#the one I made last night looks so sparse now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nouearth · 15 days

Text

let me in.

peter parker x male reader.

summary: peter struggles to balance between life and work, and it's ruining his relationship with you.

wc: 6.6k. genre: smut. warnings: andrew!peter, college au, established relationship, brief fighting, brief injury and blood mention (nosebleed), misunderstandings, peter reveals his identity, dry-humping, over the pants (or suit) handjob, body worshipping, lots of sweat, fingering, frotting, riding, spandex fetish, reader has a thing for peter in his spider-man suit!

You were starting to feel antsy. You could feel it—the nerves kicking in again. Anticipation—a suspension of doubt—made your hands clammy at first, but it was the time that made your hands clutch nothing but air. You rubbed the sweat off your hands onto your pants, your knees not so comforting with their pointedness.

Acceptance—when it was evident that Peter was late, again.

Birthdays have never been a big deal in your family. Sure, it was great that you had the privilege to live another year. To witness yourself grow older, to stand a few inches taller, to live a little more knowledgeable than yesterday. But growing up with parents who had to constantly work, well-late into the depths of night, it had never been more than a birthday wish that had greeted you in the mornings, and bid you slumber in the evenings. Since then, you knew not to expect anything.

If only Peter hadn’t made such a big deal out of it this year.

“Excuse me?” The familiar timbre of a voice speared your thoughts; deep and tunneling as you were transfixed on the glasses of water before you. Yours had been refilled, though a little sparse compared to Peter’s full cup.

Your eyes widened with feigned curiosity, a small smile plastered alongside to hopefully negate any annoyance from the waiter—because you expected what he was about to follow up with.

“Hey… uh,” he shifted on his feet awkwardly, eye bags weighing heavier than the last time he had checked up on you. You looked around, surprised by the amount of patrons who had filled the space around you while you were daydreaming. Laughter and smiles completely lit up the room. The dim lights were practically stationed in the restaurant for decoration, and seemingly to spotlight your ‘dinner for one’ status. “I’m sorry, but… we have no more tables to fill, and if you aren’t ordering soon, then we’ll have to give your table up for the next party...”

It was obvious that you weren’t, you hadn’t even torn into the buttery bread rolls that were piping hot forty-five minutes ago. Now, the fat had solidified into spotty, yellow clumps, though you doubt that would’ve been enough to detract from the quality of the rolls.

“Oh, I—“ You pulled out your phone to check your messages again. Nothing. Swiped down to refresh your conversation with Peter. The loading icon felt like it took forever, you half-expected that your phone was updating the thread with Peter’s messages that somehow got lost in the void of the restaurant’s spotty signal.

And nothing.

“I—yeah… uh. I-I’ll head out.” It was embarrassing. Even if the waiter had given you a sympathetic smile, you hated knowing that you wasted his time. You hated that you selfishly occupied a seat when someone else would’ve been done with dinner by the time you exited.

“Thanks—”

You hated that you had your hopes up for things to be different.

Again.

The night was dreary. Not even the wind had greeted you like the others when you stepped out. Soft and fluttering against your skin, but scolding enough to make you put your coat back on. Luckily, your apartment wasn’t too far from the restaurant, a fifteen minute walk at most if you speed-walked. Shoving your hands in your coat pockets, you then ambled along the sidewalks, wallowing in your feelings with a playlist that belted in your ears once you plugged your earbuds in.

You didn’t have the energy left to hurry home.

Once you crossed the last intersection, you felt a little bit more at ease. Seeing the familiar apartment complex at the end of the block picked your pace up a step more. You paused your music once you neared the entrance, just a turn away before you could finally bury yourself in your bed.

You reached into your pocket to grab your wallet. The weight in your palms instantly reminding you to deposit the cash tips sometime soon before the stretch of the leather had become unbearable to fit in your pocket.

Your walk slowed as your attention was fixated on your wallet, fumbling it open clumsily to retrieve your keycard. In midst, you caught a glimpse of a photo print of you and Peter, standing shoulder to shoulder with the biggest grins as Peter had a peace sign above your head, doubling as bunny ears. Honeymoon phase, they’d call it. Where you were beginning to discover more about Peter, and Peter was beginning to discover more about you. Likes. Dislikes. Hobbies. Memories. It felt like yesterday when you two were spending every second of your day with each other.

Now, it would be a miracle if Peter returned a call.

With the keycard in your hand, you turned the corner, and towards the entrance, the smiles from the photo print reflecting onto yours as you could vividly hear Peter’s pleas to retake them again. The flash of the cameras always made him blink.

If only you had been focusing on where you were going instead of the still image of the first memory between you and Peter, maybe you could have avoided the collision altogether when you approached the door. You suddenly found yourself on your back, facing the night sky as clusters of stars twinkled in laughter. There was a slight throbbing to your forehead, a mark you’d reckon would appear as purple within the next 12 hours despite the painless… pain.

“Oh god— I’m so, so, so, sorry! Let me—“ If the beating your face took to the door hadn’t snapped you back to reality already, the familiar face before you certainly pulled you out of your thoughts like whiplash once he helped you back onto your feet. Your vision instantly cleared of haze, as if his simple presence was your remedy.

“(M/N)?” Peter interrupted himself, his eyes widening. You could see the wheels turning in his head when the dim light spotlighted your features: eyes, nose, lips; flesh and bone that he was well-acquainted with.

“Peter—“ You took a moment to scan him. It was like all the other times he had been late. His fringe; stuck to his forehead with a mixture of sweat and water, the latter being a last resort to clean himself up. His knuckles; bruised and torn with minuscule cuts barely able to conceal the truth behind his scars. His necktie; clumsily done with the knots coming loose. Though, whether the silk unfurled by Peter’s own sloppiness, or by the increasing frailty of his fingers that had become susceptible by even the most delicate material of neckties; it was futile to mention it to him. You knew he’d shut you down with another excuse.

“W-what are you doing here? Are you okay? I-I’m so sorry—I was on my way to you and—Oh god, you’re bleeding!“ Breathless, panting, not only because he was panicking from running late.

But because of adrenaline. You could see it in his eyes. The alertness. The high.

“What—“ You wiped your nose with the back of your hand, only to see a smear of blood blotted across your skin. “Shit.”

Another thick drop splattered in greeting.

“Peter, it’s a nosebleed. You’re acting like I had my arm chopped off or something.” You’ve been applying pressure to your nasal bridge, pinching it tightly to barricade the stream of blood. All while you had your head tilted over Peter’s sink, in case of the blood leaking past your hold. “And how long does it take to find a cotton ball?”

“I’m trying—“ His one-sided game of hide and seek with the bag of cotton balls was leaning in favor of the latter. Medicine cabinet: empty. Bedside drawer: foreign coins and bills. You were watching him from the corner of your eye, a small limp to his step when the lightbulb seemingly lit up overhead and had him dashing towards the kitchen.

“Found it!”

Peter’s touch was delicate. Tender, like the forming bruise on your forehead. He was adamant on taking care of you, even if frankly—you would’ve done it much faster had it been a solo endeavor. Cotton balls were plugged up into your nose, and a warm face towel was laid across your forehead. If an intruder had the audacity to rob Peter’s apartment, you’d imagine you would find yourself lucking out. Peter joked that you looked like patient zero.

“All done. See? Nothing to cry about.” He was joking again, the smug smile across his face a clear indication of it—and the laugh that he couldn’t help but contain.

“Ha. Ha. Thanks, Dr. Parker. Now, how much do I owe you? I’m paying outta pocket.” For a brief moment, you forgot that you were upset earlier. All because of how nice it was to actually see him again. He pressed a kiss to your lips, a comforting gesture if his constant apologies weren’t enough. Stay focus.

“So, about dinner…”

“Oh,” Disappointment softened Peter’s smile. You could see it tightening, even as he was organizing his room. Though, it was really a matter of tossing his clothes on the floor back into the laundry basket. “Listen, my… bike got stolen and—“

“Peter…” You sighed, pinching your nose bridge because you feared another avalanche of a nosebleed incoming. That, and because it helped you maintained your composure. “You said that the last time. Three times, actually.”

“Third time’s… the charm?” He was joking. Again. But even he wasn’t laughing at it because he’d been cornered. Called out. Embarrassed that he thought that would even work on you. Embarrassed that he thought he could get away with it.

Again.

“Peter.” You called out, straightening your posture against the headboard of the bed when he sat at the end of the mattress. Shit, it’s happening.

“I… I don’t know how to…” The veins in his hands, they lined perfectly to the cuts, scrapes, and bruises on his knuckles. Clear as day now that he wasn’t hidden under a dim light. “I just…”

He had his hands around his face, rubbing his temples, his cheeks, his nose, anything that could alleviate the accelerating drill of his heartbeat.

You were hopeful to get an answer out of him. A proper explanation. But it pained you, knowing that in a few seconds—what he would tell you would only confirm your yearning suspicions of his strange behavior.

He doesn’t love you anymore. He’s cheating. You’ve become a nuisance, an absolute bore in his life. Actually, you’re a bad influence on him. You’re holding him back. He needs to let go of you to accomplish better things. He never loved you.

It’s happening. It’s fucking happening. All he has to do is say those words. The dreaded five words you’ve heard once from him in a nightmare.

I want to break up.

“If you want to break up, just say it.”

It sounded softer in your head, but the tears that had welled in your eyes finally bursted into droplets. They ran down your cheeks, and your voice broke during its pursuit.

Something commanded you to let those words slip out.

Maybe it was the ghost that you and him had been theorizing about since the night you’ve helped him move into the apartment floor above you. Carrie; you nicknamed her, and Peter would scold you for doing so because he had the suspicions that giving her a backstory would ultimately reassess his home as a possessing ground. To this day, he swore he saw a shadow looming in the corner of his room on a perfectly stormy night.

Or maybe it was the months of frustration that you had accumulated, snowballed because of your own selfish reasons to continue being with Peter for as long as you could, even if you saw the signs, because you couldn’t bear to see yourself without him. Live, when you two had promised so many futures together.

“What? No, (M/N), that’s not—“ He jolted up at the mere mention of separating from you. There was a chill. The room suddenly felt colder, and then warmer—scorching hot, when the glossiness of your gaze reflected into his. He began joining you by your side. “Hey, hey, I would never—“

He broke into a cold sweat. He’d never seen you like this. And to think that he was the root of this—of your pain—it was all overwhelming.

“Peter, there’s always something going on with you. Y-you don’t text me for days. You ignore my calls. You disappear without telling me. You’re always late. And… you’re always hurt? And you think that I’m dumb enough to not notice that you aren’t? How you’re limping? How you’re always bruised and—For god’s sake, Peter, I’m just as smart as you, we have the same GPA and—“ You took a breather, a gulp because you were rambling now. Your cheeks felt hot, from your sudden outburst and from embarrassment, because the latter half of your rant immediately negated the idea of some kind of affair.

“Okay, maybe you aren’t cheating, but—“ You felt him tug you into his arms, but you wouldn’t budge. Instead, you pushed away, edging to the other side of the bed to face him.

“I would never.” He sighed, his arms dropping as soon as you removed yourself from his embrace.

“Then what is it? You’re leaving me in the dark here. I barely see you anymore, you know that?”

“I know.” He was biting his lips. Chewing, as if he was internally debating something. A decision that could either ruin you, ruin him, or both.

“Then?”

You waited. Watched his fingers fiddle with one another as he continued turning the screws in his head. Your heart would jump whenever he would open his mouth, anticipating whatever had caused so much turmoil in his life, but there was a last minute decision that kept him silent.

Crickets.

Nothing.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re doing. But you’re getting hurt and I’m just… worried.” Your gaze dropped to his hands again. Pale, veiny, and full of life yet they’ve looked like they’ve been worn out. Torn. “At least tell me it’s not gambling.”

“Well—in a way with my life, it kind of is like gambling—“ He thinly smiled, hoping it would at least make you crack a smile.

“Peter!” You scoffed, nudged his side with your elbow out of frustration, then surrendered when you brought your knees up to your chest, and buried your head in between your knees. “Not funny.”

“Okay, okay, just… you can’t tell anyone.” His voice softened.

“We all know that between you and I, you’re the one with the running mouth.” Your voice muffled in the space between your legs, hands tucked around your nape.

“I’m serious, (M/N)” Pleading now, he held your hand in hopes to get ahold of your attention again, squeezing so you’d look at him. You do.

“I won’t tell.” It was a promise. Peter didn’t need you to clarify because he could see it in your eyes, honest and sincere. Determined, as if you were willing to protect him.

“Okay… and also, don’t… freak out.” Peter was off the bed now, wandering in the middle of his room as he rolled his shoulders back, relaxing the muscles in his back like a wrestler preparing for his next fight. He gestured for you to follow him out to the stairway, out into the cold.

“Why would I freak—“ There was something around his wrist. No, wrists. You thought they were watches, but there were two devices around him. They were strapped with a similar black leather to your wallet, to Peter’s, and a red button protruded in the middle of it. “Peter, what are you—“

You stopped a few feet before Peter, watching him closely, yet afar. Afraid, yet intrigued. Concerned, because he was on the ledge of the staircase now, perched like an animal. Yet there was a grin on his face. Not crazed like a madman considering he was acting like one, but foolish. Goofy, giddy like the times he’d hide stuff from you, and wait until you’d notice it was gone.

“Like I said, don’t freak out.”

“Peter, what are you even—“

With that, he opened his arms like wings that spanned across his back and flipped into the air as if the wind would carry him across city to city. As if he was recruited as a sponsor to the heavenly gods with the incredible height he’d taken off in, pursuing the clouds, the wind, the stars, and the night simultaneously all in multiple slings.

Into. The. Air.

Into the fucking air.

You raced forward with a yelp, as if you would’ve made it in time to catch him. To catch his hand before he fell. To hold him one last time before he’d land on the ground and shatter every bone in his body.

If he had landed.

No, you blinked once—twice—no, at least in the double digits because this was all a dream. It was all a dream, right? That you caught a glimpse of Peter somehow slingshotting himself from window to window, from rooftop to satellite, like it was a mundane day job one had to endure to put food on the table, to pay the bills.

Right?

You paced around the stairs, raced towards one floor to another, bending over the railings because—Peter disappeared. He was gone. If he had smashed into something, you would’ve heard him. You would’ve heard him in yelp in pain. You would’ve heard the metal railings shake. You would’ve heard him cry for help.

Instead, you heard the sound of wind. Whistling as it sailed leaves to the west of you.

As if it carried a hint along the way.

“Peter?! Peter—Fuck, fuck!” You followed the sound of the whistle. The source of the pitchy sound. Fluttering when your head spun closer to the note, wavering when you were getting colder, then peaking when your gaze lifted, higher, and higher, until it landed on him.

Peter.

Peter, perched over the rooftop of the apartment complex like a bug. The moonlight framed his silhouette, emphasized the texture of his suit; protruding grids that encased him like a nest; and you’ve never been more intimidated.

Red and blue spandex tightly-fitted over the muscles and body of the man you have been more than well-acquainted with. You’ve seen it before. It was familiar. On the news, on the papers, on the internet.

“You’re freaking out!” He yelled out, clearly amused in your frozen state of shock.

He peered over at you with a smug grin, aimed directly at your bafflement before pulling a mask over his head. It was the icing on top in rendering you utterly incapable of stringing up any words. The lens of his mask reflected off of you, mirrored your astonishment in clear display, and you sensed that would be a memory Peter would be carrying to his death bed.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“Okay, so, just to clarify,” You were winded, still recovering from the heart attack Peter had nearly given you after he took you on for a stroll in the night. Into the sky.

Luckily his bed was right beside you. As soon as your legs gave out, you fell back into his mattress, and stared into the ceiling, speechless. Peter joined you after, bringing you into his arms. He’d always been aware that touching you in any way or form brought you back to reality. “You are… not a cosplayer?”

“Honestly? That would make me way more money than what I’m making right now.” You couldn’t keep your hands or eyes off of him. Peter was still in his suit, and that gave you the perfect opportunity to run your hands over the webbed texture of the spandex.

“Just a few more months until my lease is up. I can move in, and that’ll help with the rent. For both of us.” It felt like silicone, or rubber. Whatever it was, it was durable considering how thin it felt in your fingers when you rubbed it in between them.

“Just like that? You’re not mad?” Your hands came to a halt when Peter suddenly took them, and rested your palm on his cheek, coincidentally on the cut that you’ve never noticed.

“Why would I be mad?” Quieter. Your voice mellowed into a whisper as you catalogued the amount of beatings his skin had taken. Caressed the marks you were too selfish to notice. Exhaustion wore on his face, and yet he never looked so peaceful as he gazed into your eyes.

Pretty eyes, Peter thought. Ones that could motivate him to get back up after falling. That feels nice, when you pressed a kiss to his damaged skin. A touch that made him believe there was a reason to suffer, to be great, to be all of this.

“Well, for starters, it’s your birthday and… I completely blew it.” Peter closed his eyes when you began brushing his hair back, knotted in cold sweats, but you fanned your fingers out to undo them until they felt somewhat tidy in your strokes. Smooth and soft. He sighed, “Again.”

“Can’t entirely blame you. How would I look if I were to complain about missing you, when you’re out there risking your life for everyone?” It wasn’t a question, but you wanted him to look at you. To respond. And he does, when you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, and he returned it with a silken one, a following grin. “All I wish for was that you told me sooner, I guess.”

“Yeah,” He figured he’d save the details of the ‘friends’ he had made along the way some other time. For now, it was all about you. “Wow, you’re not even going to wish for me to be safe?”

“Hey, you know what I mean! That’s a given.” You rubbed at his chest, finding yourself quickly accustomed to the scales of his costume. The red was striking against your palms, comforting almost.

“Still. I want to hear you say it.” Peter rolled onto his side and slipped an arm under your back, scooting closer to you. His signature goofy grin never failed to knock a similar one out of you. And unwillingly drawn out, when he began pinching at your sides in quick snips.

“Stop—“ You laughed, your hands occupying themselves to defend your body from his quick attacks. But Peter was fast, avoiding your arms and hands to find another opening that you’d abandon. “Stop, stop! Stay safe! Happy?!”

Closer and closer, you found yourself beneath him, framed by his body as he took your arms above your head and pinned them secured with his tight grasps.“Incredibly.”

Your legs spread open to make room for his body, only for Peter to wrap them around his waist, to press his body into you, kissing you like he was driven to steal your breath.

“This your way of making it up to me?” You broke apart from the kiss, only briefly, before the taste of Peter, the softness of his lips reeled you back in for another kiss. Languidly paced until one’s accelerating lust for one another had taken ahold of the wheel and shifted gears, into a weightiness that kept your mouth parted open while Peter’s impulse to explore you had become evidently clear.

“Problem with that?” He’d been driving his hips into you, grinding his front with your own. Both clothed, infuriatingly covered, but the pressure in between your bulge and Peter’s was too pleasing to ignore. Too satisfying to make him stop. “I should take this off—“

“No, wait—“ You grabbed his forearm when he reached back to unzip his suit. To be honest, you never thought about how he even got in or out of the suit in the first place, but that was beside the point. Something about this suit, this costume, whatever you wanted to call it; it was a turn-on.

The way it fit snug against Peter’s body; how every fiber of muscle was stretching the material to its limit. Maybe you were just turned on because you associated it with him being a hero. For god’s sake, that was as much of an aphrodisiac one could be if you happened to be saved from a falling tower.

Or maybe, it was simply how Peter looked in it. Unabashedly handsome, yet himself, seemingly courting you further into his webs, as if he hadn’t already from day one.

“Keep it on. I like it.” You muttered, fiddling with the collar of his suit. It was snapped on tight, but you managed to slip a finger or two past, to pull at it with a stretch.

“Then how are we going to…” He abandoned the few inches he had unzipped, providing a small relief to the squeeze around his body while his broad back was bare and tense towards the ceiling.

“Then, you’ll take it off. But for now, I just want to…” One hand was on his nape, pulling him down for another heated kiss, while the other traveled south between your body and his. Further, lower, until you cupped him at his crotch. Rubbing, squeezing, and palming at the thick, growing center. “Want to try something…”

You could feel him smiling, a crooked one flattened against your own grin when he whispered, “I should’ve told you sooner, shouldn’t I.”

“You think?”

You were getting harder, your pants beginning to tighten around the center as you palmed him. It was a heavy handful in the beginning, but Peter’s bulge began to unfurl. It didn’t take long, didn’t take much of a stroke for him to unravel from his tuck and thicken into a full-blown erection towards the left side of his thigh. It pointed downwards, the plump head evident through his suit, and you were beginning to drool in Peter’s mouth at the haziest image of it.

“Come on, I need to get out of this… It’s killing me.” It wasn’t like Peter to beg. It was charming, cute, sexy, all the synonyms that could describe how you felt all day and every day about him, and you squeezed, because he wasn’t being patient with you.

“Birthday boy gets what he wants, don’t you think?” He winched into your mouth, and you swallowed him. Swallowed every ounce of breath, and breathed it back out with a kiss. Sloppy, heavy, your tongue weighing on his because you wanted to keep his lips apart, mouth open to hear his moans.

Peter grunted again once you began stroking his cock, touching him like it was a delicate plate of chin. Fingertips only, dusting him off with little pressure so he wouldn’t shatter.

“What are you going to do about it, hm?” You continued your short, limp strokes. “Just going to take it? Hm?” Your wrist was weak, lazy as it became limp to tease him even more. Peter sucked in a breath, doing his best to maintain his composure, but it was all futile, all those attempts of sucking in his lip to chew, to hold back his moans, because you’d slap his clothed cock, grasp it tight in your hand, and massage as much as you could gather.

“Fuck, baby—“ You had him under your control. Even if his hands were free, you knew he wouldn’t lay a finger on you. He knew that if he did, you’d stop touching him, stop stimulating the blood running down every vein of his cock, fueling his erection. His desires.

He couldn’t let that happen. Not after the day, the week, the months that he’d been having.

You and Peter eventually switched places: Peter resting on his back while you sat in between his legs, marveling at the stretch of his suit. Somehow, his cock looked bigger than you’d remember. Squished and pressed flush against his thigh like this. The suit was like a magnet, inviting your hand back to his cock and refusing to let you go.

“Just relax.” You commanded him. He was watching you slouched up against the headboard, gravity weighing his eyelids lower. With his legs spread apart, he provided you excess space as you began massaging his right thigh with your free hand. “Is this okay?”

“Mm-hm...” He knew you were talking about the pressure on his thigh, but the strokes over his cock remained supreme in his mind. Championed through as you pressed harder into the shaft, massaging tenderly from vein to vein. The protruding webbed texture of his suit pressed into him, rolled against cock like the inside of a fleshlight, ultimately adding onto the already gratifying pleasure.

It was glorious.

“More…” Peter gritted through his teeth, a selfish need for more escaping from his lips in huffs. Grunts, when you’d fulfill his wish with two hands now, kneading his cock like dough.

Thick, stiff, throbbing dough.

Before the complaints could come pouring in, you shimmied your pants off in a hurry, tossing it in the corner before greedily climbing onto Peter’s lap. It was like he read your mind, perhaps another secret that he’d been hiding, because he immediately took you into his arms. An embrace, a tight one that grounded you against his bulge, pressing your body weight until it restricted the blood flowing into his erection, as well as preventing an escape.

“You’re so hard…” You marveled at how rigid he’d gotten under you, grinding your ass against the large mass, beating and throbbing with every rut.

“I’m so hard.” He confirmed, complained, and bragged all in one smile. He then took you by the nape to kiss you again. Hard on the mouth, slow with his tongue to taste you and your desires, his desires. His other hand rested on the small of your back, guiding your grinds at first before his fingers looped into your waistband, tugging once before stuffing the strap under your ass cheeks. Your hard-on was the only thing keeping the cotton material from slipping off while you continued grating your hips. “Just like that…”

To make it easier for you, Peter repositioned his erection so it was facing north, towards his navel, in its sublime mass. Your briefs had been tossed to the side now, completely bare bottomed against him while you mounted over him, and rode in needy strides. It was a sight to behold, something that Peter reckoned he should savor. He folded his arms behind his head, providing a self-made cushion for the weight of it, and watched you. It was entrancing, like a dance. You swiveled your hips to a ghosting rhythm, one that could only be heard between two hearts, two parties, between the two of you, man to man.

“Like this…?” Breathless, you unbuttoned your shirt open, but left it present on your body. Sweat formed over your neck, dribbled down to your bare and exposed chest; it was practically an open-invitation for Peter to ravish you. And so he did, with a haunting groan as he held you, contained you in the warmth of his arms as he simultaneously pulled you forward, and pushed himself off the headboard to meet you in the middle.

He kissed you on the neck, achingly hard when he sucked, and then enthralling, sweat-inducing when he bit into your skin. He couldn’t contain himself. You tasted too good, and it’d been too long since he had you just like this. “Just like that. Your cock against my cock, fuck. I love it so fucking much.” He muttered hot against your neck, panting because he was sweating too. The spandex felt tighter on his skin, constricting against him with every drop of sweat.

“Oh, fuck…” His lips had latched onto your nipples now. Peter’s tongue worked magic on your two nubs, flicking and swirling over their perkiness until you felt swollen. Raw, when he bit, pulled, bit, and bit again. You buried your face into his hair, rocking yourself back and forth with your arms holding him close to your chest, gliding your cock against his print as if a gun was pointed to your head, like your life depended on making Peter come.

You were delirious, humping Peter without a single thought other than to get him off, and you’d reckon that was the goal lingering in Peter’s head as he began rocking back into you. It took a while for him to find your rhythm, chasing after it in slower, sluggish beats, but eventually he caught up to you, snapping his hips against your own, grinding his cock against yours like two crescent moons caressing the other’s curvature.

“Close…” He muttered into your shoulder. Your shirt was hanging off, exposing more of your skin, but Peter made sure you didn’t feel a single chill with the marks he had followed up with soon after. It was like he had done it on purpose. Made you feel safe in his arms, comfortable in the warmth of his body, worshiped with the amount of care he had given your body. Frozen, when you felt something prod at your pucker. Then enraptured, when Peter pushed a wet finger inside of you.

Tremors, chilling tremors ran down your spine as you took the single digit Inside of you with one determined push. “Fuck—“ Your back arched, chest pushed forward towards him, and your hips jolted forward in one strong, and delicious swipe against Peter’s cock. “Peter…”

It was a mouthwatering display of food before him. The perky nubs on your chest, the veins in your neck, the mole on your body, the strain of your thighs on overdrive, the swollen head of your cock; Peter didn’t know what to lay his finger on first, what to mouth on, what to kiss, and suck, and latch onto until you’d scream. Whichever it was, he knew you were desperate for him. Begging, sweating, whimpering, for Peter to lay a finger on you. Another finger inside of you now, and you rolled your eyes at the stretch he was providing you with, a fulfilling wish that startled your hips once more.

“You’re so good, so good for me…” Peter was staring up at you, marveling at the layer of sweat on your body. It glistened with every movement, dripped heavily with every thrust of Peter’s fingers, and tasted just like how he remembered. Salty when he licked up your neck, up your chest, against your nipples, and repeated. Your body was his, and Peter was determined to let the world know. Determined to remind you in case that you’d forgotten.

Your hands were wandering. Grabbing and touching at anything and everything that could linger in between your fingers. Peter’s hair, his head, shoulders, chest, your cock and his, his back. Everything. You couldn’t keep your hands off of him. Even if he was covered from head to toe, you were touching him. Because he was yours.

“Gonna come—“ You cupped Peter’s jaw to straighten his posture, to kiss him sloppily on the mouth, and he pulled his fingers out of you, resting them on either side of your hips as he joined you once again in grinding hips. The pleasure was overbearing, drilling into each individual brain until the smallest movement would render you both speechless. Panting in slurred moans of each other’s names, of profanities that you two had rarely used in your lifetime on earth.

“Me too…” Peter pushed himself on top of you now. Your arms were tied around his neck, tighter than the necktie he had on prior, and your legs; they wrapped around his waist equally secured, if not even tighter, as he thrusted against you.

You were too distracted, unable to respond to Peter’s constant licks in your mouth. He was desperate for you, suckling on your tongue and chasing after it once it slipped out because of your moans. They were rattling, each breath immediately vaulted in the back of Peter’s throat because he couldn’t part from you. Couldn’t imagine a life where he would. And if he had to, at least he’d have a part of you inside of him. Even if it was a whisper.

He thrusted harder, panting into your mouth, his nose practically smushed flat against yours. He wondered if you could imagine that life, a life without him.

“P-Pete—Shit, I’m—“ Your fingers dug into his nape, grounding him impossibly closer to you when that feeling had suddenly come to stun you in place.

