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theoldsports · 28 days

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SPONTANEOUS.

Art Donaldson x Reader

oops. it’s gonna be a series. i’m developing Lore. let me know what you think and where to go next.

warnings: 18+ please, drug use mention, drinking (underage), kinda sexual content.

LINK TO SORRY SERIES

Fancy parties were loathsome. [Y/N] thought so, at least. She hated being told to stop calling them fancy parties and shindigs and to call them by their proper names: galas, benefits, balls, whatever. It was exhausting. Her feet weren’t meant to be elegantly jammed into spike heels. [Y/N] liked the height she was, thank you very much.

Did supporting charitable causes have to feel so degrading?

Capitalism at its finest.

[Y/N] had been attending these things since she was a little girl. Seven or eight years old. So young, in fact, that she now can’t remember what demographic or ailment-research, or political party this goddamn yearly spring shindig was for. Mr. and Mrs. Zweig were always nice to her when she was a child. She wasn’t just a family-friend, she (and her parents) felt like friends that were family.

What made the lavish Zweig parties tolerable was Patrick Zweig. She had known Patrick as long as there had been parties to get dressed up for. He had scraped her off a marbled staircase step as a little girl when her polished pleather mary janes didn’t have the traction to keep her upright. She had cried when she fell. He had said: “you’re really loud, you know that?” And she had laughed. So they were doomed to spend eternity hiding in coat rooms and getting tipsy together at these things.

Patrick was never one of those boys that felt the need to turn his back on [Y/N] during the cooties years, or the so-she’s-your-girlfriend? years. The pair of them always managed to be simply themselves and that was enough. He was merciless and unapologetic, but he made a hell of a best friend.

[Y/N] was two months older than Patrick, and had been taller for their first two years of friendship. When his shift in stature occurred, it happened fast.

Patrick went away to boarding school and came back a gangly beast. [Y/N], though they hadn’t spent every waking moment (weekends and school days) together since he had left her for a racket and a tennis ball, was always pleased to see Patrick was still himself every time he came home. Louder and stupider each time, but still Patrick.

Though, one spring break was different. Eleventh grade, if [Y/N] recalled correctly. Patrick came home, tall and stupid as ever, toting a boy named Art Donaldson.

Art Donaldson was considerably smaller, and debatably less stupid than Patrick Zweig. [Y/N] understood that day why all the girls in her grade giggled about boys. [Y/N] could never tell Patrick that. He would have been insufferable about it.

Actually, [Y/N] felt jealous. That was also a secret. Because Art, unlike she and Patrick, was nice. Everybody liked him. Nobody ever talked shit about him. Adults loved him and his small-town boy manners. He actually was a rambunctious little jerk, but nobody else saw that. Everyone else got yes sir, yes ma’am, I’m well, how are you? He could turn that charm on and off like a faucet. Infuriating, right?

[Y/N] was also jealous because it was clear she had been replaced.

Patrick lit up like a Christmas tree when he was with Art. He never looked at her like that. Art must have been a better friend to him then she was. Patrick called her once a week to talk for years, but Art slept, like, six feet away from him. It simply wasn’t fair.

Because of that, [Y/N] remembers spring break was really hard. [Y/N] was acutely aware she had lost something she didn’t know she could lose to the human version of a fucking beagle.

[Y/N] couldn’t remember the grade they were in exactly, but she did remember the dress she wore to the Zweigs’ party that year. It was light green and had spaghetti straps. It was longer and more form-fitting than what she was used. Most of the girls her age had settled for lots of tulle and cheetah-print so [Y/N] looked more mature by comparison. It was the first time [Y/N] remembered feeling grown up at all.

To think she thought that all her excitement and contentment was wasted. [Y/N] sat in a plastic pool chair in the backyard curled up with her cork wedge platforms resting dangerously close to the water. She nursed a bottle of vodka she had swiped two months ago from her parents liquor cabinet to surprise Patrick. Meticulously, she had waited for them to be out of town and found the key to the liquor cabinet. A whole bottle just for [Y/N] and her best friend. [Y/N] had barely managed to keep it a secret that she had taken it. She had been so proud of herself and thought Patrick would be too.

Now, she was the only one around to drink it.

Patrick had put his warm, familiar hands on her shoulders and told [Y/N] to wait right there and that he and Art would be back in a sec. The two boys had vanished upstairs presumably to Patrick’s room with laughter spilling from their mouths. [Y/N] sat at the base of the stairs alone for twenty minutes.

According to the garish clock on the wall, at twenty-one minutes, [Y/N] disappeared to the pool. She officially hated Patrick too. He had left her alone at parties plenty of times, and she him. They’d dance with others, or sneak off for a makeout session with a pretty stranger. It had never been a big deal either way. This felt like deliberate abandonment for no good reason. That was a first.

“Whoa, save some for the rest of us.” A reedy voice called out. Art Donaldson. [Y/N]’s head glanced over her shoulder so fast at the sound that she almost made herself dizzy. It took little time to realize there was no Patrick with him.

[Y/N] pulled the bottle closer. “That was a really long one sec,” She replied. She planned to say that eventually in the wasted minutes she waited, but it sounded less cool now than it did in her head. [Y/N] sounded plain mopey and that was a shame. “What’d you guys do anyway? Where’s Patrick?”

Art shrugged and walked further into view. He looked a bit sheepish. “Being Patrick,” He didn’t answer the first question she asked. There was a half-smile tugging at his lips. Art looked nice. Brown dress shoes, navy jacket, white shirt. No tie. She could have sworn that had been a tie at some point earlier. His shaggy blonde hair was mussed, but she had yet to observe it being neat. It was fustrating how effortlessly nice he looked. [Y/N] thought that everyday from day one. “It’s getting kinda cold. You wanna head back inside? I was looking for you—“

“I’m alright here, but thanks,” she slurred slightly. “You head in. I’m not here to ruin your fun.” It had sounded bitter. She hadn’t meant for it to.

Art sighed and glanced away from her. He paused a moment and sighed. “I’m not here to ruin yours either, y’know.”

“You don’t have to make this into a thing. It’s fine.”

“Well, too late. Patrick’s being an ass. I don’t want you out here feeling like I’m some homewrecker. I’ve been on the receiving end of shit like this from him, too. He’s not trying to be nasty to you, ‘promise. Come on, I’m not gonna let you freeze out here.” Art said, stepping in a bit. The glow from the pool left green and white wiggly lines across his cheeks.

“It’s spring, It’ll warm up. Get back up to that party, man. Patrick’s waiting for you.”

“You’re being impossible.”

[Y/N] set the half-empty bottle down beneath her chair. “Nuh-uh.”

“Jesus… if you’re gonna be a jerk about it, at least take this.” Art frowned, shrugging out of his suit jacket. He seemed disappointed.

“Oh, Art, please—“

“No, no! You made your choice. Don’t let me spoil your fun with you and the… the vodka,” Art said, making a show of taking the jacket off and throwing it over to [Y/N]. The balled up lump of fabric landed in her lap with a soft thud. Her stomach churned. “All hunky dory now,” He said, holding his hands out to show he was no threat. Art’s brows were lowered protectively close to his eyes in what [Y/N] thought was an effort to mask slight hurt or rejection. He turned to walk away as [Y/N] clutched the fabric of his jacket between her fingers. Art turned back to to look at her for a moment. [Y/N] didn’t know what that expression was meant to mean. “Be careful, okay? For what it’s worth, you—you look lovely tonight. It would be a shame for such a, uh, such a pretty girl in a pretty dress to end up face down, stuck in the pool drain. ‘Night [Y/N].”

[Y/N] was glad for the dark because she felt her face heat up and dopey smile start to form at the compliment. Maybe she was drunk, but that had to be flirting. In the most fucked up way possible, but still. Why? Art Donaldson didn’t even like her.

Art had only managed to take a few steps into the dewy grass when [Y/N] begrudgingly called out: “Art, wait!”

She hated that she liked the smirk on his face when he turned around. He could tell what she wanted by her tone. What kind of fucker takes no for answer happily and still sets himself up for a yes in the end. “Yes?” He asked, trying not to smile.

“Listen, you’re right—“ [Y/N] stood up confidently, sliding Art’s jacket around her shoulders. And she stood up too fast and knocked her sandals into the pool. “Shit!” She cursed. She was still an age where cursing felt cool and unfamiliar. [Y/N] stood on her unsteady feet and watched her sandals bob out to the middle of the pool, propelled by her kick. She was embarrassed now as well. The stakes of everything felt so much higher than sandals in the pool of her best friend’s backyard. Booze will do that to the sanest of folks. [Y/N] dropped her face heavily into her hands. Great.

Quickly, Art cut his eyes between her and the shoes and back again. “Where do they keep the pool net?” Art asked calmly, without missing a beat.

“The shed.” [Y/N] said miserably and pointed a few feet away. Art bounded across the pavement around the pool to the shed. He tugged once, then twice.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. “It’s locked,” He reported to [Y/N] from practically halfway in the pruned hedges. Art started the walk back to her. Once he was beside her, Art placed a hand gently at her elbow. “Come back inside with me. Please. Patrick may be able to get us a key and we can…”

But [Y/N] looked so sad from behind her hands. Even though all of this was so childish. She was also wearing Art’s jacket now and that did things to his brain. Her dress wasn’t not low cut and he froze for a second. All he could do was stare.

“Just do what I would do,” Patrick said. “It’ll be fine, man. She’s already into you, I can tell.”

“Well, if she’s into me, why would I do what you would do? That’s an awful suggestion, Patrick.” Art protested.

Patrick spun around in his desk chair to face Art as he rolled a joint. “I’ve known her since before I knew you. Just, like, be spontaneous. That’s what I mean. Spontaneous. She’s into that because she’s like that too. And she’s… wicked mean, so don’t start shit. She’ll surprise you, but like, in a good way. What I said before makes me sound like a jackass,” Patrick paused to laugh. “Be in the moment. Don’t get in your head about it. Which you’re doing right now— I can tell, Arthur…” Patrick drew out Art’s full name (which he hated) to get under his skin.

Art stood up from the floor in frustration. He glanced at his watch. Too much time had passed. The window was metaphorically closing. Hastily, Art dashed to the door. “I’m going down there. Poor girl’s been waiting all this time because you, my friend, are a shitty advice-giver.”

“Spontaneous!” Patrick called after him with a grin.

Art stared at [Y/N]. Then he blinked. Then tilted his head to the side. Spontaneous. Before he knew it, he was tugging his shoes and socks off and diving into the pool. Art had been right, it was getting decisively cold and the pool water reflected that. Art swam out to where the wedges had floated too, which had actually been fairly far. He wasn’t sure if the net would have gotten them that easily. Art nicked the shoes by the ankle straps and shook his wet hair out of his face. As he paddled back, he glanced at [Y/N]’s expression. She smiled wide with joy and surprise at Art’s sacrifice.

“Art! Thank you so much!” She said when he flopped the waterlogged shoes onto the concrete. Art looked up at her from the water and he only looked up her skirt a little bit.

“It’s no trouble. Repayment’s in order, though.”

“Repayment…? What do you—“

Art wrapped his wet, callused hands around both of [Y/N] ankles and flipped her into the pool. She screamed as she splashed into the pool. Then laughed hard. Art wanted to hear that laugh for the rest of his life.

“Wait, fuck, you can swim, right?”

Fortunately, [Y/N] could, and that’s the move that won Art Donaldson his wife.

—

“Honey, you have to get up so you can get ready…” Art’s mouth moved against the shell of [Y/N]’s left ear. His arm was tossed over her middle. Normally, it was Art that dreaded getting out of bed, but clearly they enjoyed switching roles once in a while.

A nap had turned into two-and-a-half hours of [Y/N]’s soft snores while Art held her. He couldn’t sleep much, but luckily he had something beautiful to look at. She ripped into him about his staring problem all the time. Art couldn’t be bothered to give a damn. “No.” She mumbled.

“Please…” Art’s hand trailed under her shirt and climbed up, up, up.

“No,” she sighed. Art’s hands groped her left breast and [Y/N] didn’t particularly mind. She shivered at the contact. Art had known every inch of her body over years. Neither was bored yet, though.

“It’s one night. One party. We don’t have to stay all night… He’s not going to be there, Lenora told me when I RSVP’d.”

They had an unspoken rule. They did not name Patrick in conversation when sober. The wound was too fresh still.

“Don’t talk about him, or his fucking mom when you’re touching me like that,” [Y/N] all but moaned as Art’s left thumb circled her nipple. “‘Thought we had to get up…”

Art smirked. “We do. At least you’re awake now.” He teasingly withdrew his hand entirely from out of her shirt and scampered out of bed in one agile zip of a motion.

“Art!”

She groaned. Rolling on her back to look at the ceiling, she glanced over at Art walking through the master bathroom doorway in his briefs. What an incredible ass that man has. “Motivation to leave the party early.” Art said and popped off into the shower.

Maybe it was selfish. Patrick and [Y/N] and Art hadn’t spoken in almost a year. It was no surprise to the Donaldsons that Patrick was an addict. He had been addicted to almost everything and everyone that crossed his path. What they hadn’t expected was him becoming so out of control that he missed the wedding of his two best friends and was sent into rehab once he was declared medically stable. The one person that both Donaldsons had fought to have in their own personal half of the wedding party. And he wasn’t there. And the wedding was expensive enough to go through with it amid all the bad feelings over Patrick.

Still, they were invited to the Zweig family’s charity or whatever gala. They would go like they always had, too. But it would be their first time alone, so to speak.

[Y/N] regretfully got out of bed while Art showered. She moved to the closet and unzipped her paper thin dress bag. The gown itself was beautiful, but not all too expensive. The year had been tight in terms of money. The wedding and the honeymoon were pricey enough before you added in rackets and competition entry fees and coaching. Art was an expensive husband to have. He made up for it. He was playing at his best too, so [Y/N] hardly cared. Who could put a price on seeing Art smile like that?

[Y/N] cringed if she had to pay more than two-hundred dollars for shoes or a dress anyway.

The dress was green. She’d worn a lot of green since she met Art. [Y/N] dreaded wiggling into shapewear and spending too long on her hair. Art had it easy. A tie, a jacket and trading his nasty watch for his nicer one. It wasn’t fair. It never was with Art.

She got ready all the same. The straps rested on her shoulders, thicker than the early 2000s straps she had been dumped into the pool in. It was longer than that dress. Almost floor length instead of mid calf. It was elegant for its price tag.

Once the dress was on, [Y/N] tumbled into the bathroom to do her makeup. The shared counter was way too small for both of their shit to sit nicely on. She would complain about that when there was more money in the bank account to do something about it. Art was taking longer than normal in the shower. Boner, [Y/N] thought.

As she started to put her face on, she could see Art’s face in the foggy mirror behind her. The sound of the water stopping and the shower curtain being tossed back had gone unnoticed. He was smiling slightly. “You look nice.” He said softly. Art toweled off his shaggy hair harshly behind her. He kept looking at her.

This is how Art was. He made these remarkable heart eyes at her every time he saw her. [Y/N] could be wearing a potato sack and she would feel beautiful. That look, that staring problem, was worse a hundredfold when she was dressed up. He kept glancing at her. She could see him in the mirror. He wanted [Y/N] to see. The blue and brown of his eyes cast further and further down her body.

“Staring.” [Y/N] said simply. She didn’t even look away from her own face in the mirror.

“Yeah. And?” Art smiled cheekily. His face was bright red not from the warm shower water. He wrapped his towel around his slim waist. [Y/N] applied too much concealer and less blush. “I, of all people, am allowed.”

“Idiot.” [Y/N] said. Art dried his hands profusely on his towel, knowing she would squawk at him if he left wet handprints behind on her dress.

Art’s hands wrapped around her waist. Great pains were taken to prevent other wet spots from splopping up her dress. So, so gently, he kissed the left side of her neck from behind. “I was thinking—” Art was always gentle in his own way.

“Ooh, dangerous.”

“Shut up. Y’know, this is the first Zweig party where your placecard is going to say Donaldson on it…”

[Y/N] nodded softly. “Huh. Yeah. That’s true.” She said, smiling a bit.

“I’m really, really excited about that. On the seating chart, we’re the Donaldsons. Isn’t that so crazy…?” Art whispered into her plush skin. “Plural. Two of us.”

Teasingly, she nudged him back with her elbow. The smile was still wide on her lips. “You’re being such a girl about it.”

Art didn’t let go or relent. He pressed feather-light kisses between [Y/N]’s ear and collarbone. “Am I? Hadn’t noticed.”

“We’re going to be late to this thing you want to go to so bad, Mr. Donaldson, if you don’t stop.” [Y/N] whispered, incapable of doing more. She did set down her makeup sponge and pot of foundation with a clack.

“Would that be such a bad thing? Only a couple minutes, right? We could-we could cut out some of the boring small talk and…” Art said, daring boldly to drag his tongue up her throat as the steamed up mirror cleared some. He never finished his sentence verbally.

[Y/N] gasped at the feeling. That was a brave move for Art. “You drag me out of bed early so we can be late anyway. You don’t make any s-sense, babe.”

He huffed impishly. Art spun [Y/N] around to face him. His face and shoulders were damp from the water collected in his hair, which desperately needed a trim. Carefully, Art brushed [Y/N]’s hair away from her face. “You’re right… I’m sorry. Please let me make it up to you?”

“How?”

Then, Art’s mouth quirked into that crooked smile she loved so much.

“Please.” Art said in a hushed voice and boosted [Y/N] smoothly onto their rickety counter. “Give me ten minutes.”

“You can do better than ten.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Clock’s ticking.” When she said it, she heard Art’s knees hit the tile in front of her.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson #challengers movie #challengers #patrick zweig #tashi duncan

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charliemwrites · 6 months

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Unhinged obsessive Johnny Thoughts™️? Unhinged obsessive Johnny Thoughts™️.

Johnny didn’t mean to. He swears he didn’t mean to, please understand.

You’re his favorite server at his favorite bar. He finds every excuse he can to drag one or all of his team there. Yes he likes their company, of course. Likes spending time with them, laughing and joking and building bonds outside of life or death situations. But you are the highlight of those nights.

You smile so sweetly, a little cheeky twist whenever he gets all of the 141 there together. You know all their names - or their callsigns at least. Call Price “captain” with a giggle whenever he groans at you to stop calling him that.

Johnny adores you. Sometimes when he’s alone at the table - the others off smoking or playing pool - you’ll stop by. You don’t have to, but you do, chatting until one of the other servers teases to stop flirting and help bus.

You always blush when they shout that, but never deny it. Leave him with one last warm smile and a promise to top up his drink for listening to you ramble. As if he couldn’t live with your voice in his ears all the time.

You tell him about your masters program. Complain about shitty customers. Admit you broke up with your last boyfriend for calling your hobbies a “silly waste of time.” The movies you’ve seen or watch for nostalgia. He knows when your playlist is on at the bar because you spend your entire shift bouncing and mouthing along whenever you’re not handling a customer.

It’s a slow infection. A creeping, insidious thing that seeps into his blood and corrupts him from the inside out. This awful, twisting devotion for you.

He knows to be careful, loathe to be one of those men you avoid like the plague, trading with other servers to handle. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. He’s happy with the flirting and the little kindnesses, happy that you always light up when you see him. That you breathe a quiet “thank you” and squeeze his arm the one time he steps in one a handshake customer on your behalf.

It’s enough. He reminds himself that it’s enough. He doesn’t deserve more than you’re willing to give. He can’t give you the life you deserve yet.

But then one day things go wrong. So, so wrong.

There’s been a rowdy group of men that have been harassing the younger servers all night. You stepped in, older and more experienced, practiced at not giving them the reactions they want. It’s another of the things Johnny loves about you. You don’t need a mask like Ghost to hide your face.

One them especially tries antagonize you, even manages to earn a sharp word when he says something crass. Johnny tenses when the guy (buddies following suit) starts getting loud, aggressive. Towering over you when he knocks over his barstool, trying to intimidate.

Johnny shoves the guy away from you before it can get much farther. Relief washes over you as the owner, a big burly man, finally makes an appearance and kicks the lot of them out.

“A whiskey on the house for Soap,” you ask the bartender, hand pressed to your chest. “My knight in a cotton sweater.”

He smiles for your sake, mind buzzing to see you so shaken up.

“Alright, lass?”

“Yeah, just spooked me is all,” you sigh, a hand to your cheek now. “Think I’m gonna step out for some air. Thank you again, John.”

He lets you go, even though every molecule in his body urges him to bundle you up under his arm, safe and sound. Take you somewhere quiet to smooth your feathers.

Something doesn’t feel right.

He manages to wait exactly one minute and seventeen seconds before he tells a blasted Gaz that he’s going to the bathroom. When he steps out the back door, you’re being cornered by the man, two of his friends hanging back telling him to “leave it alone” but not actually doing a fucking thing to stop him.

So Johnny does. Honestly, he blacks out for a second. The next thing he knows, he’s cradling you in his arms, his knuckles stinging and bloody. The men are nowhere to be found but there’s a pool of blood in the alleyway. You’re unconscious, fainted sometime in the scuffle - or maybe hit your head.

Johnny isn’t himself. He’s not thinking. He’s used to keeping his cool with guns pressed to his head, but this is different. This is you.

He doesn’t mean to. He really doesn’t but it’s the best he can come up with when he just got a firsthand look at how dangerous the world is for you when he’s not around.

Please understand. He has to keep you safe.

#asks #thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader

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taexoxosgf · 6 months

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DO IT AGAIN

PAIRING brother’s best friend!park jisung x fem!reader

WORDS 3.7k

SYNOPSIS your brother’s best friend can never get you alone. that’s why he won’t miss an opportunity— even if your brother’s on the other side of the walls.

WARNINGS reader is tyong’s sister, jealousy, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, creampie

NOTES this smut is actually from a super long fic i posted on my old account! i’m not sure if i’m gonna post the whole thing because i’m cringing rereading it lol

“So, how’s your big bro’s parties? It’s better than frat parties huh?” Taeyong dangles the red cup charged with alcohol in front of your face just for you to swat away in annoyance. “No musty bathrooms and paint peeling off the walls! Woooooooo!”

You’re going to have to have a jolly time cleaning his vomit in the morning. “Stop drinking you little shit. I’m not gonna take care of you tomorrow, just so you know.”

He does a little dance that has you suppressing a laugh, “The night is still young! Loosen up a little! Won’t stop until you’re having as much fun as me!” Your brother is so out of it, that he bumps into a million corners of the home and an attendee urges him to the couch.

“Actually… I’m not feeling so good,” he shushes the person helping before running out of the main room.

