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seokahwrites · 3 years

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NUISANCE | chapter 1 (or, human walls and steak fungi)

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pairing.

| lawyer! jeon jungkook x lawyer! reader (feat. ex! kim taehyung)

summary.

| all you wished for was a relaxing two weeks in a big ass boat eating some big ass shrimps, away from the real world. but instead you’re stuck with your arch rival with no means of escape — and goddamit why does the bastard smell so good

tags.

| the spice has commenced; POUTY JUNGKOOK???; hunky jungkook?; jungkook?; jungkook in a suit; a LOT of jungkook; pouty reader; stressed out reader; use of the words dick and cooch; use of the word satan (to refer to kim seokjin ofc); KIM SEOKJIN IS THE REAL MAIN CHAR; poor joon is a victim; JUNGKOOK WEARING EARRINGS AND BRACELETS; taehyung is nice (?) (¿question mark?)

a/n.

| this writing was sponsored by red bull, alcohol and fantasies of casual jungkook as well as jungkook in a suit. also, jungkook’s smile is described as tight lipped bc his signature smile appearing is important to the story. also i wanna know y’all’s thoughts on tae. BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY THANK U FOR THE COTINUOUS SUPPORT AND LOVE, I WILL CONTINUE TO GIVE MY BEST AND THANK U FOR READING MY STORY <333

Having once spent a sleepless night reading Dante’s inferno, you were well aware of the fact that there are 9 layers of hell.

Though, it seemed the old man had forgotten about the tenth circle: Anywhere with Jeon Jungkook.

Since the first time you met him, you never had any reason to believe that he was a humble character. He had always looked at you from the top of his high horse and he took much pride in trotting on it.

As you, Jungkook and the receptionist wait for the elevator, the air thick with discomfort, you look at the man in front of you and remember that first time.

Your head is invaded with the memory of you in your Hello Kitty pajamas, adorned with grease and all, as you worked on a divorce case that causes you migraines to this day — love is a bitter bitch. It must’ve been past midnight when you and Jin were chewing away pizza slice after pizza slice at the office.

Then, there’s a knock at the door.

“If that’s Namjoon I’m literally going to fire you,” you bark at Jin as you hold his leftover crust on one hand and a document on the other.

And Jin, being the smart ass he is and knowing you wouldn’t survive a day without him, gets up from your leather couch without a word and opens the door, launching himself at none other than Kim Namjoon.

You roll your eyes at the love birds while wondering when the fuck their honeymoon phase was gonna end. You were so sick of them.

“Y/N,” Jin calls you from your desk, urging you to come to the door and once you’re beside him, this time with a cup of coke in your hands, “Can you keep them entertained for a bit? I just gotta grab Namjoon’s meds.”

Before you could say no, the little devil was already running off to his own cubicle, leaving you alone with the all familiar Namjoon and a very much not familiar stranger.

You lean on the doorframe without uttering a single word, sipping on your drink as well as the stranger — Sure, looking back at the moment you kinda just wanna punch yourself in the cooch and tell yourself to get a grip, but you weren’t blinded with hatred at the time, and also not blind — because it isn’t every night that a man clad in a charcoal suit and an unbuttoned shirt, comes knocking at your door; not to mention his watch dazzled under the artificial light and he held the blue tie in his hand with just the right grip.

You’re snapped out of your daze when the man goes from checking the time to whispering something in Namjoon’s ear, covering it the same way eight year olds cover their own secrets, and he laughs. This would all be good and well if he hadn’t looked at you with such appall in his eyes the moment before, the look still clear as day in your mind.

You're reminded that your makeup was probably smudged from all the times you had rubbed your eyes, your skin oily from the tiresome day and you were wearing Hello Kitty pajamas.

Maybe you shouldn’t have taken the insult so personally, but you did.

“I’m here,” Jin is back, a hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder as the other one passes him a lunchbox of cold medicines, “What did I miss?”

At this you look up from the pitiful ground, pulling Jin back to your office, and accidentally spill (or throw) your coke at the stranger. You watch in delight as he looks at his very expensive looking suit drenched in a sticky brown, utter terror in his eyes, inhaling the wonderful moment for a second before shutting the door in his face.

The consequences of your actions: an almost two-year long rivalry with the stranger, revealed to be Jeon Jungkook moments after the incident when Jin asked, “Did you just throw your drink at Namjoon’s boss, you crazy bitch?”

And that wave has rippled to this day, in the form of insults and high-school level teasing (if his brain had even evolved to that age). The words “I’ll have you all to myself’ comes to mind; it makes you puff with exasperation. Sure it comes off a little flirty to unknowing ears, but it was just another reminder of Jungkook’s dismay — and that he had an all new access to torture you.

You attempt to shake the ick from your body, but in a trice you found yourself in front of the suite, the four floors you travelled to get there seemingly a glitch in time.

Isabelle scans the room card in front of the handle, handing it over to Jungkook after the green beep. “This is your room!”

You shove Jungkook aside, pulling your trolley as you enter. You had seen the pictures before, but seeing the grand room before your eyes in all of its shades of brown and gray dispersed throughout the walls and furniture, the intricate branch of lights in the ceiling and the panoramic ocean view that gave it its name; it made you forgot who you were sharing it with for a moment.

When you turn around, Jungkook is as wide eyed as you, and it makes the corners of your mouth lift ever so slightly because he looks like a fucking dork.

“Well,” Isabelle is smiling and you could sense her relief of not having to deal with the two of you anymore, “If you need anything, me and the rest of the Royal Sunrise team are available at all times, have fun!”

And just like that, she made her escape, leaving you and Jungkook standing in the middle of the room, alone.

For a moment you shut your eyes as hard as you can, scrunching your face with your fists up, in hopes that a miracle happens and Jungkook disappears. You have been having some odd dreams lately, maybe this was just—

Nope. He’s still there.

Since his eyes seem to have wandered too far, you call out his name to bring him back to earth, crossing your arms when his gaze lands on you, “We should probably talk about a few things.”

He drops the backpack from his back as he nods.

“First of all, the sleeping situation—“

“Yeah, I already thought of that,” he walks to the (very cramped) couch on the other side of the room and pats the armrest, “I’ll take this wonderful bed.”

You look at him with quizzical eyes, wondering how the hell was he of all people going to fit there. But it wasn’t really of your concern if he wanted to get scoliosis, he had made his decision.

“Plus, you need beauty sleep much more than me.”

What a waste of oxygen.

You shrug off his words, immune to his childish remarks at this point, “Okay, then. Next on the list, eating arrangements.”

At this point he’s picking up his things and placing them in his territory, “Why is that on the list?”

You move closer to the windows, a little excited when you see the balcony — you would use it to either push your roommate into the cold ocean or catch up on a few books, tough choice. “Because the tables are arranged by rooms.”

You felt the confusion in his eyes poking at your back, so you turn, “That means that we need to share a table for the next few days, dipshit.”

Jungkook shakes his body in agony, throwing a tiny tantrum, “Why is that even a thing?” He whined.

When you feel a headache coming, you grab your own luggage and place it on top of the bed, opening it up and digging in the pockets for a little bit of liquid luck. God knew you needed it.

You down the sample of Jack Daniels in one go with a bitter face and a blow of air.

“Really?”

You start picking out your pajamas for the night, “I was saving it for when I’d find a hot stranger by the pool but—,” when you look up and see the mess on Jungkook’s couch, you’re taken aback, “What in the world is that?”

Jungkook’s hands are rummaging through the jungle that were his things, and it’s obvious that he just shoved as many clothes as he could find lying around the house. He grabs hold of a white tee, “What?”

Again, a waste of—

“WOAH, WOAH, WOAH.”

In the roll of an eye Jungkook’s torso is fully exposed, his back turned towards you with all of its bumps and mumps looking right at you. And you only become aware that you are staring when Jungkook notices the lack of a comeback, pointing it out with a smug tone.

“Y/N,” he doesn’t turn but he snaps you out of your stunned state all the same, “I can practically hear you drooling.”

At the very next instant you cover your eyes, just as little kids do when an inappropriate scene comes on the TV. “You wish, jackass,” and it comes off a little shoutier than you expected, as if the lack of visual correlated with the volume of your voice. Blindly, you grab your shirt and shorts from the bed and run to the bathroom, which just had to be on Jungkook’s side of the room.

And things take a turn for the worse when you run into something, and that something is warm and firm and breathing.

“Uh—.”

Pain.

You convince yourself it was just an invisible, Jungkook shaped wall they failed to mention on the website and fling yourself to the bathroom door, finding the handle rather quickly from all the adrenaline.

Once you’ve slammed the door shut, you let your back slide against the wooden slab and your ass hit the marble floor.

The clothes are still in your grip, your left hand feeling your overheating cheeks and for a tick you think that maybe, just maybe, you should throw yourself into the water and let the sharks take you so you could be buried at the very depths of the ocean. It seemed like a better fate than whatever the fuck was awaiting you the next two weeks.

You take a deep breath in, letting your mind focus on something else.

You look around and, oh, wow. Even the bathroom was charming — if you could ignore the absurd amount of windows, any sea creature passing by would surely see more than they should — glass making up all of the walls, including the shower’s.

The exposure that surrounds you, in its own weird way, cleared up your head the tiniest bit and for the first time since you’ve arrived, you were able to think, only the ocean and its blue around you now.

And what would be your first course of action after a glimpse of clarity?

Calling that rat bastard assistant of yours, of course.

You stand up and place your phone atop the hazel counter after clicking contact name ‘Twinky’, out of fear you’d smash the damn thing when you hear his voice, smoke was bursting at the seams of your chest. Prepare to meet your end, Kim Seokjin—

“Good evening, Ms. Y/N. For what reason are you contacting me in the midst of your vacation?”

Breathe in, breathe out. “Don’t get all formal with me, Kim,” you’re wagging your finger to no one, “I know you did something. Confess.”

The obnoxious twirling of Jin’s chair could be heard through the speaker, “I’ve no idea of what you could possibly be talking about, Madam—“

“Confess.”

“Fine, fine,” you could picture Jin putting his hands up at your murderous tone, “Me and Joon just thought it was about time you two kids got together.”

You take a pause from your pacing around. Motherfucker.

“Okay! I thought it was time and convinced Namjoon to go along with it,” your fist meets the counter with an audible thump, and you were seethed at the probability of Jin smiling at your behaviour. “Speaking of it, how’s it going?”

“Well, Jin,” you place the microphone as near to your mouth as possible, “JEON JUNGKOOK IS TAKING OFF HIS CLOTHES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING ROOM,” you put on a docile face and naturally assume that Jin could see you telepathically, “So you tell me how it’s going.”

For the first time since you hired him, you had left Jin speechless. Or so you thought.

“I didn’t know you would move this fast—“

“Jin.”

“I apologise, I apologise,” the witch cackles, “But you didn’t give me any context, I only assumed the best.”

“Spare me from your taunts, you hag,” you huff and roll your eyes, “And, as I’ve told you many times before, Jeon Jungkook is literally the worst. I hate—.”

“—him. Yes, Y/N, I’ve been hearing the same speech every single day for two years,” you could hear Jin walking back and forth before an abrupt pause, “Listen to yourself, Y/N, you brought this upon yourself. Whenever you saw or just remembered Jungkook existed you wouldn’t stop talking about him. So, being the good friend I am, I handed you his—,” you rush in a failed attempt to muffle his next words with your hand, “—dick on a silver platter.”

Oh, dear lord.

“You’re out of your mind if you think I wanna be anywhere near Jungkook’s—,” you speak in a hushed tone, “—thing.”

“See, you can’t even say it,” and you give up, because no matter how many times you denied it, Jin never let up. “Anyway, I gotta go and… take a call. Have fun!”

And he hangs up.

All you can do is groan, making a mental note that you oughta kick Jin in the balls one of these days, and you look at yourself in the mirror — you couldn’t even enjoy your tacky shirt because of him. Was a normal vacation really too much to ask for?

You remember that the universe had already answered your question with a big yes, and you can’t help but pout.

Still, ever the changing mind, were you really going to let the universe win?

Your pout turns into a smirk. Of course, you weren’t. All you needed to do was avoid Jungkook as much as possible, that would be easy for sure, you were on a gigantic cruise ship after all.

Yeah, this can still be great.

And so, quick to think as always, you grab your phone and scroll through the Royal Sunrise website.

To your luck, the cruise offered classes and activities of all types with a different theme each day — tomorrow is cooking. Not only was it going to be actually entertaining, you could avoid Jungkook without having to look behind you every other minute.

Genius.

With this new mindset and plan, you change into your oversized navy shirt and banana-printed shorts, a newfound excitement in your step. You even bang your chest with each of your fists, a gorilla-esque fighting technique if you shall, as a way to pump you up.

The door doesn’t seem as intimidating when you push it open, your arms swinging at your side as if you were one of the seven dwarves. This was good.

Immediately you're met with the vexing view of Jungkook, and you quirk your eyes when you notice that all he was wearing was a pair of gray shorts and that white tee, the oddity of it all iffy in your head since you’ve only ever seen him in suits and shirts. There’s a familiar tingling of (what you always assumed was) contempt in your fingertips and toes, one that would only ever occur with Jungkook. Hatred finds a way, huh.

He looks at you, back to his phone and back to you all in one second, and once his brain processes that you’re back and present, he ditches his phone and props himself up on one elbow. “You know the walls aren’t that thick, right?”

The tingle turns into a twitch and you almost hit yourself. Breathe, Y/N.

Jungkook sits up, crossing his arms, his eyes wandering once again, “I knew that Namjoon was planning something. He was sweating so much, I thought it was just the heat,” and they land back on you, “Turns out, it was betrayal.”

You head to your own king-sized resting place and a chuckle slips out of you at Jungkook’s little remark. “You did hear that Jin was the one who dragged him into this, right?”

You’re both pulling your covers over your bodies with silent grins due to the dumbassery of your assistants, “I assumed as much.” At this, your smiles become full-out laughs and your heads must have been too exhausted to dwell on the out of character situation.

It fades after a few seconds and you take one final look at Jungkook before turning off the lights, only to make sure he was already laid down.

Your anxiety comes back to the surface, your eyes staring blankly ahead at the ceiling.

“What a mess,” you don’t even notice you had blurted it out loud.

The rustling of sheets sounds through the otherwise cricket-silent room, “Tell me about it.”

Another chuckle.

“Jungkook,” you call him, the words coming out with no warning, “Can we just promise, no monkey business? I just really wanna relax and—.”

“Y/N,” he stops you before you could yap any further, “No monkey business.”

His interruption makes you sheepish, that tingle coming back as you fiddle with the sheets.

All of the sudden, “Good night, Y/N.”

Silence.

“Don’t be a killjoy.”

Groan. There really isn’t any reason for you to answer the prick. Still, you roll your eyes, “Good night, you troll.”

You hear his pleased sigh.

“Kinda bummed you don’t want my thing, though.”

Damn you, Kim Seokjin.

Your eyes flutter open, not with the calming sound of the dancing waves or the rustling of the sheets beside you from a happy hour mistake, no. You wake up with the sound of the shower running, the drip drop of the water meeting the glass floor of the bathroom.

The walls are very thin.

The image of a very naked Jungkook just next door is forced into your head, and you try to get rid of it by putting a pillow over your face, in hopes that it would put an end to your misery, but the world only gives a hundred problems and zero solutions.

Sat up, you remind yourself of the fresh-new mindset you had implemented yesterday, and this motivates you to restart your morning right and get dressed for the busy day ahead.

You squat down to your bag, grabbing the first jumpsuit and shoes in front of you, surprisingly not too shabby. The black off-shoulder fabric was adorned with pale pink flowers and your basic white sneakers didn’t add much but they were still a welcome fit — you’d only brought three pairs of shoes, so you didn’t really have much of a choice.

The background noise of the shower running disappears.

Shit.

You stumble around the room, trying to switch out of your clothes as fast as you possibly could to avoid any of yesterday’s incidents repeating, the need of any sort of grooming forgotten along the way. Still, you succeeded, and just as Jungkook unlocked the bathroom door, you were out of the room.

The joy in your step was back as you took the few steps needed to the elevators, pressing that little button of victory. Though you’ve been to countless luxury premises, the details of each place still managed to leave you awestruck, and the black railing and golden walls of the ship with decoration clearly inspired by the Romans, weren’t an exception.

The elevator was going from the sixth floor to the fifth when you heard a door open, the hairs of your back standing up out of instinct.

“Wait up!”

Fuck me.

You turn to the left, met with the, once again, odd view of Jeon Jungkook wearing casual clothes, this time in a charcoal shirt a few sizes too big, black cargo pants and signature chunky shoes. But, there’s something even more strange and you can’t quite put a finger to it, it isn’t the fact his lavish watch was replaced with leather braids on his wrist or that his hairs strayed a bit more wildly, it’s—

“Holy shit,” your eyes shoot wide open, “Are those hoops?”