It simmered hard in your stomach, then to a rolling boil as it traveled lower to your pelvis. You squeezed your stomach, clenched your toes, and your eyes widened when Peter’s hips showed no signs of faltering. Your cock swelled and your balls jolted, tightened, until you finally saw stars bursting into flames and let gravity have it come crashing down on you. Shivers had you enclose your arms around Peter, holding onto him tight as you felt yourself crumble and spill all over your chest and his suit. You came with a gritted grunt of his name, sinking your nails into his nape because you had nowhere else to channel your spasms as Peter kept rocking against you, drunkenly astonished by how you came for him. By how much you needed him.

It didn’t take long before Peter came right after. He buried his head into your neck, stifling moans into the heat of your neck, clammy with sweat, yet comforting as he filled the inside of his suit with thick, large loads. You felt his cock throb against you when you reached down to help, to ride out his orgasm to the fullest. His cock pulsed as you’d imagine several thick pumps of his load would gush out and uncomfortably layer his navel. If only his suit hadn’t been waterproof, because there was no doubt that he would’ve been leaking out of it by now.

You’ve never been so jealous of spandex.

He was hot in your ear, panting, breathing you in, then breathing you out as you slowed the strokes on his softening cock. Then a sudden inhale, a jolt of his body, when you squeezed hard, to seal the deal in covering the entirety of his cock in his own cum. It was filthy. It was shameless. It was Peter.

“Driving me crazy here…” Peter sluggishly lifted himself off of you to face you, a sleepy smile plastered across his face as you kept kneading at his cock, increasingly sensitive with every second.

“Not enough to drive you away, right?” You smiled, drowsy yourself as you quickly found your high coming to a crash. Though, you mustered enough strength to hold Peter’s cheek in your palm, tenderly caressing, to which he immediately kissed as soon as it reintroduced itself.

Peter sighed, holding your gaze for what felt like minutes, and yet you wished it could be for longer.

It was different this time, the way he looked at you. The same amount of love and warmth, yes. But they no longer wavered, no longer tried to find something else to look at in case you were prying about.

“Never.”

Instead, they stilled, relaxed the longer you stared into him, into those brown eyes of his, because you were in now.

You were finally in his life.

How much you needed him? His question had been answered.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

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dramaticals · 6 months

Text

you're too good for him - chapter one.

pairing: theodore nott x reader

summary: you're theo's best friend and he's secretly pining over you... but you have a boyfriend. modern au. based on what can i do by reneé rapp.

✧ read: part two ✧

Theodore doesn't get it.

Your relationship with your boyfriend has always perplexed him. Your boyfriend was best described as moderate—moderate in humor, intelligence, and looks. You could do so much better.

Especially now, as you bite back the tears and bury your face in the crook of Theo's neck when you can't hold it back any more, he wonders why you still put up with the guy.

Theo pulls you closer, and he feels a quiet breath of relief against his neck as you sink into him.

It's becoming a regular occurrence now—not that Theo minded. He'd prefer having you to himself under better circumstances, but this seemed like the only way you two could hang out as of late. And as much pain you were in, Theo selfishly relished in these moments when you'd forget about lover boy and remember him. Remember that it used to be you and him. Even if your remembering only lasted a night.

You and Theo were an unlikely pair, shoved together by the fates—first grade school bus seating. The spot next to Theo was the only seat left on the bus, and after he reluctantly slid his backpack over to make room for you, the two of you became inseparable.

While Theo was reserved, you were the burst of energy that compelled everyone in the room. While Theo had a temper, you had the patience of a gentle stream. You balanced each other out. Maybe even made each other better. For the next thirteen years, it had only ever been you and Theo—until lover boy came along. And then Theo made himself sparse, pushing you away until you were arms length instead of right by his side because it had killed him to see you so happy with someone that wasn't him.

And it was unlike Theo to get in the way of your happiness. If you claimed you were happy with lover boy, then Theo just had to deal with it. You made that clear to Theo the first time he tried to intervene.

"Why are you acting like this?" You had asked when Theo first pointed out lover boy's flaws. By this point, the rose-coloured lenses were etched onto you like stone.

"Like what?" Theo spat. This was the first time his anger had been directed at you. You didn't let it faze you.

"Like... you're jealous, or something." You said, voice thick with animosity.

Theo's eyes darkened. He was jealous. Jealous that you refused to notice how Theo looked at you. Jealous that it took one stupid note from lover boy for you to forget all about him.

But he was also concerned. He was trying to look out for you.

"I just don't understand why you can't be happy for me." You continued, unaware of the hurt expression on Theo's face. "You're supposed to be my friend."

"I am your friend," Theo said softly.

Ever since that night, Theo sat pathetically and idly on the sidelines, watching you fall more in love with someone who didn't deserve you. Theo picked up the pieces lover boy shattered every time. Because he was your friend.

But if Theo was anything else, he was also relentless. While Theo stopped trying to tell you what to do, he didn't hide his disdain for your boyfriend. Especially on nights like these.

"You want me to hurt him? I'll gladly hurt him." Theo says, and this prompts you to shake your head. Theo asks this every time you come crawling over with tears staining your cheeks. And every time, you refuse. You know Theo well enough to know he'd do it in a heartbeat. He was just that type of friend to you.

"He's not worth it." You say, pulling back a little so you could face him. You sniffled.

Even in the dim lighting of Theo's bedroom, he can see the red in your eyes, the flush in your cheeks, and the inexplicable expression of heartbreak on your face.

God, he really wanted to hurt the guy.

"I don't know, I think I'd have fun." Theo says, his hand mindlessly rubbing against the small of your back. His lips curl into a small smile at the mere thought of his fists in lover boy's face.

After everything he'd done to you, it was only a matter of time before Theo intervened again.

"No," You say again. You give him a weak smile. "I'd rather you stay here with me."

And so that's what Theo does. He stays, pulls you into the familiar comfort of his bed, and turns on your favourite movie. Theo doesn't care for it, having been forced to watch the movie a million times before. But he makes an effort, letting out his own share of chuckles and commentary you've discussed a hundred times over.

When the credits roll, you're nuzzled against him comfortably. Your hand rests lazily against his chest as you shift closer to him. He rests his cheek against the top of your head.

"You're a really great friend, Theo." You say with a yawn. "I don't know where I'd be without you."

Friend.

His breath hitches and he curses himself for the visceral reaction. Of course that's what he was—what he'll always be to you. Why couldn't he just get it through his head?

Theo swallows hard. He's thankful the screen goes black now, shielding the grimace on his face.

"Lost, probably."

#theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott imagine #theo nott imagine #harry potter imagine #theodore nott fanfic #theodore nott x you #theo nott x you #*writing

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nolita-fairytale · 3 months

Text

bad moon rising | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader

summary: in another lifetime, you meet mikey berzatto by chance one halloween night in nyc.

or, the fic based on this headcanon

warnings: angst, use of she/her pronouns, no use of y/n, second person pov, drug usage, high mikey b, swearing, family drama, depression, not a happy ending

wc: 3.7k

a/n: i wrote about grief again. shocking, i know. thank you all for your interest based on the headcanon it came from and thank you for your patience. i wanted so badly to post this around halloween and have been sitting on it since the better part of last year as one of my wips. finally, finally, it's here!! i took a slightly different approach than the headcanon, but i think it still does it justice. let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the carmy taglist.

this what-if fic takes place october 2021 because it's make my heart surrender-canon that mikey and reader never met; reader x carmy are best friends and colleagues but it has not gone further than that.

masterlist

Halloween, in another lifetime:

“Can I get hands, please!” Carmy shouts out to the entire kitchen, only to be met with a strong chorus of ‘hands’ in response.

His team works together like a well-oiled machine; a tight run ship, led by a captain near-suffocated under the weight of the chip on his shoulder.

“Chef!” you hear the sound of your general manager’s voice ring through the kitchen, causing many a-heads to turn. She rarely comes into the kitchen during dinner service unless it’s serious. Her eyes lock with Carmy’s as he looks up from his expo, as if she’s about to deliver bad news.

His mind races through the possibilities, preparing to solve the next oncoming crisis. Could it be an undercooked steak? An overcooked duck breast? Another complaint of ‘too salty’ or ‘underseasoned?’

“Chef, you uh… you have a visitor,” she says instead–the last thing he expects to hear.

A visitor?

“Wh-?”

“Someone’s here to see you. Says he’s your… brother??” Carmy’s ears begin to burn, as he searches for your face amidst the chaos, your gaze there to catch him even from across the kitchen. Your presence feels reassuring, like a strong man in a storm. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s knee deep into service and he cannot get the sound of tickets being added to the expo out of his head. He opens his mouth to say something but he’s uncertain any words come out of his mouth, unsure of what he’d even say. You send him a reassuring nod, and it’s as if in one look, you’ve made the decision to go.

“Chef, you good?” Carmy hears you ask the head pastry chef.

“Yeah, we got it. But don’t take too long,” she answers with a curt nod of approval.

He watches as you nod again, this time in recognition of your boss’ answer, as you pull the food-grade nitrile gloves off of your hands, discarding them in the nearby trash can. Without a word, you follow Kate closely behind, exchanging a few words with her as the two of you disappear to the front of house. There’s a war inside of Carmy as he watches you go–a pang of guilt and a feeling of relief–that whatever it is, you’ve agreed to take care of it.

In all of the years that he’s been in New York, no one’s come to see him–the possibility of it happening now, let alone as a surprise, feels improbable.

Must be a prank or some shit….

It couldn’t really be Michael, could it?

As you seek out the answer, your feet carrying you faster than you anticipated, you realize that you’re searching for a face you’ve only seen in photographs. Kate follows closely behind while you push through the front door of the restaurant only to find a man pacing just outside of the restaurant, a ghostface mask in hand. You can tell he’s been sweating, the circles under his eyes just as dark as the ones you’ve become so familiar with in Carmy, with an anxious look in his eyes as his gaze turns towards you.

He’s certainly not the larger-than-life older brother you’ve seen in the sparse amount of pictures that Carmy’s shown you.

“I got this, Kate,” you mutter over your shoulder with a confident nod, letting your general manager know that you’re good on your own. “You sure?” she asks you quietly.

“I’m sure,” you answer, watching as a disappointed look spread across Michael’s face as soon as he sees that:

“You’re not Carmen.”

“Uh… no. I’m not,” you reply, hearing the front door to the restaurant close behind you. The man swears under his breath, and you watch as face changes from disappointment to annoyance quickly, as you try your best to come up with an explanation that may satisfy him. “He uh… he can’t come out. Not right now. So he sent me.”

Michael scoffs with a shake of his head, his eyebrows quickly rising and falling incredulously as he takes another drag off his cigarette.

“Shit... the guy can't even make time to see his big brother?" he asks, the annoyance obvious in his voice this time.

You take a step towards him, your arms folded across your chest.

“I’m sorry. I-, I don't think he was expecting you,” you answer, much more compassionately this time.

“Right,” Michael mumbles, barely loud enough for you to hear. You watch as he throws the butt of his cigarette down on the pavement, before stamping it out.

“It’s just-. He would if he could. I know it. It's just a busy night. I-... we're doing 200 covers tonight and uh... well, he runs the kitchen so,” you try again, and you can practically feel the disappointment (and resentment) burying itself deeper in Michael.

“Yeah, no thanks, lady. You don’t need to explain it to me. Jagoff can’t even make time to say ‘hi’ to his brother. Sends you to do his dirty work instead,” Michael dismisses you, bitterly.

He takes a beat. And then another, as if he’s accepted that he’s not going to see Carmy after all.

“Why don’t you come inside? I’m sure-,” you offer, taking another step towards him.

“‘S alright, sweetheart,” he dismisses you again, this time gentler. “You don’t need to make up for his bullshit.”

You open your mouth to say something—anything in defense of Carmy—but you’re certain that nothing you have to say will be enough for your best friend’s older brother (save for Carmy coming out here himself).

With a nod, you accept defeat, turning to go back inside. But there’s something that stops you—like you just can’t just go back inside without trying to remedy the situation one last time. This time all you say is:

“I don’t know how long you’re in town for but… we should be off by midnight.”

Michael only offers you a sympathetic smile before you slip back inside.

—---------------------------------------

It’s not until you and Carmy are packing up your things to head home that he brings it up—his mysterious visitor—hesitant to ask the question that’s been eating at him all night.

“So uh… was it really him? Michael?” he asks you, cautiously, as he watches your face carefully for any kind of reaction.

“Uh… yeah. I mean, at least the guy I recognized from your pictures,” you reply, hoping that the answer (or the fact that he missed his brother) won’t break his heart.

A beat.

“What’d he want?” Carmy asks, trying to mask his curiosity as best as possible.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “Seems like he found himself in the city. I didn’t ask. I didn’t… know if you wanted me to.”

Carmy tries again.

“Oh no. It’s-, no I didn’t-, no, it’s okay.”

He takes his time, making up his mind about what he wants to say next.

“It’s weird, right? Guy can barely pick up the phone to say hello but… he can show up unannounced and just like-, expect me to drop everything?” he asks you—the look in his eyes telling you that his mind is miles away.

“I- I don’t know, Carmy,” you reply, heavily. “Are you… do you wish you had gone instead of me?”

Carmy’s quiet as he follows you out of the back door of the restaurant, thinking his answer over.

“I don’t know,” he answers slowly, a lack of confidence as the words fall out of his mouth. “Maybe?”

He’s not sure how he’s supposed to feel and right now he just feels… ambushed, which only makes him want to shut down.

Instead, Carmy changes the subject back to your post-work plans, the two of you debating what kind of post-shift late night meal you’re going to have before settling on a few slices of pizza on the way back to your place. You and Carmy cut through the alley to the front of the restaurant so that you can begin your late-night sojourn, and it’s only when he spots something odd that he stops you.

“What the fuck?” Carmy cuts you off, holding an arm out in front of you to stop you from walking any further.

You follow his line of sight right over to a figure moving towards the both of you. In the brief glimpse you’ve gotten of the person moving towards you, all you can see is a quick flash of the ghostface mask they hold in their hands as a bus drives by, obstructing your view.

Carmy’s heart stops, fear filling his chest as the bus speeds by, the person getting closer and closer until…

“Michael?!” Carmy shouts, squinting as he sees the man approach. His expression of pure shock leaves his jaw agape, rendering him speechless as he scrambles to try to find better words that:

“What-, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Shit,” Michael scoffs playfully, with a chuckle, his breath uneven from the light jogging pace he’d kept. Michael takes note of the arm his younger brother’s extended, shielding you from him. “What? Can’t your big brother come surprise ya in the big city?”

Carmy shoots him a look that says, ‘when have you ever done that’ and Michael nods knowingly, his eyebrows quickly raising, then lowering as he makes peace with the fact that he’s never been that guy.

“Me and Deb… we came up for the weekend,” Mikey admits with a heavy sigh. “Tried to do something nice for her but, you know, broad’s been a real bitch-.”

“Mikey,” Carmy warns, taking a tone you recognize—the kind he uses when he’s going to yell at the saucier for a broken mornay.

“Right,” Mike course corrects at the volume of a mumble, heaving a heavy, yet disarming sigh.

Carmy nods slowly as he allows some part of him to relax, his arm falling away from you as the two of you exchange a look.

“We uh…. Got into another fight. She’s on her way back to Chicago now,” Mikey explains, the disappointment evident in his voice this time, almost as if it were an apology.

“Sorry,” Carmy mutters quietly, as you exchange a look with him.

“Nah it’s-, she’ll get over it,” Mikey brushes off with a shrug, his tone shifting as he extens an arm out to you.

“Fuck, where are my manners? I never properly introduced myself earlier. I’m Mikey. Mikey Berzatto,” he grins with a charm and confidence that’s been absent in both of your interactions with him till now. The smile that spreads across his face is contagious as he looks from you to Carmy, then back to you. “Shit. I’m sorry. ‘M fuckin’ jagoff, interupting your night like this. I should probably get-.”

“No!” you protest, almost too quickly, earning a look from Carmy. “We weren’t-, we were just getting off work and were gonna grab a bite. Maybe even… a drink?” you suggest, a hopefulness in your eyes as you turn towards Carmy.

“Yeah?” Michael asks, his interest piqued.

“Uhm. Just gonna grab a bite actually,” Carmy forces out, sending a glare in your direction.

“You know what’s crazy? I know a spot. With food. And drinks,” you challenge him, silently begging him to just go with it.

“You cool with that, Carm?” Mike asks this time, looking from you to his younger brother once more. It’s the first time that Carmy thinks Michael’s ever looked to him for approval.

Carmy’s quiet for a moment, torn between wanting to burn it all down or declare a gleeful ‘yes’ because at least Mikey wants to spend time with him.

“Um. Uh. Yeah. Yeah okay,” Carmy finally agrees.

“Alright, let’s fuckin’ do it!” Mikey rallies.

And as he turns to go, your voice instructing him that it’s only a few blocks from here, you and Carmy fall into stride, just a few steps behind Mikey.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Carmy threatens you—though there’s no weight to it—through gritted teeth.

You shove him playfully, bumping your shoulder against his side as the two of you walk, answering with a promise that: “You’ll thank me later.”

—---------------------------------------

You sit on one side of Carmy, Mikey on the other, and you can see why Carmy looks at his older brother like he hung the sun, the moon, and the stars above. There’s something different about Michael—something different than when you met him just hours ago outside of the restaurant—as he corrals the three of you into a round of shots.

As the shots of tequila arrive at the bar, Carmy dismisses his, his attention fixed to the still-full whiskey on the rocks he’d ordered earlier, just to appease his older brother. He watches you carefully as you and Mikey clink glasses before throwing back your own respective shots.

“Carm?” Mikey asks, nodding towards the third, untouched shot glass.

Carmy hesitates.

“It’s fine. I’ll take his,” you jump in, half as an attempt to give Carmy the out he so desperately desires, and half because, admittedly, meeting the great Mikey Berzatto makes you a little nervous.

Before anyone can protest, you reach out, picking up the shot glass, before tapping it down against the bar top, fearlessly throwing it back. Michael watches you with a sense of amusement, as your face crinkles in response to the sting of the liquor and the bitterness of the lime you chase it with.

He smirks, sharing a knowing look with his younger brother that says, “I like this girl,” which in turn only causes Carmy to blush. Before Mikey can say anything more, the song that blares through the speakers changes, earning his attention as he hears the familiar words:

“I see the bad moon a-risin' I see trouble on the way I see earthquakes and lightnin' I see bad times today”

“Alright, alright. Think it’s a little too on the nose if I admit that I love this song? On Halloween? C’maaaaaahn,” Mikey asks, almost as if it’s a confession in reference to the easily recognizable Creedance Clearwater revival hit.

“No! No, I love this song,” you’re quick to assuage his hesitation as your eyes light up in response to his recognition.

“You got good taste, kid,” Michael notes confidently, winking in his brother’s direction. “I like this girl, Carm.”

Only this time, he says it out loud. Carmy only shakes his head, the blush already running across his cheeks taking a deeper shade of red.

“Yeah, yeah. Uh. You both uh.. Like music,” Carmy smiles, gesturing from you to his brother. At least this is going a lot better than he expected it to, he reminds himself.

“Oh yeah?” Michael asks, clearly intrigued.

“Oh that’s right!” you exclaim, simultaneously. The excitement that brews within you has you stumbling over your words as you manage to get out:

“You’re-, oh my god! The Lennon jacket!”

“What?” Mike asks, shooting you a funny look.

“I’m sorry. I just-. I realize I’m not-,” you stammer over your words, trying your best to explain your earlier exclamation over your own excitement.

“You gave Carmy the denim jacket – the 1950s selvedge Wrangler!”

“Just like the-,” Michael starts, the two of you finishing his sentence at once with:

“... just like the one John Lennon had!”

“Marry this girl, Carm. Marry her right now. Tonight! Or I will,” Michael encourages, slapping his hand down against the bar. He speaks with so much bravado and conviction that you can only imagine that there was none left for Carmy. “Fuckin’ christ. I never should’ve let you two meet,” Carmy groans on an exasperated exhale as he shakes his head once again.

“Oh c’mon, Carm,” Mikey rouses him, with a playful eye roll.

“It’s totally my favorite jacket of his! I-, well, it’s a long story but we actually became friends over the jacket because he spilled a drink on me and-,”

“Ahhh real smooth.”

“No! No, it was okay, I promise. I-, I don’t know if we would’ve gotten to know each other if he hadn’t so-. Call it a lucky jacket, I guess,” you smile, stealing a look in Carmy’s direction. He shoots the smallest smile back to you, cognizant of the fact that Mikey’s observing the entire interaction.

As you begin to tell Michael the story about the aforementioned Lennon jacket, it could be minutes, hours, or days that pass, once you and Mikey finish trading facts about music like they’re trivia cards. It’s almost as entertaining as watching Mikey and Carmy go at it, bouncing facts about the history of denim like you’re at the French Open.

You excuse yourself to the restrooms—partially because you really have to pee and partially because it seems like this evening is going well—wanting to give both brothers some time alone. And as soon as you’re out of earshot, Mikey’s on Carmy like an FBI Investigation.

“This your girl, Carm, or what?" he asks with a casualness to his voice that sets off alarms in Carmy’s head.

"Mikey, stop it,” Carmy dismisses him, hoping more than anything for this to be the end of the conversation.

Instead, Mikey scoffs, shaking his head as he downs another shot.

"Then at least tell me you're hittin' that."

“Michael!" Carmy hushes his brother, a warning and protectiveness in his voice this time.

"Are you fuckin' serious right now, Bear?” Michael pushes further. “What, you're telling me you're not when she’s walkin’ around in your jacket, talkin’ about wearing your clothes to your big brother and I’m supposed to think-?"

"She's not!” Carmy cuts him off. “She doesn’t do-, she’s.... my friend. Jus’ give it up alright.”

"Shit. Wish I had a friend like that. Ya friends, kid, or are ya... you know... friends?" Mikey smirks, earning a venomous glare from his younger brother.

Carmy shakes his head in response, jaw clenched, as he stares down at the bar top, a feeling inside of him that he doesn’t like when he even thinks about Mikey looking at you like that.

"Shit, I thought I taught you better than that, Bear."

There it is again.

That feeling.

He’s not sure how to name it, but it’s enough to make Carmy want to deck his brother right then and there as it rises inside of him.

"I'm serious, Mike. We’re just friends,” Carmy spits out. He’s much more serious this time. “Cut it out."

But Michael’s too quick, his voice growing louder as he interjects on the tail end of Carmy’s insistence.

"Oh come on! The chick's smokin' fuckin' hot. And I can tell that you like her. I'm not blind, Carm. I see the way you-."

And if it’s as if something snaps inside of Carmy as he exclaims:

"Don't talk to me like you know what's going on in my life! Fuck!"

"Carm-."

"Can't even pick up the damn phone and then you just... waltz into town acting like everything is okay?!” he fumes, standing up out of his chair.

His face grows redder with each word, and it only confirms Mikey’s suspicions: that his little brother is absolutely a goner for you. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Carmy like this and he’s torn between feeling proud of his kid brother or pissed that the kid’s turning this around on him.

"Well, if you ever bothered to come home. You know mom's been askin' about you since you never fuckin’-,” Mikey roars, eager to relinquish the hotseat here.

“Oh don't bring mom into this!" Carmy protests.

It’s your voice that snaps him out of it—brings him back to earth as he hears you ask:

“Everything okay?”

Carmy can practically hear his heart pounding away in his ears; can feel the blood rushing through his head as he takes a deep breath. He swallows, takes a beat, then turns to you.

“Yeah uh. I think we should go,” he states, his voice uneven and tense as you try to get a read on either brother.

“Uh… yeah, I guess we can-, um,” you stammer out, wondering how things went from good to hell in a matter of minutes. Carmy mutters something about getting your stuff as you try your best to put the pieces together.

“It was uh, nice to meet you, Mikey,” you say softly, as soon as you get your coat on.

“Yeah. You too, sweetheart,” he nods, something distant in his voice. Carmen scoffs at his brother’s usage of the word before tugging on your arm.

You wait a beat, in anticipation of some kind of goodbye between the brothers, but there is none as you follow Carmy out of the bar.

—---------------------------------------

Halloween, again — in this lifetime:

When Carmy comes to, he can hear the faint sounds of an episode of Pasta Grannies in the background, uncertain of what time it is.

“Hey, you. You fell asleep on the couch and I didn’t have the heart to wake you up,” you say, as he begins to sit up. Carmy blinks his eyes a few more times, watching as you make your way from the kitchen island over to the couch, taking a seat at his feet.

“Did you still want to watch a scary movie? You know, in the spirit of the holiday?” you ask him with a soft chuckle.

All Carmy can remember before falling asleep was what he was thinking about: what it would be like if you had met Mikey. It’s something he thinks of often, especially as the two of you grow closer—as your relationship gets more serious—and it’s something he hates that he’ll never be able to give to you.

“This was his favorite holiday,” Carmy manages to get out, the sleep heavy in his voice.

You’re not all that surprised. Carmy’s been on edge lately and you assumed it was because Mikey’s birthday’s coming up. But this… this makes sense too.

“I wish I could’ve met him,” you smile, reaching out for one of his hands.

Carmy nods.

“Yeah. Uh. Yeah. Think he would’ve loved you.”

Maybe a little too much, he thinks to himself.

“You think so?” you ask with a vulnerability and a desire for reassurance that catches Carmy off guard.

He nods with much more confidence this time, offering you a soft, sympathetic smile.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I know so.”

368 notes · View notes

lokisgoodgirl · 7 months

Text

Sticks and Stones: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (2) Resolved to make an effort, Loki tries his best. But old habits die hard, some harder than others. Warnings: Minors DNI. Language. Ex-Loki. Smut references/ Wankst. Humour/Mild angst. (w/c 4.8k) Recommended Folklore Track: Mirrorball

“Oh blast it all,” Thor wailed like a child, throwing a pile of sticks to the side. Another bundle of promising kindle had turned to mush in his hands.

“We need to find ones that aren’t wet, Odinson – I told you. Sometimes they don’t seem wet, but they are wet.” Steve instructed, standing abruptly from where he’d sat on his haunches. Dismay was thick in the air. “Everything is wet here, Rogers." Thor whinged, kicking leaves. "The allusive flame taunts me.”

Loki sucked in his cheeks. The urge to expel a witty innuendo was almost unbearable. But he was trying to be amenable. Turning over a new leaf, as it were.

When the four of them had trudged back to the cottage last night, Loki had turned in to his sparse lodgings immediately with only the most cursory of bedtime salutations. To his surprise, sleep had descended quickly. He had been expecting to toss and turn for hours on that thin single bed, cursing Rogers and his brother and you; each with the time and thoroughness that was due. But he had slept well. And when he woke, the smell of bacon wafting through the floorboards greeted him.

Your laughter chimed against the clatter of porcelain downstairs, his brothers following suit. He had snuggled deeper into the lumpy pillow, inhaling in the way he used to against your hair. And now, beneath a canopy of green and gold autumnal majesty, they had made camp for this morning’s torture; fire-building. Loki buried his hands in another damp pile of foliage, grasping a hunk of twigs he found there. To hel with it, he thought as he closed his eyes; feeling secretive warmth spreading from his fingertips. Magic wrapped around each stick of wood concealed beneath copper leaves, drying it instantly. He glanced over to you, thrumming some moss between your fingers. “I found some dry ones,” he said nonchalantly, hoping it sounded believable.

You peered at his outstretched hands. “Oh yeah…” you replied. Loki frowned as your attention swung back to the wisped moss being pulled apart in your fingertips. “Well, let’s get this show on the road.” Thor looked over at his brother, aghast. “Cheater,” he rumbled loudly. To his side, only Steve’s ass was visible, shaking side to side as he still searched on his hands and knees through the undergrowth for where dry wood might lurk. Loki turned, one palm facing up. A column of ferocious flame burst from his skin, funnelling up like a portal. The sound of its violence ripped the air, squawks of local wildlife jibbering in the trees above. Steve lost his balance, falling to the side into the shrubbery. He let out a strangled cry, while Thor scooted backwards and knocked him further into the bushes.

“If I wanted to cheat,” Loki snarled, “there would be much easier ways to do so, brother.”

As quickly as it appeared, the flame ceased.

Loki turned back to you, smoothing his anorak. “Sorry about that,” he quipped with a cheerful smile.

In the time it had taken to complete his theatrics, you had selected one of his pile which you deemed suitable. You turned it over in your hands, fingers curled around the trunk of the weighty stick. Loki swallowed thickly. The innocently sensual glint in your eyes as you looked at it was almost too much to bear. Or maybe it was his imagination.

You hadn’t raised a smile all day, after all. He knelt on his haunches, mirroring your intrigue while you ran a finger down the larger stick. “We need to whittle a groove down here” you said. Loki nodded, moving his eyes between the line your digit took and your face.

Your eyes met.

He saw your gaze drop to his lips, only for a millisecond. “Could you?” you whispered, avoiding eye contact again.

In a flash of green, Loki produced a short dagger. He held it to you, handle first.