“Oh my god,” you pinch the sides of your nose bridge, unable to understand how Taeyong’s motto is always all or nothing.

You're nothing near Taeyong's level of intoxication, and whether it's the devil on your shoulder or the drink, you want Jisung. Excruciatingly so. Whoever claimed that drinking made you act like a bitch in heat wasn't kidding. It's more than true now that you know he's nearby– wanting to look for Jisung because if he wasn't going to make a move tonight, you would.

“Y/n?” a familiar voice calls you, prompting you to turn around.

“Hyuck? Oh my god! How are you?” you’re already bringing your arms out for a hug and he’s quick to immediately accept.

You both went to high school together before he left for university thousands of miles away. He still texts you now and then, but due to the time difference, you never had the opportunity to properly catch up.

“Not doing too bad. It’s so good to finally talk face-to-face babe, holy shit,” he chuckles.

“How’s the East Coast? Did you find a girlfriend at Columbia yet?”

“Nah, you know me. Girls there are way too preppy for me. Plus, I can’t stand another minute of freshmen thinking they’re living through Gossip Girl,” he pretends to gag, swaying his body from side to side.

“Hey! Don’t hate. That show was ahead of its time,” you comment, brows raised.

“It IS! But I’m talking about the people acting as if they were a part of the show themselves. Like come on, you were probably five when it came out!” he exclaims.

"Fair enough," you nod. "You know who you should go for?" an idea flashes across your mind as you speak.

“Who?” he shifts closer, genuinely curious.

You wave towards you as another way of telling him to step even closer and cup your hand behind his ear before whispering, “Yuna.”

“What?! There’s no way!” he steps away, not expecting you would say your best friend’s name.

“Come on! You guys would look so hot together! What’s so ‘no way’ about that idea?”

Your old friend momentarily pauses, like he didn’t know what kind of question you asked. “She’d never go for me.”

“What? She used to have a crush on you! You were always around different girls so she never made a move,” you affirm. “You know how she was in high school,” you remind him of the girl who was once afraid to step out of her comfort zone.

“Are you serious? There’s no way that’s true! You’re straight up lying to my face right now,” he groans, looking as if he was going through a mental crisis due to the news.

“I swear on my Loubitons that it’s true! Just talk to her,” you point to the back door. “She’s in the backyard. I’m sure she would love to catch up.”

He brings a hand to his chin, soothingly rubbing with his index, “You do love those shoes…”

“More than myself, so come on! The times ticking!” you press him further, and his eyes light up when he realizes the words you’re feeding him might actually be true.

“You know what, fuck it.”

“That’s what I like to hear! Acting like a true alpha male!” you jump up and down, probably with more excitement than he has.

He chuckles at your words, “Okay. Okay. Let’s hang out and catch up this week. Let me know when you’re free.”

“Okay now go!” you try not to hold him back longer than he needs to be.

“I”m go-”

Before you can properly bid goodbye, you feel a hand wrap around your wrist, pulling you away towards the narrow hallway of the home.

You see it’s Jisung after checking, and he’s definitely on a mission by the way he doesn’t utter a word. Instead, he drags you through the hallway and finally halts his steps at the sign of your bedroom door.

“Jisung, what are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t let up on your wrist, and definitely doesn’t spare you a glance until you’re both in the room with the door shut behind your back. It’s almost pitch black in the room, and the only light source is the hallway lights illuminating underneath the crack of the door. Jisung finally lets go of your wrist when it’s just you two in your own space, and he brings that same arm above your head to anchor himself.

“Jisung.”

“Y/n,” his voice comes out hoarse, more playful. This was just what you wanted. He’s right here on a silver platter and you hadn’t even come close to building up the courage to approach him first.

Too bad you love to act dumb for the hell of it.

“What are you doing?” your eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness, noticing how close his face was to yours. It was the perfect opportunity. Taeyong was probably passed out along with the loud music all throughout the house. There’s no way anyone could hear a thing from inside the room.

“Just wanted you to myself,” he comments. You can smell the alcohol on his lips, assuming it was the reason behind his impatience– but don’t think he’s drunk due to his coherent speech and careful movements.

“You have me to yourself now. So what is it?” you gloat, acting as if you don’t notice him struggling to control himself.

“Sorry, I took you away from your little boyfriend. Look’s like you guys were having fun,” you can hear the slight anger in his voice, jaw clenching following the statement.

You roll your eyes in order to suppress a grin, the alcohol influencing you to play games, “Hyuck isn’t my boyfriend, just an old friend. Remember him?”

He notices the hint of playfulness in your eyes, wanting to just fuck it out of you. But he’s waited too long to do this, and there have been too many interrupted moments, so he leans into patience for resolve. “Oh, I must have missed something babe.”

You shift your face closer to him to prove your point once again, “He calls everyone that! Go up to him, he’ll literally call you babe.”

“Hmm,” Jisung hums. “Should I call him Hyuck too?”

Your eyes shoot to his plushy lips, his jealousy turning you on, but you don’t back down just yet, “If you heard that, then you must’ve heard the part where I told him to go for Yuna.”

“I checked out the moment you were calling each other pet names, baby,” he leans his hips against you, eyes evident with desire even in the darkness.

“Well, it’s definitely different coming from you,” you give him what he wants to hear, but it’s ultimately the truth.

Jisung pulls back just to lean down against your ear, “Different, how?”

It’s like he knows the power he has over you when he’s using that tone, including the fact that you feel him between your legs only slightly hard. It’s definitely bigger than you previously thought, the excitement shooting to your core, “I’m not spelling it out for you, baby.”

The name has him bringing his face back to where it was before, cocking a brow. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Play games. Don’t fuck with me because if you are, I’m gonna lose it,” he seethes, all control he previously displayed being lost in an instant.

You began narrowing the gap between the two of you even more, your noses brushing against each other. Jisung falters slightly as you do so, his hand landing on your hip. He's noticeably less in control than when he initially encircled you in the room, taking in every inch of you as you jut your hips forward.

He groans, struggling to keep up with what you've been doing.

"I'm not fucking with you," you say, holding his chin with your thumb and index finger, tilting his head and maintaining eye contact. "Just giving you what you want."

Jisung doesn’t know how you tempt while looking so innocent. If he’s being honest with himself, he never holds a sliver of command when you’re present. “You’re hot as fuck,” he mutters, trying to maintain a normal breathing pattern.

"You're hotter," your lips nearly touch at the movement. You're grinning ear-to-ear, but it's short-lived as Jisung grabs your nape and presses his lips to yours. This kiss is nothing like the previous one, and you want to drown in him. You press your mouth even harder on his, and he responds by positioning his entire weight against your body. You’re actually somewhat sober this time around and take notice of the piercing at the corner of his lips. The silver metal grazing over your lips provides a cold sensation to the hot atmosphere, and you push down a moan at the feeling.

He’s such a good kisser, it surprises you but doesn’t at the same time. The boy you used to know was so different than the one in front of you now.

When you set your arms around his neck to play with his locks, he grabs a hold of your waist. You're drowning, arching your back to relieve the tension in your body as the kiss deepens. Jisung licks your lips, and you easily accept his tongue, lips fighting against his. His tongue dances with yours, getting sloppier by the minute, ready to rip each other's clothes off.

He taps the back of your leg with his hand, signaling for you to jump. You do so without breaking contact with his lips, and he smiles against yours. The taste of alcohol in his mouth ignites something within you, along with the scent of his washed hair intertwined with the cologne he’s wearing.

Jisung slowly sets you down against the mattress, slotting himself between your legs before he pulls back for air. “You look submissive as fuck right now. Is that what you’re into? Being dominated?” he purrs, fingers playing with the waistline of your pants.

“Only if you like to dominate.”

The switch in his head flips, and he uses one hand to unzip your jeans to slowly run his fingers over your clothed clit. Your toes curl at the sudden pressure to your sensitive core that's been begging to be touched. The thin material of your panties doesn’t do much to shield his touch, but one thing’s for sure, if it feels this good, you can’t imagine how it’d feel when it’s not just a tease.

“Fuck,” you pant, moving your hands underneath Jisung’s shirt.

“What?” he asks, moving down to your neck. The sensation of his warm tongue against your neck has your skin igniting goosebumps all over. “I can’t hear you. Already falling apart?”

“N-no,” you stutter, knowing damn well that anything done to you will be the actual end. It seems like he wants to win the moment he brings his red and swollen lips back onto yours, sparing any niceties. He’s smothering you, ruthlessly kissing you to no end. But when you become lost in his lips once again, Jisung slips his hand underneath the band of your underwear to touch your pussy head-on.

“Jisungg,” you say against his mouth.

Of course, he doesn’t let up, circling your bud, knowing exactly where to touch you even though this is the first time you’ve done this with him. It’s nothing, but feels like so much, your thighs attempting to close around his hand.

He’s still attacking your mouth with his, fingers trailing in an up-and-down motion between your folds. It surprises you, and you moan against his mouth, unable to maintain the same pattern with your lips. “Fuck, you’re already so wet,” he lets go of your mouth with a pop, groaning at the arousal coating his fingers.

“Please, Jisung. I need you,” you whimper, unable to take any more of the mere seconds of pleasure he’s giving you. You don’t even look down as he slides your pants off along with your panties in one motion. He tsks, lowly enunciating a small, “So impatient.”

Without anything in the way, he doesn’t waste time plunging his fingers into your pussy, groaning at the way the muscle tightly clamps around his fingers– and it shoots straight down to your core, never getting enough of how deep his voice is.

The pleasure you’ve been trying to grasp is finally reached, a gasp spilling from your lips once he curls his fingers inside you. Your hands have found their way to his back, fingers digging deep into his skin and he hisses at the slight pain.

“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs against your ear while his fingers begin to speed up in pace. You’re bucking your hips up, wanting to meet him halfway in order to reach euphoria. “I w-want it,” you cry.

“Want what?” he asks, voice too soft for the motions he’s enacting.

“Want you. Want you so bad,” you moan, throwing your head back when he hits a certain spot. It feels too good to stop, and every part of your body tingles at the pleasure.

You want to sob at the feeling it brings you, his fingers, mercilessly driving in and out of your cunt, while his thumb circles your clit. Your stomach feels tight from all the stimulation, and his body pressed against yours makes you feel hot all over. What you don’t notice is Jisung’s watching every movement on your facial features, loving the way your brows scrunch and how your pretty lips open up every time he hits a certain spot.

The band in your lower abdomen is on the verge of snapping, and the fact that he's above you doesn't help. Jisung's hair still falls perfectly, occasionally brushing the tip of his nose. He’s so fucking hot, you can’t hold back. You can't stop the orgasm from reaching your body simply by the way he feels on your body and looks above you.

“P-please,” you beg.

At the feeling of your pussy tightening around your fingers, he digs into your cheek, bringing your face back towards his. “Come on, you can do it. Cum,” he demands.

“F-fuck! I-I’m gonna–” you scream, body convulsing as your orgasm washes over you. He doesn’t stop his movements until you’re whining for him to stop. Pulling his coated fingers out, just to bring it to his lips.

As the climactic high wears off, your body becomes limp, but the image of Jisung bringing his plump lips to wrap around his fingers leaves you wanting more. You nearly squeak when he groans at the taste, letting go of his fingers with a pop. "Mmm," Jisung moans. "You taste so good."

“Here, have a taste baby,” he smirks, bringing those same digits to swipe motions at your core. You whimper at the sensitivity, the buzzing feeling still present. “Open,” he commands.

You listen, sticking out your tongue for him to insert them into your mouth. The wet muscle swirls around his fingers, finally closing around them, and you gag when he presses further into your mouth, teasing your throat. “Good girl.”

It’s so arousing that you intend to get up from your original position beneath him, but he catches your wrists and pins them over your head to keep you in place. Maybe it's the unfulfilled horniness from all the other times he’s tried to get you under him, but it's got you whining and squirming beneath him for his tolerance. “Fuck, it’s like you knew this was gonna happen,” he murmurs, not taking his eyes off your body.

His hot breath fans against your face, “Did you?” He begins to trace the contours of your body, slipping underneath your shirt on his way up. “No,” it’s a weak response, body twitching when he starts massaging your breasts. You had just experienced an unearthly orgasm, but everything Jisung does just causes your cunt to clench around nothing, and it’s only once out of a million times since he walked through the door.

“Just fuck me,” you plead, feeling his thick cock prodding at the side of your thigh.

“You sure?” he asks once more for confirmation.

“Yes, now hurry,” your whine turns into a pout, and he chuckles at your impatience.

“Do you have a condom in your room?”

“Fuck no, I’m on birth control.” He groans at the information, already quick to tug his cock out of its confines.

And just like that, Jisung slowly inches his cock into you. “Oh,” you cry at the fullness. He’s stretching you out so well, and the slight burn just adds fuel to the fire.

“Holy shit,” he sighs. “You’re so tight,” to ease the tightness, his fingers are already making their way back to your bud, circling in slow motions, “Relax for me pretty.”

You nod, eyes rolling back into your head when he slowly begins to move. “Fffuck,” he curses, his grip moving to your waist the moment your legs instinctively wrap around his. He feels so fucking good inside you and you regret with every ounce of your being you both didn’t do this sooner. You should’ve jumped him when you had the chance because fuck. How are you going to stop now? “You feel so fucking good,” he groans at the sensation.

“Ji–sung,” you moan, “Faster.” Your walls clench around his hard cock dragging against your walls, speeding up in pace and you fully lose it. The lewd sounds of skin slapping echo through the bedroom, and Jisung just swallows your pour of moans. He eventually listens to your request, practically nailing you into the mattress. It feels so good, the sounds coming from him, the feel of his cock pulling out, leaving the tip, just to roughly thrust back inside. You don’t know how much more you can take.

The thin silver chain he always wears around his neck dangles right before your eyes, and even in your fucked out state, you can’t stop looking at Jisung. The sweat on his forehead causes the front pieces to stick, the glow of sex already peeking through. “This is what you get,” he spits, but you can tell he’s slightly holding back. “This is what you get for all the times you fucking ran away. When I could’ve fucked you dumb like you want.”

Jisung’s name was the only thing coherent as he drills into you, squealing at a particular thrust of his hips. He’s so deep inside you, tip faintly against your cervix. “You’re cock’s s-so big,” you gasp, tears blurring your vision. The higher the tension builds in your stomach, the more Jisung continues to destroy you. “Jisung, fuck!”

“You like it hard huh? Want me to make your pussy mine?” His dirty words only have you holding onto him tighter, digging the heel of your feet into his spine. It’s too bad you can’t respond, your brain a puddle of mush at this point, cock going too fast for you to think about anything else. The bed frame knocks against the walls as the bed shakes but there’s no room to worry about that. Especially when he’s hitting every spot inside you perfectly.

“Answer me,” he grunts as your moans grow higher in pitch, unable to take it much longer.

“Y-yes, it’s a-all yours,” your body jolts after every movement, carving pleasure all over his skin. The thread that holds on for dear life is on the verge of snapping, and you wail before your second orgasm can send you crashing down.

It was so easy for Jisung to slide in and out of your pussy, your dripping arousal coating his cock perfectly. “Ji–” you attempt to warn him, but he already made his way back to your clit, pressing rough circles. You begin to babble random sounds, unable to form coherent words when he’s impaling you.

“Yes!” A shriek tears itself from your throat at your orgasm, and your toes curl at the high that takes over you yet again tonight. Your body spasms, and your mind stuck in a haze when he continues stuffing your achy cunt with him.

“Holy shit,” it’s almost impossible for Jisung to keep going when you’re clamping down on him like a vice, keeping him from completely being able to leave.

“Inside, cum inside, Jisung,” you plead when his hips begin to stutter. After a few more thrusts, he fully moans, painting your insides. “Fuck,” It feels even more full than before, if that was even possible and you whimper from the overstimulation from the last few movements. After his orgasm is at its resolution, he slumps into your form, not bothering to pull out.

You’re both just lying there trying to catch your breath, and it’s somewhat serene. The music combined with the vague sound of murmurs could be heard from outside and that’s when you remember that there were indeed a bunch of individuals present too. Maybe they heard you guys fucking, and Jisung seems to have similar thoughts when he raises his head to murmur something. “I forgot to lock the door.”

Your eyes shoot wide open in response, “What? Are you serious? Someone could walk in to you butt-ass naked!”

You’re actually alarmed, but he just stares back at you, his mouth turning into a wide grin. “Nah, I’m just playin',” he laughs.

You chuckle along with him, playfully slapping his shoulder because of his unseriousness. “You’re so annoying.”

“Get used to it baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

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weird-is-life · 26 days

Text

Doted on

Pairing: Spencer Reid x nurse!fem!reader

Summary: Spencer gets thrown head first against the wall, and you take him home from the hospital

Warnings: fluff, mentions of hospitals, headache, concussion, use of y/n and pet names

Words: 0.9k

‐---------------------------------------------------------------------

Spencer is currently sitting on a hospital bed with a really awful headache. And a concussion. The case went a little bit wrong while catching the unsub. He got thrown against the rock-hard wall, and it's safe to say he hit it head first.

The entire team is in the room with him as the nurse instructs on what he's supposed to do next.

"You're gonna need somebody to wake you up every few hours," the nurse starts," if there isn't anybody, we're going to have to keep you here."

"It's okay. I have somebody to look after me," Spencer murmurs, trying to pull out his phone out of his jacket.

He wants to call you. He knows your shift is ending right about now so he hopes that you'll come home with him, and take care of him as well.

What he doesn't know, is that you're already on your way to his room. Your best friend, and fellow nurse, let you know about Spencer being admitted into hospital right away. And since your very long shift is finally over, the only thing on your mind is Spence.

You come to the room right as all of the team members discuss who's going to take care of Spencer. Spencer, on the other hand, is ignoring them, his focus on his phone.

You don't understand why he's frowning so much until you realise it. You pull out your phone, and see the missed phone calls. You smile to yourself, and step into your room.

"Sorry, I missed your calls. I had the phone on silence mode," you say as you make your way to Spencer. His whole face lights up at the sight of you.

"Oh, hi," he happily greets you, but then he frowns," are you really here or is the concussion making me see things?"

You chuckle at his words," Spence, yeah I'm really here. I got here as soon as I could when I heard you got hurt. What happened, huh?"

"Didn't see the guy, got caught off guard, and thrown against the wall. Well at least I think I remember it right," Spencer frowns some more, but smiles instantly when you go dote on him.

You look at his plastered forehead, and run your fingers over it slightly. You want to kiss him right there, but there's a cough behind your back. You sheepishly turn around.

Spencer's whole team is staring at you, wide eyed and completely baffled. "Hello," you greet them shyly.

"Spencer, aren't you gonna introduce us?" Derek is the one to ask with raised eyebrows.

"Uh, yeah, sorry," Spencer chuckles," this," he smiles big at you," is y/n, my girlfriend." He says it so proudly, too.

The team just stares at you two. The whole room stays in awkward silence, and you have to try very hard to not run out of there.

Thankfully, Penelope Garcia is as sweet as you've heard from Spencer, and she comes running towards you first. "Oh my gosh, hi. You're so so pretty, I can't believe Spencer has been hiding you from us," she hugs you," I'm Penelope."

It wakes up the others from the shock too, and they come to introduce themselves to you. They are just as nice as Penelope, you can see why Spencer loves them so much.

"How long have you guys been together?" Derek asks curiously. Spencer takes you hand in his, and starts to fiddle with your fingers. Completely ignoring Derek's questions, you think, he must have hit his head pretty hard.

"A few months now," you smile kindly at all of them," we've actually met here. I patched up Spencer's bruised cheek after one of your cases."

"Oh I remember it," Derek smirks," I wondered why Spencer left the hospital so happy. " Derek teases, but Spencer seems to not care like at all.

"Yeah it's true. She gave me her number, of course I was happy." Spencer states, rubbing his temples with his free hand. "Guys, I'd love for you to get to know each other more, but my head is killing so I just want to get home."

Spencer stands up from the bed, and grabs his belongings before he says his goodbyes, and pulls you out of there. You quickly say goodbye to them too with a promise of seeing them again soon.

"Spencer, that was so rude!" You scold him when you get outside of their earshot.

"Maybe, "Spencer grins at you," but I really do have a bad headache, and I just missed you so much. So can you blame me?"

You chuckle,"I missed you too, handsome. But you should be nicer to them."

Spencer just rolls his eyes which makes his head hurt even more," I am nice. Even if not, they can handle it." Spencer laughs when he sees your disapproving expression.

"C'mon, sweetheart, I'm just joking. Don't worry," Spencer in the moment of making your disapproving face go away swiftly leans in to give you a kiss.

"You better be," you banter.

Spencer laughs some more making the headache even worse.

Spencer groans a bit in pain which immediately draws your attention. "You okay? Is your head spinning?"

"Y-Yeah, I'm okay. Just got a bad headache," he assures you as you two finally reach your car, and get in.

"Don't worry, handsome. As soon as we get home, I'll make you feel better," you squeeze his hand before you start the car.

Spencer smiles, he can't say he's happy about being injured, but he is definitely happy to be loved on by you, "thank you, sweetheart. I can't wait."

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid

681 notes · View notes

kairoot · 6 months

Text

confessions with ateez ˚⋆ ✦

⟢ pairing : ateez x reader ➖ genre : fluff, friends to lovers ➖ requested : no ➖ warnings : intimacy, kissing, reader is drunk for mingi’s hc

ss: confessing to ateez; telling them that you like them

🌿 — hongjoong.

is surprised

LIKE WHY ARE YOU SURPRISED YOURE LITERALLY THE KIM HONGJOONG OFC I WOULD LIKE YOU

attempts at suppressing his smile and giggles

fails

is definitely super shy afterwards (no nwjns 🗣️)

joong’s head was laid on your chest as you played with his disheveled brown strands. his arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, eyes low but not completely shut.

anyone who walked in would’ve thought the two of you were dating but the sad part was; you weren’t.

hongjoong normally came over and crashed at your place when he felt overworked or was super tired after schedules. you’d always invite him over so he wouldn’t have to stay in the studio while being tired but eventually he learned that overworking himself was never good.

you knew whenever he was drained. the way his eyes would droop or he’d just come in and flop onto your bed. it’s also why you began to make dinner for him so whenever he came over, he’d have something in his belly because, who knew when he was actually gonna go home?

others knew about the way you took care of hongjoong but never understood why you two haven’t dated.

and that was your biggest mistake because you liked hongjoong. perhaps even loved him. but you didn’t want him to know that. not until now, at least.

seeing him nearly every day and laughing with him or going on trips with him always made you happy. seeing him smile made your heart dance in your chest. you cared deeply about hongjoong on another level. but you never really told him because of how close you two have always been over the years. what if you ruined a good friendship?

but today was the day that you stopped worrying about that. hongjoong is an understanding person so what’s the worst that could happen other than him letting you down slowly? it’s become insufferable for you to keep in so much, so now is when you let loose.

taking in a breath, you softly call hongjoong’s name.