Your hands almost go to touch the silver in his ears, but you remind yourself you’d probably turn to stone.

An unfamiliar red paints Jungkook’s face as his own fingers prod at the earrings, his eyes not meeting yours, “Maybe.”

A gasp. “How did I never notice,” you state more than ask, but Jungkook answers all the same.

“I mean, I never wear them to anything work-related because keeping a professional image and all of that,” he looks at you, his bashfulness fading into an all-knowing smile, “And those are the only times I see your bitter face.”

You scoff, “Wow, actually we talked like normal people for a whole thirty seconds.”

The imp has the audacity to laugh at your face, the way he stops to scan you up and down going unnoticed by your sight. “I gotta say, Y/N, you actually know how to dress—“

Ding.

The black tinted doors open to the glass elevator, a panorama of all the ship’s floors in full display, blue and purple lights reflecting on the gilded ornaments. Your hands rest on the black railing and you don’t even notice there’s another person in the elevator.

“Y/N?” The deep timbre of the voice is all too easy on your ears.

A slight turn to the right is all it takes to see him, fluffy ash hair (that was rough between your fingers from all the times he had dyed it), a shirt that flowed like the clouds and beige slacks that matched with the sepia of his sandals (an ensemble that contrasted the vibrant version of him in your memory). But that square grin was still the same.

“Tae?” You laugh in utter disbelief, “Kim Taehyung?”

“Come here!” His long arms bring you into a hug and with your head nuzzled against his chest, his heartbeat echoed good times, easier times that weren’t filled with paperwork and suits.

It’s interrupted by your forgotten acquaintance clearing his throat.

You pull away, recomposing yourself as you stand beside Taehyung, “Jungkook, this is Kim Taehyung,” you feel Taehyung’s eyes on you, “He was kind of my college boyfriend.”

They shake hands and look back at you, as if waiting for something.

“Uh— Right. Tae, this is Jungkook, my—,” you glance at the brunet to find the right words, “—co-worker, of sorts.”

Your embarrassment only deepens when you remember that the Jeon Jungkook was a first-hand witness to the mess you were melting into in front of your ex-boyfriend.

Who needed caffeine when shit like this kept happening to you.

“Oh,” Taehyung’s voice drops an octave as he shoves his hands in his pockets, “So you two came together?”

And you wave your arms around to signal a ‘no’, but it comes off as ‘that-one-crackhead-at-the-corner-of-the-street-ish” instead. “God, no,” you snort, much to your chagrin.

Taehyung sticks his tongue between his teeth, staring down at Jungkook who was chewing on his own bottom lip, “That’s good to hear.”

It seems you’ve regressed to your college-self, tucking your hair behind your ear with blushed cheeks at your senior.

Ding.

The elevator had arrived at the first floor, Jungkook’s cue to leave.

But he doesn’t make a straight itinerary, instead standing in front of the elevator, “Aren’t you gonna catch breakfast, chump?”

Ah, right. Your genius plan could finally come out in the open, “No, actually. I have an all-day cooking class on the 5th floor.”

“No kidding,” Taehyung turns to you and places a hand on your bare shoulder with a wide smile, “Me too!”

At this, Jungkook’s shoulders slump and his expression falls flat, but you couldn’t get a word in as the elevator doors closed and he swiveled away to his own day.

Eh, it’s not like it was your affair anyways. Plus, 9AM wasn’t the hour to deal with his bullshit.

You and Taehyung made your way up, speaking of all the things you’ve been up to for the past three years.

“So, Jimin’s dancing in Europe,” you gasp, a swell of pride in your chest, your old friend would talk about it every free night he spent in yours and Taehyung’s flat.

“Yeah, now I don’t know who’s keeping an eye on all the dumb shit he does.”

The weight on your shoulders only got lighter with every laugh you shared with Taehyung, sweet nostalgia.

“We’re here,” you point at the chalk sign, the words ‘Bon Appetit’ scribbled on it.

Out of sheer intuition, you pull Taehyung by the wrist until you reach the entrance, a Royal Sunrise worker awaiting with a list of, what could only be, the names of the participants.

You let go of Taehyung when the man’s eyes travel to your holding hands. Oh, God.

He smiles, “Good morning, Mr. and Ms. What would your names be?”

“Good morning, I’m Y/N Y/LN,” your smile hadn’t left your face, “I signed up yesterday.”

He nods and you walk inside, Taehyung following you before the worker puts up a hand to stop him.

“Your name, sir,” his tone changes..

You look back, wondering what the fuss was about.

“Uh— Kim Taehyung.”

The man reads over the clipboard, even flipping to the previous pages. “Excuse me, Mr. Kim. But your name doesn’t seem to be in the—.”

Taehyung’s calm demeanour becomes a bitter scowl as he pats a fifty dollar note down the man’s pocket before he could continue his speech. “Just let this one slide, buddy.”

The sight is a bit rough on the eyes and the corners of your lips turn downwards, something itching at your throat, but you hadn’t seen him in a long time and he most likely had good intentions with the man, you could let it slide, right?

“So,” Taehyung rubs his hands with a smile that reaches the pillows of his eyes, a 360° from the him you saw a few seconds ago, “Where were we?”

The blue of the sky had faded into a deep lilac once you and Taehyung were finished with your last batch of food.

You stood outside with smiles plastered on your faces and flour sprinkled on your hair, reminders of a day well-spent.

“This was great,” you held boxes of chocolate crepes and mushroom pasta, “Except for the fact I was forced to eat and deal with mushrooms.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows pull together, “So many years together, and I didn’t know you hated mushrooms,” you remember telling him countless times, but he never had the best memory — you don’t bother to bring up your hatred for crepes. “But, yeah… I think it was the company that sealed the deal, though.”

A beat of silence. The boy was smooth as ever.

You’re the first to break it. “I guess I’ll go get dinner then.”

“Right, right,” he purses his lips, “I’m gonna catch a nightcap, too full for food anyways. See you, Y/N.”

And you only mumble a small goodbye before you and Taehyung are going different directions.

A day well spent indeed.

Grumble.

You couldn’t keep it in anymore.

Holy Moses, were you hungry as shit. Who knew that barely eating breakfast and lunch could do this to a person.

Once the coast is clear, you run to the elevator, pressing the button repeatedly because why is this thing so fucking slow.

The time taken to go down to the first floor is even more agonising, but you just imagined the wonderful meals that actually tasted like food waiting for you downstairs. You could feel the pork melting in your mouth already.

Ding.

Since the first floor is more packed, you pace yourself as you power-walk to the dining area but you arrive in no time, walking through the tables and scanning each marker for the number 83, until you finally find your salvation — and the mop of brown hair sitting there with its unmistakable silver.

You park your ass on the wooden chair and place the white boxes of gag-worthy food on the table.

“Fancy meeting you here, Y/N,” Jungkook shoves a fork of rare steak and potatoes in his big mouth.

“Don’t antagonise me, Jungkook,” you leap to grab his wrist before he can get another scoop, “Where’s the food?”

You feel him tense under your grip, “Okay, let go of me, hungry hungry hippo,” you loosen your fist and lean back on your chair with crossed arms, “And the restaurant is out of steaks for the night, your only other option is some fried fish or something,” he continues munching.

“No—,” your head meets the table with a bang, “—I’ve been dreaming of red meat all day.”

“Didn’t you cook at— you know, cooking class?”

“Yes, we did,” you sit up and shove the boxes of trash to Jungkook as he examines them.

“But, you hate mushrooms and crepes,” he turns his head in a robotic motion when he opens the lids.

Your hunger fades for a bit as that tingle in your fingertips pushes you to sit straight, leaning your head like a curious puppy.

“How do you know that?”

Jungkook bites his bottom lip as he seems to think of a response. “Well, you mentioned it at the Law & Practice Awards a few months ago,” he rubs his fingers on his chin with a feign look of concentration, “I believe your exact words were: ‘Why does the stake have fungus on it’ and ‘Everybody knows that crepes are just a—.”

“—a cheap version of pancakes,” you finish his sentence with surprise painted on your face. Still, you question him, “But, how do you even remember that?”

Jungkook’s flush is back on his cheeks, “As they say, keep your friends close,” he flashes that tight lipped smile of his, “And your enemies closer.”

Just as you were about to flip the fucker off, your stomach grumbles. Out of all of the moments it could’ve complained, it decided to do so in the only second of silence.

Jungkook mumbled something along the lines of “That’s it,” under his breath and let out a sharp exhale, cutting up his steak and taters and pushing them into a smaller plate, adding a few greens in the mix. He snaps his fingers at the nearest waiter and grabs a glass of wine from his tray. The act finishes off with him pushing the food in your direction.

You stare at the food, at Jungkook and back at the plate again. Dumbfounded, once again.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Eat,” he continues on with his dinner as if he hadn’t just done— Well, what he just did.

You bite your lip and bow your head slightly, though you’re sure he doesn’t see it, before vacuuming the food directly into your belly.

The rest of the evening is spent in comfortable silence, no daggers threatened to be thrown or scorn weighing in the air. This lasts all the way to the door of the room; you were fine with communicating with only ‘hums’ and nods but Jungkook, as always, had to ruin things.

He leans his back against the white door, arms crossed and a smirk as he looks down at you. “How lucky of you to have your mortal enemy and—,” he puts up air quotes, “‘kind of college boyfriend’ in the same boat as you, huh?”

You palm your face and hide a sheepish smile, “I was hoping you’d forget about that.”

“How could I when I was your special guest to first hand embarrassment in the elevator,” he waves the white flag of peace as he puts his hands up, “But, hey—“

“Hi, Jungkook,” someone behind you purrs, heels clacking.

You turn around and see a woman of jet-black hair in a stunning red silk dress, the pony-tail on her head swinging a delicate left to right as she waved her manicured hand at none other than Jungkook — who brushes a hand through his hair before complimenting her greeting.

It takes you by surprise, though you laughed at Jungkook’s gnarly stance at the beautiful woman, the tingle comes back, this time prickling at the pit of your stomach.

As soon as she had walked away, you rubbed your hands at the sides of your arms, “Wow, Jungkook. Moving fast are we?” you squint your eyes, “I think it’s the earring.”

“First of all, screw you,” he unlocks the door, “Second, that’s nothing, trust me.”

He holds the door open for you and you catch a whiff of his black vanilla scent. You stop in your tracks and place a hand on his shoulder with a grimace on your face, “Just don’t do anything on my bed, okay?”

You don’t bother to wait for an answer as you head to the bathroom with your comfy tee in your hands.

This time, the counter was embellished with skincare and cologne galore, all thanks to your dear roommate.

“He wouldn’t notice if I used some of this, right?” You say to Jungkook’s bottle of cleanser, too lazy to go back and grab your own toiletries.

“If you use that I’m drowning myself,” you hear him shout from the other room.

Sorry, face. You’ll have to wait for tomorrow.

Once you were snug in your tee, you were off to bed — Jungkook in the same attire as yesterday as well.

You leave the lamp on as you checked your phone for the first time since yesterday. Of course, Jin was your only notification, a plethora of obscenities and questions that would, unfortunately, be permanently ingrained in your mind forever. You turn off your phone and throw it on top of the night stand.

Not today, satan.

“You mind?” You ask Jungkook who seemed to be scrolling away, too engrossed in his phone to look at your finger pointing at the light, only a grunt on his behalf.

You turn it off and shut your eyes, your body tense, not that you weren’t used to it, the decaying muscles of your back have been like that since you graduated high-school. And, it was a bit more intense from all the mixing and pot handling — thank the heavens that tomorrow’s activities involved massaging. Though, today was a win.

Jungkook’s phone turns off and his body sloshes around, the sounds he makes the only ones reverberating in the room.

“Good night, Y/N,” you try to ignore him, but he comes forward with a good case, “Come on, I gave you my food.”

Guilt tripper.

“Fine, but only because you’re annoying as shit,” he lets out a satisfied breath, “Good night, Jungkook.”

You arrive at dreamland in no time.

taglist. (open)

| @fangirl125reader / @vantxx95 / @jinpanman / @ggukkieland / @miniiimee / @paizthemaiz

263 notes · View notes

4dtk · 3 years

Text

“hii! johnny hand holding 33 & hugs 7 please ^-^ thankyou <33” hope you don’t mind i did it with an au! this shit is so cheesy i’m sorry i’m in my feels :")

hand-holding, 33: bandaging the other’s hand and not quite letting go

hugs, 7: pulling someone into a hug

“god, what did you do?” you ask with concern, muttering out a quick sorry when bodyguard!johnny recoils from the sharp sting of alcohol against his skin.

he sighs with resignation, knowing he couldn’t say much without avoiding the subject all together. he can, however, avoid the question, going for the option that allowed him to stay silent on the matter. he knew he was going to get a scolding, but who could blame him for stretching it out for a bit?

“john, johnny. what. did. you. do,” you puncture each word which makes the other grimace, moving on to secure the start of the bandage before wrapping it tightly around the wound. johnny tenses up under your skin when pressure is applied to his patched up wound, and you know he’s only doing it for your attention.

he’s a bodyguard, for christ’s sake.

“very funny. who was the one avoiding my questions earlier?” a cheeky smile spreads across his face when he hears the tease in your voice.

“there. all done. now, can you tell me what you did?” you ask, not wanting to pull away from his hand. a gentle caress does the job to calm johnny’s nerves, your hand engulfed in his while you stroke over his fingers. it leaves blooming sprouts and a feeling of freshness against the familiar smell of blood and crack of bones against his knuckles; it was something that he didn’t regret doing even if he went a little too far.

those sprouts only bloom into the one thing they know to do: plants, flowers, fruits. like a garden, all johnny wants to do is to remain in the vast expanse of green. there would be little streams and a cottage, there would be laughter and the beating of two hearts. there would be you, the sun who gives life to everything like a goddess.

but it’s all a silly faraway dream, so drastically different from the pain and complications of working for a renowned family in all of south korea, no less, working to protect the next heir to the family business. it was anything but that fantasy that he’s conjured up in his mind.

the general nature of the bandage restricts your bodyguard from separating his fingers. you notice this with the twitching of his fingers, trying so hard not to do anything out of protocol but so craving to hold yours. the hand at your side comes up.

“someone was saying mean stuff about you,” johnny nonchalantly says, eyes fixated on the leftover chips on the vanity table, while the laptop freezes on a frame of howl’s moving castle. the familiar large title with its small description suggests that it’s on netflix.

“listening to christian bale saying ‘that’s my girl’ on repeat again?” johnny breaks the tense atmosphere with a single joke, prompting a smack out of you and then a laugh out of him. that faraway dream doesn’t seem so distant, now.

“i was just following protocol-“

“no, you weren’t!” there’s a hint of a smile in your angered tone, “you just wanted an excuse to punch someone.”

he agrees with a wink, “the training room was getting boring.”

you giggle at that, lifting the bandaged hand to your forehead carefully as you attempt to hide your fluster. he made you feel things, too many things. with a hand to the small of your back (it ignited your skin badly, it was electrifying almost), with a serious demeanour in the presence of your parents (the clumsy drop of your spoon almost made him break character) and with johnny now:

he removes his hand from your forehead, bringing it tenderly to your cheek as his eyes finally meet yours.

“i’m okay, okay?” a kiss to the crown of your head, “lemme change into something more comfortable,” and he stands up briefly, both hands already fiddling with the buttons of his shirt before you’re tugging on his injured hand.

you collide with his chest, not minding the minor pain as you bury yourself in his dress shirt.

“be careful, please,” you whisper, hidden in the white stained red of his shirt and his warm aura.

johnny relaxes instantly, arms returning the gesture and leaning into the hug more than you expected him to. he breathes in your scent, rosemary mint from the shampoo and citrus from your face wash. he makes sure to pocket it in his mind next time when he’s buying groceries.

johnny makes sure to take you away to somewhere safe one day, where you’ll live out your life either with or without him, storing away the different countries you wished you could visit.

johnny makes sure of your favourite movie that’s paused on the small screen, keeping it in his mind to get himself a ring similar to howl’s so he’d always return to your heart.

“i’ll try,” the bodyguard mumbles into your hair and he feels your arms tighten around him, “as long as i’m able to come back to you each time, i’ll try.”

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elius-learns-to-write · 3 years

Text

Have You Been Drinking?

Hi twonk (love you really) <3 Thanks for the request even though it took a dark turn oops <3 If you don’t like drinking then don’t read this!