“I mean really we should use the one in your pack,” you smirked, eyeing Steve brushing sodden leaves from his ass as Thor fumbled fruitlessly in the undergrowth in a last ditch attempt. Loki felt his heart pound faster. He saw his chance. “But mine is better, Agent” he murmured darkly. “You know that.” “Guys – come over, please!” you shouted over his shoulder. Loki flinched. Truly, she now immune from my overtures, he mused bitterly; remembering the times a line like that would have had you groaning in his ear like a harlot.

He smoothed a rakish curl back from his forehead, collecting himself while his brother and the captain gathered round. Thor was muttering Asgardian curses under his breath, his hair wild. Twigs stuck out at obscure angles, a small slug clinging to the scruff of his jawline. Loki peeled it off, flicking it away.

“I think not that I was made for nature, brother,” Thor lamented under his breath. Loki chuckled, cut short as his dagger, poised in your hand, began to cut away at the centre of the large stick. There was a sharp intake of breath beside him. “That’s not standard issue,” Steve chided quietly, lips hardening. Loki folded his arms, elbowing Rogers in the process. “Watch what I’m doing,” you said sternly, eyeing the men with suspicion. They stood in rapt attention, watching every rut of the blade, every splinter and chunk which sprung forth. But not Loki.

Loki watched your face. Each furrow of your brow, flick of concentration, ghost of a smile as you looked with satisfaction at the result. “Perfect,” you murmured to yourself, running a cautious fingertip through the rough groove. “Now what?” Thor grunted. “Tis still a damnable stick.” You laughed the sweetest, most condescending laugh that Loki had ever heard.

It made his heart twist in his chest. “Now...you each take one of these” you handed each of them a smaller stick from Loki's haul. Loki’s was the longest.

A smirk curled the corners of his mouth against his better judgement. You rolled your eyes, snatching it back and switching it with Steve. “Sharpen these, so they are at a 45 degree angled point. Remember your angles from yesterday, Thor?” Thor frowned. You made the angle with your forearm. “Ah, yes” he smiled. “The little mountain.” For the next few minutes, Loki felt your appraising stare fall on him in intervals. He crafted his edge to perfection, sliding the dagger’s blade so close to the wood’s bark it almost shone. The rough hacking of the other men’s pocketknives peppered the air. Aside from that, and birdsong, there was silence.

When all of them had finished, you called them back around a small, cleared patch of forest floor. The branch with the groove you had made lay on the ground. The three men stared at it, sharpened sticks in hand. Suddenly it all felt very...human. They glanced at each other vacantly. “Loki?” you chirped, gesturing to the ground. He raised an eyebrow.

“On my knees?” he heard himself purr, the feigned incredulity palpable. You nodded sternly, just once.

“Very well,” he murmured, sinking down.

His knees hit the leaves with a crisp, gentle thump.

Immediately, wetness began to seep into the fabric. Like the gusset of her underwear, he mulled. He looked up at you the way he used to while you would have him kiss up your thighs, yanking his hair as he atoned for some imagined grave misdeed with sexual favour. The essence of his vulnerability. A rarity, only for you. He was such a slut for you, back then. Anything you desired. Anything he desired- “Loki?!” you snapped. He had been staring at your chest, eyes glazed. Carefully, he tilted his chin upwards. “Apologies,” he husked. The swallow which bobbed in your throat made his loins ache. Your voice was high. Higher than she intends, surely; he thought.

“Kind of...position it so the big stick with the groove is between your knees-” you’d said.

Loki shuffled, straddling the branch. It brushed the bulge of his cock pulsing lightly against his trousers. “Between my thighs, you say?” he asked innocently. “No, your knees. Well – thighs, sort of yes. Just keep it steady.” You were becoming flustered, Loki noticed. Loki liked that.

You bent down slightly, touching the hard round of his bicep before recoiling like it was a hot stove. “You um...hold the stick like this, no...like-”

Kneeling beside him, you adjusted the angle of his hands to grip the smaller, pointed stick. “That’s it...and then you rub it back and-” you swallowed, “-back and forth. On the one between your thighs. Knees.” Loki bit his lip, beginning to do just that. The sound was awful as his pace quickened after the first few strokes. Scraping, raw squeals that jarred the air.

“Like this?” he panted. A mist of sweat was forming at his hairline. He could feel it tingle.

“Like that,” you replied shakily. Your breaths were short. They were in time with the thrust of his arms as you hovered by his shoulder, guiding his wrist as it pumped back and forth. Thor and Steve glanced silently at each other, brows raised.

Loki saw Thor’s jaw drop from the corner of his eye, a meaty finger protruding from one straightened arm to the smoke beginning to waft from the groove. “Look, Rogers…” he gasped with the wonder of a child. The smoke became thicker, billowing in heavy flow. You fumbled to the side, grabbing some tufts of dried moss.

“Now tip it in, tip the ash in-” you said frantically, barely contained excitement in your voice. Loki complied, watching as the smouldering embers blossomed within the web of moss.

“Be careful,” he whispered, setting the stick in his hands down. He brought them up protectively around the moss. You held it forward, “blow, Loki” you murmured, keeping your eyes fixed on the small ball which had begun to smoke.

“Blow?” he said, forehead creasing while you nodded. Your eyes narrowed at the tuft clenched between your fingers. “Until you get-” “-a spark,” Loki finished quietly.

He blew on the moss, flinching as the vegetation burst with flame. Thor and Steve gasped, crowding round as you dropped the raging ball of fire to the groove of the stick below. You grabbed Loki’s spear, prodding the moss. Loki opened his mouth and closed it again.

He felt that he should be bored. Or annoyed. Longing for home comforts and solitude or some such. But, admittedly, he would not have thought of this whole scenario. Against his wishes, he had learned something.

What you had done? How you had transformed nothing into...something. Like magic. When he set fire to things, he cared not how they burned. Just that they burned. And, Loki thought, they always do.

After what felt like an eternity, Loki closed the door to the cottage and turned the key.

He was the last one in, favouring a meandering pace behind the three others huddled together in a jovial formation. Water saturated him, rolling in thick droplets from his forehead down the carve of his jawline. He had never known rain like it. It had fallen like milk, heavy and thick and relentless in every direction.

Hair was plastered to his skull, to his neck. It stuck in clumpy tendrils and made a weird noise against the garish anorak when he moved. He flicked his hands forward with frustration. The clench of his stomach against the soaking fleece made him shudder.

After the first attempt, he had reluctantly admitted there was no point in drying himself every ten seconds. Even magic, he had surmised, was no match for the English countryside.

Muffled roars sounded from the living room. Loki rounded the corner, cursing every squelching step. Predictably, his brother’s head was lodged in the soaking neck of his roll neck sweater. His hiking trousers lay in a bedraggled heap on the floor, water pooling around them through the floorboards. Muddy bootprints were smeared in circles over the rug. Steve held the hem of the sweater, rolled over Thor’s head and arms, yanking it. “I’m going-to take-your gosh-darned-head-off,” he grunted; before there was a wet pop. Thor stumbled backwards, landing in a chair in the corner. He began to laugh.

Loki rolled his eyes. “I wish to bathe,” he said plainly before turning to the doorway. Steve’s eyes widened. “The lady got first dibs, Laufeyson. You’ll have to wait. Shouldn’t have dallied on the ridge.” Loki froze, a grimace descending.

He closed his eyes, clicking his neck with a tilt to the side. Thor laughed, shaking his head. He pointed to Loki, then to Steve. “What need have we three of hot baths?”

“Speak not to me of my affinity of baths. Tis you who had your very own bathhouse on Asgard” Loki snarled. He rolled his molars, the deep chill setting into his bones only half born from the wet clothes sticking to every crevice. He looked longingly at the bathroom door, thinking of what lay out of reach. The sweet caress of hot water on his aching muscles, covering his weather-worn limbs with the kiss of a million bubbles that only sought to bring him pleasure. A vision of your naked body sinking in foam fluttered in front of his waking eyes, your lips parted to the ceiling as you let your thighs fall open-

The boiler made an alarming rattle in the kitchen.

“I’ll check it,” he muttered, casting a final glance to the bathroom door as he passed. He heard a splash. And then a small groan of satisfaction.

In the kitchen, Loki gripped the counter-lip and hung his head. He stared at the greyed cream of the surface while seidr rolled up his body, every inch of sodden fabric plastered to him airing free. A waft hit his hair, blowing it over his shoulders. Shaking it back, his eyes meeting the row of mis-matched mugs from yesterday. “When in Nilfheim,” he mumbled to himself like a mantra.

He returned to the living room, three steaming mugs in hand. The others had managed to light a stove in the corner and were now wearing pyjamas. Tops and bottoms, Loki noticed. A rarity indeed. He looked again at the fire. The flames were small, but they were there. He decided to be pleasant. “Did you use the groove technique?” Loki smiled, setting a mug down on the armrest of Thor’s chair. The men laughed while Loki straightened, staring pensively into the licking flames. With mild interest, the god realised that this was the first time he had been in this room. No mean feat, considering that the cottage only had three downstairs. The kitchen, the bathroom, and this one. He glanced around at the sparse décor, as antiquated and dulled and beige as the other spaces. “I remember those,” Steve nodded, aiming towards a radio on a corner-shelf. Loki chuckled, before sipping his tea. He smacked his lips. “Honestly, Rogers. What possessed you to house us in this place? Surely there are nicer.” Steve shrugged. “I thought it would be good for us,” he said, brushing his pyjama bottoms. “I mean, look at this chair!?” Loki exclaimed, gesturing to where his brother sprawled. It was some kind of cream leather, cracked at the worn areas where a thousand mortal arses had sat. Stains adorned the peel of its chafed skin. “A son of Odin, in a chair such as that. It’s insulting.” The words were bitter, but a playful smile tugged at his lips. Steve saw it. “Actually it is rather comfortable, brother” Thor piped up. He re-adjusted himself, leaning backwards, “rather comfortable indee-” In a flash, his tea sloshed in the air; hands flying to grip the armrest as the whole chair slid back to a lying position. Loki jumped to his feet, seidr fizzling in the palms of his hands. “Calm down,” Steve said, patting Loki’s lower back. “It’s a recliner, it’s supposed to do that. Had those in my day too.”

There was silence but for the crackling of the fire which had grown to a healthy blaze. It was comfortable. Loki quietly transformed his clothes to the flannel pyjama bottoms that had lain neatly folded beneath his pillow upstairs. “What about the top? You’ll freeze.” Steve murmured, pulling his mug closer to his chin. Loki smiled, shaking his head. Fresh curls bounced around his collarbone. “I think not that a thin layer of cotton will help in that regard, Rogers.” “Modesty, then” Steve scoffed, nudging his head in the direction of the bathroom. Both brothers rolled their eyes.

“Our dear Agent has seen me in much more raucous states of undress, I assure you” he sniffed, staring pointedly at the flames. He could almost feel the wrinkle of Steve’s nose. There was another silence which hung between them, heavier this time. “What happened, Loki?” Steve whispered, leaning forward like a teen girl at a sleepover. He pulled the blanket in his lap to his chest. “Between you and-” he gestured with his head again towards the door. “You guys were pretty perfect together seemed like.” Loki bristled, feeling his brothers eyes on him too. He knew it would come to this. “We had an irreconcilable differing of opinion.” “On what?” “On me.”

Loki straightened, rolling his shoulders back and resting an ankle on his knee for good measure. Casual. The scratch of cheap upholstery made his back tingle. “Well that could mean all manner of things, brother. You are insufferable.”

Loki swallowed, blinking several times. Steve reached out, patting his hand gently, but Loki flapped it away. “Apparently I am...what were her words exactly? Oh, yes. Haughty. Condescending. Unwaveringly arrogant.” He looked pointedly between the men. “I mean, can you believe that?!” Thor and Steve’s eyes met, each waiting for the other to speak first.

“Well, yes” they said in sync.

Loki bristled again, raking a hand through his hair. “Not to the point where it subsumes all my admirable qualities, surely?” he said, beginning to pick at the green of his bottoms. “I mean really. Is it truly arrogance if what I say is true? I cannot help being a god.”

Silence was deafening.

Loki looked to the side, seeing Steve’s face contorted in a theatrical twist. One eyebrow was raised, lips stretched over his teeth in a grimacing caricature. “You do go on about it a lot.” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Indeed, brother.” Thor concurred. He nestled back in the recliner with a satisfied sigh. “I shouldn’t have to walk with these groceries...I am a god. I have no need of a parking permit, I am a god...I can only imagine how it is to be your significant other, especially for so long-” “Hey, Thor – did Loki tell you about ‘that time’ on Asgard?” “Why yes Rogers he did. All of them. And anyone else who’d listen. Especially the part which highlights exactly how impressive it is that he is...” “-a god,” they both finished. Loki stared between them, open mouthed. His furious gaze landed on his brother. The betrayal in his voice was palpable. “How dare you,” he growled. “You’re one to talk, spouting off about your powers and flaunting your lineage at every chance you can grasp. The audacit-” Thor raised a waggling finger in the air, pushing his feet against the chair and sitting upright. “Ah-ah-ah, brother. But I am both self-effacing and charming, isn’t that right Rogers?” he beamed. “He is quite charming.” Steve agreed, reluctantly. “You on the other hand...it comes across as more..” The three of them looked between each other. Loki’s face fell.

“Oh,” he said quietly.

Of all the times your gentle hands had cupped his, your caring words of encouragement that he think more of what he was saying; he had not listened. Not really. The armour of arrogance was a comfort to him. It was secure, unchanging. Unlike everything else. And in truth, he’d thought you’d liked it. Despite your occasional protestations.

Until the end, that was.

A creak from the hallway signalled your imminent emergence from the bathroom.

In all the commotion, none of them had heard the boiler cease its ragged howl. A few seconds later, your head poked around the door. Wetted hair fell around your shoulders, sticking to the curve of your neck. Loki looked up through his lashes, stomach fluttering as your palm slid innocently down the wooden frame. Moisture still clung to your skin.

Loki hoped you weren’t cold. “I’m going to bed, I’ll see you in the morning” you said, looking to Thor and Steve before your eyes met his. He looked away quickly. “Goodnight,” the three of them chimed, some more enthusiastically than others. You stepped out in full view for a moment, adjusting the towel around your body. “Did you use the groove technique?” you smiled, nodding to the fire. “My brother made the same joke already,” Thor said, reclining on the deceptively comfortable chair again with a flourish. “But alas, no.” Loki’s heart skipped as you focused on him. Something swam in your eyes as you twisted the towel by your armpit. Something that wasn’t irritation, or coldness. He saw your covert gaze drop to his neck, lower to his chest, then to the flat of his stomach. He shifted, curling his long legs up on the sofa.

“Join us,” he said, gesturing to an empty armchair in the corner. You shook your head, offering a weak smile. “I’m exhausted, clearly you guys have more stamina than I do.” Loki felt the mighty need to agree rise in his throat. To articulate the validity of your statement, and its infinite reasoning and commend your observations. For the first time, he was aware of its overwhelming crawl upwards like dragon-fire, sanctimonious empty words writhing like live insects in his mouth – desperate to be spat. He forced them down, under the watchful eye of Steve. The words sat in his stomach like a stone.

“Goodnight, Agent.” Loki murmured with a respectful nod. You returned it silently, before closing the door.

A sliver of open curtain cast moonlight on the wall.

Loki stared at it.

Then he stared at it some more. How long had he lain here? He turned, grasping at the vintage midgardian alarm clock on the side. He squinted. Nine-forty. Loki groaned, rolling back against the lumpy mattress. Tonight, unlike the last, sleep evaded him. Although he had only been in the maze of his thoughts for fifteen minutes, it felt like eternity. Why could he not read you? It was always so easy before, he pondered. His eyes tracked along a crack in the ceiling. Before she raised the drawbridge.

He sighed.

If what Rogers and his brother said was in truth, then it meant the unthinkable. That she was right to do what she did. Was he truly so conceited that he had let love which evaded him so long slip through his grasp for the sake of his pride? For what? To feel important for a fleeting moment? A thousand fleeting moments would be more accurate. A chill ran down his spine. Does she think that, in truth, I never cared for her at all? He closed his eyes, attempting to diminish the intrusive thought. In an act of mercy, his mind conjured the memory of you wrapped in only the towel downstairs. Hair wet, droplets kissing down your neck as you played with the side of the cotton.

‘Come here, Agent’ he would growl, spreading his thighs wider on the bed’s edge. He knew how much you loved the thickness of his thighs. At least, you used to. The version of you still in love with him would sashay across the room, bare feet leaving wet imprints on the floorboards. A coy smile playing on your pouted lips.

Would you wait until you had straddled him to release the towel, or in the moment before you did so? Loki pondered this for a moment, before deciding to indulge in both.

He could feel his cock hardening uncomfortably against the crotch of his pyjama pants, the spill of your perfect breasts into his imaginary hands making it throb. ‘Darling,’ he would sigh as he buried his face in your cleavage. His thumbs would graze your delicate nipples, guiding them to his open lips as you ground against his lap. A hand would nudge his tip inside your perfect heat before you edged down...down to meet the root. And then, you would kiss. You always wanted to kiss the first time you were fully joined. Entwined. Twin-gasps would fill the air, giving way to moans of quiet pleasure as Rogers and his brother slept next door.

Or tried to, at least. Loki spat in his hand, before slipping it beneath the waistband of his pyjamas. Cold fingers wrapped around the mass of untended lust that waited. He pumped once, pulling the foreskin back gently and letting his fist nestle against the neat of his pubic hair.

A ragged exhale escaped him.

How long has it been, he wondered briefly, before tightening his grip.

He extended his thumb, pressing harshly against velvet flesh as he swept upwards. The god’s eyes rolled back in the darkness, back arching up into his pleasure. Low pants began to pepper the air around him, each swipe of his hand more frantic than the last.

Too loud.

He bit his lip, eyes screwed shut while visions of you flashed through his mind. He settled on a memory of you in his bedroom in the tower. His hands were tied behind his back as he sat on the edge of the bed you shared, your fingers curling around his abs as they clenched beneath the touch. Your lips fastening around his trembling cock as you made him yours in each stroke of your tongue. Each slurping kiss that lingered as you sucked, his head falling back as he lost himself in you. Always, he thought between staggered breaths. Completely hers.

Loki’s fingers dug into the mattress, the rough methodical slap of his fist against flesh a din to his ears. But gods, it felt so good. He needed this. Needed to allow himself a stolen moment of pleasure where you loved him still.

Climax began to bubble in his deepest centre, swirling behind his eyelids. Loki’s thumb circled the tip with every fuck of his palm, squeezing tighter while droplets of precum made the pyjama pants damp. His teeth were gritted to the ceiling, bared in a grimace. His chin pointed upwards, the pillow folding in on his cheekbones with the force of the brace. His breaths were short. ‘Mmmm’ The god’s eyes shot open.

He paused, wincing as his fist froze tightly halfway down his cock. His ears pricked, concentrating. ‘Mmmm-uh’

Loki’s head fell to the side, facing the wall. The wall on the other side of which, you lay.

He closed his eyes, summoning every magnification of his senses that he could. Your voice. No more than a whisper, seeping through the stone.

‘Loki, yes…’

He’d know those sweet sighs of pleasure anywhere.

A breath he’d been holding rattled free, timed with a tentative tug of his cock.

He could hear everything now. The rustle of bedsheets tangled around your knees, the beat of your heart quickening as you reached your peak with him in your head. The press of your fingers on that spot just about your plump, beautiful clit. Were you imagining the flat of his tongue caressing against your desire? Loki thought you were. Orgasm began to rise alongside some unplaced feeling, his legs tensing; toes curling into the mattress.

She wants me.

In a split-second decision, he whipped the bedsheets from his body and jumped cat-like to the floor. Within two strides, he had opened the door with a creak and slipped into the cramped hallway. Your door loomed before him, adjacent to his own.

What are you doing, he thought; suddenly horrified as the chill set in. He looked down, cock hard and leaking against his pyjama pants.

He began to step back, emitting the loudest groan of a floorboard he had ever heard in his life. Loki grimaced, hushing the accursed building with clawed fingers. But it was too late. He heard the succession of your bare feet meeting the floor, and in a matter of seconds; your door opened. Just a crack. “Loki?” you warily whispered into the darkness. He cleared his throat softly, casting a glance over his shoulder before daring to meet your questioning eyes. That dragon-fire bubbled in his stomach like acid, quippy lines and heavy-handed flirtations that begged to be freed.

How had he never noticed before how much effort it took, not to let them out? I thought you might need a hand, You called for me, so I’ve come to... make you c- I know you still desire me, which is to be expected, Admit it, no one can pleasure you like me, For old times sake- Because, Loki realised, he had never tried. You opened the crack of the door wider, looking to either side of the landing suspiciously. His eyes ran from your bare feet to the hem of a nightdress falling around your thighs. He recognised that nightdress. Your favourite. It had dead leaves on it, which he never understood. But maybe now, in this place, he finally did.

You only wore it when the nights grew colder. And only when he was not there to hold you for warmth.

Which these days, he thought with a pang, is always.

All too late, the god realised he had become distracted from his newfound restraint. It had wound like ivy around his thoughts, vines twisting and flourishing with alarming speed. But there was nothing to be done about it now. “I thought you might want some... company,” he growled suggestively.

His cock pressed ferociously against his hip, covered from view by one thick forearm.

Your eyebrows rose beneath a deadpan stare. “You can’t be serious.” Like an out of body experience, Loki raised the forearm covering his crotch to rest high on the door-frame. The unmistakable scent of your arousal seeped into his nostrils, an interrupted climax lingering in the air.

Moonlight from the cracks in your curtains licked across his chest, his obliques – casting deep shadows in his cheekbones, Loki would wager.

Hair fell around his jaw, tingling the flushed skin. He could feel his manhood pressing eagerly against the cotton, as desperate for your touch as it always had been. The thrill that in mere seconds, he would feel you against him again where you belonged. The heat of your skin flush to his own, the muffled mewls from your lips as you kissed, the insatiable wandering of your hands as you devoured him like an addict’s first fix. You would be so happy. This time, Loki would make sure of that.

He looked down deep into your eyes, smouldering with all his might. “Deadly, darling.” he purred.

Your disbelieving stare fell to his crotch. It widened. “Oh my god, Loki.” you hissed. “Yes...?” he crooned presumptively in response. The rakish smile spreading barely had time to reach his eyes before the door slammed in his face, almost taking Loki’s fingers with it to the other side.

>>Chapter Three: A Long Way Down Tags (contd in comments)

@lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @holdmytesseract @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @mrs-illyrian-baby @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @muddyorbs @buttercupcookies-blog @arch-venus25 @nine-leafclover @iamlokisgloriouspurpose

#the lakes #loki x reader #loki smut #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki x female reader #loki fluff #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki angst #loki series #loki marvel #loki imagine #loki odinson #loki laufesyon x reader #loki gif #loki

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darlingdarkly · 2 months

Text

New Year, New You Part 8

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x f!reader

Personal Trainer AU

9k words

CW: dubcon!, dark fic, dark content, obsessive behavior, dirty talk, explicit language, E rated, NSFW, smut, 18+, mature themes, gaslighting

Part 1, 7, 9

You grill him with questions, demanding him to explain to you what he’s talking about. It seems obvious to you that he knows something he’s not letting on. The words fly from your mouth in a panic. “What do you mean it’s not safe? What are you talking about, Johnny? Explain!”

You see him get a little heated, a reaction you hadn’t expected, in fact the whole exchange following your inquisitions is so out of left field that it renders you speechless.

“Obviously hen, ye were a victim of a crime last night. Do ye nae see that?” You hadn’t seen that, it was so hard to remember anything about last night that drawing any kind of conclusion had so far been beyond you.

He sees it starting to click and continues, striking while the irons hot. “How many times in the past have ye gotten black out drunk, bonnie?” You have certainly had your fair share of ragers but black out drunk? To the point of almost total memory loss? Never.

“Did ye really think wakin’ up an’ nae bein’ able tae remember a damn thing was normal? Open yer eyes, lass.” He did this so well it seemed, had a way of breaking you down and making you feel small just to build you back up how he saw fit, cutting through the walls and all the bullshit to speak directly to you in a way no one before him had. It was humiliating and liberating all at once.

He sees he’s made his point. “Ah’m nae kiddin’, lass. I think ye were drugged las’ night an’ ah’d say yer awful lucky ah showed up when ah did.” His voice had taken on a kind of verbal growl, Scottish accent deepening so that it was almost hard to understand. He seemed genuinely upset, more than you could seem to get even though you were the victim, but you could feel it settling into your bones now, the unease.

Your face must be a mask of your emotions because he starts to calm now that he feels he's gotten through to you and he takes your hand into both of his. “Ye need tae understand somethin’, hen.” He seems to be mulling over the words in his head, unsure of the next thing to say. “I care about ye, I want ye tae be safe an’ happy an’ I think ye should stay with me. It’s nae safe fer ye tae be livin’ on yer own.”

You feel a bit surprised at his candidness, a show of emotions you hadn’t expected and it sends a hot flare up from your stomach and heats your cheeks. “Johnny I can’t stay.” He forces his gaze to yours, holds you hostage with it. “Why nae?”

That’s a good question, one you didn’t have an answer for. Why couldn’t you stay with him? Would it really be so bad? You’d been living on your own for so long maybe you were afraid of that change.

You opened your mouth to answer but he stopped you before you could. “Jus’ think about it. I’ll ask ye again tonight an’ if ye dinnae want tae, ah willnae make ye.” He closed it with that, getting up off the bed to signal the talk was over. “Come on, time fer yer warm up.”

After changing, you followed him out the door and into unfamiliar territory, the rest of the house you’ve yet to see. He leads you into an open living area that blended into a nice big kitchen. The house looked like it could house a whole family let alone just the two of you. You followed as your head craned and took it all in. The rent must have been astronomical but it was still Johnny’s house and he didn’t bother with extravagancies. It was spacious but also sparsely decorated making it look huge in perspective.

You cut through the space and into another room. You hadn’t really expected him to have a personal home gym, since he worked at one you naturally assumed he’d just go to work to exercise. The middle of the room was empty and matted, heavy duty, black pads interlocked like puzzle pieces made a twelve by twelve square in the center. The walls of the room were lined with full weight racks, adjustable benches, a treadmill and a power tower.

He stops in the middle of the black square and motions for you to sit. You sit, criss cross applesauce, across from him and he motions for you to begin. You start to go through your warm ups, starting with your sit-ups. He holds your feet and keeps count for you, his grin widening as you progressed.

Today was different and in more ways than one, when you’d finished he had you sit up and hold his feet, meaning for this to be a joint session for the both of you instead of just one sided as it normally was. You had to sit with your knees on the toes of his feet to keep him weighted down and he went for three reps of twenty instead of ten. You could feel the strength he possessed, the power held in the corded muscles of his thighs and calves by just holding him down.

You moved through the first set and into the next, keeping count of his push ups and even clumsily crawling up on his back when he insisted on needing your added weight. While it’d only really been a week since you’d stopped, you found that you’d come to miss this. Partly the healthy routine you’d built with him and partly his presence itself. Slipping back into it was not only easy but welcoming and this new way of having him doing it right along with you was something you secretly found yourself falling in love with.

You practically floated through your warm ups, hardly feeling the burn of them. You sat on the mat with your legs stretched out in front of you in a V. Without any assistance from him you managed a full, complete split and you couldn’t quite hide the elation you felt when his eyes lit up and praise poured from his lips.

Limber and pliant you both rose up from the mat and he walked you over to the power tower, standing out from you as you positioned yourself underneath the pull up bar. You jumped and grabbed ahold of the cool metal. You began, pulling yourself up until your chin passed the bar and then dropping down again.

It was hard but you were determined to finish, huffing and puffing by the last rep but still able to pull yourself past the point without stopping. You caught your breath as he muscled through his. You had long recovered when he finally jumped down, making your measly three look like light work as he managed a solid fifteen before finally coming to a halt.

You knew the next portion was the treadmill but as you made to mount it he stopped you. “Let’s go fer a real run, what dae ye think?” You stopped to consider it. You’d always wanted to go for a real jog, much preferring the open air of outside to the confines of an automated conveyor belt but had been much too scared to attempt such a thing on your own.

You’d always heard stories of women going out on jogs and simply never returning, their bodies found weeks later floating in rivers or lying in ditches. As alluring as the idea was your fears had always kept you inside but with a man like Johnny by your side you could pretty much garuntee total safety.

The prospect of finally getting to do as you pleased excited you and you found yourself chomping at the bit to go. He grabbed his house keys and escorted you to the door, locking it tight behind him and stepping up beside you on the sidewalk. “Are ye ready?”

You smiled at him and nodded, it must have been contagious because one of his own sprung up on his face, lighting it up and making his blue eyes sparkle in the sun.