“joong?”

“hm?” his eyebrows raised slightly, eyes now closed but he was awake.

“can i.. can i tell you something?” you asked, softly placing your chin on his head. his arm shifted, pulling you closer and hugging you tighter.

“mhm, i’m listening, bub.” he responded quietly. your heart fluttered at the nickname, a small smile now growing on your face.

“okay, but promise you won’t get upset with me or something? or things won’t be awkward? and-“

he squeezed your hip, chuckling a bit, “spit it out, y/n.”

you took a moment to do so, taking in a few deep breaths.

“joong i.. like you. i have for a long time,” you began, a slight weight lifting off of your shoulders. the room was a bit silent before you continued.

“and i don’t know if you feel the same but i care about you. not just in a best friend way. it sounds cheesy but.. everything you do makes me smile. it makes me feel all fuzzy inside and i’m like, ‘wth is going on?’ but it’s because of you, joong.”

you swallowed hard, waiting for his response. it was silent moments before you heard a small giggle which confused you a bit.

“really? you like like me?” he asked, a big smile plastered on his face.

“i like like you.”

he finally looked up at you, eyes still low but he seemed to be more awake now. he blinked slowly, his eyes now staring into yours.

“i’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

🌿 — seonghwa.

is taken back

LIKE EXCUSE ME 😟

hand over his heart type of stunned

of course he likes you tew pookie 😜😘

he’s just like wait a minute this hottie likes me?? 🤔

you stood in the kitchen next to seonghwa, both of you laughing at each other.

“it’s not sweet enough, hwa!” you giggled, quickly stirring your cupcake batter. he laughed at the mess you made, sugar scattered on the dark countertop.

“i told you to add more sugar, you just don’t listen to me.” his laughter died down a bit.

the whole kitchen was a mess. each of you baked your own batch of cupcakes and obviously your batch wasn’t doing so well.

you both wore dark blue aprons, a small logo stitched on the right side.

seonghwa had bought the aprons for you both the week before, knowing that you’d probably have more days like this.

the two of you had flour and sugar covering your aprons and icing on your face. your side was a bit more messy but seonghwa thought it was cute.

everything you did was cute to him. the way you smiled or the way you got excited about certain things. you were just adorable.

he watched you from his side, not even realizing that he was almost in a trance. he smiled slightly at the way you hurriedly moved around the kitchen.

“can i try one of yours at least?” you turned to him, a pout on your face while your batter was pushed to the side.

hwa smiled once again, long strands moving as he nodded his head.

he grabbed one from the pan, handing it to you. you took a small bite, though some icing had still managed to mark your lip.

he noticed before you felt it, his finger coming to wipe it off. hwa didn’t even realize how close he was until he saw you looking up at him, frozen in place.

his face was a few inches away from yours, the only sound being breathing.

it was only moments before his plump lips were on yours, tasting the sweetness from the icing. the cupcake had been long forgotten, dropped on the floor somewhere as your arms came to wrap around his neck.

the bing crosby christmas album playing from the living room seemed to be slowed down as the two of you were in your own world, lost in each other’s grasp.

after what felt like forever, he pulled away out of breath. his eyes opening to look down at you again, blinking slowly.

“i’m assuming that kiss meant something to you?” you breathed out, playing with the strands that cascaded down to his neck.

he nodded, feeling a tad bit embarrassed from his sudden attack on your lips.

“i love you,” you confessed, finally letting the cat out of the box. “so much.”

“y-you love me? are you sure? i-“

to answer his questions and rambles, you pressed your lips on to his once again, making him melt in the kiss and giving him any other reassurance that he needed.

🌿 — yunho.

LITERALLY IS SO GIDDY

LIKE KICKINF HIS FEET AND GIGGLING TYPE OF GIDDY (on the inside of course)

but he wants to take things slow

he’s in no rush

you and yunho sat in the your room, studying together. papers were scattered across the bed as you both helped each other for your upcoming exam.

“but i think.. mr. kim isn’t really worried about how we got the answer. just if we know the correct one or not.” yunho said, skimming through his papers.

“no? of course he would care, why wouldn’t he?”

“cause the exam is multiple choice.” he snorted.

“i’m still showing my work.” you shrugged, going back to jotting down notes in your journal.

for a while, it was quiet until your mind began to wander. you looked over at yunho, seeing his brows furrowed a bit as he was focused on his writing. his lips parted slightly, mumbling things that would help him remember for the big test.

your gaze remained focused on him, studying his features. you knew it was frowned upon, but you did find your best friend attractive. not just his looks but his personality.

yunho was always nice to everyone he was around. even taking care of them in some type of way.

your crush on him had lasted longer than you could remember. but you confessing to him now seemed like a horrid idea seeing as he just ended a relationship a little more than 2 weeks ago.

ruining your friendship with him was not really something you had in mind but you wanted him to know how you felt even if it did mess up everything. there was just no way you could go the rest of your life without telling him.

“yunho?”

he looked up, humming in response.

“um, i don’t know how you’ll feel after i say this but,” you began to speak, clearing your throat. yunho had put his things down, his full attention on you.

“i.. i like you.” you said quietly, looking down.

“well, i like you too.” he smiled slightly, his hand coming to lightly brush against your cheek.

“no, yun. i like like you.” you sent him a sad smile, expecting him to walk right out on you. but he didn’t. he remained seated on the bed, his smile growing.

“i know. and i like like you too,” he giggled a bit. “we don’t have to rush into anything, though.”

“i don’t want you to rush anyway. you just left a relationship.” you tapped his arm playfully, the both of you now giggling.

🌿 — yeosang.

super shy pt2

does that :> smile

today, you decided to train with yeosang. seeing as though you had nothing better to do, you joined him at the gym.

you whistled jokingly as yeosang dropped the dumbbell he had in his hand, sweat drenching his face and arms.

he noticed the way you’d looked at him, a smug smile on your face.

“are you trying to flirt with me?” he tilted his head, laughing a bit.

“yes, is it working?”

he laughed again, shaking his head at you. he noticed that you’d been flirting with him all day, which wasn’t really like you but he didn’t think much about it.

but what he didn’t know or notice was that you were doing it on purpose. some of the flirting was jokes of course but some of it wasn’t. like when you asked if you could cook dinner for the two of you.

“y/n, you don’t even cook..” he grabbed a towel from his back, patting his neck. you sat next to him on the bench, scoffing.

“can i at least try for the man i love?” you mumbled, looking elsewhere.

yeosang did a double take, confused on whether he heard you right.

“what?” he turned back towards you, a puzzled expression on his face.

you shook your head, starting to get up and brush off the conversation.

he took hold of your wrist, pulling you back gently, “you love me?”

you mumbled a ‘maybe’, still avoiding his gaze. you honestly thought he would’ve been a bit weirded out but instead he laughed.

you looked up to see a pink tint covering his cheeks but not just from working out.

“i, uh, i do too. i love you too, i mean.” he wanted to give you more of a proper response so he gave you a peck on your cheek, feeling too flustered to kiss your lips.

🌿 — san.

you have no idea how relieved this man is

probably sighs out loud

another giggly/smiley one

chatting with san in the small cafe, you both shared smiles and memories in between your coffees.

san was telling a story from when you both met but you just couldn’t focus on what he was saying. you were way too distracted by his beauty to comprehend the words leaving his lips.

you loved everything about san. especially when he was passionate about something like the story he was telling. how he got so into it or how he smiled at the memories you made together.

“y/n?” his voice pulled you out of your trance, causing you to blink for the first time in 5 minutes.

“you okay, bubba?” he laughed a bit.

you nodded your head, your gaze anywhere but him now. the nickname he’d always called you, now gave you butterflies.

his brows furrowed in confusion as his finger came to move your chin so you were looking at him again. he gave you a questionable look, a look of concern washing over his face.

“y/n?”

“san, i like you.” you blurted out, hand coming up to cover your mouth as you seemed to surprise yourself. san’s eyes widened in surprise as well, a soft chuckle escaping him.

his smile was even wider as he let out a relieved sigh. he took both of your hands in his, kissing your knuckles.

“do you know how long i’ve waited to hear that?”

“how long?” you tilted your head slightly, sending him a small smile.

“way too long, sweetheart. way too long.”

🌿 — mingi.

he’s flustered 100%

probably doesn’t know what to say

you groaned as you stumbled into your apartment with mingi holding you up by the waist.

you flopped onto the couch, an arm outstretched towards him.

“i told you not to drink too much.” he giggled, coming to sit next to you.

you whined in protest, sitting up to prop yourself next to him.

“mingi, i love you,” you poked his cheek. “so much. i love you so much.”

he chuckled, moving your hand to your lap.

“i love you too.”

“no,” you draped your arms over his shoulders, your eyes halfway open. “i looove you.”

you placed two wet kisses to his cheek before he stopped you. his eyes were wide in surprise while his cheeks were painted with pink.

“y/n, stop.” he smiled a bit, moving away from you.

“why?” you whined, flopping yourself into his lap. “you don’t love me..”

“no, i do, princess. believe me, i do,” he shook his head, patting your leg as you were already headed to sleep. “you just won’t remember that in the morning.”

he placed a kiss on your forehead, picking you up to head upstairs. what he didn’t know was that you most definitely would remember that the next day.

🌿 — wooyoung.

very smug

but is lowkey like ‘🤭🤭’

even as your friend, wooyoung is very touchy. you’re both always cuddling or his hand is always placed on your waist, someway somehow.

so when he sees that you’re avoiding these things, like hugging him, he finds it a little weird.

“boo bear!” he flopped onto your couch, using one of the stupid nicknames that got you to laugh when you were mad at him. “whatcha doin’ ?”

you motioned toward the tv, flipping through different movies.

he looked at you for a moment, sighing in annoyance, “alright, seriously, what’s wrong?”

you didn’t respond at first, causing him to take the remote away from you.

“wooyoung!” you groan, reaching for the device that was hidden behind his back.

“what’s wrong?” he shifted his arm away from your grasp, ignoring your protests.

you sighed, sitting back in your seat. he waited for you to respond, the remote remaining behind his back until you did.

“i don’t think we should be friends anymore, woo.”

his heart sank at your words. where was this coming from? what did he do to make you feel that way?

but the truth is, it was you not him. over the time of you and woo’s friendship, you recently began to develop feelings for him. with everything he said and did, you found him attractive. you felt your feelings grow stronger everyday, but it eventually became unbearable.

“did i do something?” his brows now furrowed in concern. he turned toward you, grabbing one of your hands to hold on his.

“tell me, y/n and we can work it out together.”

you held your breath, looking down. wooyoung may be silly but he’s very understanding. so why were you so nervous?

“woo, i like you. but maybe we shouldn’t remain as friends because what happens if my feelings ruin what we have? what happens when you don’t like me back and everything is awkward?”

his eyebrows raised slightly as he smiled, “oh, honey. you don’t have to worry about me not having feelings for you.”

it took a few moments for you to realize what he said. before you could look up at him all the way, his lips were on yours.

🌿 — jongho.

keeps his cool

but is actually so relieved on the inside

like this man has loved you for SO LONG!!!??

the two of you laughed as you strolled through a near by park. your arm was linked with jongho’s, your excuse was because it was so cold.

you both conversed about different things or even walking in a comfortable silence at times.

eventually, you both came by a steep hill where the sun was setting. jongho set down a blanket he had brought along, patting it flat against the grass.

you both sat down next to each other, his arm coming to wrap around you. you looked out at the sunset, a soft small resting on your face.

“why’re you smiling so much?” jongho asked, chuckling softly. his hand stroking your arm.

“cause i get to see this with you.” you look up at him, indicating the pretty orange and pink splashes on the sky.

he looked into your eyes for a bit, taking in everything you said and did.

“i wouldn’t wanna see it with anyone else, jong,” you looked at him for a moment before leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. he breathed out as if he’d been holding his breath and waiting for you to say that.

“i love you.” you smiled. his other hand came to rest on your cheek as he pulled you in for a real kiss.

“not more than i love you.”

⟢ milan’s note: this kinda sucks booty cause i got sleepy while writing it but im writing for my pookies again !! <33

taglist: @haechansbbg @contyynishimura @sasfransisco @kgneptun @m1ko-xu

#kairoot #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez reactions #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #ateez headcanons #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #friends to lovers #ateez ff

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tvgals · 5 months

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i accidentally posted it so i had to delete it 😪

ALSO THANK UOU BAE 💞💞

‘ LET THE LIGHT IN. ‘

even though bully! connie had undeniable feelings for you, he hadn’t told anyone besides you yet. how big of a mistake was that?

you were smiling at yourself while getting ready for you and connie’s second date. you were officially his girlfriend, no one else knew but you two. connie said he’d never keep you two a secret! the lies he told.

your phone started to ring, the name ‘con 💞’ popping up. you grinned and answered the facetime. he was in the car with someone, a boy it sounded like. you were 50% sure it was his friend eren, but you weren’t sure.

“hi baby!” you grinned, waving at him.

connie’s eyes go wide, he immediately turns down the volume and keeps on driving, not saying a word. this was weird. usually he’d be so excited to be on the phone with you, so enthusiastic to talk to you, why was he so different now?

“who that?” you hear the boy in the passenger seat talk, now you were sure it was eren. “it ain’t nobody.” connie responds. eren laughed to himself. “i know that ain’t y/n.” you perk up at the sound of your name, you purse your lips and listen further. connie gave eren a look to ‘shut the fuck up’ but he kept on going. “bro, just tell her about the prank. i’ve seen her following you around, shit’s getting embarrassing.” eren starts to laugh harder.

“you haven’t told her yet? dude, you’re gonna crush her.” eren reprimanded connie through laughs. good thing this was his house. “okay okay, i’ll see you tomorrow?” eren asks, sticking his hand out so connie can dap him up, but connie just huffed and told eren to get out.

once the coast was clear, you sniffled. “what prank, connie?” connie’s heart breaks at the sound of your weak voice. he turns his phone back up and sighs. “nothing, baby.” connie sighed. “it is something. i’m not stupid!” you say into the phone. you’d gotten all pretty for no reason. for someone who asked you out as a joke. “no, it’s not. eren is just a dumbass. don’t listen to him.” connie tries to shrug off the situation.

“fuck you connie. i thought you’d actually change for me. i’m breaking up with you. don’t text me, don’t call me, don’t come over. we’re done.” you cry into the phone. you hang up and block connie, throwing your phone onto your bed. connie fucked up. something in his head told him to tell everyone else before shit got fucked up, but he never did. and it came back to bite him in the ass.

“jesus..” connie mumbled to himself, rubbing his face. he never knew this would blow up in his face. he thought it would just be harmless and no one would get hurt. he looked at the time, 5:45 and he headed off to walmart. he had to make it up to you. he pulled into the walmart parking lot, shoving his phone into his pocket. he walks inside and goes directly to the floral section, grabbing you a plethora of pink and purple and orange flowers. he smiles at the sight of your face in his mind. he hopes you can forgive him. connie then relocates to the card section, where he grabbed you a plain pink glittery card, where he plans to write a message to you. he then grabs you a few plushies and a pink gift bag.

he checks out and heads to his car, holding his breath on the drive to your house. he can’t even listen to music. he’s scared he’ll find a song that’ll remind him of you. he parked his car across from your house. he turns his car off and takes a deep breath, grabbing his gifts and walking to your door. connie is glad he knows his way around your family. your dad takes the morning shift, so he’s dead asleep while your mom takes third shift, so she’s at work. he lightly knocks on the door a few times. “please, y/n…” he whispers to himself. he gets a bit excited when he hears the pitter patter of your feet. he’s sure you have those cute pink socks with the bow on the top. you open the big door, sighing at the sight of connie.

“i told you don’t come over…” your voice is hoarse, sounding as if you’ve been crying ever since you’d hung the phone up. “i couldn’t just let you leave me without an explanation, baby.” connie says. “i gotchu some stuff…can we just talk?” he asks. you look down at his hands to see flowers and that cute little pink gift bag. “okay.” you say. you unlock the screen door and connie walks in, closing both doors before taking his shoes off. he follows behind you to your room. he intakes the familiar smell of winter candy apple immediately. connie hands you your gifts, which you handle with care when you place it on your nightstand.

“talk, connie.” you mumble, fiddling around with your fingers. “look, it was…” connie struggles to get the words out. “it was a prank.” connie admits, his head hanging low. you hold your breath, trying not to cry. “so what the fuck did you come over here for? just to play in my face?” you ask, almost crying. “no, no. you ain’t let me get to the point mama.” connie said, pulling you close. you tried to resist, but your mind wouldn’t let you.

“it started off as a prank. but when i started gettin’ to know you and seeing how you are, i fell in love. im sorry i didn’t tell anyone, baby…” connie apologized, rubbing circles along your hips. you gave yourself a second to register what he said to you. is he telling the truth? or was he just trying to string you along? “okay…” you mumble. “so you forgive me?” connie asks, hope in his voice. you sigh. “how are you gonna make it up to me? y’know i can’t forgive you this easy.” you grin, looking up at him. “i gotchu, mama.” connie says. he gently pushed you down on the bed. shimmying you out your pajama pants.

“you’re so pretty f’me…” he whispers, pulling your print panties to the side and gently kissing your cunt. “please connie, don’t tease.” you whine, arching your back. connie knew this was his last chance to make it up to you, so he did what he had to please you. he delve into your cunt, slurping and pressing sloppy kisses to it. connie almost lived in your cunt, always eating you out when you were stressed about finals, maybe even if you were just minding your business. “shit, connie!” you groan, arching your back and pushing his head further.

“mhmm…” connie hummed into your pretty pussy. “jesus, con!” you whined, your legs tightening around connie’s head. connie pulled away for a brief second. “open ‘em up, mama.” connie instructed you, pushing your legs apart before continuing to eat you out. “i’m gonna cum!” you moaned, trying to be quiet to not wake up your dad. “mhm, cum f’me…” he mumbles as you came on his face. connie couldn’t be more handsome than what he was now. his eyes low and filled with lust. “gonna let me fuck you now?” connie asked, pulling his dick out his nike sweatpants. “mhm…” you hum, pulling connie close to you. he chuckles at the action, pushing his dick inside your wet cunt.

“i’m so sorry, baby…” connie whimpers, thrusting into your cunt. “it’s okay…it’s okay…i k-know you didn’t mean it.” you forgive connie, holding his veiny hands. “please please, i didn’t mean f-for this to happen…i love you y/n.” connie moaned into your ear, his pace getting gradually faster. “don’t just throw that word around!” you reprimanded him, clawing at his back. “m not…i mean it…” connie whispers, almost too quiet to hear. “p-promise?” you sigh out, arching your back. “pinky promise.” connie smiled.

“‘m gonna cum…gonna cum so hard…” connie warned you. moaning like there’s nothing else in the world but you. “where d’you want it?” connie asks, looking up at you. “inside…” you gripe, curling your toes. with a few more strokes and moans, connie shoots his cum inside of you, biting your shoulder to keep quiet. after a few minutes of silence, you suck up the courage to ask connie a question.

“you really love me?” you ask, looking into his big olive eyes. “of course i do…” connie grinned, pressing kisses to your face. “so you forgive me?” connie asks, holding your hand. “yes. but you have to tell people we’re dating.”

“deal.”

TAGLIST :

@looking4chanel @draculara-vonvamp @Therealcees-blog @laylasbunbunny @lovelytayy @d7n3 @deadgirlkisses @darkknightpeanutbagel @luvv-des @blackgirlontheblock @cherrycrys @thecoloredpages @xricly @jazzyluuv @peter-parkers-gf @chinaza444 @dynoduck @princesslilisworld @what-am1rah @baboon-milk333 @marcelineormars @mxspiderman2099 @ts1mp0ne @23victoria @ravereina @stevenknightmarc @laaailuh @diorsbrando @madz-rulez @spiderheartzz @chinieh @asensitivecookie @tourbug @anikaluv @mainvamp @strawberryshortcake143 @spectr3inl0ve @anitatvd @vitlicious @yuckyygutz @liyahontop @janaeby @milesmoralesesposa @lily-pythonz @s1xtr @naijagrl @ninaaaazzzz @sucuretcannelle @captaincyberqueen @sylisan @cafehyunji @gtsflawless @v1rtu4lsworld @anotherblackreader @petitecolibri @bakuhoe37 @anubisisthebomb @sillygoofymoodx @sinnerzstuff @viisgrave @silkcatsz @bratzdolly4 @motheroffae @dollypipp @princessru1 @s1rennsworld

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apomaro-mellow · 9 months

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Wrong Number 1

Eddie kept up a texting chain with Steve while making himself a breakfast of coffee and cereal. He hadn't felt like this in a long time. Not since, well, when he thought of it when he was a teenager up all night in chat rooms and forums. When you found someone who you just clicked with.

[11:30] Any advice on how to fry an egg with a perfectly runny yolk?

(11:32) You like runny yolks??? 🤢 (11:33) It's scrambled or nothing for me (11:33) Cant help ya even if I wanted to

[11:35] I just want an egg on my avo toast

Normally Robin fried the eggs for breakfast. Her yolks were always perfect. But unlike Steve, she'd actually scored last night and was still with whoever she'd gone home with last night.

Eddie couldn't help but roll his eyes at the cliche. A guy who jogged and then came back home for some avocado toast with an egg on top? He just had to let his stance be known.

(11:35) Next ur gonna tell me bout your acai smoothie bowl rite? (11:36) Avo toast? Really???

Steve realized how he was coming off and had to quickly amend it.

[11:38] It's not what you think! We only got the avocados to make some guac the other day. There was one left and I wanted to use it before it went bad. And I'm all guac'd out. Hence the toast.

(11:39) At least you didn't use the avocado to make like ice cream or some shit

Finished with his own, normal, regular, average citizen breakfast, Eddie cleared his place and started to actually get ready for the day. His shift went from 2 to 10 tonight, so he needed to prepare for the long haul.

While brushing his teeth, getting dressed, and making something for his lunch later, he and Steve kept up the texts. Through their conversation he found out Steve's favorite ice cream (peanut butter), that he could cook eggs just about any way except sunny side up, and that he lived with a roommate named Robin.