Summary: You got a little bit tipsy at a party and pay the price when

You had always been a bit defiant

It hadn’t started out as much: Staying up late, stealing leftovers and then it went to going out for hours without texting anyone

You always said you forgot (which most of the time you did)

5 Missed calls. 12 Texts and Happy literally tracking you down and taking you back to the tower. This is what you got back to after your, how long had it been ? Seven hours?! No it couldn't have been that long, last time you checked you were 87% sure that it had been lunch time, the sun had been shining and you even got talking to this sweet old lady who was interested in birds. So how did it end up being seven hours later in the tower with a very very angry Tony and Steve as the others just listened in not so subtly at the door? “This is the 4th time you have done this this week and still you use the ‘my phone died’ excuse, what am I meant to do with you” Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as his other hand waved animatedly around in front of him “you aren’t meant to do anything, I lost track of time I promise! It’s not like I do this on purpose” you tried to reason, tears starting to threaten to spill, why couldn't they just understand that you hadn’t meant to be out late and that it was an accident “nope that’s not the right answer kiddo better luck next time” Tony said a hint of frustration seeping through his usual sarcastic demeanor. With that the men left, closing the door to your room behind them.

But there are only so many times a kid can hear ‘you’re wrong and I’m not listening’ from family who mean well but don’t exactly have the best way of showing it before they burst

If they wanted you to play the part of rebellious but strong and powerful soldier then that was exactly what you would do

So you started to go out with MJ and Peter to the occasional party they got invited to

Then it felt like you were 3rd wheeling so you decided to just go by yourself

You started to swear more

Put your feet on desks in boots/shoes you knew would make a mark

And that was when the concern started to shine through more than the anger

“Look we are just trying to help you sweetie” Wanda said as she stirred the sauce and the pasta together in preparation for dinner, looking back as you leant back in the chair the black from your hoodie a stark contrast to the white of the marble table. “Well don’t I’m fine I promise, just leave it alone alright I have already heard this 10 times from Sam and Bucky today” you mumbled eyes searching for somewhere to land that wasn’t her face as that was something you did when you were uncomfortable however she mistook that for you rolling your eyes and just muttered something about disrespect as you got up and walked off.

“So Wanda told me you rolled your eyes at her today” the comment sounded so nonchalant rolling off the metal armed mans lips that if you weren’t paying attention you would have missed the fact it was about something negative. “I didn’t but I know you won’t believe me so I’m not going to argue” you replied, the bag splitting slightly from the sudden increase of force in your punches. “I am not saying I don’t believe you! I am just saying that if you did you need to cut that out right now before you do it to the wrong person” he defended. This was ridiculous! Grabbing your towel from the side of the room before you started to walk out “I DIDN’T DO IT!” you called back over your shoulder, only just capturing the look of disappointment on Bucky’s face. If you would have looked harder you would have seen the look of concern that followed but it was too late and the glass door had already slammed behind you.

It was always the same you defending yourself and no one believing you

You were just an angry teen after all

An angry, misunderstood and hurting teen

There was one person still on your side, Loki

But he wasn’t around much

But as if by magic that came in green swirls and bitter earl gray tea

He was there that night

The world seemed to sway below you, the constant spinning a reminder of the alcohol you had consumed earlier that night. You didn’t care, in fact you didn’t care about anything right now. The light buzz and soon to be hangover keep you from anh logical thoughts and feelings. Which is probably why you ended up bumping into the table right down the hall from your room and knocking over the horrific looking lamp that Wanda had decorated with seashells (not that it made it look much better). “Who’s there?” you heard from behind you, too drunk to really reply to Nat you made a sort of grumbling noise and carried on walking to your room “Y/n? Is that you? Have you been drinking?” Bruce had joined the quest to find out who the mystery intruder was and even in your drunken lamp destroying zombie gurgling state you knew it was best to just sit down on the floor and wait until the whole team joined in. And soon enough they had a circle of people now surrounding you as you just sat and looked at the ceiling dreaming of being anywhere but here. “What in the nine realms is going on here?!” you heard Loki’s voice say, everything sounded as if you were underwater or in a bubble, you just wanted to sleep. A few minutes later you heard Loki start to argue, ranting and raving about something it was too dark to see what his face looked like but you could imagine the emerald green robe and matching checkered trousers he would be wearing as his face contorted in shapes filled with rage and hurt. You couldn’t quite make out all of what he was saying but you did manage to catch a few bits “they are a child and it is your duty to protect them…. They don’t need lectures or discipline… just listen to them and pull yourself together” it was that or he was very passionate about chickens.

And so that’s what happened

Sorrys were said,bonds and trust was rebuilt

And everyone had a picture of Loki looking ridiculous in his dressing gown

Let’s just say the hangover you had the next day put you off of drink for a while

345 notes · View notes

ramp-it-up · 3 years

Text

Everyday

Pairing: Rafael Casal x Reader, Rafael Casal (as Miles Turner) x Reader

Warnings: MINORS DNI, 18 + , RPF. CURATE YOUR OWN EXPERIENCE. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE IF YOU READ BELOW THE CUT. Cursing, drinking, allusion to smoking weed, fantasy, truth or dare, role play, SMUT, Graphic Depictions of Sex, oral sex (M/F receiving), a lil bit of bondage, established relationship, fantasy play.

A/N: I have no idea what is for trade in prison; sex packets are a made up joke. And I’m really into 90’s rap this week. Anywho, this fic is in response to the following request:

Anonymous asked:

Rafa!!!!! Maybe a fluffy smut where he’s role playing Miles for you? 👀

-------

“Ok, Dare.”

You steeled yourself from the query from Daveed.

“Which fictional character, real or animated, would you like to bone?”

Everyone burst out laughing.

“Real or ANIMATED????”

You were cracking up laughing and buzzed, feeling good surrounded by your crew of friends who were family.

“Ok, I will answer both.”

Rafa cleared his throat and settled back on the couch beside you.

You sat up straight and he watched the curve of your breasts underneath the Oaklandish tee you stole from him that morning.

“Rafael is getting swole! Don’t worry Rafa. She will still come home to your everyday ass.”

“Shut up, Ant. You always got something to say.” You rolled your eyes. “Everyday with Rafa is amazing.”

You leaned over and kissed Rafa’s lips, which were in a slight frown. He didn’t like that word, ‘everyday.’

“You good?” You whispered so only you two could hear.

He smiled at you, “No doubt. Answer the man’s question!” Rafa said a little louder, bravado on fleek.

“ANYWAYYY.” You shook your head at him as you straightened up. “Max could get it.”

“Max who?” Jasmine was confused. Then she realized, then leaned over Ant and Rafa to give you a high five.

“Max Who???” Daveed was curious.

“Goofy’s son. Max.”

Everyone erupted in laughter again. Daveed got up and took the bottle out of your hand.

“Enough of this.”

You battled him, jumping up and swatting around D’s head. You won your drink back and sat down.

“As far as ‘real’ fictional characters…” You took a drink. And smiled. All eyes were on you.

“Miles Turner could rearrange my guts.”

Anthony groaned. Rafa sat up straight. You took another drink .

“For Real. Ruffnecks kinda do it for me.”

“Gotta who? Gotta have a what?” Jazzy started rapping. You replied.

“Gotta what? Yo, gotta get a ruffneck.”

You two started dancing, rapping and singing with your drinks in your hands.

Gotta what? Yo, gotta get a ruffneck

I need it and I want it so I gotta get a ruffneck!

Rafael pulled you down to sit on his lap and Jasmine kept dancing, right in front of Anthony.

Anthony sucked his teeth, but was smiling at Jazzy’s ass.

“That’s cheating. I mean. That’s just Rafa. I mean, he bones you on the regular.”

Ant smacked Jasmine on the bottom and took a drink before she plopped down next to him and he put his arm around her.

“You know it!” Rafa and Anthony toasted.

“But I ain’t Miles.”

Rafa took another sip of his Abasolo on the rocks.

“And it’s just a fantasy. Right baby.”

Rafael rubbed your back giving you a look that made you tremble. Rafa felt your warmth on his lap. He grinned into his drink.

“Trueeee!”

You smiled, trying to keep it light and calm the fuck down. Everyone always made fun of you two smashing in people’s bathrooms.

“You aren’t Miles. I didn’t know you when you were younger....”

You locked eyes with Rafael, and the green fire there did something to you.

“I think Rafa is Miles’s wasted potential.”

“Wow. That’s deep,” said Ant from a cloud of smoke.

You and Rafa were locked in an eye embrace as well as a physical one. When he arched his eyebrow, you had to look away, because you couldn’t take it.

“Y’all need to use my bathroom?” More laughter.

You and Rafa both flipped Daveed off.

“Nah, Diggs.” Rafa stood up with you in his arms. “We’ll use our own. We out.”

Your man carried you willingly out of the door.

-----

About two weeks later, you came home with some groceries, you were looking forward to a night in with Rafa.

You’d both been busy and tired lately, only available for maintenance sex.

Rafa was running around creating all of his creative shit, and you worked in the writers room of a popular series. Life was hectic.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, hands together on top.

He was wearing blue scrubs over a white Henley and had his face turned to the side, staring out the window. You noticed that his hair was different.

“Hey, babe. Did you get a haircut? What’s wrong?”

He turned his face toward you and that’s when you noticed two more things. Rafael’s eye was black, and there was a tattoo on his neck.

THAT California tattoo.

You were very concerned and a little confused. Concern came first in your mind.

“What happened to your eye?” He gave you a strange look, then he spoke.

“A mutha fucka sneaked me in the yard, that’s what happened!”

You stood still and had to register what was happening.

Rafa was wearing a grill, and his voice was different, in a lower register and with a long drawn out, almost southern drawl.

But it wasn’t southern. It was all Bay.

He stood up and walked toward you, and you noticed that his scrubs had “Prisoner” written in yellow letters down the right leg.

You suddenly realized what was going on.

Oh, Shit.

“Baby. You’re a sight for sore eyes. It’s been a minute.”

You’d left Rafael in bed this morning. But it seemed that you came home to Miles.

“Hey,” was all you could say.

Rafael/Miles gestured for you to come over to the table. It was then you saw that he was handcuffed.

A strange feeling came over to you. He stood up, and you saw that his legs were shackled. You went close to him and looked at his eye closely.

“Rafa?”

His face was fine, up close, you could tell it was makeup.

“You been to see Galaxy today?”

You were peering at his neck and the Bay/California tattoo there.

He screwed up his face.

“Who tha fuck is Rafa? And what the hell you talking ‘bout space for?”

He peered into your eyes, then looked around furtively.

“Babe. Are you high?”

The drawl was a whisper now.

“These muthafuckas’ll kick you out if they think you got drugs on you.”

You smiled at him, pecked him on the lips and replied.

“No worries. I’m not high.” You sat down at the kitchen table and ‘Miles’ sat across from you.

“As for Rafa? He’s this guy I know. Had a nice… conversation with him the other night.”

You looked into his eyes to see if he would crack. But your man was a pro.

He huffed. “Psshhht. You MUST be high talking to another dude. What kinda name is Rafa anyway. Sounds like some hipster trash.”

He peered at you again, anger radiating off of him.

Damn, he was good.

“Tell me what the fuck you mentioning some other muthafucka to my face while I’m locked up in here! Every day.”

He pounded his bound fists on the table in front of you and made you jump. It also made you wet as fuck.

He gestured with both hands (because they were handcuffed) to the nice kitchen that you loved to cook in, but that you were now seeing through his performance as a prison visitation room.

But you were still shook.

“R, R, Rafael is a beautiful artist. He’s a poet. He’s gentle, and kind. And a wonderful lover.”

Miles glared at you. You stuttered again.

“I-I imagine.”

He gave you a menacing smile and leaned back in the chair, pushing his crotch up in your direction. Your eyes were drawn there.

“So you imagining fucking another muthafucka and decide to come visit me and tell me about it?”

You got into it.

“Well….I miss you Miles. But it gets hard. Not being able to be with you.”

He leaned forward, bearing his teeth.

“Don’t fucking tell me about it. Here I am jacking off with leftover chicken grease from the kitchen at night. Got my dick smelling like a Popeye’s chicken sandwich in this bitch.”

“Ew,” you said, disgusted, then you started giggling at the joke.

Miles pouted and sat back.

“ ‘S not fucking funny!” He looked out the window again.

“I shouldn’t even tell you about the surprise.”

You straightened up. “What is it babe?”

You put your hand on his and he caressed yours with his thumb. He looked at you, excited and mischievous now.

“I got us a conjugal visit.”

Your mouth dropped open, fully into it now.

“But I thought that was just for married couples, Miles…”

“I know, I know.” He leaned forward and looked around again. “But I got me a side hustle.”

He shifted his eyes as he scanned the empty room.

“I make sex packets outta the leftover chicken grease from my job in the kitchen. Make a KILLING in oatmeal cream pies, ramen noodles, cigarettes and other tradeable currency. I made enough to buy us a conjugal visit, girl.”

He leaned back, very satisfied with himself, his hands now on his lap, rubbing his crotch.

Your eyes were drawn there again and you found yourself irrationally wondering how big his dick was. He had you caught up in this fantasy.

“Let’s go to the trailer and I’ll make you forget all about this Raja guy.” Miles winked at you.

“It’s…” You saw the look on his face. “Nevermind. Let’s go.”

He stood up again, and shuffled his way to the bathroom, you at a safe distance behind him.

He entered the bedroom and shuffled to the bed, sitting down on the edge. He gestured you to him and you went and stood before him.

He put his nose in your crotch.

“MMMmmmmm. I missed your smell Baby. It’s been too long. He lifted his hands and put them on the insides of your thighs. He pulled back and looked at you, green eyes staring into brown.

“The guards left the key over there. That is, if you wanna get me out of these.” He nodded toward the

He trailed his hands up to your pelvis, managing to hook one set of fingers into your waistband and still have another at your apex.

He ran his fingers over your jeans right where it counts. This kind of petting felt good and made you want more.

You let him play for a little while, but then pushed him back to sit and watch you.

You peeled down your jeans to reveal a white satin thong. Rafael loved white against your coffee brown skin, but tonight, Miles would benefit. You stood there in your button-down shirt, that was really Rafael’s.

Miles’s hands went to his crotch again as he eagerly watched.

“You seem to be doing pretty well all hemmed up, but let me see.”

You went to the dresser to retrieve the key, and you did, then turned around and put it in your mouth while you slowly unbuttoned the shirt.

Miles leaned back on the bed and opened his legs as far as the shackles would let them go, licking his lips as you disrobed.

You were wearing a white lace bra, your dark nipples and areola straining through the delicate material. You were very excited at the entire scenario.

The fact that Rafa was doing this for you because he remembered what you said on a drunken night weeks ago was the shit.

You dropped to the ground and crawled over to Miles’s feet jutting your ass up in the air as you unlocked the shackles.

You massaged his ankles and trailed your hands up his legs to his crotch, where you rubbed the hardness there.

“It’s been so long that you’ve been locked up, Miles.”

You raised up on your knees, loving the feeling of his eyes sweeping over you.

“I’m gonna give you the world’s best blowjob.”

Miles smiled at you.

“Aw, baby. That’s so cute.”

“I’ll show you cute.”

You were about to give your own performance.

------

Five minutes later, you were gargling his cock, relaxing your throat and taking him as deep as you could, nose nestled at his base, and gently pulling and kneading his balls.

Someone moaned, and you didn’t know if it was Rafa or Miles. He bucked his hips up into your mouth while resting his cuffed hands in your hair.

“As much as I would love to … fuck baby… cum down your throat.. I need that… damn where’d you learn to do that?!... I need that pussy. Unlock the cuffs, baby.”

His cuffed hands were in your hair, alternating between massaging your scalp and pulling your hair the way you loved it.

The way Rafael invented.

You smiled around his cock with the knowledge that what you were doing was making him slip out of character.

You pulled your head upward, mouth open, allowing the saliva to trickle out with his dick.

He looked at you like he couldn’t believe how nasty you were being. He was mesmerized. You looked a mess, eye makeup running, lipstick smudged, spit all over your face.

Your dream man loved it.

“Am I ‘cute’ now?”

“Fuck no. You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

You smiled and quickly reached behind you and unclasped your bra, taking your breasts in your hands and pushed them up around his dick.

“See, if you unlock these cuffs, I’ll handle things the way they need to be handled.”

You just smiled up at him while you manipulated your breasts around him, knowing that he could not control his hips fucking into your cleavage.

“I got it under control.” You stuck your tongue out to tease his tip as it neared your face, lubricating it with your saliva.

“Fuck, baby. I wanna fuck you so bad. It’s been so long…”

This entire scene was just about the hottest thing ever. You were breathless, dripping, and quivering with anticipation. But you didn’t want it to end so soon.

“How long ‘xactly?”