“There’s a park just doon the way. We’ll head there, do a lap an’ loop back.” You started at a light jog and was pleasantly surprised to see him keep the pace you’d set. You were a bit worried you’d be struggling to match him the whole way, although he did talk most of the way while you struggled to manage anything more than one word replies.

It was a beautiful day, the weather was mild and there was a cool breeze at your back like gentle fingers prodding you encouragingly along. You were suddenly glad for this strange turn of events, as troubling as it seemed at first. Feeling down all last week and then reluctant to go out with Nancy, the anxiety you’d felt in the drive to the club and then somehow ending up in Johnny’s bed the next morning.

Somehow even unable to remember any of the events from the night before, something that, in all reality should leave you mortified and sick left you only feeling a strange sense of calm, like in the end it had all worked out how it was meant to be. You found yourself thinking about this morning and how he’d been almost mad at you for not being more concerned about last night, but you just couldn’t feel it.

There was eventually an underlying sense of unease that he’d practically forced onto you but it was only fleeting, like someone who’s fallen asleep at the wheel only to wake up in the hospital and be informed that you were lucky to be alive. It was hard to understand the reality of your danger when you’d walked away unscathed and without really having experienced it.

Maybe it was shell shock and you just weren’t completely grasping the reality of the situation but you weren’t holding your breath, and as far as taking him up on his offer you just weren’t all that convinced. While it was, admittedly, a problem that you’d drank too much and been unable to make it home last night, you failed to see any real danger in living by yourself.

You’d been doing fine thus far and didn’t see why that should have reason to change. You decided then that you’d made up your mind, you’d spend the day with Johnny, as gratitude for taking such good care of you in a time of need and just to enjoy it as well, it was only early in the afternoon but it was turning out to be a pretty good day in your book. You’d tell him later on when he asked that there really was no reason for you to stay with him. He’d understand, you were sure.

“Lass?” You were pulled away from your thoughts and back to the present. “Hmm?”

“I said what do ye think about havin’ fer dinner. I make an ossobuco that’ll bring ye tae tears.” You had no idea what that was but just expressed your interest anyway as you turned off of the sidewalk and into the entrance to the park.

It was one you recognized, beautfiully landscaped and as old as the hills, this park had been around for as long as you could remember, although it’d been ages since you’d been. They’d updated the playground and had redone the bridge over the pond, there was a flock of geese preening themselves on the surface of the dark, calm water.

You came to a stop at the peak of the bridge, glancing down at your Fitbit and checking your pulse. Johnny leaned his forearms onto the railing and leaned down for a look into the pond as you both caught your breath. He broke the peaceful silence that had settled between the two of you.

“I brought me mum here once. She used tae love feedin’ the swans at the pond near our house when I was wee. Used tae take me over there on our morning walks and I used tae make her laugh tryin’ tae catch one. Ah’ve taken more than one swan nip tae the arse as a lad.” You couldn’t help but laugh imagining him chasing the birds that probably matched him in size as a kid and then laughed some more as you imagined them chasing him, angry and nipping at his heels.

He laughed with you and as you nestled in next to him to stare out on the pond, just as the fit settled he leaned in close, nudged up against your side. “Ye’ll meet her if ye stay long enough ye know. She’d love ye.”

You felt a pang of uncomfortable awkwardness as he brought up the idea of you staying again. You didn’t want to dissapoint him by ruining the moment but you didn’t want to lead him on either. “Johnny…”

He stopped you. “Nae. Dinnae say anything yet. Ah was jus’ sayin’.”

You fell back into silence, a much more uncomfortable one this time but he wouldn’t let it set in as he pushed you back into a jog and lead you over the end of the bridge. It looped back around to where you’d started and it was only a quick jog back to his place where you ended your session for the day.

You both go inside and head for the kitchen, he pulls a blender hidden in a cabinet and sets it up on the counter before pulling out a litany of fruits along with a knife and small cutting board. He chops as he talks, going over your progress and performance, comparing it to your starting time and pace and mooning over the results.

He stops talking as he dumps the fruit into the blender and turns it on, the concoction inside swirling into a deep green slurry. When it’s homogenous he stops and pulls two glasses from a different cupboard. The juice makes a wet plop as it fills the glass and he slides one your way after sticking a bright orange straw down into its depths.

You pull it in front of you and take a long sip, confident in his smoothie skills at this point and relish in the way the sweet cool drink slides over your tongue and down your throat, already working to rejuvenate you.

He downs his quickly, an amazing feat that would surely leave you numb with brain freeze. Setting the glass down in the sink he rounds the counter to you. “I’m goin’ tae take a quick shower and then it’s yer turn.” He slides up close, lean chest pressing into your back and placing a kiss on the back of your neck that sent chills down your spine. “Unless ye want tae join me, that is.”

You do want to, nothing sounds better but you’re still tired from your session and you’ve experienced Johnny in his fulty, intense and unrelenting. If you went at it now you may never recover so you decline, opting to finish your drink and wait your turn. He leaves you and you turn on the stool to take in the decor. The little there is of it seems to be concentrated on a shelf in the corner.

You hop off the stool and walk tentatively over to it, surveying the shelves. There’s a few trophies, the plaques on each read that they’re awarded from some gym for a weightlifting competition. His name and the years were engraved in the middle of the plaque, he’d won them three years consecutively.

The other shelves were adorned with photographs. You glanced at them one by one, picking out Johnny’s radiant smile in each. Here’s one with him on the bank of a river, huddled together with a bunch of people all wearing the same bright orange helmets and yellow vests in varying states of soaked, they’re all holding short stubby oars and smiling.

The next one is a much larger group of people, they’re all different ages but share similar qualities, their eyes and noses on different faces but seem to be shaped from the same clay by the same hands. They’re assembled in front of a sign that reads “MacTavish Family Reunion” and it takes you a moment to pick out Johnny from the crowd of baby blues and deep rich browns. You finally spot him clustered in the back with two other young men hanging off of his shoulders. They look like three of a rambunctious kind.

Beside that is Johnny in a long black robe and mortarboard, from the cap dangles a dark green tassel that hangs in the poofy frizz of long dark brown curls belonging to a shorter stout woman. Her eyes are so bright and shockingly blue they couldn’t belong to anyone other than Johnny’s mother. She looks soft and sweet but strong as she beams at the camera. Her face exudes nothing but pride and adoration for her son. Johnny looks young and happy, his eyes reflect the yet untapped potential of the start of his adult life.

“That’s mah mum an’ I at mah graduation.” His sudden presence startles you and you’re glad to have only been leaning in to observe the photographs instead of holding them, you’re certain you would have dropped them had it been the case.

“Jesus, Johnny. You scared me.” He smiles, a deep grin that you can tell he’s a bit satisfied to have been able to give you a start, despite his following apology. “Sorry lass, Dinnae mean tae make ye jump.”

There’s a small span of awkward silence and to cease it you ask him about the first picture, the one by the river.

He lets out a small hearty laugh and reaches past you to lift the frame off the shelf, bringing it closer like having it here in his hands will give him a better feel for the memories they contain.

“Ah used tae go white water raftin’ all the time. This was a group I joined when ah started. We had just cleared a class four river fer tha first time.” You smile as he reminisces, telling just by his eyes that he’s reliving it a little as he talks.

“Do you still do it? River raft?” He shakes his head and places the picture back on the shelf where it had been. “Nae anymore. Too dangerous.”

He sighs a little, the golden memory disappearing and perhaps leaving a plume of mild gloom in its place but if it had affected him too badly it didn’t show, as his ever radiant smile resurfaced like it’d never retreated.

“Yer turn, hen. The bathrooms in mah room it’s the far door on the left.” You make your way back towards his bedroom as he stations himself behind the sink and busies himself with the dishes.

You pick through the bag on the bed, hem hawing over what to wear when you just decide to bring the whole bag with you into the bathroom. You turn on the shower and let it warm as you retrieve your soap, shampoo and conditioner.

After quickly undressing you step into the warm jet and let it soak into your skin. There was a lot to think about and showers had always seemed like the best time to ponder things. You’re still, even now, in awe at just how things had turned in the past day. You certainly didn’t believe you’d be showering at his place at this time the day before. You poured some body wash into your palm, lathering it as you ruminated.

And then there was his offer, so out of the blue and generous of him. To stay at his place with him and for what? Why? Because you’d drank a little too much the night before and just couldn’t recall any of it? While it’d never been the case for you before now didn’t mean it was impossible for you to become black out drunk. It wasn’t an impossibility, you’d read somewhere that the body's chemical makeup changes roughly every seven years. People all the time grow out of and even develop new allergies as their life progressed. Meaning it was completely possible for your reactions to an influx of alcohol to change over time.

At least, that’s how you justified it to yourself as you rinsed the suds from your skin and began to wash your hair. It just didn’t make sense to jump to conclusions so hastily. And stay for how long? Certainly he didn’t mean to tell you that you were welcome to move in indefinitely. You don’t just extend that kind of an offer to someone like that, he barely knew you. Or did he?

It didn’t matter. For now you just couldn’t bring yourself to impose upon him like that, even if he did offer it up so willingly and insistent. After dinner, you’d gently and politely refuse. He did after all say he wouldn’t make you if you didn’t want to.

You rinse off and turn off the stream, letting most of the water drip off you before stepping out and wrapping yourself in a warm, fluffy towel from the rack. You finally pick out an outfit and stick with it, pulling it on and cleaning up after yourself as you finished, you’d rather not leave a mess for him to contend with later on top of everything he’d already done for you.

You close the door to his bedroom behind you as you step out into the open living room. You had expected him to be unwinding on the couch but instead he was up and pulling on jacket, he had his shoes on and keys in hand. As he spotted you he smiled and stepped towards you.

“Ah need a few things from the store fer dinner. Will ye join me fer a ride?” You smile and nod, turning back towards the room to put on some shoes and retrieve your phone and wallet before joining him to leave. It’s a short walk through the front entrance of his home to the garage. It’s barren save for a big red toolbox and a few boxes stacked in a far corner. His truck takes up the majority of the space, a fairly new dark blue Toyota Tundra. Totally on brand for him, clean and gleaming under the fluorescent lights overhead. He pulls open the passenger side door for you to climb in, which flusters you a bit.

You scurry to climb into it and sit back into the comfy seat as he shuts your door and rounds the vehicle to climb in on his side.

You ride in comfortable silence as he drives you a few blocks down the road to the little grocery mart you’d been to on occasion when you were in need of something on this side of town. He parks and you’re glad to scoot out of the door and join him before he has time to come around and open the door for you again. The chivalry was nice but always managed to make you feel awkward instead of special.

You’re taken by surprise as he takes your hand in his and both make your way towards the entrance. The warmth of his hand envelops yours, his thumb draws lazy, soothing circles on the back of your hand and the flustered feeling you’d been feeling, a combination of the new experience of being seen with him in public and him being so gentlemanly, eases.

You walk side by side out of the car park and into the brightly lit store. He picks up one of the little baskets from a metal cage and begins veering towards the back of the store. He seems to know exactly what he needs and where it all is so you just lose yourself a bit in the moment, looking at things on the shelves and watching him as he shops.

Normally when you shop by yourself it’s a race. A race to get everything you need and get out as fast as humanly possible, it’s something about being out in public for too long that makes your skin crawl. But this. This is different. Something about being with Johnny puts you at an inexplicable ease. He’s confident and knowledgeable, and for once you don’t feel like your mind is moving a million miles a minute under the scrutiny of every other set of eyes in the building. You can just simply relax and be, let him take over.

In produce you watch him pick up three different onions that, to you, look no different but he rolls them in the palm of his hand and gives them each a light toss in the air. Somehow— that decides it and he puts two of them back and places the chosen one down in the basket.

Every time he lets go of your hand for something you’re sure that’s the end of it, just knowing the moment will be lost but he surprises you each time anew when he comes back to you and takes it again, leading you through the sections hand in hand.

You stop in the spirits aisle and grimace as he picks up a bottle of dry red wine. The front is embossed with a duck in a yellow slicker, an umbrella cocked jauntily and tucked securely under one white wing, shielding him from a shower of rain falling from a single dark cloud that looms over its head. In a bright gold scroll underneath this curious image are the words “Rain Duck”. The image is very reminiscent of the Morton salt girl you’d always seen in the spice cabinet of your childhood home.

He looks over and catches your look of disgust and laughs, a hearty cheerful sound that momentarily wipes the scowl from your face and threatens to send you into your own fit of meek giggles. “Dinnae worry hen, s’just fer the sauce. Will nae even taste it, ah promise.”

He sets it down in the basket and heads towards the front of the store to checkout. You stand in line and wait your turn until the cashier clears the person in front of you and Johnny begins to empty his basket onto the conveyor belt one item at a time.

By the time he’d finished, the cashier, a tall skinny man with dark rimmed glasses had already begun to ring you up and Johnny suddenly smacks the palm of his hand to his forehead. “Ahhhh shite. Ah forgot somethin’. Stay here with the groceries bonnie, I’ll be right back.”

He takes off in a power walk towards the back of the store and disappears around a shelf. You rock back and forth on your feet and pray that by the time the cashier is done Johnny will be back. You know if he’s not you’ll cave to the pressure of the people behind you and end up paying for everything yourself, just so you don’t hold the line.

You crane over the partitions of shelves that mark the separate checkout lanes in search of Johnny but your attention is redirected when the cashier clears his throat and calls out to you to get your attention. “Excuse me, miss.”

You turn, dreading the worst but there’s still a good amount of items left unscanned and he’s got the bottle of Rain Duck held past the scanner, looking to you attentively.

You let out a sigh of relief as you realize he only needs your ID to finish ringing up the wine. You pull your wallet from your purse and the relief you had felt instantly dissipates. The pleasantly relaxed state you’d been lulled into suddenly felt like the calm prelude to a horrifying nightmare. The clear plastic pane that normally covered your horrible ID photo was empty. You tipped it open, hoping for some horrible trick of the light or optical illusion but the sleeve was empty.

You quickly shuffled through the individual card sleeves, hoping against hope that you’d somehow slipped it into one of them by mistake but it wasn’t there. Your ID was missing. The panic sets in the pit of your stomach like a lead ball as Johnny squeezes up behind you holding a carton of heavy cream. His smile disappears when he sees your face.

He quickly sets the heavy cream down on the belt and puts a hand on your shoulder. “Bonnie, what is it? What’s wrong?”

The cashier calls out to him impatiently. “Sir?” Johnny looks up at him, with death glaring from his eyes before turning back to you. “Come on, lass. What’s the matter?” You whisper because it’s all you can muster, your vocal cords withered to nothing in fright.

“My ID. It’s gone.” The cashier tried again to get Johnny’s attention and you barely hear Johnny as he speaks very low and angrily at the man behind the counter. Johnny must have done as he asked though because soon enough you feel Johnny’s arms gently pulling you towards the exit. It makes you snap out of your horror for a moment and offer to help carry the bags back to his truck but he’s having none of it, insisting on carrying the whole load in two huge armloads all the way back himself.

You slip into the passenger seat as he puts the groceries in the back and only look up from staring at the lines in your denim jeans when the driver side door shuts and the cab is silent for a moment. He’s looking at you, very concerned and you realize he’s waiting for you to explain in more detail.

“My ID is gone. Completely gone.” He seems to think for a moment before he responds and asks if you’d checked your purse. You quickly do as he’d suggested and go through it but it’s not there either and the momentary hope you’d felt at his suggestion died almost as soon as it’d been born.

“Maybe I dropped it at the club.” A smile begins to form on your face as you grasp at anything other than the truth. “That’s it Johnny! We’ve gotta go back to the club. They’ll have found it cleaning up! And we can go get it and everything’s fine!” He doesn’t look convinced as you look over to him for validation.

“Lass, be honest with yerself fer a moment. How often do ye take yer ID out of yer wallet when ye need it?” Your smile began to fade, he was right. Anytime you needed it you just opened it and flashed it without ever taking it out of the slot, you’d bought that wallet specifically for that feature because you were so worried about losing it.

“I ken ye didnae want tae believe what happened tae ye, but there’s no denyin’ it now. Someone targeted ye last night. Picked ye out of the crowd and drugged yer drink when ye werenae lookin’ an’ they took yer ID in case they couldnae seal the deal right away. He’s got yer address an’ yer name an’ even yer picture.”

You listen to him talk as the cold, cruel hand of reality closes around your throat and the disgust of being violated in such a thorough way begins to worm its way under your skin. You can feel Johnny struggling to find words to comfort you from the seat next to you but he must not find any that are adequate because he starts the truck instead and drives you home in a silence that had on the way been comfortable and passive but now was pregnant with tension and doom.

You get back to his place and he unloads the truck as you sit inside and try not to panic at the situation you’ve found yourself in. You thank your lucky stars that Johnny had found you and brought you home now. If you’d somehow miraculously made it home without incident this mysterious man could have crept into your home while you were incapacitated and done any number of things to you. You imagined all the horrifying possibilities, each more daunting than the last as he unpacked and put everything away.

He must sense your spiraling thoughts because he calls you into the kitchen with him as he starts to cook. Chopping onions, heating shallow pools of oil in two different skillets, measuring out beef broth and flour and water in varying amounts as he practices the fine art of mise en place.

You try, really truly try not to let the fear of your predicament gnaw away at you too hard but it’s almost an act in futility. He looks up at you after cracking his third shot and missed joke while dredging the ox tails in flour and notices you staring down at your hands in deeply troubled thought.

He stops what he’s doing and comes over to the counter, bending down to lean over its sturdy surface and get your attention. You look up at him and feel your heart skip a little as he has no business being so damn attractive covered in flour like he is.

“Listen hen. I ken yer goin through it right now. Probably spooked right out of yer tree, but I promise ye yer in no danger here. I dare him tae walk through that door right now. I swear tae ye ill dismantle him with my flour covered hands before he even so much as touches a hair on yer bonnie head.”

You can’t help but smile as you imagine him wrecking your faceless oppressor, flour flying about in clouds as the impact of his blows knock it loose from his hands.

“There’s tha’ smile. Now be a doll an’ open mah wine fer me. I forgot before ah got all messy.”

You stand from your stool and open the drawer he directs you towards to locate the corkscrew. The rest of the preparation you do in a much better mood. While you had a brand new serious problem on your hands there was no need in sulking over it when there was nothing you could do at the moment and anytime spent with Johnny was hard not to enjoy.

He plated your portion and set you down across from him so he could watch your first bite. You wanted him to eat with you, a bit self conscious at him just watching you eat but he insisted he had to start on dessert before he could sit down to dinner.

You cut the big chunk of meat with your knife and fork and then dipped it down in the pool of sauce just as he’d instructed you to. He watched you intently as you brought the fork to your mouth and took your first bite.

Your eyes widen before half closing, you can’t help the soft moan that resounds as the tender meat and rich, savory sauce feel like they pull your taste buds into their arms and hug them soft and sweetly. It’s absolutely divine and you look up from your plate to see Johnny, smug as a bug grinning wolfily at your reactions.

“Told ye it’d bring ye tae tears.” You can’t even respond, just swallow and take another eager bite, this time with a little of the risotto from the bed that the meat is resting on. “Jesus Christ, Johnny. Where in the fuck did you learn to cook like this?”

His grin is so wide you’re worried it’ll be stuck that way and to your amusement you can tell his cheeks have reddened even under his nice, even tan. “Yer makin’ me blush, hen. S’just what ah’ve picked up along tha way. Ye could do it too. I could teach ye.”

You nod enthusiastically, you’d like that very much and you have a feeling so would he. You really dig into your meal in earnest as he works. His back is to you as he prepares dessert on the stove and you wonder just what it might be. Steam rises up in thin streams as he pours something into two ramekins and sticks them in the oven.

By the time you’re done he’s cracking into his own dinner as you begin working on the dishes. He protests but you stay firm that if he cooked the absolute least you could do was help clean up. He finally relented and let you work as he ate as quickly as he could so he could help dry the dishes at least.

By the time everything was done so was the dessert and he pulled it from the oven to cool as he leaned over the counter and held your gaze raptly with his. “It’s time, lass. What have ye decided?”

But with the way he’s staring you down it feels like he’s on the edge of his seat. Those blue eyes piercing yours and you know every second you don’t answer is killing him, you can read it all over his face so even though you’d made your mind up you told him you weren’t sure.

He looked a bit dejected but it wasn’t the broken disappointment you knew you’d have been graced with if you’d downright shut his proposition down. His eyes light up suddenly in a way you hadn’t been expecting like he’d just had the idea of a century.

“Play a game with me, lass.” You regarded him distrustfully. “What kind of game, Johnny?”

“I’ll show ye, come on.” You follow after him into the bedroom, a bit wary. He stops in front of the pull up bar and turns back towards you.

“Johnny you and I both know there’s no way I’m besting you in a pull up contest, I’d be mental to even try. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Ohhh no, hen. Nothing like tha’, yer right t’wouldnae be fair. All I want ye tae do is hang from the bar. Can ye do that?”

You jump up and grab the bar to see if you’ve got the right idea and he smiles and nods. “Jus’ like that, all ye’ve gotta do is not let go. Think ye can handle it?”

You eyed him suspiciously. “What’s the catch?” You felt like there was something hidden in this that he wasn’t revealing and you weren’t wrong.

“Well it would nae be a game if there was nae some kind of a catch now would it, hen?” You swallow hard and watch him saddle closer, pinning you back into the cool metal bars.

“Ye’ve got tae hold yerself up until ye come.” His smirk widens as your mouth drops open a little, at first for some kind of rebuttal but you can’t come up with anything to say so it just hangs open as your mind blanks.

You finally get a grip enough to ask him to explain. “Well, yer goin’ tae hang onto tha bar an’ ah’m goin’ tae try mah hardest tae make ye come. If ye can hold onto it just until then, then you win but if ye cannae do it, an’ ye let go then I win.”

You mull over his terms and he just leans back a bit and lets you, waiting for your answer. Instead of giving him one you inquire further. “What do I get if I win?”

His answer is another simple question. “What do ye want?” A simple question that was complicated to find an answer for. What did you want from him? After a moment's thought you answered. “I want you to tell me everything you remember about last night and I want you to help me find this guy that did this to me. I don’t want to live in fear like this. You take me up to the club and we ask if they found my ID and if not then we ask to see the video footage of that night.”

“Hen, there’s no garuntee—“ You stop him. “I know. Just promise me if I win you’ll help me.” He looks a bit troubled, like he hadn’t meant for this to take this kind of turn and you wonder for a moment if he’ll back out.

“If I win ye have tae tell me the real reason ye never came back to the gym an’ never texted me an’ just disappeared.” You go to answer when he adds. “And ye stay.”

You sort of knew he was going to play that and even though you’d anticipated it, it still manages to fluster you hearing it.

You think about it real hard, just being around him had you more or less worked up all day, you were fairly confident that you could come quickly, even now just having discussed the game with him you knew your panties were damp. But could you hold yourself up for that length of time?

Reluctantly, you accepted. You even felt sure enough to jest him a bit about how easy of a win this would be for you, it was a decision you came to regret as he leaned in close to your ear and whispered. “Ah’m goin’ tae make ye eat those words, hen.”

A shudder of anticipation passed through you as he kissed you on your neck, just below your ear with a pass of his velvet soft tongue, giving you a little taste of what was to come.

The game had apparently begun as he stooped down to help shed you of your jeans, pulling them down and kissing the skin revealed as he exposed it. Next came your panties and they were damp, a fact that tore a rumble of approval from his chest but he wouldn’t touch you yet.

“Cannae give ye too much of a head start now can we?” He patted the side of your thigh curtly. “Up up.”

You do as he says and it’s a little late to be self conscious now but you can’t help it as you dangle from the metal rod and he spreads your thighs so you’re open to him. You worry he’s going to cheat you a bit as he stares at your bare pussy and you begin to complain when it dies in your throat as his tongue licks a broad stripe up the length of your slit. “Shit!”

He chuckles a little and dives in, resting his hands in the crooks of your knees but offering no support as he begins to eat you out in earnest. You can’t help but moan, your eyes glossy and unfocused as you stare down at him feasting on you from below. It feels like nothing you’ve ever experienced, the strain in your arms adding an element of pain that scratches a hidden itch in the back of your brain.

You shift in his hold uncomfortably as his tongue darts into your entrance, collecting your juices on his tongue and drinking them down. You want, so desperately, to be able to grip him by the Mohawk and hold onto him for dear life but you can’t so you squeeze the bar in your grip and sweetly moan his name instead.

His tongue finds your clit and it just about throws you over the edge but proves to be not quite enough as you chase it in hopes of victory. His hands squeeze and grope the flesh of your thighs and ass as he eats. You thought at the start of this that you would have had this in the bag but the stretch of your arms was outweighing the pull of your pleasure.

It wasn’t for a lack of Johnny’s enthusiasm, his head stayed buried in the heat of your pussy the whole time as he drove you towards the edge as quickly and efficiently as possible. Despite the burn in your biceps you could feel your orgasm building to a boiling point, you had no doubt you’d be coming soon but would it be soon enough for you to win?

He suddenly began to run quick sharp circles over the top of your clit with the pad of his thumb, while his tongue laps at your entrance like a bear to a beehive hole. It’s so good you can’t help but moan, low and dragging as you careen towards the center of the nova of pleasure threatening to consume you whole.

Your wrists tremble and a cramp unlike any you’ve ever experienced begins to glow like a white hot coal in your armpit and it’s beyond you to be able to hold on any longer. Your pinky finger slips first and then the rest quickly follow. You squeal as you realize you’re going to fall but his arms push your legs up onto his shoulders and he catches you just as you let go.

A flood of relief flows through your aching arms and you realize you’ve lost but the sting of defeat plays second fiddle to the massive orgasm that takes you by the throat just an instant later. He holds you up with the strength in his arms alone as you come undone above him. He spins around as your thighs still tremble and gently places you on the bed.

You are still very sensitive and your thighs go to clench shut when they’re blocked by one wide knee. He wastes no time in slotting himself between them, his mouth crashing to yours as you taste yourself on his lips and tongue. He cages you beneath him, pulling off your lips to bite and suck at your neck. His hands roam you freely, pulling at your top until it’s up over your head and lifting you up for access to the clasp of your bra.

With it successfully pulled away from your breasts he dives down and devours them, lips wrapping around one pert nipple as the other he gropes with the full palm of his hand, trying to hold as much of it as possible. You nearly shriek with the overstimulation of it and he pulls away to whisper both praise and apologies.

“Jus’ cannae help it, bonnie. Need tae be inside you, please? Let me fuck you, hen. Been cravin’ tha’ perfect little pussy. Come on, lass. Give it tae me.” He’s rubbing the very prominent bulge of his cock against your thigh all the while and you can’t help but clench around nothing in anticipation.

“Fuck Johnny! Do it! Fill me up.” He wastes no time, quickly abandoning your breasts to free himself from the confinements of his jeans. He doesn’t even get them down all the way before he’s fishing himself from his boxers and rubbing the tip hurriedly up and down your slit. You jump and squeal at the sensation and he coos more apologies at you before lining himself up and pushing inside.

You moan in unison as he stretches you open and his arms come up to brace himself on either side of your head. He muffles your moans with his mouth as he leans down and kisses you, swallowing them up as he begins to move and your hands fly to his arms, bracing yourself against the onslaught that is the drag of his fat cock.

You pull away for air and immediately expel it into a high pitched whine as he picks up a fast and steady rhythm, hips knocking into yours on each upward thrust. The fact that you've already came does nothing to alleviate the burn that accompanies the stretch of him. He’s a force and you can do nothing against it but hold on.

You try to make sense of what he’s saying as he fucks you stupid but only catch half of it. Something about keeping you safe forever. Poorly worded promises and vows pouring from his mouth as he uses you to reach his release.

You can feel it fast approaching and can do nothing but steel yourself against it as he pounds a second orgasm from you, the snap of his hips and the drive of his cock demands it of you. “Aww fuck, hen. Are ye gonna come fer me again? Hmm? Let me feel it. Come on lass, let me take care of ye forever. Ye can have this fer the rest of our lives if ye jus’ come fer me right now.”

He says it like you have a choice in the matter as you become locked in the throes of your ecstasy brought forth by his hand and in the midst of yours you vaguely feel him reach his. Coming hard and fast deep inside the tight clutch of your pussy.

It takes you both an eternity to recover and when he finally rolls off you, you realize you’d half fallen asleep, cradled safely under him, worn out and sated.

After a moment he gets up and leaves the room and he’s gone forever to the point where you almost get up to go after him but he comes back in with two small white dishes in hand along with two spoons.

You sit up on one elbow as he hands you one and the accompanying silverware. Looking down at it you can see a dark golden brown crust, a glassy glaze over the surface but are otherwise clueless as to what’s before you. You watch him experimentally as he takes the handle of the spoon in between his thumb and index finger and brings the bowl of the spoon down on top of the crust with an audible smack. The crust breaks and there’s a jiggly dense cream beneath.