Eddie got to his place of work and in a place like that you need to have some semblance of focus and attention, so he told Steve he had to get to work. He realized he was basically saying 'busy now, text you later?' to a stranger he'd only started talking to last night. Steve was completely in his rights to end the conversation there.

He could've ended it at any time really. What obligation did he have to keep on talking to him?

[2:01] Okay. Talk to you later

Steve stared at the message, already in the middle of agonizing over it when Robin finally came through the door of their apartment.

"Good afternoon. I wanna feel offended that I didn't get any texts or calls asking if I'm okay but I'm gonna choose to think it means you trust me and are a great judge of character."

For the first time in a while, Steve checked the time and actually realized how long it had been.

"Shit, Robs, I'm sorry." It had been over 12 hours and he hadn't checked in on her. All because he'd been texting a random number. "So you had a good time?"

Steve had been sitting on the couch and Robin plopped right down, laying her head in his lap.

"It was magical. Like something out of a movie."

"Aren't you glad I made you go and talk to her?", Steve smiled smug.

Robin smushed his face with her hands with a groan. "Don't look at me like that. You were right, okay? Me and her hit it off like, like uh, one of your sports metaphors."

"Robin you were in a soccer league just last year, stop acting like you don't know sports."

"Anyway, something grand must've kept your attention off me. Things go well with that girl you were talking to?"

"Umm, yeah."

Robin sat up, eyes narrowing. "And you came back here with her? Gross! Steve! Did you do it on the couch?!" She shot up immediately.

"I didn't", Steve rolled his eyes.

It was one of their main rules. No sex in the common areas of the apartment. Steve wasn't gonna tell her about the wrong number given to him. And he especially wasn't going to tell her he kept talking to it. The following lecture would have been unbearable.

"She gave me her number and we've just been texting back and forth."

Robin slowly sat back down on the couch. "Just texting? That's all you did?"

"That's all."

"Wow. You usually move faster than that."

"Well, I want something a little more this time. But enough about my snail pace romance. Let's talk about you and that girl, what was her name?"

He and Robin sat a long while, talking about her night, eventually going out for lunch together too. Not-Misty had said they were at work, but Steve couldn't help himself when he saw that Robin had ordered a burger with avocado on it and Steve had gotten a taco salad that came with, you guessed it, avocado.

[3:14] image.jpeg [314] Okay me and Robin might have a problem. But I swear it's not on purpose!

"Did you just send a picture of our lunch to someone?", Robin asked.

"Yeah to uh, to Misty. We were talking about avocados earlier and I figured she'd get a kick out of it."

Robin smiled through her chewing. She teased but she was glad that her friend had made a connection last night.

Meanwhile, Eddie saw the message, but didn't have a chance to reply, even on his lunch break. Through all the texting, he had forgotten to charge his phone, so it was on the plug and he was leaving it alone for now while he talked to his co-worker, Grant. He went through the rest of his shift, thinking about Steve.

What did he look like? How old was he? Where did he live?

He got off and made his way back home, stopping off somewhere to get dinner. It was a sandwich shop and he honestly contemplated getting avocado on his just to see Steve's reaction but he resisted.

'I can't be that down bad that I'm overthinking food now', he thought to himself.

When he got back home, he turned the tv on and took out his phone to reply to Steve right away.

(10:31) Back at home now (10:32) Work was crazy (10:34) And the 1st step to recovery is admitting u have a problem (10:36) But thru hard work we can get you addicted to a sensible veggie (10:37) Like broccoli

He thought since he kept Steve waiting for so long it might take some time for a reply to come, but his phone pinged almost immediately.

[10:39] First of all, avocado is a fruit. Second, I eat plenty of other vegetables. And third, what happened at work?

(10:41) It may be a fruit but I dont want it in my smoothie (10:42) And some guy came in and started throwing axes at the wall

Sunday evenings were usually more relaxed. It was why Eddie typically didn't work Friday or Saturday nights unless he needed some extra cash or they needed someone on deck.

[10:44] Hold the duck up someone was throwing axes!! [10:44] *duck [10:45] *FUCK

Eddie snickered through his eating and had to take a moment to swallow before something came up. He always enjoyed telling people what he did for a living.

(10:46) Cool your jets man (10:47) I work at an axe throwing range (10:48) The problem with this dude was he didn't have an appointment (10:48) Just came in and started throwing an axe at the wall

[10:50] Are you okay? That sounds dangerous

(10:50) My uncle handled it (10:51) Eventually the dude left

[10:52] Oh wow. Well I'm glad you're okay. Axe throwing tho. What an interesting job for someone of your age? 🤷

Steve was lying in bed and he buried his face into his pillow as he sent it with the shrug emoji. It was so transparent, he knew it. But he needed to have a better idea of who he was talking to. That way when Robin did eventually find out, he'd be able to tell her something, anything.

(10:53) Smooth (10:53) I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours

Eddie knew now was the time to be cautious. But he was also curious as to how much Steve would tell him and just what he wanted to know. He wasn't disappointed.

[10:54] Male, 23, 5'11

It was like the bare minimum of information and yet Eddie was already aggressively tamping down any hope that he might have a chance. Without his permission, hope bubbled up anyway

(10:55) Male, 24 going on 25, also 5'11

Steve stared at the text with the mystery person, mystery man's information. It seemed like so little and yet so much. He still hadn't an idea of what he looked like. But now he could at least get a general silhouette.

(10:56) Ur not one of those guys who lies about his height are you?

[10:57] Robin says my hair gives me two inches but she has no idea what she's talking about.

Eddie was thinking about how Steve must wear his hair. It could be in a sizeable pompadour, or maybe a nice afro. Maybe it was in a bun all the time? That was not what he typed out however.

(10:59) You know what they say (10:59) It's not the size but what u do with it

Okay this was it. This was where Steve stopped texting him. You can't just say that to guys you don't know-ping!

Eddie bit his lip and only had one eye open as he looked at Steve reply, preparing for the worst.

[11:01] Oh I know how to use my inches

Eddie dropped his phone onto the table and had to get up and pace, touch his face, his hair, throwing his hands in the air. Was this flirting? This felt like flirting. He wished he knew for sure. Maybe it was the lack of emoji. Had Steve put a winking face, he'd know for certain. Eddie leaned against his fridge, staring at his phone, sitting innocently on the table.

On the other side, Steve was burying his face into his pillow, pretending he didn't just say that. Would it come off as playful? As flirty? As casual? Should he have sent a wink? The seconds ticked and it felt too late. Like coughing after saying something awkward.

God, he was so desperate. Why was he even still texting? He had work in the morning. He should start preparing for bed so he had any hope of getting up on time. Steve pushed off the bed and went to his closet when he heard the notification sound and instantly returned.

(11:05) Let's get out the measuring tape (11:05) image.jpeg

Steve felt his heart skip a beat. The picture attached was of the very top of mystery man's head. He was holding up a lock of long, curly hair into the air. Steve studied the picture like he was getting paid to do it. He couldn't see any lower than the bangs on his forehead but there was still plenty to see.

The rings on his fingers for one, how his curls went this way and that. Steve quickly saved it and then replied with a similar pose, holding some hair by the fingers as far as it would go above his head.

[11:07] image.jpeg [11:08] I think you have me beat

They texted for about an hour more before Steve finally decided to be an adult and put himself to sleep, bidding mystery man good night.

Part 3

Fun fact, years ago I worked at an axe throwing place and yes, what happened to Eddie did in fact happen to me! On like my first week too I think

Tag Team

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @estrellami-1 @newtstabber @omletlove @ifyoudonlysurrender @rehfan @morganski-19 @corvidcantina @dragonmama76 @just-ladyme @tinyplanet95 @lolawonsstuff @goodolefashionedloverboi @idoquitelikebread @kittydeadbones @manda-panda-monium @rhapsodyinalto @paintsplatteredandimperfect @keylime-green @ihavekidneys @samsoble @honorarybrit81 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @420-hun @aizawa-emma @deleataecount @thesuninyaface

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #i can honestly say i didn't expect the response to this #u cant predict the stocks! i guess LOL #fun fact this was nearly an abo fic as well #but i decided against it this time around #bc i have other aus that'll probably be abo

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grandlinedreams · 1 month

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|| i regret nothing I need Cooper Howard viscerally both pre and post Ghoulification

|| notes: semi Canon compliant, spoiler-ish for end of s1, semi-shifting pov, Lucy is adorable but baby girl you will be chewed up and spat out pls grow more spine, Dogmeat has never done anything wrong ever, godbless Cooper having a southern accent bc that's my accent, yeah, gonna do a sequel to this and a prequel on Coop and reader's first meeting, ok bye

|| warnings: weapons supplier!reader, couple of allusions to cannibalism, reader is not specifically gendered, NSFW ㅡ fingering/touching

“Where are we going?”

Not for the first time today, or even the last week, Cooper questions why he's letting the Vaultie (“Lucy,” she informs him primly, “my name is Lucy.”) tag along. The dog, at least, is a good, reliable companion. Dogmeat trots dutifully at his side, her tail wagging as he stops to glare at Lucy.

“Supplies, Vaultie,” he tells her, relishes the flicker of annoyance in her eyes. “Need supplies or we'll both be knee deep in shit.” He pauses. “More than we already are.”

She mumbles something he doesn't care to catch as he resumes walking, rolling his eyes as he adjusts his hat. He knows he could stand to be a little more sympathetic with the bombshell she's still dealing with, but he can't bring himself to ㅡ not when his daughter might still be alive out there, somewhere. (And his ex-wife, who he's pointedly trying to not think about too much.)

Lucy is blessedly quiet for a good while, all the way until they get closer to where they're going. Cooper doesn't need that piece of shit vault-tec device on her arm to know where he is, but Lucy says it anyways.

“It's a town,” she mumbles at the cluster of ramshackle buildings, surrounded by the clustering of trees so much like Filly ㅡ but isn't. “Is thisㅡ”

“Yes,” he answers, “now shut it and walk.”

Lucy huffs. “I don't know if you've realized neither of us have means to pay for anything,” she protests, “but the general rule ofㅡ”

“Vaultie.” If looks could kill, she'd be six feet under. He's never had much patience, but she’s already reached the bottom of it and keeps digging. “Shut the fuck up about your goddamn rules. If you haven't noticed, nobody up here gives a damn about playing by what's wrong and what's right.” He gives her a meaningful look. “Now if you don't want me to leave your ass to whatever comes along next, you'll be quiet and let me handle it.”

Lucy's mouth shuts with an audible click, and Cooper turns on his heel to resume walking, Dogmeat at his heels.

Like Filly, the center of buildings bustle with the day to day of so many others, the cacophony of animal sounds along with chatter ㅡ Cooper spares Lucy a brief glance to watch her struggle to keep up and scoffs to himself, shaking his head as he continues.

He knows where he's going, a little shop shoved between two others, narrow but deeper than the other two, because he's been here before. Several times, actually. Which accounts for the familiarity with which he strolls over the threshold and leaves Lucy and Dogmeat to follow.

There's the jingle of what might be a bell over Lucy's head when she follows, blinking at the interior. Neat and tidy, or at least as much as can pass for such things on the surface ㅡ rows of weapons and other assorted things on shelves and stands.

Lucy watches The Ghoul rap his fist on the counter. “I know you're here,” he calls, “you never leave this damn place!”

She expects whoever it is to come scuttling out with the tone of voice he uses and being as accustomed to his rougher attitude, and she listens to the clatter of something further in the shop.

“If that's your greeting nowadays,” comes the answer, “you can fuck off.”

To Lucy’s surprise, The Ghoul husks a laugh instead of offering another threat. Footsteps approach, and Lucy blinks at the person who rounds the corner.

“You,” you accuse, finger almost into his chest, “thought I told you I was done dealing with you if you couldn't work on your manners.”

Lucy stares, and watches as you turn towards her and raise an eyebrow, eyeing her with unrestrained curiosity, then at Dogmeat. “A vaultie and a dog,” you say, then glance back at The Ghoul. “So, taking in strays, huh?”

The Ghoul grimaces. “Guess so.” He clears his throat. “Need supplies again, sweetheart.”

“Figured as much,” you say, arms folding across your chest. Lucy decides she likes you, because you're standing up to him ㅡ and he's letting you. “Take it you have no way of paying, again.”

Lucy wants to tell The Ghoul I told you so, because he can shit on all her little rules all he likes but the surface still deals in keeping the scales balanced. You have to eat too, so it's fair that you're expecting payment in the nonexistent caps they have. The Ghoul, on the other hand, tries a different route.

“Oh come on now sugar,” The Ghoul wheedles, tone almost what could be considered as sweet. Playing at a gentleman for the way he leans against the cobbled together counter, even goes as far as to take his hat off and place it down. “Don't be like that.”

“Don't you sugar me,” you counter with an attitude that honestly startles Lucy for both the lack of genuine bite or answering hostility from The Ghoul. This isn't the first time you've met, she realizes, and is also quietly a little horrified to register that this almost sounds like flirting. “You're a pain in the ass, you know that?”

The Ghoul almost grins. “At least I'm consistent. Besides, you know you miss me when I'm gone.”

You snort, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. Lucy feels a tiny bit uncomfortable with the atmosphere, like she's watching something she shouldn't be privy to.

“Yeah, yeah,” you answer, bustling around to shove several fabric wrapped packs into his chest and giving him a meaningful look. “You owe me.”

It's definitely flirting now, Lucy notes as The Ghoul's face lights up in a way that's still entirely human, tracking your movements with something far softer than anything she's ever seen from him.

The turn towards her and head jerk to her and Dogmeat is as clear as dismissal as she's ever seen, to make herself scarce ㅡ so she does, but not before she catches the peripheral glimpse of the way you let him reach for you, almost melting into him for the way he moves to undoubtedly murmur something.

That something is not the sweet words of a long time lover, but it's probably about as close as you're going to get with things the way they are.

“Anyone causin’ you trouble lately?”

You roll your eyes. “Besides you?” He gives you a look, and you shake your head. “No, and even if there was, you know I can handle myself.” You turn to throw him a teasing look over your shoulder. “Don't tell me you're getting soft on me, old man.”

It's Cooper's turn to snort, even as he moves to follow you. There's a sort of peace to watching you sort through boxes of shell casings and bottles of powder, letting his gaze drift over your body.

When you turn, he doesn't even bother to hide the way he's watching you, and you arch an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he returns. “Can't I admire you?”

You roll your eyes. “I'm too expensive for you, Cooper.” It's a playful taunt, one that incites a little flare of something in his eyes as he approaches, the jingle of his spurs as he comes to loom over you, cages you in against the shelves of “inventory”.

“Really now,” he drawls, leans in, eyes predatory dark. A lifetime ago, you might have been scared. But the wastelands made no qualms about beating fear out of people just as quick as it snuffed out life all together. “Here I was thinkin’ I might get a discount.” He reaches, thumbs at your bottom lip with his gloved digit. “What's the askin’ price, sweetheart?”

This close, he smells like the wastelands and sunbaked leather, with a little bit of blood ㅡ but you don't mind. Never have, not sure you ever will. Not when it comes to him, anyways.

He's a dangerous man. A man with a reputation that's well-earned, spoken in hushed whispers and anything but nice. But you let him slot a leg between yours, lean in, press his lips to your hair. You smell like gunpowder and hot metal, grease stained fingertips and more than a couple bruises and scars for your efforts.

Sometimes Cooper contends with the idea he might need you just as much as he needs that chem that keeps him sane. Admits it here and there, quietly to himself when he wanders in, squashes it down that he makes the trips sometimes just to make sure you're still alive. Not like he'd know if you were, till he sees you. Not sure what he'd do if he someday came up and found you gone. No note, no goodbye ㅡ quick and quiet, the cruelty of the wastelands.

“Didn't answer my question, darlin’.” He mumbles, lips to your cheeks now. Soft skin, kept carefully with rationed doses of radaway and a healthy heap of keeping your cute little self out of business that doesn't involve you. “Come on, I asked you real nicely.”

You hook your fingers in the loops of his belt, pull him closer. He can feel the jump of your heartbeat under his lips, now at your jawline. A soft, shaky inhale. Selfishly, he wants to keep you. Steal you away, greedy to keep you for himself. Hates the idea of whatever scum that rolls in that you have to deal with on your own. You can handle yourself, he knows that.

Doesn't stop that little piece of him that's still truly Cooper Howard from worrying. But he knows better than to think he can protect you, because he can't. So he does what he can.

Your skin is soft under his teeth, forgiving to the nip of them, the blooming blossom of pink that reminds him of strawberries. The noise you make is just as sweet, and he wonders if you'd taste like that, too.

“I'm waiting,” he prompts between little nips, mouth curving against your flesh when you grip at him tighter. There's a lot he could do to you, and not a lot you wouldn't let him. “Don't tell me this big ol’ cat’s got your tongue, little songbird.”

Your lips part, and he expects either a sparky response or a soft plea for what this is tilting towards, partaking of something far softer than anything he's used to nowadays ㅡ but you’ve always had a taste for throwing him for a loop, and you do it now.

“Take me with you.”

That snaps him out of his little hazy, touch-greedy daze, enough that he pulls away to look at you properly. “Repeat that?”

“You heard me.” You tug at the loops of his belt, eyes steely, expression firm. “Take me with you. Tired of this shitty little outpost. Figure it's time to move before I get myself into trouble I can't get out of.”

Cooper laughs. “Think you're runnin’ straight into that fire by askin’ what you're askin’, sweet thing.” A warning and a plea, mixed mish-mash in his words. Part of him wants you to stay here. Concrete, much as it can be, where he knows where you are. Other part says it'd be easier to watch your back if he saw it all the time.

“That's not an answer, Cooper.”

He snorts, softens at the edges again, a little sadder as he reaches to stroke your jawline, leans to bump his forehead to yours ㅡ radiation warm against radaway cold. “Wanna make sure you know what you're asking for, darlin’. I ain't your babysitter. Got my own shit to do.”

“I know.” There's that fire in your voice, the kind he loves and hates at the same time. “Wasn't asking for you to babysit me.”

He swallows roughly. Lets his hands drift up your sides, tug at the tuck of your shirt, underneath to drag sun-worn leather against the soft skin of your abdomen. Relishes the way you shiver, leaning into his touch. “Can't promise nothin’, you know that.”

Your smile promises the same kind of heartbreak his own words do, the kind rooted in the reality that the world doesn't deal in any absolute but death, and sure as shit won't give happy endings. Not anymore. “I know.”

Cooper can't think of what to say to that, at least anything he's ready to, so he kisses you. Your lips are too soft against his, the warmth of your mouth reigniting that greedy, needy, human thing inside him. He pulls, digs his fingers into your soft, pliant skin, and he takes.

Takes what you willingly give him, hand over hand with nothing but that pretty little smile of yours. He muffles your gasp as he wedges his leg a little firmer, coaxes the part of your legs with a rough husk of, “just like that, dollface,” and delights too much in the sound of you moaning for him.

Hushed, quiet enough that there's no reason for Dogmeat or Lucy to come back yet (he doesn't know what they're up to nor does he really fuckin’ care at the moment), he lets himself indulge in the pleasure of your body against his. The sweet little sounds, half-gasped as he mouths at your neck, hitched to something almost like music as his hands wander.

Pauses long enough to bite at the tip of his glove and tug, one then two, the bare, radiation scarred wander of his fingers over your body. It's selfish, the way he covets every little twitch and jump of your muscles, the choked gasp as he guides you into rocking against his leg.

“You're so sweet for me, sugar,” he coos, syrupy as he picks you apart meticulously, piece by piece. Fingers still far too good at what they do when he replaces his leg with the press of them against you, remnants of a past life for how well he gets you to whimper his name. “Like ambrosia.”

His fingers stroke, deceptively gentle, working over your slick, too-hot, achy skin until you’re panting and gripping at him, pleading for a relief only he can give you. And that’s exactly how he wants you, where all you can see and think of is him.

The expression you make when he finally lets you come might truly be the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a very long time. Headier than the Jet, dizzying and making him swear as he jerks his clothed hips against yours, breath sharp in his chest.

“Gonna be the death of me, I swear.” He bites at your neck, digs a little harder, scrapes his canines into your sweet, yielding flesh. He could devour you, take bite after sweet, sweet bite and actually test that theory about the strawberries. Crack the cage of your rib, feast on that beating yolk of heart that thumps so hard in your chest.

“Gonna let me do it, sweet thing?” He rumbles against your ear. “Let me have it all?”

Your eyes flash, lips pretty and swollen as they part to answer ㅡ and the bark of that damn mutt ruins it all. At least it's a warning for you both, because he's stepping back and letting you fix yourself with surprising speed as Lucy and Dogmeat return, an expectant look on the fuckin’ vaultie's face.

“Well? Got what you need?"

Cooper snorts, tracks you instead of answering as you press your hand to his for a second, gone around the corner. Lucy frowns when you return, pistol strapped at your hip and a bandolier slung over your shoulder like his, broad pack strapped to your back. Like you planned for this.

And you did, he notes, but it hadn't been contingent on his agreement. Idly, he notes he never did answer you, not really. But he just hums, then turns towards Lucy, who looks between the two of you, confused.

“Yeah,” he finally answers, “got what I need.”

#ㅡmine.#fallout series #fallout x reader #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader

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moonstruckme · 2 months

Note

absolutely begging for a part 2 of the sirius angst blurb with reader being more distant during sex and sirius notices. obviously take your time and take care of yourself!! mwah mwah mwah. thank you for EVEN reading this request.

Thank you for requesting my love!

cw: smut mdni, p in v, miscommunication trope

part 1

fwb!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

You think you’ve been doing a fairly decent job of staying out of your own head. You’re keeping intentionally focussed on Sirius’ body and the things it does to you. His tattooed biceps flexing, hands clutching your hips to guide your movements, pretty, perfect mouth forming your name.

He says it again, getting your attention. Reluctantly, you meet his eyes. Sirius grins wickedly.

“Someone’s quiet today. You with me, gorgeous?”

“Mhm.” You lay a hand over his chest and lean forward to drive him deeper inside you.

He curses at the new fit, and you grin in a way you hope looks normal, clenching your walls around him.

“Fuck,” Sirius hisses. “That’s my girl.”

It’s like someone’s thrown a bucket of water on the heat in your core. Your stomach drops embarrassingly, because you’re not his girl. He’d made the restrictions of your arrangement very clear when he’d spoken to Remus last week. Why would Sirius call you that when you both know it’s not true?

“Hey.” The boy below you catches on to your shift in mood quicker than you would have expected. He looks up at you bemusedly, his grip on your hips turning from possessive to conscientious. “You okay? Wanna stop?”