“Shit, 5 months of being here and jacking off to memories of you everyday. I need to see that ass and fuck that pussy, babyyyy. Please.”

Those eyes.

Those words.

The acting.

Miles.

You had to relent.

You reached for the key where you dropped it on the floor and unlocked the cuffs.

“Fucking finally!” Miles rubbed his wrists as he stood up, stripped his shirts off and his pants the rest of the way.

“On the bed, let me see that ass up.”

He smacked it about three times each and then rubbed it as you did as you were told.

Miles trailed his hand from your ass up your spine to your shoulder and then pushed your head down further into the bed.

“That’s a girl.” Your back had that perfect arch.

He got behind you and swiped his hardness up and down your slit, teasing you with the head of his dick.

He grabbed your hand and brought behind your back, and very swiftly the other, and before you knew it, your hands were cuffed behind you, head in the bed and Miles was entering you swiftly.

“Fuuuuck! How does it feel?”

You couldn’t speak. The thrill of Miles’ dick inside you and being cuffed had you ready to cum already.

His stroke game was on point, as if he was fucking you to a brand new rhythm- Allegro.

Strangely, it was different than Rafa had ever been.

That was blowing your mind.

Miles tugged on the metal restraints and the slight pain in your shoulders and wrists, combined with the thrill of this roleplay, made you release, all over him and the bed.

“Shit girl, you really are glad to see me.” That drawl got you ready to peak again.

“Oh fuck yeah, Miles, oh shit, oh shit.” Your pussy was clamping down on him at the thought of Miles Turner having his way with you.

“Shit, I’m cumming with you, hold up.”

Rafa tried to slow down, but you did that thing with your pussy and he couldn’t help it. His hips drove his dick inside you until it pulsed and started to flow, and then he pulled out.

“Turn over baby.”

You leisurely moved to turn over, and he motioned you down to the end of the bed, moving the pillow where he wanted your head.

“I need in between those legs, baby. I need to see you, I need to surround me with you.”

You positioned yourself at the end of the bed, your braids hanging over the edge.

Miles gave you a forehead kiss as he got between your thighs, and pumped himself a couple of times as he aligned with you.

He leaned down and pulled at your nipple with his mouth, moaning when you moaned, moving his eyes appreciatively down your body and keeping his eyes where you were about to join.

The look on his face when he entered you was very hot, and you found your pussy squeezing his cock in appreciation. It seemed magically somehow bigger, and all of your senses were alive as he started moving.

“That’s my beautiful baby. You’re so fucking tight. Don’t push me out, let me have the glorious pussy. Damn girl, this pussy, those thighs, your curves, these tits. What did a man like me do to deserve you. You’re such a fucking sweet princess for me…”

You were astounded. Missionary was far from your favorite position because you seldom came that way, but the way Miles was whispering praise in your ear and the total fantasy was getting you there.

Quickly.

He watched your face and adjusted his pace in response to your cries, and that knowledge made you start to come. When your eyes rolled back in your head, that’s when he knew.

He pulled your hair back and sucked the shit out of your neck as you came, and he released inside you. You wrapped your legs around him and held him as he shivered with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Your lover rolled off of you and you snuggled into his arm. He lay there and held you as you tried to process.

“That was… wow.” You weren’t sure who to address, Rafa or Miles. Irrationally you felt you were in love with both.

He just chuckled at you, and gave you another forehead kiss.

“I’m going to enjoy a shower. Goodbye for a while, baby.”

You grinned. “Bye Miles.”

He pecked you on the lips and you watched him go into the bathroom.

You rolled over on your back and tried to organize your thoughts. How would you write this?

Thoughts of writing this scene chased you into sleep.

---

You woke up to Rafael, grill and tattoos gone, freshly out of the shower and in a towel, gently trying to pull you from sleep.

“C’mon.”

You let him get you up and into the bathroom to a hot bath. You let him tenderly clean you up and then get you out of the tub and dry you off. You were more tired than you thought.

“You hungry?” You walked into the kitchen in a towel behind him.

Rafa had put the groceries up and was holding up takeout menus. He was truly magical. You smiled, nodded and told him what you wanted.

45 minutes later, you were in his softest Oaklandish tee and you were curled up on the couch in the living room together, food containers spead out on the coffee table.

You felt totally in sync with this amazing man.

“I loved tonight.”

He smiled softly back at you.

“Had to give you your fantasy since you help me live mine. Every day.”

He leaned over and kissed you. He looked you intensely in the eyes. Those green pools had you trapped.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Rafael.”

Your fantasy had been Miles, but your reality was Rafael.

And that was fantastic.

Everyday.

-------

Tags:

@braidedchallah @theatrenerd86 @sebastianabucknettastan @imatyoursurrvicesurr @riiyy @ivycomet @lonelydance @jbrizzywrites @delaber @honeysucklechocolatedrippin @janthonystan-blog @anh1020 @sillyteecup @ohsoverykeri @theselilwonders @biafbunny @summerofsnowflakes @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @janthonybitch @einfachniemand @einfachniemand

#rafael casal #rafael casal x reader #bay boys #jasmine cephas jones #jasmine x anthony #rafael casal angst #rafael casal imagine #rafael casal fanfiction #rafael casal fluff #rafa imagine #rafael santiago casal #rafael casal smut #blindspotting starz #Blindspotting #miles turner #Daveed Diggs

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vs-redemption · 3 years

Note

Omg can I get scenarios about how you think Fatgum and Mirio would react if they found out that their crush thought they didn’t like them?? 😭😭 ty!!!!! ❤️

From Cindy: Wowzer! I really liked this request but it took me a couple days to get some ideas worked out in my head. I’m happy with the way they turned out, and I hope you are too anon!!

A Crush?! (Fatgum x Reader) and (Mirio x Reader)

FATGUM

When Taishiro Toyomitsu first opened his hero agency in the lively city of Osaka, his first priority had been to hire a cook to work there. Because his quirk relied heavily on the amount of fat stored up in his body, it was important to have a constant source of food available. Snacks and small meals between and during patrols did little to keep him fully powered, so finding someone who could meet his extreme dietary needs was of the upmost importance.

The first few people he’d brought onto his team hadn’t worked out so well. Even though he had no complaints about their food, they just couldn’t seem to keep up with his immense appetite. They got too caught up in the presentation, plus the portions were just too small. When the BMI hero finally hired you right out of culinary school, he was relieved to find your approach to his food conundrum much more satisfying.

He never had to worry about going hungry when he got into his agency anymore. Not only did you made sure there was plenty of food readily available for him, but you also kept his diet balanced with healthy foods that contained enough calories to fatten him up for his patrols. The food itself kept Taishiro’s stomach happy and full, but the effort and care you put into your work definitely started having an effect on his heart too after a while. Your dedication to keeping him in top shape drew his attention until he found himself starting to look forward more to seeing and talking to you than even eating your delicious food.

Taishiro wasn’t the type to lie to himself about his feelings. He knew perfectly well that he’d developed a little crush on you. He wasn’t exactly sure how to go about confessing though, or if he even should. His schedule didn’t leave much time for dating, and he didn’t want to start something if he wasn’t going to be able to dote on you the way he was starting to desperately want to.

Little did he know, on the other side of things, you were struggling to deal with the feelings you had for him too. You had always thought your boss was a nice guy, but after seeing his jolly and friendly behavior every day, you couldn’t help the crush that had creeped up on you. You tried your best to put it out of your mind, assuming there was no way a great hero like Taishiro could return your feelings. It wasn’t as if he did anything to make you feel otherwise. He was as kind and encouraging to you as anyone else you’d seen him interact with. It was just that you knew the nature of your job made your personality come off a bit too overbearing to really spark a romance. You constantly berated yourself after each and every interaction you had with him, physically cringing as you remembered the nagging comments you’d made.

“I know you need the calories for your quirk, Taishiro, but don’t forget to eat some fruits and vegetables too.”

“Eat another bowl of rice, Taishiro. You never know when you’ll need that little extra push when fighting a villain.”

“Taishiro, don’t forget to take the leftovers with you in case you get hungry out there! It’s better for you than all that street food you’re always picking up on patrol.”

When you thought about it, you really pestered him way too much. Sure, it was your job to feed him, but still, he was a grown man. He didn’t need you bothering or lecturing like he was some kind of kid. The only reason you even acted the way you did was because you cared and worried about him, but how it came across was probably annoying and patronizing. This is why you were confident he’d never like you the way you liked him.

Eventually, the combination of your feelings for him and the concern over his impression of you becomes too much and you decide to confront him. You get to the agency early one day and make him some fresh jelly filled donuts.

“Hey! You hardly ever make stuff like this!” Taishiro chuckles, “What’s the occasion?”

“It’s my way of saying thank you for putting up with me,” you shrug awkwardly. “I know I’m a bit of a nag sometimes.” Your words take the hero by surprise.

“I don’t think you’re a nag at all!” He sounded upset to hear you say that. “I hope I never gave you the idea that I did.”

“No,” you shake your head. “You didn’t… I just figured you were nice to me just to be polite.”

“What?” Taishiro shakes his head, “You couldn’t be further from the truth. If I’m being honest, I’ve actually developed quite the soft spot for you.” You look up into his eyes, a feeling of hope spreading through you.

“Yeah,” Taishiro laughs and scratches the back of his head bashfully. “I guess you could say I have a bit of a crush on you.” The conversation had definitely taken an unexpected turn, and you couldn’t be happier.

“I…” You hesitate for a moment but then give in. “I have a crush on you too! I have for a while. I never dreamed you could feel the same way.” The smile that stretched across the hero’s face warmed your heart.

“How could I not feel the same way?” He chuckles while patting his large belly. “I’ve never met anyone else who could keep both my stomach and my heart so full.” His words were music to your ears. And now that you both were on the same page about your feelings, you could sit down together and start discussing important questions about the future, like where he was going to take you on your first date.

MIRIO

Getting a job as a server at the mundane little diner on the outskirts of town had only meant to be a temporary gig to help you save up some extra money for school. Your campus was just a short train ride from the restaurant, and your apartment was even closer. It wasn’t glamorous or anything, but it paid the bills. Besides, it was just a stepping stone in the path to your dream job, so you were more than willing to deal with it until a bigger more fulfilling opportunity came along.

What you hadn’t expected after starting the job was that you’d be terrible at it. You didn’t realized how bad your short term memory was until you found yourself forgetting people’s orders, or taking meals to the wrong tables. If that wasn’t bad enough, you also had a hard time balancing plates of food and were always dropping glasses and silverware accidentally. Luckily, your boss was a pretty chill and forgiving person and hadn’t felt the need to fire you yet. You really didn’t want to go through the trouble of finding another job, so you continued doing the best you could each and every day.

A few weeks after being hired, you started to feel the tiniest bit more confident about your abilities as a server. At the very least, you were getting better at remembering orders. Thankfully, there were a lot of regulars that got the same things every time which made your job easier. You were just starting to get into a comfortable routine when life decided to throw you a curveball. There was no way you could stop yourself from tripping over your own feet and almost spilling some poor customers breakfast all over the floor when you saw the pro hero, Le Million, walk into the diner with one of his hero friends. Thankfully you managed not to fall on your face or drop any food. Your relief was short lived, however, when Le Million walked right over and took a seat at a table in your section.

You knew it was going to be a disaster as soon as you walked over and forgot what you should even do. Being so close to Le Million was triggering a meltdown in your brain. He was your favorite hero and you honestly had a huge crush on him. Having him looking right at you with those cheerful blue eyes and wide friendly smile was extremely overwhelming.

“Uh…” You stood there blankly with the pen and pad in your hand.

“I think we’re going to start with something to drink!” Le Million speaks up with a light laugh which sparks you back to life.

“Ok, right!” you shake your head and try to focus. “What’ll you have?”

“I’ll have coffee,” he says before gesturing to his companion. “I think you usually take hot green tea right?” The friend nods so you write the order down.

“A hot green tea and a coffee for Le Million,” you mumble without meaning to.

“Oh, I’m on my lunch break!” he corrects you with a grin. “So, you can call me Mirio.”

“Right,” you nod excitedly. “Mirio”

You do your best to function as you continue to serve him. You somehow bring black tea instead of green, but Mirio just waves off the mistake with a wave of his hand. You swear you write down the correct order for him word for word, but humiliation consumes you when his friend points out that there were tomatoes on his hamburger even though he’d asked for none. You offer to bring him a new plate but he tells you it’s unnecessary. He doesn’t even pick off the tomatoes before taking a huge bite.

When Mirio and his friend finally leave, you feel yourself deflate. You were thankful the embarrassing experience was over, but part of you wished you’d made a better impression. The universe must’ve been out for you because the next day, it decided to grace you with a second chance. Mirio walked back into your diner with his friend, taking the same table as the day before. You tried to do a better job at serving him this time but you still fumbled a few things. This continued for a few weeks. For some reason, Mirio kept coming back and sitting in your section. You had no idea why since he must be sick of your horrible service by now. You tried to think of a logical explanation for a while, but always came up empty.

“Um, Mirio,” you tell him one day as he hands you the money to pay for his bill. “I know I’m not the best server in the world, so you don’t have to sit in my section every time.”

“But then I wouldn’t get to talk to you!” Mirio replies instantly, looking taken aback by your words.

“Oh,” you hadn’t expected a response like that. “But I always mess up your order.”

“That’s all right!” Mirio perks back up, “As long as you keep doing your best, that’s what matters! Plus, I’ve been sort of biding my time, looking for the right moment to ask for your number. I think you’re really cute.” He winces a little bit as if preparing for rejection. The confession startles you and you somehow end up missing his hand while giving back his change, causing coins to scatter across the counter. Mirio just smiles and helps you pick it all up.

“I can really give you my number?” you ask in shock once the money is back in his hands.

“Yeah!” He assures you, “As long as I’m allowed to call it!” You felt yourself blush, but managed to stay calm enough to grab a napkin and scribble your number down. Mirio thanked you before heading out with his hero friend to go back on patrol. It was less than a minute later when your phone buzzed in your pocket with a message from your hero crush.

It said, “I can’t wait to see you again tomorrow!”

You’re still in a state of shock as you hug your phone to your chest. You’d initially taken the diner job as a way to save money for school, but maybe fate had brought you here for something else entirely.

#mirio x reader #fatgum x reader #taishiro toyomitsu x reader #bnha x reader #mha x read #togata mirio #Taishiro Toyomitsu #bnha #mha #writing requests #cindy's writing

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hereliesanotherfic · 3 years

Text

Albert James Moriarty x Reader

A/N: Just a little drabble, nothing too intense. More an admiration for our handsome Albert ^^ But I hope to write more for Yuukoku no Moriarty! I just got into the anime so I know nothing of the manga. So in this fic, I had to make up an aristocrat family/servants. The more I learn of the series I might not have too! xD Let me know what you think!

Rating: PG 13 (probably) Triggers:

(Mentions of) Family member death, thoughts of suicide,

(Actions of) Murder but no heavy details.

You weren’t anything special to the world, or at least never felt like it for a long time. You had ‘worked’ for a wealthy family in Durham for more than 5 years now and most of your work was shared with your older brother. You haven’t been allowed to see him lately though, and it was concerning. He began to fall ill, and you did your best to care for him after serving all your duties to the family. But it’s been a long…long time since you’ve seen his face now, almost a year. The Lord of the house, Lord Vincent told you not to concern yourself and they had a handled on it, but over the time those words have been of no comfort. The fact that you cannot see your brother after so long makes you fear something awful has happened. After all, the noblemen and family weren’t the kindest to lower class like yourself. You’ve gotten smacked and hit, drinks thrown at you, belittled, and shamed beyond what is humane. Your only string to life is that your brother might truly be alive and struggling, but you’ve never felt a depression and despair this deep before.

At this moment, you were on your hands and knees scrubbing the dining room floor, the maids setting a table fit for five. You overheard Lord Vincent had invited some noblemen who were new to the area over for a feast, and once the reply came back, he demanded all get to work in preparations. The butler had stepped in, clapping his hands. “Alright, quickly now, clean up and make yourselves presentable, they will be here shortly!” You placed your sponge in the bucket and hurried it to the washroom. Racing back, you stood in your spot at the end of the line of maids, brushing out your uniform of wrinkles or dirt. The butler scanned down all three maids, his eyes scowling at you. The butler was a bit of a prick like the noblemen, he had no respect for you since you were on the bottom of the barrel. You looked to your feet, wishing for nightfall to come so you could sleep again.

“Come with me,” you heard Lord Vincent cheer and you dared to glance up at the guests. First was a very tall, slender brunette with gorgeous green eyes and a strong jawline. Following him were two blondes, striking ruby red eyes, a little more build but just as attractive. You quickly stared back down at your feet, praying you weren’t caught by anyone in the room. If Lord Vincent or his mistress found out you were eyeing the guests it’d mean another punishment. Your food, injuries, sanity? They liked to change it to see how far your threshold could go.