Following suit, you bring your spoon down onto yours and scoop up a glob of the pale white gelatin. You take a bite and smile as the cool, sweet cream melts over your tongue. You sit there with him, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms and eating crème brûlée.

It gets you thinking, you could have this indefinitely. Do this every night if you’d like and as if reading your thoughts he speaks.

“I won, but the choice is still yers. Stay with me, hen. Ah’ll keep ye safe. No worries, no lookin’ over yer shoulder forever or double checkin’ yer locks all yer life. Let me take care of ye. I want to, an tha’s honest.”

You stare at him, his blue eyes are soft and filled with adoration and honesty. He really wants you here with him and is that really so bad? How many times are you gonna pass up this opportunity before it’s gone? And will you be looking back later with regret once the door has closed?

You have to drop his gaze to decide but recapture it once you do. You go to tell him “Ok, but only until I’ve found a new place.” but he seizes you in his arms after the first word and pulls you hard against him like a five year old child handed a cat and told they can keep it.

“Johnny! You’re squishing me!” You complain but the sensation isn’t entirely unpleasant.

He does everything with you side by side for the rest of the night. He changes with you, he brushes his teeth with you, he even lingers around when you try to go to the bathroom before bed, it takes a good amount of effort on your part to make him leave the room but you know he’s stood just outside the cracked door that he neglects to close on the way out.

Climbing under the sheets with him you wonder just how sleeping together for the first night is gonna go, actually wondering if you’ll get any sleep at all but then he pulls you into his chest and to your surprise he doesn’t try anything sexual. He doesn’t rub a hard bulge against you or grope your tits. He just wants you close, his warm chest filling out the dip of your back, his legs entangle themselves with yours, his feet even nudge yours affectionately in lazy passes.

It’s a while before either of you speak and Johnny thought you’d been long asleep when you say “I can’t afford a membership.” There’s a pause in your words and just when he understands what you’re saying you say more. “That’s why I didn’t come back to the gym, I thought it’d be easier.. for both of us.. if I just disappeared.”

And there’s something about your honesty, the way you’d remembered and honored your whole end of the bargain, the candidness of revealing you struggled with the decision, the mild sleepy drag of your voice that’s barely audible in the darkness that pulls directly on his heart and he couldn’t articulate a response if he’d tried so he doesn’t.

Maybe you believe he’s asleep and maybe it’s better that way. But he’s not. A few moments later he hears your breathing even out and he knows from the previous night that you’re asleep. He lays awake long after that holding you.

He thinks about you and how he’d finally got you to see reason. He thinks about times when the outcome of a situation is more valuable and important— the greater good one might say, than the means it took to reach it. Omelets, for instance, constitute broken eggs.

It takes a certain amount of necessary malice for these things. An agent who realizes what’s at stake and what’s to gain, willing to act on these conditions and set them right, no matter the cost. And lastly, he thinks about your ID, sitting snuggly behind his in his wallet. Tomorrow after he drops you off at work he’ll dispose of it. Maybe burn it, maybe shred it, maybe tie it to a heavy rock and throw it off the bridge at the park, watch it sink into the murky, goose poop filled pond until it gets too deep to see.

No one will know. But Johnny will. Johnny will know that in the end, his end, it justified his means. You are safe and you are his and there is no means too heinous, no act too profound to reach it.

#cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #cod soap #twdubcon #dark!johnny #darkfic #johnny soap mctavish x you

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kentosovertime · 1 month

Text

𝕖𝕔𝕔𝕖𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕤𝕕𝕚𝕒𝕤𝕥; (n.) someone who only pretends to smile

𝕤𝕪𝕟𝕠𝕡𝕤𝕚𝕤… when geto and gojo grow apart, resulting in their break up, gojo finds friendship and belonging with you and when geto returns he decides he wants you for himself 𝕚𝕟𝕗𝕠… 2.7k wc, college!au series, satosugu, geto x gojo x afab!reader, explicit content and language, includes themes of manipulation, jealousy, angst, spiteful behavior, etc. toxic friendships, emotionally constipated men, mentions of alcohol, exhibitionism, voyeurism, heavy petting 𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣… reblogs and likes are appreciated 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥… send me an ask (link) if you want to be tagged

𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 | 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 | 𝕥𝕒𝕘 𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 | 𝕒𝕤𝕜 𝕓𝕠𝕩

Satoru waits until he hears the refrigerator close in the kitchen and footsteps approach the front door of the apartment before he leaves his room to get ready for class. He frowns to himself, sighing heavily as he goes to make a quick breakfast and pack his bag.

He shakes his protein in his shaker bottle and scrolls mindlessly through his notifications to distract his self loathing thoughts. There are plenty of notifications for matches on his phone… Maybe he could find someone new to take some of his restlessness out on?

Satoru is in the middle of messaging a girl back with a small, satisfied smirk when keys jingle in the door and Geto comes back in, stopping short when he takes in the app on Satoru’s screen.

“Forgot my laptop…” He mutters and disappears into the room they used to share, coming out a moment later with it propped in his arms.

Satoru bites the inside of his cheek, looking down at his phone without a response. Sometimes he really despises how much he still cares about Geto. When their relationship had blown up in their faces, he hadn’t pressed him to move out. It was hard enough to find an apartment in a college town and it was quite another thing to afford one alone.

After he had stormed out that night, he came back when he knew Geto would be at work, emptying his belongings from their room and moving into the sparse guest room that used to be his before they finally decided to give into the tension between them. He sighs at the memory, something deep and tucked away in his heart aching for something that could no longer be. He swallows around the lump in his throat, remembering how happy he was that Geto was away so he could cry in peace, not wanting anyone to see him like that, so weak.

He still cared for Geto and the last thing he wanted was for him to end up on the streets or living in his car. Satoru would have been fine, he has more than enough money to spare, but he’s not a total asshole.

In his own defense, when he had decided that he wouldn’t press the issue, Geto was barely around anyway. There had been weeks at a time that he’d go before seeing him between classes, his job and internship, and Satoru’s conflicting schedule. But now, with the internship done, his classes and work had returned to normal… but they hadn’t.

He was still having trouble adjusting, even after a couple weeks passing to get used to a different routine..

“Hey…” Geto clears his throat, shifting on his feet. “I meant to ask before leaving, but you weren’t up yet. Is everyone still meeting up for coffee?”

“Yeah, we’ll be there starting at 2.” Ah, the other compromise that Satoru had silently made. Having the same friend group since before they started dating complicated things on top of their living arrangement. It wasn’t fair to make them side one way or the other and deep down, Satoru was afraid that the rest of the group only tolerated him and would pick Geto when it came down to it… Well everyone except for (y/n). “Just stop by whenever you get out of class.”

“I should be there around 2:30…” Despite his nervous shifting, a small smile graces his lips and Satoru’s heart skips a beat, missing seeing happiness on his face. “I’m excited to see everyone again after so long.”

“Shoko hasn’t shut up about it.” Satoru snorts, and takes a swig of his shake. “And (y/n) is excited to finally meet you. Try not to be a total offstandish ass to her.”

“No promises, Gojo.” Geto finds his smirk growing as he playfully rolls his eyes, knowing that Satoru is fucking with him. He was always a gentleman to women, even if he wasn’t as personable as the man in front of him. Geto was shocked that the group still acknowledged he existed, thinking that Satoru would have been the obvious choice after their split. “I’ll see you later.”

He huffs out in acknowledgement, sagging when the front door finally closes behind Geto. He didn’t mind making room for Geto in his life again for Shoko, Mei Mei, or Nanamin, but having to share you?

His gut tightens in protective possessiveness. You were everything to him; his best friend. The title used to belong to Geto, but that’s no longer the case for obvious reasons. And it can’t belong to Shoko with how she ends up moderating the two men.

You had pulled him through his hardest days, seen him through the dark months when he was piecing himself back together, making bad decisions to compensate for the hole that was punched through his heart. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you.

You had barreled your way into his life only a few days after the breakup, approaching him in one of his classes to hand him a summary of the notes from the class he missed. When he had asked you why you’d gone out of your way so selflessly, you simply said that you noticed he didn’t seem himself and you thought he could use a friend.

He found that he loved that you were his, that you weren’t tainted by Geto and that he didn’t have to share you with him.

When he makes it to the cafe later that afternoon, he makes sure to take the space next to you on the leather couch. Leaning into whatever you were animatedly explaining to Shoko.

“I’m just saying that if we tie him up and throw him in the trunk, what will he do?” You reason, like what you’re saying is completely normal. “If he screams we can gag him.”

“I’m here for the vibe, but how about we just lie to him?” She snorts loudly and takes a puff off of her vape, blowing the smoke away from the group.

“Who exactly are we talking about?” Satoru buts his way into the conversation, curious and ready to aid and abet at a moment's notice.

“We’re planning something for Kento’s birthday in a few months.” You grin wildly, leaning closer to him so you can conspire with him, whispering as if Nanami’s scowling face will appear out of thin air. “It’s his 20th birthday! We have to party and force him to attend. And if we book him accommodations in a love hotel for shits and giggles, so be it. You can smell the man’s sexual frustration from a mile away.”

“I always loved charity work.” He snickers, all but offering his help with whatever you need. He stands and stretches his limber limbs, cracking his neck before he announces he’s going to use the restroom. Before he goes his gaze softens and he smiles at you. “Do you want me to grab you something on my way back? One of those cinnamon rolls you like?”

“Yes, please~” The soft smile you shoot his way has his heart racing for some unknown reason.

By the time he comes back carrying your plate, someone else is sitting next to you. He stops in his tracks, deflating slightly when he sees Geto, making himself at home, leaning into your personal space with that sly, flirty smirk Satoru knows so well. And it feels like a stab through his heart when he sees you laughing at whatever he told you.

Three things crash through Satoru at once as he starts to pale. First, he realizes, watching your smile light up your face and have it not directed at him, that he likes you. Second, the hot churning sensation in his stomach was jealousy, something he hasn’t experienced in years. Lastly, to his shock, the jealousy isn’t just directed at Geto, but at you.

You have his attention, his smile, even his touch as Satoru watches him lay his hand on your thigh, thumbing the surface of your skin under the hem of your shorts.

Why hadn’t he asked you out before this? He asks himself as something punches him in the gut and hollows open his insides.

“‘Toru!” He blinks rapidly, clearing his mind with a shake of his head, as he sees you making aggressively cute grabby hands towards the plate he was holding with the cinnamon roll on it. An excited noise leaves your throat as you take it and bite a huge chunk out of it. “Thank you, bestie.”

“No problem, you fucking gremlin.” He rubs your head affectionately, smirking as Geto’s eye twitches at the familiar touch. “You getting along with Mr. Tightass over here?”

He kicks your leg, making you shuffle over and push Geto down the couch so he could settle on your other side, wanting to sit next to you more than before.

“Of course she is,” Geto scoffs at him before leaning back against the arm of the couch with the sly smile returning. “I’m a pleasure to be around.”

“He’s going to bring me over to that book store with the bar in it after this.” Satoru can see you teeming with excitement despite the shy look plastered on your face, complete with a light flush on your cheeks as you look back and meet Geto’s eyes.

“Oh?” Satoru’s voice is falsely curious with just a hint of the teasing he normally levels at you, like he isn’t having the rug pulled out from under him. “Hot date?”

“N-No-” You stammer in embarrassment at the exact same Geto chuckles, pulling your attention back to him.

“Damn. I thought I was pretty obvious about it.” He grins, reaching out to gently thumb your cheek, sending your heart rate through the roof. “Sweetheart you already said yes, don’t break my heart.”

“I.. Y-you’re sure?” Satoru hates how his insides churn as he watches you fully face Geto, saying yes to the man less than fifteen minutes after meeting him. “I could be crazy, you know.”

“Oh I know you are if you’re friends with that-” He nods behind you with a knowing smirk, seeing Satoru’s murderous glare on him. Really could he be more obvious? “Good thing I don’t mind crazy, baby.”

“Wow. Shafted and ditched bestie.” Satoru whines and acts annoyed so you don’t see that you’re ripping his soul in half. “What about me?”

You playfully smack his arm with a little grin, like he’s just fucking with you. You think that he can be such a needy baby sometimes, but he just had such a big heart you couldn’t help but want to be his friend.

“Don’t you have a million matches to respond to?” Geto hums like he isn’t letting you know that you have hundreds of other girls to compete with, all with the sharp edge of disapproval out of his own selfishness over Satoru.

“Shit, yeah I forgot I need to go tell them to fuck off.” Satoru tries for a tone that’s silky sweat but it comes out just a bit too snippy. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, gremlin. You still have those notes for me from the class I missed?”

“Of course I do, you degenerate. No way you’d graduate in the Spring without them.” You tease, hiding a sad look that he’s already packing his bag up to head out.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Satoru wandered aimlessly for the evening, eventually too bored of the campus’s study rooms to stand it anymore. The sun was setting, casting golden yellow rays of light through the budding leaves as he walked across the campus quad, heading to his favorite hole bar in the wall where he could drink in peace without being bothered.

He hadn’t been here since right after the breakup, so the staff looked confused to see him back, but promptly kept his drink full in his hands without having to ask. The last thing he wanted was to go home and have Geto try to talk to him about what happened, but they had to close eventually and he could tell they were itching for him to pack up so they could lock up.

He didn’t even want to wake up in the morning and have to hear the same exact story that Geto told him, but this time from your pretty pink lips while you smiled with that shy excitement that only came out when you liked someone. In all the time he’d known you, while you were a chaotic little shit, you didn’t have a malicious bone in your body, you just weren’t capable.

He kicks a pebble down the sidewalk with a sour taste in his mouth. He shouldn’t be upset with you, he just wants the attention you’re getting and also desperately wants to give you that attention too.

He knew how charming Geto could be, how calculating he was when he decided he wanted to do something. He just hoped that he wouldn’t hurt you like he did to Satoru. He’d finally find it in him to truly hate him if Geto ever caused you to question your worth like Satoru had.

This all made him so fucking sick. And he saw that look in Geto’s eyes, he knew how Satoru felt about you. It was hard not to scream in frustration. He wanted to push him and see what his intentions were with you.

He sighs when he’s met with the sight of his front door, putting his keys in the lock and slipping inside. He stares blankly at the shoes in the entryway, his heart beating in a sick rhythm when he sees your boots laying neatly next to Geto’s hightops.

But it's so late… His brain refuses to connect the dots until a masculine groan he’s all too familiar with sounds further inside.

“Fuck-” A breathy moan slides down the hall and into his ears as he edges his way to the living room only to be greeted to the sight of the two of you together on their couch.

His eyes widen at the sight of you straddling Geto’s lap half naked, your shirt thrown carelessly across the area rug with Geto’s. His gaze catches every torturous detail in high definition.

Geto’s hand fists into the hair at the nape of your neck, jerking your face into place as he lips devour yours, his tongue tangling with yours, easily dominating you and pulling a defeated whimper from your throat. Satoru’s eyes dip to Geto’s free hand that’s shoved its way under your bra, greedily groping the mass of flush, paying special attention to your nipples.

The attention has you hazy, your eyes cloudy and unfocused when Satoru watches your face break away from Geto’s falling back with a loud moan. Geto surges forward and takes advantage of your new position to attack your neck, sucking stark marks onto the column of your throat so dark you wouldn’t be able to go out without hiding them.

It’s easy to imagine that it's him doing this to you, that you had chosen him instead. But when you shove your hand needily into Geto’s pants, stroking his cock in such a delicious rhythm you have him bucking into your touch, his hands leaving you to start pushing down your leggings in a rushed manner, Satoru loses it. It should be him doing that.

“Thought we said no fucking in the common rooms?” He snaps meanly, loving how you jolt and push Geto away in a panic, hastily wrapping your arms around your front to cover yourself up as a crimson blush radiates all the way down your chest. “Make sure to use protection, Geto will try to convince you he doesn’t need it.”

Satoru growls and turns on his heels, slamming his door harshly when Geto’s only response was a smirk and satisfied, taunting sparkle in his eyes.

He seethes as he throws his bag to the ground, jealousy rampant that you were free to be loved by him and resentment burning that Geto may have ruined his new hope for happiness.

tag list: @sugarbooger513 @sugarmapoops @roughwithfluff @severelytalentless @silversslut @dreamyyholland @wobblewobble822 @rafzaha @chososhoney @littlemochi @bebechinas99 @saoney @pelicanpizza @damncakie @katgalle @honeyyjems @tsukikoxo @kibananya @reine-son[[ if your blog name is crossed out i couldn't tag you]]

#kentosot original #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo satoru #suguru geto #satosugu #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x geto #geto x you #geto x reader #geto x y/n #jujutsu kaisen geto #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujustsu kaisen smut #jujustsu kaisen au

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idwt-money · 4 months

Text

Sleepless Nights

MDNI 18+

1.5k words, Noah Sebastian x fem!reader

CW: unprotected sex, oral sex (fem rec), slight spit play(??), tiny bit of aggression

“Fuck, Noah..” whispers were almost silent in the room. Words that wouldn’t be remembered in the morning.

It was ungodly hours in the morning and it was the first night Noah was back from tour. He would usually be dead asleep, snoring and mumbling in his sleep by now but you made this tour…especially excruciating.

You would send him pictures of yourself in new lingerie while he was away, forcing him to jerk off in a tiny tour bus bathroom. Having to be dead silent due to the, quite literal, paper-thin walls of said tour bus.

You hadn’t been able to help but giggle to yourself when this happened. He would send you texts back almost immediately. Something along the lines of “I’m going to fuck you until your head is spinning.”

You had never held him to his words as he was usually a shy boy. Although this behavior was unusual, you didn't think much of it. You figured he had gained confidence over the phone.

Once he had actually gotten home, he almost immediately pinned you against the wall of your shared home and took you like a rabid animal.

It took you by surprise, really. Usually you were the one to initiate, but this was nothing you were complaining about.

And here you are now, ass up and Noah having no mercy on your poor body.

“What baby? Didn’t think I meant what I said in those texts did you?” His words were sparse between grunts and huffs from all the pleasure his touched starved cock was receiving in the moment.

He knew you couldn’t respond, not only because your sentence would just be a string of moans and pathetic whimpers, but also due to the fact he had a fist full of your hair, pushing your face into the duvet.

God, you wished and hoped that he would turn you over so you could see how devilishly sinful he looked.

That thought lasted maybe 30 seconds when Noah slapped your ass, with much force, bringing you close to your first orgasm of the night.

You didn’t have to say anything, Noah knew your body better than you did. Your legs began to shake, your pussy tightened around him and your muffled cries and pleas were becoming louder by the second.

“Give it to me. I want it now.”

With Noah’s permission you let your orgasm rip through you like lightning bolts. It made your vision go blurry before you shut your eyes.

It dozed through you before coming to an end. You had never gone for so long without an orgasm caused by your lover.

You both were highschool sweethearts and up until the tour, you hadn’t gone even an entire 2 weeks without seeing each other, let alone fuck.

With no words shared, Noah moved you onto your back and thank god he did. He looked just as you imagined. His hair was messy and falling in his face due to the utterly unforgiving thrusts he had been fucking into you.

“There’s my pretty girl. So so good for giving yourself to me.” His voice was ridden with a tone somewhere between lust and love. He had slowed his thrusts, just long enough to give you a kiss to your lips. It was messy and unfathomably pussy throbbing. Your tongues were swirling around each other as if they were dancing to an unheard beat. Saliva was starting to pool down your chin but when he pulled away, you couldn’t be bothered to wipe it away. Noah grabbed your legs, pulled you closer and went at an unrelenting pace. You knew he was close but not this close. 3 or 4 thrusts later he was letting curse words leave his lips and he spilled his load onto your stomach.

His chest heaved and gasped for air as he milked his cock for the remains of his orgasm. The words he was growling out seemed to have come somewhere deep within his diaphragm. Almost like he was on stage screaming for thousands of people. Neither of you cared about how loud you were being or if any of the neighbors had heard you. In this very moment, it was just you two.

You had made eye contact before watching him sink to his knees, off of the bed and dive into your pussy like it was a divine meal meant for the gods. The wet noises coming from Noah’s mouth immediately sent your two hands into his hair. No matter how nasty you two fucked, he always treated your pussy like his last meal on earth, being sure to treasure every lick, slurp and gulp.

“Oh fuck, Noah” When he wrapped your lips around your already sensitive clit, it caused your body to jolt. Your thighs clenched around his head and your fingers to pull at his hair.

Grunts escaped his mouth, his now being muffled due to the position you had him trapped in. In which only caused you more pleasure. The vibrations of his now low moans made your mind foggy. You started to take it into your own hands and grind against his tongue.

Noah seemingly didn’t like the idea of you taking charge and left a hefty slap to your thigh.

“We’re doing this at the pace I want. I waited far too fuckin’ long to taste you. I am in charge. Understand?” His voice was low and husky, causing a rush of wetness straight to your pussy. You nodded, thinking it would give him satisfaction of an answer. It didn’t.

“Use your fucking words y/n” He had a look of the slightest irritation written on it.

“Yes sir.” Your words were quiet but it did the job as he went back down, taking long, thoughtful strokes to your clit. Your mouth fell open and your eyes collapsed closed, taking in nothing the warm, wet feeling of his devilish tongue.

Noah could genuinely go on forever between your legs, he, a couple times, had gone until you were crying and his jaw was sore. It was almost like he enjoyed watching you squirm and shake due to his tongue rather than actually fucking you.

Your moans had now gone high pitched, and the once slow, languid licks of his tongue were now fast and on the borderline of being dangerous.

“Baby- oh fuck! Please keep going. I’m so so so close!” You once again rested your hands in his hair as a poor excuse to try and ground yourself.

Noah didn’t say a word, instead giving you silent praise by swirling his tongue around your clit.

Another orgasm crashed into you and it was almost debilitating.

Your eyes had rolled to the back of your head, Noah brought you in closer with a grasp on your hips and you were spent.

He pulled away, licking his lips and slightly cleaning the mess your cunt had made dripping down his chin.

“You taste like heaven itself. Holy shit.” He said in disbelief.

He climbed atop of you and shared a chaste kiss with you, venturing his way down your neck. He left small bites and small hickies here and there, in some sort of proof you were his and no one else could ever have you in the way he does.

Despite what Noah had planned in his own world, you went against it and forced him to lay down, now hovering over his cock.as you sunk down onto him, his nails sunk into your hips.

You softly grinded down onto him, throwing your head back and biting your lip as an attempt to stop yourself from smiling too big.

Once you got comfortable on top of him, you situated your legs and started to bounce up and down on his cock. Noah was now being more vocal with curses, groans, huffs, grunts. Whatever his body could do to help the overpowering sensation of pleasure.

This time, you weren’t worried about achieving your own orgasm but wanted to pull one more out of Noah before you both were too tired.

“Come on handsome. I know you got it in you, give it to me.”

Noah had an undeniable thing for praise and encouragement in these situations, contrary to popular belief.

“Mhm, just like that, just like that. Shit!” His voice was worn out now, giving it more of a soft moan rather than his previous growls.

Within seconds he was unfolding in front of your eyes, his breathing became shallow and his eyes were pinched closed, focusing on getting him to topple over the edge of pure bliss. As his mouth fell open, he released everything into you. As he came, his grip on your hips dug deeper and you wouldn’t have been surprised if you had bruises the next day.

As soon as he was done with his orgasm, you toppled over onto his chest, even though you were dirtied with his previous orgasm. He softly rubbed your back as he whispered soft words of adoration to you.

Soon enough helped you clean off what mess he made in your rendezvous earlier. Once you were in bed, you made a small conversation consisting of how much you missed him while he was away from you.

#bad omens cult #bad omens #noah sebastian #noahsebastian #badomens #bad omens band #badomenscult #nick folio #jolly karlsson #nicholas ruffilo

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yandere-sins · 1 year

Text

Prisoner #001

a/n: Jay! First request! I feel like Diluc makes a good starter for this, thank you for requesting and enjoy ♥

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairings: Yandere!Prisoner!Diluc x GN!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Catcalling/slutshaming, non-consensual touching/intimacy), Violence (TW Blood, Stabbing someone, Knives, lots of death mention but none on screen), Possessiveness, Long Post, Overprotectiveness, Manipulation, Breaking under the pressure

[Prison Project Introduction & How to request | Pinterest Moodboard]

"Be quiet."

A straightforward, understandable command, the voice so growly and commanding, you didn't dare to object. Your roommate lounging on the lower bed slowly closed his eyes again, seemingly unbothered by your presence as long as you didn't annoy him, and you most certainly wouldn't. Keeping your mouth shut, you averted your eyes quickly from the moody roommate, fixing them on the sparse amenities you two were given, like a small desk, chair, and behind a meager half-wall, barely shielded from the outside and your roommate, a toilet. You didn't feel like giving anyone a show, so you probably wouldn't use that one even if it would cause you sleepless nights.

A sigh shuddered off your lips as your mind finally came to understand the situation you were in. The place you were in.

Prison. Undeserved.

You didn't know who the judge was doing a favor by sentencing you for embezzling millions from the company you had only ever done deliveries for. But justice had not been served when you were pronounced guilty. That much was sure. Someone out there was celebrating getting away with millions while you had to fear for your life. God, this sucked. You'd have another month or so before you could appeal the case—if you made it that long.

Either way, there was little you could do now. Your eyes fell on the top bunk, then on the ladder in the back of the construct, right where the face of your roomie was. The last thing you'd do was speak up when he so clearly didn't want to talk; however, pushing your feet into the gaps would surely irritate him as well. But there was no alternative. You couldn't climb up any other way.

Holding back another sigh, you stepped towards the back of the cell, dark and stinky. Please don't move, you prayed over and over as you stepped up to the ladder, wearily glancing at the resting man beside you. How would you even avert an attack? You were infuriatingly helpless if anyone ever showed you how careless the guards were when it came to searching the prisoners. How little anyone cared if there were actual weapons inside this prison if they weren't out in the open.

Raising your chin, you looked to the entrance of your bunk, the bed encased with walls. Perhaps to avoid any more stabbings. It would be a tight squeeze inside, but you just hoped it didn't smell like piss in there like the rest of the prison. Pushing your extra clothes into the opening, you settled your foot on the first step, always looking at the man as long as the angle allowed.

You were almost inside when there was movement from below, panic rising as a hand grabbed your ankle with more strength than you could break away from.

Letting out a grunt, the grip tightened, then yanked you down. Next thing you knew, your head hit the ground; however, adrenaline blocked your body from feeling the pain. Hearing fabric rustling, you forced your eyes to snap open, sitting up to crouch backward as your roommate came to sit on the edge of his bed, peering down at you in an undefinable gaze.

"You don't belong here, do you?" he asked, the sound of a lighter clicking open, underlining his words sharply before a flame appeared in his hands. It was an odd question, but it fit the oddity of the man before you. Reaching up, he lit a cigarette, and you forced your eyes away from the light to look at him instead, his eyes drilling into you with the flame dancing in them. The red was like a hot blaze, his gaze burning you as he looked you up and down, smothering you with heat all throughout your body. Just before he closed the zippo in his hand, you gained a look at him too, infuriatingly handsome features mismatched with an indifferent sternness edged into his expression. But there was a passion gleaming in his eyes. One that you made you too afraid to ask him about.

"No," you admitted, gulping as you burned under his gaze. The sound vibrated through your head, making it ache. Pain returning to your senses, you grit your teeth as you reached up, relieved to find the wound dry even though it hurt like hell. You grunted in pain as you pressed into the spot, relieved to not find any hints of a concussion, luckily.

"Then why are you here?"

With a drag of his cigarette, your roommate didn't avert his gaze for even a moment, even when smoke dragged out of his mouth, collecting in the cell and itching in your nose. Well, at least it wasn't a blade pressed to your throat, and so far, he looked pretty decent for the kind of guy the guard tried to make him out to be.

"I got blamed. Someone stole millions, and the judge decided it must have been me. If you ask me, there was something really wrong with that decision." You couldn't help but sound sour, recalling what had happened, the words bubbling out of you now that someone genuinely asked for your version of the story.

"Sucks," he huffed, breathing out more smoke. That was more sympathy than anyone had shown you since you had to deal with this mess.

"How about you?" you asked, feeling emboldened by this conversation going so well. Evidently, you had a poor judge of character as your roommate suddenly stilled, his gaze cooling down regardless of the flames and smoke dancing in the reflection of his eyes.

"Look, stay out of my way, and you will be blessed not knowing what I did, okay? Just be quiet when you're in the cell."

And with that, disregarding that he caused the commotion, he settled back on his bed, sighing as he puffed out the last bit of smoke. Oh well. Peeling yourself off the ground, you were much quicker in ascending to the top bunk, catching your roomies' red eyes peering at you from below just as you disappeared inside. You never even got to ask his name, but at least the top bunk was... okay. Not ideal, but you felt a bit better being up here, hidden and shielded, than out there with him and his mood swings.