You shake your head before you can think. “No, let’s keep going.”

You try to find your rhythm again, but Sirius doesn’t match you. Dark brows descend over stormcloud eyes.

“I don’t want to do anything you’re not into, dollface.”

“You’re not,” you huff.

He looks at you for a second, gaze unabashedly scrutinizing. “You’re upset,” he deduces.

You laugh, incredulous. “I am not.”

But Sirius has made his decision. His grasp on your hips strengthens again as he lifts you enough to pull out, slipping from underneath you and sitting up by your pillows. You purse your lips but put your underwear—a thong you hope he doesn’t think was for his benefit—back on when he does, taking the shirt he tosses you and tugging it over your head.

Sirius sprawls out on his side, propping his chin on a hand. “Why the pout, hm?”

“I’m not pouting.”

He grins. “Yeah, you are.”

And fine, you are, but not because of him. Because you’re still pissed at yourself for being hurt. For thinking, foolishly, that you would be fine with having Sirius over when he’d texted you that he was in the mood despite still nursing your wound from just a week before. Mortified at yourself for ever having cared, and worse for caring still.

Sirius’ eyes soften as if he’s seen something in your expression. His grip is gentle beneath the teasing as he tugs you down by your arm, encouraging you to lay beside him.

“Wanna tell me why?” he asks.

You do, actually. It makes frustration prickle over your skin to think about how much you’d love to tell him about this. You’d fallen into the habit, stupidly, of spilling your guts to Sirius about most things. He was already one of your closest friends, but with this new level of intimacy between you…you’d lost sight of boundaries that had existed for a reason.

The last thing either of you need is for you to burden him with your emotions about this.

“I’m not pouting,” you say again, obstinately.

Sirius frowns. His hand crosses the short distance to your hip, one finger running absentmindedly over the hem of his shirt you’ve thrown on.

“Something’s upset you,” he muses. “Is it me?”

“No,” you say.

Something flickers in Sirius’ eyes. “Liar.”

Your lips part to argue, but it’s no use. He looks too certain. “How do you do that?”

His lips quirk, but there’s not much humor in his expression. “It’s a gift. Gonna tell me how I fucked up, pretty girl?”

You shake your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

It’s the truth this time, and Sirius can see it. His brow creases in puzzlement.

“M’sure I did at some point,” he says softly. His fingers push the cotton of his t-shirt up your side, toying with your underwear. “You’re just too nice to blame me for it.”

His knuckle brushes your hip as he runs his finger along the thin, silken fabric of your thong, and you don’t stop your eyes from going to the motion. You whisper, “Why do you touch me like this?”

For a moment, Sirius’ expression shutters. “I thought this was what we did.” His voice is quiet, not quite question and not quite answer. “Do you not want me to touch you?”

You do, too much. But for different reasons. Not just because you’re friends with this extra element to your relationship. You want him to touch you with something more. You want to touch him back in the same way, uninhibited.

“It’s fine,” you say.

“No, hey.” Sirius slips his finger from your thong. The fabric snaps back into place without much bite. “Don’t say that.”

“What do you want me to say?”

He looks hurt you would ask. “Say what you’re thinking.”

You blow out a breath, rolling onto your back. You don’t want to look at him, but you can still feel his gaze on you, searching and worried.

“It’s my fault,” you say, “okay? It’s really nothing to do with you, I just…got a bit caught up in all this and started feeling things I know we agreed not to.” You sneak a glance at him, eyes shooting back to the ceiling when they accidentally meet his. “I couldn’t help it, but I’m trying to get past it.”

You hear Sirius’ hand whisper against the sheets as it inches towards you. It stops partway. “That’s alright,” he says, a gentleness you can’t bear in his voice. “Why would you think that’s something you had to hide from me? It’s bound to happen with these things.”

You smile wryly. “Oh, because you’re so irresistible?”

“I mean, for one thing.” You can feel the tingling of his grin directed at you, but it fades as he sobers. “But also just because it’s natural, you know? I think we were both a bit too sure of ourselves when we started doing this. It’s not so easy to separate out as we thought.”

You turn your head to look at him. “You don’t seem to have any trouble.”

Sirius’ eyebrows rise. “Why would you think that?”

“Because…” You gesture flippantly with a hand. “Because of what you said to Remus last week. We’re just friends, no?”

Sirius stills for a moment, and then the breath goes out of him in a single, long exhale. He lets his chin drop from his hand, resting his head on a curled arm. “You were privy to that conversation, were you?”

You shrug. “James’ bathroom door isn’t as soundproofed as we thought.”

He chuckles. “Guess we should have been more quiet.”

You smile halfheartedly, and Sirius’ humor fades. He looks at you carefully. If you didn’t know him better, you’d think he was attempting the odd and unconventional practice of thinking before he speaks.

“I’m not sure I said anything to Moony about what I was thinking,” he says after a minute. “I spoke about the terms of our arrangement, but I sort of avoided…putting my own feelings in the mix.”

You’re not so careful with your words. After a week of stewing, you don’t have the patience. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sirius laughs through his nose like he can sense your agitation. “Just that I was more so making presumptions about how you felt than volunteering information on my own situation.” His hand creeps closer, making shushing noises against the sheets, until his fingertips are teasing your own. It sends zaps of energy all the way up your arm to the tips of your toes. You curl your legs in closer to you. “I didn’t want to embarrass myself,” Sirius says. “I was some pining twit who’d started having sex with a friend and then couldn’t keep my own feelings under control. What kind of idiot does that?”

You feel your lips twitch. Sirius’ grin slashes across his face. “Yeah, I don’t know anyone that daft,” you say.

His laugh is low and belly-deep. “Can I hug you, please?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, feigning reluctance despite the commotion in your stomach that’s getting harder to ignore.

You start to sit up, but Sirius rolls right on top of you, pressing you into the bed and needling his arms underneath your shoulders. He smushes his cheek to yours.

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, dollface,” he says, words breezing over your ear. “I could have saved us both a lot of time if I’d manned up and spoken to you about it.”

You cross your wrists over his back and bring your knees up so they’re squeezing his sides. Sirius makes a ridiculously pleased humming sound. “It’s okay. I wasn’t planning on talking to you either.”

He laughs, turning his face into yours so the sound vibrates against your temple. “One of us is going to have to pick up some emotional intelligence, else we’ll need James to referee our every interaction.”

You squeeze him tight, happiness like a bubble close to bursting in your chest. “I dunno,” you say, and Sirius is clearly chuffed at the audible smile in your voice. He stamps a firm kiss of approval to your hairline. “I think we’ve done alright.”

Contentment oozes from his tone, too. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

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simpjaes · 3 months

Note

Have you done a size ranking for Enha’s dick sizes yet ?•_•

not on my blog but boiiiii have i discussed this at length with oomf. let's go ahead and change that tho.

note: i was gonna include pics but tbh i don't rly wanna do that now lmfao sorry. im gatekeeping!!!! you don't have to agree with the sizes im giving them btw, some dude's just have monster cock energy sorry.

★ heeseung:

long and thick. almost too big, sometimes actually too big. takes both hands to jerk him off, and the entire expanse of your throat to swallow him up. honestly, it's so big that you have no choice but to feel each pulse and twitch of it when he's inside of you. the stretch is painful regardless of the position he takes with you, and you're not sure if you could ever get wet enough to ease the sear of it. you don't understand, really, heeseung literally makes you feel like you're being split in half but goddamn does he make it feel amazing at the same time. there are some men out there who have huge cocks and assume that's all they need to pleasure a woman. but oh, oh no no no, heeseung is well aware that you gotta know how to use it too. and boy does he.

☆ jay:

maybe not the longest cock of the bunch but definitely the thickest. for every deep part of you he can't reach, he makes up for it with the way he slams his hips into you, forcing you to feel every thick inch of him. unlike heeseung, you may be able to jerk him off with one hand but it doesn't change the fact that you can't fully wrap your fingers around him, and fitting it into your mouth can be a bit difficult as well. thankfully, jay isn't too worried about teeth when he gets to see you attempt to swallow him up. in fact, the little drag of them scraping the top-side of his cock is something that makes him shiver. he thinks it's cute to see you try and take all of it, actually. never feeling insecure over the fact that while he's definitely not packing anything over 5 to 6 inches, the girth alone is enough to leave a pretty girl calling out his name, begging him to go harder, telling him how good it feels in them.

★sunghoon:

long long long, but not as thick. the reach he can manage is insane, to the point that he'd probably have an obsession with snapping pics of his cock laying between your legs and measuring how far inside of you he's about to put it. visual stimulation, n all that. you can feel him deeper than any one else could probably reach, slamming into your cervix to the point it actually hurts, to the point he could probably have you pregnant in one fuck if you guys wanted to go that route. like that cum wouldn't have to go far at all to reach its goal lmfao jerking him off is easier than anything else, but giving him head can be a bit of a conundrum for you. you can lick and suck all you want with your hand jerking the bottom half of his cock but he's always gonna prefer the feeling of your throat gagging around him instead. he's gonna fuck the whole thing down your throat and adore the way you sound struggling with it.

☆ jake:

a perfect, average, nice cock, for a perfect, not so average, nice man. fits like a puzzle piece and fills you up the perfect amount. enough for it to hurt if he wants it to, enough for him to offer nothing but pure pleasure otherwise. the good thing about jake and his cock is the fact that just about anything can and will get him off, not only because the ease of which it'll fit into you, but because you love every inch of it when he does it. and sure, he can make it feel longer, he can make it feel thicker, all with just a shift of his hips. fr, and he's always shifting them too, trying to reach parts of you he knows he can't. every blowjob is met with gags, of course, because he definitely can't control his hips. every hand job met with the perfect weight in your hand, and every fuck met with a feeling of fullness that renders you capable enough to feel every second of his love rather than having to wince through it and lose your train of thought during certain positions.

#enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #heeseung smut #sunghoon smut #jake smut #jay smut #jongseong smut #jaeyun smut #hardthots

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moonsaver · 3 months

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Consider... Dr. Ratio getting a (yandere?) crush on a student from a different department. Not one of his students. Meet-cute without his stone head on so the student doesn't know he's *that* professor. Poor student has no idea who their new friend is they're opening up to

My favorite request thus far! Im gonna try my best, anon.

I imagine it happens when student reader is running an errand and has to go to the different department for it, and Dr Ratio is someone they meet along the way in a bit of a secluded corner, tapping his foot and thinking deeply, maybe even saying things out loud to himself when student reader chimes in and asks about it. One thing leads to another and you actually end up getting along.

I imagine it happens again, once in a while, every two weeks or so, and Dr. Ratio doesn't quite introduce himself – he probably assumes as a student you're well aware of things, and just doesn't feel the need to, since both of you just talk enough to problem-solve and share opinions and facts. It only starts to dawn on him that you probably don't know him until you bring up one of your classmates who transferred departments talking about their professor with an alabastor head that has no mercy at all. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed as he contemplates whether he even wants to tell you.. but he likes the arrangement both of you have. It's enough that both of you are meeting like this, no? You don't need to know who he "really" is.

And by that time, he doesn't realise just how much he actually likes your company. You open up to him in a leisurely manner, and he's.. pleasantly surprised. Considering Dr. Ratio, I imagine he doesn't actually have people confiding in him, or talking to him normally, since his mind is constantly racing. This change of pace with someone who actually understands him is enough to keep his attention.

Of course, he needs to tone down his own prodding and pushing. Technically speaking, even "if" he's taken a "bit" of a liking to you, you're still not his student.. it's a pity.

He knows the exact classes you could thrive in, the course material he's sure you would devour, and the exact assignments he's recently sent out to his students that he knows you'd accomplish well. Sometimes during your conversations, he throws in a few topics and suggests that.. ahem, Dr. Ratio's course covers thoroughly. It feels weird to refer to himself in third person, but he adjusts naturally, and he has to stop himself from immediately getting on the defensive when you point out your own issues with his infamously rigorous course.

Of course, it has nothing to do with the fact he wants to see you more often, even if it means you'll recognize him as a professor with his alabastor head on instead of your new friend that's a bit eccentric. He would love having you as a student, just the potential you have is enough to excite him. The smile on your face after you solve a difficult problem, your rambling about the amount of homework your useless professors have drowned you with, the chirp in your voice as you call out to him in greeting, still unsure of what his name is.. surely, management won't say anything if Dr. Ratio himself takes matters into his own hands and transfer you into his department?

And when you turn up to his office, his alabastor head is on as he effortlessly shoots down any of your protests.

But.. if you continue being uncooperative, fine. Go back to your own department. It doesn't take much to sabotage, Veritas has learned. Just a bit of setting up is enough to ruin your assignments, destroy some of your projects, tarnish your reputation among your professors.. it's simple. Now, now.. instead of trying to problem-solve, why don't you just listen to that eccentric, strange friend of yours and join his department instead? He'll help you out thoroughly.

It doesn't take long after you've shifted departments, and you find out your strange new friend was your stubborn, unhearing professor.. now, it's a pity, but you'll have to stay after classes. Hm? No, no. He won't bother listening to you. You have a lot to cover, and now that he's not keeping any secrets from you, he wants to hear everything about you in thorough detail. Don't think about getting away, either. He'll talk with security and management to allow you to stay much further after hours. No one's willing to help you escape. Now.. there's so much material to cover, so let him teach you on a personal level. That should get you going more easily.

He decides on keeping his alabastor head aside, staring intently at you as you scribble away the mountains of assignments he's just given. You're not allowed to get distracted. If you even so much as lift your head to look aside from him, or your homework, he's quick to guide you by his fingers on your chin towards him, a scowl on his face. For goodness' sake, at least look at your professor if you want to stop writing. He's still your little friend, isn't he? How about you tell him all about that classmate you were getting so chummy with? Don't lie now – he saw everything. It doesn't matter that he's in a different department, it's better if he knows. You're both.. close,no? This is just something friends share with each other. Or do you need an extra lesson taught by him personally?

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luvergirl777 · 2 years

Text

For Science | S. Reid

Plot: Spence asks you to teach him the one thing he doesn’t know, and can’t exactly learn on his own. Your best friend since college finally wants to better understand female anatomy, specifically how to please it.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Best Friend Reader

Contents: Smut, New York, a lot of dumb banter between them, etc. BAU team! Love confessions. Spencer is dumb, but so is the reader lol.

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Reid wasn’t hard to read for you, you’d known the boy since he was 18 and working towards his doctorate. Granted, you were also 18 and just beginning your bachelor's, but that’s besides the point. He’s recently joined the BAU, and if what he tells you is true, he’s doing pretty well for himself. (Reid is terrible at telling lies to you, you call them out every time.) Hailed “boy genius,” and “pretty boy” by his coworkers. Spencer almost cried with you agreeing with both nicknames, even going as far as to pick up pretty boy for your own use.

Since you know Spencer so well, you know immediately that his inviting you to New York with his team is odd. There’s something he’s not telling you, it’s clear throughout his entire demeanor, but you don’t push him too much. If it were just a normal vacation, Spence would’ve planned it all out weeks ahead of time. What you guys would do, where you would go, how long you’d spend in one area, the best restaurants in the local area, the least busy times to go sightseeing. He’d have it down to a minute-by-minute playbook in his head, not a second difference. So when you ask, “What’re we gonna do there?”

And he replies, “I dunno, New York City things?”

It’s immediate red flags, sirens, and wailing in your head. Skeptically, you agreed nonetheless. Packed your bags, got on the plane, dealt with awkward introductions and banter between you and Morgan over the use of pretty boy, and lastly learned Hotch is more intimidating than Spencer lets on when telling you stories. After a suffocating plane ride sitting across a table from Hotch, you finally feel like you can breathe when you and Reid enter the rental. A cute little apartment-style rental with an open layout, cute décor, and very healthy plants in the window. Sitting down with cold water from the fridge, leaning back on the comfortable couch, you really feel like you’re living the New York City life.

“I need you to teach me how to please a woman.” It’s fast and rushed, Spencer, spewing out his words before he has a chance to rethink them, maybe bite his tongue for the entire trip.

Your water is spitting out, a couple of drops landing on your chest and the rest in your hand. You’re lurching up in a coughing fit in no time, setting the bottle down as you struggle to clear your windpipes. “You want me to what?!” Looking over at him, Spencer is just about as nervous as when he first asked if you consider the two of you friends. Nervously playing with his hands, shifting from side to side on his feet, diverting his eye contact away from you. He readjusts his clothes, a signature button-up, tie, and cardigan over it with basic dress pants. His feet are clad with his signature black and white converse, forcing you to remember how young he actually is. Loosening his tie, he swallows hard. There’s no hint that he’s joking, no tug at the corner of his lips after he tells a joke that normally doesn’t land right.

“I’m not joking.” Yeah, no shit Spencer. “There’s this girl, okay! I’ve been reluctant to tell you because I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me. She’s beautiful, Lila is her name. On a mission once, she said she really liked me. And we kissed and cuddled, and uhm, grinded, but that's it! I didn’t want to go too far because I was nervous!”

“You’re seeing her while we’re on our trip, huh?” You’re in disbelief. You can’t exactly say you’re surprised, as you knew Spencer was hiding something when he invited you onto the trip in the first place. However, this isn’t the secret, withheld information you were expecting. He nods his head, read like a book and he knows it. He offers you a: tonight, actually through his embarrassment. “Ugh, fine. FOR SCIENCE, only for science. Whattya wanna know? I know you probably have some sort of plan.”

“Yes, yes. For science, only.” His grin is shit-eating, you know him so well. He pretends to think, recalling all of the questions he’s memorized in that brain of his. “What feels the best for women? I took multiple anatomy courses in college, so of course, I know where the labia majora is, and the minora, and the clitoris, urethra, vulva, vagina, G-spot is. I read that most guys are too rough, or they rub the wrong areas such as the labia minora. I also know that some women can come from internal stimulation, but not all are able to or it’s being done wrong. What feels good, and what pressure feels good for women? How do I get her excited, too, you know? In movies, when they begin kissing they rush and throw their clothes all over the floor and leave a trail to the bedroom-”

“Okay, that’s enough.” You interrupt before he gets going too much and talks you into a coma. “Being good at things, especially with sex, comes from experience and knowing what she likes and doesn’t like. Everyone is different. Morgan likes to be flirted with and what about you? Do you like it when girls hit on you and pull on your tie?”

“No.” Spencer gives you a definite answer.

“See? Everyone is different. What does she do when you’re together? Maybe that can give you some insight that you missed, because as smart as you are, you’re bad at reading signals.” Spencer knows you’re right, moving to sit next to you on the couch.

“She likes to be close, skin-to-skin contact I suppose. Which usually spurs from-”

“Spence.” You interrupt him.

“Right, right. She likes when I hold her head in my hands, and gently hold the back of her neck. She really, really likes to kiss my neck and jaw. Doesn’t really like being rough with me, at least. Maybe it’s because I’m not super strong, afraid she’ll uhh, break me, ha.” He jokes, earning a small smile from you as you nod, acknowledging the small joke. “I just don’t know when to move on, I don’t want to move too quickly and scare her or hurt her.”

You can’t help but sigh, throwing your head back softly. “You have to read her cues, Spence. Watch how she reacts to you, what sounds she makes, what sounds she doesn’t make.”

“So I go off her cues? Body language, micro expressions, I can do that! I’m pretty good at that!” Spencer smiles hard, nodding his head. “So we kiss, hold each other close, heavy petting, and just go from there. I want to please her first, though. Make her have an orgasm first before we move on with anything.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Huh?” He’s dumbfounded, opening and closing his mouth. His eyes blow wide, brows immediately raising with them. It feels as though his mouth has run dry. Spencer fixes his hair, nervous, as he pushes some curls back behind his ears.

“To show you, unless you and uhm, Lila are official. Then forget I asked. I just figured it’s easier to show you than it would be to try and explain with words.” You shrug, trying to play it cool and not die from embarrassment in front of him. Spencer has a blush spread across his face as he nods, eventually making its way up to his ears. Leaning in, you gently press your lips against his, hands quickly finding their way to his hair. It’s awkward at first, Spencer not knowing how to respond as his hand meets the side of your face. “Relax into it, Spence.” You coax, placing your hand over his, encouraging him to relax it and slowly form it to the contours of your jaw.

He does, lips becoming much softer as they slide against your own. Your fingers find their way into his hair, gently pulling at the nape of his neck, forcing his head to tilt back. A small groan slips past his lips before he has a chance to stop it. “That's it, Spence. See, you gently do something, and see how they react to it. If they don’t like it, don’t do it again. If they do, now you know.” You give him more advice, teaching him.

“If I want something, and they’re not making a move to do it, how do I ask?” Spencer asks, voice weak and soft as he mumbles against your lips. “Without being too pushy, I mean?”

“You just ask nicely.” You shrug, “Try it.”

“Can you, uh, can you sit on my lap? If you’re comfortable with that.” Spencer asks shyly, avoiding your eye contact. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face, swinging your leg over and seating yourself. His brows push together, creating a small crease in between his eyebrows. He’s cute like this, pretty with his hair tucked behind his ears. Your chest press together, Reid’s hands hesitantly resting on your hips and back as he pulls you closer. You lean into it, pushing your chest into his own with a small hum.

“You want to keep going?” You ask softly, one hand resting on the side of his head as the other re-tucks his hair behind an ear. Your lips meet once more, this time more needy and desperate as they slide against one another. “You can ask her if she wants to keep going, too, as I did just now.” You mumble into his mouth before reconnecting your lips.

“This okay?” Spencer asks softly, hands sliding underneath your shirt. His cold hands meet your warm skin, goosebumps created in their wake. Your tongue catches in your mouth, unable to talk as you nod to answer his question. He hikes your shirt up, easily slipping it over your head and placing it gently on the couch next to the both of you. Such a Spencer Reid thing, you briefly think as you peck his lips once more. Placing your own hands underneath his cardigan, you wait for his nod before removing it, moving to the buttons on his top. Spencer's chest heaves, nerves setting in.

“This okay?”

“More than okay. Amazing, actually. Splendid perhaps.” You can’t help but giggle, softly kissing him as you finish unbuttoning his top. “Skin to skin now, I’d recite whatever fact you were about to say earlier but I didn’t let you finish.” You giggle, pressing your cleavage against him. Reid smiles, a fond feeling in his chest that he can’t quite place. “Pretty boy.” You beam hard, the image of Spencer underneath you, flushed pink, slender fingers digging into the soft skin of your hips, lips bright red from kissing.

“Please...don't.” Reid almost whimpers underneath you, hips jerking up into your own. “Do you want…want to continue?” It almost isn’t a question, a rhetoric one maybe.