As proper maids do, you each stepped up to a chair to pull it out for the noblemen. You weren’t sure if you were lucky or doomed to seat the brunette. Allowing him to sit and then aid pushing his chair in, he glanced over his shoulder to you and your peripheral vision could see his small smile. Without thinking, your eyes looked up and locked to his, which made his own eyes soften slightly. You immediately looked back down to the floor and took your place back to the side of the room. It was only an interaction of maybe 5 to 10 seconds, but it felt so impressionable. You admired how his tux made his shoulders and back a bit broader, whatever fancy cologne he was wearing was practically intoxicating, and his eyes and smile could get you dangerously lost. It wasn’t often young noblemen appeared, and now you were glad they didn’t.

The five aristocrats talked and ate the delicious food. You never really knew what the foods were or how to cook them, but it always looked mouthwatering. Time seem to go faster today, but you felt it was because of that damn brunette. You locked his image to his voice after threatening another glance, his voice smoothing through the conversations like melted butter. In a moment, you heard the famous finger snap of the Lord, signaling for places and leftovers to be cleared from the table. As a good maid, you took action and stood besides the brunette, clearing his space leaving no crumb behind. You felt eyes on you, but you couldn’t tell if it was him, or the Lord on your left side. You did every mental trick in your mind to not be too nervous. But it was already failing you.

“Your maid seems unsteady, Lord Vincent, is she alright?” the blonde you learned to be William spoke. He was across the table but he still noticed the slight tremors in your fingers? What the hell?! You stood straight with your couple plates and cups and looked to Lord Vincent, who looked pleased, but you saw his little ticks to know well enough, he was pissed.

“Do not fret about the service Lord Moriarty! She has been failing my family repeatedly, so a change has been due for a while now.”

…What?

“It’s so hard these days to find high class maids,” his wife sighed loudly, a look of disgust lingering on your backside.

You heartrate increased dramatically while your skin paled. You slightly bowed to excuse yourself from the conversation (even though you were just the topic) and headed towards the kitchen to dispose of the plates. You practically dropped them in the skin and held onto the counter. Your suspicions about them killing off bad service wasn’t just a rumor, it was true! You knew now because you were next! Your brother—you had to find a way to get out and save your brother! …

Your eyes started to water at the realization. ‘They had a handle on it’, in aristocrat terms, in the Vincent family terms, they eliminated him. And dragged you on to play the fool believing your brother was alive just to suck out whatever they could from you. You dropped to your knees as your tears poured, fingertips turning while you still gripped the counter above you. And the thought of joining your brother now…maybe he would forgive you if you join him for letting him die.

“Why are you crying?” a voice behind you spoke softly, startling you out of your self-pity and turning around instantly. To your utter shock, it was Lord Albert James Moriarty, and he was less than two feet from you, one hand outstretches as if to catch you.

You harshly wipe the tears from your face and eyes with your sleeve, standing up as quickly as physically possible and giving your uniform a couple messy pats, yabbering your apologizes as if your ending life still depended on it. “I am so very sorry Lord Moriarty, you should never have seen me in such array. Please forgive my improper-ness.” You didn’t know where to look, what to do with your hands, your anxiety was eating you alive! So you did your only method, stare at the floor with your head down and grip your uniform, your hair falling slightly forward as it was falling out of its bun. You could feel your body shaking and tried to stop it, your embarrassment eating you up on the inside for making a fool of yourself in front of not just a Lord, but a handsome one at that. He couldn’t have been more than a couple years older than you, and he could be placed in a museum and you were the cement floor.

“Please, don’t be afraid of me,” Albert begged softly, the gentleness of his voice being completely unexpected. You felt his large hand wrap around one of your clenched ones, making you remove your grip from your dress and be held in his hand. In the same moment, his other hand swooped under your jaw gently and lifted your face to look at him, swiping the (still) falling tears with his thumb. He locked his eyes with you (e/c) ones, a small smile came back to grace his lips. Just as you feared, you fell into a trance. You felt his other thumb rubbing small circles in your hand as he spoke his velvet words again.

“Come, it’s time to leave,” he hummed, closing his hand fully around yours before turning and heading out of the kitchen. You immediately started to panic at the though of Lord Vincent seeing the guest of honor so close to you, let alone touching you or speaking to you.

“L-l-l-lord Moriarty, I can’t do—this isn’t rig-okay, I mean!—” You choked to find the words, not wanting to offend him in any way, but terrified of not stopping him before re-entering the dining room like this. His grip was strong and you couldn’t pull back more than he pulled forward. He stopped for a moment and chuckled, looking over his shoulder to you with a smile and slender eyes.

“Do not worry about that miss, Lord Vincent has no more hold over you.” And he continued walking. You had no idea what that meant, but you were about to find out.

After he pulled you through the doors into the dining room, the sight was appalling. The head Maid was sobbing on the floor, a bloody knife fallen from her bloody hand. Lying hunched dead over the table were the Lord and his mistress, each suffered one to three stab wounds. The smell of all this blood was too strong and you covered your mouth with your hand. Before you could take in any more of the messy scene, Albert was already dragging you along outside, the two blonde brothers finishing up inside with the maid. You were practically speechless.

“L-..Lord Moriarty?” you said just above a whisper as he opened the door to his luxury carriage, looking at you. “…What’s happened?”

“Lord Vincent and his wife have both paid their debt for the slaughter of lower class servant workers, that’s all,” he stated matter-of-factly. Your eyes widened at his words, but they were soft. How did another aristocrat family know of this, not to mention care?

“We in the Moriarty family are…different,” he chuckled, before stepping to the side. “Please, hop in.”

“Why?” You asked, forgetting for a moment he was a nobleman.

“I’d like to give you some time to think if you’d like to be a maid for our family, or if you’d like to start a new life elsewhere. In the meantime, I can provide you a safe place to stay.”

You cheeks reddened slightly at the word ‘I’ and he must’ve caught on, closing his eyes for a brief moment before looking back into yours. If it wasn’t so dark out, you could’ve confirmed or not if he was blushing a bit too.

“We, my brothers and I,” he corrected, and motioned you into the carriage. At this point, your former Lord was dead, you brother was dead and you had little hope immediately on the street. Maybe serving the handsome Albert James Moriarty wasn’t such a bad deal after all. Especially if they are taking away some of the scum of the world.

Albert couldn’t have been more pleased when you stepped inside the carriage. This operation William put together has been brewing for a few months. Truth be told, Albert has seen you more than a couple times, but he’s never interacted with you since that wasn’t part of the plan. It was obvious to William you were being tricked, and your heavy depression blocked your brain from the truth. Only once you feel your life was truly on the line would you snap out of it. Albert was just as happy as his brothers to save another lower-class citizen from harm. Not to mention Louis lightly teasing him about keeping his eyes on you a little too much.

#yuukoku no moriarty #albert james moriarty #albert james moriarty x reader #william james moriarty #louis james moriarty #moriarty the patriot #fred porlock #sebastian moran #sherlock holmes #john watson #william james moriarty x reader #louis james moriarty x reader #sherlock holmes x reader

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furblrwurblr · 3 years

Text

I had to adress the trauma before they kissed

Part three to Patience, Love!

Douxie x Reader Soulmate AU, fluff, angst. crack if you squint.

《One》《Two》 | Masterlist

You'd had a few days of unfamiliar band after unfamiliar band and were glad for a taste of home when Papa Skull was up on the itinerary. You two slept in as you had for the past week and had an instant noodle breakfast (the good kind, none of that Maruchan crap Douxie's addicted to) before hitting the town. Dancing, walking, and browsing the streets with their little shops was a fun way to spend the afternoon before you made your way to the venue. You noticed Douxie was being… a little bit more. A little closer, a little softer, a little jittery. You'd had a mind to ask him but he interrupted you every time he saw your curiosity scratching itself on his forearms, running off looking over his shoulder for you to follow. At some point, he'd asked to split up, absolutely not because he wanted to find something for you, or so he said. You spent the whole time he was gone absently searching for something in return, preoccupied with the thoughts on your arms and legs that were just so very Douxie.

"Oh! That's nice! No, no no no, this is your soulmate! Nice isn't great, it's between good and okay. Or would it be between good and alright? Which trumps the other? Blast it all, this store isn't helping," or "This store isn't at ALL what I thought it was... No! Don't think about that, if they see that on their arm I'll be the impatient one!"

You told him where you were after he seemed somewhat satisfied. He walked towards you, the grin on his face falling into a betrayed look of feigned shock as he watched you taking pictures of all the thoughts he'd forgotten you could see. He groaned as he sat beside you on a park bench, seeing just how much you'd read.

"Did I give it away already?"

"All I know is it's somewhere between great and good, or is alright the better word?" you teased.

He bumped your shoulder with his. "Cheeky," he smiled. "Let's head back to the campsite, eat a quick meal, and grab a good spot!"

After a light dinner, you'd managed to squeeze your way fairly close to the front, far enough from the stage to risk being squished. You'd been there a few hours when Papa Skull finally made their appearance, you and Douxie amongst the loudest welcoming them onstage. Not long into their hit song, "Mean", Douxie was nervous.

"I’m gonna do it. I don’t want them to spook..."

You glimpsed his concern on your forearm, unable to make much out in your excitement for the live music, but you knew he was working up to something. You let it be, curious to see what he'd do.

Douxie slowed his breathing. He really liked you so far, and although your mind was quick to dive into the gutter, he didn't want to scare you off. Your own mishap ended in him seeing you once before ghosting for nearly a month. Not to mention, he could tell how embarrassed his little experiments on the boat had made you, what with the whispering and all. It may have been a different kind of embarrassed, more flustered than mortified, but you'd never spoken out against anything. He didn't have a clear grasp of your boundaries. While he'd been searching for a gift for you, he'd wondered how he was going to give it to you. He settled for another first- nothing big, it was pretty cliché, but he enjoyed doing it and hoped you would too.

Douxie placed a hand on your upper arm to make sure you wouldn't startle, it was a bit difficult to get your attention. He slid his arm behind your back, looking to you for confirmation. Your nod made him sigh in relief as he planted his hand on the outside of your shoulder. He felt you laugh and nearly withdrew before you grabbed his hand and pulled so his arm draped over your shoulders, placing your other hand across his back and gently curling your fingers into his waist. You two shared a tender moment of silence before half-turning your attention back to the concert, both too caught up in each other to be in the moment.

He fingered the large box in his sweater pocket, withdrawing his hand. It could wait, he didn't want to risk you moving to look at it, and Mordrax forbid you take your warm hand from his side before he was ready.

Later, you both fell into your sleeping bags with a mighty puff of the air rushing out under the sudden weights, both heaving great sighs of relief. You looked over to him in silence, waiting for his gaze to meet yours. His head turned quickly, smiling wide. Laughter built between you until the pair of you were wiping tears from your eyes, still feeling the euphoria from the concert and one another. Once you relaxed again, Douxie got up and beckoned for you to do the same. You looked at him quizzically.

"If I know I'm hungry then you must be too, I eat less often than you," he reasoned.

Reluctantly, you got up, sad to leave your plush dollar-store sleeping bag. Douxie started the fire while you zipped the tent to swap your themed tour outfit for something more comfortable.

Douxie rustled through the bags back on the ship, pulling out leftovers from the diner in town. He made his way back to the now-blazing fire, sitting on a log to prepare the meal. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the glow of the lantern in the tent--

blimey, was the tent always that sheer? It was night and the lantern made it far too easy to see your silhouette. "Woah, looking away now!" Ah, he saw how appropriate the word "blimey" was in this case. While he did enjoy what he saw, part of him did want God to blind himself because he was 90% sure he'd just watched you remove your top without your knowledge. "God, I tease them constantly, but I'm just as bad, aren't I?" he realized. He quickly went back to warming the food, hands rushed and face pink.

You watched his fault write itself on your torso, cheeks just as flushed, although with a bit more amusement than he was feeling at the moment. You finished and stepped out, a smug look on your face. Wordlessly, you sat next to him, studying his reaction. He avoided your eyes, recognizing the glint they had when his thoughts betrayed him. You slid off the log, reclining against it and making a show of placing your arms behind your head.

"I guess I can't really complain, you are making me dinner first, as per your own terms," you said, nonchalant.

Douxie cursed himself. "How could I have been so bold?" he lamented with a sheepish smile. Time to change the subject. He looked around, searching for anything to talk about, settling on the flames that reminded him of the familiar he missed oh so much. He broke the comfortable silence and turned to you. "Would you like me to show you something?" The nondescript watch on his wrist extended, magical glamour falling to reveal his brace, now glowing with energy.

You nodded eagerly. His magic was comforting and beautiful, just like he was… wait. Why not mess with him a bit?

"One condition."

He withdrew his hands from their position in front of him, face earnest.

"Take off your sweater. I've seen your tattoos under your short sleeves, and I know they glow, wonderboy," you half-demanded. Payback and your own reward in one? You deserved to be a little stern.

He laughed, shrugging off his sweater before putting his hands at the ready once more. With a smile, he pushed and pulled the bonfire from where he sat beside you, flames turning his signature blue the more he manipulated them. It was beautiful, drowning the verdant green of the forest in a blue that belonged only to your soulmate. Douxie reveled in your amazement, fire magic a new experience for a novice such as yourself.

You turned your attention to his tattoos and your lips parted in wonder. You'd never seen them in full, runes you couldn't recognize glowing a vibrant blue. The swooping lines didn't move, but it seemed the light shining through them did, glow rippling below his skin. You slid back onto the log again, closer this time, and brushed your fingers over them. Douxie let the fire swirl to its original shape, goosebumps raising at your feather-light touch. They dimmed, once again their original grey, but you persisted, enthralled by the runes.

Douxie had never loved someone so much. Sure, you'd only known each other a few months, but he felt justified since you were his soulmate. As much as he still couldn't believe he'd met you after all that time, he was more amazed at how often it proved true that you were made to fit one another. Your humor, your joys, your sadness. It made itself apparent in how you walked towards him, the way you smiled when he called you. The comfort in your voice that he could feel through the phone. Your eyes. Oh, your eyes, how they did things to his heart.

He pulled himself from his thoughts, eyes roving over your body intently, latching onto any exposed skin. He was looking in pride at his thoughts of admiration, feeling almost as if they marked you as his. "A reminder," he thought, that right now, you belonged to one another. He brought his gaze back to those eyes of yours, now studying his face. The two of you looked at one another in silence, watching one another's eyes flick down and back again, faces drawing closer. His tongue darted out to moisten his slightly chapped lip, causing your breath to hitch. His heart jumped at the sound, snapping him from his daze. He gently lifted your hand from his bicep, shakily breathing the same air as you. He folded your fingers into his chill grasp, bringing them to his lips and pressing a long kiss to your knuckles before bowing his head to press your hand to his brow. You smiled, heart beating from your chest, then grabbed his sweater from between you two with your free hand and sliding it up to his back and over a shoulder. He slowly released your hand with a small chuckle, twirling the garment from his shoulders and placing it on your own. His hands dragged down to the beginning of the zipper and tugged it forward to secure it on your body, pulling you just that much closer. He lingered, smiling gently at you. This. This was a moment he hoped would never end.

His long fingers withdrew to finally warm the food, the 'almost' of what had just happened filling the comfortable silence of the forest clearing.

It'd been a few days since the Almost (your affectionate lament for the kiss that nearly was), and the tour was nearly over. Only a few days were left and you weren't ready for it to end. Maybe after this you and Douxie could spend more time at one another's flats, just to have each other around. Your home was your sanctuary, and you were already fully prepared to open it to him. You trusted him and were happy you'd ironed out your initial issues. For the most part, that is.

"What's this, Y/N?" Douxie asked. You were taken from your thoughts by his sudden question and gave him a puzzled look. He gestured to the 'trust issue' statement written boldly across his bare shoulder before going to sit next to you, the distance between you feeling like an emotional chasm. He used to sit closer before the Almost. "Is something the matter? Did I do something to make you cross?" His face was less puzzled now and more anxious.

"Well," you began, "It's nothing recent. Maybe it is? I keep dwelling on the past, and I feel I need to bring it up."

"Go for it, darling, anything you need," he rushed, turning his entire body to face you.