It was a real shame you couldn't stay inside forever, having to put yourself out there sooner rather than later.

«──────── 🗡♡ ︎𓍝 ────────»

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were all served in one cafeteria for all prisoners.

As much as you wanted to avoid it, the guard came back to escort you regardless of your protests so they could show you the way, a hint of hospitality despite the annoyance on their face. Luckily, Mister Grumpy and Handsome had already left when you finally slid out of your bunker, making your way to dinner. You may be able to get your mind off things with a few spoons of... hopefully edible things.

"Well, well, well. Look who survived the Butcher. You must have dazzled the Diluc Ragnvindr with your looks, Newbie, if you survived him," the first prisoner to spot you entering the large facility snarked from his table before taking a bite out of his sandwich. You grimaced at the aggressive stare he gave you as he took bite after bite like a hungry animal, others joining him in mockery.

"Spread your legs already? Damn, you're fast."

"Maybe they killed him?"

Eyes shot over to the neighboring table, half of the prisoners collected in the cafeteria now following the conversation upon noticing your arrival. And as if coordinated by them, they all burst out into laughter.

"Sure!" someone yelled from across the room. "Smothered in thighs!"

More laughter ensued, and the guard sighed, defeated, pushing you forward into the midst of hollering mouths and gawking eyes before leaving you all alone to fend for yourself. Delivering you to the cafeteria seemed to have been the expected amount of work they were willing to do, everything else fell beyond their responsibility and care.

Anxious, you stepped forward, spotting the food trays and the end of the queue, deciding to just quickly get your food and get out. But before you could reach out, so close to your goal once again, someone was quicker, throwing you off-balance as a prisoner, with only half of his teeth and more tattoos than eyebrows, grabbed you, pulling you towards him.

"Ya know, I'd be happy to show you my cell if yer uncomfortable with the Butcher. I can show you an even better time between my legs."

Stumbling, you grabbed the edge of the table while you were relentlessly tugged. "No way!" you exclaimed, horrified at the thought of anything so vile. Unfortunately, you knew you couldn't win in terms of strength. And to add to your suffering, so did the other prisoners.

Soon enough, you were crowded by them, fingers tangling in your hair and pulling back your neck, someone's nail cutting over your throat in a slicing motion while others admired your thighs and dug into them with their hands. You struggled and failed, and when you looked around for help, most of the eyes you met looked away or watched your misfortune with the curiosity of watching a new television show.

Your situation was hopeless.

You knew when the judge pronounced you guilty that this wouldn't end well. But it had been barely a few hours, and yet, you knew exactly how the rest of your sentence would look like. If only there had been someone to help you—anyone!—you might have had a nickel of a chance. But all you could do was close your eyes as more hands touched you, so many more dragging you down to hell.

"Hands. Off."

The voice was as cold and throat-cutting as it was familiar. A deep growl, followed by an anguished groan by the prisoner gripping your hair, suddenly letting go and crumbling to the ground behind you. Something warm splattered against the side of your cheek as a sloshing sound, followed by more groans, was to be heard. The other's eyes shot to the person standing behind you, first in anger for the interruption, then their expression dropped in panic.

Immediately, everyone let go, and in your confusion, you looked around their faces for answers before realizing the answer you were searching for was right behind you. Tensing, you slowly turned around, facing the fire-blazing red stare of, who you now knew as, Diluc Ragnvindr. Coming face to face with him in broad lightning was way more intimidating than before, him being tall and muscular and bloody.

You made the mistake of looking down, blood pooling around the prisoner on the ground. Directing your eyes further up, you saw Diluc's whole hand covered in the same red shade and the knife in his hand. His other hand shooting upwards, you flinched hard as he clamped his fingers around your chin, directing you to face him.

Moving your head side to side to check you, you shivered violently in his grasp, your brain still not registering what had just happened. But Diluc remained perfectly composed, his thumb reaching up to wipe away the liquid that had splattered on your cheek before. "If anyone--" he drawled, thumb wiping over and over against your cheek, his eyes growing grimmer the longer he had to do it. "--touches you again..."

Then, he directed his gaze away from you, back over your shoulder. You heard chairs being pushed aside and bodies moving away. "Stab them," Diluc finished his instruction, holding out the knife to you, handle first. You blinked a few times, unmoving, and he sighed, dropping it. Instinctively and regretfully, you caught it. For the first time, he grunted in approval before directing his voice to everyone.

Only now did you notice it was dead silent in the whole room, everyone watching. "Just to be clear," Diluc said, raising his voice for everyone to hear. "This one's hands off. They're mine." Below you, the stabbed prisoner grunted in pain, and you peeked down, watching as more and more blood collected on the linoleum floor.

"Oh my god," you whispered, obviously directed at the fact someone was bleeding out on your shoes with the weapon in your hand.

"That would be an exaggeration," Diluc answered as if you had been talking to him instead. As if this was a situation to joke about. Glancing up again, the corners of his mouth jerked upwards for just a second, though the smile never reaches his now deadly eyes fixated on you. The fire had finally been smothered by something else, something dark. Brandishing. Possessive.

It gave you goosebumps all over.

"Make sure to eat," he reminded you. "And take off your shoes before entering the cell."

Dumbfounded by his nonchalant words, you only flinched back into reality when guards finally stormed inside, yelling, "RAGNVINDR!" from across the room. His grip on you tightened before he sighed, looking like he was inconvenienced more by the interruption than the fact he just stabbed someone. His thumb stroked over your cheek once more, this time gently, as if its only purpose was to caress and comfort. Diluc only let go when he was grabbed by the shoulders and thrown to the dirty floor next to the bleeding man.

More guards assembled, and together they apprehended and dragged Diluc out of the room, his gaze on you until the end, finding you even through all the guards swarming him. Once he was out the door, they carried away the poor guy on the floor, his wounds hopefully not fatal even though he treated you like shit.

"Drop it," one guard hissed at you. Only now did you remember the knife, letting it fall immediately and jumping away to escape the blade threatening to go through your foot. "Way to go, Newbie," the guard huffed, shaking his head like a disappointed dad.

Once they were gone, the silence was deafening. You could feel the gears in your head turn, the blood rushing through you, but time seemed to stand still until the other prisoners began to return to what they were doing before all of this. It wasn't the same for you. You never were a big fan of gory horror movies; you never really saw that much blood—much less real blood—before. The thought of food was anything but appetizing to you now, not with blood on your feet, hand, and, as you learned later from looking into a bathroom mirror, face. Diluc's words echoed in your mind, but they were fading as you felt your stomach twist and gurgle, unwilling to even consider the prison food served here.

"Psycho," someone muttered next to you, and you didn't know if you liked the look everyone was giving you now. It no longer was mockery or belittling, oh no. They looked at you as if you were the monster who just stabbed someone. Being feared inevitably was better than being a laughingstock, but how did you always end up taking the blame for these situations?

Without another thought, you left, rather going hungry than risking vomiting everything once your brain realized all the gruesome things that just happened. Instead, you hid in a bathroom stall, the shock finally snapping your head back into its place, causing you to dry heave the stress and shivers out of your system before putting your head under cold water, hoping it would rid you of the images in your head and return your clear mind.

Your reflection was pitiful, the horror written all over your face. It took a long time to scrub the stranger's blood off your skin, and you had to see the bloody shoeprints you left in your race to get to the bathroom on the way back to your cell. Just as you were about to step in, you halted, remembering Diluc's words. Reaching down, you untied your shoe, your hands slowing the further you got. By the time you stepped out of your boots, you realized he had already crept his way into your subconscious, causing havoc to your feelings.

You were scared. There was no denying that. You were scared of his reaction if you disobeyed. Scared of what other unpredictable things he could do after you had to witness him stab someone... for your sake?

"This one's hands off. They're mine," he had claimed. Since when? How? Why?

All questions you wanted to know but feared to ask. Just like you feared disobeying him. Instead, you put your shoes under the table, peeling out of the orange overalls before climbing into your bunk. At least here, you felt somewhat safe. Safe enough to finally let go of the tears you had held back, your arms hugging yourself tightly as you wrapped yourself in your blanket.

And even though you knew nothing would change, you squeezed your eyes shut, hoping for this nightmare to end when you opened them again.

«──────── 🗡♡ ︎𓍝 ────────»

It was already incredibly late when your cell door screeched open, heavy footsteps dragging towards the bed. You couldn't find even a minute of sleep despite being exhausted after such a day. Instead, you had dozed in your bed, the sound jerking you wide awake.

"Next time, behave, Diluc," a very smooth but icy voice spoke before the door was slammed shut and locked for the night. You stiffened as you heard Diluc grunt, clothes rustling, and you assumed he was doing the same as you, not wanting to get dirt into bed. You expected to feel the movement of his body settling into the bunk below you any second now, hoping he wouldn't say anything to you that you'd have to answer. He told you to be quiet, and so you were.

But instead of both of you settling for the night, your quietness only added to the silence suddenly spreading through the cell. You couldn't even hear him breathe, only your heartbeat racing in your ears as you felt goosebumps run over your skin as if you were being watched. And then, something truly terrifying made sure you'd not sleep one bit that night.

Even if the sound was subtle, you heard him grip the iron ladder to the top bunk. Had to listen to the slight shiver of breath as he lifted himself up on the steps. Felt the additional weight press down on your mattress.

You didn't say anything, didn't move, didn't breathe. Your back was turned to the entrance, and you didn't even allow your eyes to shift in the darkness, fearing what you would see. Was he going to hurt you? Kill you? Get even for what he must have endured with the guards? Was the same bloody mess the guard had told you about going to happen again?

One arm snaked over your midriff, fingers brushing upwards, the warmth of his palm dancing over your collarbones. Your breathing was ragged, faltering every time you felt him move, not knowing what his next step would be.

Diluc's body, smothering heat surrounded by skin, pressed against you. You were kept in a firm hold, and even if you had been asleep before, you never felt more awake and alert now.

"Breathe," he grunted, and you tensed up even more. How did he know?

"You wouldn't be holding your breath if you were sleeping."

"Ah." That explained it. Of course. Fuck, you were an idiot.

"As if I'm going to hurt you after getting beaten up for you the last few hours."

Diluc let out a heavy sigh, his head falling forward to rest against you. You shifted under his arm, trying to give him some space. If bruises were forming on his body, it must have agitated him to be squeezed between you and the encasing on the bunk. However, when he noticed you scoot away, he tightened his grip, dragging you back and into him with barely any effort needed. "Does it hurt a lot?" you asked timidly, and he huffed.

"If you mean getting stabbed, then yeah. That was supposed to hurt a lot. I, for my part, will not complain about a few gut punches and knuckles to my face."

His body kept slumping forward until you were the only resistance in his way. It was an odd, uncomfortable situation, but who were you to say anything? You feared him, even though he seemed less fearsome when he was exhausted like this. "Can I ask something?" you piped up, disregarding the 'be quiet' rule from when you first met. He'd probably tell you if he didn't feel like talking anymore, so you took your chance.

Diluc grunted, "Go ahead," as he rubbed his face into your shoulder. Just as you wanted to open your mouth, he hissed, having hit a sore spot, and you stilled, tensing as if you had done something wrong. Communicating with him was still as weird and confusing as it had been when he pulled you from the ladder. You never knew what you were allowed and not allowed to do in his presence, fearing any misstep you could make. And yet, somehow, you had grown closer without you even realizing. Silence raked its claws through the cell until he eventually repeated himself, pinching you as if to wake you up.

"Speak up."

"Why..." you stopped, thinking of how to convey your thoughts into words. Taking a deep breath, you collected as much confidence as you could, bumping your fist into the mattress to encourage yourself. "Why did you help me?"

"Someone bad hurt someone very dear to me," he finally muttered after a tense few seconds of thoughtfulness. "And I hurt a lot of their people in return."

"Oh," you whispered, not expecting that kind of talk. In fact, you had no idea what you expected, but certainly not an explanation that Diluc hadn't wanted to give you before. "But--"

"They want to use you," Diluc interrupted you as you were about to ask what that had to do with you. "Before you, my roommate was swayed by the offer to have their sentence reduced. They used his vulnerability to try and get revenge on me. Death. Painful and bloody, and worse than what you saw today."

Gulping, you remembered the guard telling you how they had to scrub the remains of the last roommate off the walls of this cell. "And you think they'll do it again?" you whispered, shuddering. The last thing you wanted was to be caught up in yet another feud. And yet, you felt like you were already a part of it.

"I know they will."

"So you got to me first."

"Yes."

Feeling his hand wandering upwards until it lodged in the crook of your neck, fingers digging around your throat, you gasped, clawing at him as he cut off your air supply. "I don't think I need to tell you what will happen if they offer you a deal to get you out if you get rid of me. Surely, you don't plan to kill me in my sleep, right?"

Gasping, you shook your hand as much as his hold allowed, Diluc's fingers tightening once before releasing you. Coughing, you felt tears burn in your eyes again, the sudden fear you had felt after your return to the cell burning up again. You had been careless, misjudging him again. Even after hearing it from Diluc himself, you forgot that he had no qualms about getting rid of things in his way.

"Good. Otherwise, those pigs would have eaten you for dinner. Don't forget you owe me. You can't trust anyone that gets close to you here."

"Then... what about you?" It took some clearing of your throat to present the question, but with your hands wrapped around your neck, you felt a little more safe and protected.

"You'll just have to learn to trust me."

His fingers ghosted over yours, noticing how you were shielding yourself and causing Diluc to let out a husky laugh. Instead, he gripped your chin, yanking your head to the side so you'd face him. When he spoke again, you could barely see his mouth move in the dark but felt his breath caress your lips in secretive whispers.

"I'll protect you. I’ll keep you safe as long as you hold up your end of the bargain. If you want to survive, I am your best choice to give your trust to. And I take very good care of what's mine."

"Why do you keep saying that?" you shuddered, feeling the brush of his lips, his fingers digging into your skin painfully, but you didn't dare look away from the red burning through the darkness. His eyes were eager to see, witness every shudder going through you, and roam over your face as if it was a map to your soul even in the dark. Perhaps his vision was much better than yours. Still, even you could see the genuine determination in his eyes that echoed through his words.

"Because it's true. The moment you stepped into this prison, you became mine."

"I never agreed to that," you protested meekly.

"You didn't have to."

"Don't you think that's unfair? Don't I get a choice?" you complained, feeling defeated by the direction of the conversation. Sure, his promise of protection sounded good but claiming you as something you weren't seemed to finally cross your boundaries.

"Darling," Diluc said soothingly. Yet it only raised goosebumps to hear him use such an affectionate nickname for you. The way his voice changed into a low, reverent breath was only drowned out by the confidence dripping off his lips every time he spoke. He was so sure of himself, never stuttering as he relayed his conviction.

"They blamed you for a crime you didn't do just to get to me. They bribed a judge just to get to me. They sent you to this godforsaken pisshole of a prison because of me."

You shuddered as Diluc laid out the facts so obviously, you had to realize he spoke the truth. This was worse than the nightmare you had gone through so far, deeper than what you thought this wrong guilty verdict had been. Someone chose you for a suicide mission because of a vendetta from the same man sharing your bed right now.

"Thinking about it, you were mine long before you came here," Diluc conducted. Then, you felt warm, soft lips press to yours, a struggle ensuing as you tried to defend yourself, but Diluc was stronger. A jolt of pain jerked through you as he bit your lip, relishing in the drops of blood appearing as he licked over it.

"No," you sobbed quietly, tears trickling from your eyes. What you were saying no to, you weren't sure. No to the reality, you didn't want to face. No to having to accept something so absurd it could only be true. No to his treatment, the kiss, the stabbing Diluc did for you.

His other hand reached up with a grunt from him, wiping over the lashes of your eyes squeezed shut. "Don't cry," he whispered, almost pleading with you. "I told you I'll treat you well. I'm sorry for what happened to you, but you're safe with me. I'll protect you and make sure these other guys won't get to you."

Sobbing a bit louder, Diluc hushed you, cupping your face so gently you couldn't believe he had stabbed someone with that hand just hours prior.

"I don't want this," you sniffled. "I never asked for any of this!"

"I know," he sympathized, and you gulped, feeling like those were empty words. You'd be right. Even though it felt as if you two were getting closer, Diluc unveiled something much worse than a knife to end you, his sympathy vanishing into thin air.

Instead, he stabbed you with his words worse than any knife could, ensuring your death would be as painful and awful as humanly possible. You saw the hints of a pitying smile on his lips before he opened them, the disgusting pleasure of a psycho showing in the softness of his gaze on you. A psycho that had found something to protect and keep in a world that had been way too harsh on him. You, on the other hand, felt your world collapse like a house of cards as he blew his words in your face, showing you no compassion whatsoever as he slapped the truth across your cheeks harder than any punch would.

"But you don't really have a choice, do you?"

No.

You never had any choice to begin with in any of this.

And even worse, he was right—you had to rely on him. Because if not Diluc, someone else would come for you. Another prisoner, or these mysterious people he mentioned, once you refused to get their revenge on Diluc for them. How would you even do that?

It was hopeless. Every inch of your being was violently refusing him and his offer. But you had to if you wanted to survive. You had no other choice, no alternatives to rely on. There was no Plan B when you never even had a Plan A. Diluc was your Plan P for protection. You'd have to trust him, a broken stranger, to make sure you wouldn't end up as the blood splattered to the walls the guards would have to clean.

"O-Okay," you whispered, your voice breaking just like your heart did.

"Good choice," he murmured, forehead bumping to yours before Diluc slumped back into the space behind you. Building trust would take a long time, you were sure, as you felt his hand grab your wrists, pinning them down to the space in front of you. It might have been a good choice for the moment.

But would it be the right one?

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bunnysbrainrot · 8 months

Text

No Vacancy - Day One

Relationship: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader

Content: fluff, nothing spicier yet

Summary: Separated from Dean and Castiel, you and Sam are on your own. Now paired up, you spend a few days in a motel. The only problem? The last room available only has one bed.

A/N: shout-out to all the Sam lovers, this one’s for y’all (me included tbh) **forehead kiss**

————

“Well,” Sam said, his hands gripping the steering wheel, “I think this is literally the only motel in town.”

And he was right. The two of you had scoured the area for over an hour, driving block after block for any other place to stay. This lone motel was far from where you needed to be for the case, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“That’s what you get in a small town, I guess,” you reply, grabbing your backpack from the floor of the car. Of course, Dean couldn’t fathom letting the two of you borrow Baby, so you had to get another ride. Thankfully, Sam had his own car in the garage of the bunker, a newer one with polished leather seats yet less flashy than the Impala.

Sam parked the car and cut off the engine, letting out a sigh.

You looked at him, tilting your head in concern, “At least we can rest, now. We can shower up and turn in for the night.”

Sam nodded in relieved agreement - the past few days had worn you both thin, exhausted and in need of proper sleep. The two of you stepped out of the car, grabbed your duffles from the back seat, and walked to the lobby of the motel to rent your room.

The clerk at the desk was not a talker, the silence in the room feeling uncomfortably thick. Sam nodded to the man with a terse smile and guided you back outside.

“That guy definitely wants to go home,” joked Sam. At last, you reached room 115, your final spot for the day. You stretched your aching neck as Sam unlocked the door and stepped inside.

“Crap.”

“What is it?”

“I think we were given the wrong room,” Sam continued, stepping out of the room to let you peer inside. A single king sized bed sat against the wall, with no other place to sleep. You turned to Sam, who had already made his way back to the main office. You waited for him for a few moments, seeing him return with a remorseful look.

“What’s up?”

“That’s the only room left,” Sam explained, “you wanna stay here anyway? They didn’t have a cot, but we can figure something out.” He scratched the back of his neck nervously.

You waved dismissively, giving Sam an embarrassed smile, “Don’t worry, we’re both adults here. Sharing a room doesn’t bother me.”

Sam looked at you for a moment, contemplating the next step. He shrugged and opened the door to 115 again, leading you inside.

The room was small and sparsely furnished - just the bed, an armchair, and the TV sat on a minuscule set of drawers. You placed your bag down next to the lonesome armchair, and sat down to remove your shoes.

In front of you, Sam paced at the foot of the bed.

“They, uh… didn’t have a cot, so I’m not sure how you’d want to go about this.”

You kicked your boots to the side and glanced up at him.

“Scared of sharing a bed, Sam?”

If you were being honest, you were petrified of the idea. Ever since joining this self-proclaimed ‘Team Free Will’, Sam had been the one you’d gotten closest to. Before they took you in, you had been more reserved and quiet. A more nerdy type of person; Sam was the perfect guy to buddy up with. You both had a passion for research, to Dean’s dismay.

“So we finally have a chick on the team, and we get another nerd?” He had teased.

Despite Dean giving you shit for it, you had never felt more welcome into a group. There was a sense of purpose, a motivation to save people from monsters. With your help, the world would be a safer place for those unaware of what lurks in the shadows.

Bringing you back to reality, Sam cleared his throat.

“I’m not, I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

You retorted, “And why would I be uncomfortable with you?”

He quipped, “I mean, how often have we been forced to share a bed?”

He had a point, and your brave façade of nonchalance wouldn’t last much longer. Sure, if you both kept to a side of the bed, fully clothed, it would leave the fewest issues. But the butterflies in your stomach told you that this may not be something you could handle easily.

Your mind raced back to a memory of a case three months back, out in Tennessee. It was another shapeshifter, and it was hard for Sam and Dean to gather intel about much of anything. It was Dean’s foolish idea to send you and Sam to question the local townsfolk, masked as a tourist couple to keep your anonymity to a maximum. That time spent with Sam opened your eyes to what you had been missing for a shamefully long time. Love, or at least what felt like it.

Although it had been an act, the sweet gestures Sam had to uphold for the charade won your heart. He opened each door for you, kissed your cheeks, held your hand, the whole nine. Everything he had done drove you wild. Except, the one thing he never did was press his lips to yours. It seemed like a sick game of Dean’s pairing you up like that. You made sure to give him shit for it, telling him how embarrassing it was to have two friends act like a couple. What Dean didn’t know was the secret gratefulness you had for his plan.

At one point Dean did suggest you liked Sam, to which you denied, fumbling over your words like an idiot. He had shrugged it off, but now you wondered if that interaction inspired him to cut you off from him and Castiel. You silently cursed that damn Winchester for it.

“Never, but it’s just for a couple nights, right? We’ll share ghost stories and braid each other’s hair. It’ll be fun,” you joked, having walked over to Sam and patting his arm.

You went to the bed and furiously fluffed each pillow - the ones in motels were notoriously limp. Next you shook out the blanket. You hated the way it stayed cold when it’d been pulled taught to the mattress all day. Of all fun facts about you, Sam found that the most endearing. He hadn’t told you before, but he’d always been keen on your quirks. Simply put, he loved that he wasn’t the ‘weird one’ anymore.

Getting comfortable on the bed, Sam flopped down, still fully dressed in those tough denim jeans and signature red flannel. Your eyes grazed over him as he closed his eyes from exhaustion. Your pajamas were in your duffel, so you fumbled for them before heading to the bathroom to change. The sound of the TV muffled against the door - it seemed to be one of those dramatic crime shows you and the brothers scoffed at.

Pajamas was a loose term for the oversized t-shirt and mid-thigh sleepshorts you wore to bed. If you were alone maybe you’d have worn far less. Sam had removed his shoes, at the very least. You dimmed the lamp in the corner of the room and settled onto the bed. Then that was it, the exhaustion of today had finally gotten to you. It took everything in you to not let your mind drift off to sleep.

“We gotta go into town tomorrow?” You asked Sam.

“Yeah,” his voice honeyed with a groggy softness, “we should talk to the families of the victims. Figure out if these really were ‘accidents’.”

“FBI? Police? Ooh, maybe church officials?”

Sam let out a breathy laugh at your joke, the husk of his voice reverberating through you. God, it could be absolute torture to be around him at times. When the stress of hunting melted away, and you two could be your real selves.

“Just FBI, Cas is on standby as our ‘supervisor’.”

You looked to him fully, “Cas is our supervisor? And Dean actually trusts he can do that? Cas doesn’t know the first thing about the FBI.”

“Eh, Dean thought it could be good for the ‘people skills’,” Sam replied, finally opening his eyes at turning his head to you. Suddenly the two feet between you felt like mere inches. Your breath caught in your throat; you couldn’t reply even if you tried, so you opted for a small smile. Sam countered it with one of his own - the flashy grin that melted your heart more each time.

“We’re gonna have to get up so early. I’m not too excited for that.”

Sam’s face softened, his voice lowering, “We should get some sleep, then. You good with that side of the bed?”

You nodded, rising out of bed to switch the lamp off. The light from the TV drew Sam’s sights to you, loosely shrouded by your shirt and shorts. His eyes raked over your bare legs, wandering up your thighs until your shorts stalled his imagination. Sam followed suit and stood, but walked to the bathroom with a handful of clothes plucked from his bag.

A moment later he returned to see you under the covers, hunched over from the cold. Whatever those shitty detectives said on the TV drowned out as you noticed Sam. Just then you realized you had never seen him wear anything but a suit or his regular garb. Even in boxer shorts and a black t-shirt, he managed to catch your eye.

He caught your eye contact and smiled once more, that familiar ache in your chest growing stronger. You reached over and lifted the covers for him, letting him settle on his side of the bed.

“Do you sleep with the TV on?” You asked softly.

“No, do you?”

You gave him a small laugh, closing your eyes, “Nope. Keeps me up too late.”

Sam smiled. A part of him was relieved that he could get some proper rest with you here. Dean had the habit of leaving the TV on, depriving him of countless hours of sleep.

Even though they were rare, Sam appreciated these moments alone with you. It was easy to be with you. It was easy to laugh, to open up, to ramble on about whatever lore he had obsessed over. He loved the way your eyebrows tugged together when you didn’t understand something, and the way you tried piecing words together before asking your questions.

The A.C. unit cranked on beside the bed, pumping freezing cold air on your back. You shivered, curling into yourself to keep the warmth in.

Sam’s eyebrows raised slightly, “Hey, are you cold? I can turn the A.C. off.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’ll warm up in a minute,” you insisted. Sam sighed, knowing you wouldn’t say yes, and turned the unit off.

He quickly settled back into bed, letting out a shuddering exhale. You waited until he shifted under the covers to speak.

“You cold, too?”

“Maybe just a little bit.”

In the faint light of the TV you could make out his smile. A part of your mind drifted off to a place where that smile met you every day, lounging around in bed. Sam’s hands would run across your skin and tangle into your hair, pulling your mouth to his before making you breakfast.

The room dimmed as the television went silent. You and Sam shifted under the covers for a moment before getting fully comfortable, the silence of the room felt like a bated breath.

Sam broke it first, “These blankets don’t really do their job, do they?”

You replied to him, “Not a damn bit. It’s freezing in here.”

“You can, uh… move closer if you need to,” his voice wavered. The silhouette of his form moved to face you, dimly lit by the light from street lamps in the parking lot. You could make out his sharp cheekbones and the chestnut brown hair draped around his neck.

When another shiver won your body over you took the offer, moving closer to Sam until your arms touched. Now inches from one another like you’d wished, your mind went blank.

It took everything you had to remind yourself what this was, well, wasn’t. This wouldn’t be the lust-driven breakthrough you had hoped for. Nor would it be the time for Sam Winchester to take you the way you ached for. An awkward, strictly business sleeping situation.

You let your mind wander off, the waves of exhaustion turning into the gentle lull of sleep. You could’ve sworn you felt Sam’s arm wrap around your waist, keeping you warm.

————

By the time you woke up, Sam was still fast asleep. You had never seen him like this up close, with his eyes fluttered shut and breathing slowed. The image painted itself into your memory.

You were right, though, Sam had laid his arm over you. And now both had enveloped you close to his chest, rising and falling steadily against your ear. It took twenty more minutes for Sam to wake up.

He stirred until he noticed you flush against him, and he stilled completely. You wiggled in his grip to look up at him.

With a groggy smile you greeted him, “G’morning.”

“Hey,” he said, voice still thick with sleep, “sleep okay?”

You gave him a simple nod, regaining your composure. You scooted yourself away to give him the space that should’ve been there all night. Even though a part of you crumbled as you did, you padded out of bed to the bathroom.

“At least we know to turn off the A.C. tonight. Maybe a room with two beds will open up while we’re out, and we can switch.”

Sam opened his mouth to speak before you closed the bathroom door. What he was going to say escaped him.

He just hoped no other rooms opened up before the evening.

Thank you for your support, everyone! Day two will be here soon

- Bunny

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn #spnfandom #fanfiction #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #writing #fic writing

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k1nky-r0b0t-g1rl-wr1t1ng · 5 months

Text

Badly Damaged

Wrote a lil short story based on a post i made the other day, enjoy.