“Of course, Spence.” You hum softly, holding onto his shoulders and slowly leaning down. Spencer follows without a hitch, slipping in between your legs as your thighs wrap around his waist. His hips gently grind into yours, testing the waters with you. He easily draws out a small whine from you, encouraging him to continue. Grinding slightly harder, you whine louder. He’s picking up your advice quickly and learning quickly. “You can… take off my pants.” You mumble, now your turn to blush underneath his gaze. He does, once again setting them neatly on the table beside the couch.

“I don’t want to hurt you, how do I make sure you’re ready?” He asks, ready to learn once more as his hands rest on your hips. “I know kissing is an arousing action, but there’s more, right? Kissing on your jaw, neck, chest, hips, and erm. Uhm, erm, oral sex?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” You mumble to him, shrugging softly. “We can just kiss and grind if you’re more comfortable with that.”

“No, no! I want to. I mean, I want to learn from you. I just don't want to make you uncomfortable.” Reid is quick to explain, fingertips digging slightly into the skin underneath them. “Please…can I?” It’s needy, whimpering as he holds your hips.

Taking one of his hands, you gently place it onto your chest, watching as his mind absolutely melts as he holds it in his palms. You nod softly, encouraging him to continue. “Fuck.” Spencer whines, leaning over at his hips as his lips connect with your jaw. His lips are hot against your skin, leaving light marks in their wake as he makes his way to your chest. Your soft moans spur him on, every now and then he lets out a content sigh at your pleasure. Spencer's fingers slink around your back, easily popping open the clasp.

“That easy, really? Are you sure you need my advice, Reid?” You accuse, smiling softly.

“It’s a simple clasp, gimme a break.” Spencer draws, making you laugh. He easily shuts you up as his lips meet your chest, sucking softly and nipping on the sensitive flesh. A small yelp escapes before you can hold it back, Spencer licking over the bite to soothe the pain. It feels good, better than you thought it would. Encouraged, and slightly more confident, he continues his trail down your stomach. “This alright?” He asks, hooking one index finger underneath the side of your panties.

“Yes, Spence. More than okay.” You nod, watching the nerves flash across his face. “Hey, I’ll tell you if you do something wrong, not wrong. Something I don't like, I suppose. Just so you can get an idea of what to do.”

“I know you will.” Spencer smiles up at you, finally sinking down to his stomach in front of you. The sight alone makes your breath hitch, catch deep in your lungs somewhere. Maybe if you were luckier you could’ve got him before Lila did, confesses to him before he actually got serious with her. Shoving it aside, for now, you focus on the pretty boy currently between your legs. Slowly, as if he’s afraid you’ll jump away, he pulls down your panties. Spencer bites softly into the inner sides of your thighs, leaving dark marks in his wake. Whimpering, it takes everything in you not to beg for him to continue.

“You’ll be nice to me, right Spence? No teasing?” You whimper, allowing your hands to slide down to meet the back of his head, curls slipping through your fingers. There’s a glint in his eyes that you almost miss, pupils blown wide as he peers up at you. “Pretty boy will be nice, hm?”

“To you? Always.” Spencer smiles, licking along your core experimentally. He watches your reactions closely, finding what you like and what you don't. He finds what feels right for him too, and finds what gives both of you the most satisfaction. Reid can’t help but grind into the couch beneath him, involuntarily groaning into your clit as his tongue flicks across it.

“Fuck…fuck Spence. You’re better at this, than you let on.” You whimper, voice catching in your throat as you speak. Spencer is better at this than you thought, eating you out as if he hadn’t had a meal for months. Sucking, slurping, and groaning into you as if he had just crossed a desert and you were the first oasis he’d come across. His jaw flexes with each movement, brows pressing together in concentration. You’re not expecting him to take initiative, sliding a slender finger easily into you. You gasp, pulling harder on his hair, closer to your core.

“You’re so whiny, whimpering underneath my touch,” Spencer speaks, more of a tease rather than a statement of fact that he’s so accustomed to. This also catches you off guard, so used to him stating facts. You can’t stop whining as he slides another finger inside of you, curling and hitting all of the right spots. Maybe the anatomy classes are paying off. He works out his speed in no time, pressure, timing, roughness, everything with watching your reactions. “Like this, hm? Like me touching you like this?”

“Yes, Spence. Like it a lot.” You pant, clenching hard around his fingers as he hits all the right spots, never removing his mouth from you either. “Are you, are you gonna let me cum?”

“Fuck, I want nothing more,” Spencer mumbles, continuing with his actions.

“Just a bit more, yeah? Almost there.” You encourage him, teetering on the edge as you focus on the feeling. Glancing down, the sight alone sends you over the edge. Pretty face buried in between your thighs, eyes peering up at you with need, hips involuntarily grinding into the cushions underneath him. You cum hard, moaning his name loudly as you do. Spencer continues until you physically can’t take it, thighs threatening to sandwich his head in between them from how sensitive you were. “Fuck me.” You mumble, hands reaching to pull him over you.

Your lips meet roughly, almost crashing into each other as they connect. You can taste yourself on his lips, moaning softly into his mouth from how dirty it was. “Do you have condoms?”

“Yea-Yeah, in my bag.” Spencer nods over to his bag that sits in the kitchen island, sat aside when you both got in. You basically scramble from underneath him, on a mission to retrieve them.

“You gotta lot of shit in here.” You giggle, rummaging through the contents before finding them. With a satisfied grin, you walk back and present your findings. “Can we continue, Spence?” You're back on his lap, hovering slightly above his lap so you don’t ruin his fancy dress pants. He nods faster than his brain can fully comprehends your words, which is quick. With a small smile, your lips softly reconnect as your fingertips meet his waistband. You easily pull a soft gasp from him, focused on feeling your way around as you unbutton and unzip them. “Lift your hips a bit.”

He follows without question, allowing you to slip them down so they rest on his thighs. Finally, you’re able to seat yourself on his lap, both of you moaning from the much needed friction. Your hips move on their own, humping slowly against his own as you melt into the kiss. “Here, let me.” Spencer mumbles against your lips, hand softly brushing yours as he takes the condom from you. Pulling back, you slide down a bit to allow him access to his boxers. Watching with wide eyes and a salivating mouth, Spencer easily slides his boxers down his hips, tearing the condom open with his teeth.

“You know, you’re not actually supposed to do that because it can rip a hole in-“ You begin, almost mirroring how Spencer goes on his rants.

“Shhh,” Spencer grins at you, “You’re starting to sound a lot like me.” The grin is shiteating, making your cheeks blush pink. Once the condom is on, he’s pulling you against him once more, fingertips roughing digging into the soft flesh of your hips. “I'll let you lead, princess.” Spencer speaks softly, making you quite literally ache.

Slotting your lips together, you allow yourself to grind down onto his cock, getting a feel. Reid whimpers underneath you, sliding between your folds with a wet sound accompanying it. “I’m gonna start now, yeah?” You ask, mind feeling fuzzy with the close proximity. Reaching down, you pump his cock a couple of times before lining yourself up, slowly beginning to slide down onto him. You could cum from Spencer’s whines and whimpers alone, face scrunched up tightly as he bites down on his lower lip. Once you’re fully seated, you allow yourself to reach forward, tangling your fingers in his hair as you kiss him. “Do you like this, pretty boy?” You coo at him, allowing yourself to slowly slide up and down his cock.

“Mmmm, maybe, maybe not.” Spencer whines as you fully slide back, seating yourself once more in one swift roll of your hips.

“What’s the probability of that answer being maybe?”

“Pretty fuckin high.”

It hurts, the way his cock batters your walls, filling you so deep it feels like he’s in your stomach. Hurts how his fingers dig into your hips, helping you move up and down the length of his cock. Hurts how pretty he is underneath you, chests pressed together, lips brushing everyone and then as you moan into each other’s mouths, hair slowly becoming untucked. Hurts how he’s going to do this with another girl within the next week.

“I’m close, Spence.” You mumble, involuntarily clenching around him as you catch his gaze. You press your chest more into him, tug on his hair slightly harder. “Please let me come, please.” You whine, finally breaking eye contact as your head falls into his shoulder. He picks up the slack as your thighs start to slow, legs exhausted from moving. He snaps up into you easily, forcing moans to slip past your lips that you try to muffle into his shoulder. “Bit more, just a bit.” You whine, thighs beginning to shake from how bad you need it. You have to pry one of his hands from your skin, gently guiding it to you clit. Thanking all the gods, Spencer understands immediately.

“C'mon princess, let it go. Cum around me, cum for pretty boy.” He coaxes, lips brushing along your ear as he speaks. And you do, immediately, catching you off guard as you shove your face into the crook of his neck. You want so badly to sink your teeth into him, bite the soft skin underneath you but you don’t for respect of his previous engagements. “Gonna cum, okay?” Spencer asks, waiting for you to nod before allowing himself to. His hips thrust up into you sloppily, both hands once again digging into your hips to help guide down.

“Please Spence, cum in me.” His hips drive up into you, grinding hard as he does. Spencer’s hands squeeze your hips so hard you’d be surprised if there weren’t bruises, making you whine. “Fucking hell, pretty boy.” You groan, finally catching your breathe as you pull yourself from his neck. It’s a sight to see, Spencer’s face so prettily fucked out underneath you. You kiss him, much more tender and soft than you have before, more loving than desperate this time.

“Thank you…for teaching me.” Spencer speaks, awkwardness cutting through the air from his words.

“Oh, of course. Any time.” You fake a grin, slowly beginning to move off of his lap. Your legs hurt as they support your body weight, legs still shaking slightly. You’re shifting through the clothes that are in various places, jokingly tossing Spencer his whenever you come across them. Spencer’s climbing to his feet soon after, buttoning his pants back up. “Also, don’t forget aftercare. Some girls love it, some don’t, so just play it by ear.” You give your last bit of advice, shrugging slightly.

“Right, do you want to do that or?” Spencer asks, words coming out more awkward and dismissive than he meant to.

“Nah, it’s alright. I'll be fine without it.” You smile, beginning to get re-clothed. “I’m probably going to take a shower and pick a room, you get the leftovers. I call first dibs.” You stick your tongue out at him as you make your way to the hall, on your way to find the better room and claim it with your belongings.

“What?! That’s totally not fair, I invited you on the trip!”

“Finders keepers!” You laugh, slipping into the larger, nicer room of the two and immediately looking to door behind you. Your heart breaks with the awkwardness between you that you’re trying to cower up, breaks more than he’s getting ready in the other room to go on his date. You’re just getting out of the shower when there’s a series of small knocks on your door.

“Hey,” Spencer stands on the other side, eyes accidentally looking you up and down in your towel. “I just wanted to let you know I’m heading out, you can order takeout if you’d like. I’ll leave my card on the coffee table in the living room for whenever you’d like.” He’s thinking hard about something, you can tell as he seems distracted as he’s talking to you. You’ve already gotten over the Lila thing, telling yourself that it’s not your business in the first place.

“Thanks Spence, have fun on your date!” You smirk, reaching out of your door to jokingly punch his chest “Knock ’er dead.” He only offers a half hearted laugh, nodding before turning and making his way back down the hall. Odd, but not so odd you’d openly question him. Maybe he’s just nervous before his date? You brush it aside, continuing on with your little night routine that’s otherwise unaffected by todays festivities.

You make your way to the living room after Spencer leaves, order takeout, put on a show while you wait, do a face mask, the whole 9 yards. Your peaceful night is interrupted as the front door opens, scaring you half to death as you jump to the other side of the couch. “Spencer?! What are you doing home, YOU SCARED ME!!” You scold, clutching your chest. He doesn’t answer, just immediately pulls you in to him, kissing you as if he’s starved. “Hold on, hold on?” You ask, pushing his shoulders slightly away. “Did the date not go well?” You ask.

“There was no date, we met up and I told her I didn’t want to continue seeing her.” Reid answers in the most matter of fact tone possible, making you laugh. “She told me I’m a dick and stormed off.” He shrugs, diving back in to kiss you.

“Okay, but why? Am I missing something?” You once again break the kiss, Spencer looking at you as if you were the dumbest person alive.

“Because I think I love someone more.” He kisses you again.

“ME?!”

“Geez, finally you get it.”

Your poor takeout grows cold on the doorstep, hours ticking by. Spencer’s determined to understand how to please a woman, in all positions, ways, methods, and modes possible. “For science,” Of course.

6K notes · View notes

youvebeenlivingfictional · 2 months

Text

Impressions

Pairing: Will Miller x Reader

Notes: Idk y'all my brain spit this out. I haven’t written Will in, like…..100 years?

Rating: Mature - mostly for language

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, angst, fluff. Not beta-read.

Length: 7.5K

Summary: Your first two impressions that you get of Will Miller are pretty stellar. That said, they don't actually involve meeting the guy.

The day you do, well. That's another story.

GIF by charllehunnam

Your first impression of Will Miller is technically...Good.

It's from Benny, is the thing.

You hear the sweet and the sour, the grumbling when Benny is training at the gym alone in the mornings—"He's a hard ass, but he means well."

It's said with a little smile, with sibling love and familiarity that tells you that Ben and Will have told each other to go fuck themselves just as much as they've said that they're proud of one another.

Your second impression of Will comes from Terry.

Terrence Owen McLowery is your best friend, your informal trainee, and is currently ranked in the Middleweight division, just a few spots behind Ben Miller (but gaining, and fast). He's one of the few openly gay boxers in your area and in his division, something that he might get more hate for if he couldn't kick the shit out of anyone slagging his name off behind his back.

Terry gets to as many matches as he possibly can, even when he's not fighting in them. You try to join him as often as you can, but there are times when you just can't swing it. He likes to scope out the competition.

"I'm gonna be in there, kickin' their ass one day," He tells you, "I should clock their weaknesses now, not then."

He spends more time ringside than he does in the ring for the sake of observation. And he's seen the Miller brothers at fight after fight.

"You oughta see 'im," Terry says, a dreamy look in his eyes—and you don't know if he's talking about Ben or Will, but you kinda figure it's both. Look, you've met Ben, you wouldn't be surprised if good genes ran in the family.

"He's real level-headed, ringside, even when Ben’s in a jam," Terry adds, and you realize that he's talking about Will, "Kinda like you, but without the taunting."

You roll your eyes a little bit, "You told me the taunting makes you try harder."

"Hmph."

"And I told you a real coach wouldn't do that,” You tack on.

Terry doesn't hmph at that one. He doesn't like it when you point out that you're not a professional coach. You taught him the basics a long time ago, back when the two of you needed to have one another's backs on the playground—and you keep him honest when he's training up now. But Terry needs a coach that'll actually help him in the ring, not do what you do. And sure, you don't do the worst job, but Terry could go further with a professional.

Your first two impressions that you get of Will Miller are pretty stellar. That said, they don't actually involve meeting the guy.

The day you do, well. That's another story.

You’re at the gym early. Terry is supposed to be there, too, but he took a late shift at work and couldn’t drag himself out of bed. You don’t blame him—a body needs rest if you’re going to put it through its paces. You’re striding past the ring at the center of the gym when you spot Ben sparring with another contender in the middleweight division. You spot an error, one that Terry makes frequently himself, and call out,

“Pick up your right shoulder, Miller!”

The advice incurs a nod from Ben—and a glare from a golden-headed man standing ringside. Something in his cool gaze chastens you, and you hurry on toward the class you signed up for.

“What was with that guy?” You ask Ben later as you’re stretching.

“What guy?”

“Blonde, bearded…Glaring?” You remind him. Ben’s eyebrows shoot up.

“You mean Will?”

“That was Will?” You ask in a hushed whisper.

“Yeah. Glaring?”

“He looked like he was trying to melt me with his laser vision.”

It makes Benny’s laugh boom in the gym, and you glance around to see if you’ve attracted any attention. Sure enough, Will’s not too far off, his arms folded across his chest as he speaks to someone. His gaze darts between Ben and you, and his eyes narrow.

“Aaaand there it is again,” You mutter, drawing your legs back from the stretch.

“Hey,” You hear. You frown, turning back to the source, and find Will striding toward you. You’re about to offer your hand, to introduce yourself—in relation to Ben, or Terry, something—but he speaks again before you can get a word out:

“Ben’s got a fight coming up. He doesn’t need any glove bunnies distracting him.”

Your mouth was opened to speak, but now your jaw drops, a scoff of indignation flying out.

“Glove bunnies?” You repeat, stunned. Will waves you off.

“Whatever Ben does in his own time is none of my business, but when he’s here, and when he’s in the ring, he needs to be focused.”

Will doesn’t let you get in another word before he’s turning and walking away. You watch him go, stunned. Asshole. Asshole. As you turn to head into the locker room, you remember Ben telling you that he’s a hard ass, but he means well.

Well-meaning or not, Will Miller is a dick.

“There’s a man outside who’s looking for you,” You hear.

You glance up from your laptop, brows raised at your coworker. It couldn’t be Terry; he’d call or text you, not ask for you. And it can’t be…Actually, you can’t think of any other guy that would come looking for you at work.

“Did you tell him I was in here?”

“I said I wasn’t sure anyone by that name worked here and that I’d check,” Molly relays. You nod a little bit, muttering, “Solid,” before adding, “He say who he is?”

“Will Miller?”

You freeze, then, hands hovering over your keyboard. What the hell is Miller doing there? And how does he know where you work?

“Okay,” You nod, “Okay, tell him I’ll be out in a...A minute.”

“Sure.” Molly starts to drift away from you before she turns, half-jogging back to your desk.

“He is so hot,” She hisses. You can't help your grudging smile.

“Yes, he is.”

Asshole or not, you can agree that Will Miller is annoyingly, startlingly attractive.

The man that meets you outside is a far cry from the one who accosted you at the gym just a week ago. In a well-fitting polo and a pair of khakis, he looks more like a suburban dad than a hardened drillmaster. You stop just a few feet from the door to your office, arms folded tightly over your chest. He clears his throat, approaching you slowly and stopping just a couple of steps from you.

“Ben had a fight this weekend,” He says. Him starting that way makes your stomach swoop with fear. You immediately worry that something’s gone wrong, that Ben is badly hurt. But Will goes on:

“He kept his right shoulder up. That little tip saved his ass a few times.”

Your brows raise. You didn’t expect him to admit it, even if it did help.

“I saw Terry, too,” Will adds, “And realized precisely how and where I fucked up when he showed me a picture of you.”

Will doesn't look like he's trying to melt you with his heat vision anymore. In fact, he looks...Genuinely remorseful.

“I see,” You nod a little.

Will pushes a sigh out through his nose.

“I’m sorry for approaching the situation the way I did. And for calling you a, uh—”

“Glove bunny?”

He winces with the reminder. “Yeah. I didn’t have all of the facts. Even if I had, it was still the wrong way to approach the situation, and I apologize.”

You take a moment to drink in his face again, as if you’re seeing it for the first time. His blue eyes are soft where they were icy, and the once-harsh press of his lips is replaced with a regretful, almost contemplative pout. And then you nod a touch.

“I appreciate and accept your apology.”

Something akin to relief seems to wash over him, and he holds his hand out.

“I’m Will, by the way.”

“Will?” You repeat, screwing your face up in mock confusion, “Will...Will...That certainly sounds familiar.”

A smile tugs his lips up just a touch as he pumps your hand up and down.

“I train Ben Miller. I'm his brother,” He adds.

“Oh, that Will. Right, of course.”

You let his hand drop and folded your arms across your chest.

“Blank slate,” You add softly.

Will’s brows jump.

“Completely?”

“Well, Ben says you’re a hard ass and Terry thinks you’re dreamy, but I’ll try not to let their impressions color mine.”

“Pretty mixed reviews.”

“Mhm.”

The two of you exchange curious smiles before you nod over your shoulder.

“I’ve gotta get back to work."

“Of course.”

“See you around, Miller.”

“Seriously, Terrence!” You call out as Terry spars with one of the other gym members, “Is this prep or are you trying to waltz him into tapping out?”

Terry groans, reeling away from his sparring partner.

“God, you’re a bitch,” He grunts as he walks toward you, bending over for his water.

“And you’re a dumbass, Billy Elliot. Get back in there.”

“He’s holding his breath,” You hear. You turn back to see Will Miller coming closer.

“When he punches,” He clarifies.

“You can tell him,” You offer before you whistle sharply, stopping Terry from stepping more deeply into the ring. You nod toward Will and listen as he offers his tip. Terry takes his time listening, nodding, leaning against the ropes.

“...Think you got it?” You ask.

“Loud and clear,” Terry agrees before turning back to his sparring partner.

You glance over at Will, nodding your chin up. “Thanks."

“Sure,” Will smiles before walking away. Ben’s not too far away, working at a punching bag. You watch Will for a long moment before turning back to Terry in the ring. Terry ducks out of the way of an oncoming jab, and finds time to shoot you a wink before he turns back to his sparring partner.

“Terry—”

“Come on—”

“I can’t tonight, I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow!”

“Just a few rounds! Come with me, see Ben in action—and see what I mean about Will ring-side.”

“You just want me to go because you think you’ll be much less conspicuous drooling over them if I’m there.”

“Maybe.”

“And for the record, you’d be just as conspicuous.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Yes we do.”

“Come with meeee," He whines. "If you’re not there, I’ll curse out a redneck bigot and I’ll get in trouble for beating him up in the parking lot.”

“Well then you and the Millers can tag team.”

Terry groans loudly, tipping his head back. “Don’t. Don’t even think about putting ‘Miller’ and ‘tag team’ in the same sentence. My mind just went to about eight filthy places.”

“Just eight?”

“Alright, nine.”

“Terry. Sweetheart. Angel. Not tonight.”

“Four rounds.”

“No.”

“Two rounds.”

“Terry—”

“Ben’ll probably take ‘em down in one.”

“I’m sure he’d love that you have so much faith in his skill, but we’ll have to get through the matches before his, and that’ll already be way late.”

“I won’t make you come to the gym with me tomorrow.”

“Probably because you won’t make it to the gym tomorrow.”

“That’s not the point.”

You didn’t always love the atmosphere around the fight. You used to hate the screaming, the overpriced beer, the rednecks. It used to make you wary, going with Terry. People knew him. It's not secret that he's gay. He used to catch more shit for it before he bulked up and started fighting. Even after he had, the slurs hadn’t stopped. It used to raise your hackles—but Terry’s got more of a handle on how he approaches those incidents, and he’s made a lot of friends that frequent the ring, both as spectators, and in the Middleweight division.

You wouldn’t say that you like going to fights now, but you don’t find it as daunting as you used to. Now, the atmosphere is exciting—it zips through you like lightning; it makes your fingers tingle, and your heart pound.

