lot more comforting. Gem felt a soft smile form over their lips. Looking up at TFC she felt warmth in her chest.

“Now that I’m not panicking, it feels nice. It feels warm, and I feel stronger.” TFC nods, looking pleased.

“Now, let’s go back to normal shall we?” Gem nods and puts her head down, closing her eyes again.

“Now, recognize your form, recognize the power coursing through you. Hold that feeling, and imagine yourself tucking it away for later. Let yourself relax and let your body morph once more” And once again, Gem tried her best to follow along.

And next time she opened her eyes, the normal TFC sat in front of her. Looking down at herself, Gem saw her she was back to normal. Smiling Gem leaped up to hug TFC. Hugging back TFC gently pet her hair.

“Now, let’s get you to bed, You need some rest after all that. Tomorrow we’ll talk more about this stuff ok?”

And with that, TFC and Gem got comfy in the small comfort fort TFC had made and Gem fell asleep. During the afternoon Bdubs came to see gem, but finding her and TFC sleeping, he just smiled fondly and closed the door quietly. Informing the server not to disturb the two for the rest of the night and left the sleeping duo to rest

#hermit gods #hels hermits #helsknight #evil xisuma #tinfoilchef #geminitay #HGAU facts #i mean these short stories add on a lot to the lore of the au #and sorry ive been inactive #real life sucks lol #but i hope someone enjoys these stories haha #gems godly outfit is in the works btw!#as well as mumbo's #i might so some stuff with ijevin soon though #i miss the slime boi

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