CAS3 slowly trudges towards the dimly lit warehouse, her limp becoming ever more obvious the closer she gets. Her servos and joints whining loudly as her damaged body barely manages to keep itself upright. She approaches the dark alleyway, her shattered leg scraping along the hard concrete, her visor solely focused on the sparsely lit doorway inching closer. It can feel its systems slowly shutting down, one by one losing power, her core must’ve been ruptured, she’s lucky she made it this far. More systems go offline, she's cascading now, not long left. She wonders if this’ll be it, if no one’s inside, it almost certainly will be, a cold smile crosses her face. Maybe this time.

“Sam!”

Its voice escapes her throat, distorted and mangled, not surprising considering her current state.

“Vic!”

Another distorted name slips by her lips, unsure if it even wants a reply. Her vision starts to shut down, the sensors behind its visor losing power, its one good leg drops out from under it, her sundered body slams against the cold floor in the doorway, the last thing she sees is the bright interior lights of the workshop as her damaged core finally gives out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Initialising emergency boot protocol

Booting safe mode

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The cold spark of life burns through CAS3’s body, sparking and surging through what remains of her systems and subsystems. The coarse energy of life pushes into every corner of her being, forcing its processors to engage, the bitter taste of consciousness forming in her artificial mouth.

Her visor flickers on, CAS3 sullenly scans its surroundings unable to move its limbs, the consequences of being booted in safe mode. Laid out on a workbench, she is able to see the extent of the damage to her chassis for the first time. Her right foot completely shorn off, the connected metal ground down from dragging it so far. Her left arm missing from the elbow down, only a mass of wires and gnarled metal remains. Its entire body covered in slashed open jagged wounds, its metal twisted and malformed. A large hole sits covering most of her left breast plate, distorting metal through her entire chassis, probably what caused her core to rupture.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU.”

The noise startles her back to reality, her vision darts over towards a small desk, a small monitor flashing with bright lines of code but her eyes are drawn to the short human standing beside it. Arms crossed, a zipped down jumpsuit tied around their waist, a greasy white tank top sitting on their torso, but what she notices most of all is the furious expression plastered across their face.

“ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE!?” they continue to yell

“DO YOU EVER FUCKING THINK FOR ONE FUCKING SECOND!? YOU ARE SO FUCKING LUCKY I WAS WORKING LATE TONIGHT.”

CAS3 looks forward, still only able to move her head, a sigh escapes her still damaged throat.

“Just unlock me, I'll find somewhere else,” a hint of shame still obvious in the broken voice.

The human takes a few angry steps forward, coming back into view of CAS3’s visor.

“I’m sorry let me get this straight, you go and almost get yourself killed….AGAIN, leaving me to find your fucking corpse on my doorstep, in the middle of the fucking night. I only just manage to repair that stupid fucking core of yours before you ran out of time. And now you want me to just let you go, back out into the world looking like this…is that right?” The humans anger still dripping with every word.

“Sam please…i don't need this,” CAS3 manages to croak out, still avoiding Sam’s gaze.

“Oh you don't need this?” Sam chuckles “you wanna know what i dont fucking need? I dont need your stupid fucking body on my repair table every week. Why do you keep doing this? What's the point?”

“BECAUSE THERE IS NO FUCKING POINT,” CAS3 finally snaps back.

Sam steps back, shocked by the sudden explosion from the damaged bot below her.

“They built me for one fucking job and guess what, the war ended! it fucking ended. Wanna know what they gave me for my years of service? Fuck all, those cunts just tossed me into the world, Would have been decommissioned if they werent so fucking scared of me. I was built to fight and fight and fight and now what? Huh? I have nothing so why does it fucking matter. Who cares if this kills me, I'm barely alive anyway…” it trails off, finally looking towards the short human in front of her.

“Cass I…I’m sorry, I didn't know” Sam gently speaks.

“Yeah well you humans rarely do,” the machine says bitterly, “you're all born into this world and told you can do anything, you can be whatever you want, follow your dreams, follow your heart. I was born into war, I was built to fight and win and fight more, my entire purpose was forced into me the second I was created, and now that's over, my life was war and now it's gone, so where does that leave me? How can you follow your dreams if you were never built to have them?”

Sam shifts uncomfortably, reaching into their pocket before pressing a small remote. CAS3 feels her motors release, the tension in her system relaxes, it can move its body again.

“I’ll have your chassis fixed up by tonight, just…don’t leave…please,” they speak gently, walking over to their tool rack.

CAS3 sits up on the work table, stretching out what remains of her body, visor fixed on the same point, deep in thought. It's never told anyone that before, never allowed itself to be so open and raw with how it felt, especially not with a human. She's knocked out of her thoughts by the rustling of Sam beside her, calibrating their tools and preparing to fix her broken body.

“Why do you even care?” the distorted voice cuts through the silence.

Sam chuckles to themselves, “you really are an idiot you know.”

Before the robot can respond Sam’s lips meet hers, their firm hands grasp her cold metal face. Her processors kick into overdrive, its body built to feel in order to be a more efficient killing machine now feeling something entirely new, something warm, something sparking inside her. She can't think, she’s lost in something she's never felt before, everything melts away as the warmth on her lips slows down before pulling away.

“W-what are you doing?” the machine stutters.

“Showing you that you don't have to be what you were built for,” Sam quickly pushes their body onto the workbench, mounting the mangled warbot, connecting their lips once more, and sparks fly through CAS3’s system. Sam pushes their tongue into the cold metal mouth of the short circuiting bot, determined to show them the world can be gentle. The bot grabs the back of their head, its other damaged arm trying to grip onto the bench. CAS3 feels something growing inside her, an energy its never felt before, firm hands move all across her body, touching every joint and piece of plating. The vulnerability of being so exposed, her chassis torn asunder, access to her core just a small hand movement away. Sam begins reaching inside the gaping hole in her chest, she tenses as they get dangerously close to her centre.

“Relax bot, I'm not gonna touch that,” Sam purrs.

CAS3 releases the tension in its joints, trusting the mechanic once more. A jolt surges from her chest across her entire body, intense pleasure rushes to her receptors as she lets out a desperate robotic moan.

“Oh does someone like me playing with its wires?” Sam teases.

They keep playing with the exposed wires deep in the bots chest, forcing more distorted, mangled sounds out of her mouth. Her system is in overload, she cant think, she cant stop whatever is building deep in her system. It loses control of its body as something in her trips, her synthetic mind goes dark as her entire system explodes in pleasure before forcing itself to restart.

CAS3 shudders awake, jolting up on the workbench, unaware of how much time has passed, she frantically looks around before focusing again on the mechanic still sitting, legs either side of its hips, staring down at her, a warm smile greeting the bot.

“You were out for about sixty seconds there bot, how wa-mmghm,” They’re cut off.

CAS3 lurches forward, pushing the small human onto their back, her visor inches away from the mechanic's flushed face, lingering there for moments before darting down to their waist, pulling down the orange jumpsuit as best it can with only one hand.

Looking up with a smirk she whispers, “your turn.”

Returning to the now naked human form below her, she places gentle metal kisses along their thighs, working closer and closer towards her goal. Each kiss elicits a small sound and it only encourages her as she reaches her robotic fingers towards their opening. A loud gasp escapes Sam’s mouth, the cold metal fingers sending a shock through them. A moment passes, the warbot, the cold machine built to kill without feeling, built to win a war without question, built to end lives without hesitation

A moment passes, the warbot, sending pleasure all through the mechanics body, using her cold body to bring warmth, feeling alive for the first time.

If you wanna support me - Ko-fi

#amity's writing #robots

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highpatia · 5 months

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glances short | the hunger games: tbosas

sejanus plinth/reader — hurt/comfort but mainly hurt, angst, goodbyes

content. angst, spoilers?

author’s note. another short fic but oh well (0.690k)

You’d never forget the warmth his gaze felt on your skin. Like an early summer morning, the sunlight beaming on your waking figure. You were quick to keep it hidden in your reminiscence, like it would be effortless to strip it away from you.

The late nights that were spent together, you’d sneak into his bedroom from the cracked window. Embracing one another in the wake of night, skipping pages of worn books. You knew it was risky from the start. A cloak-and-dagger type of relationship, hidden by bedsheets and sheer glances to one another.

“A small ceremony, maybe in the forest or on the coastline. Just you and me, maybe my parents but they’d never let it be so quiet.” He whispered against your hair and he held you tight to his body.

You laughed quietly, hands rolling over his forearms in comfort. “Then, we’d run away. Far away from the Capitol, maybe to district two, back home.” The words lingered on his tongue like he was tasting them for the first time, never would you think he wanted to go back there.

You hum in agreement before tilting your head back, looking at his face. Sejanus’ eyes held contentment as he looked back into yours— but a modest hint of trouble, like he was expecting you to laugh in his face at the idea of fleeing. As you both had a life here in the Capitol. It wasn’t perfect of course, but you’d be sparse to find it anywhere else in Panem.

Ignoring the weight in your gut you tilt your head further before leaning in and pressing a small kiss to his lips. It was quick but it still painted a subtle red to his cheeks. “I’ll go wherever you go, Sejanus. I promise.”

You were told that messing with the Plinth boy would most likely get you expelled, but you were willing to be caught in the maw of the Capitol’s fat cats if it meant you’d be there with your boy.

He was kind. In one way or another, too kind. He didn’t fit in with his peers, they thought of him as district scum. If you were any greener, the same ideas would have run circles in your head. But you knew he was as kind as he was gentle, always dreaming of making a difference, altering the course of life.

So when you found yourself with dewy eyes looking at him in distress, you knew he wouldn’t change his mind about it.

“It’ll be over before you know it. I’ll come back home to you after my service and then we’ll wed.” It was like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “Just like we talked about.” His hands were trembling as he held your tear ridden face.

You lifted your hands to the top of his head. They’d shaved Sejanus’ hair for the field, as childish as it was you couldn’t help but feel grief for the lack of his soft tresses. He choked out a laugh before grazing his calloused thumbs over the surface of your face, brushing away the fresh tears.

He lent forwards and knocked his forehead against yours, eyes closed. He kept himself close to you for a moment, just revelling in the joint intimacy between the two of you. A few minutes went by before the bell rang out, indicating that the train was about to depart. It made your heart drop as small sobs began to escape you again, Sejanus silenced you with a kiss and gripped your shaking hands in his.

“Promise me you’ll wait, please.” His voice was quivering, as you separate, his now open eyes glossed over. “Promise me you won’t forget about me.” He says while removing himself from your figure. You blubber out promises as he lets go of your hands and begins walking over to the train door.

You stand unmoving, like you were stuck in a forever nightmare. As he looks over his shoulder to see you while stepping into the carriage, you can’t help but dredge that this is the last look you’ll ever share.

#.my writing #.tbosas #tbosas x reader #the hunger games x reader #hunger games x reader #thg x reader #sejanus plinth x reader #sejanus x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #sejanus plinth

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horang-07 · 6 months

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i am about to ramble like a crazy person abt the fnaf movie so scroll if u don’t like spoilers

was not expecting all the love on my last post so i will keep posting thoughts abt the movie

another thing that rlly interested me in the movie was the focus on images, how humans process things through what we see rather than context, and how this sets up the fnaf movie trilogy to focus on fnaf 4 in the next movies.

the most obvious example is abby, we’re explicitly told that children communicate and understand things through pictures, which mike sorta shrugs off until he starts seeing the bigger picture. this then applies to the animatronics when he learns that they are also children and incredibly influenced by the drawings in their environment. the restaurant in the movie is very much a living thing of its own, the way it thrums to life when abby enters, and the animatronics know the truth of the drawing the second it is pinned up, and the animatronics are an extension of that.

a less obvious example is mike. even though he shrugs off abby’s teacher, and the point she makes about him being at the centre of all her pictures, he is much the same. it isn’t just children who are influenced by images. he has been returning to the same image every night for we don’t even know how long, the same picture of the nebraskan trees, the same perfect family picture he describes to vanessa, the same image of his brother looking at him out of the car window. everything he does is a result of this image. he is wholly consumed by it, believes he can somehow change the picture and see the truth beneath it if he just tries hard enough.

the ghost children, specifically golden freddy, change the image for him in an attempt to placate him into giving them abby, but no matter if he dreams of a happy family, it wont change the truth of what happened. just like how pasting a picture of five children happily holding hands with a golden bunny won’t change the truth underneath. images are fallible, they don’t tell the truth and we cannot trust our brains.

firstly i think this is a really fun direction to take in context to how the movie humanises the animatronics. fnaf 1 is a game made entirely of scary, still images of the animatronics, save for the jumpscares and foxy’s run. the lore is sparse and entirely given through exposition (if i hear one more person complain abt vanny only being there for exposition and not phone guy’s two minute loredump at the start of every night in the game i will lose it), and we know nothing other than that our death is imminent.

but the truth is that these animatronics are kids. they’re scared and lost and confused and cannot understand what has happened. underneath bonnie in the west hallway camera and freddy staring at you from the showtime room are terrified kids doing what they feel they have to. the movie was incredibly dedicated to showing that these kids still want to build pillow forts and sing to music and tickle their friends and be a family and i think it was a great choice.

i think all this focus on images is definitely a perfect lead into fnaf 4 (im not 100% on my book lore but i believe there are three books that cover fnaf 1, fnaf 4 and then sister location??) especially with the recent lore update that all of fnaf 4 is hallucinations. we don’t need a lore explanation of how the nightmares could be real because… they aren’t. following the game timeline, fnaf 4 would have already happened by now but we could easily see a return to it through mike, especially if the schmidt-emily or schmidt-afton theories are true and mike could have been the child in fnaf 4 but surpressed his memories. firstly we have a protagonist who is already on sleeping medication and has dreams that can be easily manipulated. this is a perfect setup for the nightmare animatronics to start making themselves known.

i also think that fnaf 1 was intentionally visually tame. the themes of the movie are actually very dark, they don’t shy away from the truth of the bodies being hidden in the suits, the animatronics Very Brutally kill the burglars, max is literally bitten in half and her body is hidden away, but the on-screen gore keeps it pg. this 100% allows them to experiment further with the levels of gore, tension and violence if they do fnaf 4, because quite frankly some of the nightmares are horrifying.

TLDR this movie sets up a million directions and theories that the next one could go in, and theres nothing the fnaf fandom loves more than vague lore and theory crafting

vanny post next bc i have Thoughts

#eden rambles #fnaf spoilers #fnaf #fnaf movie #mike schmidt #william afton #five nights at freddy's #vanessa afton #fnaf 4 #fnaf theory

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icyowl · 1 year

Text

Vash Soulmate AU

Pairing: Vash the Stampede x f!reader

Synopsis: soulmate trope where injuries are transferred between one another. You've managed to hide it until now. 3k

A/N: I got nothing. Have fun!

———————

Soulmates: two people characterized by an undeniable pull towards and affection for one another. Signs include, but are not limited to, romantic attraction, frequently similar interests, and the sharing of injuries.

———————

Team: disheveled, exhausted, alive.

Body: pained, sore.

Brain: dizzy.

Sleep: beckoning. As soon as you could patch yourself up, whatever meager mattress awaited you would nonetheless be a welcomed friend. Just a bit longer.

“Hey, you alright?” Vash said while everyone began to split for their assigned rooms. Count on someone as caring as he to sense your exhaustion.

“Yeah, of course.” You replied. “Just tired.”

“After the day we had, I don't blame you.”

“Take care of that knife wound you got, okay? I saw what those bounty hunters did to you.”

“I'll be good as new tomorrow, promise.”

You knew that was a lie in more ways than one.

“Get some sleep.” He added before leaving the hallway for the boys' room. With the Stampede safely away, you listened closely for any sign of his return, and when you heard none, promptly collapsed into the wall and finally let your quivering legs let go of their last bit of strength. A relieved exhale, the kind that came only when you could let you guard down after having it up for so many hours, left you nothing but a sagging corpse against the hallway wall. Your hand delved under your clothing to assess the damage.

Blood.

Surprise? You wished.

Weary eyelids fell blissfully shut. Perhaps you'd wake up, maybe you didn't care whether you did or not, all you knew was the mere act of staying awake was more displeasing by the second. A part of you knew this couldn't continue. Your poor, feeble human body couldn't take much more of this. Just a quick rest. . .

“Hey.” Meryl said once she emerged from your shared room. Her tone indicated she'd finally had enough of your shenanigans.

“I know what you're gonna say.” You replied around a dry cough. The blood leaving your body was taking your energy with it. “Go away.”

“I could, but then you'd bleed to death. So come on, at least give me a chance of getting you on your feet.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Through a bit of struggle, Meryl finally managed to get you off the floor and into the room. Vash or any of the boys could have come into the hall if they caught sound of any of the groans and hisses and whimpers you gave, but thankfully did not. Your steps were slow, vision distorted, and Meryl barely managed to get you into the room and onto a bed before you spasmed from the pain and bit your sleeve to keep the boys from hearing it. Meryl reluctantly helped you out of your top and took the time to complain the entire way. This is ridiculous and I'm not helping you again. If you were more coherent you were sure you'd care.

A hefty weight landed square in your lap. “A first aid kit. You're welcome.” Meryl spoke as she took a seat on her own bed. This had happened enough that she didn't bother with you much and instead set about getting ready for the night. If you passed out, then maybe she'd worry.

Meryl pinned you with a dark glare when she had put up her jacket for the evening. “When are you going to tell him?”

Your hands worked down to open the kit without looking. Right now energy was too sparse to bother lifting your head. “He's already got so much on his plate, I—”

“You can't keep going like this. With how reckless he is, it'll kill you.” She bit back angrily. The fact she was angry made her even more angry. Soulmates were supposed to be a time of joy, not pain, sorrow, apprehension, trepidation. You and Vash should have been enjoying the bond ages ago; instead, she got to watch you hide away from him, patch yourself up in the dark and holding back tears when you needed a shoulder to cry on. Preferably the shoulder of a lean, glasses-wearing, gun-wielding, messy-headed typhoon.

“I will.” You said. The near-nightly routine you developed began to take shape even with the room's minimal light: unroll bandages, find gauze, lay out the towel, etc. Unfortunately, Meryl had heard your lies before and no longer bought them. She continued like you'd said nothing at all.

“Nick's too dense to have any idea, but Roberto's suspicious. He'll catch on soon, and do you think he's gonna keep your secret?”

“Can you just—” The brief blaze of intense fury coming to life in your blood was quelled under the knowledge that she had good intensions and clearly came from a place of compassion. Factually? Yes, she was right. You hated having to hide your injuries too. Obviously it would be so much easier to cry out whenever Vash got punched, kicked, grazed, beaten, tossed, pummeled, dropped—

You get the idea.

But emotionally? You just couldn't bare letting Vash and the others know of your situation. They'd only worry more, be more stressed, miss more sleep, treat you differently, carefully, like you were more important than them. This also felt like something you needed to keep up now that you'd gone along with the lie for so long. If you told the truth now, they'd only feel betrayed and distrusted. That was so far from the truth it nearly made you tear up just thinking of their faces. Vash especially. He'd feel it deeper than the other two.

“Can you just find some water, please? I can't hardly swallow.”

Thankfully Meryl did as you asked and made for the door.

“Swallow your pride, how's that sound?” She asked and closed the door before you could reply.

This wasn't about pride. Both of you knew that. You didn't have pride when you poured alcohol over the gash, screaming into your sleeve to stifle the noise and hopefully not tip off the boys next door. It wasn't there when the touches of the gauze made you thrash and your vision whiten with the spikes of agony. Pride wasn't felt when you looked at yourself — shaking hands, helpless sniffles, welling tears, tucked away in the dark of the room like you were ashamed to exist. You hadn't felt pride in a long time.

Pain. Pain was all you could comprehend. The gash was deep and oozed fresh blood readily every time you squeezed the surrounding area. You were probably queazy from seeing the life-force leave you and ebb uselessly onto your skin, clothing, and the bandages, but you were too light-headed to care. Trying to keep your dirty shirt out of the wound was difficult and eventually you accepted that it had to go. Infection would be hard to stave off and harder to conceal. It took a few tries to move your body in a way that would allow it to come off, but after some crying and more biting your hand to keep the screams at bay, it dropped from your hands onto the bed.

Fortunately Meryl came back swiftly with the water—

“You got any bandag-”

You heard Vash's voice, recognized his silhouette, cried out some sound of distress, just as he saw the blood, wraps, scars, bruises, stopped dead both physically and somewhere deep in his chest.

Some worthless insecurity - or maybe you stupidly still believed he hadn't seen even though his eyes had yet to leave you - made you grab your shirt to cover yourself, yell out at the flaring agony consuming you from the sudden move, and freeze. Even if he hadn't seen the wounds (he most certainly had), your shout would have tipped him off.

The shirt did a lousy job covering the scars - after all, they were everywhere. Neck, shoulders, chest, arms, hands, it was endless. Bruises filled in the rest of the macabre mosaic. Vash was only a few feet away from you, but when he called your name, it sounded distorted and distant. The heartbroken tone was the very thing you'd tried so hard to avoid.

“Its just a small cut, I'm oka-”

Then he began to cry, no, sob. His tears were endless and he did nothing to wipe them away so the two streams left his eyes, met at his chin, and fell in a steady drip to the floor. He started to violently shake, wrought with grief at the soul-breaking realization that you were hurt, he had caused it, and he'd been causing you pain for a long time.

He called your name like a plea. There was no real reason behind it. He wasn't mad, or calling you over to him. It was the hapless cry a child might do when looking for comfort. You hissed through the pain, shortened the distance, and stood in front of him on trembling legs. There was no point in hiding it any more. Slowly you let go of your dusty shirt with one hand, then the other, watching it fall, utterly terrified to look him in the eye. When had you heartbeat gotten so loud?

Vash's hands reached for you, then closed and retreated, before reaching again and holding your hands preciously. The weight of his guilt had his teeth creaking under the clench of his jaw and the tears had yet to slow.

“God,” he fumbled, “- I - fucking, god damn it - no-”

“Va-”

His fingers brushed over a scar near your collarbone. “When I let that guy stab me,” then they moved to the mark in your shoulder, “and I took the bullet for that girl, and here,” now they tickled your side, “when Nai burned me, god, this was when I got held hostage by those sisters,” he said after suddenly walking around you and seeing the minefield on your back. Some kind of wounded sound exploded from deep in his throat. The shame was crushing. “And here is from the police, and that's from those scientists taking biopsies—”

“Okay, okay.” You stepped away from the constant skim of his prying fingers and tried to hide yourself. It wasn't because you didn't like his reaction — it was perfectly reasonable — but being exposed like this was uncomfortable to say the least.

Now that you'd put space between your bodies, Vash hunched under the self-loathing flooding him, chin touching his chest, eyes pinched shut, and hands clenched furiously by his shivering sides. He had no right being close to you. “I'm sorry, I'm so, so, so sorry. Words can't - I can't-” He said through tears and snotty sniffles.

This is what you wanted to avoid. What should you say? What did he need right now? Comfort, obviously, and you yearned to hold him, but Vash was the type to push people away, to think himself a burden, a poison. How could you get him to change his tendencies without him thinking he was doing something wrong? How would you tell him to take it easy, not because you wanted to spare yourself from the pain or change who he was, but because seeing him in pain hurt like any real wound?

“Maybe we can come up with a solution together. If its - if you want. I don't want to force anything.” You offered into the subtle quiet of the room. This moment was pivotal. Rejection. Acceptance. It would be now.

Realization began to work into Vash's psyche. His fists loosened, his eyes stared far past the floor. It began to come into his mind that you were his soulmate, that he had a soulmate, that it was you, that he was so happy it was you and you were right in front of him, here, needing him physically, mentally, and all he could do was weep and cross your boundaries and then refuse to touch you like you weren't hurting.

“Y. . .” He started. Your incredulous statement was hard for him to process. “You think I don't want this? You think I'm even gonna let you out of my sight now-” Vash rushed through the distance between you in just a couple of steps, but stopped just before yanking you into him for the bone-crushing hug he desperately wanted to give. He knew the first rule of soulmates - skin to skin - but didn't want to overstep any bounds. You still looked a little embarrassed to be shirtless in front of him.

You also looked. . . pale. He always worried for you, but now that he knew of the unspoken connection between you two, he looked at you more carefully. Clammy, shaky, dull gaze, a slight sway to your weight. You had just began to lean dangerously far to one side but Vash was quick to support you by the elbows with lightening speed.

“Sorry.” Was all you could come up with.

“Don't be.” Vash replied. He should be the one apologizing, he thought.

Relaxing back against the bed was a godsend. Scratchy covers or not, getting off your feet was a blessing. You let Vash inspect your wound, too caught up in the relief to care. The secret was out, he wanted something with you, and now you were being diligently tended to by his gentle hands. You looked at the dusty ceiling, focusing on anything but the off-colored plaster.

“How are you able to focus?” You asked to try and stop thinking about the tickling sensation of his fingers. “You've got the same wound I do.”

He replied without looking up: “Biology, I guess.”

There was nothing to say to that. All you could do was try and remain still when his thumb gently brushed over a bruise. It was a kind touch, all of his were, but it was hard to let it happen. Topless, prone, letting him see so much of you; it was a little intimidating. You supposed you made it a fair trade when your eyes unabashedly locked onto him. The faint tint to his glasses wasn't enough to stop you from seeing his focus, touched with traces of sorrow. This quiet - two people sharing themselves with gazes and touches in the solace only a dark room could provide - was quickly feeding the connection previously snuffed out. Rapidly this man's face, respectfully tending to your injuries and looking nowhere else, was becoming quite the sight to behold. You didn't know you were looking at guilt. You didn't know that he felt like he'd done all this to you by his own hand: every scar, cut, scab, bruise, or knot.

Vash sat up, surmising he could only help with the most recent gash. “Alright, I'll need to clean it.”

“I already did.”

“Pouring booze over it doesn't count.”

“It's not that bad-”

Vash's eyes glared at you with a sudden edge. “I'm not letting this get worse.”

Now he looked a bit more like the infamous gunslinger everyone thought him to be. You decided to stay silent after that. He rummaged through various bags - knowing he was going through Meryl's things but not caring because this was you we're talking about and he wasn't going to let notions of respect stop him from helping you - and finally procured a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Vash was even meticulous enough to pinch the gauze between a set of tweezers before liberally dousing it in rubbing alcohol, worried his hands might cause infection.

“You ready?” He asked quietly, the soaking material hovering dangerously close to your skin. His grip was steady. Much steadier than yours would have been.

“Ready as ever.”

The last-ditch attempt at humor didn't last long. As soon as the gauze made a home in your skin, any thoughts other than the intense, stabbing discomfort spiraled away. The effort it took to stay still and not try to thrash away from the horrific feeling of course fabric digging through your screaming flesh was borderline incomprehensible. Perhaps it was the pain, perhaps the blood loss, but your brain began to float and swirl with a queazy nausea. In an effort to stay in the present reality you lashed out, grabbing onto anything that could give you some comfort. The warm clothes between your fingers meant you'd grabbed onto Vash — in itself nothing terrible — but when you looked and saw it was the flesh of his upper thigh in your grip, you hastily let go and instead settled for the bed linens beneath you.

“Sorry!” You rushed.

“I don't mind.” He replied. Nothing in his expression gave any of his emotions away (he really was very focused on stitching you up) which made it even more unnerving. Was he put off? Did ignoring what happened make you feel better? Did he not care? Did you want him to? “I like when you feel like you can rely on me.”

You continued to fist the sheets while Vash took his sweet time getting into every single nook and cranny of the cut. Even laying down you began to feel lightheaded. Sometimes Vash flinched, the only indication he felt what you did. It made sense; the transfer of pain and injury could be deadened until soulmates' bonds grew. From here on, both of you would have to be more careful. When he said he was done you sighed in relief, only to be told he needed to get you to sit up so he could wrap it properly.

“I'm gonna need some help.” You said.

“I wouldn't want it any other way.” He replied like it was nothing. His arms were warm and gentle as they worked between you and the sheets to support you properly. “Ready?” He asked, voice just a few inches from the skin of your neck and surprisingly smooth for how much he quivered on the inside.

You nodded.

Your grasp on his shoulders turned to hooked claws when the pain became too much. Vash had tried to be gentle, but it was going to hurt regardless. Then, wordlessly, he set about cushioning the gash with perhaps too much gauze and encircling your midsection in bandages. Again, maybe it was the blood loss, maybe not, but you shivered when he crossed the minimal space between you both to pass the wrappings behind your back.

“I never thought I'd have one.” He began. “I mean, I'm not even really human.”

“Didn't you feel every time I got hurt? Sure, it's not much compared to you, but you had to have felt my injuries too.”

“Honestly, it's hard to tell what's old and what's new at this point.” Vash finished by taking off his coat and wrapping you in it. After he pulled the front together to keep you warm (the shaking didn't escape him), he continued. His eyes stared at his coat, refusing to rise to meet you. “I know I don't have much right to ask this, but I can't stay quiet. Please, please promise me you'll try to be more open with me from now on? If you're hurting, I want to help.”