“Here,” Terry calls out, pressing a beer into your hand.

“I told you I’ve got work tomorrow!”

“I got two for myself, you’re just holding that one for me.”

“Bullshit,” You laugh, looking up at the ring as the bell sounds.

By the time the first two fights are down, you know you should leave. It’s late, and it’s only going to get later—you’ve had three beers, and Terry’s coming back with another one.

“Terry, I really shouldn’t—”

“Ben’s coming down the hall,” He half-yells into your ear, and you have to stop yourself from muttering, ‘Fucking finally,’ when it bubbles up in you. You push it down with a gulp of beer, glancing back and trying to catch sight of the Millers. You see Benny’s chestnut hair; Will’s bright head bobs into view just moments later. You and Terry begin to cheer almost on instinct as they come more fully into view—as Benny heads into the ring, and Will rounds the corner. Will looks around, and his eyes catch on you and Terry. He raises his hand to give Terry a pat on the shoulder, and meets your eyes dead-on.

It’s a half-second, that’s all, but it seems to last for far longer. If anyone asked you what happened in that half-second, you’d tell them that you nodded to him—you know that for sure, because he nods, too. You’re not sure if it’s the beer, or the crackling of the air around you, but your skin feels hot. You don’t even know if you’re smiling. But Will’s gaze holds on yours for a long time, even as he walks on. When he finally looks away, you can feel your heart thudding in the vicinity of your throat.

Terry leans over, his shoulder nudging yours as he speaks into your ear:

“Distracted much?”

“...What?” You manage, tipping your head back toward him as you watch Benny climb into the ring.

“Uh-huh.”

When you glance up at Terry, you find him grinning smugly, and you reach out, shoving his shoulder as you grumble, “Shut up.” As the bell sounds, you yell out, “Let’s go!” and vaguely register Will’s yell of, “It’s time to work!”

Ben is a hunter in the ring.

You can’t help but compare the way he fights with the way Terry fights. Terry prefers to hold back, to let his opponent dance around and tire themselves out. Terry is a slow-burn; Benny is a wildfire. Will is as much wind to guide his brother as he throws gasoline on Benny’s flame, honing his path and stoking his focus on the rare occasions that Benny takes a hard hit or seems to flounder.

You plan to only stay for a couple of rounds, but before you know it, you’re cheering Benny as his opponent is knocked down, and stays down. The ref takes hold of Benny’s wrist, holding it up as he proclaims him the winner, and you and Terry crow with excitement. As the crowd begins to flow—as Benny is led out to be checked over by the ring doctor—you turn to Terry, ready to insist again that you have to leave. But you feel a hand land on your shoulder, and turn your head to see Will leaning in. He gets close between you and Terry, and asks over the hum of the crowd, “What are you guys doing now?”

You should be more concerned about the fact that tomorrow morning (well, later this morning) is going to be absolute hell for you. You should be concerned about the fact that when you get home, whenever you get home, you’re probably going to need to have a couple of pieces of toast and a few glasses of water. Your head is buzzing with the beers you had at the fight, and now with the two that you’ve had at the bar. But the zipwire-tense feeling that had ripped through you is ebbing as you watch Benny return from the bar with a massive basket of fries and a fresh round of beers.

Oh, man. You’re really gonna regret this tomorrow.

You push the thought away as you reach out, taking up a precariously full beer and leaning back in your seat.

“Surprised you’ve got such a sedate after party,” Terry comments as he takes one of the beers.

“Fewer glove bunnies than I expected,” You add, eyes sliding to Will’s, where he sits across from you. He appears to bite back a smile, eyes dipping to the table. Benny’s eyes dart between the two of you, brow furrowing, and you give a small, reassuring shake of your head.

“I have a question,” Benny declares, leaning against the table.

“Has it got anything to do with that swelling cheek?” Terry asks, waving a finger toward Benny’s face.

“No,” Benny huffs, “I know how all about that. How’d you two meet?” He asks. You glance at Terry, arching a brow as he turns to you with a grin.

“School,” Is your short answer.

“I moved in around, like…Fifth grade-ish?” Terry’s brow furrows.

“It wasn’t fifth-grade-ish, it was fifth grade,” You correct.

“I wasn’t the most social kid, and that caught me a lot of shit. I got picked on, and this one,” Terry pushes his shoulder against yours, and you sway with it, bobbing back and forth, “Taught me how to keep from getting my ass kicked on the way home.”

“Seriously?” Ben asks. You shrug a little.

“It started with short-cuts to get him home, but when other kids caught on, things got a bit more…Physical.”

“Did you already know how to fight?” Will asks.

“I wouldn’t say that. I knew how to swing a fist, I didn’t really know how to fight. We both learned to, though, because we…Had to.”

“She’s been stuck with me ever since,” Terry sighs dramatically. You roll your eyes, turning a fond smile up at him.

“He’s like my taller, irritating younger brother,” You add.

“I know all about that,” Will pipes up, and you can’t help but turn a laugh at him.

“So what about you two, how did you two meet?” You tease, waving your finger between them.

“Oh, man,” Ben mutters.

“Well I came home one day and my mom said, ‘We have a surprise for you’,” Will says, “And then six months later, this dick shows up.”

“And he’s been stuck with me ever since,” Ben smiles, glancing at Will. You reach out, plucking up a couple of the fries and dipping them in ketchup.

“Did you guys get along growing up?”

“We don’t even get along now,” Ben teases. Will chuckles, shaking his head.

“Not always. We butt heads as kids, and we do sometimes now, but…We get our shit done.”

“He’s a hardass,” Ben cuts in.

“And he’s a dumbass.”

You grin. “So you complement each other is what I’m hearing.”

“Haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”

You’re taking a long pull from your water bottle, fighting the dryness in your throat when you hear Will.

“What can I say,” You manage as you lower it. “I only just recovered from going out with y’all the other night.”

Will chuckles, leaning against the pillar beside you as you wipe down your treadmill.

“Didn’t mean to tire you out.”

“I’m out of practice. Terry hasn’t had a fight in a couple of months, so I don’t stay up that late anymore.”

“No?”

“Nope. I’m in bed at 9:30 and I like it.”

You take up your water bottle, and the two of you start drifting away from the treadmills.

“Why hasn’t Terry been in the ring?” Will plies.

“His rotator cuff’s kinda fucked up. He’s been taking it easy—Well. As easy as he's willing to take it. He has a check-in with his doctor in a couple of weeks.”

“That must be driving him nuts.”

“Oh, he’s losing it. He’s trying to go to as many fights as he can, though.”

“I’ve seen him at a few lately—Besides, Benny’s, you know. I was wondering why you didn’t go with him.”

You stop at the door to the women’s locker room and turn around to face him.

“Bed. 9:30,” You reiterate.

“Well I know that now.” Will tucks his hands into his pockets, smiling. “I wanted to ask: Do you think you could see it in yourself to duck your bedtime again?”

“Depends on what for.”

“There’s a fight down in Fernsworth this weekend. There’s a new kid on the bill, he’s apparently pretty vicious.”

“Oh yeah? When this weekend?”

“Friday.”

You consider, lips pursing, and Will chuckles at your expression.

“What is it?” He asks.

“Terry’s got work that night.”

“So’s Ben.”

Your gut swoops in surprise, a brow lifting and falling quickly, but Will’s face remains as calm as ever.

“So?” Will presses. If you were reading into it, you’d think he was batting his pretty eyelashes. Before you can overthink it, you hold your hand out and order: “Phone.”

Will rifles into his pocket and pulls it out, passing it over. You add yourself as a contact, your heart thudding in your chest, ears going hot as you double-check that it’s right. You pass it back to Will, meeting his eyes again. “You can send me all the details.”

“Don’t feel like talking to me anymore?”

“I have to go to work, Miller,” You laugh, taking a couple of steps back. “Text me—And keep an eye out for those glove bunnies.”

“Always.”

You get one last look at Will, at his sweet, amused smile, and you turn, heading in to take a shower (and maybe to silently scream into your hands, a little).

You don’t dress up, and you do not tell Terry where you’re going, or with whom. It’s been bad enough that he clocked your swell of interest when you’d gone out with all of them, and worse still that he’s encouraged it. You’d been pressing your hands down onto the tops of his shoes, ensuring that his feet stayed flat as he worked on his core.

“At least—fuck him,” Terry had insisted as he’d come up from reps of crunches. “Do you—have any idea—what’d I’d do tuh—Phew—Have those pretty—blue eyes pointed at me—like that?”

You’d raised your brow, casting a wary eye about to ensure that neither of the Miller brothers were anywhere nearby before you’d insisted, “Nothing is going to happen between me and Will.”

“Why—the hell—not?” Terry gasped, finishing out his reps. He groaned, sweeping his hand across his sweating brow before planting both hands on the mat behind himself. “He’s leaps and bounds better than the other assholes you used to fuck with.”

Like it or not, you knew Terry was right.

For your rough and real first impression, Will is actually kinda sweet. You still don’t know him all that well, and maybe tonight could change that. But you insist to yourself that you’re not going out to flirt with Will, you’re going to see this new fighter (Charlie “Shredder” Klein: 5’9, 194 pounds, rookie, southpaw) and gather some info for when, inevitably, Terry winds up fighting the guy. You dress…Comfortably, in one of your nicer pairs of jeans and one of your favorite tops. You feel cute, and you feel cute for you. If Will thinks that you’re cute in the outfit, well…That’s just a bonus.

You don’t think he would tell you, though. Will Miller seems like the type to keep his cards close to his chest.

The ride down to the venue is filled with polite small talk. The feeling in the cab of his truck is almost like the same nervous air of a first date. Your stomach is twisting like a nest of garter snakes; your skin is hot with nerves; you rub your sweaty palms nervously against your jeans. The two of you stick close together at the fight—though you don't exactly have an alternative; the venue is packed. Now and again, if you get nudged too roughly by someone else, or pushed one way or another, Will cuts a sharp, warning look at them over your head at the perpetrator. The third or so time it happens, you reach out, resting a hand on his arm.

“Don’t worry about them,” You say into his ear, cutting over the noise, “The fight’s in the ring, not with these dickheads.”

Will’s lips twitch with a smile as he leans in to speak into your ear in turn. He says, “It’ll be here if they’re not careful,” But you almost don’t catch it. You’re too focused on everything else—on the press of his warm and firm body against your side; on the way his hand rests on your lower back; on the whisper of his beard against your cheek; on the brush of his lips and breath against the shell of your ear, and the way his voice seems to drown out the clamor of the spectators around you. It makes your heart tick up in your chest, a shiver tripping down your spine and stopping right where his hand sits.

When your mind catches up with what he’s said, you laugh, nudging his hip with yours.

“Eyes on the prize, Miller,” You urge.

“They are,” He answers without missing a beat. It makes your stomach flip, and for a moment, you can’t bring yourself to look away. You finally force yourself to, and to clap as the announcer brings in the first contender, looking around to try and catch a glimpse of them—and not to overthink the way that Will’s hand is still resting on your back.

“Weak spots?” Will asks. You consider for a moment, running your finger along the side of your beer bottle. The buzz from the fight is wearing off, and the bar that you've gone to is far more quiet compared to the venue.

“He doesn’t go in…With a plan,” You say after a moment.

“His coach was calling plays.”

“Yeah, but Klein wasn’t listening. I mean when you tell Ben to back the fuck off or get away from the ropes, he backs the fuck off or gets away from the ropes, because in that moment, you see things in a way that he doesn’t. He trusts you to steer him. Klein’s coach can yell whatever he wants, but it’s not heard. Klein’s in the fight, he’s on the inside, he thinks he knows best, and that…That got him fucked up tonight. Might not always get him fucked up, but today’s outcome, you know. Not so much.”

“Strong indictment.”

“You asked me what I thought.”

“And I got it. I appreciate that.”

You raise your brows at Will’s calm, honest expression.

“What about you?” You ask, nodding to him, “What do you think his weak spots are?”

“He’s a brawler, not a fighter. He likes to go in for little…squirrely swiping matches. He wants excitement, not wins.”

You shake your head at the assessment. “That just spells trouble for our boys.”

“Less trouble if we go in with a plan.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

The two of you lightly clink your beers together, sharing a smile before you take sips.

“I’m surprised you came tonight,” Will admits as he sets his bottle down.

“Really?"

“Little bit.”

“Why?”

“We didn’t exactly have the nicest start.”

“No, we didn’t, but…I don’t know, I thought we were on a more level field now.”

“I think we are.”

The two of you watch one another for a long moment, considering, and before you can say anything, Will adds: “I’m glad you came with me.”

“Yeah? Didn’t wanna brave the hillbilly circus alone?”

“I have before and it’s never fun.”

“It wasn’t so bad tonight.”

“I had good company.”

You smile a little bit, eyes sweeping Will’s face as flattery wells in your stomach.

“...You knew Terry had work tonight, didn’t you,” You accuse softly. Will shrugs a shoulder, raising his bottle to his lips again. You can’t help your flattered smile, and you force yourself to keep your eyes on him.

“Ben might’ve mentioned it,” Will finally concedes.

“Interesting.”

“Is it?”

“I think so.”

“Good interesting or bad interesting?”

“I'm still sitting here, aren’t I?”

Will’s smile widens, and your stomach flutters. “You could’ve just asked me out,” You add in a mutter.

“Well, now I know that for next time.”

Next time. Your face goes hot; the beer in your stomach feels like it’s bubbling.

“Yes you do,” You agree, nodding a little.

“When I do,” Will adds, leaning against the table, sending another burst through your chest at his use of ‘when’ where you'd expected 'if', “You alright with it being this sort of thing?”

“What, a fight and a beer? Hell yeah—Long as it’s before 9:30.”

Will laughs, tugging his sleeve back and glancing at his watch.

“You have any idea what time it is?”

“No, and I do not wanna know.”

You fold your across your chest, eyeing Terry’s form as he pounds the punching bag in front of himself.

“How are you feeling?” You ask as he leans away from the bag, swiping at the sweat dripping down his face.

“‘Bout what?” He asks a little blandly between pants.

“The fight.”

“You asking me because I got a fight, or does it have to do with who I’m going up against?”

You purse your lips, eyes sweeping the gym for any sign of either of the Miller brothers. Finding neither, you answer, “Both?”

Terry chuckles, turning back to the bag.

“I’m not gonna go easy on Benny just ‘cause he’s a friend, and he ain’t gonna take it easy on me, either—”

“I know—”

“I mean, we always knew this was gonna happen—”

“I know! I know, oh my god, I get it.”

“I’m just sayin’,” Terry mutters, punching viciously at the bag again.

“I’d be a bad coach not to ask, you know half of the fight’s in your head. And speaking of bad coach,” You add, “You found anyone else yet?”

Terry casts you an irritated look out of the corner of his eye.

“Are you really talkin’ about this right now?”

“...Okay, letting it go,” You sigh before tacking on, “And you’re holding your breath again.”

“I was about to say the same thing,” You hear from behind you. You turn to see Will just a few steps away. You smile almost involuntarily. You haven’t seen Will since your not-quite date, but you’ve thought about him and texted with him plenty.

“Shouldn’t you be mindin’ your own fighter, Miller?” Terry asks, straightening up and raising his hands to stop the swinging bag.

“Don’t worry, McLowery. The second he needs minding, I’ll be on it.” Will takes a few steps back from you both, shooting you a wink before he turns away. Your stomach twists, and you carefully smooth your smile away before turning to face Terry again.

“Alright, c’mon,” You wave him toward the bag again, “Let’s go, we got half an hour and then we gotta get going. I can’t be late for work again.”

It’s odd, finding yourself on the opposite side of the ring as Will. As nervous as you are—for the way your body feels like it’s buzzing, a tingle in your fingertips—you know that the boys’ll take this seriously. It was going to happen sooner or later; you just didn’t think it would be so soon. You hope that they come out of the ring with their friendships (and their bones) intact.

You shift from foot to foot, drawing a shaky breath in through your nose as Ben and Terry begin to circle up. Your eye catches on Will’s for just a moment. You trade nods, then turn your eyes back to your respective fighters. It’s a heady moment. The room seems to quiet around you for a moment as Ben and Terry approach one another, each with one fist out and one by their cheeks. You hardly blink as they get closer and closer—

“I almost had you.”

It’s a gravely mutter, the first thing that Terry’s said since leaving the ring. He’s got a fat lip, and his right cheek is going to make it look like he’s part chipmunk in the morning. It’s a moment before Ben offers a grumbled, “...Almost.” Then, “Didn’t, though.”

Terry takes a swipe at his head. Ben ducks it, raising his arm to push at Terry’s shoulder. You shake your head, leaning against the bar and watching them teasingly grapple.

“You think they’d be too tired to do that by now,” You comment, shaking your head.

“Adrenaline’s probably still pushin’ em. They’ll crash later.”

The both of you are speaking a little more softly than usual; you had yelled your heads off at the match, and you're not sure about Will, but your throat feels so fricking raw. You nod, smile widening as the guys scrap a little more.

“Hey—Alright, alright,” You finally raise your voice as they knock back into a stool. “If your sorry asses get us thrown out, you're paying.”

“Drinks are on me, anyway,” Benny turns to give you a grin, teeth bright beneath the shiner developing on his right eye. Still, it’s a relief to see the boys settle. You shift on your stool and lean back against the bar, twisting your seat back and forth.

“How are you feelin’?”

You glance over at Will, brow furrowing in confusion at the question.

“I didn’t just go five rounds with those numbskulls,” You point out, nodding toward them.

“I know. You seemed…Tense.”

“I was worried about ‘em.”

“Terry?”

“Both of them.”

Will nods, eyes sweeping across your face before he glances around to the guys.

“They’re doing alright.”

“I know. I’m—I’m calming down, I just…” You trail off, shaking your head. “So many of Terry’s other friends in the ring are in different divisions. This is the first friend he’s, like, fought-fought.”

“He did alright.”

“No, I know. Nothing too broken. And Ben’s fine, too, so. Like I said,” You raise your hands in a slight pushing motion. “Calming down.”

Will smiles, taking a step closer and sliding his arm around your middle, bracketing you against the bar. Your stomach flips at the closeness, at the weight and warmth of his arm.

“Glad to hear it.”

“You’ve just been completely chill the whole time?”

Will shrugs. “I trusted the guys to handle it. They handled it.”

“Alright…Knowitall,” You mutter. You smile as Will takes a step closer. He seems to glance toward the guys again before he lowers his head, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. Your stomach bursts with butterflies, and you gently lower your head, resting it against his. You turn your head as you hear the bartender’s, “Here you go,” behind you. The two of you straighten up, turning to the bar fully and reaching for your beers.

“So,” Will clears his throat, “You busy this Friday?”

You smile, trailing your finger along the side of your glass.

“Is there another southpaw you wanna get a look at?”

“Nope, just dinner. I thought maybe I could cook at your place—that way I won’t interfere with your bedtime.”

You can’t help your grin, or the slight tip of your head as he crowds close again.

“That is so considerate of you, Miller.”

“I do what I can.”

You try to chip in for the groceries, but Will won’t hear of it. He won’t even tell you what he’s making.

“You know that I can probably mentally tally up whatever it is you bring and, like, Venmo you that amount, right?” You ask. It’s a little huffed as it leaves you, your gaze and focus on the swinging punching bag in front of you. When Will doesn’t answer, you glance over, and do a double take at the sight of him.

He’s watching you with a warm, sweet look, his hands tucked in his pocket as he slouches against the wall beside you. You raise your hands to steady the bag and keep it from swinging and hitting you in the face, stomach fluttering at the way this man is looking at you—like you’re dolled up and wearing a goddamn ballgown, and not sweating in the middle of a gym.

“Besides, what if I have an allergy or something?” You add.

“I’ve already run the ingredients by someone.”

You frown. “Who?”

Will doesn’t answer, just shrugs and holds his gaze steadily on yours. You narrow your eyes slightly, turning to look around the gym. Terry’s not too far off—and he’s pointedly keeping his focus on anything but you.

“...Terrence,” You call out.

“Busy!” He yells back, plucking his water bottle and phone and hurrying to another machine. You roll your eyes, turning back to Will with a mutter of, “Spy.”

His smile widens.

“I can be there by six, that alright?” He asks, pushes off of the wall.

“Uh-huh.”

“If I see any kind of calculator when I’m cooking…”

“Oh, you won’t. I’m like a phone ninja.”

Will chuckles, leaning in and murmuring, “See you tonight.”

The closeness of his murmur and his breath brushing against your sweat-slicked skin sends goosebumps skittering down your arms.

Your plan to stealthily tally everything up disappears as Will unpacks the groceries. You blink, stunned, before you pick up a jar of sauce, turning it around in your hands.

“Are you fricking kidding me?”

Will doesn’t answer. He just backs off, an amused smile on his lips and his hand on his hip as you reach into the grocery bag and rifle through it before reeling back, screeching, “You took off all of the labels?!”

“You thought I was just gonna let you look through everything and tally up how much this cost me?” He turns and reaches into the bag again, continuing to unpack. “Amateur hour.”

You bite your lip, watching in silence for a few moments as you think. What sort of 3-D dating chess is this man playing?

“You are…Frighteningly tactful, Miller.”

His smile widens, and he seems to duck his head to unearth something from the bulging grocery bag, but you can see the creeping flush of flattering rising up in his cheeks.

“I can still guestimate, you know,” You warn.

He stops then, bracing his hands on the counter.

“Would you just let me do something nice for you?” His brows raise, his lips on the edge of pursing in disappointment. You’re stunned into silence as he adds, “Nothing has to be owed. I just…I just wanna make you dinner.”

You pause before you nod a little. Will’s brows raise further, and you nod again, watching as he turns back toward the bag. You hesitate before nervously sidling up beside him, pressing yourself against his side and eyeing his steady hands.

“Can I at least help?” You ask. Glancing at him, you find Will’s annoyance smoothed away, replaced with a somewhat serene consideration. He nods, concedes: “A little.”

Will designates you two things to chop (red and green peppers), and one thing to stir (vegetable stir fry). He keeps his back to you as he adds seasonings to your chicken (“It’s a secret recipe,” He insists before he shoos you away from the counter. All you get a glimpse of is the garlic salt).

You don’t know exactly what he puts on it, but when you take your first bite, it’s perfectly moist, and damn delicious. You don’t even bother to hide your groan, or the way you close your eyes to just savor—and try to work out one or two of the spices. You get hits of chili. Chili and…Cumin? Little pops of cumin—

“I’m not telling you,” Will’s mirthful warning floats across the table to you. Your smile widens, shaking your head and opening your eyes.