"I've been running most of my life, as is the curse of an immortal, but I’ve spent the last sixteen years of it searching for you. I kept asking you questions, trying to find you. As amusing as it was to play cat and mouse, I felt displaced and restless. Friends came and went, I scoured America in its entirety. A hint, a clue, something!" You rushed, breathing ragged. "Arcadia was my resignation, you know," you continued, quieter now. "I've stayed as long as I have because I gave up, too tired to keep running towards something, no matter how much I wanted it. No matter how much I wanted you, I--" your eyes filled with tears and you paused, choking on a sob. You sucked in a breath. He needed to hear this. *You* needed him to hear this. "It hurt when I realized you didn't remember our fleeting moments together in combat. I enjoyed sharing that moment of revealing ourselves to one another, but it hurts that I've chased that beautiful blue for the past eight centuries and you don't remember those two years of patrolling the canals.”

Douxie placed a hesitant hand on the small of your back and his eyes dropped from your face to the forest floor, remembering why he'd been so excited to meet you. He'd seen your reactions to his thoughts back in Italy but quickly had to move on. He and Archie had decided long ago that no matter what, they'd put Merlin's tasks above anything else. Even his soulmate. When he realized how close you were he got excited. He couldn't search for you, but he didn't see anything wrong if you found him first. Even then, he kept you at arm's length, scared of the consequences. Merlin's tower, how could he have been so thoughtless? Douxie had never stopped to consider how his constant moving around would affect you. He never took the concepts of soulmates all that seriously. Sure, he could daydream about being with someone made for him and refuse to date anyone until he met you, but it became real the night he found you. Too real. So he ran. Dancing around you, pretending he was doing you a favor with his vague answers and puzzling riddles. Then, he met you again. You were real once more. After his comical encounter with you, he was too preoccupied to sleep, absorbing the finality of having a soulmate. You had come into his life with a bang, a reminder that Merlin and his tasks didn't define who he was. What had shaped him were small influences of the people he'd met throughout the last millennium, including you.

You were worried. Douxie's brow was more creased than you'd ever seen it. His hand on your back grew clammy, the cold night air quickly cooling the fresh damp patch of your shirt.

"...Douxie?" you whispered, afraid your rant had gone too far. His head turned just a little too quickly and you gasped at the tears glistening in the moonlight. He choked on a few unsteady breaths, mouth half-forming words. You reached your hand for the bicep of the arm loosely wrapped around your waist, but before you could touch it, he spoke.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, drawing his hand away from your torso. The first of many large tears burst upon the wood of the log you sat upon. Whose tears they were no longer mattered when both of you began crying anew. You wrapped your fingers around the arm he removed from your side and placed it there once more, throwing your arms around his middle. He sobbed at this, heart happy that you still accepted him, and brought his other hand to clutch your head to his collarbone. He wasn't running anymore, he'd done what was asked of him and was finally able to let you catch up to him.

The two of you were too caught up in one another to notice but had either of you been paying attention, you would have seen each other's skin being adorned with countless words of adoration, regret, and joy.

#patience love #douxie x reader #toa douxie x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #too many commas #like WAY too many #not betaread #casual fic writing lmao im working on more polished pieces #x reader #toa x reader #toa wizards #idk how to tag things #furblewrites #I SWEAR THEY KISS NEXT BIT

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tastesoftamriel · 4 years

Note

how does table etiquette differ between races/provinces? would it apply to all the population or only in formal company?

There are many rituals and customs surrounding both cooking and eating in Tamriel, and each race is different regarding what's considered appropriate behaviour where food is concerned. Keep this list in mind if you're traveling across Tamriel, especially if you're staying with local hosts! These rules apply mostly to eating with new friends or out in public, in both formal and semi-formal settings such as homes, taverns, and restaurants. While most Tamrielic peoples are pretty forgiving of poor table manners in informal company and settings, remembering these tips will show your hosts that you're both cultured and polite! ~Talviel

Dunmer

The Dunmer are all about rank, and regardless of whether one hails from the Great Houses or the Ashlands, communal dining is a proving ground for outlanders who aren't familiar with Dunmeri customs. Traditionally, the head of the house or clan gets served (or serves themselves) first, and the serving order depends on one's political ranking, age, and social status. For example, a younger Dark Elf who's a general would be permitted to eat before an elder who is lower in social standing. However, traditional hospitality also dictates that the head of the table can give up their first serving to others as an act of honour. This is common when hosting guests, and if you are given the first serving it means you are a true guest of honour. Don't mess it up by displaying poor table etiquette!

Altmer

For the Altmer, table etiquette is everything. One wrong move at the dinner table, no matter how small, will have you disgraced throughout the Summerset Isles and will ensure you'll probably never be invited to dine at any high society soirées ever again. Even young Altmer aren't excused from the strict rules, and table etiquette is generally studied for years before any Altmer are allowed their debut in high society. It would take years to go through the intricacies of High Elf dining faux pas, but in my experience the biggest atrocity one can commit at the dining table is speaking with your mouth full and chewing with your mouth open. In fact, most meals in Altmer households and taverns alike are usually silent (this is why bards are usually employed to stop things from being too awkward). So if you're ever dining with a High Elf, don't be offended if they don't gush over the food right away- it's a case of eat first, talk later!

Orc

You're probably wondering why I even included the Orsimer at all, because most races are under the (wrongful!) impression that they have no table etiquette. However, being allowed to eat with a stronghold is a huge honour, and they have a couple of rules. Firstly, no fighting until after mealtime! Yes, every now and then someone gets mad at the dining table, but fights are reserved for after meals and they have to be taken outside. Brawling in the dining room is considered to be in extremely poor taste even for Orcs, so don't even think about it. The second rule is showing the chef appreciation at the end of the meal...by letting out a loud, healthy burp. I'm not joking! If an Orcish chef comes up to you, you should express your gratitude for your meal by belching. The louder the belch, the better the meal!

Breton

Of all the races of men, the Bretons are the fussiest when it comes to table manners. When dining in High Rock, be sure to brush up on identifying the right cutlery and glasses. Knowing the difference between a snail and a dessert fork, or which knife to use for fish or bantam guar, is sure to impress your Breton hosts and show that you care enough about their food and culture to appreciate using the correct tableware. And for the love of the Divines, please don't drink anything but wine out of a wine glass.

Khajiit

The Khajiit are fairly laid back about dining etiquette, with a few exceptions. Eating with your hands is common, but only after washing them very thoroughly beforehand! Not washing your hands before a meal is a sign of poor upbringing, bad hygiene, and being greedy. On that note, ALWAYS use a serving spoon when sprinkling moon sugar on your food! Not only is the stuff awfully sticky, but nobody wants to eat from a communal moon sugar dish that's had somebody else's fingers in it!

Imperial

The golden rule when dining in Cyrodiil is to know your wine, which is always present at every meal (yes, even at breakfast for some)! You don't have to be a sommelier, but being able to differentiate between a pinot noir and a merlot is something fairly basic that any fan of Imperial cuisine should master. Not only that, but knowing which wine to pair with your food is crucial- asking for a glass of moscato with your main, for example, is bound to cause quite a scandal. If you're ever in doubt, ask your server or the chef what they recommend to prevent the worst faux pas in the Province!

Argonian

Argonians are actually my favourite people to dine with in Tamriel, because they're extremely hospitable folk who love sharing their food! A common custom with Argonians is to have food brought out in large serving bowls which you can help yourself to, with everyone sitting in a circle on the floor around the serving dishes. Like the Khajiit, eating with your hands is common, and washing them well is a prerequisite (not only for politeness, but also because you really don't want to get swamp sickness). While you don't need to worry about how much you eat, be mindful of the elders and hatchlings at the meal, who usually get a bit more out of respect and care.

Redguard

There aren't many hard rules for eating with Redguards, but it's important to be courteous to your hosts and always offer them the first and last bites. This causes a lot of confusion for foreigners, as Redguards are known for being very pushy with their hospitality, especially when it comes to food. Don't fall for the trick though- it is customary to decline what you are offered no less than three times before you can polish off whatever's left! Accepting immediately is seen as greedy, and flat-out refusing is viewed as extremely rude and ungrateful.

Bosmer

The Bosmer, regardless of whether or not they're Green Pact compliant, are sticklers about food wastage, and for good reason! Wood Elf cuisine is usually difficult and slow to cook, and the best way to express your appreciation during mealtimes is to finish every last drop and crumb in front of you. Trust me, I know it can be difficult especially if you're not used to Bosmeri food, but please do your best to finish whatever you're given or have ordered, because your chef will be very sad rather than offended if you don't (and that's almost worse).

Nord

Finally, we return to my people. Like the Orcs, most people wouldn't think that Nords have much in the way of table manners, but there are a couple of things you should bear in mind when eating in Skyrim. Like the Bosmer, food wastage is viewed with disdain. While you're allowed to eat as much as you like (which is actually encouraged!), be sure to take only as much as you can eat. Leaving leftovers on a plate is quite the affront, but asking for a takeaway box is even worse. Not only is Nord food meant to be eaten fresh on the spot, it doesn't exactly keep well and bringing home your partially-eaten steak and potatoes is seen as stingy and cheap. If you're really struggling, it's totally acceptable to ask your Nord friends to help you out if you're close. If you don't know anyone around you, it's also acceptable to feed your leftovers and scraps to the dogs and pigs. Also, unless you're at a tavern or are told otherwise, wash your plate and put it away or your host may very well smash it over your head for presuming that they'll do it for you!

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doctorthreephds · 3 years

Text

Synapses: Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 4.8k

TW: Mentions of death and drugs--specifically from the episode Demonology

A/N: Hey! Just a forewarning, the forensic techniques in this are complete speculation from what I know and they are probably not accurate at all.

Summary: After starting your new job and getting closer to Spencer, you find yourself having your first fight with your new friend when the anniversary of your mother’s death approaches.

Masterlist

Taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @green-intervention @eevee0722

Starting your new job was hard, like all things, but enjoyable. The first few days were learning the ropes and the area and you often came home exhausted, tired from a long day’s work in a lab you were unfamiliar with. The little things were what kept you going. Every day, you made an effort to eat lunch with your father--leftovers or food to go from a nearby restaurant or deli. When your father went away on his case, you spent time with Penelope in her bat cave. It was fun to hang out with her, spouting comedic rhetoric whenever someone called her for advice.

“Please don’t eat near the merchandise, baby, it’s my money maker,” she states, typing away at the speed of light as someone rings in. “Information highway speaking, you’re on speaker with me and the good doctor.”

You snort and let out a small laugh as you silently dig into your takeout box of chow mein.

“The good doctor? I thought that was me,” you hear Spencer speak up from the phone and smile, lifting your chopsticks to your mouth.

“You’ve been replaced, Dr. Reid. Sorry!” you say before taking another bite of the noodles.

“What are you doing--”

“Stay on track, boy genius. What do you need from me?” Penelope asks and you zone out, not wanting to listen into the details of the gruesome murders they were investigating. While your job sometimes involved dead bodies, you were in fact eating lunch and wanted to keep your lunch down for the rest of the day. After they were finished, you could hear them wrapping up and you inserted a final goodbye.

“Bye Spencer! I’ll see you soon,” you state as the phone beeps to signal that the call has ended.

“See him soon?” Penelope spins around as she fiddles with a pink pen with a puffball on the end that almost matches the pink blush on your face.

“I mean I’ll see him when the case ends,” you mumble and toss your takeout box into her trash, taking a sip from your water bottle.

“Hm, I’m sure that’s what you meant,” she smiles and turns back to her computer, typing something up. “If you need any info on him, I can tell you anything you want to know, sweets.”

“I’m not gonna do that, it’s an invasion of privacy,” you stand and check your watch, it’s about time for you to get back to work. “But if anything comes up, I’ll let you know.”

Other times, when your father was too busy to entertain you, you would eat with the others--or more specifically, Spencer. Travelling up to the sixth floor, you check to see if Spencer is anywhere nearby. When you deduce that he is nowhere near, his plush office chair becomes your new home as you open up your bag and grab the tupperware full of salad while you wait for his arrival. Opening the small container, you poke at the leaves with your fork and make a face when you see that they’re soggy and limp.

“Have a salad today?” he asks as you look at the sad lettuce in your small tupperware container.

“Yeah. Although, it doesn’t look very appetizing,” you state and put it down on his desk, looking up at the cup of coffee in his hand that looked far more delicious than the monstrosity that was sad salad.

“Did you know that salad comes from the latin word ‘herba salta’ which means ‘salted herbs,’ so perhaps you don’t have enough salt on your herbs,” he states and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head as you close the container and put it away.

“Any more salt and my blood pressure’s gonna be at risk. Wanna grab lunch at the deli?” you ask and stand. He nods as the two of you exit the bullpen, taking the elevator down.

This was your schedule, and you loved it. It didn’t take that long for you to build a good relationship with everyone, constantly checking in on their lives outside of Quantico. Emily was doing well with Sergio, Henry was growing at a rate that JJ couldn’t comprehend, Penelope was still going out with Kevin, and you and Spencer were often found hanging out on the weekends when he wasn’t called away for a case.

You found it odd how easily you took to Spencer, how his fun facts were always there to brighten up every conversation and his constant pursuit of knowledge was admirable. He took you to his favorite bookstore as well as his favorite used bookstore that he frequented in hopes of finding first editions and original copies. He also would take you to his favorite park, the one that he went to so that he could play chess and he would always win. It wasn’t always about him, though, you loved taking him to go see new movies as opposed to the older and foreign ones that he enjoyed. The two of you also committed to trying new foods together. With his sensory issues and your picky nature, you both embarked on a journey to eat new foods in hopes of finding something new and delicious.

While your new found friendship was almost perfect in the way that you committed yourselves, it too could not come without ups and downs. The first bump came when you helped consult on an unofficial case, something that had happened with Emily’s close friends. It was only a few days before the anniversary for your mother’s death and you were running on fumes.

“Hello?” you ask sharply, pouring over several reports that were due soon. Your temper was short today and you just wanted to go home.

“Hey it’s Spencer. Are you okay?” he asks and you sigh, rubbing your temples in frustration.

“Yeah, I’m fine. What do you need?” you sit back in your chair and take a sip of your coffee, attempting to quell your anxieties while he speaks.

“I’m not at Quantico right now, I’m at a victim’s house. His name is Thomas Valentine and he died of dehydration but Emily believes there’s foul play. I’ll have Garcia send over his tox reports along with Matthew Benton’s to see if the pathologist missed anything. We’re on our way back so feel free to meet us upstairs when we debrief,” he says and you nod, writing down the information on a stray post-it note so that you don’t forget. “By the way, your dad says ‘hi.’”

“Tell him I say ‘hi’ back. I’ll meet you upstairs,” you state and hang up the phone, sighing as you run your hands through your hair to release some nervous energy. It was only a few more days and you would be on your day off, it was only a few days until you would be able to visit your mom again.

Just as if she heard it from five floors up, you receive an email from Penelope with the toxicology reports from both victims. A quick skim shows that there is a lack of intense scrutiny due to the simple cause of death. But, if Emily and Spencer believe otherwise then it was in your best interest to assume so as well. Looking into Matthew Benton’s report, there was evidence of long-term methamphetamine abuse which could contribute to the death but nothing out of the ordinary. It was only midday and you were running out of steam but your friends needed you so you had to pull it together.

After printing out all the information you have and stashing it in a folder, you make your way up to the bullpen and watch people rushing around. The busyness and chatter made you a bit woozy but the sight of Spencer helped to ground out a bit.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t have to be here,” he frowns as he sees you approach and you shake your head.

“I’m fine, I just want to help out in any way I can,” you mumble and move past him toward the conference room where almost everyone was gathered. Once Hotch arrived, they began to pour over details and possibilities within this pseudo-case.

Listening intently, you take note of the evidence as it is laid out for you, the scuff marks under the bed, the missionary church in Spain that the two victims had visited, the idea that each family had been highly religious. Years of going to church in France and D.C. were being brought back in an instant.

“That sounds like an exorcism,” you blurt out and look up to see everyone staring at you. It was odd to hold their attention but you nestled down in your chair and continued to listen.

“Look, I know the Bible just as well as anyone, but I also know there’s nothing more open to behavioral interpretation than religion,” Derek comments.

“Meaning what?” Emily asks, shaking her head.

“I think it’s dangerous for us to wanna find a connection between these deaths,” he states.

“Wait, was Thomas’ wife religious?” Emily frowns and looks around at your father.

“She was concerned that he had been cursing God,” your father recalls as Spencer dives into an inference.

“Exorcism ritual can take days to complete. It’s possible the stress induced could cause a heart attack, especially in someone with a history of drug abuse,” he explains and looks at you.

“Definitely, drugs leave marks on your body that are irreversible unless you completely stop. It makes an impact on your hair growth, your skin, your heart, so it’s completely plausible. And it could explain how someone died of dehydration,” the facts fly so fast through your head as you try to connect the dots while you speak, your head spinning. Even a couple minutes in the conference room was overwhelming, you couldn’t imagine doing this all the time.