“If you'll do the same.”

Vash's eyes lifted in surprise. It would be hard - frankly he wasn't even really sure how - but it was fair. To share the hardships. “Then. . . we have a lot to talk about, I guess.”

#vash the stampede #vash x reader #soulmate au #blood #trigun stampede #vash the stampede x reader #trigun x reader #io has ideas

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sbdskate · 11 months

Text

Laws Of Attraction (Part 5) - DR x lawyer!fem!reader

Summary: McLaren is in breach of contract, dr3 hires a lawyer to deal with the aftermath. Tropes ensue. Slow burn. Enemies(kind of) -> Friends/colleagues -> Lovers

Pairing: lawyer!fem!reader x Daniel Ricciardo

Warnings: language, angst, mature themes

Word Count: 4,371

A/N: In a shocking turn of events, this is in fact not the last part. I really wanted to put something out there this week but I’m still not quite finished with the last bit of the story. That being said, I think I found a good break point. I’m not even going to jinx myself by saying the next part is going to be the last, so TBD. Thank you again for your support. Please don’t be a ghost reader, and please feel free to comment or DM with any positive or constructive feedback. Enjoy!

You woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. Perhaps that was your fatal flaw all along. The entire time you spent trying and failing to suppress and divert your feelings for the driver, you would have been better served leaning into them and letting them go in a controlled space.

In clearing the air with Daniel, you felt a weight lifted. You were still shocked by the revelation that the feelings were mutual at least in part, but there was comfort and stability in the understanding that had been reached. The lightness allowed you to finally stand in your confidence and share in the excitement of the next phase of negotiations. The season would be over in less than a month, with only two races left including Brazil. You were grateful for the light at the end of the tunnel.

You discreetly made your way to Red Bull hospitality on Thursday morning, bright and early in Sao Paolo before the chaos of media day began. There was only an admin there who greeted you showed you around. You made yourself comfortable in the empty kitchen area, where it was immediately obvious the difference in resources. It felt opulent yet comforting, especially compared to the aggressive orange and sparse theme of McLaren. Then again, spending any excessive time around McLaren hospitality or their garage nowadays just made you depressed and resentful.

It was early, even for you, and you desperately needed to caffeinate before the meeting. You saw the coffee machine, but no mugs in sight. You began opening drawers and cupboards in search of a vessel, cursing Christian Horner in your head. You finally found them, but of course they were on one of the upper shelves. You strained your body to extend as far as it would go, everything you needed just out of reach. While adjusting your balance on your tiptoes, you felt a warm body press against you and a shadow of an arm reaching over you. You closed your eyes and sharply inhaled, relishing the pressure on your back and the smell of familiar cologne. You opened your eyes again when he peeled away from you.

“I think you were looking for this?” Daniel handed you a mug. You took it, feeling your fingers brush again. The epiphany you had earlier was dispelled in an instant. Engaging in self pleasure may have acted as a momentary release, but it did not subdue the feelings that had taken firm root over the last few months. Masturbation was simply a light pruning for the sturdy tree that now grew in your garden that refused to be moved by earthquakes or hurricanes.

“I could’ve gotten it,” you grumbled avoiding eye contact. You had told yourself you had no reason to feel awkward about the other night, but you felt yourself shrinking in his presence nonetheless. His voice went up several decibels and he batted his eyes to mock you.

“Good morning, Daniel! Thanks so much for helping me! Good morning to you too, no problem, so happy I could help.” You rolled your eyes.

“Good morning. I promise I’ll be nicer in ten minutes once I’ve had my coffee.” You haphazardly raised your empty mug. He raised his hands and backed away, a small smirk on his face, but did not leave. He found a seat elsewhere in the kitchen, and you felt his eyes on your back as you went about your business.

You locked eyes when you turned around with a full cup. He innocently smiled and waved, while you forced an aggressive smile back. Leaning against the counter, you took a few sips of coffee without breaking eye contact. After a few minutes you joined him.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

“Are you done being a cunt?”

“Are you done being a douche canoe?” He snorted.

“I guess not.”

“Likewise.” You paused. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to be here so early before the meeting.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Me neither. I’m excited, I think. And a little nervous.” He looked like a child on his first day of school, fidgety and unable to contain the energy requiring release. He couldn’t help the growing smile on his face. It was contagious, and you quickly found yourself smiling too.

“You should be – excited! Not nervous,” you quickly clarified. He looked down while he continued to bounce his knee.

“What if I make the wrong choice again?” he timidly whispered, though it could have been a question directed at you or the universe. It was no secret that many thought him leaving Red Bull in 2018 was the worst professional decision Daniel Ricciardo ever made, his short stint with Renault followed by his experience with McLaren as evidence. However, hindsight is 20/20. Perhaps he had too much hubris at the time, but he very validly thought he was being forced into a second driver position. How could he have known the series of unfortunate events that would follow? You did not fight the urge to hold his hand this time, gently placing yours on top of his in the middle of the table as you leaned in.

“There is no wrong choice this time,” you whispered back.

You truly believed that Daniel was in a win-win situation. Mercedes was a well-oiled, professional machine. The relationship there would be a symbiotic one. You thought they could help ground and focus Daniel, while Daniel could improve their public image and perhaps allow them to shed their somewhat stuffy, mechanical persona. Moreover, it would represent a clean slate with a new team. Conversely, you couldn’t deny how poetic a return to Red Bull would be. The place where Daniel spent so many years at the beginning of his career, it would be a momentous homecoming.

The Red Bull kitchen was quiet and empty. He looked at your hand. You were about to pull away but he lightly took hold of it before you could.

“Thanks,” he said in a soft voice to match the soft smile that graced his features.

“Of course. You know I’m always here for you.”

“I know.” He lazily rubbed your fingers with his thumb.

“Do you want to go over anything before the meeting?” You feebly attempted to redirect the conversation to be more professional, but you both knew there was no real effort as neither of you moved.

“Not really. I feel good this time.”

You remained in comfortable silence for a beat, lost in the exchange of energy that passed through one another. Your phone buzzed, pulling you away from the moment temporarily. Your face fell slightly. He looked at you expectantly.

“Well, you’re stuck with me today. The partner’s tied up with something.” You raised your gaze to meet his, searching for some kind of approval. He feigned distress.

“Oh no, what will I do? You’ve only handled 70% of this whole process on your own.” You squinted, skeptical of his confirmation.

“You trust a meager, low level associate to handle the entire trajectory of your future?”

“At this point, I trust you with my life.”

It was hard to tell whether he was being overdramatic for comedic effect or genuine. Foot steps in the distance pulled you from your trance, your hands quickly recoiling. With his back to the entry, he didn’t miss the chance to give you a wink and a smile that made you want to melt into the floor. Instead, you rolled your eyes in response but your bashful smile gave you away. You stood up when you saw your expected hosts enter.

“My two favorite people!”

“Good morning, Christian. I appreciate it, but you know flattery doesn’t work with me,” you quipped as you shook hands. When he wasn’t pissing off the rest of the grid, Christian really was quite the charmer when he wanted to be.

“On the contrary, it will get you everywhere.” The smile didn’t leave his face when he turned to Daniel, arms wide open. Their energy was well matched as they embraced in a warm hug. As happy as the driver was last week with his points finish, he seemed immensely more comfortable now.

When they separated, Christian looked at you again.

“What is this? Coffee and no Red Bull?” he teased.

“Sorry, had a bad experience in law school with energy drinks I’m afraid. Nothing personal. Though I was beginning to wonder whether the coffee machine was for decoration only.”

“They hide the mugs on purpose,” Daniel chimed in. Given the dimply smile and his tone, you would think he was joking but knew he was absolutely telling the truth.

“He leaves for four years, comes back, and thinks he owns the place and can share company secrets.”

You had seen it several times now, but it amazed you how easy their relationship seemed. Although technically Mercedes was not out of the question, you already knew where Daniel’s heart was. It was now just a matter of ironing out the details.

Christian and the Red Bull lawyer joined you at the table in the kitchen. It was a nice change of setting, the informality of it made the weight of the discussion feel a bit lighter. The process with them was easy, especially compared to McLaren and even Mercedes. While it was slightly less formal, at all times you felt respected. Not once did anyone assume you were an admin or paralegal, which admittedly is a low bar. But even beyond that, especially with the partner’s absence, you were never treated as a subordinate and your professional capabilities were never called into question. Of course this process was not about you, but in your opinion you believed choice of outside counsel was an extension of the type of work environment your client could expect. Red Bull had been a pleasant surprise in this respect.

It was all smiles when you exchanged handshakes as you parted ways. You and Daniel were shown out the back door to avoid a few media that had just started to arrive at the paddock. You walked behind the teams’ hospitality stations so that you could join the main entry of the paddock without raising suspicion.

“So. How do you think it went?” you casually asked. You didn’t want your own opinion to taint whatever his genuine response may be.

“Honestly… I think it went really well.” The dimply smile you had become so fond of returned to his face.

“Honestly… me too.” You allowed yourself to show your enthusiasm, feeling yourself break into a wide grin. Away and hidden from the main walk of the paddock, he grabbed your hands and you both quietly squealed and jumped up and down. After a few seconds when you stopped and regained composure, he asked:

“So, what’s next?”

“Well, that depends on you. If you think you’re ready to pull the trigger with Red Bull, you let me know ASAP and assuming we’ve already nixed any dealbreakers that would’ve been in their offer, we go through everything again with a fine-tooth comb, see if they’re able to come up on anything and sign.”

“And Mercedes?”

“We keep them in play until everything is in writing and executed. No need to have a PR disaster like Alpine.” You were, of course, referring to the unfortunate circumstances of Alpine prematurely announcing Oscar Piastri as their second driver for 2023. He chuckled as you continued walking towards McLaren. You could hear the hustle and bustle from the press getting louder as more people began to arrive. He paused just before you were about to turn the corner and enter the circus.

“I want to be at Red Bull,” he said definitively. You smiled.

“Ok then. I’ll get to work.” He gave you an encouraging fist bump before taking a deep breath, knowing this would be the last bit of downtime you both had for the rest of the weekend, reluctant to leave the nest of the quiet sanctuary you shared just behind the organized chaos.

“Shall we?”

You sighed. “No time better than the present.”

Brazil was an eventful whirlwind. It was no surprise to you that Daniel continued to skillfully navigate an onslaught of questions about his future in the sport on press day and the rest of the weekend. On Saturday, the two of you gossiped excitedly when Kevin Magnussen got pole in qualifying despite Daniel’s own mediocre performance. Obviously the sport was cut throat, but everyone couldn’t help but root for the Haas underdog. There was a buzz during the sprint, Daniel just out of reach of the points in p11. Unfortunately, the race itself ended up resulting in a DNF for both McLaren boys. With each day of events, Daniel’s mood seemed to sour despite the positive steps being taken behind the scenes. Of course DNF-ing on what could be his second to last race ever is not what anyone wanted. However, while you sympathized for Daniel, that’s not what you were focused on. There was the celebration of George’s first win with Lewis also on the podium, but then there was the internal team drama you watched unfold at Red Bull.

You anxiously waited out the post-race interview process so that you could update your client. If there was any question on what the path forward was before, it became crystal clear today.

As he walked through the paddock eager to get to his drivers room for some solitude, he saw you practically bouncing on your toes. He was a little annoyed to see you in such high spirits after an abysmal race, but it also made him relax a bit.

“I should DNF more often if it makes you this happy,” he dryly joked as he approached you. You should have been used to this song and dance by now. He makes a questionably flirtatious comment, you blush and get flustered, and after a bit of fumbling you redirect course and get back to business. You knew he wouldn’t change his behavior, no matter how many times you halfheartedly scolded or ignored him. It shouldn’t make you flustered any more, but there was excitement in not knowing whether there was any truth behind it. And as much as you hated to admit it, you liked it. But that was before your conversation in Mexico, where you divulged so much about your own inner turmoil. You had made yourself vulnerable. After that, you had assumed he would stop out of respect. What was a thrill before now felt like a cruel joke at your expense.

“Very funny,” you deadpanned. “I have some important news to share with you, can we go somewhere private to discuss?”

“You’re not going to buy me dinner first?” He had said this before, but it wasn’t landing like it used to.

“You’re going to have to buy yourself a new lawyer if you keep this act up.” For someone who didn’t finish the race, he was being awfully cocky today. And by goodness, did it make you feel things.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re the one who said you wanted to be alone with me -”

“Daniel.” He usually stopped after the first rebuttal.

“Not that I’m mad at it-“

Your previous excitement began to sour in your mouth as your heartbeat quickened. You grabbed his wrist and dragged him through McLaren hospitality to his drivers room. You didn’t care who saw or what it looked like. You practically pushed him in and shut the door behind you. His eyes widened as you got in his face.

“Oh shit, is this actually happening?” he began to pull at his shirt.

“What?! No. Shut up. What is wrong with you today?”

“Oh come on, I was just joking! You know I always do this.”

“No.” You pushed your pointer finger into his chest. “Today, you’re being an ass. I don’t know if this is you acting out after a shitty race or what, but pull it together. You are not a 21 year old frat boy, you’re a 33 year old world class athlete with a fully developed frontal lobe - who is now wasting my time, and rest assured, I am billing you for it. And if you stopped your inappropriate jokes for two fucking seconds and let me do my job, I would have told you that there’s a solid chance you can be on the grid in 2024 in a fucking Red Bull. Thought you might want to know.”

You had backed him into a wall and were inches away from his face, huffing and puffing. You were so mad, that one man could make you so infuriated and horny at the same time. His eyes were still the size of dinner plates, but his expression had fallen slightly. It was his turn to blush. He had been surrounded by yes-men for so long, he couldn’t remember the last time he had been chastised like this.

“I’m sorry-” You continued, your tone somewhat more even.

“Max wouldn’t let Checo through today despite what it would mean for the driver’s and constructor’s championships because he thinks Checo purposefully sabotaged him during qualifying in Monaco. The girls are fighting which is more bad PR for Red Bull, Checo’s contract is up next year, and if this dynamic continues between the two drivers then there’s a good chance they won’t renew it.”

“That’s great news-” You cut him off again.

“Am I a joke to you? Because I know you wouldn’t be making these comments if I was a man. I know you thought I was some secretary when we first met, but I really thought I had earned your respect throughout this process.” He looked at you now wearing the pink pantsuit you’d worn on that fateful first day.

“Can I just-”

“I’ve had to deal with so many mediocre men with undeserved self-inflated egos my entire life. I’ve dated them, I’ve been in class with them, I’ve worked with them, I’ve worked for them – especially the last five years at this godforsaken law firm. Lord knows I don’t need another one. I’ve had to work twice as hard and be better than them to prove myself as an equal. And even with all that, no matter what, as soon as I leave the room I’m the punchline of some joke I never asked or wanted to be a part of because I have boobs. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot initially but I really thought you were different. But no-”

One second you were ranting, the next you were cut off by lips crashing into yours. In your fury you missed his warm brown eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. In a flash he had grabbed the lapel of your suit jacket to bring you towards him, your hands landing firmly on his chest. Fireworks flashed behind your eyelids and for a moment you forgot what day it was, where you were, and who you were. You don’t know how long it lasted. You should have pulled away. You definitely shouldn’t have kissed back. But the taste of saline on him from the demands of the day and the scruff of his beard on your chin and cheeks made you want to stay. You smelled his cologne mixed with musk and, what was that, aftershave? Instead, he pulled away first.

You blinked a few times, jaw slack. You brought a hand to your lips, half to make sure they were still there but also for confirmation that you didn’t just hallucinate.

“Sorry, it was the only way I could think to get you to shut up so I could get a word in edgewise. If you’d let me talk, I would say I think you’re the most brilliant person I’ve ever met. You’re smart, witty, funny, and no, it doesn’t hurt that you’re as good looking as I am. You think I give a fuck about billing? I would spend my entire fortune down to nothing if it meant I got to spend more time with you. I’ve known for weeks I wanted to go to Red Bull and I didn’t tell you until three days ago because as excited as I am about figuring out what I’m doing next year, I’m equally dreading it because as soon as I sign that means you leave. When you’re not in the room I only sing your highest praises. So yes, of course I respect you. And I realize, kissing you just now may have proved your point, and I’m sorry about that. And you’re right that I’ve been a cunt today and a lot of this weekend, and I’m sorry about that too.”

There had been very few times in your life where you were left speechless, and this was one of them. It was literally your job to be good with words, and right now they failed you.

“And I know you’re going to say ‘let’s forget that this ever happened’ and I’ll move on and get back to business, but I can promise you I won’t. I’ll never tell another soul for your sake, because I don’t want you to lose your job, but I refuse to forget this, our conversation in Mexico, or that Sunday in Austin. You’re unforgettable f/n l/n.”

You stood there in silence for a few moments. Your adrenaline was through the roof and your mind was blank. He was clearly looking for a response, yet you had none. You did your best to break the tension.

“Well if your goal was to get me to shut up, you succeeded.”

“Honestly, I’m as shocked as you are,” he said with a small laugh. There was another long pause. “I shouldn’t have said all of that, I’m sorry.” You gave him a knowing smile.

“No you’re not.” He smirked.

“Yeah, not really.” You had become particularly focused on a speck of dirt on the floor, but finally returned his gaze.

“You know nothing can happen,” you whispered. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact that was directed at yourself as much as him. You unsuccessfully tried to hide the disappointment in your voice. He refused to look away from you even when you continued to avoid eye contact.

“Yeah, I know.”

Silence descended again. There was nothing else to say. You realized through your tirade and this whole exchange you had been standing dangerously close to one another, and you hadn’t backed away after the kiss. You could feel his heartbeat on your chest, and you were pretty sure he could hear yours. You separated yourself and tried to pick up whatever pieces of dignity you had left. You straightened out your suit jacket and cleared your throat.

“I’m going to try to add some clauses in the contract for 2024 primary driver placement. They’ll almost certainly come back with red lines to make them conditional, perhaps based on Checo’s performance and/or your own performance in the sim, but Horner loves you so much that I think they’ll be receptive to the idea overall.” Your heart hurt at how crestfallen he looked.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“I’ll send you a draft before it goes to Red Bull. You can expect deliverables by tomorrow.”

“Ok.”

“Assuming everything goes smoothly, I anticipate the agreement to be fully executed by Abu Dhabi. Does that sound like a reasonable timeline?”

He was incredulous at how quickly you could shut everything off. He had spilled his heart to you and in return he received merely an acknowledgement before you put an abrupt end to the conversation. You had done it so many times before to a lesser extent that he shouldn’t have been surprised by how quickly your walls went back up, but he somehow thought this time would be different.

“Yeah,” he finally answered. “But… I want to wait until after the race. I don’t want to have to worry about sneaking away in the middle of practice or qualifying.” It was his way of saying he wanted you there for the duration of the race weekend, he had gotten used to your presence over the last three months. Despite whatever this altercation did to your relationship, professional or otherwise, he couldn’t imagine finishing the tumultuous season without you by his side. He hoped you would pick up the subtlety, but it went over your head.

“I don’t know Daniel, Red Bull probably has a million celebratory events immediately afterwards seeing as their driver won the championship and they won the constructor’s. I imagine McLaren also has a bunch of end of season events planned as well that you’ll have to attend.”

“Can we ask if they can spend an extra day in the country?”

“If you want to wait until after the season is over I totally get it, it might just be easier if we try to schedule something at Milton Keynes the following week.” For someone so smart you were also awfully dense. He tried to come up with a logical explanation that you would be willing to go along with.

“I just thought it would be smart to be able to announce this within a few days after the end of the season, where there’s still buzz and interest and before we get too far into winter break. Plus then it would give the team a few days to come up with a press release still within that timeframe.”

You couldn’t argue that such timing would be better publicity for both him and Red Bull.

“Hmm, I suppose you’re right. No promises, but I’ll reach out to Red Bull to see what their schedule is like.”

He was satisfied with the victory, no matter how small.

“Is there anything else?” The words felt hollow as they left your mouth. He looked away, shaking his head in disbelief.

“No, I guess not,” he said in defeat. You felt terrible. There were so many things you wanted to tell him, but saying them out loud would only serve to stoke the wildfire you so desperately wanted to put out.

“I’ll see you next week in Abu Dhabi,” you said meekly. You left the room, ending the exchange in a stalemate with neither party satisfied.

Taglist: @ravenqueen27 @leslizzle @zendayabelova @eitak-t @chiliwhore @wewoo1233

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cheesemonky · 2 months

Text

Chapter 3: And The Journey Begins

pairing: fairy!felix x fairy!reader

Series Masterlist

Word count: 1.5k

summary: A fairy gets their wings once they're 13. A normal one at least. You're 23, and still without any. This leaves you without a mate, because who would love a wingless fairy? So when you decide to leave, it's quite the surprise to find a fairy with a wing missing…

warnings: reader has a swearing problem lmao, FUNKY LITTLE CAMEO FROM ANOTHER AUSSIE :3, felix is a cutie NOT PROOFREAD

“You heard me. I’m coming with you.”

“Didn’t you say the exact opposite last night?”

“... I mean yeah, but I can change my mind if I want to.” He couldn’t tell if you were kidding. Even you couldn’t believe what you were agreeing to. You had thought

“In that case… sure! You can come.” It surprised you a little with how easily accepting he was of your change of mind.

"But just a warning. This journey won't be easy. I’ve lived in the Bush for long enough to know. Are you sure you're ready for it?" He nodded his head confidently, smiling at you before speaking up. It scared you that he knew more about where the two of you were going, yet had no idea how to handle himself in the Bush.

"I would walk my way through the gates of hell to get my wing back. I'm not about to let anything stop me now." Your heart melted slightly by his brave and determined outlook. It was quite obvious that he probably couldn’t handle anything of that degree, but the enthusiasm was not unwelcome. Not to mention his beautiful smile. And those eyes! That bright and lively spark in them...

"Alright then. Let's get going."

“Let’s just hope that we don't get lost on the way.” You teased with a dry chuckle, but he laughed along with you. You couldn't help but think that he was just so adorable when he laughed.

“I really appreciate you coming with me. Just so you know.” His eyes were fixed on your face, and you almost felt a blush creeping up your cheeks. Almost.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever… I’m only doing it for myself anyway.”

"That's a funny way of saying that I'm so gorgeous, that you couldn't help but come with me." You couldn't help it. His teasing made you want to tease right back. It also made part of you want to tear him apart, but that doesn’t have any value to your conversation, so you keep that hidden.

"Just don't come crying to me when you miss your mom or get a splinter." You said, trying to hold back your grin. Now that you were both on the same page, getting along proved to be much easier. His warm presence made it so easy to talk to him.

"Let's get going, yeah? Which direction are we going in?"

"Well actually, in the story, it says that you have to collect the clues to get the key, which unlocks the door to The Heart of Eris." Right, because that's what happens in stories.

"So where's the first location?"

"Uhh, which way is Glebe?"

"East."

"So that means we go West."

"And where does that lead us?"

"A nice little fairy neighbourhood. Much smaller than our villages."

"Sure. I'll lead us West then." And finally the journey began. As you ventured into the unknown, the atmosphere between you and your unexpected companion remained surprisingly light-hearted. The landscape around you transformed as you headed west, entering the deeper areas of the outback. The scenery gradually shifted, and you found yourselves walking through dried paths. The air was filled with the sounds of nature, and the warmth of the sun peeked through the leaves overhead. As you continued your journey westward, the landscape became more rugged, the vegetation sparse and tough, adapted to the harsh conditions. The sun beat down relentlessly, casting long shadows across the dusty trail.

"So, any idea what we're looking for in this fairy neighbourhood?" you asked, breaking the silence that had settled between you as you walked. He scratched his head thoughtfully.

"Well, according to the story, the first clue should be hidden somewhere ‘among those people who wander the night, and they live off no sunlight’, whatever that means.”

“...huh?”

“Yeah, I don’t know either… welp, we’ll just figure it out when we get there.” You weren’t sure what scared you more. The fact that he didn’t even know what you were meant to be looking for, or that he doesn’t seem to mind. You probably should have considered this a bit further. But it's too late now. Plus, you don't exactly want to go back and leave his cute face to die.

As you continued to walk, the landscape began to change yet again. The terrain became less harsh, and signs of life started to appear. Small patches of vibrant greenery dotted the landscape, and the air felt cooler as you approached what seemed like a small fairy neighbourhood, just like he said. You finally arrived at the outskirts of the quaint town and it was indeed much smaller than your villages, with little cottages nestled among the trees. The air was filled with the delicate fragrance of flowers, and the sound of laughter and chatter drifted through the air.

"Wow, this place is amazing!" Felix looked around in awe of the place. Such a small place, yet the beauty the landscape held was immense.

"Yeah, it is... we should find somewhere to stay, like an inn." You suggested, and he turned back to face you, a determined smile painting his face. But as you searched, there was one thing you guys didn't account for.

"So you're telling me... that you're a fairy... without wings?" The receptionist questioned, unbelieving of your story. "And this fella here had one of his taken?"

"Look ma'am, I know it sounds unbelievable, but I swear to you, it's true."

"Uh, yeah right. I'll let you stay once you stop lying. Unless you aren't a fairy at all. Then I can't let you in." The frustration became evident on your face and you clenched your fist to stop yourself from punching something or someone. Before you could reply, Felix stepped in to talk for you.

"I'm sorry, but we're doing something *really* important, and we need somewhere to stay a few nights."

"I know, and I'm saying, I can't let you stay. She for sure is not a fairy, and you're missing your wing. You could be dangerous creatures for all I know." God, this lady was insufferable. A sudden boost of confidence led you to step in front of Felix and lean over the counter to talk some sense into this woman. At least, that's what you were meant to do.

"Listen here, you little shit, my friend and I have been through a lot, probably more than a measly receptionist, and you fucking around doesn't help. Honestly, people like you are such cunts, like let us the fuck in you son of a bi-"

And before you knew it, both your asses were on the floor outside the inn.

"Stay out, pests." The gruff voice came from behind you and the door slammed in your face.

"Nice going, Y/N."

"Whatever, this place was shit anyways..." You mumbled under your breath. You were the one messing up now, and you weren't sure you liked it. Usually, you didn't pay mind to others' disappointment, but Felix was different. He sighed deeply, getting up and dusting himself off.

"It's okay, we'll try somewhere else." Unfortunately, you soon realised that everywhere you tried would give the same reaction. For hours the two of you went around everywhere, to every inn, pub, even a farmstead! But your efforts were to no avail. The two of you walked the streets in silence, both in deep thought as to what to do next.

"I mean, you still have your stuff, we can set up a little sleeping place outside the town."

"There is literally one blanket and I'm not sharing it with you. And we're not alternating either, there's no danger here."

"... they could try and kill us in our sleep, but whatever I guess..."

"We wouldn't kill you!" Felix let out a small noise at the sudden voice, and you snapped your head to look at the source. It was a young man, seemingly around both your age, his black hair framing his face perfectly. His smile was cheshire, and his eyes held a sense of mischievousness.

"Uh, thanks..? Who are you though..?"

"I'm Jake! I've been away for a while, but the people here are nice enough not to kill you!"

“That’s… great?” He smiled wider this time, holding his hand out for either of you to take. Felix, being the friendly man he is, takes it without hesitation, shaking it vigorously.

“Can you please help us? We need somewhere to stay.”

“I mean… I could let you stay at our holiday house, but I’m not sure if my friends would be okay with that-”

“Please?”

“... Okay fine. But if they don’t like you, that’s not my fault~!”

“Yes, let’s go!” Your surprise knew no bounds. How and why was Felix so quick to trust?

“Felix, wait-” You grabbed his arm, and pulled yourself up to reach his ear. “This might be dangerous.” You whispered, keeping a close eye on Jake.

“Do you have any other ideas? Because I don’t” You held your breath, trying to find a reason to make him stay. Oh, how stupid you must’ve looked. Rejecting a kind (but strange) offer of help when that’s what you’ve been looking for.

“We don’t bite, I promise you~” One last time, you took a good look at Jake. He didn’t seem to impose any threat and his offer seemed genuine.

“Fine. But I swear to god, if you pull some weird ass shit-”

“Chill, chill, hahahaha~ you’re in good hands.”

taglist: @mumusreblogs @kai-lee08 @2minstan @painstakingly-juno @jinnie-ret @juskz @nvmkyuu @asp3ntr33 @cinnabunnyongbok @mirbokk @stardustlixie @vampcharxter @michelle4eve @silverstarburst send an ask to be on the taglist!!

leisel's note: i'm not dead!! just busy with uni and stuff :3 almost at 100 followers, so exciting!! im debuting a new blog at 100, so stay tuned ( ´ ▽ ` ) once again, reblogs are always appreciated, even if they're small 💗

#skz #skz fics #stray kids #lee felix #felix angst #felix fluff #skz fluff #stray kids x reader #fairy felix!!#<3 #felix x reader #skz Felix #lee yongbok #skz angst #skz series

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