“No idea what you’re talking about, Miller.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is this your secret recipe?”

“My mom’s.”

“Did she make it a lot growing up?"

“In the summer, mostly, for barbecues and stuff.”

“Tastes pretty good from the oven.”

He grunts, nodding. “Better on the grill,” He admits, “With a little char on it.”

“Mm, noted. Are you and your mom close?”

Will quirks a brow as he reaches for his drink, and you realize that you’ve been bombarding him with questions. Before you can apologize, he offers:

“Pretty close. I try to see her at least once a week. It used to be more, but she said I was smothering her.”

You smile, chuckling.

“That’s kinda precious.”

Will shrugs a touch, pushing his veggies around his plate.

“My dad passed a couple’a years ago and I think coming around as much as I used to might’ve helped, but mom’s got her own life, you know. She’s got a book club…She’s apparently a bingo assassin.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. Some people think she’s cheating.”

“...Is she?” You tease.

“I wouldn’t put it past her. What she lacks in subtlety, she makes up for in sneakiness.”

“Is that where you and Ben get it?”

He chuckles, ducking his head and poking at the food on his plate.

“Some of it, maybe.”

“And the rest?”

“Training.”

“Do you think Ben would agree?"

“Do you always ask this many questions?”

You lean back, poking at your food in turn and fighting the embarrassed churning in your stomach.

“Not always,” You mumble. You hear Will huff a soft laugh, and smile as he reaches across the table to take hold of your hand.

"I don't mind," He insists, thumb sweeping along the side of your hand. "Long as I get to ask a few, too."

"This was nice," You offer, almost woefully trailing Will to the front door. You've wanted to make a move since he put you to work in your kitchen—you've been thinking about it as the two of you were at your sink, doing the dishes; since you were sitting on your couch, talking about work, and the gym, and who Ben and Terry are facing next. You've been so close so consistently—arm to arm, hip to hip, knee to knee. The tiny touches have made you crave more, and Will's sweet smiles have made you do whatever you can think of to seek them out.

When he'd told you that he ought to get going, that he was meeting Ben in the gym at five the next morning, you were pretty sure that he was telling the truth—but you were already mourning the loss of the moment, and his warmth in your apartment.

"It was...Once you stopped pestering me about paying," He teases as he pulled on his jacket. You rolled your eyes.

"Well, how about I bring a bunch of labeless groceries over to your place, make you dinner, and see how you like it."

"I think I'd like it a lot," He insists, straightening his collar. "How's next week?"

And it's so swift and so smooth that you're certain you look more than a little gobsmacked. But you nod.

"Yeah. I can do next week."

"Friday?"

"Sure."

"Okay." He opens your door. "It's a date."

Just like that—so easy and open, and such a far cry to the first time he spoke to you at the gym.

"Good," You agree, leaning against the wall by your front door. "Let me know when you get home."

"I will." He leans in, and your breath catches in your throat as he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You bite your lip at the gentle prickle of his beard against your skin, eyelids fluttering as Will stays close. He raises his hand, gently sweeping his thumb against your lower lip and tugging it from your teeth.

"Don't do that," He shakes his head. "Don't bite your lip."

"Why?" You mumble, leaning into the flirty urge that's rising in you. "There someone else that's supposed to do it for me?"

Will breathes out a groan, resting his temple gently against yours.

"I'm trying to be good," He warns. You sweep your tongue across your lower lip, letting the tip graze his thumb, and grinning as he swallows thickly.

"This feels good to me." You reach up, cupping his cheek.

"You realize if we do this, you'll be up past 9:30?"

"I'm willing to risk it."

You think for a moment that he'll draw away, that he'll call it—

Your stomach drops as he pulls away and you hear the door shut, but grin as he crowds up against you, lips pressing warmly to yours. You sigh, looping your arm around your shoulders and keeping you close. His hands slide over your hips, drawing you into his chest. You slide your hand up, gently teasing your nails against the nape of his neck.

"Remind me to apologize to Ben the next time I see him," You mumble.

"Why's that?"

"You're going to be very late tomorrow morning."

tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

#Will Miller x Reader #Will Miller x You #Will Miller/Reader #Will Miller/You #Will Miller fic #Will Miller imagine #Impressions #sorry this took 800 years

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aroeddiediaz · 2 months

Text

7x04 Coda

Sprained ankles hurt. Eddie shouldn’t be as surprised as he is by the pain, because he knows all too well that the amount of pain injuries feel like is almost inverse with the actual damage they cause. A shot from a sniper felt like almost nothing, while a stubbed toe sends ricochets up his spine.

But that’s nothing compared to the encroaching feeling of dread as Eddie thinks back on his interactions with Buck over the last two weeks, and what might have caused his best friend to lash out at him.

“I think we fucked up,” he grumbles to Tommy, who gives him a quick glance before returning his attention to the road.

“You mean with Evan?” Tommy says.

Evan. That was kind of weird, right? Eddie had only ever heard Buck’s sister and parents call him by his first name before. He’d only used the name once himself, when he told Buck about his will.

But Buck hadn’t corrected Tommy on it, so he must not mind, Eddie supposes.

Eddie shakes that stray thought away.

“Yeah,” he continues, even though talking kind of hurts right now. That didn’t seem fair, it’s Eddie’s ankle that’s injured, not his lungs. “I mean, with me kind of blowing him off to come to that karaoke night… and the UFC fight in Vegas… and the pickup game…”

Looking back on it now, Eddie’s not sure when it all got so out of hand. He and Tommy had hit it off on the Coast Guard ride back to LA, while Buck was off checking in with Bobby and Athena. He’d been so excited as they shared their similar interests and history- army, MMA, old cars- that he’d immediately made plans to hang out. When Tommy mentioned that he could get them rinkside tickets in Vegas, Eddie had jumped on it immediately. He didn’t even think about mentioning it to Buck.

And the babysitting thing… Eddie kind of wants to curl up thinking back to the strange face Buck had made when Eddie asked him to watch over Chris. Buck usually loved hanging out with Chris, even volunteering for it when Eddie mentioned having plans, so he didn’t think twice about asking it of him. He should have known.

“Ooh, yeah.” Tommy lets out a whistle. “We did fuck up, huh. Could have at least invited him to muay thai after the match.”

Eddie laughs a little, strained by the pain and the stirrings of shame. “Buck doesn’t know muay thai. Just boxing.”

“Yeah?” There’s a funny tone to Tommy’s voice. “Maybe we should teach him.”

Eddie does a careful rotation of his inflamed joint. The stretch does help ease the pain a little. “Maybe you should offer him lessons,” he says. “I’m gonna be out of commission for a little bit.”

Tommy glances at him again. A slightly longer one, with them stopped at a red light, kind of searching. “You think he’d be interested in learning from me?”

“Oh yeah. You’re great. And Buck’s a quick study for sure.” Eddie glances out the window, and sees the urgent care clinic sign just past the intersection. “Actually, you think you could do me a favor?”

The light turns green. Tommy drives forward. “Of course.”

“Could you talk to Buck for me?” Eddie asks. “I’m sure he’s feeling all sorts of guilty right now, and it’s not his fault. He just got a little too aggressive at the game.”

It’s really too bad. Buck’s really good at basketball, for someone who hates the game so much. Eddie’s sure he’ll never get Buck to touch a ball again.

“Uh, yeah,” Tommy says, slowly, as he pulls up into the parking lot. “If you’re sure you want me to speak with him.”

Eddie nods. “He’s probably licking his wounds at his loft right now, and he’ll need a bit of a kick in the pants before he comes to see me. I trust you.”

Tommy chuckles a little. “Alright, then. I’ll swing by his place in the morning, before my shift, check in on him for you.”

That’s a relief. They find a parking spot close to the clinic entrance, and Eddie hisses a little as he opens the door and swings his legs out. He needs to be more considerate of Buck’s feelings, going forward. He has the sinking feeling that he’s started to take him for granted.

He’ll have to pay him more attention.

#911 abc #eddie diaz #tommy kinard #evan buckley #i did not expect to be able to pack in as much subtext in this as I did lmao #god this was fun

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b33zlebubz · 5 months

Text

RECKLESS ABANDON--------

CHAPTER ONE - school, life, and a punch to the face TASK FORCE 141 X READER (PLATONIC) MASTERLIST || AO3 LINK || NEXT CHAPTER TAGS: gender neutral reader, angst, fluff, slow burn found family, PTSD, trauma bonding, kidnapping, reader is a foster kid in high school, family drama, blood, violence, guns

"After your life falls apart at the seams very early on, you work hard to keep the small amount of peace still have. Foster care is rough, work is draining, school is a drag...but you eventually find yourself in a good place. All of that quickly goes to waste, however, when your family's unfinished business finally finds its way back to you."

If hell is real, you’re pretty sure you’re dead.

Time drags on; seconds feeling more like hours and hours feeling like an eternity—punctuated only by the shriek of the occasional bell. It’s a familiar limbo you’ve grown to tune out in favor of your daydreaming, interrupted only by the end of a period or the sound of your name being called from across the room. Your pencil taps idly against the desk with the beat of your heel against the floor. Untied shoelaces pull taught under your feet when you shift to lean forwards, squinting at the equations scribbled across the whiteboard by a wrinkled, dark hand. Numbers and letters swirl together.

Mrs. Hall. An elderly, frail, equally as tired woman—worn down by decades of bullshit brought on by stubborn, unmotivated students much like the kids behind you, whispering and snickering in a way that made your eye twitch with deep irritation. Still, you’re not much better, your mind lost in thought staring at rain that pounds against the ground of upstate Texas until the sound of your name stirs you from the depths of your own brain. When you look up, confused, Mrs. Hall stares back at you with an expecting stare—and a few students are turned around to stare at you.

You’re also pretty sure if hell is real—it's the American Public School System.

“Uh…”

“The three X’s in number five,” Mrs. Hall taps the equation on the board with the marker. “On the homework.”

“Right. Sorry,” your tired eyes flicker down to the chicken scratch on the paper in front of you, scanning the crumpled paper for the answer you hastily scribbled down earlier that day. “Three, square root of two, and negative one?”

“Incorrect.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, scratching at your neck as you try and fail not to notice when one of the boys behind you stops whispering mid-sentence and stares daggers into the back of your neck. Shit. Fuck.

That’s the last time you do someone else’s algebra homework. Math, in all its forms, was your academic Achilles heel.

The rest of fourth period escapes you. After what feels like a lifetime and a half of talking and scribbling on your paper, the bell rings out across the classroom. Like Pavlov’s dogs—the students instinctually rush to life—shoving chairs and throwing backpacks over their shoulders, eager to get on with the day.

You're quick to sweep your things into your backpack and high-tail it towards the door of the classroom before a certain boy behind you can notice you've left already.

Mrs. Hall says your first name again. You stop in your tracks, not missing how your fellow student sends you an angry look as he strides past to leave—crumpling the homework you did for him the night before to add to the effect. He must be telepathic, because you swear you can hear his voice without him even saying anything.

"You're dead."

Your feet shuffle towards the door, "can't talk, gonna be late—"

"I'll write you a pass."

"I have lunch next, though."

"No you don't." Mrs. Hall scoffs, shooting you an unamused look from over her rectangular glasses. "You think I don't know your schedule by now?"

You awkwardly shift your weight from one foot to the next, "worth a try."

"Sit," she gestures beside her.

You hesitate, almost arguing further, but you sigh instead. Getting lectured actually sounded much better than whatever hell waited for you out in the hallway the second you walked outside. You let your backpack fall from your shoulders as you drag it over with you to collapse into the chair beside your teacher's desk. Your eyes flicker up to where her frail hands card through some papers.

"You graduate in two months, dear." She reminds you, as if you haven't been scratching the tallied days into a spare notebook like you're on death row. "Your test scores are average but all the homework seems to be…lacking. If you even do it at all."

Average. A word that's been thrown around a lot regarding your name, which you intended to stick with. Average meant nobody would stick their nose in your business—that you could blend in with the crowd and avoid any and all weird glances and low whispers. You made the mistake of showing off once, to snap back at your dickhead classmate; only to end up doing his bidding for the rest of the semester.

You figure Mrs. Hall won't take very well to being told that the reason you aren't completing your homework is because you're too busy doing Ben Davis's under the threat that he won't smash your face against the lockers again. Broken noses are a special level of hell, but it still isn't as low as the torture that is highschool.

"Maybe I joined some sports," you quip sarcastically. "Don't have as much time as I used to."

She only deadpans at you.

You stare innocently back at her. If you play dumb enough, maybe she'll finally give up.

"I'm not attacking you. Just worried. If you need some extra time because—" she lowers her voice and the bracelets around her tiny wrist jingle as she waves it about, "---because of your family life, or anything…I'm willing to give it to you."

Your brow lowers, annoyance beginning to nip at your nerves as you sit up a little straighter.

Pity. You've long grown tired of it. You weren't some fragile orphan—no. You were an adult who, in two months, would finally be free from the clutches of your frustrated social worker and the slew of whatever excited, naive couples the system dumped you on. People have been tip-toeing around you your whole life, and it never fails to make your fists clench.

"My grades are average, you said," you say, stern—poking the score on one of your tests with a pointer finger. "I don't need help."

"I don't doubt you don't need help, sweetheart. But you're a smart kid. Really smart, if you put the effort in. I'm just saying if you ever need any extra—"

"I'm fine. If you really wanna help, you won't make me late to my next class."

Mrs. Hall seems to freeze, stunned at the bite her otherwise quiet student seems to bear. The clock ticks above your head, the rain pitters against the window outside and, for a moment, shame floods your senses; but it fades as the seconds pass and that concerned look on her face deepens.

You're the first to look away, picking up your pack and turning for the door. "See you tomorrow, Mrs. Hall."

"Wait."

You stop, tossing your head back with a sigh. "What?"

"Tie your shoes, sweetheart," she says, her voice kind as she turns away to tap your stack of tests on the desk. "You'll trip walking around like that."

You only frown and duck out the door.

The rest of the school day passes in a familiar haze. You space out throughout two of your classes, goof off for the rest, and get your shit handed to you the second school is out. Ben takes the time to lecture you as well after he levels you in one punch—and you sit rubbing your jaw, bored, as he goes on and on about how you did that shit on purpose and next time, you're fucking dead.

He needed a perfect score to pass the class. In a low moment of pain, you promised it to him despite the fact that your algebra skills had much to be desired. Still, with a little bit of extra effort—you managed to make it through most of the second semester without a black eye.

You're the one that always bleeds; but a part of you finds it funny how he always finds a way to talk himself into angry tears, storming off somewhere distant while kids scramble to get out of his way to avoid the same fate as you.

And, as always, you pick yourself up, wipe the blood from your face onto the sleeve of your jacket—and walk away.

Because that's all you can do.

The rain settles deep in your clothes as you make your way home, music loud in your earbuds. It's silent and gray, as it has been all week, and your thoughts are mere static as you drag your feet back to your front doorstep. Your bed is calling for you after such a shitty day and the bruise forming on your left eye is just making the blankets seem all the more welcoming.

You barely notice how your door is already unlocked when you enter.

Inside, the house is just as silent and empty as the rest of your street. Rain drips to the floor in a steady rhythm as you pad across the living room of the house, dropping your backpack to the floor. Muscle memory leads you to the bathroom—where things are, as usual, spotless.

You've seen plenty of bad homes and residencies during your time in the system. Most of them blurred together in a long string of things you wished to forget; either by the caretakers' fault or your own. This house, though, was high on your list of favorites. Your folks were never around, and if they were, they were asleep. When you weren't working; you usually had the house to yourself.

"Fuck," You breathe, prodding at the swelling flesh around your eye. You run some water over it and the irritation dulls slightly as dried blood turns the water pink. Excuses run rampant through your mind as you scramble for a way to explain the injury---because you're pretty sure they won't believe you if you said you tripped again.

That's when you catch movement from your doorway. Shuffling.

You whip around just as the movement disappears, and suddenly the quiet house turns eerily silent. Your eyes lock on the doorway as the sink continues to run and water continues to drip from your clothes.

Nothing.

You turn the sink off.

Your brow furrows, eyes locked on the cracked door of your bathroom as your hand grabs hold of the first weapon you can get your hands on—a shower curtain rod. One foot after the other, you peak around the corner.

Again, nothing.

Out of some itch of paranoia—or just completely on coincidence—you happen to turn your head to the wall next to you. Instead of an empty corridor like you expected, you're met with a face.

A face that immediately lunges at you the second your eyes widen.

You stumble to the side with a yell just for the individual to grab your arm, and the curtain rod falls to the floor with a clatter. You struggle as he yanks you to the side and around the corner and, before you have the chance to react, cold metal is pressed to your back.

"Don't fuckin' move," a voice hisses in your ear, and you stiffen.

You wheeze, struggling against his hold, "who–"

"Your gardian fucking angel," he sneers, shifting to clap a hand over your mouth. You thrash again—but it's useless. The gun presses painfully into your side. "I said don't move."

A thump echoes through the room, and suddenly you see why.

You fight to keep your breathing under control as you stay firm against your captor's geared chest, still as a statue. Your heart slams against your ribs and your ears as you listen to each heavy footstep against the floor, and your eyes widen whenever a second soldier creeps down your hallway. Standard camo and green clothes shuffling as he walks.

You catch the long muzzle of a rifle over the soldier's shoulder, and suddenly you find yourself leaning into the gun pressed into your back. The hand on your mouth tightens, silently shifting you away from the door.

The shifting of gear and the click of the rifle echo in the silent house as your nails dig into the skin of your captor's wrist. You watch a muscle in his stubbled jaw twitch near your face as the sound of your first name echoes through the hall, sing-song and taunting.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

Think. Think. Think.

“If y’know what’s best for ya’…” A thick Scottish accent taunts from down the hall as he nudges the curtain rod with his foot, causing it to scrape against the wood floors. “You’ll quit puttin’ up a fight and show yourself.”

You glance over to meet your captor’s gaze. A flicker of anger crosses his eyes, nose wrinkling into a scowl. He has a scar across his cheek.

Then, suddenly, he shifts, pulling you further away from the doorway. His grip on your shoulder is deathly tight as it digs into your clothes. He lifts his finger from the trigger of his gun only to bring it to his lips in a silent command to stay quiet, stay with me.

Panic burns bright and all-encompassing through your veins. For whatever reason—all your body will let you do is shake and listen.

He ducks around the corner, pulling you with him. You have to force your feet to move.

The Scottish soldier stops just at the end of the hall, hulking frame and what must be at least thirty pounds of gear making him a jarring sight against the flowered wallpaper of your foster home. He must have an earpiece of some kind; because you hear him whisper every so often as he sweeps the hallways.

"They're here," he mutters. "Little fuck's just good at hiding."

It's tiny and muffled, but in the deathly silence of the house you can make out two voices in his earpiece that reply to him. One female, the other male. You can't decipher what they say but their responses make him growl in frustration.

"C'mon, we don't got all day…"

Tense, your captor shoves you along to another room. He signals something down the hall, where you spot more movement in the house. More soldiers—these ones dressed in similar, dark garb to the man who still presses a gun to your side. They have bigger weapons, concealing helmets.

Startled, you trip over your shoelaces.

Your captor scrambles to grab you before you clatter to the floor. He curses just as the Scottish soldier whips around, gun pointed and ready.

There's a solid two seconds of complete silence. Your gaze meets with the Scott and his eyes widen. Then, he spots the other man with a gun pointed at you.

That's when all hell breaks loose.

You scramble to your feet and bolt. The Scott is the first to grab you, and he's met with teeth deep in his arm. He yells out as you kick free, gagging on the metallic substance that floods your mouth.

There's shouting. Movement. Gunfire lights up your house with noise and lights as you wipe your mouth, stumble, and fly down the stairs in a blind dash for your front door.

Instead, you run directly into something solid—Landing you flat on your ass. Again.

Panting, panicking, your eyes rake up dark figure; past two giant boots, a geared chest, and hands that clench a rifle in their grip to meet a masked face and bored eyes. You scramble backwards against the wall with a yelp. The sound of yelling, gunfire, and heavy footsteps flood the rest of the house as the masked man's eyes widen at you. You stare at each other; you, sizing him up and him, confused.

"Graves?!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

"Commander! We lost the kid!"

"Does anyone have a visual??"

"L.T.!"

The skull-faced man finally leaps into action at the sound of what must be his rank—because he's suddenly moving faster than you can realize more soldiers are flooding around the corner. In a flurry of practiced movement, he grabs them.

You yell out as he knees one of the men and shoots the other. Blood splatters across the walls and your clothes. Then, he fires twice more at the soldier unconscious on the ground—and the house goes quiet other than your pounding heartbeat.

The towering man before you shifts, and the floorboards creak under his feet. He rolls his shoulders and let's out a breath as he stands, slowly, up to his full height. He turns, and the same blood that splatters across the walls runs in tiny rivulets across the skull of his mask. His voice thick and low when he speaks.

"You broken?"

Your shaking hands lower from your ears as your eyes then rake across the corpses at his feet, but it's no use. Through the ringing in your ears, your racing mind is unable to put together what he says for a few minutes. It's even more impossible to tear your eyes away from the blood splattered against the patterned wallpaper.

You swallow and shake your head.

"Good." Nonchalant, he lowers his gun and shouts down the hall.

"Johnny, you with me?"

"Over here, L.T.," grunts the Scottish voice from down the hall. "That little shit Graves—"

"Let 'em go. We'll deal with 'em later. We got what we needed."

Johnny curses in response, but mutters a begrudging "copy" as he saunters over—nursing the clear bite mark in his arm.

Then, the Lieutenant's eyes shift in your direction. His hand twitches, almost reaching out to you, and you pull your legs closer to your chest against the wall. Blood soaks your untied laces. You clamp a hand over your mouth as you will your breathing to settle. It doesn't.

He freezes. Then, to your relief, he turns away and presses a finger to his ear.

"Bravo 0-7 to Actual; five shadows have been compromised on the property. Looks like the Shadows got the word the same time we did. Could be others, too. Things got bloody, but…" The lieutenant's eyes meet yours again as he speaks. Through the bloodied skull mask, his gaze holds a calm resolve that's probably supposed to be comforting, but it only makes your skin prickle.

"...we got the kid."

It's quiet, but you can hear static before someone speaks on the other end of the communication device.

"Copy that, Bravo. We'll clean up the mess," A female voice replies. "Bring 'em home safe, boys."

"Roger that."

#kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #call of duty #call of duty fanfiction #call of duty x reader #call of duty reader insert #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john price x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader

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