“Guys, look, I’m willing to say that we might have an unsub who ritualizes killings as if they were exorcisms, maybe. But, right now, we don’t even know if we have a crime yet,” Derek voices his concerns and you slowly nod, thinking about how you could help to clear up any room for error. It was possible if you were able to look at the bodies and examine them that you may have the ability to try and see if there were any other traces of possible deadly substances.

“Morgan’s right. We need to step back. Let me talk to someone before I have us all telling ghost stories,” your father suggests and everyone appears to take this as time to cool off and rethink any possibilities, standing and leaving the room to follow their own leads. Dread settles in your chest as you sit in the chair, looking down at the folder to find any piece of information that could help you come to a conclusion but the words were flying around in your head and you felt too sluggish to do anything.

“Do you think that you can get me the victim’s clothing? Perhaps something was done to them topically that would explain their deaths further,” you stand and sigh, already dreading going back to your reports.

“Yeah, sure. It’ll be our lunch break,” he says and smiles. While his smiles usually have the power to brighten your entire day, your sour mood only extinguished any fire of joy inside your body.

“I have too much to do, just go on without me,” you respond and begin walking out of the conference room. You can already feel Spencer’s pestering bubbling up and wanting to know what’s wrong but you didn’t have the heart to tell him.

“Are you sure? Studies have shown that taking breaks help boost blood flow and information retention--”

“I’m sure, Spencer,” you snap and continue walking toward the elevators before he reaches out and grabs your arm to stop you.

“What’s going on? Are you mad at me?” he asks.

“God, I’m fine Spencer! Stop babying me, you’re not my dad,” all the emotion that had been building up in the morning spilled out in anger and your heart shattered to see Spencer so confused and sad. “I’m sorry.”

Stepping into the elevator, you press the button to go down and watch the doors close in front of you, not looking anywhere in the direction of Spencer. The fluorescent lights above you suddenly look far too bright and tears well in your eyes. What would your mother say if she could see you now? Would she be disappointed? Would she be angry? A vibration in your pocket breaks you out of the self-loathing spiral.

From Dad (12:24PM):

I think you just about broke this kid’s heart.

To Dad (12:25PM):

I didn’t mean to. It’s just so close.

From Dad: (12:25PM):

Just tell him. He’ll understand.

To Dad (12:26PM):

I know. I love you.

As you sit at your desk and stare at the papers, your mind moves on autopilot to complete the rest of your tasks. With only two cups of coffee in your system, your head was starting to hurt and your focus was fizzing but when Spencer came back with a couple bags full of clothing to be processed, the guilt overpowered any feeling of fatigue.

“I brought the evidence. Just send the report to Garcia,” he states and drops the bag off at your desk before turning to leave.

“Hey, Spencer?” he turns to look at you, his eyes narrowed as you speak. “I’m really sorry. I’m not feeling well.”

“I could have told you that, and I’m not even a medical doctor,” he mutters and sighs. The air between you is stale and you want to speak, but don’t know what to say.

“Do you want to stay and help me process the evidence? It’ll only take a little bit,” you ask, your voice small. He appears to ponder the thought before nodding and you smile, standing and taking the evidence over to one of your machines. This was where you thrived. While you worked in silence, it was comforting to have Spencer around, even if the two of you were still on rocky ground.

You first started with isolating the fabric and the substances on the clothing. From there, you take them and test what they are to see if there are foreign substances that may have contributed to the deaths of Matthew Benton and Thomas Valentine. Processing goes quickly and you print out the report, frowning at the traces of nerve agent on the clothing.

“There’s sarin on their clothing,” you tell him and hand over the papers for him to read through.

“Thanks,” he mutters and stands to leave.

“Are we okay?” you ask him, watching him turn as you wrap your arms around your torso in a comforting way, warming your hands from the cold lab.

“Obviously not, if you’re not telling me something,” he puts down the folder and comes up to you, reaching out to take your hands. It was a bit of a shock, considering the fact that you knew he hated touching hands, but it was progress and it made your heart melt to think that he would feel safe enough to do so. “I know something’s wrong and I want to help you, but you’re not being honest with me.”

“I just haven’t eaten, Spence. And I’m under the weather, which doesn’t help. I promise that I’ll be okay,” you tell him, staring up into his eyes and speaking with as much truth as you can. But it wasn’t convincing enough and he pulls away as if you just burned him.

“I guess you don’t trust me, then,” he mumbles and turns around, picking up the folder and getting into the elevator. As the doors close, he stares back at you like he was disappointed and it completely broke you. Fat tears roll down your cheeks as your chest bubbles with anxiety and sorrow. You find a seat at your desk and desperately try to wipe the tears away, breathing in deeply to calm yourself down. You were still at work and you still had work to do.

Quickly, you dive back into your reports, writing them up as quickly as possible and pushing Spencer to the back of your mind. Before you know it, the end of the day comes and you’re out of the building and on the metro at record speed. The vibration of the wheels rolling over the tracks lulls you into a sense of security, distracting you from the pangs in your stomach. Without the distraction of work, your mind was able to wander.

Was it fair for you to hide this from Spencer? Why did you? Why did you need to keep this secret so badly?

Perhaps it was the years of being on your own after her death or the fact that showing sadness was opening yourself up to vulnerability and connection that you feared. Perhaps it was both, you didn’t have many friends in grad school and only talked to your dad once every blue moon. The thought of being a burden was unbearable, but losing Spencer was unfathomable. You could deal with a little bit of vulnerability if it meant getting your friend back.

Your legs guide you home once you reach your stop and you reheat some rice and add some soy sauce to make something that is edible and that you can keep down without issue. After eating, you shower and head to bed, falling asleep the second that you hit the pillow.

The next day, your alarm jars you out of a dreamless sleep, shaking you from a night that felt far too short. Your entire body was fatigued and your brain was a mess, but it was your last day at work before you got the day off. As you got ready and out the door, your phone was blowing up with information sent by Penelope and Emily. There was another death and they needed you to analyze the clothing of the third victim to confirm that nerve agent was being used to kill these men.

One you reach the office, you sit down and begin writing as you await the evidence. If you worked quick enough and finished the reports, you would be able to go home early. The fog in your brain makes it hard to focus as you work on more write ups, the words barely forming sentences, but you force yourself to persevere through lunch. Late in the afternoon, Spencer appears again with the evidence bag you need to process.

“Just send the report to Penelope when you’re done,” he states and turns back around to get into the elevator but you stand and pipe up.

“Can we talk?” you ask, hoping and praying that he would let you speak.

“I don’t know, can we? Because you seemed pretty adamant about keeping secrets from me last time we tried to talk,” he mumbles as he turns to look at you, his eyes dark and full of storm clouds.

“I’m sorry,” you begin, trying to find the right words so that your thoughts form coherent sentences. “I’m bad at talking about what’s plaguing me. I’ve been alone for a long time, and I’m sorry. It’s not an excuse, I know, but it’s a start.”

You want to say ‘I’m sorry’ over and over, but it wasn’t an explanation and he deserved at least that.

“Tomorrow is the anniversary of my mother’s death,” his frown almost vanishes from his face as you speak which makes you feel a hint of encouragement to keep talking. “And I’ve always dealt with it alone. Maybe because I don’t let myself handle it any other way, but I hope that you’re able to understand. I’m sorry, Spencer.”

Staring down at the ground, you will the tears to stay in your eyes so that you can keep up some image of togetherness, but they fall as quickly as they form. Suddenly his arms are wrapped around you and you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. This was him accepting your apology and you suddenly felt like you could breathe. You worm your arms around his torso and pull him close, allowing yourself to take in all of him. The smell of his cologne, the feeling of muscles as they squeeze you tight, the fact that his hands were intertwined behind your back and his head was settled on top of yours.

“I’m sorry too,” he mumbles and you pull away slightly to look up at him. “You didn’t have to tell me that.”

He pauses as he also stumbles over his words.

“But, I’m glad you did.”

You let out a sigh and hug him tight again, wanting to memorize the way his arms felt around you. After another long hug, you pull away and wipe your nose, shaking your head as you look over at the evidence bag.

“I’m sorry, Patrick. I’ll get to processing your clothes now,” you mumble and let out a light laugh as you wash your hands and ready the evidence, processing the substances on his clothing. Beside you, Spencer leans against the wall and watches silently. It’s a bit nerve wracking to have someone watching you the way that he does, with bright eyes and attentive body language, but you do your best to explain it to him as the machine brings up the results.

“Nerve agent, it’s sarin,” you turn to him. “Go tell them.”

He nods and picks up the newly printed report.

“I’ll come get you afterward,” he promises. “We can ride the train together.”

“There’s no need, I’m going home now. Just text me,” you smile up at him as he nods and takes your hand, squeezing it one last time before leaving.

You feel lighter now, like you lifted a rock off your chest. It was a burden, keeping secrets, but now you could feel a little bit better. After writing up all the procedural stuff on how you processed the evidence, you pack your bag and head to the metro. When you’re on the train, you get a text from Spencer telling him that they caught the priest and he was being deported back to Italy.

To Spencer (7:45PM):

I’m glad.

From Spencer (8:01PM):

Do you want me to come over?

To Spencer (8:02PM):

No, it’s okay. I’ll be okay.

When you finally arrive at your stop, you easily find your way home. There was still sadness lingering, it was getting to be that time, but you had Spencer and that was enough. Getting home and getting to bed is a quick ordeal after you eat something and drink way too much wine to try and drown your sorrows and quiet your mind. The same days every year, you take a couple off so that you can mourn the loss of your mother and visit her grave. It was almost like a way to pretend that she was alive, even if just for a day. You had a lot to tell her after everything that’s happened, but it still didn’t help the fact that she was gone forever.

Waking up the next morning is rough, it feels like a train plowed into you after a night of tears shed and one too many glasses of wine as you reminisced. Looking at your phone on this bright Friday morning, you see that you’ve managed to sleep in pretty significantly, but at least it was still technically morning. Waiting for you are a text from your father and a text from Spencer.

From Dad (6:00AM):

Chin up, tesoro. Your mother loved you very much, she would be proud of everything you accomplished.

From Spencer (7:02AM):

Do you want to get dinner after work?

From Spencer (7:34AM):

Where are you?

From Spencer (8:01AM):

Let me know what I can do.

The blanket of isolation took over you as you slowly began your morning routine, slowly being the key word. While Spencer knew, you didn’t know what to do now. This was uncharted territory for you and while you knew you weren’t alone, you had also never mourned with another person besides time spent at your mother’s funeral. Perhaps another year, another time. He was only just your friend.

After you throw on comfy clothes and brush your teeth, you put your hair up so that it’s out of your face and eat some cereal--something easy and virtually effortless. Once you finish, you make a mental note of what you’re going to pick up at the store before heading to the cemetery to spend time with your mom. Throwing on a coat and slinging your bag over your shoulder, you punch in the security code and open the door to see Spencer there.

“Spencer? What are you doing here, it’s only like two,” you frown and close your apartment door behind you, locking it with your keys.

“I finished up all my paperwork so I took a half day and I wanted to cheer you up,” he states as you look up at him. “Maybe we can watch some Star Wars or that vampire movie you always talk about.”

“I’m going to visit my mom,” you tell him.

“Oh, sorry, I’ll go then,” he says and begins to turn and walk away but you pipe up before he can get too far.

“Why don’t you come with me?” you ask. He was already here and he wanted to help you feel better. His presence alone was grounding, reminding you of what you had and not of what you lost.

“Are you sure?” he asks and you nod, walking up next to him.

“She would have loved you,” you almost reach out and take his hand before you realize what you’re about to do. “Can--Can I hold your hand?”

You’re almost positive he’s going to say no. After all, you know he has issues with germs and sensory issues, the day before being a special occasion because you had broken down crying in front of him. But, when he nods and holds out his hand, you feel your heart flutter. The two of you make your way downstairs in a comfortable silence and the warmth of Spencer’s hand in yours is comforting. As you exit the elevator and make your way out onto the street, the cold D.C. air is refreshing.

Together you walk to the local grocery store to grab some food and flowers, daffodils, which were your mother’s favorite. After, you ride the metro down near the cemetery. This whole time, the presence of Spencer is enough to distract you from the ever present cloud looming over your head, but when you finally walk through the cemetery’s gate, all hell breaks loose.

When Spencer hears you sob, he instantly wraps his arms around you. The floodgates open and you softly sob into his chest, your arms wrapped around him in a vice. Your heart hurts, you miss your mother. She should have been alive to see all the accomplishments, to see your wedding and your second graduation. It’s times like these where you wonder if anything could have been done, if you could have seen the symptoms sooner or if you could have found another doctor, but your father always reminds you that you did everything in your power to help her and that she would have been proud of the person you were today.

Once your sobs subside, you sniffle and pull away to wipe your nose.

“Sorry for crying on you,” you huff out a small laugh and try to wipe away some of the snot that got on him while you cried.

“It’s okay, I understand,” he says and you sit down on the blanket, Spencer sitting next to you and helping to lay out the food.

“Hey mom,” your voice breaks a little and you clear your throat before turning to Spencer. “This is Spencer and he works with dad. He’s my best friend.”

You smile at him as he turns and waves at her headstone. The notion is so heartwarming that you feel the tears rise up again.

“Hi Ms. Montgomery, your daughter is one of the best people I know,” he says as you begin to eat cheese and crackers from the charcuterie board.

“He works in the same building I do, I got the job at Quantico. I know that FBI agents and you don’t mix very well but I enjoy my job and they have all these new machines for me to play with,” you lay your head on Spencer’s shoulder and continue talking as he wraps an arm around you instinctively. As the two of you sit there and pick at the food, continuing to talk about your mom and your fondest memories, there’s a part of you that wishes it could be like this always. Maybe you didn’t have to always hide your sadness and spend it in isolation. And just maybe, there was always a rainbow after a storm.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jj #jennifer jareau #david rossi #penelope garcia

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set-phasers-to-whump · 3 years

Text

all this time been burnin’ with a fever

prompt: labor (leftover from day 6, used as an alt)

whumpee: eddie diaz

fandom: 911

heyo! i am gonna be honest i cannot figure out whether this fic sucks or is okay. i straight up have no idea. but oh well. hopefully it’s ok! this fic is pre-buddie but i suppose it doesn’t have to be? idk its a lil different from the usual pre-buddie stuff i write. also i don’t mention it in the fic but i don’t want people to worry about him so chris is like, at a sleepover :) hope you enjoy this! (title from deleter by grouplove)

When Eddie had laid down in the bunk room, he’d felt just a little bit off. He had attributed this to the current heat wave sweeping through Los Angeles, but now, he’s not so sure.

The alarm is going off and around him, his fellow firefighters are climbing out of their bunks to respond to a worker trapped under heavy equipment at a factory. Eddie gets out of bed with the rest of them, trying to pretend like his head isn’t spinning from the movement. He takes the stairs down to the truck, not liking his chances of going down the pole with his weirdly-sweaty hands.

He feels very slightly better when he sits down in the truck across from Buck. Slightly. His head has stopped spinning. Other than that, he still feels like absolute shit. He’s hot, and horribly sweaty (he can feel his hair sticking unpleasantly to his forehead), and his whole body aches like...like something. His head hurts too much to think of an appropriate metaphor.

“You okay?” Buck asks. It takes Eddie a moment to register the fact that anyone has spoken at all, and another moment to figure out a reply. By the time he says, “I’m fine,” he’s pretty sure there’s no way in hell that Buck believes him.

“Are you sure?” Buck asks, immediately after Eddie says he’s fine. Eddie sighs. He really doesn’t have the strength to insist right now.

“Yes,” he says, and hopes that it’s enough.

“Really? Cause, I don’t mean to insult you or anything, but you look kind of terrible.”

I know, Eddie thinks. I feel it, too. He says, “thanks, Buck. You’re so nice,” instead, and Buck just shakes his head.

A few minutes later, they arrive at the factory. Wanting to prove to Buck that he’s okay, Eddie shoots up from his seat as soon as the truck parks and determinedly makes his way outside, fighting through a rush of lightheadedness and forcing himself to keep moving normally.

The team heads into the building, the 911 dispatcher relaying information about their victim’s location.

“First floor, back right corner.”

Bobby leads the way, and Eddie sticks close behind him. The air-conditioning in the building has been turned off, and the atmosphere inside is choking and dry. He feels himself start to sweat even more, and wonders how that’s possible.

“Wow,” is the first thing anyone - Buck - says, when the victim comes into view. Both of his legs are pinned under a very large machine, which appears to have fallen on its side. He’s conscious, but clearly going into shock. Hen and Chim get to work on him right away, as the rest of the team analyzes the machine and waits for the paramedics to give the go-ahead to lift it away.

“You’re good to go, Cap,” Chim says, after a moment. “He’s stable for now.”

“We’re gonna need all available hands on deck for this one,” Bobby says. Hen stands up from next to the patient to join in the effort, while Chim remains with him, monitoring his vitals.

Bobby instructs everyone to different positions around the machine. Eddie is at a corner, and he braces a hand against it as they prepare to lift. He can’t remember a time when he felt this weak, but he knows he has to fight through this, has to give everything he’s got and more, to make sure that they get this man free.

“On the count of three,” Bobby says, and Eddie puts his hands on either side of the corner, pressing his feet firmly into the ground. He can do this. He has to do this. He feels so, so bad.

“Three, two, one!”

They all lift simultaneously. The machine creaks and squeaks and comes up off of the ground, and there’s a dragging sound, and Eddie’s legs are starting to shake, and his vision is going dark around the corners and his head is hurting more and more and -

“He’s out!”

They settle the machine to the floor. The second Eddie’s hands leave the metal, everything goes dark.

Eddie wakes up to the overpowering smell of ammonia. He reaches out a clumsy hand to bat the source of the smell away and hears Buck’s voice.

“He’s awake!” This is not directed at Eddie, but the next thing he says is. “I can’t believe you.”

Eddie opens his eyes and finds himself staring up at Buck’s face, half-illuminated by what he assumes is a flashlight. “What happened?” he asks, trying to sit up.

Buck’s hand presses him back to the ground, which is where he was heading anyway - even moving slightly upwards had made his head start to feel funny, and he really doesn’t want to pass out. Wait -

“You passed out,” Buck says, his voice not quite snapping at Eddie, but getting there. “We set down that machine, and you hit the floor. You wanna explain that?”

Not really, Eddie thinks. “Don’t feel good,” he says, and this time it’s Bobby who speaks to him, stepping into his field of view for the first time and bending to crouch next to him.

“I bet you don’t. You’re dehydrated and running a fever.” Eddie senses that there’s something else Bobby is going to say, but he’s interrupted by Buck.

“Even though you told me you were fine,” Buck says. “You passed out, Eddie. You’re just lucky that the patient was stable enough for Hen and Chim to check you over and make sure you weren’t, you know, dying or anything.” He sounds angry, and Eddie doesn’t blame him. He can’t believe he passed out on the job. He’s stronger than that, better than that.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Save it,” Buck says. “You think you can get up without passing out again? We need to get you back to the station.”

Eddie shrugs against the ground. This must be a good enough answer, though, because the next thing he knows, Buck’s hands are grabbing onto his own, and then Buck’s standing and pulling Eddie to his feet.

Everything starts to spin, but Eddie resolutely does not pass out. He does lean forward until Buck is practically supporting all of his weight. They walk back to the truck, awkwardly, Buck all but carrying Eddie, Bobby walking next to them.

The ride to the station is quiet. Eddie leans his head against the window and wishes that the glass was cool. But it’s warm, just like everything else, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been so hot in his life. I want to go home, he thinks, and it’s not until Buck replies that he realizes he’s spoken out loud.

“You’ll go home,” he says. “We’re just going back to the station to get your stuff, and then I’m driving you there.”

Some kind of hopeful feeling rises in Eddie at the thought of Buck bringing him home, caring for him, even, but he squashes it down and protests because he has to. “You don’t have to -”

“I’m doing it. End of story,” Buck says. Eddie flinches a little at the hardness in his voice, but he knows he deserves it.

They arrive back at the station, and Buck tells Eddie to wait in the truck while he gets their stuff. Eddie slumps down in his seat and closes his eyes and tries to tell himself that he’s going to be fine, that it’s just a fever, but he’s aching and sweaty and exhausted and frankly miserable, and having a hard time believing that anything is ever going to be fine again.

“Hey,” Bobby’s voice distracts him from his rapidly darkening thoughts. Eddie opens his eyes and sits up a little on the seat. Bobby sits down across from him and touches a hand to his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

That is...not what Eddie had been expecting him to say. He’d expected a stern talking-to, at the very least. Maybe some yelling. Not concern.

He finds he doesn’t have it in him to lie. “Not really.”

“How long have you been feeling sick?”

Eddie shrugs. “I only felt a little off before going to sleep. I thought it was just the heat. It wasn’t bad until I woke up.”

Bobby nods sympathetically, and Eddie wonders why he’s not mad. Before he can think the better of it, he’s asking.

“I am upset with you,” Bobby says, but his voice is gentle. “Coming to work sick doesn’t just put you in danger. It puts the team and the people we save in danger too. You should have told me how you were feeling before we went out on that call.”

Eddie nods. “I know,” he says, “it was stupid.”

“I won't argue with that,” Bobby replies. “I want you to get home and get some rest and plenty of fluids, and don’t even think about coming back here until you’re feeling a hundred percent.”

“Okay.”

Bobby stands to leave the truck at the same moment that Buck returns, his and Eddie’s duffle bags thrown over his shoulder, keys to his Jeep in hand. “You ready to go?” he asks, voice still distant but slightly less cold.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, carefully making his way out of the truck, bracing his hands against it to keep his balance. Buck steps closer and takes on some of Eddie’s weight without either of them saying a thing, and they walk out into the parking lot.

For the first few minutes of the drive, neither of them says anything. Then, they stop at a red light, and Buck turns to look at Eddie.

“You passed out,” he says, stressing the words.

“I know,” Eddie replies. “Don’t have to remind me.”

“We were on a call, and you just passed out,” Buck continues. “Do you know what that was like? Hearing something fall to the ground and realizing it was you?”

Eddie doesn’t answer. He’s too tired to formulate any kind of response, and anyway, he’s pretty sure that these are rhetorical questions.

The light turns green, and Buck starts driving again. “It was terrifying, Eds,” and a bit of softness creeps back into his voice with the use of the nickname. “We didn’t know why you collapsed. Honestly, you’re lucky that the ambulance already had a passenger, or you’d probably be at the hospital right now.”

“It wasn’t...wasn’t that bad,” Eddie says, suddenly realizing how much worse things could be - he could be in the hospital, for what is nothing more than a fever.

“Yeah, we figured that out pretty quick when Chim started checking you over. Your fever wasn’t dangerously high or anything. You’re just sick. Normal sick, nothing scary. Chim said all you needed was some rest and some water and someone watching over you to make sure you actually got those things.”

Eddie nods, although Buck is looking at the road and can’t see him. “Glad it’s you,” he says.

“What?”

“Glad it’s you,” he repeats. “Watching over me. I didn’t think...I mean...you’re mad at me. But you’re doing it anyway.”

Buck pulls into the driveway. “Of course I am,” he says. “Watching over you. And, I mean, I’m mad at you, too. Do you have any idea how stupid it was to go on a call like this?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I just…”

“I know.”

Buck parks the car and gets out, and he’s opening Eddie’s door for him before Eddie’s hands have even found his seatbelt. Buck reaches across him and undoes it, wincing when his hand touches Eddie’s skin.

“You really are burning up,” he says. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

A few minutes later, Eddie is in bed, dressed in lightweight pajamas and lying on top of the covers because it’s way too hot beneath them. There’s a large glass of water and a bottle of tylenol sitting on the bedside table, and Buck is in his bathroom getting a damp washcloth that Eddie had tried to insist wasn’t necessary.

As soon as the cloth touches his forehead, though, he changes his mind. It feels wonderful against his overheated skin, and he sighs contentedly.

“Told you that would make you feel better,” Buck says, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. “You need anything else?”

You, Eddie thinks, but Buck is already here, taking care of him and worrying over him and making sure he’s comfortable even though he’s also still a little mad at him. It should be enough, Eddie thinks, but all he really wants is for Buck to lie down next to him. He can’t quite bring himself to ask, though. Even in his feverish state his inhibitions haven’t been lowered that much.

So he doesn’t ask Buck to lie down next to him. The extra body heat would probably be unbearable anyway. But that doesn’t mean that Buck doesn’t stay. He does, and doesn’t give Eddie much of a choice in the matter.

“I’m gonna go crash on the couch,” he says. “If you need anything, if you wake up and feel worse, anything, I’m right here, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, and closes his eyes. “Thank you.”

He can hear the soft smile in Buck’s voice when he replies, “always, Eds.”

thanks for reading!!!!! i hope you liked this fic :) i feel like i usually write something that is like a little more hopefully pre-ship but i have become such a slut for pining!eddie so. here.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump6 #i guess since thats the prompt lol #think i tagged the other one i did like this wrong my b #911 #eddie diaz #labor #aka ignoring illness and working anyway #fever #my writing #i say things #oughghh complaining for a sec but work was so much 2day....too many people. idk why we were so much busier today than yesterday like.#its tuesday who tf is checking into a hotel on a monday afternoon?#apparently a Lot of ppl #anyway in other news i am currently listening to a buddie playlist. its so nice but idk how people can make such good and long playlists!#none of mine top like. 15 songs lmao and they all Suck!#ok shuttin up. goodnight!

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mystery-fic-anon · 3 years

Text

Popping the Question

Summary: Red has been acting suspicious lately, and Sans finds out why... (AKA Sans has low self esteem, and suspects the worst.)

This is based off of the dialogue prompt "You’ve shown me what love can feel like.”, which was requested by @silverryu25! I hope you like it! :)

Thank you to @nugget4550 for beta reading this.

Warnings: negative self-talk and angst, but nothing physical and all is resolved by the end

Read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30023763

Lately, Red had been acting… strange. He was never the most open partner, but he seemed even quieter than usual. More nervous, too. One time Sans had walked into the living room, and Red had actually jumped. It made sense for him to get tense when he heard a shortcut, but he hadn’t flinched away from Sans’ footsteps in a long time.

Sans had asked Boss about it, but Boss had told him there was nothing to worry about, and to not bother Red with his concerns. Sans liked him, but sometimes he could be so frustrating. Sans had just shrugged and moved on, but in the back of his skull, his worries just began festering even more. Something was going on, even Boss knew it, but no one would tell him.

Sans tried his best to relax, but Red had also begun spending more time away from their apartment. He always kept odd hours, but he would tell Sans he would be home for dinner, then show up at 10pm. Red hadn’t even apologized or mentioned it, he’d just warmed up his leftovers and sat down on the couch with Sans.

Then, Red said the words Sans had been dreading.

“We’ve gotta talk.”

Sans knew what those words meant. He’d watched enough MTT dramas to know that this was Red trying to break up with him. Neither of them were confrontational people, so if Sans had pushed him to this point, then Red must be done with him.

The worst part was, Sans had no idea what he’d done. He’d thought things were fine until Red started being around less. Sans nodded numbly when Red asked him for a few minutes to “get ready”, staring at his back as Red headed for their shared bedroom.

Maybe… he had found someone else?

It wouldn’t be surprising. There were much better monsters than Sans. Still, it hurt his soul to think Red wanted someone else. He’d never opened himself up to another monster like he had with Red, never let anyone see the extent of his depression and self-deprecating thoughts. Instead of judging him or turning away Red had taken it in stride, and said that they they could work on it together. He might have looked intimidating, but once they were officially together he had done nothing but take good care of Sans.

Five minutes later, Sans was sitting on their living room couch, his eyelights rooted on where his slippered feet were pressing against the carpet. It was a hideous neon orange and green shag rug that he and Red had seen in a thrift shop. After Boss had strenuously objected to having such a horrible thing in his home, Red had said that he and Sans would just have to move in together and winked.

He didn’t look up as Red walked into the room. He couldn’t. It was just like after a reset. If he laid in bed and kept his eyes closed, maybe when he finally opened them things would be normal, and it was all just a bad dream…

Red sat down on the couch next to him, reaching out and resting one hand on Sans’ knee. Sans slowly turned his head, looking at Red. He was sweating a bit, and he seemed just as nervous as Sans was.

“I ain’t really good at giving these kinds of speeches, so I hope you can bear with me.” Red looked away for a moment, taking a deep breath. When he looked back at Sans, determination shone in his eyelights. “You mean a lot to me, Sans. You’ve been with me through resets, the Underground, and the Surface. Even when my life was going to shit, you were always there. I know we haven’t always gotten along great, or been the healthiest couple, but I’m really glad you’re with me. I care a lot about you, and I always will.”

As Red spoke, Sans felt confused. This wasn’t the kind of speech he had been expecting. He blinked as Red squeezed his knee, pulling him back into the present.

“What I have with you is something special. I never thought I would meet someone who would understand me so well. You’ve been so patient and good to me, even when I haven’t always deserved it. You… you’ve shown me what love can feel like. I don’t ever wanna lose that.” Red reached into his pocket, pulling out a slim box. “It took me awhile, but I finally found a jeweller who would help me with what I wanted. This is the only way I know to show you how I feel.”

He held the box in one trembling hand, hooking the claw of his other one into the latch on the front. He opened it carefully, tilting the box so Sans could inspect what was inside. Sans just stared in shock at the collar sitting in front of him. The collar was thinner than Red’s, and there were no spikes on it. It had a delicate looking silver buckle, and tiny bone designs embroidered with a shimmering, silvery thread.

That wasn’t what caught Sans’ attention though. He stared at the jewel in the centre, hanging where a tag would be. It was bigger than one of Sans’ phalanges, and the facets gleamed in the low light. It seemed to be half red and half blue, with both colours swirling into a purple flecked with gold the middle of the gem.

When Sans picked it up, he noticed that the jewel was set in a silver circle. He turned it around, his sockets shrinking as he saw the inscription on the back. The words “My Beloved”, written in what looked to be a fancier version of Red’s handwriting, with a small heart underneath.

“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to. I know mating collars are more of a ‘fell tradition. I just wanted you to have it.” Red was smiling when Sans looked at him, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was picking at the edge of his shorts with his sharp phalanges. He was more afraid than Sans had ever seen him.

“I can’t believe you.” Sans shook his head, unsure wether to laugh or to cry. Red looked at him with fear, and Sans grabbed his sleeve before he could shortcut away.

He leaned against Red, pressing his face into Red’s shoulder. The cool leather of Red’s jacket felt good against his face, and Sans just stayed there for a moment. He could feel Red shifting a bit, but he didn’t pull away. He held the collar in his other hand, curling his fingers around it without actually touching the material. He didn’t want to damage it. He breathed in Red’s scent, unsure if he wanted to laugh or cry. Leave it to Red to go about something like this in the most nerve-wracking way.

“Sans—”

“Put it on me.” Sans turned around, unzipping his hoodie a bit. He sat up straight, wiping his eyesockets. He knew Red could see the movement, but Sans didn’t want Red to see his face covered with tears.

The collar felt soft against his neck, padded with extra cushioning inside. The jewel sat perfectly in the dip between his collarbones. The coolness made Sans shiver, but he knew he would get used to it soon enough. He turned around, meeting Red’s eyelights right as his face flared with crimson magic.

“It looks good on ya.” Red managed, his voice a bit strained.

Sans didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed Red’s jacket, pulling him down for a kiss. Their teeth clanked together a bit rougher than he had meant them to, but when he tried to pull away to fix it Red just followed him.

Soon Sans was lying on his back, with Red hovering over him. Red wasn’t actually leaning his weight on Sans, but Sans could feel the soothing bulk of his partner gently pressing against his chest. He wrapped his arms around Red’s shoulders, squeezing them appreciatively as he felt Red’s tongue flick across his teeth.

For awhile, Sans just lost himself in the feeling of being close to Red. He was a damn good kisser, and Sans loved the way his sharp teeth felt as they scraped against Sans’ tongue. He let his hands roam over Red’s back, feeling his strong bones appreciatively. Red did the same, affectionately feeling over Sans’ body from his ribs down to his hips.

Sans broke the kiss before things could go any further, and Red seemed to get the hint. He kept one hand on Sans’ hip, squeezing it affectionately as he pressed a quick kiss to Sans’ forehead. Sans shifted into a slightly more comfortable position, the collar jingling slightly as it shifted against his bones.

Red rested one hand on Sans’ face, his thumb rubbing over Sans’ cheekbone. “I love you, Sans.”

“I love you too.” Sans could feel those traitorous tears rising again, and Red obediently leaned in when Sans pulled on his jacket. “So much.”

“I’m the luckiest guy in the world.” Red mumbled, soothingly rubbing Sans’ shoulder.

Sans just curled up against Red, feeling the same way. Out of all the crazy coincidences in Sans’ life, this was without a doubt the best one. For someone who had never felt it before, Red was damn good at showing love. Sans was more than happy to wear Red’s collar, and make sure he never left.

#ut ff #ut fanfic #undertale fanfic #ut fanfiction #undertale fanfiction #kustard #kustard fanfic #kustard fanfiction #underfell sans #undertale sans #angst #fluff #angst with a happy ending #proposal #collaring #my fanfic #my fanfiction

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